Fall Apart, Collect the Pieces

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/44937376.

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Relationship:

Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku

Characters:

Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki, Uraraka Ochako, Kirishima Eijirou, Ashido Mina, Todoroki Shouto, Shinsou Hitoshi, Sero Hanta, Kaminari Denki, Asui Tsuyu, Iida Tenya, Eri (My Hero Academia), Shiozaki Ibara, kota izumi

Additional Tags:

Past Midoriya Izuku/Uraraka Ochako, Uraraka Ochako Being an Asshole, Iida Tenya Being an Asshole, Hurt/Comfort, Divorce, Getting Together, Midoriya Izuku is a Dork, Midoriya Izuku is a Nerd, Midoriya Izuku is Not Okay, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Pro Hero Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Protective Bakugou Katsuki, Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki, Pining Bakugou Katsuki, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend, If you like collecting things this might make you insanely mad, Boundaries, Unhealthy Relationships, Healthy Relationships, Deku deserves better

Language:

English

Collections:

Favorite Bakugou Angst with a Dash of Fluff, Hero Academy

Stats:

Published: 2023-02-11 Completed: 2023-08-17 Words: 81,648 Chapters: 33/33

Fall Apart, Collect the Pieces

by s_the_queen

Summary

Izuku has always been passionate about heroes. He writes extensive analysis about them, and has a world-class collection of memorabilia. It matters to him.

He thought Ochako, his wife of two months and partner of five years, understood that. He thought all of his friends understood that.

He was wrong.

- or -

After just two months of marital bliss, Ochako makes a decision—to break Izuku's trust in pursuit of her picture perfect life. Now, they're all in for a horrible ride.

Notes

Based on this this AITA post on reddit!

See the end of the work for more notes

Chapter 1

“Ochako?” he called as he opened the door. He was fumbling with his keys as he tried to squeeze into the threshold, carry a large duffel, a backpack, and a paper shopping bag. "You home, honey?"

He'd gone on a joint agency undercover mission for a week, and he'd been homesick since day one. Hey, he was a newlywed, and his wife of two months was at home while he'd been in a sleeping bag with one of his sidekicks snoring beside him.

He was glad to be home.

He finally managed to kick the door shut behind him, toeing off his shoes in the hall before trudging into the living room. He dropped his duffel bag by the sofa. "Chako?" he called again.

He looked at the clock. He was still a little out of it since his sleep schedule had gone to shit while he was UC. He'd slept on the ride back, too, so it made sense that he was a bit disoriented. Ochako was still on patrol.

He smiled. He couldn't wait to see her, but this meant he could take a nap before she showed up. Then he'd actually have enough energy to enjoy her company.

He looked down at the paper bag in his hand with a smile, reaching inside to pull out the fabric box inside. Before he took his nap, he wanted to add something to his collection.

Ochako didn't love the fact that he collected hero merch. She'd brought it up a couple of times, pointing out that it was a little juvenile.

But it was important to him.

His collection was kind of a masterpiece. He wasn't the most active collector, but the pieces he had were amazing. He hadn't added to it in years, but the items that he did have were well taken care of. Besides, he finally had the disposable income he needed to feed his hobbies—so while he didn't spend often, he felt more than comfortable with indulging when the right piece came along.

In this box was the final piece to a commemorative All Might pin set that he'd been hunting for years. It was a little piece of history coming together, and he couldn't wait to see it as a set.

He climbed the stairs with a giddy smile on his face, flipping open the lid of the box to inspect his new prize. He'd seen it by chance, three days into his assignment—just sitting in the window of a pawn shop. Luckily, he'd seen it during his downtime.

He pushed the door to his merch room open, and looked up.

His smile vanished.

Where his collection once stood—shelves and display cases full of collectibles and his hero analysis notebooks, contained in a temperature controlled room—there was now a home theater.

His stomach dropped to his knees. He stood in the doorway, shellshocked. Then, the he felt the first drops of panic enter his blood stream.

The pin box still clutched in his hand, he ran to the nearest closet—searching through it and pulling items off the shelves. Where had she put them? Where did it all go? She must have put them somewhere.

He went through each room, heart racing. He pulled open every closet, cupboard, drawer, and crawl space, getting on hands and knees to search through the darkest corners and floating to inspect the highest shelves.

That limited edition silver age all might figurine was the last gift his dad ever gave him. The special edition comics were gifts from All Night’s personal collection. Nighteye had left him the poster in his will.

David Shield had given him the original blueprints to All Might’s support gear. He’d gotten that trading card side-by-side with Kacchan.

Some of the items were just rare and expensive, but some of them…some of  them were memories made physical. Pieces of his heart rendered in paper and plastic, from people who mattered to him.

He couldn’t find them. He couldn’t breathe.

And then there were his notebooks. His notebooks were more than just analysis. They served as journals, too—spanning from middle school to present day.

There were details about one for all in there. About his quirklessness. About how Kacchan’s bullying hurt him when he just wanted to be friends. Details about his personal life that were just that—intensely personal.

God, and the hero analysis. From old-school heroes who had long retired to interesting notes about his contemporaries. Facts about their tactics and gear that could be lethal in the wrong hands.

He tore the house apart looking. He hadn’t even taken off his costume yet. He couldn’t find it. Any of it.

He called Ochako.

It went to voicemail. He called again, then he called again. She was on patrol, so her phone was probably at her agency. Fuck.

He called his closest person. He picked up on the first ring.

“The fuck do you want, dork,” Kacchan drawled, sounding aloof with that familiar undercurrent of fondness that only his close friends could detect.

“Kacchan,” he sobbed. He didn’t even know when he’d started crying.

“What’s wrong?” He demanded, aloofness gone and immediately on alert.

“I need your help, I can’t find any of it—”

"Where are you?" Katsuki demanded, concerned but firm. Oh. He knew that tone. He must be having a panic attack.

"Home," he gasped.

"I'll be there in five," Kacchan promised. "Sit on the couch. Deep breaths, loser."

He sat and waited—brain working like a bullet-train.

His things—his most prized possessions—were gone. Things he'd collected over the past 20 years with tender loving care.

He'd documented each piece—photographing and recording where and when he'd gotten them. He'd made sure to update his insurance provider when the value shifted.

He barely went in that room lately—so busy that he didn't have time to appreciate the stuff that brought him joy.

He'd only went in there now because he'd wanted to put the pin in the safest place he knew—to photograph it and put it in a display. He'd wanted to document its price and bask in the fact that he'd finally collected all of the pins in the collection.

Only to find it all gone.

"Deku? Kacchan called, letting himself in.

He came in from the foyer a minute later, looking windswept. "Did you fly here?" Izuku asked, sounding dull around the edges. "You're not supposed to do that."

"You're panicking," Kacchan replied seriously, striding over to him to sit on the coffee table "Fuck the law."

Izuku's lip twitched and for half a second, he genuinely thought he was gonna laugh. Instead, that twitch turned into a tremble and that tremble turned into bawling.

"It's all gone," he sobbed. "I can't find it anywhere, it's gone, Kacchan!"

"What's gone?" he asked, grasping his hand. Izuku clutched it like a lifeline.

"Everything in my display room," he gasped, eyes wild. "All of it. My entire collection, all my notebooks—"

Kacchan was up a second later, not dropping his hand so Izuku was forced to stand and follow him.

Hand in hand, they approached the display room again. Izuku dug his heels in. He didn't want to see it. He wanted to look for his collection.

Kacchan held fast. Izuku was grateful. His hand was grounding.

"What the fuck," Kacchan breathed, looking around the room wide-eyed.

"Gone," he agreed.

The home theater that stood where arguably the most extensive collection of hero merch had once stood was...pretty.

Large comfy lounge sofas, a cute pastel popcorn machine, cushy pillows and cozy blankets, and a large flat-screen TV.

He hated it.

His tears came faster. There was only one logical explanation for this. It's not like a robber would steal his most valuable possessions and leave a home theater behind.

"She said it was childish," he cried. Katsuki gripped his hand tighter. "A waste of time and money."

"You think she got rid of your collection?" Katsuki asked seriously. "Without fucking asking?"

"Maybe,—" he hiccuped, voice catching in his throat. "Maybe she just put it away, but I can't find any of it," he whimpered. "I've been looking everywhere—"

"I'll help," Kacchan promised. It was like a breath of fresh air after sitting in a sauna—crisp and cleansing. Kacchan was always there for him. "Hey, if it's here, we'll find it."

Izuku's lip trembled. "What if it's not?" he asked. "What if she sold it all—"

"Then I kick her ass," he snarled. Izuku shook his head, but Kacchan stopped him. "That collection means a lot to you, fuckhead. If she got rid of it without asking you, it was disrespectful as fuck and she deserves what she gets."

He hesitated but nodded. He wasn't just sad—he was starting to get mad. He hoped that the person he married—the person who supposedly loved him—hadn't betrayed his trust.

They spent the next hour searching. It was a big house with lots of nooks and crannies.

Izuku had bought it when he cracked the top ten, hoping to have a place where all the important people in his life could fit comfortably when they happened to be in the same place at the same time.

The only place in the house that was his was that room, and it had been violated. His bedroom wasn't even completely his.

They tore the house apart and at the end of it, they came up dry. Izuku folded into himself on the couch—pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He hadn't stopped crying since he'd called Kacchan.

"This is totally fucked," Kacchan growled, back to grasping his hand.

They were going through his records now—the little laptop that Izuku kept under his bed was on the coffee table. It's the only thing that was left to prove his collection had even existed.

He'd been planning to scan his notebooks next month, when he had a little time off.

They were gone too. It made him sick to his stomach. He'd have to file an insurance claim, and contact the Hero Commission. He'd have to give them as many details from those notebooks as possible.

He heard the front door open.

"Deku! Are you home, baby?"

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

I was gonna post this on Friday, but I wanted to give y'all a lil valentine's day gift <3 thank you for continuing to read my nonsense guys!

Izuku felt Kacchan tense up beside him and gripped his hand tighter to keep him in place.

She rounded out of the foyer, eyes landing on them. Her eyes widened as she took in his face. She cooed. "Aw, baby what's wrong? Did the mission go badly?"

"Where's his collection?"

She froze, eyes landing on Katsuki. "Huh?"

"My collection," Izuku repeated for him. "The collection I've spent 20 years building. Where is it?"

She rocked back on her heels, suddenly frustrated. "Are you seriously crying about that? I was really worried!"

"Where is it!?"

"I told you how I felt about it," she said, rolling her eyes. "It was a waste of space and money—"

"WHERE IS IT?"

"It's not like you ever went in there anyway," she shrugged, heading back to hang up her coat. "At least now the space is being used for something practical."

"You're not answering his fucking question," Katsuki snapped. "Where the fuck is his collection?"

She sighed, squaring her shoulders before turning back to them. "Anything I could find on WeBay for a price reference, I sold. I donated the rest of it."

Izuku's heart dropped.

He felt Katsuki's hand heat up with rage, but he didn't care. She'd sold and donated his most treasured possessions.

"You better be fucking ready to buy it all back, you fucking bitch—"

"I'm not buying it back," she scoffed. "I just got rid of it. It was just enough to pay for the home theater. Come on, think of how nice it'll be when we have people over!"

"That's what the fucking living room is for!" Izuku yelled. "You had no right to sell my things!"

She scowled, officially angry. "YOUR things?" she yelled back. She waved her hand in his face, flashing the ring. "What's mine is yours, remember?"

"You live in MY house!" he snarled. "Remember the prenup you signed? My assets remain my assets. Fuck, I've never been so glad that my mom convinced me to get one!"

She flinched back. "You'd bring up our prenup over some fucking toys and comics?"

"Those toys and comics were worth over 100,000,000 yen," Katsuki snarled, low and furious. "Rare, valuable shit that can't be found on fucking WeBay. Some of it has to be sold through special auctions to reach its actual value."

She paled.

"You spent that much on junk?" she demanded.

Katsuki made to lunge at her, but Izuku held him back. "No, I didn't. A lot of them were gifts," he said, tone nearly despondent. "Stuff that All Might gave me. Stuff my dad gave me. Stuff that Nighteye left me in his will."

Her face softened. "Deku—" She uttered, finally sounding somewhat contrite. She stepped forward, he flinched back.

"You shut the fuck up," Katsuki snapped.

"That's just the sentimental stuff. Then there's the stuff I spent months hunting down. The stuff I found in thrift shops and waited hours in line for. Stuff that I haggled and traded for. Stuff that's been out of production for decades."

"That's what I meant by a waste of time!" she cried. "We barely have any free time together and you spend half of it chasing down useless crap!"

"I told you that it was important to me," he said, tears running down his face. "You could have told me you wanted to spend more time together. You didn't have to break my trust and go behind my back."

"How much did you get from the collection?" Katsuki demanded.

"Why are you even here?" she snapped. "Get your own fucking marriage, Bakugou!"

"How much, Ochako. How much did that stupid, unnecessary home theater cost?" he snapped, holding Kacchan back again.

She swallowed. "Just over 2 million," she said tersely.

He wanted to throw up.

He'd be able to buy back the posters with that, maybe. Or the set of first-edition comics from All Might's silver age. Not both. He might be able to buy back the figurine his dad gave him.

That was only if the people who bought them wanted to sell.

"What about my notebooks?" he asked. Katsuki placed a hand on his shoulder in a show of support—warm and grounding.

She shifted nervously. "Those old things?" she asked, trying for casual. "I recycled them. They were falling apart—"

Izuku collapsed back onto the couch, face in his hands. His stomach was churning with horror, and he felt cold with panic.

"You're a fucking psychopath," Katsuki snarled. "You better hope we can track those damn things down, Bubble-bitch—"

"God, could you mind your own fucking business—"

"No, he's right," Izuku interrupted. "Get ready to dumpster dive, honey. You better hope we can find those notebooks."

"They're just journals!" she protested. "I read a few of them, they were basically just middle school rambling—"

"And detailed, in-depth hero analysis," Katsuki interrupted.

"Shit tons of details about our peers—about Deku—including facts about costumes and support gear and fighting styles. Essays about the details of heroes' personal lives and how it affects their hero work."

She blanched. "Why would you keep those here?" she yelled. "If they've got that much sensitive information, why would you leave them unguarded?"

He scoffed, bitter and derisive. "Unguarded? I'm the number six hero. My house isn't unguarded. For my own protection, I have a security system that's a step down from Tartarus. Remember the biometric doorknob? The security cameras that have facial recognition? The security code that changes weekly? Hatsume designed my security herself," he said. His tone sounded achingly wretched. "You needed security clearance to move in here, did you ever consider that? My possessions are safe here because only the people I trust are allowed in. Or at least, they should have been."

She looked a little sick. "You should have told me—"

"You should have asked," he snapped. "You should have asked before getting rid of my things. You should have asked why it was important to me."

"You don't have to fucking explain yourself in order to have things you enjoy," Katsuki snapped. Izuku could feel his anger simmering. "You supposedly love him, don't you? You should have let him keep the shit that makes him happy even if you don't understand it."

"Would you mind your own business?" she snapped. "This is between me and Deku! Why are you even here?"

"He's here because I was upset, and he helped me search the house for my collection," Izuku said. "And if you think there's anything between us anymore, you're insane."

She flinched. "What are you talking about?"

"I want him here. I don't want you here. Get out."

"You can't be serious—"

"I'll go through the house and pack your things. I don't trust you to take shit that isn't yours if I let you do it yourself," he said, anger growing.

"A lawyer will contact you tomorrow. Expect to meet with the Commission, too."

"We're married, Deku, married people work out their differences—"

"Like you worked out your differences with him?" Katsuki asked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Bullshit. You heard him. Leave."

"I live here! This is my house too—"

"It's not," Izuku snapped. "The mortgage is in my name. I bought everything in it. Whatever I didn't buy, I'll send to you. If I don't decide to sell it to recoup some of my losses."

"Her crap can't pay for that," Katsuki snorted. "If we can't get your shit back, just sue her for the value you listed with the insurance company."

She paled even further. "They're just toys! You'd sue me over toys? You'd throw our marriage away?"

"It wasn't much of a marriage if you couldn't show me some basic decency."

"You wouldn't even listen to me! I told you what I thought—"

"And I told you it was important to me. And instead of talking about it more, or bringing it up again, you threw it out when I wasn't there to stop you. You knew how I'd react, and you picked a time when I wasn't there to do it anyway. Now get. Out."

"Or I'll drag you out by your hair," Katsuki threatened, stepping in front of him.

Ochako scowled at Katsuki before looking over his shoulder at Izuku. Her gaze softened, looking like condescending pity. It turned his stomach.

"I'm sorry you're hurting right now. I'll stay with my parents for a bit. Call me when you're ready to talk about this rationally, okay?"

Izuku grabbed the back of Katsuki's shirt, curling his fingers into the fabric to keep himself calm. He didn't say anything, and Ochako let out an exasperated sigh before turning back toward the door. Like he was being infantile. Like he was the one at fault.

"Get bent, bitch," Katsuki snapped at her retreating back.

She turned back, a malicious grimace in place. "Enabling him won't make him love you, Bakugou."

Katsuki flinched at that, and his entire body went tense. "I'm not enabling him. I'm supporting him. And if you can't tell the fucking difference, you never deserved him."

She looked like she wanted to say something else. Instead, she left quietly, taking their marriage with her.

Chapter 3

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Izuku sank back onto the couch—drained. Shocked.

"Deku?" Kacchan called kneeling in front of him again.

Izuku looked up at him, mind reeling. And then it seemed to click into place. She hadn't just sold his things.

His notebooks had been thrown in the trash. Every thought he'd had, ranging from quirks to tactics to gear to his most private thoughts, thrown in the recycling.

As terrifying as that was—as dangerous as it could be—the merch collection hurt more. His thoughts could be repeated.

His carefully curated museum of hero history probably couldn't be.

The merch hadn't even been sold at their proper value to reputable collectors who were guaranteed to take care of them.

How many of his things had ended up in a donation bin? How many posters were crumpled and torn beyond repair? How many boxes were damaged? Had the incomplete merch sets made it to auction or were they carelessly tossed into the pile and lost forever?

Would some random person's kid rip the arm off the last action figure his dad ever gave him? Had she rolled up or folded the poster that Nighteye had willed to him, damaging it forever?

He thought about the pin that he'd been so excited to add to its set. The literal years he'd kept an eye out for it, wasted.

"Deku," Katsuki called again, gripping his wrist.

Izuku focused on his eyes—burning red and filled with concern—and burst into tears. Kacchan tugged him forward and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"W-when she brought it up, sh-she didn't e-even ask why it was important," he sobbed. "I thought she'd let it go—"

"She's a piece of shit, Deku," Kacchan replied, rubbing his back. "We'll do what we can to get it back, alright? First thing tomorrow we'll hit all the thrift stores in the district."

Izuku's face twisted further. "There are so many," he cried. "Not to mention all the other donation bins she might have dropped them in."

"So we get help," Katsuki replied, hugging him a little tighter. "Fuck, yeah, that's a great idea."

Izuku tried not to whimper when Katsuki pulled away. "What are you doing?" he asked when Kacchan pulled out his phone.

"Gonna call the idiots," he explained. "They can come help out."

"With what?" he asked miserably. "I thought we were gonna do this tomorrow."

"Yeah, but tonight we can go through the dumpster and clear her shit out of the house. And fuck, it'll be good to have them around for support or whatever," he suggested with a weak smile.

Even around the hurt, he was so grateful for Kacchan. This wasn't his strength, but he was here. Solid, steadfast support.

He swallowed thickly. "You think they'd help?"

Katsuki frowned. "Why wouldn't they?"

Izuku's eyes darted around, taking in the walls he'd considered secure just hours ago.

"What if they think it's childish," he asked quietly. "Maybe I'm overreacting for kicking her out—Kacchan wait!"

He'd already hit call.

With the phone pressed to his ear, he turned a reprimanding glare on Izuku.

"That's bullshit, Deku. She knew who you were before you fucking married her. She shouldn't have tried to change you, and she shouldn't have taken shit that's important to you. Only you can decide who you are, and anyone who doesn't accept you doesn't deserve to be in your fucking life. If you were cooking meth or some shit, that would be different, but—WHAT THE FUCK TOOK YOU SO LONG, PINKY?" he bellowed into the phone.

Izuku could hear Mina whining on the other end.

"Kacchan, maybe—"

"Shut the fuck up for a sec—"

"YOU CALLED ME!" he heard Mina bellow.

"If you don't want them here, I'll hang up. We can search and pack her shit while we watch a movie or some shit. But as annoying as they are, they're damn good at lifting the mood."

Katsuki held his gaze as Izuku thought it over, waiting patiently while Mina audibly ranted through the tinny cellphone speaker.

Izuku swallowed, again—the lump in his throat constricting. His lip trembled. "If I change my mind—"

"I'll kick them out myself," Kacchan replied.

On the other end, Mina went quiet—probably listening. Eventually, he nodded and Katsuki gave him a smirk—the closest thing he had to an encouraging smile.

"Go take a shower and change out of your costume," he instructed. "I'll fill the dipshits in."

"Thanks, Kacchan,” he murmured. Katsuki backed up so that Izuku could skirt around him.

"Hey," Kacchan grabbed his wrist again. "We'll figure it out, alright? Shit might not be perfect but I've got your back."

Izuku mustered up a weak smile—teary and wobbly. "I know, Kacchan. You always do."

He passed the home theater on his way to the master bathroom and stopped in the doorway.

God, maybe he was being dramatic, but it felt like someone had died. Or a piece of him had died. Or something. He just knew this felt like grief—like his soul had been scraped out with a goddamn melon baller and thrown into the garbage.

The notebook with All Might's autograph was in a recycling bin or landfill somewhere. The physical reminder of the moment his idol had saved his life was probably waterlogged and covered in trash. That's what his interests amounted to, according to his wife. Trash. Nuisance. Worthless. A waste of space and time.

She'd always known about his interests. Is that what she thought of him as a whole? Had she wanted to chip away at him until he was picture-perfect?

Until all the things that made him unique were gone?

He'd worked hard to be unashamed of who he was, and the idea that Ochako had wanted to take even one part of it from him made him feel sick.

It made him angry.

The stupid home theater was staring him in the face, and his hands ached from how hard they clenched.

He'd started dating Ochako five years ago—right after he and Kacchan had opened their agency together.

That stupid pastel popcorn machine stood where the vintage Pro-Hero video games had been displayed.

Their first date had been at a cat café.

Those couches had been paid for with his dreams.

She'd told him that his passion for heroics was inspiring. That he could connect to people because of the genuine enthusiasm he showed. That she'd fallen for him because of how he looked at the world—optimistic and excited.

He'd fallen for her because she was bright and supportive and because he'd never had to set himself on fire to keep her warm.

Apparently, she'd just been waiting to light the match for him—waiting to strip away the parts of him she didn't like when she thought she had him tethered. Waiting to replace his hard-won collection with a shitty home theater with too much light and no personality.

He heard glass shatter and startled back. He'd picked up the popcorn machine and thrown it against the wall without even realizing it. The sound of it breaking felt like a dam bursting—and suddenly he wasn't just mad, he was furious.

Then, he was ripping the flat screen off the wall and throwing it across the room, and ripping the couch cushions to shreds. He sobbed as he kicked the stupid hardwood TV stand until it splintered beneath his feet. He smashed the bowl of potpourri on the floor and ripped the stupid mass-produced movie posters from the walls.

He felt ineffective and powerless.

She'd waited until he was gone.

She'd planned this, and he'd been an idiot to trust her.

She'd just felt so fucking trustworthy.

They'd been through so much together. Loving her had been as easy as breathing. The only other person he'd ever felt this much for would never do something like this.

Not now, at least. Not now that they were grown, and had grown together. Now that their friendship was unbreakable, he'd never do this to Izuku.

They loved each other. Not like that, but no less valid.

He used to dream of Kacchan loving him the way he thought Ochako did.

Loving him was like a heartbeat. Always there, and completely involuntary. An immutable fact. And he knew that Katsuki loved him too.

As he stood in the wrecked room—silent, angry tears rolling down his face—he knew for a fact that Katsuki would never do this.

People who loved each other didn't do this.

They didn't take the things that mattered from each other and ruin them. They talked, learned, and compromised.

If she'd asked, he would have compromised. Invested in an actual storage space, or added another room to the house, or schedule designated date nights or something. He would have done it.

But she hadn't asked.

His hands ached.

"Feel better?" Katsuki asked quietly. Izuku turned to find him leaning against the door frame, surveying him calmly.

"No," he replied, scowling through his tears. "Now I can't return any of this shit."

Katsuki barked out a surprised laugh. "I'll reimburse you. Or we can get Ponytail to make exact replicas."

"She doesn't like messing with the economy," Izuku replied dully.

"She'd make an exception."

He knew she would. He still didn't want to bother her with the consequences of his temper tantrum. "Maybe," he muttered.

Katsuki stepped into the carnage, skirting splintered wood and decimated couches to take him by the shoulders and steer him toward the door.

"Shower, Deku. I'll order dinner, the dumbasses will be here in half an hour."

Izuku nodded, even hollower than before—completely sapped of whatever energy he'd had left.

He stepped under the spray and slumped against the tiled wall, crying louder than before.

Chapter 4

When he finally made it out of the shower, his eyes were red-rimmed and he only felt tired. He could hear Denki in Mina in the living room. They weren't yelling but they definitely weren't using inside voices.

They sounded angry.

He couldn't help but wonder if they were mad at him. If they thought he was being immature for even collecting in the first place.

He pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, anxiety seeping under his skin. He'd thought that even if Ochako didn't understand it, she'd come to accept it.

She'd been his wife.

He'd thought he could trust her with all of him. And if he couldn't trust her with all of him, how could he trust them?

He heard Kacchan's low growl, and some of that anxiety ebbed. Kacchan trusted them. He wouldn't let them stay if he didn't. With that in mind, he braced himself and made his way to the living room. He stood in the doorway, listening.

"Wait, what about the vintage Titan Star lunchbox?" Denki asked, sounding miserable. Izuku's eyes welled up again. Denki had gotten that for him on his 20th birthday.

Titan Star was a hero from Daigoro Banjo's era—the fifth user of One For All. She'd been of the first heroes to be a commercial success as well as a kind-hearted, impactful savior.

Her merch was rare—old and overshadowed by All Might's overwhelming presence.

It was amazing that Denki had even found it, let alone given it to him.

To a true hero fan, it would have been nearly priceless.

"She didn't leave anything behind," Kacchan snapped. "If she didn't find a WeBay buyer for it, it's sitting in a donation bin somewhere."

"Poor Mido," Mina lamented. She was scowling. "That's so messed up, do you remember the day he got that bronze age figurine in the box? The way he ran into the room with it held over his head like a trophy?"

"He loved that one," Eijirou agreed, arm over Mina's shoulder.

"She brought it up a couple times." Izuku flinched, eyes flicking toward the kitchen counter. Hitoshi was there, propped up on a bar-stool. "I thought she'd dropped it after our last talk. Tsu asked why it mattered as long as Izuku was happy, and she shrugged it off."

He must have come with Denki.

"Didn't fucking matter what made him happy, she'd already decided she didn't like it, so she fucking trashed it," Katsuki snapped.

Hanta spoke up then, hesitant. "I hate to be the person who takes it away from Mido being hurt, but those notebooks? That shit is bad news. I was fine with it when they were safe with him, but out there?"

Katsuki nodded. "Yeah. Not fucking good." His eyes flicked to the doorway, catching his.

"I can't believe she just threw them out!" Mina yelled, making Izuku flinch. "Even if they weren't filled with sensitive information, those were his journals!"

Katsuki held his gaze. "She barely looked through them. She decided that they were junk and threw them out. She didn't care about anyone but herself."

He heard it loud and clear. She didn't care about him. At least not as much as she cared about her picture perfect vision of what he should be.

She'd just let Izuku believe that she did.

"Hey, guys," he murmured, finally stepping into the room. All eyes swiveled to him. "Thanks, uh—" he swallowed, looking down at his feet.

"What are friends for, right?" Mina replied, he glanced up and melted a little at her gentle smile. She looked sad.

He hated making his problems other peoples' problems. Ochako was one of Mina's closest friends.

"I know you're all friends with her too, you don't have to—"

"Dude. What she did was super messed up and she doesn't think she did anything wrong. I feel like I barely know her," Denki said, uncommonly somber.

"We may be friends, but if that's how she treats people she cares about, it's time to re-evaluate. Besides, being friends with her doesn't preclude being here for you," Mina stated firmly.

"You're the one that's hurt, and you're the one that needs help. We can deal with Ochako later," Hitoshi agreed.

He was already tired of crying. It was quieter now—tears slipping down his face as he nodded.

"Alright. Thanks," he replied.

"Dipshit, Duct-tape and Walking Dead are gonna go search the dumpsters. The rest of us are gonna help you pack up her shit," Kacchan explained.

Izuku's stomach twisted. He had no idea how long ago she'd thrown the notebooks away. It could have been a week ago, or it could have been yesterday. If it was the former, they were already buried in a landfill.

"Thank you, guys. But I don't know how long ago she threw them away."

Hitoshi cleared his throat uncomfortably, drawing Izuku's gaze. "We...may be able to find out."

There was something in the way he said it that made him a little sick. "What do you mean?"

Hitoshi shifted, looking guilty. "I think she asked Shoto to help. I asked him if he wanted to go to that new noodle place by his agency since I was in the area, and he said he was helping Ochako for the day."

His stomach dropped. "He knew?" he asked. It felt like a slap in the face. Shoto had bought some of that merch for him. Mostly to piss Endeavor off, but it had still meant a lot.

Maybe Shoto hadn't realized the significance to him.

Maybe when he'd Izuku had been 18, buying him the limited edition miniature MightMobile at auction was acceptable, but now that he was 25 he thought it was juvenile.

He wondered if Tsu and Tenya felt that way, too. Sure, Tsu had apparently said it was harmless but that didn't mean she didn't think it was juvenile or invalid.

Tenya had once said that his obsessive journaling could make him look disturbed to the public.

"Could—" he swallowed, gritting his teeth. "Could you ask him?" Had he helped move the furniture in, or had he helped throw his things out? "I don't want you to go dumpster diving for stuff that isn't there."

"Sure," Hitoshi agreed. "I'll talk to Tenya and Tsu, too, alright? I'll take care of it."

"Maybe you should eat first," Denki suggested. "You just got back from a mission."

His stomach growled. He hadn't even noticed—the constant nausea at his situation seemed to have masked his hunger.

"Sure," he said, traipsing over to the couch. "Can we...talk about something else—do something else—while we eat? I'm just..."

Overwhelmed. Miserable. Shocked.

"Of course we can, dork," Katsuki scoffed. "Sit down. Spark-plug brought pizza because nutrition doesn't mean shit to him."

"I brought it because it's comfort food, you ass," Denki huffed, throwing a pillow at him. "Why aren't you bitching at Mina for ice cream?"

"Because Mina eats her fucking vegetables," Katsuki barked back.

Hitoshi had slipped away into one of the other rooms, and Izuku was left with Katsuki and his—their—friends, handing him pizza and ushering him to the couch.

Katsuki put on a movie—a pre-quirk superhero movie that talked a lot about the trust and care that went into being a team—before sitting down next to him.

He loved this movie. This series had helped build his heroic philosophy outside of All Might's influence.

His favorite parts of the movie came and went—but every time Izuku opened his mouth to give commentary, he'd bite it back. Why would they want to hear it? Inane background chatter that wouldn't have any impact.

He could feel Kacchan's concerned gaze on the side of his face.

Halfway through the movie, Hitoshi trudged back into the room.

He looked tired.

"Hey," he said as Kacchan paused the movie. The phone was still in his hand. "Uh, Shoto wants to come over to talk. So does Tsu."

"Are you fucking kidding?" Katsuki snapped. "Hell no."

"Dude, they sound pretty upset," Hitoshi replied. "They didn't know."

"They didn't know what? That they were making changes to the house without Mido's permission?" Mina demanded. Kacchan threw her an appreciative glance.

"Or that the room they were remodeling used to contain all of Deku's most important shit," the blonde barked.

"Let them," Izuku said, voice tight. Katsuki made a noise of protest beside him. "No, really. I wanna hear it. And if it's not good enough, I want my house key back."

"You're getting your fucking locks changed—"

"The gesture means something. Only people I trust have one."

Katsuki had one. Shoto had one. Hitoshi had one. Ochako had one. That was it.

Hitoshi raised the phone back to his ear. "You heard that?" he asked. "Good."

He hung up without another word, and Katsuki hit play. As the rest of the group settled back in, Kacchan gave his shoulder a little nudge. A silent show of support.

His anxiety grew as they waited—unable to fully focus on the movie knowing that Shoto and Tsu had something to do with a lifetime collection disappearing.

He'd thought they knew him better.

When Hitoshi let them in, Mina stood. The movie wasn't done yet, but they weren't paying attention anyway.

"If it's okay with you, Ei and I are gonna start going through everything and pulling Ochako's things out," she said. "You can help us sort it out later."

"And I'll start working on clearing out the theater room," Hitoshi said. "Denki?"

"Yeah, coming," he said, hopping off the couch.

"There are work gloves in the hall closet," Izuku said, tone still dull. "You'll need them."

Denki and Hitoshi shared a concerned glance. Katsuki must not have showed them the damage he'd done to the room.

"Want me to go too?" Katsuki asked. Izuku shook his head immediately. Shoto and Tsu were standing at the entrance, looking like they were waiting for an invitation.

He didn't want to be alone with them.

Hanta grabbed the plates and pizza boxes and carried them into the kitchen, busying himself with cleaning. The four remaining heroes stared at each other, unsure of where to start.

Finally, Tsuyu spoke up. "I think we're both confused about what happened," she admitted.

"Could you explain the situation from your point of view? And then we'll explain what we were told?"

Izuku's eyes fixed on her, and she flinched. He wondered if he looked as awful as he felt. His eyes were sore from crying, so they were probably red and swollen.

Then, he explained.

He explained that Ochako brought up the collection twice—once asking if he wasn't too old for it, and another saying they should get rid of it.

He said no both times because it was important to him. She seemed to drop it, and never asked anything more.

He left for his mission.

When he got back, everything was gone and the home theater was in its place.

When Ochako came home, she said she'd sold, donated, and thrown his stuff away—no permission, no warning. Just gone.

As he spoke, both of them grew paler—sneaking glances at each other.

"She told you that?" Tsuyu asked. "That she sold and donated it?"

"And trashed your notebooks?" Shoto piped up. He looked sick.

"What did you think she was going to do with them?" Katsuki snapped. "Dip it in gold and display them in the fucking Hero Hall?"

At least at the Hero Hall was a museum where it would be taken care of, rather than a recycling bin.

"The way she talked about it, it sounded like a daily argument you guys had over the past month," Tsuyu explained. "She told us that you'd compromised."

Shoto nodded in agreement.

"She told us you'd agreed to keep your collection and notebooks in storage so that you could turn the space into something shared," he continued.

"So you just packed up his shit without even asking him if he was actually okay with it? What kind of fucking friends are you?" Katsuki snarled. Izuku put a hand on his knee—holding him in place.

"We didn't touch the collection," Shoto insisted. "She called us on Wednesday to ask us for help since Tenya had patrol all day."

"She said you'd already packed up your collection before you left, and she wanted to set up the theater while you were gone as a surprise," Tsu said.

So they hadn't packed his stuff up. It had been gone by the time she'd told them.

"But you thought she was right for wanting to get rid of it all?" he asked, voice small. "That I was being childish?"

Tsuyu fidgeted, but Shoto didn't.

"No," he replied. "I was hoping you'd find a way to spread it through the house a little more. It made me happy to see how much you liked the gift I gave you. You knew so much about it as soon as you saw it. It clearly made you happy. I spent my whole childhood being deprived of things that made me happy, so I didn't want that for you. It didn't hurt anyone, and we deal with awful things every day. If collecting makes life better, you should collect. And when Ochako said you compromised, I thought she'd at least put it all in a storage facility so that you could still enjoy them. I thought it was a reasonable middle ground, so I didn't look deeper. I should have, though. I'm sorry."

He sounded frustrated—voice quiet and ashamed. Their eyes turned to Tsu. She shifted under their gaze.

"I'll admit, I don't understand the collecting thing," Tsu said. "It wasn't hurting anyone until recently, when I truly thought you were starting to prioritize the collection above Ochako. She started complaining about it every time I saw her, and I was honestly upset with you. I thought it was..." she trailed off, croaking uncomfortably. "Immature of you to let it affect your marriage."

"That's not what happened, though," Katsuki growled through gritted teeth.

She nodded, looking down. "I know that now. I should have gotten your side of the story, but I barely see you lately, and with Ochako's story—"

"You figured that I neglected my friendships for it," Izuku uttered, wounded. She flinched, but powered through.

"Sometimes, the way you talk about it—it comes off as obsessive," she explained. "And I wondered if you'd gotten...trapped in a sort of fixation. I didn't get why you needed that stuff in the house if it was causing problems. So when we got together for drinks a few weeks ago, I suggested that maybe—instead of getting rid of everything—you could get one of those fancy storage units with temperature control to store them. I thought she'd brought it up with you, and you'd come to an agreement."

Izuku felt cold—wracked with the ugly sort of hurt, where it felt like you were in danger, so all the blood in your body left your extremities to power your bleeding heart.

Katsuki, on the other hand, was livid.

"Deku gives everyone his all. All the time. He's the most selfless motherfucker on the planet—"

"Kacchan—"

"No, Deku. He gives his fucking life up for people, so what if he has a fucking hobby? He's not allowed to have one thing for himself? Sato collects fucking cake pans, are you gonna tell Pony to donate his shit to a bakery?"

"You're right," she said, contrite. "I should have talked to you. Or minded my own business. I should have done better. I didn't understand why it meant that much."

Katsuki snarled. "I don't understand why men have fucking nipples, but you don't see me cutting off—" Izuku put his hand back on Katsuki's knee to silence him.

Izuku looked up at her, lip trembling.

"It meant a lot to me, because when the world told me I couldn't be a hero, those notebooks and collectibles helped me keep dreaming. They helped me keep learning and growing when I had no one in my corner," he explained quietly. "And then, it reminded me that there were people who supported me. Who saw me and loved me for exactly who I was. I never thought I'd have that. There were gifts, and relics, and pieces of history that I look at to remind myself of where I was and where I am now. To remind myself of all the people who love me and think about me. To hold the people I've lost close to me."

"Izuku," Tsuyu breathed. "I'm so—"

"Everything in that room was a part of me," he interrupted. "Those notebooks showed my growth over more than a decade, and how many friends I've gained. Some of it was gifted to me by All Might before he died. Some of it is from my parents and friends. Some of it is from a specific era that marked spectacular moments that I got inspired by. It's always been who I am, and I got comfortable enough to share it. You didn't have to understand it, but you did have to respect it."

"I'm sorry," she uttered. "I helped hurt you, and I'm so sorry. What can I do?"

Izuku shrugged listlessly. "It's all gone. I'm gonna try to get some of it back, but the trash gets taken out Wednesday, so the notebooks are gone. The donated stuff is probably in thrift stores across the city. Pieces of my life are just missing. So I appreciate your apology, but I think I need you to go."

She swallowed and nodded. "I understand," she said. "If...if you need anything from me, please let me know." She turned to leave, but paused. "You might want to talk to Tenya. I couldn't get ahold of him earlier."

"Oh, I'll be talking to glasses," Katsuki snarled beside him. Tsu nodded, then left. Izuku didn't know he'd ever feel open with her again. He felt like a piece of his heart was dying—the piece he'd left open for her.

"If you'd like me to leave too, I'd understand," Shoto said, eyes fixed on the floor. "But if not, I'd like to help you find your things."

Izuku swallowed. The lump in his throat had been there for so long that it ached.

"I'd appreciate your help," Izuku said. "But I need my house key back. I know you thought you were helping, and I appreciate what you said, but you still violated my trust, and I need time."

Shoto nodded, already pulling out his keys and working Izuku's house key off its ring. "Please let me know how I can help."

Izuku looked at Katsuki and, like always, the blonde seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

"He's gonna need one more thing," Katsuki said slowly, turning burning eyes back to Shoto.

Izuku took a deep breath. This step made it real.

"I need your mom's divorce lawyer."

Chapter 5

"They said since it's been a couple weeks, some of your stuff's probably been sold already," Katsuki grumbled, dropping onto the couch next to him. "But they're forwarding the list to all their locations, so hopefully some of it will be pulled off the shelves."

It was the morning after and Kacchan had come up with a plan of attack as Izuku had slept.

First, he'd decided to reach out to headquarters for all the major donation centers and thrift stores in the city and explain the situation to them.

By the time Izuku had woken up, he'd sent the collection spreadsheet to six different organizations, explaining that they'd be searching for the stolen items in the coming days.

So far, they'd sounded eager to help, but there was only so much they could do. After all, if something had already been purchased, they were out of luck unless it had been bought with a credit card.

And who shopped at thrift stores with credit cards? Some people, sure. But not many.

Mina and Eijirou had already started driving around to different thrift stores with his list, hoping to get started while he and Katsuki went through Ochako's things.

Hanta, Denki, and Hitoshi were taking the debris from the theater to the dump, where they'd also be asking management if it would be possible to track down his notebooks.

He wasn't very hopeful on that front. He was pretty sure they were gone for good.

All Might's autograph was in one of those notebooks. Hero Analysis #13. A landmark of the day his life had changed forever.

"Thanks, Kacchan," he replied. He was currently sitting in front of a pile of Ochako's things.

On either side of the pile were two boxes—one labeled "Return to Asshole" and the other labeled "Sell." Katsuki had made the labels, hoping to get a laugh out of him. There was even a poorly drawn rendition of Ochako on the asshole box—pointy teeth and devil horns included.

It just reminded him that the person who he'd thought he'd be spending his life with had intentionally gone behind his back to ruin things that mattered to him.

Katsuki peered into the boxes to check his progress. "Damn, I really thought you'd bought more of this shit for her," he said, poking through the "Return to Asshole" box.

"I can check again, but I remember most of the things I bought for her," he replied.

Katsuki lifted a handbag out of the box, eyebrows raised. Izuku looked at it, then at his companion—waiting for him to speak his mind.

"This is the third fuckishly expensive handbag I've seen in that box," he muttered, digging through again to pick out the others.

He'd grown up with Kacchan, so he was aware of what dressing nicely looked like. He could identify when something was stylish and when it wasn't, even if he wasn't particularly stylish himself.

That didn't mean he could glean an item's quality or value, though. Usually, when he bought a fancy gift that featured fashion, he'd defer to Katsuki's expertise.

"They're cute," he replied, shrugging. "She likes cute things."

"Deku, I'm saying there's no way she could have bought all three on her salary," Katsuki explained. Izuku could tell that his patience was thin, and knew he was only refraining from snapping because he was already upset.

He'd be grateful, but his trepidation was dominant.

"How do you know?"

"They were all released in the last six months from major labels. It would have been outlandishly expensive for her. You're a Top 10 hero, so it's a drop in the bucket for you, but she only cracked Top 50 this year."

Izuku grabbed his laptop from the table, opening up his bank statement.

Money wasn't that important to him. He had more than he needed and mostly used it to take care of the people who mattered to him. He didn't spend his time watching numbers grow and decline.

The last time he'd really examined his finances was when he'd set up QUAD: Quirkless United Against Discrimination, a resource and advocacy organization for quirkless people, especially kids.

He'd provided every cent of the startup costs, and pumped money into forming tolerance and advocacy programs, researching institutional bias surrounding quirks, and creating resources for quirkless youth in crisis.

Katsuki had been front and center—volunteering time to speak at schools and provide training to teachers on quirkless discrimination and their responsibility to stop it.

The time before that, he'd helped set up education funds for Eri, Kota, Mahoro, and Katsuma—enough to pay for college if they decided to go.

The point was—he was relaxed about it. If someone asked, he would usually give. He was involved in philanthropic work, and he provided for his loved ones. If he noticed something that Ochako liked, he'd get it for her, just to see her smile.

The thought that she might have been using his bank account to fund her purchases without asking wasn't significant in the face of everything else she'd done.

But it made him wonder if he'd come off as the type of partner who wouldn't give when asked. He'd always felt that if it made a loved one happy, he'd give them the shirt off his back.

He clearly hadn't come across that way to his wife, though.

As he scrolled through his bank statements over the past six months, even before they were married, his stomach sank.

"Look for an Hermes purchase," Katsuki instructed. When he found it, his eyes bugged out of his skull.

4,239,700 yen.

"That's a work-study intern's annual salary," he breathed.

"That's this one," Katsuki said, holding up a dusty pink back with a deep purple band.

She'd gotten rid of his most cherished possessions while going behind his back to buy a handbag worth at least half the average sidekick's salary. And she'd accused him of wasting money.

He didn't care that she wanted nice things. He cared that she ruined the things he cared about, then went behind his back to fund her own interests. He cared that she could have asked and he would have given.

He cared that she chose to build herself up by tearing him down.

Katsuki kept pulling things out of the "Return to Asshole" box—pointing them out on the statement in front of them.

In the end, she'd spent 28 million yen since they'd gotten married, and 17 million before then.

He wasn't even angry. He was just exhausted.

"Fucking asshole," Katsuki hissed, throwing each item into the 'Sell' box with far more force than necessary. "Didn't even ask."

That seemed to be a running theme. She didn't even have the decency to ask him about any of it. No room for negotiation, nor communication. So utterly self-serving that it felt like he didn't know her at all.

Maybe he didn't.

"I was looking at that self-adjusting weight rack and you bought it for me as a 'just-because' gift. You're a fucking 'just-because-gift' person! I bet if she'd dropped a hint, you would have bought her the whole fucking store," he snapped.

Yeah, probably.

"I'll go through that whole fucking box and itemize everything," Katsuki continued. "You should go after her for credit card fraud or theft or some sh—"

"No," he replied. "I'm not gonna drag this out by making it a bigger thing. I don't want to ruin her career or make her miserable." Katsuki went to interrupt, but he held up his hand to stop him. "That won't make me feel better. I'm gonna file for divorce, sell what she bought on my dime, and look for my collection. I don't need revenge, I just need this to be over."

Katsuki glared at him, eyes hard. He wanted to argue. Katsuki always wanted to argue—it was part of his charm. But Izuku didn't want to deal with this by beating her down.

He wanted to focus on what mattered to him, and that didn't include her anymore. Kacchan seemed to arrive at the same conclusion—shoulders dropping and glare softening to a displeased scowl.

Kacchan understood him better than anyone. Even if he didn't agree, he understood.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But you're letting me take care of selling this shit. I don't want you to have to look at it longer than you have to."

A command, not a request.

He wasn't very inclined to argue anyway, though. "Fine," he said, tilting his head back to rest on the back of the sofa.

There was still a bunch of her things to sort—now with a finer comb. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to be anywhere else.

Thankfully, Kacchan took that part over—cross-referencing everything he didn't remember buying with his bank statement, just to make sure nothing else slipped through the cracks.

Somebody knocked at the door, and Katsuki stood to get it.

Izuku kept his eyes averted from the "Sell" box, unwilling to see how much it had filled.

"Hey Mido," Mina said, traipsing into the room with Eijirou at her heels.

"Hey, guys," he replied, giving them a thin smile. She was carrying a small stack of takeout boxes.

"I have a little bit of good news," she told him. She stepped aside so that Eijirou could step around her. "We found some of the commemorative pins and keychains at the thrift store by her agency."

Eijirou set a small bag down on the table, and Izuku pulled it toward himself with shaking hands. His stomach churned as he looked inside—ten pins and four keychains tucked inside.

Every pin had belonged to a set and, sorting through them, none of those sets were complete. It was a start, though. Honestly, It was better than he'd hoped for.

"How many did you hit?" Kacchan asked them. Izuku ran his thumb over one of the keychains. It was from a merch line that promoted All Might's first-ever movie.

"Seven," Eijirou replied. "The ones between her agency and Ingenium. We took our time—two of the keychains were already on the floor, so we wanted to make sure we didn't miss anything."

"They'd better start pulling shit from the list I sent," Katsuki huffed. "Eat, nerd. The lawyer's gonna be here soon."

Izuku nodded, placing the keychain back in the bag. He'd pack them more carefully once the lawyer left—to protect them until he could recreate their display case.

He ate and listened as Katsuki chatted with Mina and Eijirou—taking out his phone and pulling up a maps app. "What's that?" he asked.

"Kats made a list of all the local thrift stores," Mina explained. Katsuki flushed, not looking up from his phone. "We've split them up and we're marking off the stores as we hit them."

No matter how shitty he felt, knowing that Kacchan was looking out for him made him feel warm. His eyes stung and he sniffed, overwhelmed by gratitude for him and sadness that he even needed to go that far.

"Don't fucking cry," Katsuki groaned, balling up a paper towel and throwing it at his face. "I hate it when you cry, goddammit."

"Sorry, Kacchan," he said, lip trembling. "Thanks for doing this. I'm—" he broke off, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "I'm very grateful."

"You'd do the same for me, dumbass," he growled, gritting his teeth. "You're my best fucking friend. Now shut the fuck up and eat, you can cry later."

He let out a watery laugh. "Okay, Kacchan."

"I have another project for you fucks," Katsuki said, standing. "We're almost done sorting through her shit. When we finish, can you take this shit to Bubble Bitch?"

"Sure, dude," Eijirou agreed.

"And while you're waiting, photograph all of this shit and note down any damage," he said, kicking the "Sell" box. "I'm gonna start selling the flashier shit online tonight."

"No problem," Mina agreed. "I have an appointment at UA at four to go over intern requirements for the Meteor Agency, but I can come back after, too."

"Alright," Katsuki muttered. "Thanks, losers."

"Love you too, jackass," Mina huffed, kicking his foot.

By the time the lawyer showed up, they were done eating and Izuku and Katsuki had resumed sorting. Mina had started photographing while Eijirou noted down scuff marks and tears on everything in the box.

"Mr. Fujiwara," Izuku greeted the lawyer dully—smiling politely without it reaching his eyes. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Young Todoroki was very insistent," Fujiwara replied as Izuku led him through the foyer and sat him down at the dining table. Katsuki was already seated, imposing and terse. "Dynamight," he greeted the blonde.

Kacchan nodded—a small, jerky movement meant more to intimidate than acknowledge. Izuku placed a hand on his shoulder, as he sat.

"This should be fairly straightforward since I have a solid prenup and we've only been married for two months," he explained. "I want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

Fujiwara nodded, pulling out a notepad. "Why don't you tell me everything that happened."

Izuku told Fujiwara what had happened up until yesterday and by the end, the lawyer wasn't horrified but he did look displeased. "I'll need a copy of your prenup, but I don't think you'll have much trouble," he said.

"It's not just the merch and the notebooks," Katsuki told him. He'd thrown an arm over the back of Izuku's chair—a steady weight across his shoulders. "We were going through her shit today, trying to figure out what to send to her and what we were going to sell to recoup some of the losses. We realized that she's been buying crap with his credit card without telling him since before they were married."

Fujiwara sat forward in his seat. "That could—"

"I don't want to press charges, I just want her out of my life," Izuku insisted. Fujiwara didn't look like he liked that plan and by the way that Katsuki tensed, he agreed.

The lawyer sighed, leaning back.

"If you change your mind, I'd be happy to help. In the meantime, I'd like to encourage you to be meticulous as you separate your possessions. Keep a record of everything you're returning to her and everything you're retaining. Anything you retain, make sure you can find it on your bank balance or receipts and record those items, too. She was willing to go behind your back on multiple occasions to get her way. That behavior is likely to translate into divorce proceedings, and you don't want to give her any ammunition. I'd also like to offer to help with the handoff."

Izuku frowned. "Why?" he asked.

"If you provide me with an itemized list of everything returned along with everything you're retaining, I can draw up a release that says she's received all the enclosed items," he explained. "I can also sign off as a custodial witness to the handoff."

Katsuki nodded. "We were going to send Mina Ashido to do the drop-off when we're done sorting. If you're available this afternoon, I can have her coordinate with you."

He frowned, pulling out his phone and flicking through it.

"It looks like I'm free after 5PM. If you'd like to serve papers at the same time as you return her belongings, it would be best to wait until tomorrow afternoon, though. I'll need to look through your prenup to see where we stand, and I may call you during the day to confirm details."

"We can work with that," Izuku replied quietly.

"From there, I'd meet Ashido here, go through the items, sign off that I'd seen everything on your list, and have you seal the boxes in front of me. Ashido and I would deliver both the possessions and the divorce papers to her in person, and have her sign that she received her property and the divorce papers. The following morning, I would file your divorce with a ward office."

Izuku swallowed, tearing up.

"And then it's done?" he asked.

"And then it's done," he confirmed. "As long as no other disputes arise, which they shouldn't, since we're pre-empting that with documentation."

He nodded. "Seems simple enough," he said. He hated the thought that he'd have to be meticulous because Ochako might try to screw him over. He'd never thought she was the type until yesterday.

The feeling of distrust was new, and it was ugly—twisting around his heart and up his throat. He hated it.

Kacchan squeezed his shoulder.

"We'll finish tonight, and I'll email you a copy of his prenup," the blonde said, taking out his phone and adding to a list in his notes app. Izuku leaned over to look at it, but Kacchan jerked the phone away and pushed his face in the other direction. "Fuckin' nosy," he barked.

Izuku spluttered a laugh, surprised. "It's about me! Do you even have a copy of my prenup?"

Katsuki looked at him like he was stupid, which...well. Maybe he was. "It's on your computer. I'll use your computer to email him, dipshit."

Oh. Right.

Despite the situation, Fujiwara looked amused. "Thank you for your help, Dynamight—"

"Bakugou," he interrupted.

"Bakugou," the lawyer corrected.

"Yeah, whatever," he grunted. "We have a meeting tomorrow morning that we can't miss but other than that, I'll make sure this idiot answers his phone."

Right. They had an appointment with the Hero Commission in the morning to discuss the contents of the notebooks.

He was glad that Kacchan had told him to disclose the notebooks years ago. The Commission had been uncomfortable with them being in an unsecured location, so he'd contracted Hatsume to build his security system to pacify them. It had worked. They'd signed off and only requested that they inform them of any potential security breaches.

They knew every person keyed into his biometric access and every person who had a house key.

They periodically checked the security footage at his front gate for suspicious activity.

Knowing the measures that Izuku took to keep the information safe, they weren't likely to hold him accountable for its loss—especially since they'd approved it.

But they would want to know what was in the notebooks, to the best of his ability.

"Don't know how long that will take," he admitted. "I'm gonna be brainstorming tonight, but there's over a decade of material to cover."

"Worst case scenario is that it takes an extra day," Fujiwara told them.

"I can message you to let you know when we're done," he offered. Katsuki squeezed his shoulder again, silent and supportive.

"Sure. You can reach me by text or email, I check both regularly," he said. He put away his notepad. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about? Or shall I get started?"

"That's all I can think of," Izuku replied. He turned to Katsuki. "Kacchan?"

Katsuki's jaw clenched. "If Deku decides to press charges in the future, can anything be done about the people who helped her?"

"Kacchan."

"I know you don't want to and I know IcyThot apologized, but—"

"They didn't know that she didn't have my permission."

"What about Glasses?" Katsuki asked. "We don't know how involved he was. I know you don't wanna make it hostile but you gotta protect yourself too, nerd."

"I can make some suggestions," Fujiwara assure them. "You don't have to act on them unless you feel like it. It's good to have options."

"People you thought you could trust came into your home and violated a space that was important to you," Katsuki added. "Be prepared, Deku."

As much as he wanted to be done with this, he knew they were right.

Izuku slumped in his seat. "Fine," he agreed. "Thank you."

"Of course. I'll be in touch," he said. He picked up his bag and stood. "Remember to send over the prenup."

Katsuki stood up and shook his hand, and Izuku followed after. When Fujiwara left, Katsuki took him by the shoulders and turned him so they were face to face. "How're you doing, nerd?"

It was rare for Kacchan to be so gentle with him. His gaze was serious and concerned and under it, Izuku felt himself crumbling.

His lip trembled and he looked down when his eyes started watering. "M'tired."

He stiffened in surprise when Katsuki tugged him forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders to hug him. "Sorry everything's so shitty right now, nerd. You're kicking ass, though."

Izuku nodded against his shoulder, tears escaping despite how his eyes were squeezed shut to stop them. He was sick of crying. It felt like he'd been crying ever since he'd come home yesterday.

"Thanks for being here, Kacchan," he murmured. "Dunno what I'd do without you."

Katsuki pulled back, a small smirk on his lips. It was probably the closest he'd get to an affectionate smile. "Same thing, just a hell of a lot slower," he teased. Izuku swatted his arm. "Seriously, though. You've got this. And I've got your back," he promised.

Izuku looked up at him, teary-eyed and tired, but so fucking thankful for Katsuki Bakugou.

And for the first time in years, he wondered, just for a moment, what his life would have looked like in a world where Katsuki—brave, bold, and beautiful—had loved him back.

Chapter 6

The next four days passed quickly, but that didn't mitigate how crappy they were.

The day after they met with Fujiwara, Izuku met with the Hero Commission—Katsuki in tow. They went down a list of heroes that had been active over the last decade and Izuku, while being recorded, recounted as much information as he possibly could.

Commissioner Suzuki, the new head of the Hero Commission, also took him aside for a sit-down to talk about potential recovery efforts to make sure the journals didn't fall into the wrong hands. There wasn't much they could do, except recruit heroes specializing in search and rescue to comb through the closest landfill.

"If they are recovered," Suzuki said solemnly. "I'm afraid allowing them to remain with you in your home would be too great a security risk."

Kacchan had bristled beside him.

"It's not the security system that's the problem, it was the person who had access. You gave Uravity security clearance and required psych evals before she went pro. If anything, this is on the Commission."

Suzuki sighed, leaning against his desk. "Uravity's actions were misguided, but the breach occurred because they were in a residence, not a secure facility."

"His residence is a secure facility!" Katsuki yelled. Izuku gripped his knee, a quiet plea for him to calm down. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Are you planning on reprimanding her for not using a single brain cell in her dense-ass skull?" he demanded.

"Her lack of judgment aside, she was reorganizing an unlocked room in her own home. She should have had the sense to look at what the notebooks contained, but she didn't willfully endanger fellow heroes. On the other hand, even with your home security, you left the notebooks in an unlocked room. A houseguest could have taken them if left unattended."

"So the solution is more security, not confiscation," Katsuki argued. "Building a secure vault into the house so that only Deku has access."

"Kacchan, it's okay—"

"If you get those journals back, you're keeping them," Katsuki snapped. "They're not just hero analysis, there's personal shit in there." He turned his furious gaze on the Commissioner. "The HC signed off on Hatsume's security system. If anything, you're the ones at fault for not demanding more robust protection."

Suzuki sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Maybe you're right. And I don't want to make this more difficult for you. But even if you were to get the notebooks back and upgrade security, the Commission Advisory Board will fight you every step of the way."

Kacchan bared his teeth. "Then they can fucking fight me," he sneered.

Suzuki had sighed and promised them he'd revisit the conversation soon, especially if they managed to retrieve the notebooks. Izuku watched as Kacchan told him that it wouldn't be a conversation because there was nothing to discuss.

But he couldn't feel like they might be right. He'd thought Uraraka was trustworthy, so maybe the next person he trusted would be just as bad.

After they'd left Commission Headquarters, they'd spent the rest of the day hitting as many thrift stores as they could—Kacchan crossing each one off his map as they searched.

Fujiwara texted him twice—asking him questions.

The third time he contacted, it was to send him a finalized version of his divorce papers to review.

He sat in Katsuki's car as he read them while the blonde continued to hunt through the thrift store they'd been searching.

And as he sat and read them, just two months after his wedding, he wondered if he wasn't lovable in the way he wanted to be loved.

He'd loved Kacchan for ages and he loved what they had, but he'd always wanted more. He'd decided to cherish what they had because their friendship wasn't a consolation prize, it was a gift.

So, even though loving Kacchan was as much a part of him as green hair and freckles, he'd moved on.

He'd fallen in love again with another best friend, and he'd been so sure she loved him back. They were happy and vibrant—comfortable in each others' presence.

His heart had fluttered every time he saw her—stomach swooping like he was on a rollercoaster. Exciting. Warm.

And then this happened.

He had so many amazing people in his life. People he loved and who loved him. But he wanted romance. He really did.

He wanted a partner he could come home to—who'd curl up with him at night and share his lazy mornings.

He wanted to romance and be romanced. He wanted to feel at home with somebody, and for somebody to feel at home with him.

At that moment, he wondered if he was doomed to disappointment. The thought sat heavy in his chest, weighing him down like lead. It choked him too, sticking in his throat.

Before he knew it, he was curled over his phone in the passenger seat—shoulders shaking as he sobbed quietly.

The driver's side door opened and shut. Then, a burning hand was running along his back, soothing and slow. Kacchan didn't say anything, he just let him cry even though he hated it when Izuku cried.

When he finally got his shit together, he straightened up and wiped at his face with his sleeve. "Sorry, Kacchan," he muttered.

"You've had a shitty couple of days, nerd," Kacchan assured him. "Here." Izuku glanced over at him, frowning when he found him holding out a crêpe. "Strawberry whipped cream, lemon curd," he grumbled.

Izuku took it carefully, still staring at Katsuki in confusion. "Thank you?"

Katsuki scowled. "You're having a shit day. You like crêpes. I bought you a fucking crêpe."

The corners of his lips quirked up. He couldn't help it—Kacchan's emotional constipation was funny.

"Thanks, Kacchan," he sniffed. "You're the best."

Katsuki scoffed, turning the car on and putting in directions to the next thrift store. "I fucking know that already, dweeb."

He'd eaten his crêpe as he finished reading through the papers Fujiwara had sent. He'd approved them and sent them back, and listened to Kacchan complain about some 'shitty soccer mom looking fuck' who'd tried to cut him in line at the crêpe stand.

Two thrift stores later (with no luck finding any of his merch), Izuku's phone vibrated.

From: Dancing Queen

yo ur lawyer is metal af

He frowned, texting Mina back quickly.

To: Dancing Queen

what happened?

From: Dancing Queen

ocha said she wouldn't sign

so he looked at her like she was a literal baby

and said the divorce would happen no matter what

but if she didn't sign the agreement

she'd risk her career and rep getting ruined from the media coverage alone

so 'act like a grown-up and sign' if she didn't want her life up in flames

and he sounded so bored

like she was a waste of his time

To: Dancing Queen

did she sign?

From: Dancing Queen

yeah!

she was pissed

oh

iida was here btw

he had that disappointed dad look

idk if it was @ her or @ u

Something close to anger stirred in his stomach. She said she wouldn't sign? Where did she get off trying to refuse it?

She'd stolen from him. She'd broken his trust and lied to him and his friends. He might not want an ugly, drawn-out divorce but he was still furious with her, and he definitely didn't trust her enough to share a life with her.

He was glad he'd asked Shoto for his lawyer. He wondered if that's how Fujiwara had dealt with Endeavor—by threatening his career and reputation to get him to comply.

Either way, he'd gotten what he needed out of Ochako. He just hoped that when he talked to Iida, it went okay. Although, the fact that they'd been together wasn't promising. It sounded like he was going to be on her side. He hadn't even tried to contact Izuku despite Hitoshi's attempts to get in touch.

He supposed he'd have to wait for Iida to come to him. He'd hoped he'd do it during Izuku's remaining vacation, but the next four days were radio silent from Ingenium.

Izuku barely noticed though. As much as he wanted to know where he stood with Iida, he had other priorities.

Finalizing his divorce.

Selling the things she'd bought with his money.

Telling his mom.

Hunting down his collection.

His days were filled with either turning his life upside down or trying to find his steady ground.

He was so grateful he had Kacchan. His hero partner had taken vacation days so that he could stick to his side—crawling through thrift stores and online auctions for his stuff. Over the week, they'd managed to find some of it—thankfully with minimal damage.

He'd found three of the comic books from the original All Might: Ultra Age series, the Titan Star lunch box that Denki had given him, and four different official figurines.

Unfortunately, most of the rarer stuff had been bought already—most of it in cash.

A lot of the stores had offered to cross-reference their records with his spreadsheet and had found multiple sales that fit the descriptions of items in his collection. To a skilled collector, thrift stores were gold mines. To parents, too.

He was willing to bet that the collector-to-parent ratio was 1:1, and some of his rarest treasures were either having their limited-edition heads smashed into walls or sold at auction for insane markups.

Katsuki had spent his evenings next to Izuku on his couch—crawling online forums and reaching out to sellers. Three purveyors had mailed his merch back to him after he'd sent them his spreadsheet (complete with serial numbers), but seven of them had told him to fuck off.

Unfortunately, there was no way to prove they'd bought his stuff, and it was impossible to prove that some items were his. The posters didn't have serial numbers. Neither did the plushies. Neither did a lot of stuff, for that matter.

It felt like he was chasing ghosts.

It might be dramatic, but it was like pieces of his collection were right in front of him but disappeared before he could reach them.

At least he had Kacchan and his other friends to help him. But there was only so long that he could devote his time to tracking it all down.

A week after his life had blown up, he'd had to give up his daily hunt to go back to work. His divorce had been filed, he'd spent a whole week searching high and low, and now it was time to go back to his daily grind.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't drop everything.

Katsuki ruffled his hair as he passed by him in the locker room. "You sure you're good, Deku?"

Izuku gave him a tight smile. "Yeah," he replied, pulling on his boots. "Should be a pretty easy day, right?"

Katsuki nodded. "S'been slow lately. Probably just a light patrol. You'll probably rescue a kitten from a tree or some shit."

"Hm. Maybe I should hit the training room after," he muttered, pulling on his gloves. "I need to hit something. I think I'd feel better."

"Yeah? Wanna spar?" Katsuki offered. "It's been a fuckin' month."

Izuku gave him a tight smile—tense, but grateful. "Sure, if you're up for it. I'm surprised you're not sick of me by now," he admitted.

Katsuki socked him on the shoulder. "You're my partner for a reason, fuckhead. If I couldn't tolerate you, I'd just kill you."

"Sure, you would" Izuku replied, completely sarcastic. Katsuki socked him again for good measure.

"Fuck you," he replied. "I'm heading out. Call if you need backup. And do it before you're bleeding out."

"It's literally been years since I've done that," he said, cross.

Katsuki shrugged, walking toward the door. "You're a dumbass. It takes time and shit-tons of repetition for lessons to stick."

"Mean!" he called after him.

"You like it!" Katsuki barked back just before the door closed. Izuku sighed when he left.

It felt like Katsuki's presence was the only source of spark these days.

He knew it wouldn't last forever, but Kacchan made the sharp edges of his shattered life feel smoother. Less painful.

Sighing, he walked out of the locker room and made his way to his patrol route. As soon as he walked out of his agency's doors, he was met with a massive fragrance ad on the side of a city bus. It featured his now ex-wife in lingerie, smiling sweetly at the camera.

And from there, it only got worse.

Chapter 7

It felt like he was surrounded. Everywhere he went, there was some reminder of either Ochako or his collection, and it had him on edge all day.

Despite only being Top 50, Ochako was popular in the fashion world—coming off as cute and relatable. She had her fair share of ad campaigns and sponsorships, so her image could be found modeling on six out of ten city blocks and three out of ten buses.

He did his best to ignore them, focusing on the people around him instead. Today seemed to be an off-day—instead of swarming him, people were giving him a wider berth. He didn't mind. It was actually kind of refreshing.

He ducked into an alley to take a deep breath at one point. He'd passed a stand selling knockoff merch posters. They'd had a copy of Nighteye's All Might poster, and his stomach had twisted miserably. When he'd emerged, he'd resumed his patrol—passing another thrift shop. He restrained himself from calling dispatch for a break to go in and search.

"How're you doing, dork?" Katsuki's voice came in over comms in the middle of his lunch break. He was huddled on a roof eating steam buns he'd picked up on patrol.

The owner had been unusually terse, shoving the box of buns in his direction with a grunted, "Here," and saying nothing else. He knew her younger brother had been having health problems—he hoped he was okay.

"Fine," he replied. "Eating."

"It better be nutritious or I'm gonna kick your ass," Katsuki barked.

"Promises promises," he sighed.

"Hell yeah, it's a promise," Katsuki said. "When have I ever backed down from kicking your ass?"

That was a fair point. "It's not a matter of will, it's a matter of ability."

"Fuck you, you little turd," he growled. Izuku chuckled, taking another bite. He'd have to get back on the street soon.

"You're amazing, Kacchan. I'm sure you'll catch up," he teased.

"I'm gonna rock your shit," Kacchan swore. Izuku could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He couldn't help the little grin as Kacchan cussed him out. At this point, it was the highlight of his day. The most normal he felt was when he and Kacchan were bickering.

"I'm gonna head back down," Izuku said, interrupting Kacchan's tirade.

He stopped, going quiet. "Okay," he replied. "You sure you're okay? Denki said he'd take your patrol if you weren't up for it."

Izuku smiled. "I'm sure," he promised. "But thank you for looking out for me, Kacchan."

"What the fuck else are partners for, shithead?" he grumbled.

"Still. You're the best."

"I fucking know that!"

He checked his phone before he scaled his way back down the building. There were some texts from friends checking in on him. There were also a few messages from his PR team, asking for details of his divorce ASAP.

He figured they wanted to draft something diplomatic about their split. He'd get to it after patrol.

As the day went on, it got weirder. He pulled a civilian out of the way of an oncoming car, and she yanked out of his grip as soon as they were back on the sidewalk.

"I didn't need your help," she spat, glaring. He resisted the urge to flinch back, smiling gently.

"You're probably right" he agreed to appease her. "It just felt too close for comfort, so I figured it was better safe than sorry. Please forgive me."

She scoffed.

"Yeah, I bet that was sincere," she said sarcastically before stomping off. He stared after her, perplexed.

He wasn't used to passive aggression from civilians. Not all of them loved him, but they usually thanked him in a scrape. Not that he needed their thanks as long as they were safe, but it did make him anxious.

He caught a pickpocket a little after 3PM, and the criminal was rude to him. Not that that was unusual, but hearing someone say "you should be ashamed of yourself" as you were handcuffing them was a bizarre experience.

"So should you," he'd replied before handing him off to a cop. He winced when the cop glared at him and pulled the pickpocket away from him.

"We've got it from here," he said, cold.

He frowned. "Is there a problem?" he asked. The officer's scowl deepened.

"What you did to Uravity was cruel, and you should have known better," he spat. His blood ran cold.

"What I did to Uravity?" he asked in disbelief.

"Like you don't know," he sneered. "I have work to do." He turned and left, dragging the pickpocket with him.

Izuku went on comms with his dispatcher. Ochako had done something, and he needed to know what.

"Maki," he called.

"Deku," Maki replied. "I don't have anything new for you, is everything okay?"

"I've been getting a...negative response from civilians and officers today, and I just learned that it has to do with my divorce. Can you find out what she said?" he asked.

"Uh, sure...give me a few minutes."

He moved to get off the street and wait on a nearby rooftop. He scanned the area as he waited, still technically on patrol.

"You there, Deku?" Maki asked. He gave a little hum of confirmation. "She tweeted twice. Not a lot of detail. One said 'if you didn't love me, you shouldn't have married me in the first place' and the second just said 'heartbroken.' She didn't even officially announce your divorce, but I think the public put two-and-two together."

He gritted his teeth. He had loved her. At least, he'd loved what he'd thought she was. "Can you patch me through to PR, please?"

"Sure," Maki assured him. "I'll triple-click if you need to switch back for a dispatch call."

The relief in his PR teams' voices when they picked up the call made his stomach sink. If they were this glad to get his input, that must mean the backlash must be bad. They were scrambling for a way to reply that didn't sound defensive, which was difficult because his choice to take the high road meant that Ochako had gotten the first word.

He was glad they'd had the foresight to tell their agency staff the basics of what had happened. In his agency, at least, everyone was supportive.

Outside of his agency, Ochako's fans had been gaining momentum all day. Her tweets had been vague, and it had led to shit-tons of baseless theorizing that people were somehow choosing to take as gospel truth.

"For the time being, we'd recommend finishing your patrol off the streets," one of them said. "At least until we've come up with something to say."

"That would be hiding," he replied. "And hiding implies that I've done something wrong when I haven't."

He returned to street level and continued his patrol. This time, though, he didn't plaster on his hero smile. They thought he was unaffected? He wasn't. And if they wanted him to show that, he would. It would be easier on him that way, anyway.

Maki came over through his comms an hour later. "Your PR team released a statement for you," he said.

"Thanks, Maki."

He fished out his phone and read it, satisfied with the earnest but diplomatic tone. Most notably, he was pleased with how his quote at the end came off.

"I wasn't aware that Uravity had spoken on the matter, so I'm sorry to the people who have expressed disappointment and received unsatisfying replies. I love her but—not through infidelity—she broke my trust. While I'm sure I'll eventually forgive her, I'll never be able to trust her again, and that's not a marriage I can be a part of. Thank you for understanding and respecting my privacy."

It was succinct—truthful but noninvasive—and showed that he was unwilling to slander her. He had no idea how well the statement would land, and he probably wouldn't really find out until tomorrow. His patrol was nearly over, so except for social media, he'd be flying blind.

And social media was always meaner than the real world. He'd learned that the hard way.

On his route back to the agency, he was more aware of the whispers and stares that followed him. He knew at this point they'd be split—half believing his statement, the other half saying he only wanted to save face.

He didn't care. He'd said what he needed to. He was hurting, and he didn't owe that pain to anyone. He was allowed to heal in his own way.

He wouldn't make his broken heart a spectacle. He didn't need to pass around the pieces for it to be real. People would think what they thought, and all he could do was be honest and kind. That had been true when he was a quirkless child, and it was true now.

He made his way back—jaw stiff and eyes blank. He saw reporters in his periphery more than once. Two actually approached him, asking for quotes. He turned them away as politely as he could.

"Heard you had a shit day," Kacchan's voice came from behind him. He was only halfway back. "Shoulda told me."

Izuku shrugged. "I was gonna tell you when I saw you. Which is now. I had a shit day, Kacchan."

"If you'd told me earlier, I would have helped, dork," he replied, punching him in the shoulder. "Day's over now."

"Thank god," Izuku muttered. They were almost back to the agency now, and he could feel their eyes on him.

Another bus with Ochako's ad campaign passed by and he stiffened. Katsuki caught the motion, and his eyes flicked to the passing bus. "Didn't even think about that shit, damn," he said. "You've been seeing her dumbass face all day."

Izuku pursed his lips, only giving a jerky nod. Katsuki clapped him on the shoulder, steering him forward. In fact, he didn't let go until they reached the locker room—steadying him. Tethering him so he wouldn't drift.

Kacchan bitched about the 'shitty d-list villain' he'd tracked down today as they changed, holding Izuku's attention with both hands. He had a feeling that he was doing it so that he wouldn't check his phone for news, but he didn't need to worry. He had no desire to see what people were saying.

He wasn't surprised when Katsuki followed him home. He was grateful for it. He wasn't super talkative, so Kacchan just shoved him toward the couch. "I'll make dinner," he said. "Stay off your phone. Want Mina and Denki to come over?"

He shrugged. "Sure. You don't have to cook though. We can order out."

"Over my dead body, dork," he huffed, pulling out his phone to text them. "Sit. Watch something."

Rolling his eyes, he settled back into the couch—turning the TV on. He buzzed Mina and Denki in, unsurprised that they'd dragged Eijirou and Hitoshi with them.

Katsuki was surprised that Eijirou and Hitoshi were there, and he bitched up a storm as he made two more portions.

"I legit almost said something," Mina said, reclining in the armchair. "Except I don't know what you and your PR team have planned, and I didn't know if it would mess with your divorce settlement."

"I wouldn't want you to say something anyway," Izuku said. "I appreciate the thought, but I wanna say just enough to get people to leave me alone about it," he explained.

Mina and Denki glanced at each other. "We get that," Denki said. "But it doesn't always work that way, dude."

"I know," he replied. "But I wanna keep it civil for as long as I can."

They didn't look jazzed about the idea, but Kacchan came through—telling them he'd already tried to change his mind with no success. And if Kacchan couldn't change his mind, almost nothing else could.

He was glad to have them there. Once they stopped talking about Ochako and started talking about their days, everything felt a little lighter. Then, they watched movies until Eijirou fell asleep on the couch.

It felt like being back in the dorms again. Like they were young and carefree, and like he wasn't miserable—because in this moment he wasn't. In this moment, pressed up against Katsuki on one side and Mina on the other, while Eijirou snored and the All Might: Lost In Space movie played in the background; he wasn't miserable.

And he wasn't miserable when everyone left, but Katsuki asked to stay in the guest room.

"Of course, you can stay," Izuku replied, rolling his eyes. "You've stayed over the last two days, why would today be any different?"

Katsuki shrugged. "Today was shittier. And you had to deal with more people today than yesterday. Social fatigue is real shit."

"Just take the guest room, Kacchan. You need something to sleep in?"

"Nah, I'm good," he replied. That tracked, since he usually slept in a tank top and boxers. "Go to bed, dork. We skipped our spar today, but I'm gonna kick your ass in the morning."

"You keep saying that," he said wistfully. "But you haven't kicked my ass in years. Maybe you don't want to kick my ass. It's okay, Kacchan. You can admit it."

Katsuki leveled him with a glare. "If you weren't going through a straight-up divorce, I'd kick your ass right here."

His lips twitched in amusement. "Thanks for being so generous. Goodnight, Kacchan."

"Night, Deku," he grunted, already stomping toward the guest room. Izuku made his way to his own room, grimacing when he stepped inside. It still had too many traces of Ochako.

Quietly, he changed into his pajamas, grabbed a blanket, and made his way back to the living room so he could sleep on the couch. Just like he'd been doing for the last week.

He fell asleep hoping tomorrow would be a little bit better. That PR's statement would ease the strain, and that his heart would hurt a little less. That maybe, he'd find more of his collection, or his notebooks would be found by the recovery team. He knew the chances were slim, but it was nice to dream.

When he did dream, he dreamed that none of this had happened at all.

The next morning he woke up well before his alarm went off. The sun had barely come up, and he had four hours before he had to be anywhere.

Katsuki wasn't even awake yet, or else he'd have been making an obnoxiously nutritious breakfast as loudly as he could.

His phone was chiming—the sound of both texts and emails pushing past his need for sleep and unsettling him.

He sat up on the couch and opened his email first—clicking on the thread from his PR team that had started at 5am. Something must have gone wrong if they had a whole planning session before dawn.

He scanned the parts where they requested they call them when he woke and that he take a town-car instead of walking.

Then he saw the attached article, and he knew that Ochako had made her next move.

It was titled 'Hero Deku Divorces Uravity Over Toys.'

Chapter 8

He felt numb. He sat on his couch and stared at the headline—eyes tearing and stomach churning, but barely registering it.

He was just so tired. Every time he thought he'd made some kind of progress, she was there. And he still...wasn't sure if he was entirely in the right.

His collection meant a lot to him. His notebooks were important. She'd been dishonest about using his money.

Kacchan—most of his friends, actually—were insisting that she was in the wrong. But, judging by the rising number of notifications on his phone, maybe she wasn't.

Maybe he hadn't communicated well enough. Maybe he should have explained himself better. Maybe he should have taken the time to show her his notebooks. Maybe he hadn't made it clear that "separate finances" meant that she couldn't use his card without permission.

Maybe, since his mother had been the one to insist on the prenup, she thought he didn't really care.

Maybe, since he didn't give a long-winded explanation about the sentimental value of his collection, she assumed that it wasn't as important to him.

And, as #DownWithDeku started trending, he wondered if he was overreacting. If he was neglectful and controlling like the tweets said he was.

He knew he wasn't. At least, he was pretty sure he wasn't.

He didn't read the article. He couldn't. His heart was bleeding and he didn't want to pry the wound open further. Besides, he had to watch his career tank in real-time.

"The fuck are you doing awake?" Katsuki grunted, shuffling out of the spare room. "It's ass o'clock in the morning. Go back to bed."

"Can't," he muttered. "I gotta go in early."

He knew keeping it vague was futile, but he had to try. Katsuki was not a morning person, and this would only make it worse.

"Why the fuck would they call you in but not me?" he demanded.

"It's a debrief," Izuku shrugged.

Katsuki paused his trek to the kitchen. Slowly, he turned back to Izuku—eyes narrowed.

"What happened?" he asked.

Izuku didn't look up—focusing on the phone in front of him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're full of shit. They wouldn't call you into a debrief without me. What's going on?" he snapped.

Izuku sighed, leaning back. "It's no big deal," he muttered. "It'll blow over, and you've been dealing with my shit enough. Actually, you should probably distance yourself for a few days until things cool down—"

He cut off when Katsuki literally growled.

"What. Happened."

Silently, he held out his phone, flinching as Katsuki snatched it out of his hand. He waited as the blonde scrolled through his notifications—pausing to read every now and then. He didn't need to look, he knew that Kacchan's scowl was growing with each passing second.

"I'm gonna tear that bitch an asshole the size of the Mariana Trench," he snarled.

"Leave it," he muttered. "I have a meeting with PR. Going after her would just make her look more sympathetic. It would probably tank your ratings, too."

"If your rating tanks, so does mine," Katsuki insisted. "I'm your partner, and I'm your fucking friend. You wouldn't let me go through shit like this alone, so why the fuck would I let you?"

"Kacchan—"

"If you spew some martyr shit, I'm gonna kick your ass so hard that you'll be shitting blood for a week."

"It's not martyrdom," he insisted. "You going after her when she's in control of the narrative will end up with us looking unhinged. Besides, one of us has to stay afloat in the media for now. It can't be me, so it's gotta be you."

He snarled, baring his teeth in frustration.

"If your rank tanks, then so does mine. Partners, Deku. We do this shit together."

"I'm not saying we don't!" he cried, finally looking at him. "I'm saying that you shouldn't go after her and execute whatever comically exaggerated revenge plot you just cooked up!"

The muscle in his jaw clenched and jumped as Katsuki ground his teeth.

"She's a selfish, lying thief. Completely self-serving. She screwed you over, and now she's making herself out to be the victim because she's lying in a bed that she fucking made. She keeps fucking hurting you, and you can't expect me to let her."

Izuku's eyes roved over him—from the clench of his fists to the set of his shoulders. The care in his eyes. There was a time when he would have taken Katsuki to a doctor if he'd behaved this protectively.

They'd come so far. The notion that Katsuki would tank his ranking just to stand in solidarity was insane to him. He was grateful for the thought.

But he couldn't let it happen.

"I'm not gonna let her steamroll me," he promised. "I'm going to talk it through with PR. You can come with, if you want. But retaliation won't make it better."

"It absolutely would!" he yelled. "She's painting you as some deranged man-child!"

"People can't know what's in the notebooks, Kacchan. Villains would go looking for them. I can't speak up about the damage she caused without causing more. That's the only saving grace in the narrative that she put out there," he snapped. "If I retaliate about the collection or her shopping bill, I'm feeding into all the shit she apparently said. She got the microphone first! Anything I say is gonna sound like I'm covering my ass. You know how this works."

There was a mulish set to Katsuki's jaw, but they both knew Izuku was right.

"Fuckin' fine," he growled. "We'll go to the stupid PR meeting. After you eat breakfast."

"You don't have to—"

"If I see you even look at a fucking granola bar, I'm gonna choke you with it," Katsuki warned. He tossed Izuku's phone on the couch before turning toward the kitchen. "I'm making you a fucking omelette. Call for the town car, it'll be done by the time it gets here."

Izuku sighed, picking up the phone and finally dialing the agency. His assistant picked up, cooing and fretting.

He asked her to send the town car, assuring her that he was fine. He could hear Katsuki cursing up a storm in his kitchen and despite everything, Izuku found himself very grateful for the people around him who believed in him. Who fought for him.

"Car'll be here in 20," he called toward the kitchen.

"Get dressed then, dork. We can eat on the go," Kacchan called back. He went without complaint—hoisting himself off the couch and traipsing back toward his room.

His room that was half empty. The gaps on the walls and empty spaces on the dresser felt just as bad as when the space was filled with Ochako's things. Not nearly as bad as the empty room that used to house his collection, though.

Maybe that was the real hurt. He had been hollowed out—his heart and his home violated by the person he'd trusted them with. How could he ever trust someone like that again?

He got ready quickly—slipping into jeans and a sweater, pulling a baseball cap over his curls. He slipped into the bathroom—washing his face and brushing his teeth.

He went back into the living room and found Katsuki waiting for him at the door, tupperware and forks in hand.

"Wear a mask, too," he grunted, slipping his shoes on. "It's pretty early but you're recognizable."

"They're gonna know it's me if you're there," Izuku muttered, putting his shoes on, too. "Maybe we should stagger arrivals."

"No," Katsuki snapped. "I'm not letting you outta my sight while people are being shitty."

"I'm gonna have to patrol," he replied dryly. "I can't be with you the whole day."

"Bet you an entire month's paperwork that PR's gonna tell you to take a desk."

"Bet you an entire month's paperwork that I'm not gonna do it," he retorted. "They're not the boss of me." He couldn't help but relax at the reluctant smile that tugged at the corners of Katsuki's mouth.

"What's the fuckin' point of hiring PR if we're not gonna listen to them, dork?"

"I never said I wouldn't listen. I just didn't guarantee that I'd comply," he shrugged. The car was outside, honking to catch their attention. "You can't judge me, you don't obey them, either."

"That's because they tell me to do stupid shit, like stop swearing," Katsuki scoffed, yanking the door open. "This is completely different."

"You really should stop swearing at children specifically," Izuku commented as they slid into the back seat. "But other than that, yeah. It's part of your charm."

Katsuki flushed, elbowing him for good measure. "Fuck you. All of me is charming."

"Sure, Kacchan," he chuckled. "A very charming nuclear bomb."

He wasn't kidding, but that was irrelevant.

The meeting was going pretty much exactly how he'd anticipated. Katsuki was at his side, listening quietly with a scowl.

"The article is ugly," one of them said. "Have you read it?"

"Not all of it," Izuku replied, tilting his head back. He was so tired.

"You should probably keep it that way," another piped up, smiling apologetically. "I'll send you bullet-points, but you don't need to read what she said."

"In any case, it's best that you stay off your patrol route until this blows over. The public reception is..." They glanced at each other. "Negative," they decided. "The picture painted was unflattering."

"I'm not gonna hide behind my desk. My job is to be a hero, not a celebrity. They can hate me if they want to. I don't need them to like me in order to keep them safe," he argued.

"The picture she painted is that you're financially abusive and neglectful as a spouse. That's not going to play well on your patrol route. Acting like nothing is wrong could make it worse, too. Like you don't care, as opposed to not having something to hide."

"I'm perfectly content to act as miserable as I actually am. But I'm not abandoning my responsibilities because of bad press," he insisted.

Katsuki huffed, sitting forward in his chair. "Deku, they have a fuckin' point. It's shitty to get benched, but they don't trust you right now. She got to them, they see you as someone who prioritizes his own self-interest over the people he loves."

"Didn't stop Endeavor from being a hero," Izuku reminded them. "And it won't stop me. I know the truth, and you know the truth. The rest sucks but if I let it stop me, then she's won."

"If you go out there and lose your composure, she's won anyway," the senior PR rep insisted. Hina, if he remembered correctly.

"Not to mention—if any heroes who don't know the whole story side with her, it'll be bad news if they snub you during an emergency call," another one reminded him.

"Could we release a classified statement to all the other agencies in the area?" Katsuki asked. "I know we can't release that information to civilians, but what about other heroes?"

"That might work for heroes who aren't on duty yet, but anyone who's already on the streets won't stop to read a PR statement," Izuku reminded him.

He was weighing his options now, truly measuring the potential pitfalls of going on patrol. Unlike so many heroes, he wasn't in it for perception. He was there to protect people. Sure, he wanted people to feel hope when they looked at him—but more than that, he wanted them to survive and thrive.

"I'm going," he decided, squaring his shoulders and glaring their PR team down. Kacchan released an exhausted sigh. "If it's too much, I'll call in and get a replacement for my route."

"Historically, that's bullshit," Katsuki pointed out. Izuku kicked him under the table. "Considering that you have a tendency to keep going until you're basically a bone-dust meat sack—"

"Gross."

"I'm just saying. Are you actually gonna ask for help if you need it? Or are you gonna pull your usual Deku bullshit and pretend everything's fine until you break?"

Izuku glared at him. "I haven't done that in years," he protested. "And I don't appreciate having it thrown back in my face—"

"And I don't appreciate you not taking care of yourself and ignoring all the self-care shit you force down everyone else's throat," Katsuki snapped back. "It's not just about perception, idiot. How will you feel when you're out there and people are being fucking awful to you? You don't deserve that!"

"It's my job!" he yelled. "I'm not letting her take that from me, too!"

The room fell silent, and Kacchan was glaring at him—gaze searing through him. It wasn't an angry glare, it was searching. Izuku recognized that look—his partner was looking for all his tells, gauging for himself whether or not Izuku could handle the pressure he was taking on.

Finally, Kacchan's shoulders slumped and he scrubbed his hands across his face. Izuku had won this one.

"Promise," Katsuki demanded.

Izuku nodded. "I promise. And thank you for looking out for me."

"Yeah, yeah," Katsuki grumbled. Despite his earlier irritation, Izuku's heart twisted with fondness. He pitied people who didn't have friends like Kacchan on their side. "Get changed, loser."

Chapter 9

He sat in the locker room for a long while after he'd changed. He knew he shouldn't—that it would only bring him down—but he spent the time scrolling Twitter, watching as people who'd believed in him expressed their disappointment.

He'd lost ten thousand followers in six hours.

He knew it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he did his job—protecting people, no matter what they thought of him. Still, it hurt to see. It hurt to know how easy it was for people to assume the worst of him, and to claim they'd seen it all along.

@/noodlefoodle: I knew someone who cries that much had to be a fucking weirdo

@/hero_taster: imagine being a complete man-child. @/HeroDeku should be fucking ashamed to call himself a hero if he prioritizes junk above people

@/DynaTits: yo choosing plastic over person is wack

The list went on and on. With each tweet he read, he felt a little sicker. Ochako had made a power move—relying on Izuku's better nature to claim the narrative for herself.

He almost wished he'd struck first, but that's not who he was. He didn't want to see the day where his faith in people changed. He didn't want to look for the worst, he wanted to assume the best—even if it ended up hurting him. He didn't want to change himself because of other people's mistakes or cruelty. He hadn't done it for Shigaraki, and he sure as shit wouldn't do it for Ochako.

Sighing, he slipped his phone into his pocket and his earpiece into his ear, checking in with dispatch. Then, he made his way onto the streets, head held high.

As he started his route, he could feel himself being shunned and shamed. He could feel their stares on his back as he walked, and heard their whispers. It took a few hours for the civilians to get brave, heckling him out loud as he patrolled. At first, it was from afar—yelling from across the street.

"Loser!" one bellowed from a café patio.

Another taunted him from an open office window. "I thought only elementary-school kids got divorced over toys!"

He didn't respond. He didn't even turn in their direction. He pretended not to hear the two women loudly gossiping about how sorry they felt for Uravity, who had a spouse that was so tight-fisted that he sold her belongings when he didn't approve.

The irony.

"On two pro-hero salaries," she scoffed. "What's his problem? Why are his expensive hobbies okay but not hers?"

"Millions on tacky crap that probably cluttered their whole house," her friend agreed, looking directly at him. He could feel her glare on the side of his face. "At least those toys probably went to kids who actually need them. He's so petty."

"You'd never guess from the way he acts," the first woman sighed. "Serves us all right for being fooled by that do-gooder routine. Nobody's that nice unless they're hiding something."

His jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything, continuing his patrol. He didn't need them to like him. He didn't even need them to be polite. He just needed them to be safe.

He repeated the mantra in his head, even as his heart bled freely. Keep them safe, keep them safe, keep them safe.

His first dispatch call was at 10 AM—a car chase three blocks over with a villain who created illusions. He leapt across rooftops to arrive on the scene, arriving just in time to yank two civilians out of the way, before dashing after the car and grabbing it by the rear bumper—stopping it in its tracks.

He scowled when he opened the driver's door to be met with an illusion—mint-condition collector's items spilling onto the street, drawing whispers from the spectators. He slapped a quirk-canceling cuff on the villain's wrist, pulling him out of the car.

"Nice try," he drawled. "But I wouldn't let a villain go just because I like collectibles."

This was the second villain who had the nerve to judge him—scoffing at him. "Why not? It's enough for you to divorce someone."

"I'm not discussing my failed marriage with you, but thanks for your concern," he replied dully. He led the villain to the police—filling out paperwork even as officers sneered at him.

He tensed when he heard the custodial officer speaking to the villain—informing him of his rights before asking, "Did Hero Deku cause you any harm in response to your illusion?"

He schooled his features before he glanced over—offended at the implication. His stomach dropped at the look on the villain's face, like a brilliant idea had occurred to him.

"He basically yanked my fucking arm out of its socket!" the villain wailed, clutching the arm in question.

It was complete bullshit, of course. Izuku had taken his upper arm to guide him out of the car, only using as much force as was required to remove him from the vehicle.

"And when he stopped your vehicle—did you sustain any injuries in the chase?"

"I thought I was going to die!" the villain declared. "I'm almost positive that I have whiplash! He's barbaric!"

The officer looked over at him, scowling.

"Would you like to file an excessive force complaint with the Hero Commission?" she asked.

"What will that do?" the villain asked. "I'm scared he'll retaliate."

"It won't mitigate your sentence for any crimes committed, but it will entitle you to compensation upon your release if he's found to have unnecessarily endangered or injured you. And if he attempts retaliation, he'll have his license suspended."

When the officer looked back over at him, it looked like a threat. Like if he tried anything, she would make it her mission to bring him down.

He didn't react. He hadn't done anything wrong. He simply handed the paperwork back to the officer who'd handed it to him—Officer Kaneko. They'd worked together on a joint task force before, and they were friendly acquaintances.

He, at least, looked concerned.

"Are you alright," he asked quietly as he took the clipboard.

"No," he replied with a grim smile. "But I don't need to be okay to do my job. I have faith it'll all sort out."

"Take care of yourself," Kaneko said. "I figure that tabloid doesn't have the whole story. Don't let people who don't know the truth bring you down, alright? Tabloids will publish anything to make sales."

He smiled, thin and tired. "Thanks, Kaneko," he replied. "I'm just hoping it'll blow over."

He left the concerned officer in his wake, tuning out the custodial officer who was explaining the hero complaint process to the histrionic villain. He knew the commission would rule in his favor—especially once medical reports came in. There was no need for him to stew on it.

Instead, he went looking for the civilians he pulled out of the car's way.

He found them—a young couple being interviewed by a sensationalist reporter, from a network more focused on celebrity news than true news reporting. They looked perplexed by whatever she was saying– casting disconcerted glances at each other. He approached from behind the camera, his heart lightening when the blonde woman caught sight of him and brightened.

Her girlfriend was speaking into a mic, words halting and confused.

"I don't understand, are you hoping that I'll be angry that Deku just saved us? My fiancée would be a pancake if he hadn't intervened."

"But you have to admit, his interference was reckless," the reporter cooed. "Witnesses say that he shoved you out of the way and kept running, failing to even check on your wellbeing."

"Well, he was in the middle of a car chase," the blonde one drawled. "But he came back when he was done, so I think he's done his job pretty well. We're not dead, and I assume the villain was caught."

The camera swung around at that, capturing him in all his miserable glory.

"Hero Deku!" the reporter exclaimed, turning her mic toward him. "Your colleagues have expressed concern that your reactions in situations that don't go your way is not only infantile—often with extreme emotional outbursts—but also a detriment to your judgment as a hero. What do you say to the rapidly growing sentiment that your judgment in crisis can't be trusted?"

He forced himself not to flinch. "I appreciate your questions and understand that you're doing your job. However, I'm currently on duty and in the process of following up with the victim of a villain incident. Please forward your questions to my PR team, and I'll be sure to answer them if I deem the question appropriate."

"And how will you deem it appropriate?" the reporter asked with a simpering smile and a cloying note in her voice.

He smiled, small and tired. "I understand that my personal life is currently on display. But it is personal and at least on my end, I intend to keep it that way."

"It's no longer personal if Uravity and other heroes express their concern for your ability to make decisions in difficult situations. That's a matter of public concern."

"Uravity is entitled to handle the situation however she sees fit. I am choosing to keep my personal life separate from my work, even if the people around me do not," he explained, tone exhausted.

"Your reluctance to provide comment or rationale is hardly reassuring," the reporter needled. Izuku looked her dead in the eye, and she faltered. He'd always worn his emotions on his sleeve. He was known for it. It must have been jarring to see him so...blank.

But that's how he felt. Blank. Hollow. Tired.

"Until such a time that the commission deems me unfit to be on duty, I intend to continue protecting civilians in public and protecting my heart at home. I'll thank you to respect that decision and allow me to do my job by checking on the welfare of civilians that were recently in the path of a dangerous car chase. Preventing me from ensuring their welfare is not only unprofessional but dangerous. Please stand aside."

There must have been something in his voice or his face that told them they'd found his line. They stepped aside, the reporter stepping out of the camera's way. Apparently, they'd be recording him whether or not he gave a statement.

"Good morning," he greeted the couple, pulling on a smile. It was small and tired, but genuine. "I'm sorry your morning was disrupted. Were either of you injured during the course of the incident?"

"Just a couple scrapes," the brunette fiancée assured him, returning his smile. "You got there just in time, thank you."

"I'm glad," he replied. He popped open a sleeve on his utility belt and pulled out two business cards. "But, if you find yourself with any injuries or property damage in relation to the incident, please reach out by any means on this card. We'll send you a form to request medical or property reimbursement from the state, and our agency will sign off on it."

"Thanks," the brunette smiled, taking the cards and passing one to her fiancée. "I think we're set, though."

"Then one last order of business," he said, smiling a little brighter. He was glad they weren't hurt—he'd been a little frantic. He opened his comms. "Dispatch, I'm taking civilian information from a villain incident, called in at 10 AM."

"Thank you, Deku. Please have them state their names and date of birth," the dispatcher replied.

He repeated the instruction to them, and they replied—polite and concise.

When he was finished, he thanked them for their patience and reminded them they could call his agency for any questions or claims regarding the incident. He turned to leave then, ready to flee the camera that had been trained on him since he arrived but he was interrupted—the blonde fiancée running to catch up with him, calling his name.

"Um," she rubbed the back of her neck, lowering her voice as she flushed with embarrassment. "I'm a big fan. Do you think you could sign the card?" she asked, holding it back out to him.

He smiled, taking it and pulling a pen out of his pocket. He scribbled his name over the face of his logo. "Thanks for believing in me," he murmured. "It means a lot."

They waved as he left—bouncing off the brick walls of the buildings to climb onto the rooftops. It was only 11AM and he already needed a break from the uninformed judgment and critical eyes.

He was so tired.

"Deku," Katsuki growled over comms, making him flinch. "What the fuck?" he demanded.

"What's wrong?" he asked, already alert.

"A villain reported you for excessive force!" he snapped. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't," he shrugged, sitting on the building's ledge and peering down at the street—scanning for trouble while he took a breath. "Street footage and cop cams will show that. As will his medical records. It's not ideal, but he has the right to file a complaint."

"Not if the complaint is bullshit, nerd!" he snapped.

"Filing a false claim is fraud and he'll be punished for it accordingly," he replied. "I'm more worried about the fact that the custodial officer is the one who suggested it."

The line went worryingly silent. "Come the fuck again?" Katsuki growled, low and furious.

"She's probably one of Ochako's more intense fans. Either that, or she's been in a similar situation and she's projecting her experience onto me. Either way—she clearly had a problem with me," he sighed.

They'd had a month of classes with the business course at UA—largely covering media psychology. It was a move UA made to teach their rising heroes the importance of PR in their careers.

He never thought he'd end up using it like this.

"That's completely fucked, Deku. Maybe you should head back and lie low until PR gets the memo out to other agencies and local precincts."

"I'm still fine," he replied, somehow lying and not lying at the same time. "It sucks, but I'm managing."

"If it were me, you'd tell me not to work until I break down, idiot," he snapped. "You'd tell me to take time to heal and take time getting into my usual shit."

He had a point, and Izuku knew it. "If it gets any worse, I'll call off. Who's on call?" he asked.

"Shitty Hair," Katsuki replied, gruff and annoyed. "I have desk for the rest of the day, so fucking call me if you need something. Don't do your usual suffer-in-silence bullshit."

"Yes sir, Dynamight, sir," Izuku drawled. He could practically see Katsuki flipping him off. "I'm going back down to street."

"Deku I mean it," he said, soft and serious. "If you need anything. I'm in your ear if you need me."

His heart clenched—warm with the knowledge of how much Kacchan cared. "I will," he promised.

A moment later, he was scaling back down to the ground to resume his patrol.

He took a few more dispatch calls—one villain knocking over corner stores and another stealing cars with a shrinking quirk—turning them to the size of a tic tac and stowing them in his pocket. He dealt with them swiftly—leaving as little room for ambiguity as possible and resuming his patrol before anyone could get in his face.

He just wanted to get through it. Do his job and go home. Protect people, then take care of himself.

His last dispatch call came at 1 PM.

He was called to an apartment building, where a little girl accidentally activated her quirk—liquefying an entire brick wall and causing a collapse. He arrived first on the scene—only stopping to ask the responding officers how many people were unaccounted for before moving in.

There were three people lost in the rubble—a kindergartener on the first floor, a 36-year-old mother of two on the fourth floor, and a 19-year-old computer programmer on the tenth floor.

He worked his way from the top down—knowing he couldn't shift the rubble without support. He could hold some of it still with Black Whip, but the further down he went, the more unstable it would be.

He managed to pull the engineer out of the wreckage by himself, floating above the rubble and pulling concrete and brick away—piece by agonizing piece. By the time he got to the mom on the fourth floor, Shiozaki had shown up—uncommonly terse but shoring up the rubble with thick, sturdy vines.

With her help, he managed to enter the building, sifting through the unstable structure to look for the mom.

He floated her back out when he found her—carrying her to the medics that had congregated at the police line.

"Can you show me a blueprint and where the girl was before the collapse?" he asked. The officer didn't reply, blank-faced as he pulled out a tablet and swiped to a floor plan of the building—marking out where the girl's apartment was.

She'd gotten away from her mother as the building collapsed—running back inside to save her cat, not knowing that her mother had let the cat out when she'd come home from work.

"Shiozaki," he called, approaching her. "Do you still have those pulse beacons? I can go in and tell you where to stabilize."

She didn't reply, cold and disapproving as she dug through her pocket and pushed a handful of dime-sized discs into his hand. He'd forgotten that Shiozaki was religious. He was pretty sure she disapproved of divorce entirely. Though she seemed at ease with the LGBTQ+ community, so he wasn't sure where she drew the line.

A thought experiment for another time.

He gave her an uncomfortable nod before getting to work—pulling his mask up and entering the building again.

He placed the pulse beacons carefully as he descended—slowly making his way to the mostly-collapsed first floor. He knew the girl was alive thanks to thermal scans. He just had to keep her that way.

He finally reached their apartment, and he could hear her—calling for help in a raspy voice. She'd probably inhaled dust from the rubble and there was a good chance that she was injured.

"Keiko?" he called, voice modulating through his mask. Her volume increased, calling out for help. He heard the rubble shift. "Keiko, honey, you need to stay still for me, okay?"

"Help me!" she sobbed. "Please, help me!"

"I'll be right there," he promised. He placed another beacon, waiting for Shiozaki's vines to snake up through the ground and form a support pillar.

He was pretty sure she was nearing her limit, so he had to be judicious about where he placed the next one. Carefully, testing each step before he took it, he crept toward the girl who was right on the other side of a partly-collapsed wall.

Her leg was pinned under a metal pipe that was wedged beneath furniture that had fallen from the floor above. She was lucky that she hadn't been crushed by the wooden rocking chair that had her trapped.

He finally made his way to her side, taking in her panicked face. "Hi, Keiko. I'm Deku." She looked up at him with wide, teary eyes—her face covered in dust and hair flaked with debris.

"P-please h-help," she sniffled.

"That's what I'm here for," he promised. "I'm going to put this mask on you so that you can breathe better, alright?" When she nodded, he peeled his mask off to put it on her instead.

Are you hurt?" he asked softly.

"M-my leg," she sobbed. He looked closer, repressing a wince at the unnatural angle. "And I feel sick."

Probably a head injury. He felt at the back of her head, finding a contusion on the side of her head that felt painful.

"Okay," he smiled. "I need you to stay still while I get your leg out. Then I'm going to bandage you up and get you out of here, alright?" She nodded again, and he set to work—placing another pulse beacon. He turned his comms on.

"I'm with Keiko," he told her. The building's unstable here, so you should refocus some of your vines on this section."

"Heard," she muttered. He waited until he got confirmation, watching as her vines crept through crumbled windows and cracked floors to stabilize the room. "Four points stabilized, Deku."

"Let's get you out of here," he smiled down at Keiko, soft and reassuring. He moved the chair, then a chunk of concrete, then finally freed Keiko's leg.

He pulled a splint bandage from his belt—a design of Mei's based on Aizawa's capture weapon. He wound it around her leg before activating it—watching the material go rigid. Then, gently, he pulled her free of the remaining debris, hefting her into his arms. It was then that he noticed the battered All Might plush.

"Hey," he grinned. "All Might's my favorite hero!"

"You said he taught you to be brave," she sniffled. "You're my favorite, so I thought he might make me brave too."

"Well," he replied, heart warm. "You've been very, very brave today. You're doing great, Keiko. We're almost done," he promised. He crept back toward the entrance, Keiko clutched in his arms. He was extra careful to test each step—watching the floors and walls for collapse.

He saw it too late, gas dripping out of a ruptured portable camp stove—a puddle oozing toward flayed open wiring that had come down with the walls. "Shiozaki, fire!" he called. But the gas had already caught—jumping toward the crumbled ceiling where Shiozaki's vines were shoring up a collapse.

She screeched in pain over comms, ripping her vines back on impulse and Izuku's heart raced as the ceiling started to cave in. He shifted Keiko in his arms to shield her, but the rubble came down too fast—concrete support smashing into his side and knocking him to the ground.

His stomach dropped as her head hit the floor and concrete crashed into her arm.

He rolled on top of her as the rubble fell—shielding her from the worst of it. But she'd already had a head injury, and the impact with the floor had knocked her out.

He needed to get her out of there, now.

"The building's coming down, I have to Smash my way out," he told her.

"I can shore it up again," Shiozaki protested.

"Keiko got hit by falling rubble—she's knocked out and her arm and leg are broken," he argued. "She can't afford to stay in here. I'm going."

He powered up One For All, pushing off the rubble that had fallen on top of him and hoisting Keiko back into his arms as he went. The All Might plush was still wedged in the crook of her elbow.

He didn't want to cause harm to the cops or medics outside, let alone to any civilians—so he made his decision—focusing 10% punches at the crumbling walls as he forced his way toward the street, feet catching on cracks in the floor and body buffeted by fallen debris.

He gasped and coughed against fresh air as he finally busted through the outer wall—stumbling onto the street with Keiko clutched to his chest.

"Medic," he gasped, stumbling toward the nearest ambulance. Keiko's mother ran toward them, crying her name as Izuku settled her onto the gurney.

"My baby," she sobbed, brushing hair away from Keiko's face. Izuku focused on the paramedic—describing her injuries as best he could as pain lanced up his side. He turned back to Keiko, unfastening the mask from her face. "Why isn't she waking up?" she wailed.

Izuku's eyes turned to her, and he spoke softly as he explained what had happened. He watched as he spoke—heart clenching as her gaze pulled back to her daughter, prone on the gurney.

"She was awake when I reached her, but we had a complication that resulted in a ceiling collapse. She hit her head, b—"

SMACK.

His head snapped to the side, cheek burning where she'd reared back and slapped him with all her strength, crack ringing like a gunshot despite the commotion.

His heart raced in shock—blinking as he caught up to the pain burning across his face.

She brandished the All Might plush at him furiously.

"Complication?" she screamed, slamming her fists against his chest. "You saved a stupid All Might doll! My daughter needed you and you killed her!"

He paled—his heart breaking. The cameras flashed. He couldn't breathe.

Chapter 10

Izuku had no idea how he made it back to his agency. His cheek was still throbbing. He felt despondent. He knew a first responder had stepped between him and the mother, ushering her back so that she could join her daughter in the ambulance. He could still hear and see the clicks and flashes as the cameras as he stood there in shock, staring after the ambulance as it drove away.

Keiko's mother had seen the All Might doll and assumed that he'd chosen hero merch over her living, breathing daughter—even though it was her daughter's doll. That's what he'd become in the eyes of the masses he served. A callous, heartless false hero who valued material above life.

It would be a miracle if his career survived. What kind of hero could he be if the public didn't trust him?

He felt himself being pulled, someone grasping his arm and tugging him toward an agency town car. Someone must have called it for him. He was grateful. He'd been frozen to the spot since she'd slapped him.

Ochako was efficient. One article and a few tweets were all she needed to destroy public faith in him. There might be a few holdouts—including Keiko herself—but for the most part, he knew: without a miracle, he'd never have their trust again.

He felt sick. The kind of sick where his stomach felt like a rock—palms clammy and legs unstable. It felt like one of his night terrors, the kind where you couldn't move as you watched your worst fears take hold of you.

His breath was stuck in his chest.

"Deku?" someone called. He blinked down at the sidekick in front of him. She was holding out an ice pack. His cheek throbbed. Keiko's mom hit hard.

"Yeah?" he uttered.

"When you're ready, PR is waiting for you in the conference room. And Shiozaki is waiting for you in the lobby—she wanted to make sure you were okay."

He swallowed thickly. "Is she the one who brought me back?" he asked.

Indium nodded.

"There were other rescue heroes on the scene by then, and she's the one who was there during the incident. She wanted to come with you in case PR wanted her to make a statement."

Because Keiko's mom had declared that he had killed her daughter on national television.

"I'll talk to her first," he muttered, gratefully accepting the icepack and pressing it to his cheek.

"Why don't you go to your office, sir? I'll send her up," she suggested. When he sent her a questioning glance, she shifted. "There are reporters at the doors," she admitted.

He was so tired. "Alright," he agreed. He made his way to his office, reaching up to his ear to turn comms back on.

"Midobro! What's up, man?" Eijirou's voice echoed into his ear. He was so cheery and optimistic—Izuku hated bringing him down. But Eijirou was the one on call.

"I uh," he swallowed. "I need to bow off my patrol. You're on call—can you pick it up?" he asked. There was a dull note to his tone that even he could hear.

"Of course, dude," he agreed, sounding more alert. "Did something happen?"

"Things went wrong at my last dispatch," he explained. "A kid got hurt, and with the bad press it just...ended up worse. I don't think it's a good idea for me t-to," he hiccuped against a sob, surprising himself. He didn't usually cry when he felt this empty. "I don't think it's a good idea for me to work right now."

"Hey, no sweat dude. I'll call in to dispatch and get started, you just take it easy."

Izuku swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Thanks, Ei."

"Sure. But Mido, you should call Bakubro. He wants to be there for you, alright?"

Izuku nodded, then realized Ei couldn't see him.

"Yeah, he's my next call. I promised him I would," he murmured. His gut twisted. Kacchan was his partner. There was no way Izuku's downfall would be good for his image.

"Good. We're here for you, Izuku. We'll figure it out." So many of his friends were so good. So supportive. But there was a fear he couldn't shake—that he'd drag them down with him.

"Thanks, Ei," he replied. "I'll talk to you later."

There was a silence over comms before Ei murmured a quiet, "Okay," back to him. Everyone could tell he was off his game.

He called Katsuki next.

"Nerd," Katsuki greeted him as soon as Izuku tuned to his frequency, tone intentionally casual. "What's up?"

"I'm calling off patrol," he replied dully. "Just wanted to let you know."

"What happened?" he demanded. "You were fighting me on that shit less than two hours ago!"

"I saved a girl from a building collapse," he explained, making his way to his office at a near-sluggish pace. "She was holding onto an All Might plush when I found her. She got knocked out, and her mom...thought I stopped to save the plush."

"What the fuck?" Kacchan snarled.

"She slapped me," he uttered, heart crumpling in his chest. "They don't trust me anymore, Kacchan."

"I'm coming in."

"Finish your patrol," he disagreed. "I'll be here when you get back."

"Fuck that," he scoffed. "I'm not protecting these shits while they're being ungrateful."

"Kacchan," he sighed, trying to find the energy to scold him. "This is what we do. Don't screw your image just because mine is tanking. One of us needs to stay afloat."

"We're fucking partners," he snapped. "I wanna be there to figure out what the fuck happens next!"

Izuku grit his teeth. That wasn't an unreasonable ask, but he didn't like the idea of his problems interfering with Kacchan's work.

"Fine," he huffed. "I'll table the PR meeting for after your patrol. I'll meet with Ibara in the meantime."

"The Vine Virgin? Why the fuck—"

"She was on the scene," he replied, finally getting to his office door and letting himself into a space that was his. "She was shoring the building while I rescued."

"And she just let some fuckhead slap you?"

"She was trying to let the building down easy after I smashed my way out," he replied. "I don't think she noticed what happened until she started yelling at me. And I'm pretty sure she's the one who called the agency to send a car for me. I kinda zoned out."

"Christ on a fucking cracker," Katsuki grumbled. "Alright, fine. I'll finish my patrol. I have two hours left. Don't make any decisions without me, nerd."

"Fine," he muttered. Ibara poked her head in through the door, and he waved her in. "I'll talk to you later, Kacchan."

"I'm serious, nerd. Wait for me and we'll work shit out."

"Yeah, fine," he sighed. "I'll just do paperwork until you get here. I'm sure PR wants some time to come up with options anyway."

"Good. I'll be back soon, Deku."

He made a noncommittal noise and clicked his comms off, pulling his earpiece out as Ibara sat across from him.

"Thank you for helping me get back," he said. "Is there anything you need from me?"

"Midoriya," she uttered, face twisting. "Is your face alright?"

"It will be," he replied. "I've been hit harder, and she was just scared."

"Still, to imply that you would—"

"It's fine," he interrupted. "I know it's not true, and hopefully my peers do, too. No matter what they think of how I handle my personal life."

She flinched. "I may not...approve of your choices, but I don't believe your personal life should damage your professional prospects."

"We both know that's not how it works," he smiled tightly. "And respectfully, your opinion of my personal life isn't my problem. I have enough problems of my own."

"My agency called me to fill you in on the memo your team sent while I was in the lobby," she replied.

"Hmm. I hope we can work together more smoothly next time I'm in the field," he said. Her eyes searched his.

"I'm sorry you're going through a hard time," she told him. "You're a strong hero, and I behaved...poorly today. You've regularly demonstrated good judgment in a crisis."

"Thank you," he replied stiffly. The implication that he didn't demonstrate good judgment in his personal life was loud.

"If you need me to, I'd be happy to release a statement or interview regarding today's rescue," she continued. "To clarify what happened."

He nodded. "That would probably be helpful, but you should talk to my PR team and yours. I don't want to drag any other heroes down."

She frowned at him, hesitating as she considered how to respond. "I'll stop in on their meeting on my way out," she finally agreed. "I haven't seen how the media has been covering the incident, but I don't think it will be favorable. I'd like to help."

"I appreciate it," he smiled at her again—but it didn't reach his eyes or his voice. "But don't do it at the cost of your own image. There are details I'm not at liberty to reveal right now. Sensitive information that's at risk because of Ochako's poor judgment. Until that's been taken care of, I can't offer my side of the story. Until then, I'm going to look...bad."

Her face hardened. "Appearances don't matter, action does," she stated firmly. "I don't let perception dictate my action."

Izuku bit his tongue. She clearly did, just not in the way she thought. She'd let her perception of him dictate her behavior before she'd had all the facts. So had everyone else, though. He couldn't fault her for working with the information she had.

"Well, thank you," he allowed, settling back into his chair. He was tired. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get a handle on the media coverage before I decide on next steps."

She nodded, rising from her seat. "Take care, Midoriya," she said before sweeping from the room. There was something in her voice—a hint under the sanctimonious air—that felt like a condolence.

A requiem for his career.

And even though he wanted to shout and scream that he wasn't done yet—for now, he had to take the hits.

Chapter 11

Videos of the incident were everywhere. It had taken less than an hour for it to go viral—him laying Keiko on the cot, All Might plush in red, white, and blue plain view. They'd caught the moment when he'd turned to her mother to explain, just for her to wind her hand back and let it fly.

The cameras hadn't picked up what he'd been saying to her, but the hit was hard enough that it was caught—as was the mother's accusation.

If he'd been a split second faster, Ibara would have been ready for the flames. Or he would have been able to dodge the falling concrete.

He could have done more. He could have.

Most other heroes were choosing to remain silent on the matter—likely because they'd read the release sent by his PR team.

He didn't look at the ones who did speak up. He didn't want to know which of his peers had turned their backs on him. Not now, at least. He didn't think his heart could take it. Instead, just like he promised, he called his PR team to let them know he was waiting for Kacchan to come back, then settled in to finish his paperwork.

Twenty minutes in, he turned his phone on silent.

So many people were texting him (and undoubtedly tagging him on social media) that it nearly vibrated off of his desk. He didn't want to look. He wanted to completely uninstall Twitter and Instagram completely. He knew that wouldn't fly, though.

He wanted to go home.

"Hey," Kacchan's voice came from the door, and the relief he felt as he stepped into view was visceral. It curled through his entire body as the blonde approached him and it felt like he could finally feel again.

His eyes stung, and he blinked back tears. "Hey," he rasped back.

Katsuki skirted the desk to stand by his chair—wrapping his arms around Izuku's shoulders so that his face was pressed against his stomach. Awkward, but comforting.

Maybe it was because Katsuki made him feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Maybe it was because Kacchan was treating him so gently. Either way—the dull, hollow feeling had been overtaken by everything that he'd apparently pushed down. Fear, sadness, hurt, anger—overwhelming him.

He hugged at his waist, jaw clenching as he fought to stop himself from crying. What good would crying do?

Katsuki was drawing circles into his shoulders with his still-gloved hands, soothing and slow. "Just cry, nerd," he muttered. "Let it out so we can get to work, alright?"

The first sob was small—more of a hiccup than anything. Then, before he knew it, he was soaking Katsuki's uniform. It wasn't loud or dramatic—the only sounds he made were gasping sobs as he tried to catch his breath. Katsuki let him run dry, rubbing his back as he broke.

Katsuki was talking to him—low and gruff. He could feel it more than he could hear it, steady voice rumbling through him where they were pressed together.

"We'll figure it out, dork," he promised. "Whatever happens, you'll be fine. I've got your back."

Izuku nodded against his waist. "Okay, K-Kacchan," he sniffled. He pressed his face further into Katsuki's side, eyes squeezed shut to try to stem his tears. He just wanted to get the meeting over with.

He was pretty sure he knew what he needed to do. Slowly, he unwound himself from Kacchan's grip, looking up into concerned red eyes.

"Thanks," he croaked, getting to his feet. Kacchan gave a jerky nod, slinging an arm around Izuku's shoulders. Katsuki wasn't touchy-feely by nature, but he'd been going above and beyond to give Izuku the physical contact he needed.

"No problem, Deku. Ready to go figure shit out?" he asked. With the air of someone facing the gallows, he nodded.

He let Katsuki lead him to the conference room—stomach twisting at the flustered, frustrated expressions on their teams' faces. Some sidekicks were sitting in—taking notes as Hana, their Marketing Director, spoke to them.

As they entered, they caught the tail of her speech, instructing them on how to respond if asked about Izuku and his personal life.

"Make sure you use the word 'mentor' if you're talking about your relationship with him—really hone in on the fact that he does his best to help you grow and gain independence as a hero," she said. "And if they try to twist it—move the narrative to say that he's pushing you out to keep the spotlight, remind them of the other successful pros that he mentored into Top-50 positions, and students on the Hero Hopefuls watchlist like Braveri and Geyser."

Eri and Kota. He hadn't heard from them yet. They'd both been in his wedding. Eri had been one of Ochako's bridesmaids. She would have been in Deku's party, but Ochako had said stuff about wedding party symmetry and wanting to have Eri at the bachelorette, so he'd conceded.

They'd bonded a lot during that time.

"You should confirm with them first," he uttered, drawing the rooms' attention. "If they're not up for being drawn into my mess, don't pull them in."

"We already have," Hana assured him, smiling softly. He hated the touch of pity he found in it, but knew she meant well.

"What did they say?" Katsuki asked.

"Braveri is going to come over after she's done with her hospital shift," Hana replied. "There was a fairly serious disaster on the outskirts—a landslide? She's helping fix up patients that couldn't be stabilized on the scene."

"Could you have her check in on the girl from today?" Izuku asked. "I don't know how bad her head injury is—I didn't do the best job of checking on her."

"Well, you were distracted," Hana drawled, unimpressed by his self-deprecation. "But sure. Kyoko, send a message to Braveri, please."

Kyoko—an orange-haired PR intern nodded without looking up, typing away on her laptop without even a pause.

"The kid'll be okay, Deku," Katsuki insisted, ushering him toward a chair. "She was conscious when you found her and you got her to the paramedics as fast as you could."

"He's right," Veridian, his newest sidekick, smiled at him. His quirk was actually quite similar to Ibara's. He'd gotten a very attractive offer from her agency to sidekick for her. "I watched the incident while I was gearing up."

"You kicked ass," Kacchan assured him.

"Unfortunately," Hana sighed. "Despite the incredibly efficient work you did, bad press speaks louder than good press. It sells more, and that means the media focuses on the negative because it creates more buzz."

Izuku nodded. He knew how it worked.

He knew that people tended to quietly enjoy satisfaction and loudly enjoy disappointment. He knew people hated to admit they were wrong, too.

So even if he did turn the narrative and climb his way out of this hole, it was unlikely that he'd ever fully recover from the downfall.

"That's just how it goes," he sighed. Kacchan clapped him on the shoulder as he took his own seat, as close to his side as possible.

"Our hands won't be tied for long, nerd. Relax."

It wasn't like Kacchan to be optimistic. That was usually his thing. He appreciated that His partner was trying to pick up his slack. He might have even believed it—voice calm and eyes filled with their usual fiery confidence. It was tinged with anger and frustration, but it still promised victory.

He hoped this wouldn't be the first time he truly let Kacchan down.

"If you say so," he allowed, forcing a wavering smile. He probably didn't look very reassuring—eyes red from crying and smile tremulous around the edges.

He was supposed to be the hero people could rely on. The person who would save everyone with a smile. How could he be that person if he couldn't even smile properly?

What if he was ruined forever?

"For now, our priority is damage control," Hana stated, starting the meeting. "Until your notebooks have been secured or officially deemed destroyed, we can't exactly go on the offensive—and they're the only part of this that Uravity hasn't already spun in her favor. She has at least enough common sense to not bring them up and further endanger her colleagues."

Small mercies.

"That hasn't stopped her from lying her ass off about everything else," Katsuki huffed. "Is there nothing we can do to twist that shit back?"

Hana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she leafed through the morning's article—highlighted and sticky-noted to death.

"No matter how you spin the collection or the misuse of your personal funds, she's got the jump on your narrative," she said, glaring at the pages as though they could speak.

Another rep nodded, speaking up.

"If you try to explain your collection, it's already been spun as 'toys that take priority over people.' If you bring up the items she purchased with your money without permission, she's already gone to the people to tell them that you're financially controlling and that while your prenup stated separate finances—you gave her free rein for joint purchases."

"According to her, the prenup was supposed to be a formality to protect both parties, and it quickly became a way to prevent her from the things she enjoyed if you disapproved. We, of course, will work to turn that narrative around, but we don't want to risk her escalating," Kyoko said, not looking up from her laptop.

She might be an intern, but she was a prodigy. She was hired for Kacchan's side of PR specifically. It didn't bode well that she was working on Izuku's issues.

"All we can do in the meantime is try to stop it from getting worse," Hana agreed, apologetic and frustrated. She'd done such an amazing job with his image, it must be awful to see her work go to pieces like this.

But she was a friend and wasn't upset with him. She'd made that clear as soon as he'd contacted her the day after it all went down.

He could feel Kacchan staring at the side of his head, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he didn't know how to keep it from getting worse.

"What have you got?" Katsuki asked, turning away from him. "Every option you've thought of, no matter how stupid. He doesn't deserve another minute of this shit."

He let their voices wash over him as they talked about the master plan—noting which heroes had reached out to offer support and assistance; how they would respond to press inquiries, and Izuku's options for maintaining his hero work.

Maybe he could keep patrolling—stick to business as usual to show that he felt confident in his decisions.

The public would devour him. If he had any emotional cracks, they'd pry them open. If he acted like nothing was wrong, they'd demonize him. They didn't trust him.

Maybe he could only take dispatch calls and have other heroes cover patrol routes. That way he'd be removed, but still close—and he'd be able to show that other heroes supported him.

Civilians could react negatively to his presence in crisis situations. They could also accuse him of offloading his responsibilities on other heroes.

Maybe he could exclusively take large-scale missions. That would keep him off the street without stopping his work entirely.

That would just tire him out, and the public would see it as avoidance, and any mistake he made would be dissected to death.

There were offers from foreign agencies to do joint work. He could take one of those for a few months.

Ten of them had been rescinded in the last two days. They didn't want bad press.

"I need to take a leave of absence," he intoned, tone dull and eyes wet—threatening to spill over. He'd wanted to keep this one thing. He'd tried to keep it—one thing she couldn't take from him.

He'd been naive.

"Bullshit," Kacchan spat, turning to glare at him. "Don't let her chase you off, goddammit!"

"Katsuki has a point," Hana said. "There's a difference between taking some desk days till things cool down and taking an actual leave. This morning we wanted you to take desk days."

"I don't really have that many options," he replied. "This isn't going to blow over, even if the notebooks are found. If I take a leave, I can come back in a few months and phrase it as a reflection period. Give my side of the story in a more measured way."

"They'll think you're running. They'll think she's right!" Katsuki snarled.

"The alternative is to keep working when they don't trust me, Kacchan. That could put them in danger. If they refute my directions in a crisis or impede me during an incident, they could get hurt. No matter how much I love my career, no matter if I'm not at fault, I can't put them at risk. Not for my pride or feelings. I can't be a hero like this."

With each word he spoke, he felt sicker. For the first time ever, he hated that he was the person who did the right thing, no matter the personal cost.

"You are a hero," Katsuki snarled. "Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't—how dare you, say that you fucking can't!"

He stood, fists clenched—knocking his chair over.

"I CAN'T!" he bellowed back, tears slipping down his face again. "If they don't trust me, I can't protect them! Do you know how much it fucking kills me to admit that, Kacchan? But right now I can't!"

"Don't run away," Katsuki insisted, standing to glare him down.

"Give me a better option," Izuku pleaded, crying harder in sheer frustration. "If you can come up with something that will minimize the damage to my reputation and not put civilians at risk that will keep me on the job, tell me."

They glared at each other, and Izuku could see Kacchan's distress. His jaw tensed and eased as he chewed through the options—looking for any way out of this.

He could see defeat when it settled over his shoulders.

"I'll go with you," he finally said, voice low and rough. "If you take a leave, I'll take it with you, Deku."

"You can't," Izuku insisted. "Your rank would tank, and the agency would be finished. You've gotta stay."

"We're partners!" Katsuki bellowed.

"Which means you have to pick up the slack I can't take!" Izuku yelled back. "You have to be here if I can't, Kacchan. You have to."

"He's right," Hana interrupted. They fell silent but didn't look away. Katsuki's hackles raised, and Izuku knew they were in for a fight. "You can't both leave. Katsuki, SmashBang needs at least one of its title heroes. You don't have to be happy about it, but if you want the agency to survive, you can't leave if Izuku does."

"I don't give a shit about the agency, I give a shit about you," Katsuki snapped, shoving at his chest. He stumbled back, landing in the chair. "We can always fucking rebuild, but my job is to stick to your side, dickhead. You'd do the same for me!"

"And if you asked me to stay on patrol, I would!" Izuku cried. "Even if I hated it, even if I called to check in on you every ten minutes—if you asked me to stay here and protect what we've built, I would."

"Uhhh, I hate to interrupt your...fight? Marital spat?" Kyoko said, looking up from her computer for the first time since they'd entered the conference room. "But you should see this."

She looked anxious as they turned to face her.

In the two months that Kyoko had worked here, she'd managed to single-handedly clean up some of Katsuki's more ridiculous messes, including cursing out kindergarteners and using his quirk to blast an old lady out of the way of an attack.

She didn't shake easy. Izuku felt sick.

Katsuki gripped his shoulder as she turned her laptop toward them—an Instagram reel from HeroStar pulled up, and tears burned at his eyes.

'Ingenium Breaks His Silence' was written in bold on the cover image. His friendship with Iida was well-documented. If he spoke out against Izuku, it would be a major blow—not just personally, but professionally.

She pressed play, and they watched as Iida took off his helmet, listening to the interviewer as she spoke.

"You may have heard by now that Deku was on the scene of a building collapse?"

"I have," he replied curtly, face going from curious to stony.

"He managed to evacuate all the trapped civilians, but it seems that his own lapse in judgment got the final civilian injured, perhaps fatally. The girl's mother struck him, and accused him of prioritizing—"

"All Might merchandise found in the wreckage," he interrupted. "Yes, I had the misfortune of watching the footage before my patrol."

"This, on top of his divorce from Uravity—another close friend of yours—must have had some effect on you. Do you want to share any thoughts? Few heroes have been willing to divulge their opinions."

"Few heroes have enough information on the situation to make what they believe is an accurate impression," he told them. "I applaud them for seeking details before rushing to judgment."

"But what about you? You've been close to both Deku and Uravity since you started at UA."

"I have," he replied, looking like he'd sucked on a lemon.

He took a deep breath. Izuku knew that look. One of the few critiques he'd received in their media relations courses was that he came off as robotic and sanctimonious.

He was debating on how to say what was on his mind while appearing as personable and sincere.

"Deku, Uravity, and I have been through a lot together. I was very supportive of their relationship, from when they started dating to the day they said their vows. I was one of Deku's groomsmen, and I was proud to be there."

He took another deep breath, and Izuku felt Katsuki's hand tense on his shoulder. He held his breath—afraid that if he breathed, he would throw up.

"That was before I knew what kind of person he was behind closed doors. The parts of himself that he hid, because he knew they were shameful. Until recently, I thought his passion for heroics was simply a character quirk—harmless, even if it came off as childish from time to time."

"But now?" the interviewer prompted. There was an ugly sort of glee on her face.

"Over the past few months, Uravity has informed me multiple times that Deku spends disproportionate time and money on collectibles—at the detriment of their personal life and shared space. She brought it up with him, attempting to negotiate as good couples do, and was rebuffed. He wouldn't even hear it."

"That fucking bastard," Katuski hissed.

His grip on Izuku's shoulder was painful at this point, but he was grateful because it was grounding.

And Iida wasn't finished.

"Where a healthy relationship is generous, compromising, and communicative, he has bred the opposite. It may not have been her property to discard, but he's being alarmingly immature with his response. To divorce someone—to spurn their love for you because of material possessions—is indicative of not only a lack of judgment, but a stunning lack of empathy. It's contradictory to everything I thought I knew about him."

Izuku's mouth tasted like acid, and his chest ached. "He hasn't even talked to me," he uttered.

"I'll fucking destroy him," Katsuki spat. "Spineless robotic fucknugget—"

Iida continued then—cutting Katsuki off—and Izuku let out a muffled sob.

"I've never been so disappointed in my life," he told the camera, quiet like it was a confession.

"And what about today's incident? Do you have any light to shed on Deku's hero work in light of recent revelations?"

IIda removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, like the whole thing was giving him a headache.

"From what I knew of him, Deku would never prioritize anything over civilian lives. Not even his own. I don't want to speculate, because I wasn't there and didn't hear what he had to say during the incident. The fact remains, however, that Deku took the plush out of the building. He carried the girl out as well, of course, but I struggle to find a valid reason for him to have taken the doll with the building coming down."

The reel ended there—Iida's disapproving moue staring at him from the screen.

The room was silent, like the aftermath of a bomb. The video had almost six thousand comments, and it hadn't even been up for an hour.

Not even his PR team knew what to say right now—processing his devastation in the aftermath.

Then, Katsuki moved.

"Come on," he snarled, tugging Izuku up by the padding on his shoulder and dragging him to the door.

"Where are—what? Kacchan!"

"I'm gonna give that absolute wank-stain a piece of my fucking mind," he growled. Izuku could feel his palm heating up. "If he's gonna spew crap, he can do it to our faces."

"You can't," he protested, digging his heels in. "The media can't think we're going after him. And I can feel your hand heating up, Kacchan, you can't attack him either!"

"That's why you're coming with me," he retorted, practically spitting fire. "You're gonna hold me back."

Chapter 12

Going to Team Idaten was a mistake.

He knew it before they left the agency. He knew it as they got into the car. He especially knew it when they pulled up outside of Iida's agency—Kacchan still fuming—to be met by a sea of reporters.

"I can't go out there," Izuku said.

"All the fuckin' better," Katsuki sneered, reaching for the door handle.

"Kacchan," he hissed, grabbing his arm. Katsuki glared at him, eyes burning through him. "This will only make things worse."

"Maybe to the public, but the public already made their shitty decisions," he snapped. "Glasses needs to know how fucking awful he's being, and I'm gonna fucking tell him. You can stay or you can come with me. But I'm fucking going."

"This can only make things worse," Izuku warned.

"I want to look him in the eye when I remind him that you were his first fucking friend," Katsuki sneered. "When I remind him of all the times you've gone to bat for him, just for him to let you down when you needed him."

He yanked out of Izuku's grasp and fled the town car—Izuku grasping for his sleeve as he stumbled after him.

He tried not to flinch as the cameras turned toward them, flashes blinding them in the declining daylight. Katsuki pushed forward, snarl twisting his lips as Izuku grasped his arm and tried to pull him back.

"I told you, it's not worth it!" Izuku hissed.

He could hear them shouting questions at him.

Was he here to explain himself? Was his friendship with Ingenium over? Was he here to retaliate over Ingenium's valid concerns? Why are you holding Dynamight back? Are you afraid that a confrontation between Ingenium and Dynamight will reveal the truth? Do you feel that the SmashBang partnership is at risk?

Katsuki ignored them all and Izuku, still clinging to him, was dragged along—even though each hollered question landed like a physical blow. Normally, they’d at least ask him to offer an opposing statement, but the fact that they weren’t bothering meant that their minds were made up.

"Ignore them," Katsuki hissed. "We've got bigger turds to flush."

Izuku bit back a startled laugh. "That is not the correct expression, Kacchan," he squeaked.

"Dunno what you're talking about, looks like there's a piece of shit everywhere I step," he snarled, kicking a reporter out of the way so that he could get to the door.

He'd scold Kacchan for being rude to civilians just because they disagreed with him, but he knew it wouldn't stop him. Besides, the way things were going, the public would probably assume that he was trying to save face. An empty gesture, not a sign of respect.

He maintained his grip on Kacchan but allowed the blonde to yank him forward, finally reaching Team Idaten's doors. They were met by a mixed crowd inside of the Idaten lobby—some who looked relieved to see him and immediately started toward him to get the story from him directly.

More than Tenya had done himself.

The others hung back, eyeing him disdainfully—choosing the media's take over whatever he had to say.

The difference, he noticed, was that those who attempted to approach him had worked with him before. Had come to him for advice in the past or interned with his agency.

People whose careers had grown from being touched by his own. He wondered if their faith in him was self-serving. If they simply didn't want to believe what they'd heard because then there would be a stain on their records.

He didn't think like this. He was an optimist. He saw the best in people. He wasn't supposed to think like this, and he hated that he'd already started caving to this line of thought.

He hated wondering if people's ugliest parts were lurking just under the surface. He wanted to believe in people's better natures—that they only resorted to hatred and deceit when backed into a corner.

Katsuki had no problem assuming the worst in people, though, especially when he was watching someone's six. He kept a watchful eye on his friends when his friends opened their arms and welcomed people in.

So now, in Team Idaten's lobby, he stepped in front of Izuku like a shield—glaring down the approaching sidekicks and interns. "You have the fucking memo," he snarled, teeth bared and body tense. "Fuck off and read that. Leave Deku alone."

The closest heard him, backing up or freezing in place.

The farther members took their cue, hanging back. Nobody left, though—curious to see how this would play out.

"Can we help you, Dynamight, sir?" Izuku peered over Katsuki's shoulder and locked eyes with MissAppear—a sidekick he'd recruited for a stealth mission three years ago.

"I'm looking for your shitty-ass boss," he sneered. "Where is that fucking coward?"

"Kacchan," Izuku hissed. "Just because we're in conflict doesn't mean you should demean him to his team."

“He demeaned you to the whole fucking country, I’d say it’s fair-fucking-play,” he snapped back. “Where is he?”

“Of course you’re at the center of a commotion.” They both turned to find Tenya approaching them, scowl fixed firmly on his face.

“You motherfucker,” he growled, stalking toward him with clenched fists. Izuku caught the back of his shirt and pulled him back. “What kind of fucking friend condemns somebody on national television without even talking to them about their side of the goddamn story?”

“I will not be spoken to in such a manner in my own agency,” Iida stated, stoic and stern. “Please see yourselves out. You’re not welcome at Team Idaten.”

“You’re a jackass, Class Prez,” Katsuki said, yanking out of Izuku’s grip to get into his face. “After everything you’ve been through, you’re tossing him aside and fucking slandering him? You preach your fucking moral superiority up and down even though it’s a fucking sham, and we all supported you regardless—then you go and pull this shit as soon as Kirby bats her fucking eyelashes at you? Where’s your goddamn spine?”

Izuku felt sick, his heart and lungs too tight. It was a sure symptom of feeling too many things at once. He could hear the sidekicks and support crew in attendance, whispering and staring as Katsuki imparted a nuclear meltdown upon their title hero.

Iida squared his shoulders. "I'm not a shitty friend for following the evidence of my own eyes. Midoriya is a horrible partner, and I made my judgment according to the circumstances."

"There are two sides to every fucking conflict, that's something we were taught in school!" Katsuki said. "Aizawa taught us that shit after an entire war that was bred from jackass heroes not listening to people who were fucking suffering, and you go and pull this?"

"Ochako told me the circumstances," he replied coldly. "She told me what she was up against and she had me over to visit so that I could see for myself."

"Yeah? What 'evidence' did she show you?" he snapped.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Bakugou," Iida sighed as though talking to a petulant child. "The childish toy room that could have been used as a communal space. He could have easily moved them to a storage facility. All Ochako did was try to turn it into something they could share, and Midoriya lashed out like a selfish child," he paused, eyes filled with condemnation sliding to Izuku. "Who had his toys taken away."

The disdain in his voice felt akin to a stab wound, his entire body tensing against the way his heart clenched. His grip tightened on Katsuki's shirt, but he cast his eyes to his shoes—hoping to hide his tears.

"She took something important to him and destroyed it for her own selfish whims—"

"If toys and posters are more important to him than his marriage, he was never mature enough for a relationship in the first place—"

"You didn't even bother to ask why those might be important to him!" Katsuki bellowed. "If you were a real friend, you would have talked to him if you were concerned, but you're not! You're just a judgmental asshole."

"As a hero, quick judgment of a situation is my strongest asset. I didn't need to open myself up to persuasion and potential deceit to see what was happening. It was made clear to me that every time she asked, he manipulated her into dropping the question at hand."

"Is that the kind of person you think I am?" Izuku uttered, wounded. How long had Iida seen him this way, all the while pretending that they were close and trusting?

"It's the kind of person you've shown yourself to be," he responded, tone taking on a waspish note as he addressed Izuku directly. "Today's incident was more than enough to prove our point."

Katsuki barked out a derisive laugh, straightening his stance. "You don't know shit, you self-absorbed robotic—"

"Kacchan."

"Dicknugget," he finished, ignoring Izuku's reprimand. "I call them like fuckin' see them, Deku. This asshole is the most short-sighted sanctimonious moron I've ever fucking met. Deku took the doll out of the building because the kid was fucking holding it. Because she was scared and needed it as a security blanket. We took a whole fucking course on victim behavior and expectations, you know people cling to comfort items when they're scared. That's why he had the fucking plush. Not because he stopped to pick it up. And if you'd ever been Izuku's friend, you would have known that. Instead, you fucking slandered him to the entire fucking internet without getting any additional information."

"Perhaps my perception wasn't clear when I made that statement, but there was a reason for that," he said. "Divorcing someone who loves you because she tried to better your home was uncalled for, and it spoke volumes to your priorities. It's only natural that I question those priorities in the field."

"God, you know what? I get it. You're so full of Uraraka's shit that it's coming out your fucking eyes and getting stuck behind your fake-ass glasses. Why don't you let me know when you're done using her ass-cheeks as an eye mask so that you can look at this shit objectively and realize what a complete ass-hat you're being?"

Iida scoffed.

"You know, it's not a surprise that you're defending him, Bakugou, and in such a crass manner. You're no less immature and far more volatile. You'd take whatever side that allowed you to be the greatest nuisance to civilized people."

Izuku went stone still, even as Katsuki huffed a laugh of disbelief. "I'm taking whatever side deserves my fucking respect, as fucking always—"

"I've always wondered what Midoriya saw in you. I suppose now, I know. Having you on his side equates to having a feral dog who will shout down his opposition no matter the morality. In essence, a villain who masquerades as a hero—unafraid of belittling those who will stand against him."

"Are you describing Kacchan? Or are you describing yourself?" Izuku asked quietly. His fist curled in the back of Katsuki's shirt but instead of holding him still, he tugged him back and stepped in front of him.

"Deku—"

"Kacchan." Behind him, the blonde's mouth closed with an audible click. Izuku's eyes didn't leave his new target, blood burning in his veins.

"A villain who masquerades as a hero—unafraid of belittling those who will stand against him," Izuku murmured as he stepped forward. "To be clear, you are the same 'hero' who tried to murder a villain before you got your provisional license, aren't you?"

"I was a student, and I learned from that incident. I can't say the same for you," Iida scowled. "Furthermore, that incident is under a gag order—"

"That expired two years ago," Izuku replied. Iida paled. "I'd never use that against you, though. You were going through horrible shit at the time. I just think it's hypocritical to say that Kacchan has a villainous disposition when you've committed actual villainy, don't you?"

"You're out of line—"

"I'm not," he snapped. "I've been beside you through all of your actual fuck ups, like the time that you scolded a victim for distracting you while she was having a panic attack—"

"She was impeding—"

"She was a victim! She was scared and frozen and you berated her instead of calling for backup to escort her out of the danger zone. What kind of hero has so little regard for the people they're supposed to protect?" he snapped, shoving Iida back, reveling in the startled yelp and uncoordinated stumble. "But I was there for you, and I helped you with your PR because I believed in you. When people came after you for something that was actually your fault, I organized an entire public safety campaign to outline how civilians should act in a crisis to keep them safe and to keep you working. I deserved the same fucking consideration, and you know it! But you're Ingenium and you can do no-fucking-wrong, right? So instead of admitting that you made a mistake—instead of considering that you might have hurt a friend without hearing their perspective, you're doubling down by—what did you say? Oh yeah, by belittling those who stand against you!" he bellowed, shoving him back again.

"You're now engaging in an assault," Iida hissed, holding his arms out in front of him—placating to anyone who couldn't hear them and condescending to those who could. "If you don't leave the premises willingly, I'll have you removed."

"You're a coward, you're a horrible friend, and you're an average hero at best," he hissed, smacking his hands away. "I hope someone treats you the way Ochako treated me," he snarled, fully in Iida's face—fist curling threateningly in the collar of his shirt. "And when you figure what that means, I hope you have friends like you that let you down instead of friends like Kacchan who stand by you, because you don't deserve people like him you fucking—"

Katsuki took him by the shoulders and yanked him back, placing himself between them.

"Are you fucking nuts?" he hissed, gently steering him back. "You fucking moron, you were supposed to hold me back, not make it worse!" He gestured to the paparazzi outside the window with his chin—cameras flashing brightly as they took in Izuku's aggression.

He didn't care—at least not enough to back down. "You're fucking deranged if you think I'm gonna let some subpar jackass talk about you like that."

"It's not about me!" he barked. "Stop making shit about me, this is about you! We came here to tell this asshole that he’s being an asshole, not give the stalkerazzi more shit against you!"

"Like it'll make a difference," he said. "Thanks to them, the public made up their minds. I can stand up for my partner when some barely-relevant asshole takes shots at you though."

"My rep isn't the one on the line, stupid," he said, shaking him gently.

"I don't care about my rep, I care about doing what's right, no matter the consequences," he declared. "All I owe them is their safety, I don't owe them my principles." He turned to Iida, scowling.

"Don't worry about my 'judgment in the field,' Iida. I'm taking a leave of absence. Don't fucking bother trying to contact me. I'm officially giving up on you."

"I'm not the disappointment in this situation, Midoriya."

"Not in this situation, no," Izuku shot back, heart bleeding despite his utter fury. "Just in general, and as a whole—as a friend and as a hero."

Katsuki tugged him back again, shielding him from whatever Iida was preparing himself to say. Somehow, with Katsuki protecting him—even just standing in front of him he felt safe enough to crumble. His lip trembled, eyes watering as Kacchan's frame hid him from Iida's disparaging glare.

"Talk shit without knowing all the facts again, and I'll fucking shower the media with your receipts, Glasses," Katsuki warned, already pulling Izuku toward the door. "You can't use Deku as a shield for your bullshit anymore, so watch your goddamn step or enjoy the consequences."

"Are you threatening me?" he snarled.

"You fucking bet I am," Katsuki grinned, dark and menacing. "Have fun learning how mediocre you are without him."

With that Katsuki steered him back out the door, strategically placing himself between Izuku and the cameras as he moved back toward their car. The remaining pieces of his heart were crushed as they moved through the crowd, his pitiful but unavoidable sniffles overshadowed by camera shutters and hollered questions.

One reporter stood out, words cutting into him. "Don't listen to her, nerd," Katsuki said, pushing past her. It was too late though. It rang in his ears, weighing so heavy that his knees went weak.

"Deku! Does the Symbol of Peace believe in solving conflicts with aggression? Do you think All Might would have regretted trusting you with his legacy if he'd known you'd turn out this way?"

He hated that he didn't know the answer.

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

this is a short one <3 but I think from here on out I'll be pushing 2 chapters a week.

Katsuki had banned him from looking at social media or watching the news. Someone was with him at all times, just to keep him company. Just so that he wouldn't go insane. So that he wouldn't wallow in the wreckage of his ruined career.

"Wanna order lunch?" Denki asked, reclining on his couch with his head in Hitoshi's lap.

"Sure," he shrugged, turning the page of his book. He didn't have much of an appetite lately. "Whatever works."

It had been two days since they'd confronted Iida, and he'd fallen fifteen places in the projected Hero rankings. Aside from actual villain activity, he was essentially the sole recipient of media coverage. Very little was positive.

They'd all seen coverage of his argument with Iida, from photographs to a video that was clear enough to know it was him but too fuzzy to lip-read.

The world had seen him shove Iida back. They'd seen Iida put his hands up in surrender. Then, they'd seen Izuku knock his hands aside and hold him by the collar of his shirt—menacing as he yelled in his face.

They'd seen it all without context, too.

The last social media post he'd been allowed to see had been from a popular mommy blogger, demanding that schools remove Izuku's educational campaigns from their classrooms. He wasn't a role model they wanted their kids to look up to, anymore. A false symbol of peace.

"You haven't turned your page in twenty minutes, Izuku," Hitoshi observed, tone reproachful. "Why don't we do something else?"

He shrugged again. "Have something in mind?"

"I've been itching to kick your ass in Ultra Street Fighter," Denki offered, shifting to smirk at him from behind his phone. "Payback for last time."

"You'll ass kicked again," Hitoshi snickered, running his fingers through Denki's hair. "I love you, but Mido's definitely superior."

"Definitely the love and support I signed up for," he drawled, smacking Hitoshi's arm.

Neither of them noticed Izuku wince, reminded that love and support were in no way guaranteed.

Hitoshi and Denki were different. They talked through their conflicts and compromised. They'd already bared their ugly parts to each other and come out stronger. His mistake had been failing to see Ochako's ugly parts—completely blinded by the image she presented.

"I'm down to play," he agreed, forcing a smile. "I won't take it easy on you, though."

"You won't need to, I've totally got this," Denki chuckled, completely aware that Izuku was completely out of his league.

They ordered pizza while Izuku fiddled with his console—hunting down the game in his shelves. There was a moment of panic when he couldn't find it, and he wondered if Ochako had thrown out more than just his collection.

When he found it tucked out of place between his books, he wondered if his home would ever feel less violated.

Denki's phone chimed, and he glanced at the screen—brightening at whatever he found. "Hey, some good news before we start!"

Izuku looked over at him.

He'd promised to stay off the internet—to avoid spiraling into a pit of negative press. In return, his friends had promised to keep him posted on the cliff-notes version of his media plight.

"That girl and her fiancée released a video statement denying the rumors!"

He grimaced.

Yesterday, one of the tabloids who had been present for the villain incident had taken a photo of him with the woman who'd asked him to sign his agency card. They'd alleged that he'd actually divorced Uraraka because he'd realized he wasn't done playing the field and was already on the streets asking out civilian disaster victims.

He plucked the phone from Denki's hand and watched as the couple, enraged on his behalf, showed off the agency card where Izuku's autograph was scrawled.

"First of all, it's annoying as shit that everyone assumes that a man interacting with a woman implies some sort of sexual tension. Some people are gay, and y'all are stupid as hell," the brunette one spat.

Her blonde fiancée placed a placating hand on her arm.

"I think it's more disappointing that people are so quick to assume the worst of Deku, when he's been fighting for us since he was in UA. In battles way more intense than he was prepared for at the time, too. I just can't believe that he's the kind of guy who would recklessly throw away his relationship—intentionally hurt someone he loved—for something trivial."

He was happy that they believed in him, and while he doubted the video would get much traction, he was at least grateful that they'd spoken up.

His team had reposted the video, as had most of his friends—including Shoto and Tsu. They were respectfully keeping their distance, but showing support as best they could without direct instructions.

"Well, that's good," he murmured. He noticed that the next item in the feed was a repost of the building collapse, where the mother had slapped him across the face and screamed that he'd killed her daughter.

That was still outpacing any positive press by miles. He handed the phone back. He'd made a promise.

"It'll get better, dude," Denki promised.

He smiled tightly. It might, but it would take time. And now, the seed of doubt was sown. Those were hard to uproot. He was willing to bet that half the people who had seen their video were speculating that he'd paid them off. It's not like it was unheard of for public figures to attempt to pay their problems away.

"Let's just...yeah," he muttered, picking up his controller. "Dibs on All Might."

"You always play All Might," Denki whined, pivoting fast to match the mood. Izuku shot him a grateful glance. He had some amazing friends.

"Because I'm the only one who deserves him," he joked. He ignored the flash of doubt that went through him. He should be allowed to joke about video game avatars without wondering if All Might would be ashamed of his legacy.

Mina came over three hours later since Hitoshi had to start his patrol, and Denki was an amazing friend but rated very high on the extrovert scale.

"Awww, you had pizza without me?" she whined, flopping across Izuku's lap. "Boooooo."

"Blame Denki," he chuckled, shifting so that he could keep playing. "But if you want we can order from that new American place. It looked like it had some stuff that's up your alley."

"Sounds great," she grinned, ruffling his hair. "Maybe in a couple hours? I wanna play winner."

"You mean you wanna play me," Izuku teased. Denki kicked his foot.

"I beat you on round two!" he protested.

"Because Hitoshi took pity on you and misused his quirk!"

"Sounds like you've been having fun," Mina smiled. "After we both kick Denki's ass, we should watch some of those cool old-school action flicks!"

"Sure," he said, smiling back. Mina was one of those people who made it easy to smile. She'd gone above and beyond to be there for him—only outmatched by Kacchan, who was there for every single moment that he wasn't on patrol, including his meal breaks.

She was loud and extroverted, but in a way that formed a protective bubble for the people who weren't as high-energy. And lately, Izuku was anything but high-energy.

Denki's phone went off again—but he wasn't alone. Izuku and Mina's phones went off too, and they all recognized the alert.

The Commission Emergency Alert system wasn't new, but it was far more well-utilized than it had been in the past. Before, heroes had been dead-set on handling crises alone for the sake of their own image. Now, there was a heavy reliance on collaboration, which improved civilian protection and decreased property damage.

It also ensured that more heroes came home in one piece.

Still, to signal off-duty heroes for assistance, something must have gone drastically wrong. Izuku pulled out his phone, dread pooling in his gut.

>>Commission Emergency Alert<<

Type: Villain Attack

Urgency: Red

Description: Simultaneous wide-scale coordinated attacks. High damage risk. High civilian risk. Two hero casualties. All on-call and off-duty heroes report to dispatch for the nearest incident.

Mina stood without another word and Izuku stood to follow, striding to his bedroom for his backup costume as he called into dispatch.

"Deku reporting in for the Red Alert," he said as soon as his call was answered.

"Deku," the dispatcher greeted him. "We need you to come in."

He frowned, stopping in his tracks. "I thought all heroes were being dispatched to attack sites."

"You're the exception," she replied. "According to the notes, you're noted as a civilian resistance risk. Also—oh," she choked on the words. "A villain was captured before the alert went out," she explained. "You need to come in to help divert heroes to attack sites. The villains in question are using your notes to stage the attack."

His stomach dropped to his knees, blood rushing in his ears. This was his fault.

"I'll be there as fast as I can."

Chapter 14

Coordinating dispatch for an entire city for a single incident was a whole goddamn nightmare. He’d been called in for one purpose.

His task was to allocate heroes to areas that had weaknesses opposite to the ones those districts usually had. That way, the attacking villains who had read his notebooks—would be blindsided by the heroes they were facing.

Every dispatch room had screens to watch press coverage and for the first time he'd ever seen, every single one of them was open to a different news station—capturing almost twenty different attacks from different angles.

The result of the initial wave of attacks was pure carnage. He hadn't been particularly close to either of the casualties, but he'd done enough analysis on them that it had crippled them in the field.

The first had been a sidekick at Gang Orca's agency—a girl with a resonance quirk. The villains had turned her frequency back on her and her very bones had crumbled. She'd suffocated on live television.

The second had been a laser quirk, startlingly similar to Yuga's, except he could shoot them from his hands.

His weak point was the lack of protection for his arms because he needed them mobile. Izuku remembered analyzing him—making that note and sketching armor concepts.

The most logical step for the villains to take was the one they took. A scary-looking woman who could change the shape of her limbs turned her arms into blades and cut Flashpoint's arms off.

He'd died from traumatic limb loss.

Commissioner Suzuki was adamant that it wasn't his fault. That if the notebooks had stayed secure, they wouldn't be facing this. But Izuku was the one who'd trusted the wrong person. He'd vouched for Ochako and now anyone in those notebooks would pay the price. He felt sick.

"Grape Juice should replace Ingenium," he said, pouring over the information that analysts had been able to collect from the fights so far.

"Ingenium relies on speed and he's heavily armored. His main problems are that he's land-locked and he'll eventually run out of steam—they'll have planned for that. Grape Juice may not be much, but he's a fair capture hero and he can use his balls to climb out of the way while simultaneously pinning down civilians and creating impassable barricades."

"Yes, sir." The analysts he was working with were crammed into the situation room—rifling through all the notes he'd given the commissioner as they made plans with dispatchers. The one who'd spoken was young and had worked with Ingenium since the start of his career. He looked terrified.

"You'll want to move Ingenium to a district that's usually covered by someone who attacks at range. He's good at evading blanket attacks, usually because they move too slow to effectively reach him."

"Should we replace him with Chargebolt or Plamo?"

"Plamo," Izuku replied. "Anyone they send would be equipped to neutralize his glue, and that's almost guaranteed to give him a surface that will pick up his speed."

It went on like that for what felt like hours—Izuku's attention split between the screens and the analysts as he tried to patch holes in their strategy on the fly. The villains were horribly well-prepared.

Every decision he made felt terrible—like if he misstepped he could be sending one of his friends or colleagues to their deaths.

Denki went to back up Hawks and Tsukuyomi—mostly to assist in fighting ranged attackers but also to keep him far away from anyone with ice, earth manipulation, or inhibitor quirks. The last thing he wanted was for the electric blonde to be buried alive, unable to defend himself or dig his way out.

Ashido's strength was mobility along with her acid, and her weakness was defense—her hero costume was a glorified lycra bodysuit despite his nagging. So, he swapped her with Eijrou, whose primary strength was being the unmovable wall to meet unstoppable force. They'd sent villains to hammer away at him—chipping away at his defense as he remained rigid to protect civilians.

From what he could see, they were in no way prepared for Mina's acrobatic acumen, nor was their gear prepared for her Acid Shot. He put Plamo in her usual spot. Not only did their planned acid-neutralizers not work on him, but the weaknesses he'd outlined weren't a problem for the glue hero.

He had solid armor and iron focus. It seemed like a good swap.

The list went on and on—and the day felt unending. Every time they whacked a villain down, another seemed to appear in his place.

He had no idea how they'd gotten so organized so quickly. He knew his analysis was detailed, but getting this many villains to cooperate in a coordinated assault so efficiently was nearly unheard of.

Even the League had more in-fighting.

His first true scare of the day—where his heart didn't just drop, but stopped in his chest, seizing his lungs and choking him—was when Kota was pinned by a desiccation quirk.

"Someone," he croaked. "Anyone—any analysis on the villain, how does he work?"

"He's absorbing all of Geyser's attacks, and it looks like he's absorbing water from the air as well. Geyser's attacks are getting weaker—so are his movements," an analyst said.

"All quirks have limits," he uttered. "More water heroes. Overload him and help replenish Geyser before his condition is critical."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Send them with quirk inhibitors! Get a capture hero in there and make him stop!" Izuku yelled, eyes wide with panic.

He'd promised Mandalay that he'd watch out for Kota. Kota was like his little brother. He couldn't let anything happen to him, especially borne of analysis he'd made to help Kota grow.

He was sickened by the thought of the countless hours they'd spent training. Weekends filled with analysis as Katsuki sparred with the burgeoning water hero, taking notes so that he could share them over lunch. So that he could go back to school and train with his classmates—having gotten feedback from his mentors.

Would all that time spent helping him turn around and cripple him? Would everything he'd done to help him grow put him in a grave?

He could barely breathe as a new villain advanced—spewing sand onto the battlefield, further absorbing what little water Kota could produce.

He nearly collapsed with relief when Manual arrived with Backdraft—both coming in with a veritable tidal wave. He bit back a sob when Gale arrived—clearing the sand to give Kota room to breathe and recover.

He watched his protege fall back, supporting himself on a nearby building as Manual helped him rehydrate. Between Gale and Backdraft, the two villains were detained—but not without a fight. Gale was strong, but the sandstorm had abraded him and he was in serious need of medical attention.

Kota wasn't much better—dangerously dehydrated and worn, barely able to stand.

He could hear dispatch giving directions to paramedic teams, relieved to hear them ordering IVs for Geyser and Backdraft over the buzzing in his ears.

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to them, expression blank.

"Take a break," the analyst murmured. "Just a few minutes. But that affected you and you need to collect yourself, Deku."

He shook his head. "I need to help them."

"You're no use to them if your head isn't on straight," they said. It was a more senior analyst and he had kind, concerned eyes.

He stepped into the hall and sat—folded in on himself. He couldn't get Kota's crumpled form out of his head.

Despite his better judgment, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He ignored the hundreds of social media notifications and focused on the group chats—watching as various heroes checked in and reported their status.

There were some inquiries, asking if he was going to join the fight, but Mina and Denki were quick to interject that he'd been benched by the Commission in between their own waves of attacks.

Everything had gone so wrong. So wrong that it wasn't even a surprise when a new text slid into the Class A Alumni chat. He felt numb.

>> Kacchan

someone tell glasses to shut the fuck up before stuff my entire fucking fist down his throat and do it for him.

>> RikRik the Dick 👎

wydm

>> Kacchan

[link] Deku Responsible for Targeted Villain Uprising?

>>Tsu

I'll tell Tenya to stop talking to the media and wait for the commission to make a statement.

>> Kacchan

let him know that he's outing a potential security breach beyond floaty's fucking idiocy

they didn't just find one in a landfill, they clearly have every single notebook he's ever fucking written in

that's not a fuckin coincidence

>>Tsu

you and I both know that antagonizing him will make him double down

I'll tell him that until the commission investigates, spreading unconfirmed info is probably dangerous

>>Kacchan

whatever

just fucking do smth before I rip his dick off and shove it in his fucking exhaust pipes

Izuku was barely paying attention to the chat anymore, hesitantly clicking the link Kacchan had sent instead.

It wasn't just Iida in the article—multiple heroes had commented in post-fight interviews, but Iida was the only one who spoke as though he had all the information. To be fair, he did have more information than most.

It was just incorrect, altered information that was tinted by his personal philosophies.

"It has come to our attention that the villain attacks were fueled after Deku's notebooks were discarded. His ex-wife was under the impression that they were journals, incorrectly assuming that such sensitive information would be better secured. She was unaware that he was still taking such meticulous notes on heroes' quirks without their knowledge or consent, nor that he would keep them out in the open. A rather catastrophic oversight but we, as heroes, will do what we can to mitigate the damage and recover any intel that was negligently distributed."

The only other statement that directly involved him was from Shoto.

"I'm not sure how this happened, and the Commission is investigating now. What I do know is that Deku has undoubtedly saved hundreds of heroes today. I recognize his strategies when I see them—and the way we were shuffled to address villain activity today feels like how he operates."

This article will update as the story unfolds.

He wanted to be glad that his friends were speaking up for him. But dissent spoke louder than support did, and he couldn't help but be afraid that they would taint their own names with his.

He didn't have time to dwell on public perception right now. Kota had nearly died a moment ago. They needed him.

He took a deep breath and got back to his feet, squaring his shoulders. He needed to keep his head in the game.

Most of the analysts looked concerned as he entered the room again, but they all stayed silent as he approached. He took another breath, shaky on the exhale. He looked up at the screens, eyes catching on Katsuki's latest fight as he went.

While he was always baseline worried about Kacchan, he wasn't actively worried about him now. Anything and everything in his notebooks had been addressed with the blonde already.

Kacchan, determined to be the best, had already adjusted for everything Izuku had to say. Now, they were partners. There was little analysis over the past five years that hadn't been muttered directly into Kacchan's ears.

It's not that he didn't still write analysis about him. Katsuki just knew all of the details already and was prepared.

He'd be fine.

"Who's next?" he asked, voice rougher than he intended.

"Tsukoyomi is having trouble," the senior analyst replied. Izuku turned to the screen where he was pointing, already nodding.

"Send Invisible Girl to help him," he instructed. "Tsukoyomi's main weakness is light. She can refract anything that comes toward him and she has stealth on her side."

"Understood, sir."

The good thing about situation rooms was that there was no extraneous information. They were watching media coverage, but as soon as a reporter pulled commentary from civilians or a fight was over, the channel would change.

He sent Ochako to Fourth Kind's district to back up his sidekicks—all heavy hitters being targeted by high-density physical attacks. His mouth tasted sour as he watched her arrive, dropping onto the largest villain from above and floating him—maneuvering his body so he'd attack his own allies.

If she had taken a moment to actually read what she was throwing away, none of this would have happened.

But, if he'd told her what was in the notebooks, it wouldn't have happened.

If he'd kept them in a more secure location...if he'd never written them at all...

He didn't have time to dwell on what if's. It had happened, and now the consequences were battering their doors down.

He watched with eagle eyes as the attacks unfolded—and his second heart attack of the day came when Katsuki was smacked with brutal force, colliding with the side of a building. He knew it wasn't fatal—Kacchan had taken much harder hits over the years.

That didn't stop the spasm of fear that lanced through him until he heard the next explosion echoing from the wreckage.

As soon as he could see his partner again, he diverted his attention to the civilians at the edge of the frame—frowning as they shrieked and cowered away from the shower of metal and glass.

"We need someone to help with evacuation in Dynamight's location," Izuku said. "Someone who can back him up if necessary, he's been at that fight for a while."

"I think he has some sort of body armor, so Dynamight's explosions aren't hitting as hard," one of the analysts said, squinting at the screen. "And he packs a huge punch."

"Is it just impact distribution? Or do you think he's heat resistant too?" Izuku asked. "If he's not, Shoto would be good backup."

"I think Shoto would be better off taking on Froppy's route," someone suggested. "They have a villain with an ice quirk, and I can't think of anyone better suited than him."

He nodded. "Fine," he muttered, eyeing the screens, looking for anyone with an opening.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Eijirou was done with Mina's district, and Izuku wasted no time diverting him to Katsuki's location to help with civilian evac. Eijirou was his best friend, and they worked well together.

Eijirou would have his back.

He was an impenetrable object, perfect for protecting fleeing innocents from harm as Katsuki relented to necessary destruction.

He was up against a gigantification quirk now, and they were causing possibly irreparable damage to a high rise.

"Do we have anyone with a stabilization quirk available?" he asked. "Anything that could help shore up the building?"

"Barrier and Brick Break are available," an analyst offered.

"Send Brick Break—Barrier needs to stay on duty for civilian evacuation," Izuku said, eyes darting from screen to screen. There was footage from patrol bots, too, but a fair few of them were damaged—the quality compromised.

He forced himself to look away from Katsuki's fight to monitor the other incidents. Most of them seemed to be dying down by now—and attention was being diverted to rescue. It had been hours, and they'd have to stay on alert. It could just be the first wave, after all.

"Brick Break arrived on scene," a dispatcher told him. "He'll start shoring up the building and then help with evac unless another building needs support."

"Good," Izuku replied.

"Pinky is asking where she's needed next," she relayed. "So are Vine, Kamui Woods and Nejire Chan."

"Have Nejire Chan back up Uravity in Fourth Kind's district," he said. "Vine should back up Charegebolt since she can ground herself against his quirk. "Send Pinky to an active rescue site so she can start melting debris and tag into a fight if needed."

He heard one of the analysts gasping and whipped back around—searching for the cause of their distress. A villain—not terribly strong, but certainly a nuisance—had realized that Brick Break was trying to stabilize the high-rise and had attacked him to stop his progress.

Katsuki was in the air as the villain swung and hit the building again—blasting out of the way as a shower of glass and debris rained down on the street below.

Then he saw why the analyst had gasped, and his heart dropped.

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

I was supposed to post this friday buuuutttttt my family came to visit and I got distracted, my b <3

Eijirou was hardened as he raced toward a civilian in the crash zone—flinging his body over her shaking form. The bulk of the debris had been from the top of the building, though, and the momentum it gained as it fell added to its force.

The screens were muted, but Izuku could see Eijirou's involuntary shout of pain as a jagged slice of metal sheeting impaled him at the shoulder—cracks splitting on his exposed, hardened skin.

The shock of it must have been intense because he could see Eijirou's form softening as his quirk control slipped. The normally unbreakable hero was being pummeled—glass and concrete abrading both him and his injury as he shielded the woman beneath him from harm.

Izuku's heart raced, face going numb with panic as one of the best and kindest heroes he knew was battered and unable to move.

Eijirou's body was caving in on itself—his hands' stance slipping as he flinched away from the impact. His back was littered with cuts and the sheet metal was sheathed in his upper back—the wound widening every time he moved his arm.

"Who's in the area," Izuku uttered, horrified.

"Anyone available would take at least five minutes to arrive," a dispatcher said, frantically looking for an option in the database.

Eijirou collapsed onto the civilian—still shielding her as he passed out.

Then, Katsuki was standing over him, smoke curling off his body.

Izuku's heart stopped in his chest as his partner—his best friend—stood over Eijirou and aimed his hands upward.

He blasted the debris in as hard as he could—range as narrow as possible—to blast the concrete into powder and knock the metal and glass out of the blast radius.

It was just like the move he'd pulled off against Ochako during their first-year sports festival—shattering her meteor shower before it could hit.

It had the added benefit of blasting a cloud of metal and dust into the villain's face and he bellowed in pain, stumbling back into the building across the street. Katsuki took a moment to pull Eijirou off the civilian and point toward the evacuation route as he spoke. She nodded, stood on shaking legs, and sprinted away.

Then, he turned and sprinted into the building and Izuku's heart stopped again.

It stuttered back to life a minute later when he blasted back out and launched back into the sky. A second later, Brick Break stumbled out and knelt beside Eijirou's crumpled form. He pulled out his field kit and secured the sheet metal in Eijirou's shoulder, making sure it couldn't move too much and cause more damage before picking the sturdy hero up and stumbling in the same direction that the civilian had gone.

Katsuki was already back in the air and he'd taken note of the villain's reaction to shrapnel bludgeoning. In a fit of uncharacteristic recklessness, he went back inside the goddamn building at the 20th floor.

He used his explosions to propel splintered office furniture, metal, and glass at the villain with as much force as he could muster.

As mad as Izuku was that he was doing something so dangerous, he was even more impressed that it seemed to be working. From inside the building, he could duck out of the villain's sight and find a new line of attack.

It was brilliant, even though Izuku could see the building sway.

The room was still buzzing around him, dispatch working double-time to meet all the needs on the streets. But Izuku couldn't tear his eyes away from Katsuki's fight, stomach churning every time the villain swung and the building leaned.

"Is Brick Break coming back?" he asked.

"I'll confirm," the dispatcher said.

He held his breath when, with one blast, the villain pitched forward instead of back—catching his balance on the side of the high-rise and bending the supports with his weight.

"Brick Break is on his way back—he left Red Riot with the paramedics."

That was good. That meant that while Kacchan was blowing up the top of the building, Brick Break could support it from below.

It didn't matter to him much, but their damage insurance premiums were going to skyrocket next year. If their agency was still open, that is.

He didn't want to think about that.

He didn't want to think about Kacchan in a crumbling building either.

He couldn't see him inside the building, which just made it worse. Every moment that Katsuki was out of sight was a year off of his life, he was sure of it.

"Brick Break is back, Barrier is with him," the dispatcher said.

The breath he'd been holding left him in a rush. Tsubaraba was an amazing hero. "I thought he was helping with evac elsewhere," he said, eyes still glued to the fight.

"We figured there were enough civilians in the area to justify him being here," one of the analysts said.

Tsubaraba—Hero Name: Barrier—had improved his quirk a lot since their time at UA. He could increase the thickness of his solid air constructs now, and could maintain multiple structures for almost half an hour. Between him and Brick Break, there was no way the building would go down. He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Tsubaraba go to work—blowing stabilizers into place as he scaled the building.

Meanwhile, Brick Break created support pillars—his quirk was similar to Cementoss but he had to manipulate concrete in tetris-like shapes—creating rigid structures out of angular puzzles.

"Chargebolt is free," a dispatcher said, drawing Izuku's attention. "Should I dispatch him to Dynamight's location?"

"How's he doing on stamina?" he asked, turning back to the screen to eye the villain.

"He's reaching his limit," the dispatcher relayed. "But he says 'I still got juice, bro.'"

Izuku scanned the other screens, knowing that Katsuki would kill him for prioritizing him if there were more severe attacks still in play. He grit his teeth as he saw Kendo pinned by a small mob of ranged quirks that allowed them to attack outside of her striking distance.

Katsuki almost had this villain down. Just because Izuku couldn't back him up didn't mean that he could divert heroes for personal gain.

So, with his jaw clenched, he said, "No. Send him to Battle Fist’s location. Have him clean up there.”

"Are you sure?" the dispatcher asked. He could feel his eyes on the side of his face.

"Dynamight's close to finishing this up," he said, nodding toward the screen. "The villain's quirk control is slipping. He was twenty stories tall, and now he's down to fourteen. Battle Fist needs the help more," he said. "And with Brick Break and Barrier holding the building up, we should be fine."

He wished there was wood nearby that he could knock on. Or salt to throw over his shoulder. Something that would keep luck on their side.

The villain opened his mouth in what was probably a deafening roar and punched a hole in the side of the building.

Then, the explosions from the building stopped and Izuku's heart did too.

The structural damage probably meant that the floor had fallen out from under Katsuki's feet and the ceiling had collapsed over him. The villain's arm was stuck, and he used what strength he had to try to pull it out—testing the sturdiness of Brick Break and Barrier's quirks.

He couldn't see any sign of Kacchan on the screen, and he was certain that he was going to throw up.

Izuku lasted thirty seconds. "Fuck this," he croaked, turning around to storm toward the door. With 70% OFA, he could make it to Katsuki in five minutes, and he'd be damned if—

"Deku, wait!"

"He's my partner!" Izuku spat, rounding on the analyst who tried to stop him. "I can't just sit here and—"

"Look!" she squeaked, pointing. He looked back at the screen and saw Katsuki launching himself in the air, a little worse for wear but otherwise unharmed.

He recognized that windup, and his heart leapt to his throat. It had been a long time since he'd been able to watch Kacchan give his all without being in battle alongside him. He forgot how brilliant he was—how intense and immaculate he could be.

He hovered for a moment, the villain's arm still trapped in the building beneath him—then his explosions started again, swirling and picking up speed before he tilted downward.

He crashed into the villain with the force of a meteor—blindingly bright and sending a shockwave through the battlefield. When the smoke cleared, the villain was knocked out. He fell back in what seemed like slow motion, but as he tilted he shrank—his quirk retracting now that he was unconscious.

Kacchan, amazing but ridiculous, rode the villain's torso down like he was riding a surfboard—explosions blasting behind him to push them faster until the villain crashed to the ground.

"He's alright," the analyst soothed, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder. A shudder ran through him at the gesture—ending in a trembling chin and teary eyes.

His relief was palpable.

He forced himself to keep watching until Katsuki slapped quirk-canceling cuffs on the villain and stumbled back—flexing his hands and shifting to test himself for injuries.

He didn't take a proper breath until he saw Kacchan's self-satisfied smirk, raising a hand to his ear to switch the comm channel to dispatch.

"Dynamight says he's fine and the gigantification villain is detained," a dispatcher relayed. "He's going to go check on Red Riot and then leave rescue to...uh? Mime-boy and the Tetris Tool."

Izuku huffed out a helpless laugh, and then his knees went unsteady. "I need another breather," he croaked. "Sorry, I know I'm supposed to be helping, but—"

"Go," the analyst beside him insisted. "We've got this, we'll come get you if we need you, alright?" He gave her a jerky nod and turned back toward the door, practically stumbling from the room.

As soon as he was outside he slumped against the wall and slid down it, burying his face in his shaking hands as he curled in on himself.

It was a miracle that it had turned out so well, and it hadn't really turned out well at all.

Eijirou had been seriously hurt, and Kacchan had nearly been crushed by a building.

Now, as the fear ebbed out of him, he found anger seeping in. Maybe he could have been more forthcoming, but Ochako was supposed to be a hero. Her lack of diligence and blind selfishness had killed two heroes and nearly killed two more.

If Kacchan had died, he would have killed her himself. He was sure of it. As it was, after this was all over, he was going to make her regret it.

Sure, with the help of his PR team and after the Commission gave their permission. But he would. No matter how long it took.

But for now, he was going to focus on his friends. The friends who were in the line of fire and needed him to keep a level head.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and opened his texts with Katsuki, knowing that he was unlikely to text the group chat unless it was to yell at them.

>> Deku

are u ok

>>Kacchan

Im fine dork

>>Deku

you nearly let a building fall on u

and you stood in front of a debris avalanche

Im worried asshole

>>Kacchan

watch ur mouth

I'm fine I promise

just some scratches. body armor caught the rest

>>Deku

what about Ei?

>>Kacchan

less ok, but he'll be fine eventually

nothing fatal or permanent

that shoulder shit's gonna take fuckin forever to heal tho

so that fuckin sucks

but considering he was fuckin impaled, thats not too bad

>>Deku

that's good

I'm glad it wasn't worse

It looked really bad from here

>>Kacchan

yea I bet

on that note

how did I look?

>>Deku

...

ask me when i'm not pissed @ u

I won't do it justice rn

His phone started vibrating more frequently and he figured it was the Class A chat. His stomach twisted, and he hoped something else hadn't gone wrong.

>>Deku

promise me you'll be careful

It's scary out there rn

>>Kacchan

tf

I'm not u nerd of course i'll be careful

bite me

He braced himself as he switched over to the group chat—unsure of what he would find. Scrolling down from the last message he'd seen, he was relieved to find that they were mostly okay.

After each battle, no matter how small, most of them sent a check-in to let their peers know they were alright.

>> Denks

I'm tapped out rn

not hurt just fried

gonna recoup @ my agency

>>Kyoka

you comin back out after

>>Denks

depends. head's super fuzzy.

if its voltage i should be back on call in an hour. if it's a concussion i'm out for good

>>Fumi

rest well, denki. resist succumbing to darkness.

dark shadow and I have overcome our opponents

we are regrouping with hawks to continue our fight

>>Denks

sure dude thx

>>Toru

I'm fine too! calling into dispatch for a new placement. good call on the last one @/mido!!

>>Deku

no problem

glad u guys are ok

denki if it's overload remember to try the inhibitors mei sent you

>>Denks

thanks dude! I totally forgot.

>>Toru

omg is Ei ok?

>>Denks

wdym?

>>Hanta

did smth happen?

Izuku was about to reply when Mina entered the chat, and he felt sick again. Mina's fiancé was in the hospital because of his ex-wife.

>>Mina

hey babes

checking in to say im fine, just got done evacing a collapse

wait what

what do you mean 'is ei ok?'

Izuku took a deep breath before responding, hoping that Mina wouldn't freak out too bad.

>>Deku

eijirou was supporting kacchan at a villain attack

he got injured pretty badly while protecting a civilian

he'll be fine, but the recovery time will be pretty long

kacchan knows more

He waited for Mina to respond, frowning when she didn't. Apparently, his classmates felt the same way because at least half of them messaged to ask where she'd gone or to send her best wishes.

>>Hanta

she's probably asking kats for details

That made sense, he supposed. She'd at least want to know which hospital he'd gone to.

He took a couple more minutes to watch his friends interact—lively and humorous even though shit had hit the fan. It helped set his heart at ease, knowing they were all alive and ready for the next bout.

He was worried about Mina and Ei. He was worried about Kacchan, too.

But now that the imminent danger had passed, it was easier to take a breath. His heart rate slowed and his hands stopped trembling.

He could do this. They could do this.

He stood, his legs less shaky, and let the chat know he was heading back into the situation room. He got a couple 'good lucks' and a few 'thanks for working hard' messages, and then he was pocketing his phone and heading back inside.

Nothing drastic had happened while he'd been gone, just a few heroes diverted to rescue while others took their patrol routes back up to pick off minor villain activity.

His lips pinched into a thin line when, a few minutes later, a dispatcher announced, "Uravity and Nejire Chan detained the villains at their location. They're waiting for further instruction."

Izuku's eyes scanned the screens and he was about to recommend diverting her to a building collapse closer to her agency.

A flash of pink passed on a screen in his periphery and he turned just in time to see Mina show up on the channel broadcasting the aftermath of Ochako's fight. Her shoulders were tight, fists clenched.

His eyes widened in shock as Mina stormed up to her, grabbing her by the shoulder to turn her around. Then, she wound back her arm and let her hand fly—slapping her open-handed across the face hard enough that her head snapped to the side. She teetered off balance with the force of it, falling on her ass.

"Turn the sound on," he urged, eyes wide with shock and concern.

One of the techs scrambled with the volume controls while Mina started yelling—catching the back half of what she was saying.

"DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE?" Mina screamed as Ochako stared up at her in shock. "ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY YOU SELFISH, CONNIVING BITCH?" she sobbed, and as the camera came closer, he could see tears streaming down her face. "I hope it was worth It, you fucking asshole!"

Her voice was raw and terrified, and Izuku's heart was pounding. He agreed with her, but the proverbial ground was shaky and control was still in Ochako's hands. This could be a mess.

Chapter 16

When the dust settled and the villains were detained, it was more than a mess.

Five heroes were killed, and thirty severely injured. Confirmed civilian casualties were low so far—but that was on the backs of heroes who should never have been in harm's way.

Public opinion was a mess of its own. Most were furious at him for having the journals at all—insisting that keeping them in his house was hubris at its finest. More were angry that he hadn't lifted a finger to help as his colleagues suffered the consequences of his actions.

Iida's condemnation was loud and given the past few weeks, people were inclined to believe him.

Except now, Mina had assaulted Ochako live on national television—throwing the blame on her shoulders with all her strength. Her screaming—pained, terrified, furious—had dominated every media outlet and social media platform for days after it had happened. She'd been hard to reach since, camping out in Eijirou's hospital room instead of bothering with the public.

So, instead of clear-cut information, the public was left to speculate.

Izuku hadn't paid the media any mind, either. He'd been drifting through the Heroes' floors of the nearest hospitals, visiting everybody who had been injured and apologizing for whatever part he'd played in their misfortune.

Until he came to Kota's room, that is.

He'd saved him for last, intent to sit with his mentee and keep him company until Mandalay could arrive.

"Hey," he greeted him, peeking into the room. Kota was upright in bed, looking cranky as hell. "Mind if I come in?"

"Better you than those bloodsucking nurses," he huffed, crossing his arms. Izuku bit back a smile. His temper had never really improved—he'd just get softer with the people he liked. He was like Kacchan in that way.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, approaching his bed and settling into a chair.

"Like someone stuffed me in an oven filled with sand and rocks, and rolled it down a mountain" he huffed. "But I'm fine. I had backup when I needed it."

Izuku's stomach twisted as he examined him. He was littered with injuries—his skin so dry that it was cracked and flaking.

His voice sounded parched, too, like he'd been walking in a desert for weeks.

"I'm so—"

"If you apologize to me, I'll drown you as soon as I'm allowed to use my quirk again," he spat, glowering. "This wasn't your damn fault. I don't know how those villains got your notebooks, but this wasn't your fault, and you know it. In fact, if you hadn't taken those notes, there's no way I could have survived an attack like this."

Izuku chuckled humorlessly. "If it weren't for my notes, an attack like this wouldn't have happened," he replied.

"Don't be stupid, of course it would have. I'm aiming for the top, just like you and Katsuki. Just like Eri, just like Katsuma. We're following in your footsteps. Like it or not, that means we'll have enemies. Eventually, someone would have come for us and without your insight, their attacks would have brought us down. But you take care of us, and we're alive because of it. So stop being stupid and stop apologizing. It's lame and it's not your fault."

"It's my fault that I put my faith in the wrong person," he said. "That I vouched for her and gave her the access she needed to act as carelessly as she did."

"She should have respected the amount of trust you had in her," Kota argued, sitting up in bed despite Izuku's protests. "I don't know the whole story, and you're definitely gonna tell me or else, but none of us saw how selfish she was being, Deku. And you were closer to whatever bullshit she was pulling than the rest of us. If anything, we should have been able to see it because she wasn't actively trying to trick us. We should have been able to see it. Do you blame us?"

Izuku scowled, affronted. "Of course not," he said.

"Then stop blaming yourself. And don't listen to civilians either, they love to think they know what's going on when they have no idea," he scoffed. "Now get me some water, I'm thirsty as shit."

Izuku sighed, standing to get water from the pitcher perched just out of Kota's reach.

"You were amazing, you know," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I watched the whole thing. I was terrified, but you did such a great job."

He turned back to Kota just as he looked away. His lips twitched in amusement as he saw that the tips of his ears were stained red.

"Thanks. Freaked me out when they knew my moves, but we'd worked on conserving energy and limiting quirk exhaustion like two months ago so I tried to stay calm and do what we practiced."

"You were perfect, especially given the circumstances. Protected every civilian in your disaster zone and kept the fight focused on you until backup could get to you. I'm really proud of you."

He held out the cup of water so that Kota would have to look at him, and was rewarded with an embarrassed pout.

"Shut up," he grumbled. Izuku mimed zipping his lip, smirking at his emotionally constipated protege. Kota just rolled his eyes. "I'm getting out tomorrow morning," he offered after he'd drained his cup. "You still on leave?"

"Yeah," Izuku replied. "I'm not much good if nobody trusts me to do my job."

"That mom was way out of line," Kota groused. "But whatever. Mind if I crash at your place for a few days? It's been a while and I think we could both use the company."

Izuku brightened.

"Sure! Mandalay won't mind?"

"She'll be thrilled," Kota drawled. "Last week she called me a moody bitch, I doubt being benched for injury will improve my mood much."

"Nice, setting expectations low from the beginning," Izuku laughed.

They'd spent the rest of the evening together, except for the half-hour when Izuku had visited Eijirou and Mina.

Eijirou was in bad shape, but he was awake and he would make a full recovery. He'd thrown a whole table lamp at Izuku with his good arm when he'd tried to apologize. Mina had promised to make a statement once Eijirou was out of the hospital, but Izuku had waved her off.

The commission was investigating now—trying to figure out how the villains had managed to get all of the notebooks, rather than just stumbling across two or three. They were supposed to withhold statements until they were done, just in case it made things worse.

Izuku couldn't help but wonder about that himself.

How had they gotten them? In a landfill, it only made sense for a few of them to be found intact.

The most logical possibility made him sick. It was horrid enough that he wanted to dismiss it entirely. Ochako might be an asshole, but she wasn't evil. Just...awful. He had to believe he would have been to sense that level of malicious intent.

By the time he'd made it back to Kota's room, the sidekick had fallen asleep. He sat in the chair beside him, pulling out a book instead of his phone. According to...multiple people, he did not need to see what the internet was saying. For once he was content to comply, focusing on the people who needed him.

"Wow, you actually listened to me," Katsuki's gruff voice called from the door. He'd kicked Izuku out of his hospital room to go check on everyone else, insisting that he was fine.

"I always listen to you, Kacchan," he replied.

"Yeah, but you only actually pay attention about half the time," he snorted, kicking out a chair next to him and flopping into it.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like if one more person asks me that fucking question I'm gonna rip their spine out," Katsuki replied idly, pulling his phone out as Izuku grimaced. "Shitty Hair was actually injured and he's fine now. I was barely hurt. Relax."

Izuku rolled his eyes. "How could I forget. No shitty D-list villain is gonna bring you down."

Katsuki smirked. "Damn right, dork."

"You're both loud and annoying," Kota grumbled, waking from his nap.

He didn't look upset, though. Strangely enough, he looked amused—eyes flicking between them.

"Hey dumbass," Katsuki grinned. "Congrats on not dying. I would have mocked the shit out of you in your eulogy."

"Deku's giving my eulogy, it's in my will," Kota replied. Izuku tried very hard not to think about Kota having a will at such a young age.

"And when I inevitably had to take over because he was crying too hard, I'd mock the shit out of you," he repeated. Kota flipped him off, and Katsuki snickered.

"Yeah right, you rickety bitch," Kota griped. "You'd be crying just as hard."

Kacchan looked highly affronted. "I don't fucking cry, you little dick tip."

Izuku gave him a sly look, tinged with amusement. "...Well—"

"Not a fucking word, Deku."

Chapter 17

Chapter Notes

there are gonna be three chapters this week because I forgot friday's chapter lol sorry if I don't get to all the comments, I'll answer them all eventually but you know. time runs away on rollerskates.

It was harder to avoid the internet once he was out of the hospital. Having Kota (and therefore Eri) around made it easier, though.

Still, now that Katsuki was back on duty—without him—he couldn't help but have one eye glued to his phone. He hated that he couldn't have Kacchan's back right now.

"Get off your phone," Kota complained, kicking his leg. "You're the one who wanted to watch this dorky crap."

Izuku's head snapped up, offended scowl on his face. "Mighty Heroes: Ultra Smash is not dorky!"

Kota gave him a bland stare.

"Did you hear the sentence that just came out of your face?" he drawled. Eri giggled, settling next to Kota and stealing toppings from his pizza when he wasn't looking.

"Seriously though, Kacchan told you to get off the internet," she said, still laughing at them. Izuku huffed.

"He's not the boss of me."

Curiously, both Eri and Kota made the same face—glancing at each other, then back at him.

"Of course he's not," Eri soothed. "But he does want what's best for you."

"It's not even that bad," he said, looking back down at his phone.

He wasn't lying, either. Sure, people were still pissed at him but blessedly, it had been tempered by doubt. Mina's slap had been the first hit—pardon the pun. Some people had started to wonder if Ochako and Tenya had...stretched the truth regarding the notebooks.

Shoto's insistence that Izuku was helping from behind the scenes had been another point in his favor.

Of course, there were also people who were fairly certain that Izuku had tricked Mina into believing that Ochako was to blame. Those people also tended to think that Shoto was playing diplomat and that Izuku wouldn't need help if he hadn't caused the problem in the first place.

Their opinion was weakened, however, by multiple heroes coming forward and thanking Izuku for handling mission control. They didn't comment beyond that, really, but having so many heroes speak in his favor was definitely causing doubt regarding the irresponsibility that Tenya had pinned on him.

It didn't stop people from being angry, because being angry was easier than admitting you were wrong. That's why whoever spoke first usually won.

Hopefully, faced with facts at the end of this, that would change. Until then, he'd endure those who thought him too irresponsible to be a hero or role model.

There were, however, those who were deciding to wait until a trusted source made a statement. They wanted someone whose opinion wasn't swayed by allegiance.

Their faction wasn't all that large, but it was surprisingly vocal—commenting wherever they could to insist that they didn't have enough of the story. That they'd rushed to judgment too soon.

So, the world hadn't gone silent, but it was certainly quieter and less vitriolic. It was a relief, even if he wasn't on duty yet.

Kota huffed again and Izuku looked over at him. He looked painfully unimpressed and Izuku, chastened, slipped his phone back into his pocket. As much as he wanted to look out for Kacchan, he didn't get to hang out with these two very often. It was nice, even if they were just watching reruns of cartoons from his childhood.

There were parts that were hard to watch now. Hard, because his mentor was gone, and seeing him on the screen, even in cartoon form, hurt—especially when his voice actor said something familiar, but just a little bit different from the way All Might would have said it.

Sometimes it hurt because pieces of his collection commemorated this show, and they were gone now.

Despite all that, it was nice to share the parts of All Might that inspired him with Eri and Kota. Most of the parts of him they looked up to were the parts he'd inherited from him. Maybe it was silly, but he felt a little less gone when Izuku got to share him like this.

He caught himself rambling a few times—talking over the characters to explain historical context. He'd bite it back and glance over at Eri and Kota, just to find them watching him with rapt attention.

It was reassuring, knowing that his interests weren't as weird and off-putting as they'd been treated lately. That someone—two someones—found them interesting enough to learn from.

"Do you actually want me to talk about the change in heroic perception before and after All Might?" he asked hesitantly.

They glanced at each other.

"I mean, I do," Eri said. "It's good to know, right? Heroes were celebrities before All Might, but it wasn't as all-consuming, right?"

He smiled, bright and pleased. "Right. Seeing him constantly win and save everyone with a smile was a gripping thing. It gave heroism as a whole a new goal. A new gold standard. And he was so devoted to people, up until his struggle with All for One overcame him. He came back once he thought AFO was gone, but he was more secretive and everyone could tell. That just drove them harder, though."

"Like how?" Kota asked.

"Nobody wants to know anything more than they want to know a secret," he said, smiling sadly. "It's the reason people hound heroes for their personal life. It's how I got into this mess."

"They didn't learn a secret, they just took what they were told."

"They always take the scraps they're given," he replied. "As students, we learned that the picture heroes give us isn't the whole picture. Civilians don't get that, so they're hungry for every bit that they get. It's easy to take it at face value when you get so little."

"They're not entitled to it, though," Kota protested.

"They're not," he agreed. "And some heroes have very successful private lives. It's at a detriment to their ranking, though."

"All Might had a solid private life though," Eri said.

"Did he?" he asked. "Sure, we didn't know his real name or his arch-nemesis. Or the secret of his quirk. But we knew he was long-time friends with David Shield, his sexuality, his favorite foods, and his pastimes. Without the ability to change his form, people would have been in his business constantly."

They both seemed to consider that carefully. "Do you regret it?" Eri asked. "Aiming for the top and what it meant for your personal life?"

He frowned. "No," he decided. "I regret not looking deeper and I regret assuming that the people around me held my same moral code. But I've always wanted to strive to be my best, and I want people to feel hope and familiarity when they see me. I can't do that nearly as well without the spotlight. Besides, being my best means I'm at Kacchan's side. That's worth any unpleasantness if you ask me."

Kota pursed his lips, glancing at Eri again—but she kept her eyes on Izuku.

"You're lucky you have each other," she said. "I hope I have someone like that someday. Someone who'll be on my side when everything feels like it's going wrong. Someone to have my back. Who trusts me."

Beside her, Kota flushed pink—looking down at his knees. Well, at his plate of toppingless pizza.

"Even with all of this ugliness, I'm blessed that my life worked out this way," he agreed. "It was totally worth all the crap we went through to get here."

"You did always say that the best things are worth fighting for," she giggled. "And you two fight a lot."

"For good reason," Kota snorted. "He's an ass and you're a dumbass."

Izuku cracked an amused grin. "Guilty. But we balance each other out pretty well."

"He makes you marginally less reckless and you translate from asshole to Japanese for him," Kota scoffed. Izuku rolled his eyes, picking up a handful of popcorn and throwing it at them.

He'd clean it up later.

He looked back at the screen, smiling at one of the more absurd filler episodes where cartoon All Might attempted to use turbo-powered roller skates as a support item. Funnily enough, All Might had told him that this episode was based on a real support engineer mishap.

He told Eri and Kota as much and reveled in their laughter.

He was glad that he'd gotten so much time with his mentor, and could pass down pieces of his ridiculous life to people who would appreciate them. Who would learn and grow from them.

It was almost enough to distract him from the brand-new influx of notifications from his phone.

Chapter 18

Eri and Kota watched as Izuku pulled his phone out, frowning. The 1-A group chat was blowing up again, courtesy of Denki, for the fourth time in three days.

First had been the villain attacks. Then, Mina's meteoric slap. Third, a photo of Ochako trying to be stealthy in public with a handprint burned into her cheek, courtesy of Mina's acid.

And now:

>>Denki

yooooooo kacchan went OFF!

[link: Dynamight Berates Reporter]

Izuku's heart was in his throat. He clicked the link, already dreading what he’d find.

It started with some post-battle footage.

The correspondent was describing the situation—a minor villain had cropped up but seemed to know Dynamight’s fighting style. It hadn’t been a problem, just a nuisance because Kacchan’s sheer power had overwhelmed the villain as soon as he’d been in range.

The problem had been getting in range in the first place. The guy was slippery, and had been using evasion tactics that were clearly employed with Dynamight in mind.

At the end of it all, she approached Kacchan—charred and annoyed as he was—and started haranguing him about the details of his fight. It was enough to drive anyone a little crazy but Katsuki, who'd been through years of anger management and a training course on how to handle press, managed to handle the intrepid reporter with grace. At first.

Then, she had to run her stupid mouth.

"That villain gave you more trouble than he normally would have," she said, fake sympathetic smile plastered on her face. "Does it make you nervous to know that villains know your strategies because of Hero Deku's carelessness?"

"Oh god," Kota mumbled. Both of his mentees had skirted the sofa to watch the debacle over his shoulder.

"That was...not a good move," Eri uttered. She sounded kinda horrified. Izuku could relate. Mostly because he was watching Kacchan, and he could pinpoint the exact moment that he stopped trying to control his temper.

"What the f*ck did you just say to me?" he growled. Kudos to the news outlet for attempting to censor him. Not that it was possible. They'd never get a full sentence out of him that way.

Especially when he was pissed off. Like now.

"Deku's failure to secure sensitive information has caused massive devastation for the city and the hero community. Who knows how much more information is floating out there? Doesn't it upset you that your partner acted so irresponsibly?"

Katsuki ground his teeth for all of three seconds. Then, his control snapped.

"You know what? F*ck this. F*ck you, really. I'm not authorized to comment on this sh*t until we have all the information, but f*ck if I'm gonna let you keep shitting on Deku. Every f*cking hero in my generation would be a steaming pile of sh*t without those notes. Deku doesn't just save people with his own power, those notes have let him save people through everyone else's power, too."

The reporter gave him a sickly, sympathetic smile—as though she pitied him.

"That doesn't change the fact that they should have been better secured. Uravity and Ingenium—"

"You think I give a flying f*ck what those backstabbing idiots think? You think I give a flying f*ck what you think?"

"Deku's colleagues and the public both deserve a hero they can rely on, don't they? The past month has proved that he's not that hero!"

Katsuki scoffed.

"You know what the worst f*cking part of this is? Even with everyone in the f*cking world sh*tting on him, he'd put his life on the line for you. It doesn't matter if you're the biggest piece of sh*t in the world. If you have a pulse, he thinks you're worth saving. And when the truth comes out, you'll all feel like shit and give him sh*tty apologies after you turned on him, and he'll accept it with that stupid hero smile of his and pretend that none of this sh*t hurt him. None of you deserve a hero like Deku." He took a deep breath, then refocused his glare on the stunned reporter. "If I ever see you at one of my attack sites again, I'll blow your equipment to kingdom-f*cking-come. If I ever hear you insulting Deku again, I'll f*ck you up. So stay the f*ck away from me."

"You can't threaten me," she huffed.

Izuku sighed, watching as Katsuki towered over the reporter. Nobody told Kacchan what he could or couldn't do. It was one of the things Izuku liked most about him. He just hoped that the public would be moved by his show of loyalty instead of put off by the violent nature of his declaration.

"If you sh*t on my partner and spread false bullsh*t? If you f*cking slander my partner? You f*cking bet I can. Now get. Lost."

Then, as though to punctuate his point, he snatched the microphone out of her hand and blew it up on the spot.

Katsuki was always good at getting his message heard.

He stomped away after that, and the reporter turned to the camera, frowning. She gestured to someone behind the camera, and another—cheaper looking microphone was shoved into her hand.

"Can Deku and Dynamight be trusted? With the upswing of volatile and frankly violent behavior from the two of them, we at HeroNet are deeply concerned. We'll be keeping an eye on further developments."

Izuku scowled, gripping his phone...a little too tight. He only eased up when he heard the telltale sound of crumpling metal.

Don't get him wrong, he was honored to have Katsuki in his corner. That such an amazing person was his best friend, and willing to go to bat for him. His heart was warm with the knowledge that Katsuki thought so highly of him.

But the rational part of him that wasn't constantly blinded by Kacchan's brilliance was frustrated as fuck. Sure, at this point the benefits of someone speaking up would outweigh the drawbacks.

Theoretically. Theoretically, someone speaking out in his favor would probably be good. But if it was Katsuki, there was a strong chance that the public would turn on him too.

They were too close. They could decide that Katsuki was too close to him to be objective. They could decide they didn't trust him either. They could declare that he was unhinged, not unlike the idiots who'd decided he was a villain in his first year at UA.

He appreciated Katsuki's defense, really he did. But he hated that he'd put his own reputation on the line. Besides, they were supposed to be waiting for the commission to make a statement! What if the commission issued a reprimand because Katsuki had jumped the gun?

What if they benched him?

"Then they bench him, and you two nerd-ass mid-lifers sit here and watch All Might shows together for two weeks and pretend the outside world doesn't exist," Kota drawled, shuffling back to his spot on the couch. He slumped into his seat lazily. Izuku shot him an unimpressed glare. "Hey, he didn't kill the reporter! Count that as a win."

He had a point. Dammit. But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. He could still be worried, and annoyed that he had to be worried.

Take that, Kacchan.

"Besides, it's sweet how he's always got your back," Eri cooed. "You're so important to him, Deku. You can't be mad at him for caring."

He flushed. "I can be irritated that he risked his own reputation for it," he grumbled. "We were supposed to release all the information at once."

"Maybe this brief interruption to the plan will get people to stop acting like dick-puppets," Kota suggested.

Izuku sighed, resigning himself to this turn of events. It's not like he could do anything about it now anyway.

He let Eri and Kota lure him back into their movie marathon, reluctantly letting go of the anxiety that had crawled up his spine since his phone started blowing up.

Four hours later, he heard keys in the front door. Since there was now only one person on the planet who had a key, he knew to school his face into a disapproving scowl.

"Hey nerd. Junior nerds," Katsuki greeted them nonchalantly. He strolled in and beelined for the kitchen, not even looking in their direction. Izuku's scowl deepened. Kacchan was pretending he hadn't done anything wrong, just in case Izuku hadn't seen the news.

Nice try.

"Hey, Kacchan. How was your day?" he asked, forcing false brightness into his tone. In his periphery, he could see Eri and Kota giving each other looks of alarm.

"Same as usual. People are annoying as shit, villains are fucking stupid. You?" he called back. Izuku heard the clank of plates and forks, which meant Kacchan was unloading the takeout he'd brought.

"Fine, just watched some...interesting things," he replied. In the corner of his eye, he could see Kota shuffling toward the edge of the couch.

"...Yeah? So how was your All Might Marathon, nerd?" he called back, only hesitating for a moment before opting for fond belittlement.

"It was great, wish you'd been here," he said through gritted teeth. Eri clutched at Kota's arm, holding him in place so he couldn't escape without her.

"You know. Things to do, idiots to save."

"Yeah? Any good fights?"

"Nope."

"So you didn't talk to anyone interesting?"

"Nope."

"What about threats? Threaten any reporters on live television today?"

Silence.

"I think we're uh..." Kota stuttered. "I think we're gonna go—"

"Nope. He brought food for four, you're staying," Izuku said. "But feel free to hide in the sad remains of my merch room."

"Cool thanks," he squeaked. "Let's go, Eri!" he said, pulling her off the couch as he made his escape.

"Go easy on him!" Eri called just before she disappeared into the hallway.

Kacchan stayed silent so, readying himself for a fight, Izuku stood from the couch and made his way into the kitchen.

Katsuki didn't look up from his task—meticulously scooping food onto individual plates as though it were an art form and not takeout.

"What were you thinking?" he asked, a lot less angrily than he thought he would. Instead, he just sounded tired.

"I was thinking that reporter was a level-10 butt-plug. How else do you explain the amount of shit she had inside her?" he chuckled, pleased with his pun despite the tension.

"Kacchan," he sighed. "Be serious."

Katsuki put down the takeout container and turned to face him.

"I am. She was way the fuck out of line, and by asking me that fucking question, she was asking for what came next. I'm always in your corner, everyone knows that, Deku."

His heart fluttered. He didn't let it show on his face, though.

"We were supposed to wait for the Commission. We were trying to keep your name out of the mud! One of us has to be in the clear, remember?"

Katsuki frowned at him. "Did you...did you only watch the interview?" he asked, confused.

His eyebrows shot up. "There's more?" he asked, alarmed.

"Yeah, because I was anticipating the nagging," Katsuki barked, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Izuku crossed his arms defensively. He only nagged when Kacchan went rogue. "I went to PR as soon as I was off-duty."

Katsuki handed Izuku his phone, crossing his own arms as he waited for the irate greenette to watch the video that was queued on the screen.

Skeptical, Izuku pressed play.

In it, Katsuki was sitting at his desk, looking way less pissed off than the interview but still tense.

"I'd like to formally apologize to the reporter from HeroNet that I spoke to this afternoon. I was fresh from a fight and already agitated. The statements she made about my partner made it worse. That doesn't excuse my actions."

"Kacchan—"

"Keep watching," Katsuki interrupted.

"I was harsh, and I'm sorry if it alarmed anybody. However, I don't regret it. Deku is my partner, and my best friend. He's more important to me than anyone in the world. I will never stand by and do nothing when he's in trouble, even if that trouble is just bad press."

Izuku's lip trembled, but he didn't say anything. The video wasn't done.

"My life depends on my trust in him, and I wouldn't put that trust in someone who hadn't earned it. He's earned it a thousand times over. I'd like to ask all of you, even the skeptics, to wait until the Commission's investigation is over to pass final judgement. It's the least he deserves for all that he's done."

"Kacchan, you—"

"It's not done yet, Deku," he scolded, turning back to his immaculate takeout plating. "Pay attention."

Izuku scowled at him. Fuck him for being so sweet then turning around and being a complete turd.

"I'd also like to address the reporter's question. I shouldn't have dismissed it out of hand, when so many of you are wondering the same thing."

Katsuki tossed him a smug look over his shoulder. Izuku flipped him off as a matter of principle. Kacchan didn't get to give him heartburn and be smug when he fixed the problem. That's not how it worked.

"For those of you who haven't seen it yet, HeroNet asked me if it makes me nervous to know that my strategies are compromised because of 'Hero Deku's carelessness.'" Izuku's lips pursed at Katsuki's use of air-quotes, which gave the oddly sincere message a sour note of sarcasm. "The answer is: no. To all of it."

Izuku raised an eyebrow at his partner, who didn't even look at him, opting to pick up the plates and walk them out to the dining room instead.

"First of all, I'm a hero. I would be a shitty hero if I can't change my strategies to suit the situation. We may have our comfort zones, but good heroes can pivot when things go wrong. Any hero blaming Deku for their strategies being leaked is a lazy hero—too set in their ways to adapt. If someone can predict every single one of your moves, you need to work on new moves."

Izuku grit his teeth. Yeah, antagonizing their colleagues was an great idea.

"And, fellow heroes, if that offended you—you should look into your training plans to see where you can diversify your strategies, because I'm probably talking about you."

Jesus.

"Second of all, Deku is anything but careless. I know what you've seen on the news, and I know what you've seen from Deku's ex-wife. I'm not allowed to say much right now, but I can at least tell you this: Deku's home is a fortress. His security system was designed by Mei Hatsume herself and in order to even visit, guests need to be approved by the Commission. Those measures were put in place to protect himself, his family, and the hero community at large. The house is more secure than Tartarus at Deku's own insistence. So, am I upset with him for my compromised strategies and weaknesses? No. Because he's my partner and I know that he was protecting that information with every tool he could get his hands on. Because he cares too much about people to be careless with something that could cause harm. That's why I trust him with my life, and I always will."

Izuku's eyes were wet.

Katsuki had only cursed once in that entire speech, and it had been stupidly sweet. Sure, there were a few...flaws, but the fact that he'd apologized at all spoke volumes.

Kacchan had done that for him. Because he'd known that he was freaking out, and didn't want him to worry. He'd swallowed his pride. Izuku didn't know if he'd ever done that for anyone else but he was more than happy to claim that privilege as his, and his alone.

He shuffled into the dining room, lips trembling at the sight of Katsuki, Eri, and Kota chatting at the dinner table. God, he loved them all. He didn't deserve them.

Katsuki looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"That was...good," Izuku allowed. "A little antagonistic in places, but good," he said, stern demeanor thwarted by the way his voice cracked—sentence ending in an emotional sniffle.

"Glad you liked it," Katsuki smirked. Izuku flipped him off again for good measure. "Eat something, Kota snitched on you. I know you've only eaten popcorn today, nerd."

Izuku shot Kota a dirty look, just to get an unbothered shrug in return.

"So you're not mad?" Eri asked. She sounded hesitant and hopeful and honestly, he'd never been good at denying her hopes and dreams.

"No," Izuku allowed. "But he's on thin ice."

Katsuki scoffed. "Yeah right. I brought dessert. I'm golden."

Izuku sighed. Yeah, he was golden.

Chapter 19

Izuku woke up early the next morning. It felt like it was gonna be a good day. Well, at least it felt like it wouldn’t be a bad day. At the very least, he was gonna start out on the right foot.

Climbing out of bed, he stretched, pushing the remaining sleep out of his limbs. He didn’t have much to do until the Commission released a statement, so it would be another day taking it easy at home.

As he sauntered into the living room, he gave a little grin at the lazy snoring emanating from the couch where Eri and Kota had fallen asleep last night. He and Kacchan had thrown blankets over them (Katsuki had taken blackmail pictures) before going to bed themselves.

Now that his merch was gone, maybe he could just convert the merch room into a spare bedroom. Then, since Kacchan was here more than half the time now, he could make the current spare bedroom into Kacchan’s room.

That thought was both depressing and heartwarming in equal measure and as he made coffee for himself and the house-crashers, he stewed on it.

If he converted the merch room into a guest room, he wouldn’t be reminded of how devastatingly empty it was every time he passed it. And, now that the notebooks were gone, he could ease security. Maybe he could have more friends over to distract him from the fact that his prized possessions were gone.

He should be more optimistic.

Maybe now, he could rebuild it from scratch or something. On the other hand, he could never get the stuff with sentimental value back, and that might just make it worse if he tried to rebuild.

Everyone else in the house was still sleeping, so he poured himself a cup (more like a pitcher) of coffee and sat down at the table.

He pulled out his phone, promising himself that he'd only check his emails. He didn't need the devastating crush of public perception via social media this early in the morning.

He hadn't even brushed his teeth yet.

First, he checked his texts. It was, again, early—so he wasn't exactly counting on many messages. There were a couple in the group chat, but the former classmates who weren't on night shift had gone to bed around the same time he had.

It was mostly just Denki proudly showing off memes that had sprouted from Kacchan's interviews. He snorted at a side-by-side—one with Kacchan yelling and the other with him calmly at his desk. It was captioned: 'Chihuahua vs. Golden Retriever'

Somehow, he doubted that Kacchan would appreciate being compared to a dog in any regard.

When he ran out of texts, he switched to email. There were a few promotional things, a couple of newsletters, and—

He gasped mid-sip, nearly inhaling a mug full of his burning hot coffee.

He took a moment to let his airway clear before yelling, "KACCHAN!" scrambling from his seat as he did. He heard someone fall off the couch but didn't stop to see who it was. His eyes were still fixed on the list of 36 emails—only one of which was opened.

He slammed the door to the guest bedroom open, faltering when he saw Kacchan freeze—one leg in his sweat pants as though he'd been pulling them on, and shirtless.

"The fuck is the matter?" Katsuki croaked, voice rough with sleep. He resumed his attempt to clothe himself.

"The HR team sent thirty-six resumes to us this morning," he uttered. His phone chimed and he glanced at it. "Thirty-seven."

He scrolled through them, eyes widening as he read through them. Katsuki frowned, grabbing his shirt off the baseboard and tugging it on.

"The fuck? Recruiting doesn't start for three months."

Recruiting out of hero schools, sure. But this was different.

"It's like...half of Ingenium's sidekick team," he uttered, eyes glued to the email on his screen. This particular sidekick had interned with them during his last year at Shiketsu, and they'd almost hired him when he graduated. He'd chosen Team Idaten because it was closer to his parents.

"What are you talking about, Deku?"

Izuku cleared his throat (still burnt from coffee), and began to read.

"Dear Deku and Dynamight,

I'm not sure if you remember me, but I worked for Team SmashBang for the final year of my hero work-studies. I truly enjoyed my time with your agency, and I hope you'll be willing to hear my request.

Due to the current security risks and the moral discrepancies that Team Idaten is facing, I've decided to seek a change in employment. As I have experience working with you and continue to aspire to the success and philosophy that SmashBang strives for—I was hoping to resume my employment with your agency.

I've attached my resume for your consideration. Please let me know if you need anything from me to make your decision.

Best,

Hiroki Watanabe

Hero Name: Dark Ray"

"Moral discrepancies I get, Iida's a literal cocksleeve," Katsuki grumbled. "But what security risks?"

"I have no idea," he replied. There was a pit in his stomach—concerned that something else had happened with Ochako that put Iida's team at risk. "We should call in and ask," Izuku murmured, opening the next email. "Maybe the HR team has a better idea of what's going on?"

"Sure, whatever," Katsuki agreed. "Did you make enough coffee for everyone? Or is all the available coffee spilled on your shirt?"

Izuku looked down at his t-shirt, taking in the large coffee stain that he hadn't even noticed. "Uh...there's some in the pot," he said.

"Fantastic," he said, skirting around Izuku to make his way toward the kitchen. "You call HR, I'll make breakfast. I don't pay myself enough to talk to them on my day off."

Despite the nonchalant tone, Izuku could tell that Kacchan was stressed. It had been a constant shit-show since that fucked-up day—an unending rollercoaster of bullshit. They had no idea where the sudden shift had come from and while he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, life had been bitch-slapping him a lot lately.

Not to mention, Katsuki had pissed off a major news outlet yesterday. He'd also probably pissed off a whole Hefty-Bag-full of heroes.

Uncertainty felt like a threat right now. What if the next thing was the thing that broke everything they'd built?

After he got changed, Izuku followed Katsuki to the kitchen, swiping through the rest of the emails—scanning them as he walked. Most of them had similar sentiments to the first—humbly asking to join SmashBang and explaining why they wanted to leave Team Idaten.

Some of them were more...reluctant.

It was as though they blamed SmashBang—Izuku especially—for whatever 'security risk' was making Team Idaten unviable.

Idaten had over a hundred sidekicks, though, so whatever had happened was apparently not bad enough for all of them to jump ship.

Of course, it was possible that the rest had decided to hit up other agencies for new employment. He had no grasp of the situation's magnitude, and that was stressful too.

"What are you yelling about at seven in the morning?" Kota griped. He was sitting at the table, hair askew and scowl already in place.

Eri elbowed him. "Is everything okay?" she asked, softer and sweeter. He gave them a tight smile.

"To be determined," he told them. "I need to make some calls, but I don't think it's bad. For me, at least. Just alarming."

They glanced at each other before looking back at him.

"The fuck are you being so cryptic for?" Kota demanded, folding his arms and attempting to look stern.

Izuku bit back a laugh. He looked more like the five-year-old who punched him in the dick than anything else.

"Because I might be legally barred from sharing HR information with you," he replied, picking his mug up from the table.

They both frowned. "HR information? Is something wrong with your agency?" Eri asked. His heart clenched at the looks on their faces. It was sweet that they were so concerned.

"Don't worry about it for now. Life's just a mess, you know? We're cleaning it up, though. Slowly but surely."

They looked skeptical but relaxed into their seats, and Izuku took that as a cue to go refill his coffee. Katsuki was at the stove, house-wifing his way through fancy-ass omelets with Izuku's "Detroit Snack" apron securely tied around his waist.

"Spinach and mushroom for you, I don't wanna hear a single fucking complaint," Katsuki grunted.

"Hey, I'm not cooking, no complaints here," Izuku mumbled back. He'd already returned his attention to his phone, mentally bracing himself for whatever conversation he was about to have with their HR team.

"Good morning, sir," their head of HR answered before the first ring was over. It didn't bode well that he'd been waiting by the phone.

"What's with the resumés, Aoki?" he asked, trying to keep the nerves out of his tone. Katsuki slowed his movements—listening in as best he could.

"You haven't seen it yet?" he asked, flabbergasted.

Izuku sighed. "It would be really nice if people would assume that I haven't seen things, just in case I haven't seen those things yet. It would save so much time."

"Sorry, it's just—it's all over the place," he explained.

"I'm barely awake, and I only checked my email," he explained, shooting Katsuki an exasperated glance. "Wanna fill me in?"

"I'll send you a link," he said, followed closely by the exaggerated clatter of his keyboard.

"Wanna give me the basics while I wait?" he asked. He was getting really sick of all the tip-toeing. Nobody wanted to bear bad news and he understood that, but the suspense sucked.

"Basically," he began. "Hatsume dropped Team Idaten as a client after Dynamight's statement yesterday. Between the argument that you had with Ingenium at his agency and the guaranteed decline in support gear and security quality, Team Idaten's staff is jumping ship."

Izuku could feel his pulse in his stomach. He put the phone on speaker and pulled up the email that Aoki had sent—a link to a statement from Mei Hatsume's support agency.

"What about patrols in that area, are they getting covered?"

"We were waiting for your okay. The plan is to respond to all inquiries with a blanket statement. Basically, 'thank you for your interest, we'll consider your application and decide on next steps. In the meantime, please coordinate your patrols through the Commission."

"Do it," Izuku agreed. "And let the Commission know that we'll take on approvals paperwork internally until the matter is resolved."

"The hell is going on?" Katsuki asked.

"I'll call you back once Kacchan and I have talked it through," he told Aoki, holding up a hand for Kacchan to wait. Scowling, the blonde turned back to the stove and flipped the omelet in the pan.

He scanned through the statement once Aoki hung up. "Hatsume dropped Idaten as a client," Izuku explained.

Katsuki made a noise of surprise, pulled the pan from the burner, and turned to face him. "Are you serious?"

Izuku nodded.

"Listen to this: "From the desk of Mei Hatsume: A cornerstone of being a support engineer is having the trust of the agencies you work for. I pride myself on the work I've done for the hero community and law enforcement, including the personal projects I've been commissioned for.

Every single invention and system I design is a point of pride. They're my babies. That includes the work I did for Hero Deku. In fact, that may be my greatest work of all. As one of Deku's closest friends, Ingenium was well aware of the trappings of my security system, and was even integral in testing its integrity. It was deeply offensive to hear him call my work inadequate, and it spoke volumes to the lack of trust he has in me and my work.

Therefore, effective immediately, Hatsume Global Innovations will no longer provide support to Team Idaten. We will assist their transition to a new support agency in the hope that Ingenium can be more confident in them than he was in me and my team. Aside from that, we plan to cease all future collaboration."

When he was done, Izuku just...stared at his phone. Despite the tone of the statement—that Hatsume was sticking up for herself and her work—he knew she was sticking up for him too.

As long as she got to invent, Hatsume's professional ego was fairly small. If she didn't want to keep working with someone, she'd send them a private message and work it out behind the scenes.

She'd made the choice to release a public statement for him. To stand in his corner.

"Damn," Katsuki piped up. "Good for Tinker-Tits. Didn't know she had it in her."

He was overwhelmed. Surprised, grateful, warm—and completely unsure of what to say. He did know that he'd be working with accounting to find more budget for their contract with her, though.

Which brought him to the other issue. "Nobody wants to work without a support team," he said, voice a little dazed. "That's why the Idaten sidekicks quit."

"Good for them, too," Katsuki scoffed. "Working under that blowhard dickweed must have sucked. How do the resumés look?"

"Haven't been through them yet," Izuku said. He hadn't even read all of the emails.

"We can go through them after breakfast," Katsuki suggested, reaching into his cupboard to grab plates.

"So what, we're gonna hire thirty-seven sidekicks? Where do we put them? What about the patrol routes that are left underworked when they leave?"

Could they find the budget for more employees? The insurance alone was prohibitive. How many sidekicks would be left without an agency?

Katsuki turned, handing him his plate. "Relax, Deku," he chided, pushing him toward the dining room. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

Chapter 20

Between being force-fed breakfast by his surly hero partner and having Eri and Kota around to distract him, his nerves had dulled over the course of the morning.

This turn of events, while moderately stressful, was a good thing. It was a public show of support, and those had been in short supply lately.

In addition, the mass exodus of Idaten's staff would be breaking news by noon. In the time that it had taken for them to eat breakfast, their peers had awoken and found similar inboxes full of resumés and cover letters.

None of them were In a better position to mass-hire new sidekicks than SmashBang. They still had to work it out with accounting and HR, but the more Izuku thought about it, the more doable it seemed.

Given the last month, the optimism that logic afforded him was a huge relief. Usually, the more he thought about things, the worse they got.

"Where will we put them all, though," Izuku asked, swirling coffee in his mug like a fine wine as he pondered. "We're tapped out on facility space, not to mention that our patrol routes are already saturated."

"Uh, excuse me?" Kota protested. "You're gonna let those D-listers sidekick for you when I've been trying to get into SmashBang for years?"

"We all agreed that you needed to round out your experience before we take you on, Kota," Izuku reminded him with an exasperated sigh.

"Well if we're already hiring a shit ton of new sidekicks, we might as well steal the little shit from Backdraft while we're at it," Katsuki pointed out. "He can finish out his last year of work study with us, and—"

"Kota, Eri, and Katsuma all have contracts with their respective agencies, and we're not gonna ruin our relationships with good heroes by poaching heroes before those contracts are up," Izuku stated firmly. "They can join us when they graduate."

Both Kota and Katsuki rolled their eyes, pouting like infants because they didn't get their way. Izuku rolled his eyes and Eri giggled, leaning into Kota's side.

"You could always get yourself fired and tank your grades so I can surpass you," she suggested, grinning. "I'd be a more charming valedictorian anyway."

"Bite me," Kota grumbled.

"Anyway," Izuku interrupted before Eri could do just that. "If we're gonna hire all the people who came to us, we need to figure out how we're gonna redistribute responsibilities—"

"For the record, we're not gonna hire all the people who came to us," Katsuki said, booking no room for argument.

Izuku sighed again. While he had been enjoying the breakfast that Katsuki had bullied him into enjoying, Katsuki had started sorting through the emails they'd received.

He was...displeased with some of the cover letters, to say the least.

"We're at least gonna consider everyone—"

"One of those shit-heels said that it was your responsibility to hire her because you ruined Idaten. The fucking audacity aside, can you imagine an attitude like that working with our sidekicks? I don't fucking think so, Deku."

"If they're good candidates whose skill sets can mesh well with others, we should consider it, assuming we have the space and bandwidth for them," he argued.

"What if they said it about me?" Katsuki demanded. "Would you still be so happy-go-lucky about the blatant disrespect?"

"No, but you're not responsible for HGI dropping Idaten, I am."

"No you're fucking not!" he snapped. "Did you use Iida's asshole like a sock puppet and make him slander Crazy-Eyes and her work? No!"

"Gross mental image aside, he's right," Eri said. "You're not responsible for Ingenium's actions, even if they happened because of your drama. He's the one who chose to handle it that way."

Izuku sighed, sensing a losing argument. "Why don't we let HR take care of filtering out candidates," he suggested. "And focus on the actual problem. We're not equipped to take on this many sidekicks, Kacchan. Where are we gonna put them?"

The blonde sipped his coffee, brow furrowing thoughtfully. "We've been talking about expansion for a while now," he pointed out. "Maybe instead of expanding our current facilities, we can go with satellite facilities instead."

"You mean...put SmashBang offices in Iida's district?" he asked, apprehensive. "You do understand how that would look PR-wise, right?"

"Optically speaking, can we really look any fucking worse right now?" he drawled. "Who the fuck cares what the horde of extras thinks—"

"We do!"

"We're not doing to horn in on his territory—if those sidekicks are more familiar with that district and live in that district, it makes more sense to have them there."

"Just because optics aren't a priority, doesn't mean that we should toss them out the window all together," Izuku insisted. "We're gonna have to be insanely transparent if we do this, Kacchan. The public can't assume for even a second that we're being smug or shoving it in Iida's face. It has to be all logistics and compassion."

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "I know, nerd. I don't want to start shit, I'm down to figure out how to spin it. Besides, we'd need to clear it with the Commission, so it's not like we can just invade and take over. Relax."

Izuku ignored the gnawing nerves and forced a smile.

"It's not a bad idea," he allowed. "We can say we're working to make the transition easier on the sidekicks we're taking on—"

"And making sure that their patrols stay covered," Eri added. She blushed a moment later, hunching over. "Sorry."

"No, you're right," Izuku smiled, genuine this time. "That's a good point. PR can probably work with that. The rest of this is just figuring out how we're gonna pay and insure thirty-seven sidekicks—"

"Twenty-nine," Katsuki argued. Izuku ignored him.

"And how we're going to afford agency space. Iida's district is...not exactly cheap, real estate-wise."

"We might have to scrap for a little while, but between loans and cutting our own salaries, we should be fine. We could also push up the promotional line we've been planning to help cover the costs," Katsuki replied.

He was so calm about it all—so ready with answers and comfortable with the shifting ground that Izuku couldn't help but be put at ease as well.

"Okay," he said, finally relaxing into his seat. "We can give it a shot. But if it ends up being a shit show, we gotta figure something else out."

"Sure, whatever," Katsuki agreed. "Now can we not talk about fucking work anymore?"

Izuku shook his head, smiling. "Sure. I'll send all this over to the team and then we can watch movies or something."

"I was thinking video games. Something I can kick your ass at," Katsuki suggested, rising from the table.

"So...nothing?" Izuku teased, smile going mischievous at the edges.

"You're so full of shit," he scoffed. "When's the last time you beat me at anything?"

Izuku smirked and started counting on his fingers. "Mario Party last week, Ultra Smash last game night,—"

"Fuck you, you cheated!"

"Monopoly at family dinner, sparring for the last three years—"

"You're so full of shit, I beat you last week!"

"Did you though?"

He grinned as Katsuki bristled, dodging him when he tried to grab Izuku in a headlock. "I'm gonna murder you, you little fuck!"

"You're gonna try!"

Eri cleared her throat. "If you two can't get along, I'm gonna make you both play Unicorn Battle Party with me, and I'm gonna beat both of your asses."

"Watch your mouth," Katsuki huffed. She pinned him with an unimpressed stare and, to Izuku's utter dismay, flipped him off with both hands.

"Your dad's gonna kill us if you do that in front of him," Izuku warned her.

"I'll blame it on Mirio or Hitoshi," she shrugged.

They were in the middle of Yoshi's Tropical Island when the Commission made their move.

Honestly, Izuku hadn't expected them to say anything for weeks. Sure, their overall mission and structure were better, but they were still an enormous bureaucracy. Decisions took time.

They were bickering when Kota interrupted, ribbing each other as they fucked around in-game.

"Holy shit," he said, drawing their attention. He was hunched over his phone, eyes flying across the screen and getting wider as he went.

A smile was pulling the corner of his mouth.

Katsuki tossed the controller aside, pulling his phone out and looking for whatever Kota was reading.

"What is it?" Izuku asked, heart in his throat.

"The Commission," he replied, eyes still glued to the screen. A moment later, Katsuki was shoving his phone in front of Izuku's face so that they could read together.

He could feel his phone going off in his pocket—so whatever was had to be a big deal. As though he knew that Izuku was too frazzled to absorb the words on the screen, Katsuki began reading aloud.

"We'd like to thank you all for your patience as we work to resolve a myriad of issues over the past few weeks. Many of you are frustrated and are uncertain of who to trust. We hope to provide as much clarity as we can.

First, upon reviewing the circumstances surrounding Hero Deku's comportment during the rescue attempts at the building collapse, we'd like to assure you all that his actions were not only compliant with HPSC safety standards but above and beyond in regard to the comfort and welfare of the victims involved."

Izuku breathed a sigh of relief. He'd never confirmed whether complaints were submitted against him—opting to focus on the glaring problems he could control, but it was good to know that whatever investigation they'd held had come up clean.

He was tempted to send Ibara flowers.

"We'd also like to address the attacks earlier this week, and the circumstances that led to them. Regrettably, we are not currently in a position to provide details. The chain of events that led to this disaster is unclear, and revealing the information we have, at this juncture could lead to further destruction and unrest. Due to the catastrophic nature of these attacks, we'll be declassifying information once we've received and reviewed all the relevant information.

However, until we're done investigating, we cannot risk jeopardizing more lives. We apologize for not having adequate information at this time, and our inability to offer insight into what transpired."

"That's it?" Eri protested. "Why the hell were you so excited then?" she asked Kota, kicking his ankle.

"Let him finish," Kota hissed back.

"However," Katsuki continued, scowling. "We are prepared to make steps in the right direction and take preliminary action. As of today and until our investigation concludes—Uravity's hero license is suspended, and will remain revoked until we're more certain of her role in these events."

Izuku's breath stuttered in his chest as Eri gave out a little whoop of victory, throwing her arms around Kota and squeezing him tight.

It took a lot for a hero's license to get suspended, and the public knew it. Making that statement was a strong move, and it was in his favor.

Katsuki threw an arm around his shoulder as he pulled out his own phone, probably to read over his shoulder. He was anxious to know how the public—not to mention their friends—were reacting. He scanned through his texts, touched by all of the people who were checking in on him.

"Hitoshi and Hanta want to come over," he told them, smiling a little wider. "I'm gonna veto the champagne though—"

"Fuck no, you're not," Katsuki protested. "It's my day off and we're celebrating the Commission's decision to grow a fucking backbone."

Izuku snorted. "Fine. Should I tell them to bring pizza, too?"

"Do you only eat pizza unless I cook for you?" Katsuki asked seriously. Izuku elbowed him.

"Of course not," he huffed. "It's Kota's favorite food group, though, and he's still recovering."

The group chat was flooded and he was way too far behind to catch up on all of it. The general sentiment was positive, though—glad that the Commission had actually taken a stand amidst the turmoil. Mina was easily the most vocal and her messages were...bordering on disturbing, but elated.

Just a few hours ago, he'd woken up certain that it was gonna be a good day and, despite being terrified of jinxing it, he'd been right. It finally felt like things were turning in his favor, and his whole body felt light with relief.

That feeling carried him through the rest of the day, especially as their friends' shifts ended and his house began to fill.

Hitoshi and Hanta came first—Hanta bearing champagne and pizza, and Hitoshi bearing a metric fuck-ton of cookies. Izuku frowned at them as he hefted the box onto the dining table. Hitoshi gave him a bland stare.

"They're Eri's. It's the 'overbearing brother' tax I have to pay whenever I crash her hangouts," he explained. "Cupcakes or cookies, paid up front, no IOUs."

Izuku looked at Eri with an amused grin, and she smirked back at him—more smug than he'd ever seen her.

"Can I have one? Or do you plan to eat...what, a hundred cookies?"

"A hundred and fifty," Hitoshi replied in perfect monotone, accepting a champagne flute from Hanta.

"Jesus fuck," Katsuki muttered, pressed up against his side. "Your blood sugar must be sky-high."

"My blood sugar is none of your business," Eri huffed. "Until I'm your sidekick, at least. Hire me if you want an opinion."

"Mouthy brat," Katsuki grumbled as Izuku laughed into his hands, shoulders shaking with silent mirth.

By 8 PM, their little celebration was in full swing.

Kyoka and Denki came through after their patrol, more booze in her hands and more video games in his. Izuku recognized some of the games, blanching as he realized that he'd probably have to replace his controllers after tonight.

Within an hour, Katsuki and Denki were locked in an impressive battle—yelling at each other so loudly that Izuku could barely hear his phone ringing over the noise.

He pulled it out, expecting his mom to be calling for the daily updates he'd been giving since the divorce. But it wasn't his mom.

It was Commissioner Suzuki.

Chapter 21

Izuku stood from the couch, ignoring the way the room went silent. He skirted the couch as his stomach churned. It was 9 PM. The Commissioner himself was calling, and that could only mean something serious. Something urgent.

"Deku?" Katsuki called. Izuku looked over at him.

"Commissioner," he replied. Kacchan's eyes widened, and tension stifled the room. "I'm gonna take this, you guys keep going."

He nodded, but nobody moved to restart the game. He accepted the call, moving into the hallway. "Good evening, sir."

"Midoriya," Suzuki greeted him.

"Has something happened?" he asked. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat.

"Not...exactly. I apologize if I alarmed you," he said. "We do need your help, though."

"Sir?"

"We released a statement this afternoon, as I'm sure you saw, but we hadn't uncovered how your notebooks ended up at the epicenter of a villain uprising," he explained.

"Yes, I read the statement," Izuku replied, trying not to sound as impatient as he was.

"At first," he said. "Given the nature of your marital issues and the related complications, we thought that Uravity sold your notebooks as collector's items without doing her due diligence on the buyer. At the time, it made the most sense, considering that she was trying to maximize the profit for your belongings."

"I don't think she would have sold them, considering that she admitted to everything else," Izuku said.

He was loathe to defend her, but it didn't make sense. Why lie about selling the notebooks if she didn't think they were important? Especially after admitting that she'd sold everything else. It didn't make sense.

Then again neither did she.

"You're right," Suzuki told him. "When we looked through your security footage, we saw her removing your possessions from the premises. She told the truth—the notebooks were put in the recycling unaltered. She'll be held responsible for malicious negligence on multiple fronts."

"Thank you for letting me know," Izuku said. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like a copy of the footage for my own records."

"Of course. We're sending the originals back to you, we've made copies for our investigation," Suzuki told him. "That's not why I called, though."

Izuku's stomach twisted, hoping that he wasn't about to get more bad news. "I'm listening," he said.

"After watching the footage, we believe we've found the person responsible for the attacks. We picked him up a couple hours ago," he said. "He'll only speak to you."

"How soon do you need me?" he asked, anxious. He wouldn't be calling if it weren't urgent.

Suzuki sighed. "The sooner the better, if you don't mind. He's a civilian, and he seems to be willing to be forthcoming as long as you're the one interviewing him. Can you come in now?"

He took stock of himself—noting that he wasn't exactly sober, nor was he alone at the moment. "I have some friends over for moral support," he explained. "And we've been drinking, sir. It's your call."

Suzuki gave a displeased hum, considering his options. Izuku winced. He felt bad that he wasn't in top form when the Commissioner himself was going above and beyond to resolve conflicts that started in Izuku's home.

"If you're not too inebriated," he said at last. "I think it would be best for you to come in now. The sooner we figure out what happened, the sooner we can rest assured that no further incidents will take place."

"Of course, sir," Izuku agreed. "I'll be there."

"We both will," Katsuki said, startling Izuku out of his skin. He was listening, just a few steps away—waiting for him in the doorway.

Gratefulness seeped into his skin, warm and comforting. He didn't know what he would do without Kacchan. He was his rock in a storm and he was relieved that without even asking, Katsuki was refusing to let him do any of this alone.

"Unfortunately," Suzuki said hesitantly. "He seems to have a grudge of some sort for Dynamight. I'm not sure his presence would make for a productive interrogation."

Izuku's heart sank. Kacchan seemed determined to hold it up, though. He yanked the phone out of Izuku's hand.

"Then I'll stay behind the glass," he snapped. "He doesn't have to know that I'm there, but I'm gonna be there. Deku ain't doing this shit alone, and I'm his partner."

Suzuki sounded tiny and tinny but his sigh was audible. The man knew a losing battle when he heard one. "Very well. I'll expect you both within the hour."

His name was Hiroki Takeda, and he'd been caught on camera approaching the recycling bins and fishing out the notebooks.

Suzuki let them watch beforehand, so they could get a grasp of the situation.

Takeda looked...reverent as he flipped through them, smile so wide that he could have outshone the sun. He'd approached the dumpster within minutes of Ochako tossing the notebooks inside, so he must have been watching the house.

He was only 18.

They watched him from behind the two-way mirror in the interview room, trying to get a read on him. The kid looked harmless—only a few years older than Eri and Kota, and nervous as fuck.

Izuku felt a little sick, and it wasn't because of the booze. How could someone so young—so anxious, and clearly out of his depth—be responsible for so much chaos and pain? But there was no question—he'd been the last known person in possession of his notebooks so somehow, he was involved.

Izuku put his earpiece in, and took a swig of the crappy convenience store coffee they'd picked up on the way. "I'm ready," he said, squaring his shoulders.

"I'm in your ear," Kacchan assured him. "Relax, alright?"

"He's in quirk-canceling cuffs," Suzuki assured them. "They're bolted to the table, so he's effectively immobile."

Izuku wasn't worried about that. He was the Number Six hero. He'd inherited his quirk from All Might. This anxious teenager who'd made a mess wasn't a threat—not after Shigaraki.

He was afraid that he'd misstep, and ruin any chance they had at getting information out of him.

He entered the room and Takeda brightened immediately, his smile bright and excited—maybe even adoring.

"Mr. Deku," he breathed. "It's really you!"

Izuku blinked at him. "Hello," he replied, uncertain. "Are you...aware of why you're here?"

"Of course," Takeda replied, a little more serious. "But that's why I wanted to talk to you! I know you'll understand when I explain."

Izuku did not like where this was going, and they'd barely even started. He sat across from Takeda.

"Can you start from the beginning?" he asked, tone kind even as his gut roiled with anxiety.

"I'm your biggest fan," he blurted out, blushing a moment later. "I know you like your privacy, but one day I was coming home from work and I saw you driving into your home—only I didn't know it was yours at the time? I waited outside, hoping to get an autograph, but you never came out."

Ah. So that's how he figured out where Izuku lived. Unfortunate.

"You're my fan?" he asked, a little horrified but keeping that sentiment out of his voice.

"I've been your fan for years," he agreed. "So sometimes before work—and I'm really sorry, I know it's super invasive—I hang out across the street and try to get pictures of you leaving. I never get to see you in action because I work pretty far away from most villain activity—"

"You've been taking pictures of me," he uttered. He couldn't mask his displeasure this time.

"Only if you're in costume!" he swore. That didn't make it better. "And I always edit out your address if I post them online—"

Izuku grit his teeth. Anyone with moderately good computer skills could match images of his house to Google Earth or something. That was not the reassurance Takeda hoped it was.

"What the fuck," Katsuki murmured in his ear. Izuku concurred.

"Let's put that on hold for now," he said, consciously keeping his jaw unclenched. He was seriously not okay with the invasion of privacy, but he needed to keep Takeda calm. "Why don't we talk about the notebooks."

He brightened again, and Izuku wondered if he understood just how bad this whole situation was. Why did he seem so pleased?

"I saw Uravity throw them away," he explained, clearly thrilled with himself. "I knew what they were as soon as I saw them! I'd seen you writing in them in footage from your days at UA!"

"They were personal property," he said seriously. "And they were thrown away without my knowledge or consent."

Takeda floundered, looking chastened. "I...I didn't realize," he said, sheepish. "I didn't even think about it, really. I saw her throw them away and thought...this is my chance, you know? I could have something that used to belong to you. And then I read them, and they were such an amazing insight into who you are. I felt so close to you."

"Jesus fuck, this kid is deranged," Katsuki whispered. Once again, Izuku concurred.

"Why didn't you turn them in when you realized you were reading sensitive information?" he asked. "I would think any fan of mine would go the extra mile to make sure the public is safe."

Takeda frowned, tilting his head in confusion. "I didn't turn them in because I read them," he explained.

Izuku frowned too. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"There was so much amazing quirk analysis, and I learned so much about your life," he said reverently. "I saw so much about your childhood—how people treated you before you had a quirk, especially Dynamight," he spat like it was a dirty word.

"Fuck, that explains it," Katsuki muttered in his ear.

"And then I saw all the stuff you wrote about hero society," he continued, blind to the dismay on Izuku's face. "About how Heroes glorify power at the expense of the people they're supposed to protect. How fame and fortune matter more than the actual core of heroism. It was an eye-opener, I'd never seen it the way you had!"

"Takeda—"

"No, listen!" he cried, wounded at the pity in Izuku's voice.

"It was fate! I had the information, which meant it was my responsibility to see your vision come to life—to help you create a hero society truly built on heroes striving to protect us instead of striving for the limelight. I was so scared, so nervous. But I knew that I was doing the right thing once the media turned on you. They dragged your name through the mud, focusing on rumors instead of how much good you'd done. No matter how many people you'd saved, no matter how amazing and good you are, the public turned their backs on you, and I needed to show them what a real hero looks like. A hero like you—working to save them no matter what they think. You're the greatest out of all of them—you know what heroism is better than anyone, from their role in society to how their quirks work. I had to show them."

"What did you do," Izuku rasped, eyes stinging and throat tight with horror. Is this what he inspired? "Takeda, what did you do?"

It seemed that Takeda was finally starting to realize that he may have misstepped.

"I had to show them that you knew best," he explained. "That in a crisis, even with everyone against you, you would rise to the occasion. You could save them all by yourself if you wanted to, because there isn't a single hero who's better than you. The only way I could think to do that was...to create the crisis."

Izuku felt sick. Sick and heartbroken.

"Oh, fuck," Katsuki swore, voice full of horrified realization.

"What did you do?" he asked again, voice cracking as his eyes flooded. How had he steered this kid so wrong? How many of his fans thought like this? "We need to know, Takeda."

He swallowed audibly, casting his eyes down.

"It took some research," he began. "But I reached out to various villains on the dark web. I asked them to meet me so that I could tell them my plan," he admitted. "It started off alright and they seemed to be on board, but once they realized that I had your notebooks—your analysis—they...took over. They cut me out of the plan and disappeared. I didn't even know if they'd go through with it, but they'd taken the notebooks with them, so I hoped they would. And then, it went off almost exactly how I planned, except they brought more villains into the mix. The result ended up a lot bigger than I thought it would. Especially since some of the smaller villains who weren't a part of it took advantage of the chaos."

Izuku slumped back in his seat, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. That didn't stem the flow of tears that had started—horrified and miserable.

"You're going to give us a list of all the villains you reached out to," Izuku said quietly, voice trembling and raw. "And you're going to hand your computer over to the Commission."

"The Commission?" he protested. "Deku, they're an ineffective bureaucracy that protects immorality in order to protect their image—"

"They used to be," he interrupted. He raised his eyes to meet Takeda's, and misery met disappointment in each other's gaze. "You have to listen to me now. You're young, so you haven't seen how much has changed since I was in school. Since I wrote those notebooks."

"All of those things are still happening!"

"Because we're still growing!" Izuku shouted. He took a moment to school himself—took a deep breath to keep himself calm. Or at least, as calm as he could be.

"You've got this, Deku," Katsuki murmured, soft and assuring. "I know this sucks, but you've gotta tell him what he needs to hear. You can do it."

He took a shuddering breath, bracing himself. He had so much to say. But what if it fell on deaf ears? What if this kid who had misinterpreted him so badly was beyond his help? Either way, he'd be serving jail time for colluding with villains. For orchestrating what amounted to a terror attack.

He wished he'd never written those notebooks. He could have prevented so much pain by keeping his thoughts in his head, away from prying eyes.

"I don't even know where to start," he murmured. "I know which entry sparked this, I remember writing it. It was after my first year Sports Festival, and I was angry on behalf of one of my friends. I saw things that needed to change and once we defeated Shigaraki, it became my main priority. Our main priority. My classmates and I—along with most of the heroes in our generation—have been working hard to make things better. To make the Commission more transparent. To make heroes accountable for their mistakes. It's been getting better through hard work and transparency. Lasting change takes time and hard work, it's not magically better overnight—but we’re moving in the right direction.”

“Not fast enough!”

“So you thought this would make it move faster?  That people would see I could do no wrong? Takeda, I’m human, of course I can do wrong! I don’t know everything, and I certainly can’t save everyone, not by myself!”

“You could though!” He insisted. “From your knowledge alone, you—“

“You’re not listening! Do you know what All Might’s fatal flaw was? The fact that he tried to do everything alone! He kept all his major battles a secret and held the world on his shoulders, and it’s the main reason he had to retire—the reason he lost his power. The entire point of my career has been to prove that we can’t do it all by ourselves. Making the world a better place is a team sport, and I can’t do it alone. I need the help of the commission and my fellow heroes, and they need my help too. It’s how we keep each other honest and good. It’s how we make society better, together.”

Takeda looked frustrated and obstinate—and Izuku recognized the look. It was the look of someone who’d made up his mind, and was unwilling to admit they might be wrong because it would mean accepting responsibility.

“It’s not better, though. They’re not honest and good, it’s still full of self-serving ‘heroes’ who care more about their image than who they protect—“

“No system is perfect,” Izuku interrupted. “Especially one as large as the Commission, or society as a whole. That’s why we hold heroes accountable if and when they do wrong. You can’t always tell, but you can hold people responsible for their actions. That’s how we improve. And besides, the “bad” heroes weren’t the heroes who were hurt by your actions, the good ones were. The ones who put themselves on the line to protect? They protected people who needed them, and too many of them were hurt for no reason. Five of them died, not to mention countless civilians. Do you understand how much unnecessary pain and destruction you caused? And you did it to prove a point that was already proven—to build what we’ve already been working to build through collaboration.”

He broke off and took a deep breath to rein himself in. Takeda took his silence as permission to speak.

“I did it for you,” he insisted, sounding upset and unstable. “Those heroes who you say are good? They turned their back on you! I don’t understand why you’re defending them! Your strategies saved them, Shoto said it himself!”

“I don’t care what they think of me!” he yelled. “I don’t give a shit about my image, and if you were my fan, you’d know that! I don’t need them to like me, I just need to protect them. I don’t do it for their love or gratefulness, I do it to keep them safe. You put them in harm’s way. What made you think that I'd be happy that you put people in danger to make me look better? I’d rather be hated by the world than see innocents terrified and hurt. And you didn’t just put civilians in danger, but you endangered my loved ones, too. I had to watch people I care about be ruthlessly targeted by villains and keep them all out of harm’s way. If I’d failed, it would have been on me. Do you think I would have recovered from that?”

“I…I didn’t mean—“ Tadeka stuttered, finally understanding the gravity.

“If Manual and Backdraft weren’t there, Geyser—my protege—would have been killed, and I would have had to watch it happen without being able to help. If Dynamight hadn’t been there, Red Riot would have been killed trying to protect a civilian from a falling building.”

Takeda bristled again—the obstinate sheen reentering his eyes. “Dynamight isn’t a hero,” he snapped. “I’m not sure why you chose him as a partner after what I read but he’s just in it for the glory, just like Endeavor was—"

“Shut the fuck up,” Izuku hissed. He wondered briefly if he could blame his lack of impulse control on the champagne. Takeda’s mouth snapped shut, eyes going wide. “Do you know who’s stood by my side through all of this? Especially the shit that you put me through? Dynamight—my best friend and partner—has taken on twice as many shifts because the public doesn’t trust me to save them anymore. He’s been carrying my weight for the last month. He’s saved my life countless times. He’s got an ego the size of the sun, but he’s earned it through hard work—and when push comes to shove he’ll always do the right thing, even if it means putting himself in the line of fire. He’s the most important person in my life, and the shit you read in that notebook was shit we got over a decade ago. Shit we resolved with blood, sweat, and tears and through having each other’s backs. There’s nobody in the world I trust more. There’s nobody in the world I love more, and you nearly got him killed!”

“Deku, calm down,” Kacchan soothed. “Yelling at him isn’t gonna help. Relax, alright? Breathe.”

Izuku did as he was told, closing his eyes. Taking another breath. Unclenching his jaw.

“It’s not completely your fault—in fact, it’s mostly Uravity’s. But everything you did to ‘help me’ has made things worse. By using my notebooks, you did the opposite of what you wanted to do. People are pissed I had them in the first place, even though I used them to help my peers improve. You handed them over to villains and went against everything I stand for,” he said, heart bleeding.

They were both crying now, one in shame and the other in sorrow. “I was trying to help," Takeda uttered.

Izuku looked at him, overwhelmed by everything he felt. Pity, anger, sadness, regret. He didn’t even know which one he felt most.

“It breaks my heart that you read my thoughts in their most unfiltered form, and came up with this as the solution,” he said honestly. “You missed the point of all of it because you put me on a pedestal, and you hurt so many people in my name. Help me make it better. It can’t be fixed but if you tell us what we need to know, we can start making amends. We can make sure nobody else gets hurt by this. But we need to find those notebooks and secure them, along with the people who had them. Help me do that,” he pleaded.

Takeda looked at him, defeated and morose. Izuku wanted to feel bad for him but was encompassed on all sides by the chaos he'd created.

Maybe that was his legacy. Maybe Izuku inspired ugliness in people like Takeda and Ochako. Maybe he was the source of his own downfall and always would be.

Finally, Takeda spoke. "I'll try."

Relief soothed the edges of his heartbreak, and he heard Kacchan breathe a sigh of relief.

"We've got this, Deku," Kacchan told him. "You got him to cooperate, we'll figure out the rest."

Izuku only hoped it would be enough.

Chapter 22

He was exhausted.

Every spare moment he had was spent tracking down his notebooks with the meager information that Takeda had been able to give them.

Once the notebooks had left his hands, they'd been passed around. They'd been upsettingly efficient, handing off his analysis to the villain who could best use them.

Every villain they'd secured needed to be interrogated—their homes searched and...and every notebook they uncovered was secured.

The Commission had made a temporary decision—that his notebooks would be sealed until they determined what to do with them. Thankfully, they'd allowed Izuku to have a say—but it was mostly sitting in on meetings where most of the people involved insisted that his innermost thoughts and passionate analysis were too dangerous.

That the personal parts could be salvaged, but the rest should be destroyed.

So far, the only compromise they'd considered was to have the notebooks digitized and left with the Commission for safekeeping.

He was lucky they were considering that much. Maybe he shouldn't be so attached, but he'd spent so much time making them.

He came home with a heavy heart that evening, Katsuki only a few steps behind him. He'd been at his side the entire time, helping him hunt down as many of his journals as possible. Helping him convince the Commission that the problem wasn't security, it was Ochako's negligence.

They at least seemed willing to listen, and over the past week they'd softened—but it was pretty clear that they had no intention of letting him bring them home.

He tried not to let it bring him down too hard, but he'd been proud of them. They'd made him the hero he was today.

On the bright side, today they'd found the notebook with All Might's signature. He'd already cut out the page in question—putting it in a protective sleeve a moment later.

It was the only thing he'd managed to recover from his mentor. All of the merch that All Might had given him had been sold and donated, so this flimsy piece of notebook paper with his hero's signature was all he had.

For now, it was enough. It was a step in the right direction, at least. And maybe he'd never get his merch back, but he'd have the memories. He'd have the knowledge that All Might had cared about him and enjoyed seeing him happy. It was enough.

"Go put it in the merch room," Katsuki told him, hanging up his coat. "I'll order dinner."

Honestly, as shitty as things were, he was still so fortunate. He had so many wonderful people in his corner, especially Katsuki. They were going above and beyond to help him—volunteering to help him hunt down the journals over the past two weeks, publicly declaring their support, and doing their best to cheer him up.

He was so grateful for them.

As though on cue, his phone chimed. It was a text from Hagakure, and tears sprung to his eyes at the sight of it.

From: miss appear 🫥

told you, mido! you're a whole cinnamon roll, they'll remember that soon enough. nobody can stay mad at u 💕

She'd included a link, and he recognized the face in the thumbnail video. His heart twisted.

He hadn't been allowed to visit Keiko in the hospital—her mother had barred him, so he hadn't been able to check on her.

Seeing her awake and smiling was such a relief that his body seemed to melt with the release of tension. Her mom was sitting next to her, looking tense but not like she was reluctant to be there. She looked contrite.

"Hi," Keiko smiled at the camera. "My name is Keiko and I'm the girl Deku saved from the building collapse."

"The hell is that?" Kacchan asked, coming up behind him to watch over his shoulder.

"Weren't you listening?" Izuku teased. "Her name is Keiko, and she's the girl I saved from the building collapse."

"Smart ass," Katsuki grumbled.

"I know things have been really hard for him," Keiko continued. They fell silent. "People have been doubting him and stuff. But I wanted to thank him for saving me. I was really scared, and he made me feel like everything was gonna be okay."

His heart melted, tears welling up in his eyes.

Then, Keiko's mom took a deep breath.

"I don't know if he's listening," she said, low and contrite. His stomach twisted. "But I'd like to sincerely apologize to Deku for the things I said, and for...for slapping him," she uttered. She hung her head. "I was terrified, and my baby wasn't moving. I thought she was dead. I let myself get sucked into what the media had been saying, and I needed someone to blame, and Deku was there. It's not an excuse, and I'll never be able to make it up to him. He saved my little girl, and he made her feel safe and seen. When she woke up, the first thing Keiko did was ask for the All Might doll, and I realized that I'd made a huge mistake. He saved it so that she could feel secure—she told me the whole story. Deku deserved so much better than the snap judgment I made."

"We wanted to say thank you," Keiko piped up, smiling wide. "And let you know that my head is healed, so you don't have to worry about me! You saved me, just like All Might would. We hope you'll feel better and start saving people again soon!"

He was silent as the video ended. His heart felt warm and liquid in his chest and he was choking on it, eyes stinging.

It was good to know that some people still believed in him. And that peoples' minds could be changed. In a whole pile of stress and anxiety, a little hope and kindness were more than welcome.

"Damn, they really went to town," Katsuki murmured right next to his ear. Izuku jumped. He'd forgotten that the blonde was reading over his shoulder.

"Who?" he asked, confused. He looked back at the video. It was a Twitter video, and it had taken him until this very moment to notice how inanely large the numbers underneath it were.

It had only been posted an hour ago, and it was already approaching ten thousand retweets. He was pretty sure that qualified as viral.

"No way that shit would have had that much traction unless our idiots shared it," Katsuki replied. He pulled his own phone out to prove his point—bringing up Mina's account and shoving it in front of his face.

She'd retweeted it, cooing about how cute Keiko was and how everything he'd done to make her feel safe was in line with who he was as a person.

Kacchan went to Denki's next, and the electric blonde was a little more...pointed—with a passive-aggressive "Imagine thinking Deku is anything but a cinnamon roll, couldn't be me 💅"

"Looks like the idiots are done waiting for you to let them defend you," he said smugly.

He wanted to be worried—to be upset that they were putting their own names on the line for him. But he was so tired. He was so grateful for any ounce of the burden they were willing to carry or erase. It was like he'd told Takeda—he couldn't do it all on his own.

He tried to open the QTs, but Katsuki snatched the phone out of his hand. "Fuck no," he huffed. "Not until I've fucking vetted them, idiot. You can read the ones I approve."

His stomach twisted. Maintaining a public image was a rollercoaster. No matter what, somebody would have something bad to say about you. And people had been saying awful things about him for almost two months now. It was...probably for the best that he didn't look.

Slowly, he nodded. "Okay," he replied. "But only if you promise not to insult everyone who insulted me."

Katsuki scowled. "Fuck up all my fun," he grumbled. "You suck."

He laughed, leaving his phone in Katsuki's care so he could go put the autograph away.

He still hated walking into the merch room. It was so empty and cold, unlike the space he'd crafted with care for years.

It made his decision to move a little easier.

Takeda had been posting photos of him online for almost a year, and while his security system was damn good, he didn't exactly like the idea of his mother visiting a place that had been compromised. He didn't want to put his friends at risk either, but they'd at least be able to defend themselves against villain threats. Izuku was already a magnet for trouble, he didn't need to tempt fate.

It was a bummer, but it was for the best. It didn't feel like home anymore, anyway.

Knowing he wouldn't be in the same place as the hollowed-out husk of both his marriage and his merch room made it easier.

When he came back out, Kacchan was lounging on the sofa—ordering Chinese food and watching the news on mute. He glanced at the screen, watching as Suzuki updated the public on their progress. The scroll on the bottom of the screen flashed a headline—explaining that Izuku had been absolved of responsibility in the attacks, and that Uravity's suspension had been amended to a ban.

He'd known the first part, not the second.

His jaw dropped and, despite the fact that Katsuki was still on the phone, he scrambled for the remote and unmuted the TV.

"We've learned that the widespread attacks that killed two heroes are a direct result of Uravity's actions. Upon moving into Deku's home, Uravity was required to apply for security clearance and agreed to safely and securely dispose of all materials related to the hero analysis in question, as well as any confidential information related to Deku or the heroes he works with. These terms were violated in a manner so negligent that the devastation that ensued wasn't just a possibility, it was a likelihood."

The screen switched to a news anchor, who had even more to say. His stomach was fluttering—inundated by the influx of good news.

"In addition to the statement from the Commissioner, we've learned that the families of the hero casualties have come forward to pursue legal action against Uravity in hopes of charging her with criminally negligent manslaughter. We've reached out to the SmashBang Agency for a statement, and will update the story as it unfolds."

He blinked at the TV, pulse racing. He turned to look at Kacchan, mouth agape. Katsuki had gone silent too, even though the phone was still pressed to his ear.

"Holy shit," he uttered. Keiko's video was playing on the screen behind him now.

Was this really happening?

Was he finally getting a break?

"We should check in with PR," he uttered, tone raspy and tight.

"In the morning," Kacchan counter-offered. "I think you deserve to relax." Izuku nodded, lip trembling a moment later. He wanted to relax so badly.

Katsuki got to his feet before the first tear fell, dropping the phone on the sofa and wrapping his arms around Izuku's shoulders. Izuku buried his face in Kacchan's neck, sniffling.

"I told you it would all work out," Katsuki murmured. Izuku could hear the smirk in his voice.

Smug asshole. He was right, though.

"Yeah," he replied, choked with relief. "You did."

He could hear his phone blowing up, and the news anchor restarting the story for evening viewers. He could hear Kacchan's heartbeat under his ear, steady and strong.

For the first time in months, he felt like he was back on solid ground—and not just because Kacchan was anchoring him.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and he could see the way to the end of this really shitty life detour for the first time.

He was gonna be okay.

Chapter 23

He gave himself the evening to relax, opting for a quiet night with his best friend rather than whatever media circus was brewing outside. He'd needed every second of that time—letting the bulk of the tension and uncertainty that had been plaguing him seep out of his bones.

Katsuki kept his phone prisoner the entire time, only letting him hold it when his mom called to see how he was doing.

He was grateful for that. He was grateful for Katsuki in general—only letting him see the positive things being said, and keeping him distracted otherwise.

They fell asleep watching old action movies, packed with car chases and gratuitous violence—with Izuku's head cradled in Katsuki's lap.

He woke up the next morning with the blonde curled around him, snoring like a chainsaw into his ear. He stifled a laugh as he extracted himself from Kacchan's explosive grip, letting him sleep a little longer while he got ready for the day.

He woke him up just before he started making breakfast, actually laughing at his disgruntled, sleepy scowl. "Morning, sunshine."

"Eat shit, Deku," he groused.

"Mm, I was thinking pancakes," he teased.

Katsuki's hair was askew and he had a cushion scar from a throw pillow running down his cheek. He glared sleepily up at Izuku, as threatening as a puppy.

"Fine," he grumbled. "M'gonna shower. Don't burn the empty carbs."

"I won't!"

While Kacchan was in the shower, Izuku had time to catch up on his messages—liberating his phone from the confines of his partner's pocket to check his email.

There were...too many messages from his agency, but that was par for the course these days.

About half were from his PR team—mostly talking to each other with Izuku copied on the conversation. A few of them were begging him to answer questions so they could comment on incoming media inquiries.

He felt a little bad for ignoring them but it looked like they'd stuck a meeting on his calendar this morning, so they'd be getting their answers soon anyway.

The other half was from HR—sending him various emails regarding the newly-winnowed candidate pool, asking for them to do a final vet of the sidekicks they'd be taking on.

The last important message was from both HR and PR. Hana and their HR director had joined forces, insisting on a meeting to discuss their necessary takeover of Idaten's territory.

He sighed. Things were looking up, but there was still so much shit to clean up. He was tired.

"Stop thinking so hard, idiot," Katsuki griped as he entered the kitchen. He sat at the dining table, hair still dripping onto the towel around his shoulders.

Izuku gave him a wry smile. "Is there another way to think?"

"You always do shit without thinking," he accused.

That was a fair point.

"We have a PR meeting," Izuku told him. Katsuki scoffed.

"They've been harassing us for like fifteen hours, of course we do," he replied. "And for fucking once, it's in our favor. We haven't even had coffee yet, relax."

He supposed Kacchan was right. Besides, they'd deserved a night to relax after their stressful weeks of notebook hunting and accusation dodging.

After breakfast, they drove to the agency together. Katsuki got out of the car first, placing himself in front of Izuku as they pushed past the swarm of reporters. There were so many questions shouted at them that Izuku could barely hear what anyone was saying.

"How do you feel about Uravity's ban from hero work?"

"Was Uravity familiar with the content of your journals?"

"Was Uravity right about you and Dynamight?"

That last question stuck out to him, but he'd been trained not to react to on-the-fly questions. He kept his gaze forward, slipping into the agency doors and sealing it behind him. Izuku glanced at Katsuki and knew that he'd heard the question—his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What, neither of you answer your texts now?" Hana huffed. Their PR director was standing at the front desk waiting for them, like a predator stalking her prey.

"I've been avoiding my phone?" Izuku tried, smiling sheepishly.

"And what's your excuse?" she barked at Katsuki.

He sneered at her. "I didn't fucking want to."

She rolled her eyes, pointing toward the closest conference room, the other hand perched sternly on her hip. "Go."

The PR team was waiting for them when they entered and they looked...a little rabid, if he were perfectly honest. He supposed that was what happened when you ignored their calls for more than twelve hours.

"We'll get right to the point," Hana said as soon as they were seated. "We want Deku to hold a press conference. Today."

They glanced at each other, unnerved by her intensity. She sounded pissed.

"O...kay," Izuku agreed hesitantly. "To what end?"

"You're gonna tell them everything," she sneered. "I already cleared it with the Commission. We're gonna yank the rug out from under that bitch."

It was unlike Hana to be so aggressively vitriolic.

"Why the sudden...fervor? Did something happen?" Izuku asked.

"Kyoko," Hana barked. They turned to face Katsuki's designated PR-intern as she flipped her computer around and pushed it toward them.

Izuku grit his teeth.

Ochako was paused on-screen, standing at a press podium.

Her hair was pulled back, and the scar of Mina's (thankfully mild) handprint-shaped acid burn was thrown into sharp contrast by skillfully placed studio lights. Her eyes were teary and her face twisted miserably—pretending at regret.

Sometime in the last fifteen hours, Ochako had pulled off some sort of impromptu press conference—and it had been enough to piss off their PR team.

Katsuki placed a steading hand on his shoulder, glare fixed on the screen. Izuku took a deep breath.

Then, he pressed play.

Chapter 24

Chapter Notes

sorry guys, i'm behind schedule. i'll do my best to get a better handle on my schedule <3

Izuku had to hand it to her. Ochako was an amazing actress.

There were tears in her eyes as she spoke and her voice was shaky.

“I know I made a mistake,” she began. “Nothing will ever make up for the damage my negligence has caused, but I feel like I owe you all an explanation—beyond what you’ve seen in the news.”

Izuku’s jaw clenched. It sounded like a step in the right direction but if Hana’s reaction was anything to go by, it was just an illusion. It was probably her last ditch effort to buy public favor to soften the blow for whatever consequences she’d have to face.

He wondered if it was her PR team’s idea, or hers. He wondered if it would work.

“I’ve been with Deku for years, and I loved him so much. I still do. But there’s always been…something standing between us. I thought it might go away once we were married, but it didn’t. It actually might have gotten worse.” She took a moment to deliver a mournful sigh. "Dynamight has always been in the background to drive a wedge between us—by taking all of his attention and enabling the obsessions that he should have left behind years ago.”

“Motherfucker,” Katsuki sneered.

“It may have been misguided, but I was desperate,” she sniffled—the first tears falling. “Any free time he had was taken up by Dynamight or by looking for more useless junk. I didn’t feel at home there, and I wasn’t allowed to have an opinion. Dynamight made it worse—telling him that it was his space and he could do whatever he wanted. Marriages are supposed to be about partnerships, but it never felt like one.”

Izuku was disgusted. She was lying her ass off, but it painted a believable picture. His fists clenched so tight that his knuckles cracked.

“I wanted a fresh start—to get rid of the walls between us. So I tried to get rid of the things that were coming between us in an attempt to bring us closer. I was trying to ease Dynamight’s control over my ex-husband’s life. He was manipulative—painting himself as the good guy who validated everything Deku did, where I was the bad guy—the nagging girlfriend—then wife—who wouldn’t let him be happy. I just wanted him to see how toxic it was, and how badly it was hurting us.”

He was seething. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears—so loud that she sounded far away as she continued.

“None of that is an excuse. I was driven by desperation and didn’t do my due diligence. I should have been more careful, and I’m so sorry for all the harm I caused.”

The floor opened up for questions then—reporter’s hands waving in the air and flashbulbs going off to capture her prettily painted contrition. Izuku’s blood boiled as she answered the first question.

“Are you implying that Deku cheated on you?”

She paused, pretending to think about it. “Not…necessarily,” she replied, hesitant—just unsure-sounding enough to sow doubt. “Just that I was never his priority, and that was mostly due to Dynamight’s presence in our lives.”

He honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t know why, since everything that came out of her mouth was horrible these days—but this was over the top.

“In the article, you said that your relationship was affected by Deku’s toy collection. Why didn’t you bring up your concerns about Dynamight before?”

“I was trying to get Deku to see how ridiculous it all was. I knew that if I brought up Dynamight, the only thing I’d accomplish was make Deku defensive. He doesn’t tolerate criticism toward Dynamight. That article…I was hoping he’d see how ridiculous it was to abandon his real relationships—even his friendships—for pieces of plastic. I was hoping he’d realize that Dynamight was enabling him in order to close him off from the people in his life who were concerned about him.”

“What the fuck is she trying to accomplish?” Katsuki asked, incredulous.

Izuku ignored him, glaring a hole through the laptop in front of him.

“In light of the HPSC’s statement—why weren’t you more careful when disposing of sensitive material? I know you said it was desperation, but you were trusted with sensitive information and put the public at risk by being careless with it.”

“Just because I was cleared to take a custodial role for the sensitive information that Deku had with him, it doesn't mean I knew where it was stored in the house. I truly thought that by this point he’d have digitized and secured the parts of his notebooks that were sensitive, and again—I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. It’s not an excuse and perhaps I should have done my due diligence, but Deku should have as well—"

Katsuki reached over and slammed the laptop shut. “I’ve seen sewers filled with less shit than her,” he snapped.

“I concur,” Hana replied, lips twisted in distaste. “That’s why I want to put Deku in front of them, and have him give his account. No frills, no bells and whistles. Just straight truth, then we can get other heroes to provide corroboration later.”

“Peppermint Pitstain and Frog Face should be up for it,” Katsuki agreed. “Most of the other idiots too, but they were closest to her bullshit.”

Hana nodded. “What do you think, Deku?”

He ground his teeth. He was done watching as Ochako tried to twist him into a bad person, just to improve her own image. She’d destroyed it on her own merit, which could have been avoided if she’d had the decency to talk to him or the foresight to read what she’d carelessly thrown in the garbage.

He hadn’t defended himself before. He’d been unsure if he had the right to—insecure in the aftermath of his shattered peace—and he’d been waiting on the Commission to make their statement. That was then.

Now, he’d seen her true colors.

Now, he knew who his real friends were. Now, the Commission had finished their investigation and made their statements. Now, he was pissed.

There was nothing holding him back.

“Let’s do it.”

While he understood their importance, Deku hated press conferences. He hated interviews, too. Really, he hated anything that required him to talk about himself.

Thankfully, Hana gave him a grace period of three hours to steel himself. To plan out what he was going to say Katsuki sat with him as he worked, quietly scrolling through his phone and telling him to 'chill the fuck out' whenever his temper started to get away from him—as evidenced by the gouge marks in the notepad he was scribbling on.

"You want me in your ear?" Kacchan asked, not looking up from whatever game he was playing.

"No, it's okay," he replied, frowning at the page in front of him. "You'll be there, though, right?"

"Obviously," he scoffed. "I'll hang out in the back. When people are pissing you off, look for me, alright?"

Izuku looked up to smile at him, but the blond didn't look in his direction. The tips of his ears were red, though. "Sure. Thanks, Kacchan," he said. Katsuki flipped him off in reply.

Eventually, Hana breezed back through his office, plucking his scrawled speech up off his desk and scanning it over. She snatched the pen out of his hand, scribbling out parts she didn't like and replacing them with more public-friendly sentiments before shoving it back into his hands.

"Twenty minutes, then get your asses to the press room," she instructed. "Reporters are already arriving."

"Vultures," Katsuki grumbled.

His stomach twisted when it was time. He was ready, but that didn't shake the nerves. He hated press conferences. He stood, knees a little weak.

"You coming?" he asked, glancing over at Kacchan. He stood too, stretching lazily.

"Yep. Meet back here after."

They parted ways in the hallway and in no time at all, Izuku was at the podium—the press room stuffed completely full. He almost flinched against the camera flashes, but held himself tall.

"Thank you for being here today," he said. There was a murmur through the crowd. "I'm sorry I couldn't say anything until now. First, I was trying to make the divorce as easy as possible for both of us. She may have hurt me, but I didn't want to drag her through the mud. Second, I was worried about public safety—that if I came forward with the full story, villains would be able to take advantage of the situation. For the former, it seems like she's determined to make this harder on both of us, and for the latter—well. You've all seen the outcome."

He pinched the bridge of his nose like the whole situation was exhausting to him, and glanced down at his talking points. He glanced back up, eyes catching on Kacchan at the back of the room.

"This is going to take a while, so bear with me," he said with a tired smile. "I'd like to give you the truth—the actual events that took place and how they affected me. After that, I'll let you all decide what to think—but until then I'd like to ask you all to hear me out."

He took a deep breath, locking eyes with Kacchan at the back of the room. It was easier to talk to him than a room full of reporters.

"There are two activities that have been a part of my life since I was a kid—collecting, and hero analysis. It's always been a part of me, and all the people who are close to me know that. When we got married, she seemed to understand and accept that. In her press conference earlier today, she implied that this was a conversation we'd had more than once. That it had become an ongoing problem that she was fighting against. Despite what she's told you, we spoke very little about my collection or my analysis.  She's also never brought up concerns about my relationship with Dynamight which, for the record, is very important but not codependent like she implied. We both have our own lives. She brought the collection up twice, both times to ask if I would get rid of them. When I said I didn't want to, she seemed to drop the subject. Foolishly, I thought she'd accepted that they were important to me."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

Hana had told him to deliver this without any hysterics—serious and measured to the best of his ability. But this—revisiting how badly Ochako had screwed him—hurt.

"I was wrong. Instead, she told all of our friends that I was neglecting our relationship for my collection, building the infrastructure to completely blindside me with their help and approval without even considering a compromise with me.

Almost two months ago, I left on a mission. When I returned, my prized possessions and my notebooks—twenty years worth of analysis—were gone. When I asked her where they were, she told me that what she hadn't sold, she'd donated or thrown away. She replaced keepsakes that were important to me and years of hard work with a home theater that she bought from selling them. She waited until I was gone because she knew how I'd feel about it—and then when I confronted her about it she told me I was being unreasonable for being upset. She told me I should "call her when I could talk about it rationally." She never apologized, and treated me like a petulant child for feeling real hurt."

He placed his hands on the podium to keep them from shaking. It had been so demeaning, so condescending—and at the time he'd wondered if he'd deserved it. He forged forward and despite how the words tasted bitter, he delivered them tactfully, with as much calm as he could muster.

"Not only that, but when she moved in, Uravity had to be cleared to be an official custodian of the analysis I kept in the house. The security system within the gates rivals Tartarus, and only approved visitors are allowed on the premises. Even then—those approved visitors are only granted access to certain parts of the house. The only people allowed inside that room without supervision were me, Dynamight, and Uravity—because they were both my partners in different regards. She has seen my analysis notebooks before. In fact, I've analyzed her quirk and strategies in the past, and shared that information with her. My work has evolved since then, but she knew the potential risks and chose not to do her due diligence when disposing of them. She didn't just hurt me, she endangered the public in her attempts to change me to fit her perfect ideal of a happy married life."

Katsuki, the traitor, was scrolling on his phone as he spoke, denying him the eye-contact that he'd promised. There was a grim smile on his face though—like he was satisfied and vindicated.

He couldn't help but hope that Kacchan's vindication was on his behalf.

"On a less massively catastrophic note, I also discovered that not only during our marriage but for years before—Uravity had been purchasing high-value items, such as designer handbags and jewelry, with my money without asking me. I'm not a stingy person, and if asked I would have undoubtedly given her what she'd asked for. I loved her and wanted her to be happy, even if the same wasn't true of her for me. Instead, she went behind my back, even though our assets were separated. I'm responsible for not just my family, but for the heroes I mentor and the organizations I help run. I opted to keep my assets separate when we married so that I could devote those assets to improving the world if anything happened to me. She was a capable and successful hero in her own right, with her own priorities, so when we married I wanted to ensure that whatever wealth I acquired went to the people and causes I cared for. She was not entitled to my bank account, nor was I to hers. Those were conditions she agreed upon and chose to break—further breaking my trust in the process."

He took a deep breath, collecting himself. He knew he was crying, but they were the silent sort of tears—exhausted in his sadness.

"Now that I've told you what happened, I want to explain how and why it affected me. Uravity never asked me why my collection was important to me. I'm going to tell you why right now. It's not an obsession—it doesn't consume my every waking moment the way she's painted it. It is a passion, though. Hero work is the core of my life, and has been for as long as I can remember. In part, my collection was important to me because it represented the parts of hero society that inspired me. The hope that heroes bring us, and the heights that they help us strive for. My collection was an insight into hero history as well as my own, that let me appreciate how far society has come as well as how far I have come. But more important than anything? A large portion of my collection helped me remember how loved I am. How much the people in my life cared about me. There were gifts in that collection that I treasured—from a pre-golden age lunchbox that Chargebolt gave me, to the last action figure my father gave me before he left us. From gifts that All Might gave me as a mentor, to a limited edition poster that Sir Nighteye left me in his will because of our mutual inspiration. To lose all of that—all of the things I had curated because I was passionate about it, and all of the things people had given me because they cared about me—it hurt me deeply."

He took another breath, dropping his gaze to collect himself. It was like picking a scab on a wound that hadn't healed yet—slowly tearing his wounded heart back open until it was bleeding freely in his chest.

He looked back up, and Katsuki was waiting—giving him a tiny smile. It was sad around the edges but encouraging—prompting him to keep going, and telling him he could get through this.

It always amazed him how even Kacchan's smallest gestures spoke volumes.

"As for her claim that I didn't make her a priority—I did. There's a fine line between making someone a priority, and making them the center of your world, though. I had a full and enriching life before my marriage to her, and I didn't compromise the things that made me happy and fulfilled just because we were together. She didn't complete me, I was complete on my own. I have family, friends and a career that I love, and anyone who loved me wouldn't want to take those things away from me, because those things are what make me who I am."

He paused to dab away the tears on his face as undramatically as possible, squaring his shoulders a moment later. "I'll take questions now."

Hands raised in the crowd, and he selected a reporter in the front row. "Uravity said that you were distancing yourself from friends and family. Did you ever tell them your perspective or address their concerns?"

He sighed.

"None of my friends or family came to me with concerns about my collection. Occasionally, they'd talk to me about overworking which I'm prone to do. I'm passionate about my job and the work is never done. I forget to take breaks and take care of myself. Thankfully, I have a diligent partner who keeps me sane, and it's been something I've been working on. I try very hard to be conscious of work-life balance lately, because what good is a life if you're not sharing it with people you care about? But as for my hobbies, my friends and family never addressed it aside from Uravity. She mentioned wanting to get rid of it twice without telling me why, and aside from that nobody brought it up with me. So, her claim that I've been closing off from people who are concerned about me is, frankly, ridiculous. In order to do that, I'd need to know they were concerned."

Another round of hands went up, and he recognized the reporter who'd interviewed Kacchan—smiling sweet and smug in the third row. She looked surprised when he called on her, but settled into her smirk a moment later.

"Uravity has made it clear that she just wanted an equal partnership with you, and that you were shutting her out. Are you saying that's untrue?"

"Absolutely and categorically untrue," he confirmed, face going stern. "If she really wanted a partnership, she wouldn't have destroyed something important to me. She would have figured out a real compromise, like the ones our friends recommended to her. A storage space or something. I know what they recommended to her, and I know what she chose to do. She chose to go behind my back and ruin something that mattered to me. She wanted to change who I am, and that's not what a partnership is. Not one built on love and trust, anyway."

He turned away from the reporter, dismissing her as soon as he was finished. Quite frankly, he'd had enough of her bullshit. He'd be making a note for Hana to have her barred from future press conferences as soon as possible.

"What do you have to say about Uravity's claim that Dynamight got in the way of your relationship?"

He grit his teeth, reminding himself that he had to be the mature one. It wouldn't do him any good to rip Into her outside what was strictly necessary.

"Dynamight has been supportive of our relationship from the start. Without his encouragement, I would never have asked her out. He's the one who made sure I remembered date nights when I was working too hard, and he's the one who went with me to pick out her ring. Sure, he's added to my collection over the years, but he understands it. He's been amazed by heroes for as long as I have—and we got our first All Might Mighty Heroes trading card set together. He wants me to be happy because he's my best friend and my hero partner. He's a part of my life and that's never going to change. If she was concerned or wanted me to spend more time with her, she should have brought that up with me instead of trying to cut people out of my life."

He met Katsuki's eyes at the back of the hall, holding back a smile at how flustered the blond looked under Izuku's praise. He'd never gotten better at accepting compliments from him.

"She was right about one thing, though. I don't take criticism about Dynamight. I might listen to concerns if someone is unsure about him. I know him best, and it can be hard to get to know him. But I won't let him be slandered when he's been nothing but supportive. He's my closest person. I've known him since we were toddlers, and we've had our ups and downs but he's an amazing hero and having him in my life is a gift. I'm especially glad to have him now, because he's been helping me through everything that's happened. She's the one who drove the wedge. I'm just grateful Dynamight was there to catch me when the floor fell through."

Hana tapped him on the shoulder and he stepped back so she could take his place at the mic. His fists were clenched at his sides, barely hidden by the podium.

"That's all the time Deku has for questions today," she said. "I welcome all parties to send further questions through SmashBang PR, and we'll answer any pertinent questions within 24 hours. Thank you, and have a good afternoon."

She ushered Izuku off stage, the reporters behind them clamoring and yelling questions at his back. He was surprised that Hana had ended it so soon but the woman was, after all, a genius of her trade.

"Getting you off stage when you looked upset will make it seem more trying for you," she explained. "Like everything that's happened is emotional and the last straw is that your support system is under fire. You're doing your best to hold it together and people coming after your partnership with Dynamight is a breaking point."

"That won't make them...I don't know, suspicious?"

"It might be a talking point," she admitted. "But either way, it shows your frustration—especially since I pulled you off stage. People who've done something wrong usually present as angry and defensive, not frustrated. They'll go back through footage and make compilations of your feelings toward Dynamight, and his feelings toward you. And they'll see a rock-solid partnership based on mutual respect and a bone-deep kind of love. Even if they do think it's romantic, when they put it up against your relationship with Uravity—it'll be vivid and beautiful in comparison. The kind of thing you wouldn't taint with something as ugly as infidelity. In any case, it's definitely not the kind of relationship that suggests the bullshit that Uravity was spewing. She said it was manipulative and toxic. Anything they find will be the opposite."

He relaxed a little, tension in his shoulders unwinding just a little. Hana knew what she was doing. While he hoped people wouldn't run with the wrong impression, he could live with it as long as it didn't cast them in a bad light.

There would always be speculation—it was a hazard of his profession. All he could do was bend it in his favor. He'd done his part by telling them the truth, so the rest was in his PR team's capable hands.

Katsuki was waiting for him outside their office, menacing grin on his face. Izuku raised an eyebrow, unsure of what had inspired the sheer amount of gremlin energy that was pouring off his partner.

"Nice job, nerd," he said once Izuku was in earshot. "You fuckin' nailed it."

Izuku tilted his head. There was no way he could already know that, right?

Reading his mind, Hana spoke up. "I invited some influencers to the conference," she said, self-congratulatory smile on her lips. "Three of them were live-streaming. Positive feedback?" she asked Kacchan. "I haven't had the chance to check yet.

"Hell yeah," he chuckled, pulling his phone out and handing it to Izuku. It was pulled up on a live-stream that had ended, but the comments were right under the black streaming window.

There were a few holdouts—unwilling to admit they were wrong in the aftermath of Izuku's speech. The majority were horrified, though.

"Holy shit, Uravity did him so fucking dirty," one said.

"Yo I thought she was bitching about some basic-ass toys, not a god-tier collection wtf?!" said another.

Something like hope fluttered in the pit of his stomach. With each comment he read, he felt a little lighter. There were, of course, the few who were adamant that he was trying to save his own skin but from what he could tell, the response so far was overwhelmingly supportive.

"So," Katsuki said, pulling his attention from the comments. "I'm your closest person, huh?"

Izuku blinked at him. "Is...that a surprise?" he asked, a little befuddled. "Like, do you see anyone else in the running for that spot?"

Kacchan's teasing smile went soft around the edges—almost affectionate. "You're not bad yourself," he tossed back, trying and failing at being nonchalant.

"Gee, thanks," Izuku chuckled as Katsuki pushed off the wall.

As he understood it, the plan was for them to hide in their office until the loitering reporters gave up and left.

"And uh..." Katsuki cleared his throat uncomfortably, which was absolutely Izuku's cue to give him his undivided attention. His ears were red and it was clear that he was planning to escape into the office, possibly forgetting that Izuku would be following him inside. "I'll always catch you or whatever."

Izuku couldn't help the fond smile that took over his face—always touched by Katsuki's displays of emotional constipation.

"I know, Kacchan," he replied.

Katsuki scowled at him and stomped into their office. Izuku followed, grinning to himself.

He wasn't prepared for Katsuki's abrupt stop—bumping into his broad back.

He peered around his shoulder, eyes widening as he caught sight of his desk.

Chapter 25

He stepped around Katsuki and approached his desk slowly, eyes wide and watery.

Laid out in a pretty display among his pens and paperwork was a vintage All Might action figure set. It was nearly complete—only one item missing.

He was perplexed by its presence.

He hadn’t owned any of these before the defilement of his merch room—but he recognized the collection it was from. It must have cost a fortune.

There was a note alongside it, and he picked it up—flipping the card open and reading with bated breath.

Izuku,

I’m glad that the media is turning back in your favor. I’m still sorry for the part I played in this mess. I hope you’ll accept these as part of my apology—I’ve been hunting them down since I realized the truth. I was debating whether or not to give you the incomplete set when I saw Ochako’s press conference. I figured you could use a pick-me-up.

I know the MightMobile is missing. Part of me is hoping that we’ll be able to find the original one I got you, but I’m still not sure what you want to do. It goes without saying, but I’m more than willing to help you hunt down the things that were taken from you.

Whatever you need, I’m here for you.

—Shoto

His heart ached from how full it felt. He passed the note to Kacchan, who’d been lingering beside him with his palm outstretched.

He was almost reluctant to handle any of it, because his eyes were leaking like open faucets and he didn’t want to damage the boxes with his tears.

He couldn’t help it, though. It was so thoughtful, and spoke volumes to how much his friend cared. He picked up the smallest box reverently—turning it over in his hands.

Shoto must have spent every available minute he had looking for these.

They weren’t particularly popular, focusing more on David Shield’s support work than All Might himself. Only die-hard collectors wanted them, and they must have been damn hard to get ahold of.

“Damn,” Katsuki murmured, placing the card back on the desk, unusually gentle. “Idiot went all out.”

“This is so sweet,” Izuku sobbed, clutching the replica impact gauntlets to his chest. “How did he even find these?”

“Crybaby,” Katsuki muttered, ruffling his hair. “Put the nerd shit down before you hurt it.” Gently, he tugged the box out of Izuku’s grip, examining it with a vague air of worship before placing it back on the desk. “Sounds like he actually gets where he fucked up.”

It did sound like that, and he was happy and relieved and grateful that Shoto had reached out. After the last time they spoke, he hadn’t been sure how to bridge the gap between them, especially since he was still so hurt. It wasn’t fair, because Shoto had been hurt too.

Ochako had lied to him and broken his trust so that he’d break Izuku’s trust. It was all so insidious, and he didn’t know how to make either of them feel better.

Maybe the answer to that was just…learning from mistakes. Communicating better, and moving forward. He hoped that was the lesson learned, because he missed Shoto. It was weird not having him around.

“Let me guess,” Katsuki sighed. “You’re gonna invite Princess Peppermint to dinner or something and I’m gonna be subjected to a play-by-play of Fuyumi’s love life while I try to eat my ramen in peace.”

Izuku choked on a wet laugh. “You don’t have to come over, you know.”

Katsuki shrugged. “Don’t have anything better to do. Besides, you’ll mope if I’m not there. Don’t deny it, Wet n’ Wild snitched on you.”

Izuku punched his arm half-heartedly. “Stop calling Kota ‘Wet n’ Wild,’ it’s gross.”

“It’s accurate.”

“Still gross.”

He hadn’t spent a single night alone since his divorce. The friends he still trusted—the ones who had his back—had essentially colonized his home. He'd barely had a waking minute to dwell on the sheer shittiness of his situation unless the situation was right in front of him.

Katsuki had basically moved in.

So what if he’d been a little down when he wasn’t around? It was cool to have so much time with his best friend, even if the reason he was around so much was terrible.

“Seriously though,” Katsuki said, bringing his attention back. “If you’re still iffy about having IcyThot in your space, you can take your time.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s ok. I want him there, just…with buffers for now.”

Katsuki eyed him warily, even as he patted at Izuku’s wet cheeks with his sleeves. “How many buffers?”

Knowing that Katsuki would protest, he looked up at his partner with wide, watery eyes—sticking his bottom lip out for maximum impact.

Katsuki sighed, rolling his eyes. “All of them. Fuck. Fine. Whatever. I’m gonna get my concussive ear plugs though, I don’t wanna hear Pinky screeching her dumbass head off about Cheeks’ press conference.”

Izuku tilted his head. “You think she and Ei are up for it?”

Eijirou’s injuries were significantly better, but the amount of healing it took meant that his stamina was at an all-time low. Not to mention, his range of motion was severely limited, and Mina had been spending all her free time helping him with pain management and recovery.

“I’m pretty sure they’re getting sick of each other,” Katsuki huffed. “In that gross affectionate way, though. He’s so fucking stupid Kats, I just wanna make out but he keeps moving his shoulder weird,” he mimicked in a high falsetto. Then, he pitched it extra low to mock Eijirou. “She keeps tying my goddamn shoelaces, this is so not manly.”

Izuku laughed, still wet and tremulous.

He leaned his head on Katsuki’s chest, shoulder’s shaking with mirth. “Well I’d love to see them if they want to join us. Denki and Hitoshi were already planning on coming over, so you’d just have to invite them and Hanta.”

“What about the brats?” Katsuki asked, resting his chin atop Izuku’s head.

“They’re back in school,” he said. “Might be a pain to get them off campus. Besides, if things are tense I wanna leave them out of it, you know?”

He really wanted things to get better with Shoto. He was making and effort and being so thoughtful, and Izuku missed him. That didn’t change the fact that helped Ochako screw Izuku over, whether or not he knew what he was doing. And uh…some of their friends were pretty intent on holding grudges.

Mina was particularly zealous about her vendetta and honestly, Izuku couldn't blame her. Ei had almost died. If anything had happened to Katsuki, he would have ended up in jail for what he did to them, so he could only imagine how she felt.

“You should probably tell Mina that we’re inviting Sho,” he said, pulling back. Katsuki nodded, slinging an arm around Izuku’s shoulders.

“Sure,” he agreed. “I think she’s waiting to ambush RoboCop though, I don’t think IcyHot has to worry. Now,” he said, gesturing at the desk.

Izuku paused at the mention of Iida. He wondered if he felt any remorse at all now that the whole story was out. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. He’d still jumped to conclusions and thrown their friendship out the window.

“You wanna take this shit home, or leave it here?” Katsuki asked, regaining his attention.

Izuku bit his lip. On the one hand, he wanted to literally hold it as he fell asleep at night—cuddling up close to the thoughtful gesture Shoto had made.

On the other hand…he was going to move eventually. Stuff got damaged in moves. And he didn’t want to pollute the gift with the vibe of his merch room. He’d even opted to put All Might’s signature in his bedroom instead.

It was probably stupid, but that space had a mental block that he just couldn’t get past.

“I think I should leave it here for now,” he admitted, sounding noticeably less cheerful. Katsuki shot him a concerned glance. “It just makes sense for now,” he deflected. Katsuki didn’t look like he bought it, but he didn’t pry. He probably didn’t need to.

Kacchan knew him better than he knew himself.

“Fine,” he replied. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said, steering Izuku to his desk chair and pushing him into it. He scrubbed at Izuku’s face again with his sleeve, cleaning him up as best he could before leaning against the desk itself and crossing his arms.

There was an intervention-y vibe to him that made Izuku’s anxiety spike.

“What?” he huffed. The blonde was just staring at him, and it was making him nervous.

“I don’t wanna push it, alright? I know you were pretty against it at the start,” he began, tensing as though he was preparing for a fight. “I think you should press charges against Cheeks.”

Izuku raised his eyebrows. “I was already planning on—“

“You were gonna go after her for the shit that endangered the public,” Katsuki interrupted, once again knowing what Izuku would do before he did it. “Breach of contract, reckless negligence, bullshit like that, right?”

“That’s the plan, yeah,” Izuku replied hesitantly.

Katsuki took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I know it’s not in your nature to defend yourself, but fuck, Deku. She’s made your life hell. She almost ruined your career. You couldn’t work because civilians didn’t trust you, and that’s completely fucked. She knew what she was doing, alright? She went out of her way to paint you as the bad guy. Not just that, she wanted to make you look dangerously irresponsible and immature. She tried to ruin you. Not only that, she stole your shit! I know you don’t wanna drag this shit out, but she seriously fucked you over.”

Izuku sighed, tilting his head back. “What good would it do, Kacchan?” he asked. “I’m going after the important stuff—mostly to make sure that she faces the consequences of her actions. The rest of it would look petty. Childish. You saw how they reacted.”

“That’s how they reacted when they didn’t know shit about what was going on,” Katsuki argued. “And now we don’t have to hold back for the Commission, so Hana can find a way to spin it no matter what that bitch says. Come on,” he wheedled. “It’s the age-old shit you’ve always done. You’re teaching people that the only time they can stick up for themselves and get fucking justice is if it’s for some sort of greater good. It’s not enough that you’re personally hurt—it only counts if others are hurt, too. That’s a shit message, Deku.”

Izuku frowned. “Is…is that really…huh.” He stopped to think, the gears in his head jamming like they were clogged with drying glue. “Is that the message it’s sending? I thought…yeah, the personal stuff hurts, but I’m more worried about keeping people safe.”

“We all fucking know that! You’re allowed to do both, though, it’s defending yourself and the public aren’t mutually exclusive! You don’t have to pick.”

Izuku stared at him. “It’ll mean months of trials and ugly media tactics. And you know what scandal does to rankings, it’s already taken a major hit. Do we really want to keep that going?”

“We’re the fucking best,” Kacchan snapped. “We can do anything, goddammit. So what if we take a hit and our ranking tanks for a while. We’ll climb back up. You’re not a fucking doormat, you’re the strongest and kindest person I know. Show people that they can be both. Show people that you can be both.”

Izuku looked at the boxes on his desk, five thoughtfully curated gifts to start replacing a collection of hundreds.

He wondered if the first All Might poster his mom ever got him was crumpled under heaps of trash in a landfill.

He wondered if Denki's gift—the pristine Titan Star lunchbox—had been dented and damaged in a donation bin. Had it even made it into the donation bin? Or had it been trashed? Was the aluminum rusted beyond repair so that the veritable monument to his friendship with the electric blonde was rendered useless and decayed?

They’d meant something to him. Maybe it wasn’t world-ending or life threatening, but it had been important. Kacchan was right—she had stolen from him. She’d defamed him. It felt petty, but he wanted her to answer for it.

“It wouldn’t be immature?” he asked. “Not the theft stuff—that makes sense. But defamation? My reputation doesn’t mean that much to me, as long as I can get the job done.”

“But you couldn’t!” he snapped. “She painted such a shitty picture of you that even other fucking heroes were treating you like shit on the job. That alone could have gotten someone killed—possibly even you. Hell, it opened the door to a false excessive force report! It’s not petty at all. If you don’t do it, you’re basically sending a message that people can pull shit like this and get away with it because it’s no big deal. But it is. What if Keiko had died because the Puritan Plant decided not to take you seriously?”

Izuku swallowed thickly, pit forming in his stomach. God, it was almost too awful to imagine. As bad as it had turned out, it could have been way worse. He hadn’t let himself dwell on that, because what-ifs were torture in their line of work.

"Yeah, okay," he replied, voice tight with emotion. "You've made your point."

Katsuki sighed, leaning forward and placing broad, warm hands on Izuku's shoulders. "I don't wanna freak you out or make shit hard," he said. "I just want you to take yourself into account. You always let people slide for being awful, and it sucks. You deserve better, so fucking treat yourself better."

Izuku nodded, relaxing under the comforting weight of Kacchan's palms. He could do that. At least, he could try.

Chapter 26

Izuku was leaned against Kacchan on the couch, listening in a daze as Mr. Fujiwara listed off all the different ways Izuku could pursue legal action against his ex-wife.

It still felt unbelievable that they'd only been married for two months before everything in his life had gone to absolute shit.

Everything except the friends he could count on, of course. As hurtful as the reveal had been, he supposed it was good that he'd learned who to trust. That he'd learned who was truly in his corner. Some people didn't learn that until it was too late.

He felt Katsuki's voice against his side as the blonde asked questions, bringing him back to the conversation.

"Does he have grounds to sue her for the total value of the collection?" Katsuki asked. Izuku pursed his lips. "Since she only profited off a portion of it?"

"He should," Fujiwara assured them. "Regardless of the profit she made, she still stole the items in question. They were well documented and insured, so you should have the proverbial high ground."

"And defamation?" Katsuki pushed.

"Will be significantly easier as long as we go about it correctly," he said. "It helps that Deku was so adamant about not causing scandal in the beginning. Defamation suits are about public image, whether or not it's fair. He was dragged through the mud when he tried to take the high ground. That'll count for something."

Something inside him twisted, still uncomfortable with the idea of something that seemed so petty. But his image was tied to his ability to do his job, as was made evidently clear. She'd nearly ruined him. Thankfully, the Commission had been on his side, along with his friends.

He was allowed to look out for himself. He was. It ran like a mantra in his head, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Kacchan's.

"Is there anything else you need from us to get started?" he asked quietly.

"I think I have enough to get the ball rolling," Fujiwara said. "I'd been hoping you'd pursue this course of action, so I've been preparing—more for theft than for defamation, but it's not too heavy a lift."

He wasn't sure if Fujiwara wanted that because it was a good idea, or simply because the man enjoyed suing people. Both were possible.

"How fast can we get it over with?" Katsuki asked. His arm was draped over Izuku's shoulders in a show of comfort—the warm weight reassuring and grounding. "He's been through enough shit already, the faster we can wash our hands of that bitch, the better."

Fujiwara sighed.

"Unfortunately, lawsuits are ugly. They take time. We might be able to speed it up considering how many people are going after her. They'll want to get everything involving Uravity out of the way as fast as possible. That still could mean months of drawn-out legal proceedings."

Well, that was disheartening. Katsuki squeezed his shoulder in quiet support—keeping unnecessary tension out of his body. Whether it took months or years, at least he knew Kacchan would support him through it. All of their friends would.

Someone knocked on the door, and Izuku glanced at the clock. It looked like someone had showed up early for their get together. It also looked like this meeting had gone on for an hour longer than they'd hoped.

"Whatever it takes," Izuku sighed as Katsuki unwound himself from around his shoulders, getting up to answer the door. "As long as it's done tactfully. I don't want to come off as spiteful."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Fujiwara chuckled, still scribbling on his legal pad. "You're not. You're the least spiteful ex-husband I've ever met in my life."

"You ever watched that ancient-ass comedian? Jim Mahoney or something?" Katsuki asked as he shuffled toward the entrance. "You could probably spill soup on his lap and he'd apologize to you."

"Fuck you too," Izuku grumbled, scowling at Katsuki's cackle. "And it's John Mulaney, you uncultured swine."

Fujiwara chuckled at them, amused despite the gravity of the situation. "Well, this time," he said, still laughing. "You won't be apologizing for the soup," he promised. "And we'll get the soup-spiller to pay for dry cleaning."

Izuku snorted. "I appreciate your commitment, both to your business and to the metaphor."

"Much obliged," he replied, smiling easily. "It's not just my business, though. I've represented a lot of heroes, Deku. You're one of the best, and not just because of your win-loss ratio or save rate."

Izuku flushed. "Mr. Fujiwara—"

"You didn't deserve what happened to you," he insisted. "And it was disheartening to think that you wouldn't pursue justice for yourself. I'd never tell you to push farther than you wanted—there's a conflict of interest there. But I'm glad that you're pursuing this. I'll make sure you get what you deserve out of this, and so will she. And I'll do it with class, since you asked so nicely."

Izuku cracked a tiny grin, flattered and amused. "I appreciate that."

"Let me know if I can help at all." Both of them startled, turning to face Shoto.

Katsuki plopped back down in his seat, returning his arm to its resting place and schooling his face into a neutral facade.

"Todoroki," Fujiwara greeted him, genuinely pleased to see him. "It's good to see you. Thanks for referring me."

"You were requested," Shoto corrected.

"In any case, I'm glad to be here and I'm here because of you," he shrugged. "And I'd be happy for any help you can provide."

"I have texts from Uraraka leading up to the incident," he offered. "They're clearly misleading and they misrepresent the conversations they had and Izuku's willingness to part with his belongings. And what she was planning to do with those belongings. Iida and Tsuyu should have similar conversations saved."

"We might be able to subpoena those," Fujiwara murmured. "Thank you. If you could forward screenshots to me, that would be great. If we need official records, I'll forward you consent forms."

Shoto nodded, shifting on his feet. To the average bystander, he would have looked a little stiff but not much more than usual.

Izuku knew him better. Shoto was on edge.

He had no idea how he was going to be received and he didn't know what to say, or if what he was saying was making things better or worse.

"Have a seat, Sho," Izuku said, smiling softly. "We're just wrapping up. Can I get you a drink or anything?"

"I'm fine," he said, lowering himself into the armchair.

Fujiwara stood. "It sounds like you three have some talking to do," he said. "And I've got to get started. I'll file the necessary paperwork and make sure she's served within 48 hours. If I need anything, I'll reach out."

His strangely benevolent lawyer left with a comforting air of optimism.

Alas, he left an uncomfortable silence in his wake. Izuku and Shoto stared at each other, completely unsure of what to say next. Katsuki didn't say anything either, but Izuku suspected that he just wanted to watch Shoto squirm. He had always taken joy in peoples' discomfort.

"How are you doing?" Shoto asked, clearly deciding that awkward small talk was better than awkward silence. "We haven't talked since..."

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm...better. It's been hard, but I've been working through it, and I've had lots of help and support. And it's been hard to find time to be only sad with all the godawful bullshit that's been going on," he chuckled humorlessly.

Shoto nodded, looking pained. "I'm glad you're doing better."

"And thank you, by the way," Izuku said, smiling a little brighter. "For the merch set. I loved it. You must have spent a ton of time hunting them down, too. It means a lot."

Shoto looked down at his hands where they lay in his lap.

"I was...really frustrated," he began. "I was so upset by everything that happened and I was angry at Ochako. I felt violated, and I couldn't help but think that if it was this bad for me, it must be a thousand times worse for you. I was basically just moping. Momo showed up for our monthly lunch and saw the state I was in, and she snapped me out of it. She told me that if I was so bothered, I should actually do something about it. I wasn't sure what I could do about Ochako without overstepping or making things worse for you, but I figured..."

"If you couldn't do something about Kirby, you could do something about the collection," Katsuki finished, face still expressionless.

Shoto nodded, still not looking up at them.

"I really appreciate it, Sho," Izuku said softly. "I'm touched."

Shoto looked up then, glancing around. Izuku knew what he wanted to ask, and so did Kacchan.

"They're not here," the blonde grunted. Shoto looked at them, tilting his head in confusion.

"I left them at the agency," Izuku explained. "Just for now. It...doesn't feel safe here." Shoto flinched, looking back down at his lap. He looked wounded—and Izuku hadn't meant for him to feel bad. "I'm looking for a new place anyway," he blurted out. "That stalker kid posted photos of this place online, and it's just...not private enough anymore. I don't want your gifts to get damaged in the move, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Shoto uttered. His voice sounded thin and wavering, and Izuku's heart bled for him. "I'm sorry you don't feel secure here. That's at least partially my fault."

"You didn't know—"

"I could have known if I'd asked," he insisted. "If I'd taken a moment to check. If I'd taken the trouble to see what she actually did with your stuff."

"It hurt that you didn't ask me, sure, but you had no reason not to trust her," Izuku argued. "She told you we'd compromised, and you thought we'd found a middle ground. Couples do that all the time. You didn't know she'd gone behind my back. And you know better now."

"It's not enough," Shoto sighed, looking up at him. "You know that, right? You don't feel secure in your own home."

"That's more on Ochako than on you," Izuku offered. It was, at least in part, Shoto's fault too. In the grand scheme of things, though, his role was negligible. He'd been trying to help his friends find middle ground.

He hadn't realized that Ochako was trying to change him—mold him into her vision of the perfect husband in her perfect life, no matter how much it hurt him.

And now, he was doing his best to help him heal. First by giving him the space he needed, then by trying to rebuild him. The effort was seen and appreciated.

"Really, Sho. I forgive you. I...don't really trust you yet, but I see you trying. That matters," he promised. His smile was small but warm, and he hoped that it reassured his heterochromatic friend.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, dipshit," Katsuki growled. Izuku elbowed him but he ignored it, save a tiny grunt of discomfort. "You fucked up and now you're fixing it. What good does feeling guilty do? Suck it the fuck up and be better!"

While Izuku didn't exactly agree with the delivery, he couldn't argue with Kacchan's results. Despite how harshly his rebuke landed, it still seemed to straighten Shoto's spine—lifting a weight off his shoulders.

"I really hope we can find the MightMobile you gave me," Izuku said. "We're working on tracking down the collectors that Ochako sold to. She gave a lot of stuff away though, so there's no real way to know where that stuff went. The support gear set isn't exactly at the top of auction site result pages,  you know?"

Shoto nodded. "I definitely know," he sighed. "Especially since it was a limited run. The collectors I talked to said that it was a huge under-performer in its release year."

That was true. They'd over-produced the first run, and it had barely moved any units. They'd canceled future production, and the toys sat on clearance shelves for months. Of those, the MightMobile was the most popular, because the masses had seen it in action.

Nobody believed that All Might had used support gauntlets, so nobody wanted them in their collections. Most people assumed it had been a marketing ploy for little kids. 'Put these on and be strong like All Might.'

But Izuku had seen the blueprints. The real gauntlets absorbed impact like nobody's business.

His stomach twisted again.

There was no way Ochako had gotten a price reference off WeBay for the support gear blueprints. They were one-of-a-kind, from the desk of David Shield himself.

They were probably at a recycling facility being turned into recycled copy paper. The thought that Mr. Shield and All Might had trusted him with something so special, just for it to end up destroyed made his heart bleed.

"Any way I can help, let me know," Shoto said, interrupting his train of thought. Izuku gave him a tremulous smile.

Katsuki tensed next to him—just for a moment. Izuku looked up at him, brow furrowed and the blonde squeezed his shoulder in reply—reassuring and warm.

"Maybe," Katsuki said, chewing his words thoughtfully. "You might have seen some of his original collection while you were hunting that set down?"

Shoto nodded slowly.

"That's definitely possible," he agreed. "It's not like I know exactly what Izuku had in his arsenal."

"Wanna go grab your laptop, nerd?" Katsuki asked, shifting his arm to rustle Izuku's hair—petting through the curls like he was petting a cat.

"Yeah, sure," Izuku said, reluctantly peeling himself away from Katsuki's side. "I'll be right back."

There was a curious look on Kacchan's face, and Izuku paused as he tried to read it. If Izuku didn't know any better, his hero partner was plotting something.

Kacchan smirked at him.

It was his affectionate-comforting smirk—reserved exclusively for him. Izuku couldn't help but feel unfathomably fortunate at the sight of it. It made him feel all fluttery, soft and safe.

"The fuck are you waiting for, dork?" he huffed a moment later, nudging at Izuku's leg with his foot. Shaking his head, amused smile curling his lips, Izuku trudged toward his bedroom.

Chapter 27

When he returned, laptop in hand, Shoto and Kacchan were leaning toward each other, talking in hushed tones. He could only see Shoto's face on his approach, his expression curious and serious as he listened to whatever Katsuki had to say.

He raised an eyebrow when, as Shoto caught sight of him, his mouth snapped shut. He leaned back in his chair as Izuku approached. Apparently, Kacchan was enlisting Shoto in whatever he'd been plotting.

Despite his curiosity, he let it lie. Katsuki would tell him when he was ready. It clearly had something to do with him, and if Katsuki was planning it, it was probably benign.

Unless he was plotting to replace all his human-rated spices with demon-rated spices again. Somehow, he doubted that Shoto would help with that, since he'd been gotten by a similar prank when they were still in school.

Katsuki turned to look at him, impatient as though he hadn't just been scheming. "Hurry the fuck up," he barked.

"So impatient," Izuku sighed. "And so rude, ordering me around in my own home."

He settled back into the space beside Katsuki, opening his laptop on the coffee table. The free time that hadn't been taken up by friends who were determined to distract him had been filled with endless scrolling through auction sites—his spreadsheet in one window and collector forums in another.

"If he was looking for the support showcase set, he probably would have stumbled across some of the early bronze age stuff," Katsuki said.

Izuku nodded and Katsuki leaned in close to watch the screen as he sorted his spreadsheet. Shoto pushed off the armchair and came to sit beside them, watching attentively as Izuku scrolled through photos.

They found a few that Shoto might have seen—maybe not the exact ones he'd lost, but similar and worth reaching out for. A few of the vintage comic books, a few of his pins, and a few action figures.

Shoto wasn't sure if they were the exact models, but hope bloomed anyway. It was something, at least. Maybe he could re-complete his pin sets.

Maybe the Golden Age art-pin set he'd treated himself to when he'd cracked the Top Ten. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes at the thought of it—sad and hopeful in equal measure.

"Crybaby," Katsuki muttered, even as he slung his arm back over Izuku's shoulders. "Get your shit together, you're about to have guests. Chargedolt will have a meltdown if you're crying when he gets here."

Izuku nodded, but his lips trembled anyway. Denki had been very emotional about Izuku's emotions lately. It didn't help that Izuku cried no matter what large emotion he was feeling—whether it was extreme sadness or extreme happiness.

He got himself under control eventually, more focused on finding his collection than on the excitement he felt at the possibility of getting it back.

He was relaxing into Shoto's presence, too. It felt good to have him back, even if the nerves were still raw from the open wound he'd unintentionally left. It felt like slipping into your favorite shirt—worn and soft and comfortable. Familiar down to the thread count.

The doorbell rang again and Katsuki got up, taking his heat with him so he could answer the door. Izuku stayed with Shoto, chatting about the few pieces he had managed to recover in those first few weeks.

"Ei was lucky to find them," Hanta said as he entered, flopping into the vacated armchair and propping his feet on the coffee table. Denki sauntered in after him, Hitoshi a few steps behind.

They were carrying snacks and booze, and Katsuki was scowling at their food and beverage choices. If Izuku had to guess, he was pissy about the empty calories for the snacks and the shitty quality of the beer.

Denki had never quite outgrown his 'cheap-beer-for-fast-buzz' phase, despite having more than enough money to buzz with craft brews. It was a charming, if not somewhat déclassé affectation.

Katsuki, a self-proclaimed man of taste, refused to drink anything that you might find in an American frat house. Izuku was somewhere between the two of them.

It felt like his heart filled as his house did—surrounding him with people who cared about him and celebrated in his victories, no matter what those victories were. It was loud and boisterous, filled with life and laughter and care. For a moment, he wondered if this was what Ochako had been after. If he'd made their space too quiet and closed off, and it had driven her to extremes.

But with adequate preparation, they could have done this. All it would have taken was locking down the merch room. It's not like they hadn't done it before.

He was glad they were here—filling his heart as it bled so that he'd never run dry.

Mina and Eijirou arrived last. It was a massive relief to see Eijirou up and walking, even though his movements were slow and fatigued. Izuku got up as they walked in, hugging them both.

Eijirou flinched at the movement in his shoulder, still sensitive in and around his rotator cuff.

He tried not to notice the way Eijirou's muscles had atrophied from his hospital stay. It was slight, but Izuku had always had an eye for detail and analysis was a hard habit to put away.

"It's good to see you," Izuku said, pulling back. Eijirou gave him a blinding smile.

"You say that as though you didn't visit me daily in the hospital," he teased. "I thought you would have chilled out when I threw that lamp at you."

"You've been out of the hospital for a while now," Izuku pointed out. "And Mina's been hogging you."

"Because you three always end up roughhousing and I'm a firm but fair warden," Mina said, breezing past them and beelining toward the crappy beer. "You couldn't have gotten something that doesn't taste like alcoholic piss water?" she sighed.

"It all tastes the same once you're drunk enough," Denki grinned. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed one bottle for the both of them.

"She's been staying dry in solidarity," Eijirou said quietly so that only Izuku could hear him. "I think a few drinks would have helped her with my bitching, though."

There was so much love and warmth in his voice, and it made Izuku feel positively gooey. He was so glad that they had each other. He was so glad Mina hadn't lost him.

"I think she's just glad you're still around to complain," he said, nudging him gently. Eijirou's face took on a somber note.

"That makes two of us. You better not still be blaming yourself for that shit, though," he warned. Izuku raised his hands in surrender. "That's what I thought. Don't push me, I haven't had a good fight in almost a month."

Mina was making her way back to them now, and apparently Shoto had decided to face the confrontation early.

He and Eijirou both fell silent as he stood, stepping over Hanta's outstretched legs to skirt the coffee table. He looked nervous as he approached, especially when Mina turned to fix her gaze on him. Izuku understood—Mina was a force to be reckoned with on a good day. There had been a lot of bad days lately.

"Hi," he said once he was standing in front of them.

"Sho," Mina greeted him. In his periphery, Izuku saw Katsuki coming toward them. He was glad—hopefully, he'd have help if they needed to diffuse conflict. He always felt a bit better with Kacchan watching his back.

"How...how are you feeling?" he asked Eijirou.

The redhead was uncharacteristically terse—face stony as he replied. "Well, I can't work for two months," he said, tone uncomfortably cool. "And I can't raise my arm above shoulder level. But otherwise, I'm fine."

Mina placed a hand on Eijirou's shoulder. "We're doing better, Shoto. Thanks for asking."

"I'm so sorry," he said, averting his eyes. "This wouldn't have happened if—"

"Ochako hadn't thrown out the notebooks," Mina interrupted. "You didn't have anything to do with that. You hurt Mido, but since you're here, I'm guessing he's forgiven you."

Shoto snuck a glance at Izuku, surprised to find him smiling. "What? She's right."

"Ei knows it too," she huffed, pinching her fiancé's side. "He's just being pissy because he keeps overworking his rehab."

"Fucking dumbass," Katsuki muttered. Eijirou punched him, then winced.

"I don't blame you," Eijirou offered. "Not for this. Mina's right. But you know better now, right? Because all this shit could have been avoided if you'd just talked to Mido."

"We've already talked about it," Izuku assured him.

Eijirou nodded. "Fine. Then it's all good."

His heart ached as he watched Shoto's face crumple in relief. It had taken him so long to open up to people—to really let them in and trust them. It must have hurt so much to know that he'd been lied to. To know that his trust had been broken, and as a result, the people he loved didn't trust him.

He was glad that he'd had Momo to push him in the right direction—to get him moving so that he could find ways to rebuild his bridges.

He could feel the fractures healing. Sure, there were gaps—massive tears in the fabric that had been left by dishonesty and betrayal, but his friends...their friends were working overtime to fill them—weaving their lives back together in the wake of pain and destruction.

"Hanta, get your ass out of my seat," Eijirou barked. Evidently, he was ready to move on. Frankly, Izuku was grateful. The longer they dwelled on the bad things the more they'd fester.

Hanta frowned at him.

"You were late dude, you don't get dibs!"

"I'm rehabbing serious injuries and I'm tired as shit. Gimme the seat!"

"Sit on the couch!"

"You sit on the couch!"

Mina looked at them, expression deadpan as though her soul had aged a thousand years in a single minute.

"Men," she uttered—an indictment toward the entire gender. Izuku snorted in amusement as Katsuki snickered—turning toward the bickering duo.

"Hey dipshits one and two!" he barked at them. They whipped around to scowl at him. "If DickTape gives up the armchair, we can grab the beanbag chair from the guest room."

Everyone knew that Hanta was a sucker for beanbag chairs.

Pouting like a petulant child, Hanta said, "Fine."

Once everyone was seated to their preference (and after a significant bout of tug-o-war over the bean bag between Denki and Hanta), Katsuki trudged toward the kitchen.

Izuku frowned, following after him. "What are you doing?" he asked as Katsuki pulled out the pans.

Katsuki looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Izuku like he was stupid. "What do you usually do with your pans?" he drawled. Izuku rolled his eyes.

"Okay, fine. You're cooking. Why are you cooking?" he demanded.

Katsuki smirked before turning to the stove. "It's a celebration," he replied noncommittally. "And you like my cooking best. You've said so like two million fucking times."

Izuku floundered. It's not that Kacchan didn't do nice things for him but usually, it was when it was just him. Or, the entire class. All or nothing.

"There are eight people here! I can't ask you to—"

"You didn't ask!" Katsuki barked. "And I don't mind cooking for the idiots, as long as you're one of them. Alright?"

Izuku flushed, smiling delightedly. That was sweet. The tips of Katsuki's ears were red again. He was still embarrassed about doing nice things, and It was cute that he did them anyway.

"Alright, Kacchan."

Despite everything, he was lucky. After all, Kacchan was at his side—a constant show of steady love and support.

He only hoped that he could keep him there.

Chapter 28

Izuku stepped out of the agency doors and into the sunlight—clad in his hero costume for the first time in months.

The past few weeks had been harrowing, but underneath it all was an undercurrent of hope—that optimistic feeling that things were finally getting better. That despite everything that had come for him—burying him under stress and strain—he was finally coming out on the other side.

But the fact that he was making progress didn’t make the journey any less tiring.

Of all the energy-draining, soul-sucking activities he’d been forced to endure, the court proceedings were probably the hardest. They were ugly and gut-wrenching, not just for himself but for the families of the fallen heroes and the civilians as well.

Izuku had spent an astonishing amount of time in court over the past few weeks, both in his own proceedings against his ex-wife, and as a witness in both civil and criminal proceedings. It felt like he’d spent more time talking about the failures in his marriage than the marriage itself had lasted.

Excluding his own lawsuits, Ochako was being tried for seven counts of negligent homicide, criminal negligence, and various damages ranging from emotional distress and mental anguish, to medical bills, to loss of financial contribution for families who’d lost loved ones.

It seemed that as time went on, the longer the list of plaintiffs against Ochako seemed to grow.

He’d wondered more than once if his own charges were just beating a dead horse, until Katsuki reminded him that the point wasn’t to bring her down—it was to build himself back up.

His resolve had only solidified after Ochako’s first guilty verdict—in which she was held responsible for the distribution of classified information. Half an hour after the verdict had passed, Ochako’s lawyer had reached out to his.

“She’s asking for a meeting,” Fujiwara said over the phone, sounding skeptical. “Tomorrow at ten.”

“What does she want?” Izuku asked. His phone was face-up on his kitchen counter, on speaker while he cooked.

“Doesn’t fucking matter!” Katsuki barked—making the curry while Izuku fried pork. “We’re not fucking going.”

“You’re not actually invited,” Fujiwara drawled.

“Now way in fuck am I gonna let him deal with that bitch alone—“

“Regardless, neither of you are obligated to be there, especially since her lawyer doesn’t even know what she wants to talk about,” Fujiwara said as though Katsuki hadn’t interrupted. “Chances are that she’ll ask you to settle the civil suits out of court. Personally, I think it’s worth hearing. She’d still be tried for criminal charges, and you might be able to cut down the amount of agonizing trial time."

"There's no way we're letting that bitch off easy—“

“It’s not about letting her off easy,” Fujiwara interrupted, cutting Kacchan’s rant off at the knees. “It’s about letting Midoriya off easy. Besides, it depends on what she’s offering. And, if she tries to pressure Midoriya into lightening the charges or dropping them completely, we can use that as character evidence against her.”

By that point, the trials had already been running him into the ground. Between the utter ruin these families were in and the complete betrayal that had caused it, every moment he spent in the courthouse was painful and disheartening.

“I think it’s a waste of time,” Katsuki said, turning to face him. “But if you wanna hear her out, I’m gonna be there. She’s done enough damage, I don’t give a shit what anyone says, you're not doing this shit alone.”

If all of this turmoil had taught him anything, it was that matter what life threw at him, Kacchan would be there for him. It made him want to smile and cry, all at once.

"I'll hear her out," he said. "But I want to figure out minimum settlements." Katsuki gave him a mischievous, approving smile. "That way she can't try to low-ball me. If she wants to settle, she'll settle my way."

"Look at you, taking your spine out of the closet for yourself for once," Katsuki snickered. Izuku kicked him in the shin.

That night, Katsuki had actually gone home for the evening—something that had only been happening about once a week lately. Apparently, he wanted to look intimidating and he couldn’t do that using Izuku’s nerdy t-shirts and too-tight jeans.

The next morning, he showed up at Izuku’s door with his favorite complicated coffee order and a box full of luxuriously complex pastries.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Izuku told him, even as he set his greedy sights on a beautiful mille-feuille.

“Your day’s gonna be shitty,” he shrugged, placing the box on the counter. “I figured you could start it off right so that you’re not miserable all day. I even had them give your salted caramel mocha some extra whipped cream.”

Izuku's heart turned over in his chest. Katsuki was letting him ignore his meal plan, even though he wasn't working out enough to justify it. Just for something as frivolous as comfort.

"Thanks, Kacchan," he said, cradling the coffee cup like it was precious. "You're the best."

Katsuki scoffed. "Obviously. Now go get dressed, loser. We're gonna be late."

He had to admit—he was glad that he walked into that meeting with caffeine in hand and Katsuki at his side, both of them sporting suits and ties.

It was the first time he'd been this close to Ochako since the day he'd come home from his mission. At least, the closest he'd been outside of a courtroom. Here, she looked tired and upset, and he had to push down the part of himself that felt bad for her.

It helped that Katsuki had positioned himself in front of him, a shield against his ex-wife and a container for his pity.

"Why is he here?" she asked—gesturing at Katsuki with a hint of a sneer in her tone. It raised Izuku's defenses off the bat, jaw clenching as his grip tightened on his coffee cup.

“He’s here because he knows what I’m like,” Izuku said, tone colder than he’d intended. “And he knows what I want. He’ll make sure that I don’t set myself on fire to keep you warm. He’s been my moral support through all of this. Why are you here?”

“Now now,” Fujiwara said, cutting in. “Have a seat, both of you. Gentlemen, this is Uravity’s—sorry, Uraraka’s defense attorney,” he said, emphasizing Ochako’s lost hero name as he introduced them. Her lawyer was a squirrelly looking man who seemed shrewd but harmless. Izuku shook his hand.

Katsuki didn't. Instead, he stared at the offered appendage like it was personally insulting to him. Izuku bit back a laugh.

Ochako’s lawyer dropped his hand a moment later, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Thank you both for coming. Ms. Uraraka wishes to—“

“Just a moment, if you don't mind,” Fujiwara interrupted. He pulled papers from his briefcase, sliding them across the table a moment later. “If all parties could please sign these waivers before we get started, that would be excellent.”

Ochako’s lawyer snatched the offending document off the table, scanning it quickly. “Authorization to record?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “What for?”

“For our records,” Fujiwara explained, calm smile fixed on his face. “You understand. We’d like to ensure that all details of the meeting are captured accurately.”

“I’m not going to consent to being recorded,” Ochako said firmly. “You could misconstrue what I say here. And if there’s any private information, I don’t want to risk it being released—“

Katsuki snarled. “Oh, now you’re worried about leaking private information?"

Fujiwara held up a hand to silence him. This was his job, after all.

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity to ease your concerns,” he said, voice as sweet as a pit viper. “First, if you’re planning to behave in a civilized manner, being misconstrued shouldn’t be an issue. Second, there’s a clause in the waiver detailing how the recordings will be stored and disposed of. I’d also provide a copy to your lawyer before we even leave the room. Finally, no meeting will take place unless you agree to the recording. This is one of the most contentious divorces I’ve ever seen, and I have a duty to protect my client. Now, would you like to continue? Or shall we leave?” he asked, smile staying even as he offered her the pen.

"Mr. Midoriya is within his rights to leave at any time," Ochako's lawyer advised. "If you want to negotiate, you're beholden to his restrictions regarding the parameters of the meeting."

Her face twisted like she'd tasted something sour, but she snatched the pen from Fujiwara’s outstretched hand. Izuku and Katsuki both signed a moment later—the former suppressing a satisfied smirk and the latter wearing it with feral pride.

They lawyers went last, then Fujiwara placed his phone on the table to record. He had them each state their names for the record before they began—and Izuku noted the reluctance in Ochako’s voice as she complied.

“Now,” Fujiwara said, smiling placidly. “Why did you call this meeting, Ms. Uraraka?” All eyes turned to her.

Even her own lawyer looked curious.

She raised her eyes to meet Izuku’s. There were dark circles under her eyes.

“We’re both adults,” she said, stiff in her seat. “I think we’ve done each other enough harm, and I’d like to get this over with quickly. I think we can resolve all of our issues out of court.”

Katsuki scoffed, but Izuku silenced him—placing a hand on his knee under the table. “I’m willing to negotiate the civil matters, but the criminal charges are out of my hands—and frankly, I don’t want to see you walk away from them.”

"Izuku, please,” she implored him. “Let’s get this over with here. Without the drawn-out trials and over-the-top retribution—"

“People are dead because of what you did, Ochako,” he snapped. “I’m willing to settle for the personal theft and property damage complaints, but you can’t sweet talk your way out of malicious negligence. I’m being generous.”

“You’re being high and mighty,” she snapped back. “You’ve already thrown me under the bus and made me look like a controlling, careless bitch. I’ve already lost everything! If you ever loved me—"

“Hold on,” Katsuki interrupted. He didn’t sound angry, he sounded incredulous. “Are you asking him to drop the charges? Completely? Just walk away from all the shit you pulled?”

Izuku tightened his grip on the blonde’s knee, but Kacchan paid him no mind.

“This doesn’t concern you, Bakugou,” she sighed. “It never has. You constantly enable him and goad him to go overboard. If you’re going to be here, shut up and let us handle this maturely.”

“It does concern me,” he drawled. He still didn’t look angry. Now, he looked amused. “I’ve been there to fix what you broke, remember? You tried to ruin him for something you did. Not only that, you stole his shit—things that he can’t replace—and sold it for less than an eighth of their value. You haven’t even apologized. Instead, you manipulated his friends into destroying shit that mattered to him. When it didn’t work the way you wanted you tried to convince the public that he was unhinged—to the point where it was dangerous for him to perform his duties as a hero. You wanna talk about maturity? Why don’t you take a look in the f—”

“Kacchan,” Izuku cut him off. Katsuki fell silent. He turned to Ochako. “I did love you. I loved the you I thought I knew, at least. But the you that you are? That you’ve decided to be? I pity you. You’re going to end up miserable and alone because you ruined everything you had by trying to warp it to fit your expectations. I tried to be mature and civil. I wanted a quiet divorce and to recoup some of my losses. You’re the one who took it public and tried to ruin me. You’re the one who threw classified information in the recycling instead of disposing of it properly because you didn’t want to make the extra effort. So no, I won’t be dropping the charges—criminal or otherwise.”

“Izuku—“

“Midoriya,” he interrupted her. “You’re a stranger to me, now. And when this is all over, I’m going to do everything in my power to never think of you again.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. “This is the minimum settlement I’m willing to accept. It has itemized damages, in case you’re confused about the number. I’m not going to go lower. Either pay the settlement, or take your chances in court.”

Katsuki’s hand found his under the table, squeezing it tight. It was amazing how much that simple gesture conveyed. Pride, comfort, and support—all conveyed in his burning grip.

The anger left him shaky. Katsuki kept him steady. Izuku didn't know if he'd have been able to do this if he wasn't here to back him up.

Story of his life, to be honest.

“You’re being unreasonable,” she told him. "And you're gonna lose. They only sided with you when the attacks happened. They agreed with me until then. Grow up.”

Izuku gave her a tight smile. “They agreed with you because you lied to them. They know the truth now,” he said. He stood from the table, straightening his jacket. “I’m sure your lawyer will agree, the settlements I’m willing to make are a way better deal than you’ll get if a judge rules in my favor. I don’t want to destroy you, I just want to rebuild my own life. If you really want to handle this maturely, take the deal.”

"Can you handle the rest, Fujiwara?" Katsuki asked, deep voice smug and satisfied.

"Of course," he agreed. "Sorry for wasting your time, gentlemen. I'll contact you with anything pertinent."

"Kick-ass," Katsuki grinned, clapping Izuku on the back. "We got shit-loads of agency paperwork to deal with," he said. "If you need us, you know where to find us."

Izuku had let himself get steered out of the conference room—Katsuki's hand gripping his shoulder.

When it was done—when he'd said what he needed to say—he'd felt drained. Shocked, really, that he'd let himself be so bitter, even if it was civil. He was grateful that Katsuki was there to steer him, because he was busy replaying the whole thing over again in his head, dazed that he'd found so much strength in his own spine.

He wasn't a pushover, but he was forgiving. But he didn't forgive her—not even close.

He was broken out of his trance when Katsuki shut the car door, climbing into the driver's seat and grinning at him—wide and wild.

"You kicked ASS in there!" he declared.

A helpless smile tugged the corner of his own lips. "I did, didn't I?"

"Fuck yeah! Wanna celebrate?" he asked, ruffling Izuku's hair.

His smile was so fond that it made Izuku feel like he was in free-fall. His stomach swooped and his heart was racing—and he wasn't sure if it was because Kacchan was...well Kacchan, or the adrenaline of the confrontation.

"Sure," he chuckled. It came out as a crazed giggle. "What did you have in mind?"

What had followed made Izuku feel spoiled rotten.

Katsuki had taken him to get crêpes, and they'd eaten them on the rooftop of their agency—doing paperwork in the early afternoon sun. He'd ordered noodles from Izuku's favorite restaurant for lunch.

Then, they'd spent the entire evening watching movies—pandering to Izuku's obsession with pre-quirk media while eating homemade Katsudon.

It felt over the top, but Izuku hadn't been stupid enough to complain. He'd let himself forget about Ochako, instead choosing to revel in all the strange and aggressive TLC that Kacchan was heaping on him.

Katsuki had been proud of him before. He'd even said it out loud once or twice. But something about this felt different. It was a giddy sort of elation and vindication that was confusing but contagious.

It wasn't all positive, though. Like he'd said—the past few weeks had been exhausting—a tumultuous roller coaster. Sure, the light at the end of the tunnel in his sights.

But there was so much left to be done.

Chapter 29

It took two days for Ochako to reject the settlement.

That meant they'd be going to trial. That also meant that he'd be subjected to the tedious and invasive process of evidence collection, as would his friends.

Shoto and Tsu had willingly provided their phone logs to Fujiwara—one in person and the other through a secure courier.

Tsu was still respectfully keeping her distance.

Iida's phone, however, had to be subpoenaed. According to Fujiwara, he’d fought the subpoena as hard as he could—and it became clear why once they had access to his texts.

He was in love with her. That became abundantly clear, and it made him a little sick.

It made him wonder if Tenya had been rooting for them to fail the entire time—even as he stood at Izuku’s side as a groomsman. It made him wonder if he’d been rubbing it in Iida’s face, hurting him more and more with each passing day.

He felt hurt. He felt guilty. He felt strangely vindicated too, and that was probably the worst part.

He couldn’t help but feel like they deserved each other—and wasn’t that horrible? She manipulated him too. But he bought into it, and chose to hurt him when the opportunity arose. The moment she told him they were having problems, he’d jumped on the idea that Izuku was neglecting her.

As a result, the texts she’d sent him were pretty damning—made worse by the fact that he fed into her complaints and her plans without any resistance. In fact, he encouraged them. So, when it came to the subpoena he fought it tooth and nail, because he knew what his messages held.

He wanted to protect her—knowing that as her preferred confidant, the information they’d find would be a gigantic nail in her coffin.

It all made his heart hurt. He wondered if, had Iida asked her out first, any of this would have happened. Would she have treated him the same way when he was so eager to please her? Could this have been prevented by Tenya just telling him how he felt?

One night, he’d cracked—spilling all of the tumultuous feelings he was holding into Katsuki’s reluctant ears.

“His inability to get his shit together isn’t your responsibility, Deku,” Katsuki told him, sighing as he let Izuku cry into his shoulder. “And she would have just destroyed him in a different way. Shitty people aren’t shitty on a case-by-case basis.”

It didn’t stop him from spiraling. He didn’t want Tenya in his life, but he felt bad for making him provide evidence against someone he cared for.

Even if he was in the wrong, he could imagine how difficult it was for him—and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was in the wrong. Wasn’t it bad enough that he was essentially absorbing Team Idaten?

His turmoil was eased a few days later. While Katsuki was on patrol, Izuku was working with HR to handle hiring and patrol placement for their new sidekicks. He was on his way back from a meeting when he found a visitor outside his office. He hadn’t seen Tensei in years, but the man was waiting patiently by his door.

He looked up as Izuku approached, and Izuku’s fight-or-flight response kicked into high gear. He had no idea what to expect—but given the nastiness of his interactions with the man’s younger brother, he wasn’t optimistic.

He’d never been so glad to be wrong.

“Deku,” Tensei greeted him—familiar kind smile on his face. It was tinged with sadness. “It’s good to see you.”

Izuku returned his smile hesitantly. “Tensei,” he replied. “How are you?” He asked, letting them both into his office.

“I’ve been better,” he admitted. “Then again, so have you. I’m sorry for all the…well. All the bullshit you’ve been through over the past few months.”

“It’s been difficult,” Izuku replied. “But I’ve had support.”

Tensei grimaced. “That’s actually why I’m here,” he admitted. “I wanted to apologize.”

Izuku frowned. “For what?” He asked, sitting.

“For not speaking up sooner, for a start,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “I was disturbed by the stance Tenya chose to take and tried to talk him down instead of speaking up. I’ve known how he felt about Ochako for a while, and he was handling it well for a long time. But I suggested that the reason he was so quick to demonize you was because of his feelings, and I only managed to make him defensive which hurt you even more.”

“That’s not your fault,” Izuku said. “Tenya has always staked his pride on his moral high ground—he’s just never felt the need to throw that superiority in your face. You had no way to know he’d react like that.”

“I could have, if I’d paid more attention,” Tensei argued. “I barely recognize him. Not to mention, he’s driven everything my family built into the ground. I never thought I’d be this disappointed in him.”

Izuku winced, pushing the stack of paper in front of him to the side. “I’m sorry about Team Idaten, Tensei. I hope you know that I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.”

Tensei shook his head.

“Bad leadership breeds bad results,” he sighed. “Unfortunately, I failed to teach Tenya that leadership is more than just the organizational aspect. It’s how you represent the people who work for you. He represented Idaten poorly and suffered the consequences. That’s not on you.”

“But—“

“Izuku,” he interrupted. His smile was sad, but genuine. “Idaten can rebuild in the future if necessary. You’re only guilty of standing up for yourself and your partner. That’s a good thing. I’m glad that Idaten’s sidekicks found a place to go where they feel they’ll be taken care of.”

He felt a weird surge of sadness and pride. Tensei trusted him to take care of the people who had been his legacy—sidekicks who’d left Idaten who had been hired when Tensei was leading them.

His approval meant a lot—more than Izuku realized.

“They will be taken care of,” Izuku promised. “And if they ever regain confidence in Idaten, I’ll ease their transition if they want to go back.”

"Don't forget to take care of yourself too," Tensei reminded him. "You're a strong hero, but everybody needs time to be vulnerable."

"I've been trying," he promised. "And when I fail, I've got Kacchan to push me in the right direction."

"You're lucky to have him," Tensei observed. "Hold onto that. It's rare to have someone who'll be on your side no matter how bad things get. Don't let it go."

He'd left after that instruction, and Izuku was surprised to find himself feeling better. It wasn't perfect—not by a long shot—but he was doing the best he could with what he had.

And he had Katsuki. People had gone through much worse without an amazing support system like him.

Tensei was right. He was so lucky to have Katsuki.

He looked over at the shelf behind his desk, smile stretching his cheeks as his heart warmed. He was lucky to have all of his friends. Friends who were packing their free time attempting to find his collection.

That was the third 'big thing' that had happened in the past three weeks. It wasn't a tidal wave—it was a small, inconsistent drip. But the fact that there was any water at all made him want to cry with gratitude.

Evidently, Katsuki had sent his collection spreadsheet to their friends. At least, to the friends who’d expressed interest in helping.

Earlier that week, Denki had come by with the Titan Star lunchbox, along with some other long-forgotten yet well-preserved Titan Star memorabilia. Two pins, and a branded light-up wristband that fans would light up while she fought—as though she was at a concert instead of a fight.

In the footage, the crowd would look like a galaxy full of stars where she would shine the brightest.

Hanta showed up a couple days later, bearing one of his silver age action figures. Apparently, he’d reached out to the buyer who’d already sold it to someone else—then tracked that person down too.

Eijirou, with his unfortunate amount of free time, had managed to get back a replica of Power Loader’s glove that the hero had signed.

It wasn’t everything, but it was a start. More importantly, it was an effort that the people who loved him had put in. The circumstances weren’t great, but the support was more than he could have ever asked for.

He was truly blessed.

Now, he was back on patrol, and it felt like coming home. After a natural disaster, where the foundation had been cracked in two, sure, but home nonetheless. The essence of his personality—the very foundation of his dreams—was woven into the fabric of his hero costume.

He'd been nervous to step back into the spotlight.

After all, the last time he’d tried to go back to work, a girl had almost died, a villain had filed an excessive force complaint, the police threw shade at him while he did his job, and the media had tried to paint him as reckless for pushing civilians out of the way of a reckless car chase.

Hardly inspiring, in terms of confidence.

But as he patrolled, he was met with enthusiasm. Excitement, even. It was like the week after he'd cracked the Top Ten—where everybody wanted a piece of him.

Now that he'd proven that he'd done nothing wrong, they were eager to get behind him again.

He was relieved that they would let him do his job. But—and he hated it—he couldn't forget how quickly they'd turned on him. He'd give them his all, but each civilian who came up to him and told him that they believed in him...it felt tainted now.

Did they feel the same way a few weeks ago, before the commission had made their statement?

He walked into the shop that he usually bought steam buns from on his route. At the beginning of this, the owner had treated him like he was a nuisance—and at the time, he’d assumed it was because her family was ill. He knew better now. She’d seen Ochako’s tweets and assumed the worst of him.

Now, she smiled sweetly at him—a hint of remorse in her eyes—and tried to give him his lunch for free.

He declined, categorically opposed to heroes taking handouts from businesses. Not only that, but he still felt…betrayed. It was an ugly, stupid feeling—she was only operating off the information she had.

He’d been buying lunch from her for years. He knew about her family life. She'd still assumed the worst of him. Despite knowing him for years, she'd assumed that he'd broken Ochako's heart over a minor spat.

Just like everybody else.

It hurt more than he cared to admit.

He ran into the cop who'd helped a villain file an excessive force complaint. She didn't make eye contact. She pretended like he wasn't there, even as civilians around them made an uproar—clamoring for his attention.

Someone asked him to sign a tabloid that had announced his innocence after his press conference.

Another person said he knew that a hero like Deku couldn't have been that callous. He was pretty sure it was the same person who had yelled out of the window that first day—telling him he was worse than a preschooler for being so attached to toys.

He was grateful that people were on his side. Truly, he was. He just needed time to settle back in. For the wound to scab over then scar—for the pain to fade.

"Deku," the dispatcher called over comms. "Dynamight is on channel five, he wants to check in with you."

"Thanks, triple click to get me back," he instructed before switching over.

"I can't believe you dumped me with the fucking paperwork," Katsuki groused as soon as he heard the line open. "For HR of all fucking things! I don't fuck with HR, Deku!"

Izuku chuckled at his frazzled partner. "I've been doing it for three weeks, you can do it for a day!"

"You could have left me any other fucking stack of bullshit, and I would have sucked it up," he barked. "But authorizing patrol routes based on interpersonal relations is fucking awful and I don't know jack shit about it!"

"First of all, you definitely would have bitched at me regardless,” he laughed. “I’m pretty sure you drunkenly declared that paperwork was your arch nemesis last year.”

“It is!”

“And second,” he said, checking his watch. “If you’re stir crazy, we could swap places. I’ve been out for a few hours, I’ve shown my face. If you need to tap out, I can tap in.”

There was silence on the line. “You were over the fucking moon about patrol this morning,” Katsuki growled. “Did something happen already?”

"No,” he said hesitantly. “I mean…it’s the stuff that happened months ago, and I’m still…well.”

“You’re pissed that people treated you like crap,” Katsuki offered.

“It’s stupid, right?”

“Don’t be a fucking idiot!” He screeched. Izuku winced, dialing down the volume in his earpiece. “They’re lucky you still want to be a hero at all. Those fucks don’t deserve you. You’re allowed to need time to feel confident, dumbass.”

Part of him wondered if Kacchan was pandering to him. The other part knew he was being stupid—on principle, Kacchan didn’t pander. No matter how much he liked you, he told you exactly what you needed to hear.

It just so happened that this time, what he needed to hear was what he wanted to hear.

“Everyone’s acting like they believed in me all along,” he muttered. “And I’m not supposed to care what they think as long as I protect them. And I’ll still do my job—I love my job.”

“You’re not a fucking robot,” Katsuki grumbled. There was an aggravated click, and Izuku had a feeling that he was probably being a little aggressive with the stapler. “You’re allowed to be sad or whatever. If you need to get back into this shit little by little, that’s fine. That’s why you have a fucking partner.

He ducked into an alley as his eyes stung and his heart melted in his chest. He was sad that they’d turned their backs on him, and stressed about making a misstep, just in case it happened again. But, he was so excited to come back to work, and so happy to be back in uniform. Most importantly, he was so grateful for Kacchan’s support. For his willingness to be wherever Izuku needed him.

“I’ll be fine for the rest of my patrol,” he promised, voice tight with emotion. “But if you need to escape the evil grip of paperwork, I’m fine with switching.”

He could practically hear Katsuki’s eye-roll. “Whatever, I’m fine. Just tell me if you change your mind, loser. And get your ass back here as soon as you’re done, I have shit to show you.”

“Okay,” he sniffed.

“And stop crying, you goddamn baby!”

“You’re being nice to me, I can’t help it!” he yelled back.

Chapter 30

He finished out the rest of his patrol pretty easily, barely breaking a sweat even when he had to stop a bus with a broken brake with his bare hands.

People applauded him, and he put on his show smile as cameras flashed. He knew it was weaker than normal when he saw a few civilians throwing him guilty glances.

He wanted to heal. He wanted to move forward. So, when he caught their eyes, he gave them reassuring smiles—promising that he forgave them.

Sure, he might be hurt, but he had faith that they'd think twice before jumping to conclusions again. He had to, otherwise his dream—the one that he'd fought for with blood, sweat, and tears—would make him miserable.

And it was worth it, to see the relief in their eyes.

He didn't want them to hurt either. What was the point of guilt as long as they’d learned? Honestly, it just made it easier to see who had doubted him and who hadn’t—and that, quite frankly, was distracting as fuck.

Besides, he had full confidence (and a healthy amount of trepidation) that if he took the high ground, Katsuki would take the low. It was his favorite ground to stand on, after all.

He could hold enough grudge for both of them. The man had already blacklisted HeroStar and Battle National– the tabloids that had smeared him—from any official press conferences or interviews. He’d said out loud that he planned to cause at least minor discomfort to every civilian he saved in the next year.

He might still be hurt, and it might still be uncomfortable, but he didn’t want it to be. Sometimes he wished it wasn’t, but forgiveness was in his nature even if forgetting wasn’t.

At the end of his patrol, he felt better. Not perfect, and not as thrilled as the first time he’d ever patrolled as a hero—but better. He’d gotten through it without incident, and he’d held his head high. He couldn’t ask for better than that, given the circumstances.

There was a package for him at reception when he got back to the agency—addressed from a name he didn’t recognize.

“Have you already scanned this for threats?” he asked. She had an X-Ray quirk that had caught multiple explosive devices and razor blades in food items over the years.

You know, from families of villains, and the like.

The receptionist smiled at him, wide and excited. “I have,” she giggled. “I think you’re gonna like it!”

Eyebrows raised, he opened it then and there—eager to see what had her so thrilled.

His stomach swooped when he took out the contents of the little parcel. Ten individually packed hero trading cards in top-loaders. His top-loaders that he’d marked with manufacturing information for the insurance company.

Somebody anonymous had decided to return his merch to him. The ten cards he had in his hand were worth about ¥500K. He thumbed through them quickly, and his stomach twisted when he realized the card wasn’t there—the one he’d gotten with Kacchan all those years ago.

But it was something. It was something so thoughtful and kind, and he couldn’t believe he’d gotten them back. This person had paid for them. Returning them, especially after they’d belonged to another hero, was a sacrifice. One that he appreciated to his very core.

“Thank you for screening these,” he sniffled, crying again. “If any more come, can you send them straight to my assistant’s desk?” She could help him keep track of the thank you notes that he’d need to send.

“Of course, sir.”

Cradling the cards in his hands, he scurried to his office to put them away. He couldn’t believe he was holding them, especially since they hadn’t been sold on WeBay. He’d checked. If he had to guess, Ochako probably hadn’t wanted to put in the effort of pricing each individual card. He’d assumed that she’d thrown them away all together.

By some twist of fate, it looked like they’d ended up in a donation bin instead of a landfill—maybe even in a shoebox because they weren’t damaged beyond the wear and tear from when he was a kid.

He sat at his desk, laying them out on the surface.

“What’s that?” Katsuki’s gruff baritone called, startling him out of his trance. The blonde trudged toward his desk, leaning over to look. “Holy shit,” he said, gently picking up the closest one. “They’re yours?”

Izuku nodded dumbly. “They were delivered to the front desk,” he replied, tone tremulous.

“Well damn,” Katuski said. There was something in his tone that made Izuku look up. There was a satisfied smirk on his face.

While ‘delighted surprise’ wasn’t something he could see Kacchan expressing, it did seem like it would probably be more fitting than the ‘cat that got the cream’ look he was currently sporting.

The look softened when he looked back up at Izuku.

“Looks like these idiots are finally giving you what you deserve. Some basic fucking decency.”

His heart fluttered. “I honestly can’t believe it,” he said, looking back down at them. “I thought I’d have to buy them back.”

“Well, it’s ten out of a thousand or something,” he drawled, flopping into the seat across the desk. “Maybe you’ll have to buy the rest and really get to lean into your martyrdom.”

Izuku gave him a dry look. “Optimistic. And thank you for the character analysis.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a shit-eating grin.

Izuku rolled his eyes, giving his cards one last loving glance before locking them securely in his desk drawer. “You said you had something to show me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Katsuki smirked. “Shower and change into civvies. I’ll wait.”

As he said it, he kicked his feet up on Izuku’s desk. Izuku didn’t mind. If putting his feet on his desk and coffee table made Katuski feel happy (or superior), he’d hardly hold it against him. He deserved his petty delights.

“Alright,” he said. “It shouldn’t be long.”

“Longer if you keep talking,” he replied. Heart full, Izuku flipped him off.

By the time he got back to their office in street clothes, Katsuki had devolved to trying to balance his chair on one leg. Unable to help himself, he reached out with black whip to jolt his chair, laughing loud and long as Kacchan yelped and tried to steady himself.

“You absolute fuckstick,” Katsuki snarled, clutching his chest. “Here I am doing nice shit and you try to fucking murder me—“

“You’ve had your entire body thrown into a building multiple times,” Izuku snickered. “I hardly think a chair tumble will kill you. Besides, I’m just reminding you to keep all four on the floor! We learned that in preschool, Kacchan.”

“Fuck you and your dumbass safety rhymes, I do what I want!” he barked as he righted himself. He snagged Izuku who was still laughing—in a headlock a moment later. “Let’s go, Green Bean Bitch,” he sneered, dragging him out of the office by his neck.

Within minutes, Katsuki had shoved him into the company town car upside down, barking at the driver to ‘drive or fucking die.’

“That’s not very plus ultra,” he wheezed as he righted himself. “And where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” he said, smirk reappearing on his dumb, perfect face. It filled Izuku with a healthy amount of trepidation.

The drive was fifteen minutes long, and it was filled with questions that Katsuki refused to answer—smirk growing wider with each one until he was sporting a shit-eating grin. He seemed very satisfied with himself.

When the car stopped, they’d pulled up outside of a house. A big house. Izuku turned to Katsuki, eyebrows raised.

“You trust me?” Katsuki asked. What a stupid question.

“Of course I do,” he scoffed. Katsuki’s smile went warm around the edges.

“Then come on, dork,” he said, getting out of the car. Izuku followed, eyeballing the exterior.

It was a big house. Not unreasonably big, but bigger than his current house. “I toured it yesterday,” Katsuki said.

For probably the tenth time that day, his heart went warm and soft. Having Katsuki in his corner was a gift. The house hunting had been stressing him out, in large part because he was constantly reminded of why he was moving as he searched.

Katsuki punched in the code for the lockbox and let them into the front door. The entryway was a closed foyer that led into the living room. It was a big living room, and it attached to a sizable dining room, too.

“You’ve enjoyed having people around,” Katsuki observed as Izuku took in the size of the space. “There’s more entertaining space or whatever. And more wall space means more display space. And you can take your nerdy-ass quirk theory books out of the attic, set up bookshelves and shit.”

Izuku nodded dumbly, still gazing around the space. That all made sense. It would be nice to have the space to fit Eijirou and Hanta’s roughhousing. Or Eijrou and Katsuki’s roughhousing. Both of those things took a lot of space.

He’d need singe-proof furniture.

Katsuki threw an arm around his shoulder and guided him forward. It turns out, there were three stories. Katsuki spoke in a near stream of consciousness as he walked him through.

“This could be your home office since you never fucking stop working. This could be a home gym for days off. The last owner had a spa room, and that shit would be great for your broken-ass bones,” he prattled as Izuku followed along, eyes wide with awe.

Then, he led Izuku downstairs to the basement.

It was a nice-ass basement. “You could get the Maniac Mechanic to lock this space down, and you could literally hide it from anyone who isn’t authorized,” Katsuki explained.

“We could install shelving along the perimeter, and stands in the middle. Then there could be secure space in the back for your analysis shit. We’d have to get the commission to sign off on it, but I think it would work if you upped the security.”

He had even looked for a space for him to rebuild his collection. He’d thought of everything. His eyes were sore from crying today, yet the tears kept coming, delighted and touched by what he’d seen so far.

“Kacchan—“

“I’m not done yet,” he interrupted. “C’mon.”

He dragged Izuku upstairs this time—pulling him to the end of the hall. He pushed the door open, revealing the master suite.

It wasn’t unreasonably large but once again, it was significantly larger than his current bedroom. The en suite bathroom was luxurious—featuring a deep jacuzzi tub and a frankly grandiose rain-shower with a fancy-ass control panel.

“It’s beautiful,” he observed quietly.

The floors were hardwood, but he could see them lined with softer rugs. The closet was huge—probably bigger than he needed. He could see the space whole, though. “What about the other rooms?”

“Guest space,” Katsuki shrugged. “God knows we’d all sleep safer if those idiots crashed here after drinking. And one could be designated for Auntie. At the end of the hall so she doesn’t hear you jacking off in the morning—oof!” he grunted as Izuku shoved him.

“Don’t be gross!” he protested.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he replied calmly, already steering him out of the master. He pushed open the room next door with his foot. Izuku looked around, frowning. It was a mini-master, complete with its own bathroom.

“Would this be another guest bedroom? Are all the upstairs bedrooms like this?” he asked, peering around.

It seemed a bit gratuitous.

“No,” Katsuki said. “This one’s the only one with an en suite. The rest share a bathroom at the other end.”

“I guess it could be a fancy guest room,” Izuku murmured. He didn’t notice Katsuki going still beside him, too focused on examining the space.

“Hear me out,” Kacchan said after a moment of silence. Izuku’s eyes snapped to his. He sounded nervous. “My lease is up in two months, and I can afford to break it,” he said, eyes flicking from Izuku’s to the rest of the room and back again. Izuku’s eyes widened. “This place is a bit over your budget but I could pay rent, which would help you cover the mortgage. You can use that extra cash to buy back your collection as needed. So what do you think?”

Izuku blinked at him, heart racing. “Kacchan?” he uttered, voice thin with shock.

The blonde gave him a smile that was so anxious that it looked like a grimace.

“Wanna be roommates, nerd?”

Chapter 31

“Morning, Kacchan,” Izuku mumbled, dragging himself into the kitchen. He blinked at Katsuki’s bare back sleepily, slowly processing his bare torso clad only in an apron. It was…quite a sight. A symphony of shifting muscle and faded scars.

“Nerd,” Katsuki replied without turning around. “Coffee’s in the pot.”

“Thanks,” he said, already gravitating toward the caffeine.

He and Katsuki had been living together for six months, and they fit together like puzzle pieces. His divorce had felt like that moment when you’re running and you stumble—sure that you’re going to hit the ground and wondering if you’ll hit too hard to get back up. Moving in with Katsuki felt like catching himself before the impact, and living with him felt like finding his stride again.

Now, he’d hit the runners’ high and every day felt like he was flying. Maybe it was because he was surrounded by love and support, starting and ending with Kacchan.

"What're you making?" he asked, peering around Katsuki's shoulder after he'd poured himself a mug.

"Food," Katsuki grunted. "Make yourself useful and get the plates out, loser."

Izuku smiled, fond and drowsy, and did what he was told. "We have to be in early today," Izuku reminded him, voice still rough with sleep. It was the only reason he'd woken up—the ungodly number of meetings they had today. He really just wanted to sleep.

Hitoshi and Eri had been over until the small hours of the morning. They'd almost crashed in the upstairs guest rooms, but Eri had to be back on campus for classes so Hitoshi had taken her home. That had been at around one in the morning, and Izuku was wiped.

"I told you to kick them out early," Katsuki said, not turning to face him. That was true. Katsuki wasn't as stringent about his bedtime these days, but he was still ineffably responsible—going to bed with enough time to get his beauty rest.

And holy hell were his beauty rests effective.

It was possible that living in close quarters with Kacchan again had...kicked up some old feelings. He couldn't really help feeling them, either. Between the constant care and support, and the heart-stopping awe he felt when Katsuki walked around without his shirt on, there was no way he wouldn't feel something.

Well, he always kinda felt something. That hadn't changed—he'd always have a little crush on Kacchan. It was just a bit more intense due to the constant contact. Besides, it wasn't like anything would ever come of it.

He thought back to that day—almost a year ago—when Uraraka had ruined his sense of security and made him question whether or not he'd ever find a love that was good to him. On her way out, she'd suggested that Katsuki wanted him. Which was, quite frankly, ridiculous. She'd been trying to control the situation, he knew that. She'd been laying groundwork so that any kindness Katsuki showed would seem like it had an ulterior motive.

Thankfully, Izuku knew him better. Unfortunately, it also meant that he knew better than to hope that Kacchan would ever want him. He didn't mind that much, though. Katsuki was in his life more than ever, and it was the best Izuku had ever felt.

The eye-candy was just a fun bonus.

"You seen this shit?" Katsuki asked, interrupting Izuku's questionable train of thought. The blonde slid his phone to Izuku before forking eggs onto the plates, followed by toast and roasted veggies. Izuku's stomach gurgled at the sight of it, but he picked up Katsuki's phone, eyes scanning the article it was opened to.

Ah.

Ingenium Found 'Not Guilty,' License Still Suspended

He wasn't sure if he had enough coffee to get into this right now, but he settled in anyway—picking up his plate and migrating to the table before scrolling through the article with narrowed eyes.

Uraraka had been found guilty. Of many different charges. As it turned out, the reason she'd declined Izuku's settlement was because she didn't have the funds to pay it outright, and she figured that through the courts she'd have at least a 50/50 chance of being acquitted. It hadn't worked out in her favor, especially due to all the other infractions she'd been found guilty of, and the amount of reparations she had to pay.

She'd be serving jail time, too. It would be in a cushy prison meant for white collar criminals and rogue heroes—somewhere away from the general prison population so that she couldn't face retaliation for the hero work she'd done.

It was still prison, though.

Iida's case was different. He actually hadn't intended to press charges against him at all. That had been Mina's doing.

She understood why Izuku hadn't done it but once his text transcripts had been shown in court, she'd gone on a warpath—demanding culpability. By that point, his license had already been suspended due to his role in improperly disposing of classified information. She hadn't thought it was enough, so she'd pursued her own damages for both herself and Eijirou.

A handful of other heroes had followed suit. It had been ugly.

He hoped she'd be okay, given the verdict. "We should have them over for dinner tonight," Izuku said. "To keep their mind off the verdict."

"I don't know if she'll be that pissed about it," Katsuki replied. "I think she mostly wanted to send a message to the shithead. That his shitty, skewed moral high horse isn't shit. I mean, you see how they're painting him?"

Izuku nodded. Where Iida wanted to represent a strong moral authority—someone to be looked up to, who represented a pillar of integrity—he'd been inadvertently painted as a weak-minded man, so blinded by love that he'd hurt the people around him in his mission to get into her good graces.

People didn't blame him, but they didn't respect him either. They pitied him, and that had to feel like a cheese grater scraping away at his ego.

"Public perception piggy-backed off of my case," Izuku murmured, still scrolling. "We leaned pretty hard into the idea that Uraraka manipulated our friends, and doubled down on that with Iida. I know it's not our case, but—"

"You wanted him to be found guilty," Kacchan finished for him. Sometimes, Izuku thought the man knew him too well. "Hey, I get it. The sanctimonious jackass will find a way to twist it." He screwed his face up in an exaggerated imitation of Iida's stern scowl. "I was found innocent because I can do no wrong! I swallowed a rule book as a child and I shit gold bricks of justice!" he declared, pitching his voice low and robotic to mock their former class president.

Izuku chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement. He'd done a lot of healing over the past few months, and he didn't feel bad about laughing at any of this anymore. Sure, there was still that edge of hurt when he remembered where he'd started, but he wasn't responsible for how other people behaved.

Uraraka and Iida had made their choices, and they'd chosen to cause harm for their own gain. He was allowed to feel vindicated—even amused—now that those choices had backfired.

Even if it wasn't exactly noble to think that way.

"Yeah, well," Izuku shrugged, sliding Katsuki's phone back to him. "He can say whatever he wants. Doesn't change the truth, though. And the Commission won't reinstate him just because he was found not guilty. He seriously fucked up, even if he was manipulated into it."

Thankfully, Idaten hadn't been disbanded completely. Until the youngest Iida was reinstated, Tensei had agreed to step up and take the reins of Team Idaten, especially since the staff was smaller and more manageable.

And if Iida wasn't reinstated after a year, Tensei had requested that SmashBang transition Idaten's sidekicks into their agency over an 18-month period. This way, the sidekicks affected by Iida's crappy decision making wouldn't be completely shafted by the dissolution of his agency.

They'd been working hard to support him as he transitioned back into leadership. He might not owe Iida anything, but that didn't mean he wanted the sidekicks and staff to suffer—nor did he want Tensei to buckle under the strain. Besides, Katsuki liked Tensei. That was an honor bestowed on very few people, so Izuku felt a duty to protect him.

Katsuki got up, sauntering into the kitchen and shuffling back out with the coffee pot in hand. Izuku pushed his mug forward—smiling gratefully as the blonde refilled it for him.

"We should just keep the stupid machine on the table," he groused. "You drink so much coffee, it's a goddamn waste of time to walk back and forth for more." Izuku held back his fond smile. He didn't have to refill Izuku's mug but he'd done it anyway, despite how annoying he found the task.

"Thank you, Kacchan," he said, hiding his smile behind the rim of his cup. "You're the best."

"Damn right I am, dork," he huffed. "Hurry up and eat, you're the one who was bitching about being early."

"I wasn't bitching, I was just letting you know!" he protested.

Their morning routines were just another way that they fit together—another example of how closely they were partnered. Where one stopped, the other started and they were never in each other's way. While Izuku showered, Katsuki washed and put away the dishes. While Katsuki showered, Izuku packed their lunches and poured coffee into travel mugs. While Izuku got dressed, Katsuki brushed his teeth and vice versa. While Katsuki put his shoes on, Izuku would grab their jackets. While Izuku put his shoes on, Katsuki would grab the keys.

"Take your scarf, it's cold as shit," Katsuki grumbled as he stepped out the door. Izuku grabbed his scarf and Katuski's too, passing it to his partner before shutting the door behind them.

It was a dance, simple and balanced. They barely had to think as they moved—in sync without trying. Then again, they'd always filled each others' empty spaces. A few months into living with Katsuki, Izuku realized that he finally felt at home in his own life. It was a feeling he'd been chasing his whole life, and it had snuck up on him once he'd found it.

They walked into their agency side by side, chatting about Eijirou's return to active duty and how he was planning to postpone it. His wedding to Mina was in two months, and they wanted to have a long, adventurous honeymoon. He was fully healed and he'd almost certainly be cleared within the week, but the behemoth redhead wanted (and deserved) a break that wasn't forced on him due to injury.

Besides, with the extra downtime, Mina could rest assured that their wedding planning could be carried off with Eijirou keeping an eye on it. She was a shoo-in for the Top Ten this year so she'd been pulling extra patrols wherever she could, rallying by keeping herself in the public eye. While she was on her honeymoon, she'd undoubtedly lose some ground so she was pretty fixed on boosting herself as much as possible before the wedding.

In Izuku's opinion, she didn't have much to worry about. A month after trials had started, her merchandising team had created a new Pinky-branded toy: The Slapper. They were an age-old amusement; a stretchy, sticky hand-shaped  toy in Mina's color, meant to poke fun at the acidic slap she'd landed on Uraraka.

They'd sold out of their pre-ordered stock within two days.

"I still don't think the idiot should take that much time off duty," Katsuki said, holding both of their coffee mugs while Izuku collected their memos from his assistant. "I get wanting to take it easy, but the fucker's gonna get out of practice. It would be shitty if he went back on patrol in three months just to get deleted by some D-list villain as soon as he stepped back on the street."

"Morbid, Kacchan," Izuku scolded. "Ei wouldn't let himself get that out of practice. He's still training, right? It just won't be as intensive. Besides, it's nice that he's supporting Mina like this. He knows she's trying to stay spotlit right now, so she doesn't have as much time for everything else."

"That doesn't mean he shouldn't do some work, goddamn!"

"He wants some time to just...relax! Are you saying that if I decided to take a sabbatical, you wouldn't pick up the slack? Partners cover each others' bases, Kacchan."

The tips of Katsuki's ears had gone pink, likely from the cold. Maybe this year, Izuku could convince him to wear earmuffs. Kacchan hated the cold, and it wasn't like earmuffs would impede his hearing. At least not if Hatsume designed them. He'd find a way to bring it up without scratching Katsuki's stubborn pride later.

Leafing through the memos, Izuku sighed. It would be a long, packed day filled with the boring part of hero work. The nitty gritty stuff that he wished he could hand off to someone else. "Can you let Hana know that we're going to need the new sidekicks in today's meeting," he asked his assistant with a smile too tired for this early in the day.

"Of course, sir," he replied. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, we also need the team members who worked on last year's agency promo book," he said, already moving toward their office with Katsuki in tow. "That should be Takeda, Nakamura and Ayasaki."

"Got it," he called.

"And for fucks sake, make sure Deku remembers to eat lunch before his 1 o'clock," Katsuki barked before kicking the door shut behind them. "Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't eat your lunch yesterday, you absolute twatwaffle," he sneered, pushing past Izuku to put his coffee on his desk. "And don't think I won't literally call in to dispatch to make sure you ate it. You're a fucking disaster, Deku."

Izuku's answering smile was warm and amused. "Thank you for taking care of me, Kacchan. I promise I'll remember to eat lunch."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "I'll remind you after our 10am."

"If you must," Izuku said, rolling his eyes. His heart felt warm under his care, though—even if it did come in the form of persistent nagging.

He hoped he never stopped feeling as loved as he did in this moment.

Chapter 32

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Katsuki did remind him after their 10am, aggressively positioning his bento on his desk so that he wouldn't be able to miss it. Then, he'd gone on patrol, leaving Izuku with the remaining meetings.

Alas, that had been their agreement early. That Izuku would handle most of the interpersonal matters, and Katsuki would be in charge of filling out incident reports. Today was almost entirely interpersonal.

Today, he would be conducting the first six-month performance reviews for the sidekicks who had come from Team Idaten. He'd be going over highlights and room for improvement with them, as well as talking to them about career goals and giving them actionable steps on how to achieve them. Apparently at Idaten, that wasn't done—at least not since Tensei had stepped down.

Under the younger Iida, if something went wrong, you got written up on a three-strikes protocol, but you didn't get a chance to meet with leadership to go over strengths and wins. Under Tenya, discovering and building your strengths was your own responsibility—not something for management to acknowledge.

When he'd found out, he'd been perplexed. Iida had taken the same Agency Management course as him in their third year. Had he just...arbitrarily decided that performance review and mentoring wasn't a worthwhile endeavor? Ridiculous and frankly, disappointing.

He was going through his notes—copying the major points into the official review paperwork—when someone knocked on his office door.

"Come in," he called, glancing at the clock. He had half an hour before he had any meetings.

He was pleasantly surprised when the door cracked open and Momo peeked around the corner. "I hope I'm not interrupting? Your assistant mentioned that you were slammed today, but he said you had a few minutes of free time right now."

"I do," he smiled. She let herself in, shutting the door behind her. She was dressed casually and was carrying a paper bag. "It's good to see you!"

"You too," she smiled. "Sorry I haven't been around much, you know how it is."

"I do," he replied. She pulled out a chair and sat across from him, placing the bag on the desk and sliding it toward him. "What's this?"

"For you," she said cryptically, smile widening.

Eyebrows raised, he opened the bag. Part of him knew what it was already. His friends had been going above and beyond, after all.

His stomach swooped and carefully, he lifted out a mercifully well-preserved All Might plush. He recognized it as soon as he saw it. It wasn't mint condition—he hadn't known what that meant when he'd gotten it. There was a popped seam on the shoulder from when he and Kacchan had fought over it. His vision blurred with tears.

Auntie Mitsuki had given it to him for his sixth birthday. He'd slept with it until he was eleven. It hadn't been on display in his merch room. It wasn't high value, but was worth the world in sentiment. He'd kept it in his room, in his nightstand. He'd been sure he'd never see those items again. With no serial numbers and no intrinsic value, he'd been sure that it was destined for a donation bin.

"It was," Momo said, snapping him out of his trance. She was smiling widely. "I've been spending my down time looking through the thrift stores near my agency, and I managed to track that one down! I know it's not one of the high value ones, but—"

"It's even better," Izuku replied earnestly, tears spilling down his cheeks. He clutched it to his chest. "I never—I thought," he broke off with a pathetic sniffle. He ran his finger over a snag in the material that had happened when he and Kacchan had been playing—the hair-spikes on Kacchan's action figure catching on one of Plush Might's threads. "Thank you so much, Momo."

"Of course," she replied, smiling. There was still something in her eyes that he couldn't discern. It felt like she knew something that he didn't.

He didn't linger on it for long—lovingly inspecting familiar worn fabric. Where only six months ago, he'd been sure that his collection would be gone forever and his career would never recover—now his agency was flourishing and growing, and his friends had tracked down almost half of his collection in their free time. Even Tsu, who didn't understand his collecting  at all, had tracked down the pin set that he'd been about to complete before shit had hit the fan.

It wasn't complete—it probably never would be. But so many people cared about him so much, and they were striving to stitch the pieces of his heart back together. He didn't expect it of them—in fact, knowing how much time it must have taken to track each piece down, he almost wished they wouldn't. On the other hand, it made him feel so loved.

"I'm gonna head out," Momo said, standing. "I have patrol soon."

He looked up at her, pouting. "Are you sure?"

"I am," she replied. "You're busy today, remember? I'll see you soon though, I'm sure."

Carefully, he set the plush down on his desk away from anything that could snag or stain it. Then, he stood—skirting the desk to hug his friend. "Come for dinner later this week? You still haven't seen the new place."

She smiled. "Sounds perfect," she replied, pulling back to make her exit. "Oh, and I ran into Katsuki earlier," she said, pausing at the door. "He said 'Tell that shitnerd to eat his goddamn lunch.' I would highly advise you do so in order to avoid his wrath, especially now that you live with him. It seemed like a sticking point."

"He did threaten me a few times, so thanks for the reminder," he chuckled.

With a little wave, she disappeared around the door frame, the latch clicking quietly in her wake. Tears pricked at his eyes in the silence left behind—overwhelmed with the knowledge that he had friends that cared so much about him.

Instead of sleeping in for an extra hour, Momo Yaoyoruzu went out of her way before her patrol to bring him a fragment of his heart in a paper bag. He had no idea what he'd done to deserve friends like these, but he was so glad he had them.

He sat back down, turning on his laptop and opening his spreadsheet. He marked the plush as 'found' and made a note to send Momo a thank you gift. Then, because he knew Kacchan would slaughter him if he didn't, he cracked the lid of his bento, snapped a photo and sent it to his explosive partner, then started to eat.

His phone chimed a few minutes later.

From: Kacchan

>> good nerd

>> btw hag wants to know if they can come over for dinner

>> also I have some errands to run after patrol so i'll meet u at home

He sulked as he put his phone away. On the one hand, it was nice to hear Kacchan call their place home. On the other, he'd been hoping to spar with him before going back. It had become sort of a ritual. On days where their duties were separated—especially if one of them was on desk duty—they'd make up the extra time by beating the shit out of each other.

You know. Bonding.

There was another knock on the door, signaling the start of his second block of meetings. He looked mournfully at his half-eaten bento.

Well. What Kacchan didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Izuku let himself into their house, pushing the door open with his hip. His All Might plush was perched in the crook of one arm, the other arm laden with groceries.

He'd agreed to have Auntie Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru over, so Katsuki had texted him a long-ass grocery list.

As he sauntered toward the kitchen, he couldn't help the happiness that surged in him.

He loved coming home nowadays. Even in only six months, it felt lived-in and comfortable—and it felt like it was theirs.

The couches in the living room were comfortable and just stylish enough to appease the entire Bakugou family—casual enough to lounge on without worrying that every stray movement would ruin the fabric, but nice enough that they weren't an eyesore.

According to Kacchan, the cross section of that Venn diagram was tiny. Picking couches had been a near-Herculean task. They hadn't fought about it or anything, but they had taken a long time going back and forth until they'd found a decent compromise. The rugs had taken even longer.

Not to mention the dinnerware and dining room furniture.

They'd done it together, though. They'd compromised with each other until they'd curated this perfect space that was a blend of both their styles and interests.

One of many reasons that living with Kacchan was already miles better than his actual marriage had been.

They'd built a home.

There were posters on the walls, along with family photos—all the things that made them happy on proud display. He didn't have to hide himself in his own home.

He hadn't even noticed he'd been doing it before. He'd hadn't noticed that he'd been hiding pieces of himself in cupboards and closets until he started living in a space where he could let himself loose.

He perched the plush on the TV stand, smiling at it softly before taking the groceries to the kitchen. Kacchan would be home soon, and the least Izuku could do was prep the ingredients since he was gonna cook.

Katsuki would be excited to see the plush, too. It was a shared memory and he'd been pissed when he'd seen it on the spreadsheet and realized it was gone.

He'd just finished chopping veggies when Katsuki got home, slamming the front door behind him.

Izuku paused, deciding whether that was a normal slam or an angry slam. It had a little more vigor behind it than usual.

"I'm home, shithead!"

"I heard you, Kacchan," he replied.

"Could be a burglar," Katsuki snickered, making his appearance after he'd taken off his shoes and jacket.

Izuku raised an eyebrow. "A burglar wouldn't have made it to the door before being incapacitated," he drawled before refocusing on the onion he was cutting.

And that was the truth, too. Hatsume had upgraded his security. Anyone with unfamiliar biometrics would be trapped in a gel-like substance that hardened on contact with biological material, then tased if they attempted to escape.

She'd been inspired by electric fly traps.

Katsuki joined him in the kitchen, plucking the knife out of his hands and hip-checking him out of the way. It was for the best—Kacchan had faster knife skills.

"Hey, look—your knife work is getting better! At least it's all in even pieces," he teased. Izuku kicked him in the ankle, pouting.

"Mean," Izuku huffed.

At least he knew the extra strength in the door-slam wasn't negative. Kacchan seemed to be in a pretty good mood.

"You like me that way," Katsuki said, smirking.

Yeah, he did.

"No, I don't," he lied, turning his nose up. "I was gonna offer to help, but now I'm not gonna."

"Good, now nothing will end up burnt!"

Izuku scowled, even as his heart clenched. He was so lucky. He got to spend every day with Kacchan and he was so happy even when Kacchan was being a butthead.

It felt like puzzle pieces locking in place. They fit each other's empty spaces, and Izuku wanted to live the rest of his life in the presence of Kacchan's mean wit and playful banter.

"The only time I burnt dinner in the last six months is when you accidentally blew up the sink and I had to help stop the bathroom from being flooded!"

He'd left the roasted carrots in the oven a touch too long as he tried to stop their house from turning into Atlantis.

"You could have turned the fucking oven off, Deku," he laughed. His stomach twisted. The laugh was mean and mocking, but in that special way that let him know that Kacchan was happy.

God, they were both happy. It was such a relief.

"You blew up the bathroom!"

"Whatever, nerd. Make yourself useful and clean up before the old people get here—or I'll never hear the end of it from Ma."

Izuku stared around the room, frowning. Kacchan was such a neat-freak that the place was always pristine. "What needs cleaning?" he asked sincerely.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Just run a vacuum over the rug and straighten the couch cushions. Set the table. Put the shit on the side tables in neat stacks."

No matter how many times Kacchan's parents visited, Izuku never understood how nit-picky he would get before they arrived. He'd learn, though. He'd never needed things perfectly spick-and-span but if it mattered to Kacchan, he'd figure out how to cater to his dedication to neatness. He hoped so, at least.

If it made Kacchan feel as at home and comfortable as he did, it was worth the effort to learn.

"Get the door?" Katsuki called from the kitchen, still hard at work when his parents rang their biometric doorbell.

Izuku complied easily, opening the door for Mitsuki and Masaru and getting strangled as thanks. Mitsuki threw her arms around Izuku's neck, squeezing him in what was meant to be a hug but came off more like a python strangling its victim.

"It's so good to see you, Izuku," she cooed as Izuku's face slowly turned purple from lack of oxygen. "Katsuki is so greedy, he keeps you all to himself—you should visit us without him."

"Sweetheart, you're strangling him," Masaru said, slipping his shoes off.

She loosened her grip, but barely. "Why you wanted to live with that hellion, I'll never know," she sighed. "Is he treating you well, Izu?"

"BACK THE FUCK OFF, HAG!" Katsuki bellowed from the kitchen.

"YOU BETTER BE TREATING THIS PRECIOUS BOY WELL, BRAT!" she screamed back. Finally, she released him and let him lead them to the living room as he gasped for air.

"He's treating me fine, Auntie," he wheezed. "Probably too well, considering how much trouble I give him."

"He deserves it," she insisted. "Taking good care of you is payment for being a complete garbage goblin his entire life."

He barked out a startled laugh, slapping his hand over his mouth a moment later so that Kacchan wouldn't hear him laugh at 'garbage goblin.'

"This is why we don't invite you over," Katsuki groused, stomping out of the kitchen to give his parents a reluctant hug.

"You love us, don't lie," Mitsuki snickered. "We keep you humble, brat."

Izuku watched fondly as they bickered—Katsuki's parents making themselves at home. Their space was comfortable and welcoming—not just for them, but for their friends and family, too. They blended in without a second thought, and that made him unfathomably happy.

His mother had always been on edge when he'd lived with Ochako, no matter how much he'd assured her she could make herself comfortable.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked them.

"Don't be ridiculous, kiddo. Katsuki can get it for us, you come catch up with us!" she said, smile soft and adoring. Katsuki scowled at her, but stomped away to get her her a glass of white wine, and a Sapporo for his dad.

As annoyed as he pretended to be, Kacchan couldn't hide how glad he was to have them there. He'd had made his mom's favorites for dinner; a Thai curry and some random side dishes.

The evening was fun. Time spent with Kacchan's parents was always fun. At this point, they were as much his family as Katsuki's, and he was so glad to have them around more often. If he didn't think Kacchan would explode, he'd have them over every week.

"How has it been since you took on all those new sidekicks?" Mitsuki asked.

After dinner, Katsuki had kicked them to the couches to chat while he tidied up. Izuku had tried to help, and he'd gotten whipped in the face with a dish towel.

"It's been challenging," he admitted. "Especially with managing more than one district. But we've been handling it okay. We've had a lot of support."

"That's good," Masaru smiled. "We were worried that it might be too big a workload for the two of you alone."

"Tensei has been working with us as he reshapes Idaten," he explained. "And we've taken on a lot of Idaten's staff, too."

"They're basically staying in the same fuckin' roles, just under our agency," Katsuki said, rejoining them. He flopped into the seat next to Izuku, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and throwing his arm over the back of the sofa.

"It's true, they already know everything about the area and how it needs to run," Izuku agreed. "We just need to administrate them."

"And what about your collection?" Mitsuki asked. "Any luck?"

"I've had lots of friends and a handful of fans find and return some of it," Izuku said, smiling softly. "I've gotten about half of it back, which is more than I could have hoped for, honestly."

"Well, I'm glad," Masaru offered. "Half is a little surprising though. I'd have thought Katsuki would have found most of it by himself by now. It's all he ever does in his free time."

Katsuki went stiff beside him, even as Mitsuki nodded.

"He keeps having shit delivered to our place," she sighed. "Checking over each thing to make sure it's actually yours."

Izuku turned to stare at the side of Katsuki's face. Katsuki, for his part, stared straight ahead, poker face in place.

Katsuki had maybe found three of his collection pieces and returned them to him. Something was up.

"Stop exaggerating, assholes," he huffed. Masaru raised his eyebrows and caught Mitsuki's eyes. Izuku watched their silent conversation, fascinated.

"That's right," Masaru piped up with a nervous smile. "The security system, right son? You didn't want to accept deliveries here because delivery people aren't authorized?"

"That carpet you have upstairs sat in our living room for three weeks," Mitsuki agreed. Unfortunately for both of them, Izuku had known them since he was four. He knew when they were being evasive. More importantly, he knew when Kacchan was being evasive.

For starters, Katsuki—who had the shittiest poker face ever—would clench his jaw when he was under pressure. Usually, he'd get away with it because when he clenched his jaw, all Izuku could focus on was how razor-sharp his jawline was.

Kacchan was a work of art, it was a shame he didn't model more.

But right now it was different. It wasn't vague evasiveness, it was situation specific.

Despite the burning curiosity, he smiled. "Probably for the best," he said. "The last thing I want is to be sued for electrocuting a delivery person."

The tension cracked, both parents chuckling as Katsuki relaxed beside him. His jaw was still clenched, though.

Curiosity burned him.

Kacchan was hiding something.

Chapter End Notes

we're almost done!! make sure you check out my carrd to find me in all the social media places just in case twt goes into a full tailspin <3

Chapter 33

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Izuku could see the tension in Katsuki's shoulders as they walked his parents to the door later that night. It hadn't gone away since Masaru's slip-up. He wondered if he should bring it up at all, but his curiosity was eating at him.

They washed and dried the dishes moving in quiet harmony. Izuku wasn't sure how to bring it up, especially since Kacchan seemed to be relaxing. He didn't want to break that comfort.

"How did the reviews go?" Katsuki asked abruptly. "I just realized I didn't—"

"Are you kidding?" Izuku interrupted. Katsuki fell silent, looking at him with wide eyes. "We can talk about that if you really want to, but are you really gonna pretend I didn't hear what your parents said?"

Katsuki sighed, clenching his jaw again as he closed his eyes in frustration.

"Seriously, they were exaggerating. Besides, most of the shit I send to them is crap for the house, like the armchair."

"You inspected an armchair before bringing it home?" Izuku asked, incredulous. Fascinatingly, Kacchan's face went pink.

He averted his eyes, jaw clenching and unclenching. Izuku watched the movement, knowing that Katsuki was making up his mind and he needed to entertain himself in the meantime. His jawline was very entertaining.

"Fine," he grumbled, tossing the dish towel aside. "I've been looking for your shit. It's not a big deal."

Izuku squinted at him. "If it's not a big deal, why would you keep it from me? Why would you keep it from me at all?"

"I was trying to do something nice without you making a big fucking deal about it because you make shit a big deal!" Katsuki huffed.

"It's a big deal to me, Kacchan! It's a huge deal! It sounds like you've found a bunch of my stuff, it means a lot to me!"

"It's not just me, nerd, I had help," Katsuki griped, skirting Izuku to attempt an escape into the living room. Izuku followed him, because that was not a good enough explanation. "Our idiot friends have been helping."

"Helping how?" he demanded.

Katuski threw his hands up, frustrated. "I don't fucking know! By helping? Finding shit, or negotiating with sellers after I found shit? Just...helping!"

Wheels spun faster in Izuku's head, pieces clicking together. Why would he be evasive about this? Why was he being so weird? There was an alarm bell going off in the back of his head, and Ochako's words rang in his head.

"Enabling him won't make him love you, Bakugou."

"...How much of it did you find, Kacchan?" he asked.

Katsuki scoffed. "Why the fuck does that matter?" He wouldn't look Izuku in the eye.

Katsuki, by nature, was audacious. There was almost nothing that the man would hide from—so refusing to meet his gaze was a flashing neon sign that he was hiding something.

"It matters," he snapped. Katsuki's head snapped up to look at him, eyebrows raised. "It matters to me, because you're doing something nice for me and you're being weird about it!"

"It's not about me!" Katsuki huffed. "It was about fixing what that bitch broke!"

"So it is about what she said!" he declared triumphantly. "The day she left! That thing she said!"

"She didn't know what she was talking about, fuck off with that shit," he said, trying to skirt Izuku. He stepped into the blonde's path. "Fuck, what do you want?"

"Tell me!"

Katsuki shut his eyes, sighing in frustration. His fists were clenched by his sides. "Fine. Fine, I found almost all of it. I had the idiots deliver it for me so that you wouldn't do this shit and make it about me."

"Jesus, Kacchan, what do you have against gratitude?" he cried. "Why is it wrong for me to be grateful for what you do for me?"

"Because I wanted you to focus on yourself for once!" Katsuki bellowed. Izuku's heart twisted in his chest, stomach in free fall. "You're always taking care of other people, you never take yourself into account and for once I wanted you to focus on yourself! To realize that people care about you for you, not because of your influence or the shit you do for them! That we all fucking want you to be happy!"

Izuku's eyes filled with tears, touched and...irritated as fuck.

"I would have felt that even if you'd given it to me yourself," he said. "You didn't have to jump through all of those fucking hoops to hide it from me, so why did you?"

Katsuki ran a hand down his face. "Why won't you let it go?"

"It is about what she said, isn't it?" he asked.

Jaw clenching, Katsuki gave a jerky nod. "I didn't want you to think it was...a romantic gesture or something. After what she said, I mean. I didn't want you to paint it with that brush. It was just about helping you heal and giving you what you deserve, Deku, I fucking swear."

There was a desperate note to his voice, like he was begging Izuku to believe him. It rubbed Izuku the wrong way. Katsuki always said what he meant, so why would he try to convince him?

"So...you don't love me?" he asked before his brain caught up to his big fat mouth. His stomach dropped when he realized what he'd asked. He scrambled for the words to backtrack, but then he caught the stricken look on Katsuki's face. Something hopeful fluttered in his chest.

"Deku—"

"Because everything you just said—everything you do for me...it feels like love to me," he interrupted. Katsuki's face went red, and his heart raced—somewhere between panic and realization. "I mean, you make sure I eat lunch every day, and you're with me for all my legal meetings, and you fight people who talk shit about me, and—"

"Deku!"

"You stood by me even when it looked like it would mean we'd both be finished as heroes," he continued. "And you hunted down half of my collection without asking for any of the credit for it. Just to make me happy. That sounds like love to me, Kacchan. Do you love me?"

Katsuki swallowed, eyes darting to the door, then the window. Searching for escape. Unfortunately for him, Izuku had perfected the art of Catch-a-Kacchan, so any escape would be short-lived.

"It's not about that, Deku," Katsuki snapped. "It's about you! It doesn't fucking matter why I did it, what matters is that you feel whole again, don't you get it?"

"Of course I fucking get it!" Deku yelled back. "You are what makes me feel whole!"

"Goddammit, you should feel whole on your own! You shouldn't need me!"

Izuku scoffed. "I've always needed you! You've always been there!"

"So what should I do, leave?"

"I never want you to leave me!" Izuku cried. Katsuki fell silent, breathing like he'd run a marathon and focused on Izuku so intently that he could feel his stare in his bloodstream. "I have felt more content and happy in the last six months than I have in my entire life, Kacchan. I feel more at home, and more loved than I've ever felt and its because you're here. I'm healed, I'm whole, and—" he swallowed, bracing himself. "And I love you. Do you love me?"

Katsuki stared at him, looking like he wanted to run. He was so still that if Izuku didn't know better, he'd say he'd turned to stone. His voice was so quiet that Izuku wasn't even sure he'd spoken.

"You love me?" he asked, incredulous.

Izuku laughed helplessly.

"Since we were four, and you kissed the scrape on my knee because that's what Auntie did for you when you were hurt," he said around the lump in his throat. "And again, when we were ten and you gave me that first edition comic for my birthday, even though you didn't tell me it was from you. And that night on Ground Beta when All Might said we were two halves of a whole. And when those civilians tore me apart, and you found me. And again and again. I'll always fall back in love with you, Kacchan. Do you love me?"

Katsuki swallowed, eyes fixed on Izuku's face. Izuku felt his courage wavering in the face of it, unsure of the shell-shocked look on his face. He was only encouraged by his blush.

His knees went shaky when Katsuki answered.

"So much that it fucking hurts."

Izuku swallowed. "Hurts?"

Katsuki gave him a tight smile. "When you're hurt and I can't help? It hurts. When you smile and I can't kiss you. When you look at me like I'm everything, when you lean against me on the couch. When you come into the kitchen every fucking morning with your hair all fucked up and your eyes still shut. When you take pictures with kids on patrol, and when you hold up buildings with your bare hands. Everything you do makes my stupid-ass heart feel like it's tearing itself to shreds. When you fell in love with someone else and I wanted what was best for you? That hurt like a motherfucker. And when she broke your trust? When she hurt you and all I could do was try to hold you together? That hurt even fucking worse."

He didn't know when he'd started crying.

"I never meant to hurt you," he uttered.

"Of course you didn't," Katsuki scoffed. "You wouldn't hurt me even if it meant your own goddamn life, not on purpose. All that shit is self-inflicted. If I'd had the balls to say something, I could have avoided all of it."

"So why didn't you?" he asked.

The look Kacchan gave him was pained this time, and Izuku wanted to kiss it off his face.

"I've never deserved you, and I don't think I ever will. I didn't want to risk losing you. I've always been a coward when it comes to you."

"And what about now?" Izuku asked, taking a brave step forward.

"You're healing," Katsuki said, stepping back.

"I've healed," he corrected, stepping forward again. "With your help. And I'm rebuilding my life. Now's the perfect time to build you into it the way we want."

"And what if I break you all over again?" he asked shakily. His back bumped into the kitchen counter, and he was out of room to run.

Izuku stepped into his space, raising shaky hands to his shoulders. "I trust you with my life, Kacchan. Why would my heart be any different?"

He had this look in his ruby eyes that said that he was going to fight him on this. That his worries were still weighing down his confidence.

"Deku—"

"Kacchan," he interrupted, at his wit's end. "I love you, and that's all I need to know. Please shut up and kiss me."

His heart stuttered as Katsuki took his face in burning hands—painfully careful. It climbed into his throat as Kacchan leaned down—pausing just a breath away. Giving Izuku a chance to change his mind. As if Izuku could ever be unsure when it came to Katsuki.

He leaned up to close the distance, fingers curling in the fabric of Katsuki's shirt as their lips met.

It was soft and unsure and so much sweeter than he ever thought kissing Kacchan would be. He smiled into it as Katsuki nipped at his lower lip—gaining confidence with each passing second. He gasped when his explosive hand ran through his hair, the other falling to grasp at his waist.

It was perfect, and Izuku never wanted to stop. He wanted to kiss Kacchan in their fancy kitchen until they ran out of oxygen or died of dehydration, completely surrounded by him by safety and comfort and so much careful, intentional love. The kind of love that felt like home, and never tried to change him.

He pouted when Katsuki pulled away—winding his arms around his neck so he couldn't get very far.

Katsuki kissed him again, an unsatisfying peck that he valiantly tried to deepen. What he lacked in-depth, he made up for in quantity, though kissing him again and again as though he couldn't stop himself now that he'd started.

It made his head spin and his heart race, and he didn't know how he'd lived without Katsuki's reverent kisses to ignite him. He wondered if it was always meant to feel like this.

Katsuki pulled away again, clutching Izuku's waist like a lifeline.

"I love you," he breathed, as though it was a relief to say.

A smile pulled at his kiss-swollen lips, so wide that it hurt. His heart fluttered at the quiet awe on Katsuki's face, warmed by the knowledge that he'd finally gotten it right.

He pressed another kiss to Katsuki's waiting mouth.

"I love you, too."

Chapter End Notes

we're done! thank you all so much for reading <3

make sure you check out my carrd to find me in all the social media places! it's the best way to keep up with what I'm working on.

my most active spots are twitter and discord, but I'm also pretty active on tumblr and instagram <3

End Notes

Comments fuel me! If you liked it, you can stay tuned for updates and new fics by finding me on social media!

Works inspired by this one

Fall Apart, Collect the Pieces (PODFIC) by Hurricanekat98

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33