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After Izuku thankfully skipped the inevitable interrogation from his classmates last night—thanks to Aizawa-sensei stepping in at exactly the right moment, reminding everyone it was past curfew—the dorm was already in chaos when he descended the stairs the next morning.
The glossy magazine lay sprawled across the common room table, the overhead light bouncing off the cover. His own face stared back at him: piercing green eyes glinting, tattoos curling up his arms, smoke lazily drifting from parted lips. It wasn’t the anxious, careful classmate everyone thought they knew—it was magnetic, dangerous, untouchable.
The class was gathered around it like it was a crime scene. Mina clutched the cushions as if she might faint; Kaminari buzzed from wall to wall, practically sparking in excitement; Iida chopped the air with his hands, trying—and failing spectacularly—to restore order.
Izuku froze at the base of the stairs. Every eye in the room seemed to lock onto him. Every eye… except one.
Katsuki stood off to the side, leaning against the wall. He didn’t lunge at Izuku or demand explanations — he just watched. Same as last night. Same heat behind his eyes, like he’d already decided what he thought of all this and was daring the rest of the class to challenge him.
The thing about Katsuki was: Izuku could always tell what he was thinking. Even back in middle school, even when they’d faked the bullying, Izuku knew the difference between real anger and posturing. And right now, under the lazy scowl, under the crossed arms, Katsuki was glowing with a truth Izuku hadn’t let himself believe until last night.
He liked him.
Not as a childhood friend, not as a teammate. Properly liked him.
Izuku’s chest clenched. His throat went tight.
He hadn’t thought it was possible to feel safer and more terrified at the same time.
Mina broke the silence.
“DEKU!” she shrieked, waving the magazine like a weapon. “What the ACTUAL hell is this?!”
The room erupted. Kaminari’s voice overlapped with Mina’s, Hagakure was squealing from somewhere invisible, and Iida’s hands were practically blurring as he shouted about decorum and propriety.
Izuku couldn’t even form a word. His ears were red hot, his palms tingling with the urge to cover his face. He thought the floorboards might crack beneath him, that he might actually sink through them if this went on much longer.
And then Katsuki pushed off the wall.
He stalked forward with that terrifying ease only he had, grabbed Izuku by the collar, and yanked him down until they were eye-to-eye. Their noses nearly brushed. His eyes were burning, his mouth set in that hard line that never quite hid the truth underneath.
His scowl was sharp enough to cut glass — but his voice carried across the room like a gunshot.
“You think you can just walk in here looking like that,” he growled, “and not expect me to lose my shit?”
The common room went dead quiet. Even Kaminari shut up.
Izuku’s breath hitched, his mind scrambling for words. This wasn’t like last night — there was no hiding it as a joke, no brushing it off. Katsuki’s voice was raw, unguarded, and everyone had heard it.
Heat crept up Izuku’s neck, but he forced his lips into a slow smile. His hand found its way to Katsuki’s wrist, steadying the grip on his collar, and he tilted his head just enough to let his voice slide low.
“Guess I’ll have to get used to you staring, then.”
Katsuki’s face went red instantly. His grip faltered, his shoulders jerking like he’d been punched. The class erupted in gasps and muffled shrieks, Mina nearly falling off the couch in disbelief.
And there it was. Not a joke. Not a one-off.
Real.
Someone squealed. Someone else gasped. Kaminari let out a strangled, “BROOOO—!” before Sero clamped a hand over his mouth.
The facade was over. The class knew.
________________________________________________________________________
The rest of the morning dissolved into chaos, questions flying faster than Izuku could dodge them. Mina demanded to know if the tattoos were real, Hagakure wanted to touch the piercings, Kirishima shouted about manliness, and even Todoroki tilted his head like he was recalibrating his entire understanding of reality.
Through it all, Katsuki never moved far. He barked at anyone who got too close, snarled at Kaminari when he reached for the magazine, and rolled his eyes so hard Izuku thought they might actually pop out. But his hand brushed Izuku’s every so often — small, clumsy grazes that made Izuku’s chest squeeze.
They weren’t together. Not officially. But the air between them was different now. Charged. Alive.
________________________________________________________________________
Later that day, the first crack came from Uraraka.
She’d been quiet through the chaos, hanging at the edge of the group with her fists curled tight. But as the noise settled, her voice cut sharp through the chatter.
“So… what, Deku’s just going to be some tattooed… slut now?”
The word hit the air like a slap. Half the room stiffened, heads turning in her direction.
Izuku blinked, caught off-guard.
Katsuki’s head snapped so fast Izuku swore he heard his neck crack.
Uraraka crossed her arms, glaring hard enough to burn holes through him. “I mean, really. Running around with all this fake bad-boy crap? Piercings and smoke and—what are you trying to prove? That you’re better than us? Better than me?”
Izuku opened his mouth, breath caught halfway to words—
But Katsuki got there first.
“The fuck did you just say?”
His voice was low. Dangerous. The kind that usually preceded an explosion — but the only thing burning right now was his glare.
Uraraka faltered for a moment, then doubled down. “You don’t even see it, do you? Everyone’s drooling over you, and you’re just eating it up. Leading people on. Acting like you’re—” She stopped herself, lips thinning into a sharp line.
But the damage was already done.
A wave of cold swept the room. Mina’s eyes went wide, disgust plain across her face. Kirishima muttered something under his breath. Even Iida, ever the diplomat, looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.
“Oi, Round Face,” Katsuki said, stepping forward. His shoulders were taut, his jaw locked. “Say one more word about him. See what happens.”
Silence stretched. Uraraka’s face reddened, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to claw the words back, but couldn’t.
And just like that, the room turned.
The awe and laughter that had filled the space earlier now twisted into something else — cold shoulders, narrowed eyes, whispered disbelief. No one said it out loud, but it was written across every face: how could she say that to him?
Izuku’s stomach churned, but he didn’t speak. Not because he was scared — but because Katsuki was already standing in front of him, solid as a wall, radiating fury on his behalf.
For the first time in years, Izuku let someone else fight for him.
________________________________________________________________________
Thankfully(?) After Uraraka’s comment earlier that day, the class seemed to unanimously agree to stop pestering Izuku; definitely not because of Katsuki’s monstrous and protective aura surrounding Izuku whenever they spoke to him.
Although, Izuku was exhausted.
Today was supposed to be his one relaxing day off from everything. The day he mentally prepares himself for another week of excruciatingly hard work and to recharge his already low social battery.
Ugh, he was craving a cig.
That's what led him to finally bid his classmates a goodbye, stating that he had some homework to finish and head upstairs. He quickly ran past his room to change into some more comfortable clothes, grab his darts, and head on up to the rooftop.
He hadn’t scheduled a smoke break with the man, so seeing Aizawa-sensei sitting on the edge of the building surprised him. He didn't bother saying anything and just quietly sighed to himself, letting the door swing closed behind him, causing Aizawa to lift his lazy gaze towards him, raising a brow.
Izuku sits down next to the man, gracefully takes out his dads old cigarette tin, grabs a dart and puts it in his mouth. He raises his lighter up to light it, sucking in a deep satisfying breath.
‘So, that was an interesting choice’ Aizawa drawls, looking straight ahead towards the horizon.
Izuku’s shoulders slump, he looks over to his teacher, giving him a tired look.
‘You mean the magazine? I had no idea that it would be such a big deal!.” Izuku sighs.
Aizawa flicks his cigarette and takes another slow long drag, then exhales, keeping his gaze forward. ‘Yes, But also the persona you chose’
Izuku frowns, smoke curling around his lips as he exhales slowly.
“The persona?” he asks, like the word tastes strange in his mouth.
Aizawa hums low in his throat, tapping ash into the wind.
“You don’t pick tattoos, piercings, cigarettes, and cameras without knowing what people are going to think. Whether you meant to or not, you’ve built yourself an image. Dangerous. Untouchable. People buy into that faster than the truth.”
Izuku’s gut twists. He stares at the glowing tip of his dart, watching it burn down.
“I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to be fake.”
“I didn’t say fake,” Aizawa replies, voice flat but steady. “I said image. There’s a difference. People are going to decide who you are before you even open your mouth. You can’t control that. But you can control how much of it you let define you.”
Silence lingers, broken only by the distant hum of traffic below. Izuku takes another drag, the smoke catching in his chest.
“It feels like they’re all looking at someone else,” he admits finally. “Like they’re staring at this… version of me I don’t even recognise. And I don’t know if I should correct them, or just… let them believe it.”
Aizawa snorts softly, almost amused. “Welcome to the joy of having a public reputation. Doesn’t matter if you’re a pro or a first-year — the second people catch a glimpse of something they like, or hate, they’ll twist it to fit whatever story they want.”
Izuku glances sideways, but Aizawa’s gaze is still fixed on the horizon. The sunset bleeds orange across the clouds, making the smoke look like fire.
“So what do I do?” Izuku asks, voice small.
“Decide what matters,” Aizawa says simply. He flicks his cigarette again, letting sparks scatter into the breeze. “Is it the version they see? Or the one you live with when the crowd’s gone?”
Izuku swallows, throat tight. His mind flashes through the chaos of his classmates, the whispers in the hall, the cold slap of Uraraka’s words. And then—Katsuki’s eyes. Burning, protective, real.
“…The one I live with,” he whispers.
Aizawa finally glances over, tired eyes sharp for just a moment. He gives a small nod. “Good. Then stop wasting energy on proving anything to the rest of them. They’ll figure out the truth sooner or later. Or they won’t. Either way, you’ll still be you.”
Izuku lets out a shaky laugh, dropping his cigarette into the tin. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” Aizawa replies, smirking faintly as he pulls his scarf tighter. “But you’re not doing it alone, either. You’ve got people who see the difference.”
Izuku doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.
A beat of silence passes, then Aizawa mutters, “Don’t make me regret saying something heartfelt, problem child.”
Izuku almost chokes on his laugh. The heaviness lifts.
_________________________________________________________________________
Izuku padded softly back down the hall, tin tucked into his pocket, the faint smell of smoke still clinging to his clothes. The dorms had quieted by now. No Kaminari’s laughter, no Mina’s squeals, no Iida’s lectures filtering through the walls. Just the hush of night and the occasional creak of the old building settling.
He shut the door to his room behind him and leaned back against it, exhaling a long breath. The silence pressed in heavier than usual. His room was familiar — notebooks stacked high, All Might posters still clinging to the walls, training gear half-folded in the corner — but tonight it felt too big, too empty.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair. The magazine cover flashed again in his mind. His classmates’ faces. Uraraka’s words, sharp as knives. Aizawa’s quiet voice, telling him to decide what mattered.
He knew the answer. He’d said it out loud. But still… The weight of it all sat heavy on his chest.
His phone buzzed against the sheets.
Izuku blinked, fumbling for it, expecting maybe a message in the class group chat, or one of Mina’s relentless follow-ups. Instead, just one name lit the screen.
Kacchan: You still up?
Izuku’s heart stumbled. His fingers hovered before typing back.
Izuku: Yeah. Can’t sleep.
The reply came fast.
Kacchan: Open your damn door.
Izuku froze, staring at the words until they blurred. His chest tightened, then loosened all at once. He got up before he could overthink it, padded across the room, and cracked the door open.
Katsuki was already there, hands shoved in his pockets, scowl firmly in place — but softer at the edges. Without a word, he stepped inside.
For a moment, neither spoke. Katsuki dropped onto the beanbag in the corner like he owned it, while Izuku lingered by the door, unsure what to do with himself.
They sat in silence for a long beat, the air heavy but not uncomfortable. Katsuki broke it first.
“You look like hell,” he muttered.
Izuku snorted softly. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
Katsuki’s mouth twitched — almost a smile, almost — before he leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “You’ve been chewing on it all night, huh? What she said. What they all think.”
Izuku hesitated. He wanted to deny it, brush it off. But lying to Katsuki felt pointless. “…Yeah. I can’t stop replaying it.”
“Figures,” Katsuki said, like it was obvious. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Izuku’s gaze for a moment. “You always carry more than you should.”
Izuku’s chest tightened. He ducked his head, voice quiet. “…It’s hard not to, when it feels like they’re all looking at someone I’m not.”
That made Katsuki look at him, sharp and unflinching. “Bullshit.”
Izuku blinked. “Kacchan—”
“No.” Katsuki cut him off, voice rough, steady. “That’s still you. The tats, the smoke, the attitude — it’s all just pieces. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s you under it. You think I don’t know the difference? I’ve known you since before you could tie your damn shoes. You’re still that same idiot who throws himself in front of anyone in trouble. Still the same nerd who mutters through his notebooks until two in the morning. That doesn’t go away because people saw a magazine cover.”
Izuku’s throat went tight. He swallowed, but the lump didn’t move.
“And if they can’t see that?” Katsuki’s voice dropped lower. “Screw ‘em. I see you. Always have. Always will.”
Izuku’s vision blurred, heat pricking at the corners of his eyes. He dragged in a breath, unsteady, before letting the words spill out. “…Kacchan, I don’t think I ever told you this, but—” He broke off, laughed weakly, shaking his head. “I don’t think there’s ever been a time I didn’t love you.”
Katsuki went still. For once, no quick retort, no scoff. Just silence, raw and heavy. Then he exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sigh.
“You’re a damn idiot,” he muttered, voice catching. He looked away for half a second, ears blazing red, before snapping his gaze back. “Like I didn’t know that already. You think I’d stick around all these years, put up with all your crap, if I didn’t—” He cut himself off, grinding his teeth. Then, softer: “I love you too, nerd. Always have. Even when I was too much of a bastard to say it.”
The quiet between them wasn’t awkward anymore. It was thick, humming, like the air just before a storm breaks. Izuku moved before he could lose the courage, sliding off the bed and onto the floor beside Katsuki.
Close. Closer. Their knees brushed, and Izuku tilted forward, letting his forehead rest against Katsuki’s.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t clumsy. It was steady, sure — the kind of kiss that said this wasn’t new, not really. It had been waiting.
When they pulled back, Katsuki didn’t move far. He kept his forehead pressed to Izuku’s, eyes half-lidded, breaths mingling.
“…Don’t think this changes anything in training,” he muttered, voice softer than Izuku had ever heard it.
Izuku laughed quietly, the sound breaking on his smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I see you too, Kacchan.”
And for the first time in days, maybe years, Izuku didn’t feel heavy at all.