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It wasn’t so much that they happened as it was how other people didn’t happen.
Missed opportunities.
Midoriya and Uraraka went on two awkward dates, determined to understand their chemistry, before deciding they were better off as best friends. He wished her well when she confided in him she’d also had feelings for Tsuyu, encouraging her to ask the Frog quirk girl out. He’d never regretted it.
Aoyama had struck an odd friendship with Monoma in their second year. He claimed they were both fashion icons regardless of homeroom differences and therefore simply must be friends. The French blonde held a small crush on the other boy—he did look tres magnifique in a suit—but the flame burned on and off again throughout the years. He never gathered the courage to make a move and Monoma never showed any interest.
Todoroki and Midoriya circled each other. Their classmates held secret betting pools on when they would realize their feelings, when they would confess. But neither boy admitted anything. Was it a crush? Was it a close friendship? They’d bonded over their pasts and not having friends before U.A. With social anxiety and insecurities, Midoriya decided to let his feelings go, valuing their friendship more than anything else. Todoroki, never knowing the line between what was supposed to be romantic and platonic, took his cues from Midoriya. They grew close but never made that leap.
A rumor spread about Tokoyami and Aoyama. They often spent time together in the dorms, sharing slices of apples and cheese in the kitchen late at night. Dark Shadow could usually be seen circling around the sparkly boy, poking him and trying to make him laugh. When Shoji decided to ask his bird-headed best friend about it, he’d only replied that “Dark Shadow likes shiny things,” and no one was shinier than Aoyama. None of the other students ever saw them acting romantically but they’d wondered.
The less said about Midoriya’s ill-advised childhood crush on Bakugou, the better.
As with any high school, students gossip about each other. Being one of the top students, Midoriya often took the brunt of speculation. Iida and Midoriya claim to be close as brothers but they act even closer after a battle. Hatsume Mei keeps yelling about making babies with Midoriya. Even villains apparently fell in love with his sunny personality and determination, whispers of a shape-shifting girl raving in a prison cell about her lovely “Izu.”
Aoyama wasn't spared the rumors either. He was to be in a three-way relationship with Ojiro and Hagakure, two of the people he regularly worked with on team assignments. He had a secret boyfriend from another school. He was actually a secret French spy here to infiltrate Japan’s top heroics school for information.
That last rumor didn’t have anything to do with relationships but it made the fated 1-A class laugh. They’d held a movie night with several heist movies and spy dramas as soon as the word spread.
Every member of their class had been on the receiving end of a rumor, caught up in being well-known heroics students with a closer bond to their classmates than any other homeroom could boast. They’d seen relationships rise and fall, they witnessed the transfer of one purple boy for another, they’d teased each other about crushes and attractive heroes. They all were witnesses to the rather...explosive...confession between Kirishima and Bakugou. Kaminari immediately spread the good news about Jirou and Yaoyorozo becoming official, proud of his best friend and her crush. Arguably the class was in each other’s pockets the way that only family could be.
They knew almost everything about each other.
But it was still a surprise when Aoyama and Midoriya walked into their graduation party, hand-in-hand.
-.-.-.-.-
It wasn’t so much that they just happened, as it was that it was inevitable.
The first time they talked to each other was in their first heroics class. Midoriya, trying to ignore the weight of Bakugou’s glare, remembered Aoyoma’s offhand question to All Might about his costume. He’d gone over to the foreign student and shyly complimented his cape. Aoyama had sparkled and thanked him, praising his good taste. The boy’s smile then froze as he looked over Midoriya’s green jumpsuit with the mask pulled over his head. He’d asked after the design the green-haired boy had chosen. Midoriya had blushed and admitted his mom had made it. Before the other boy could say anything, Uraraka and Midoriya were being called to go first. He’d forgotten the conversation in the face of, well, shattering his arm. Again.
The first time they actually talked to each other was on the gym's training floor, Midoriya helping Aoyama to the side even as he was concerned by the blonde’s recent and strange actions. Leaving cryptic messages in cheese on his balcony had freaked him out, but after knowing Aoyama was only trying to surprise him as a token of friendship—of understanding—he couldn’t help but smile. Even as the blonde curled over in pain from his navel laser, he’d marked him as a kind person. Unorthodox, but kind.
A body not suited to their quirks, indeed.
That similarity stayed in Midoriya’s thoughts throughout the rest of their first year. He’d agonizingly broken so many bones but he’d had his friends to help him up, dust him off, and sign his casts. He’d managed to control the output of One for All enough to thrive more than he expected. He’d only grow from here. But Aoyama made him wonder just how bad some quirk downsides could be. Midoriya admired the French boy for his determination. Aoyama wanted to be a hero, even with a quirk that regularly hurt him from overuse. He threw himself into training but often looked pensive when Aizawa had them perform tests of their growth. Careful observation showed that Aoyama might not be as confident in his abilities as he claimed.
And Midoriya, never meeting someone he couldn’t ardently befriend, made sure to support Aoyama the same way he did for Iida, Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Todoroki.
He doubled the nausea pills he typically carried for Uraraka. When it seemed Aoyama was about to double over, he’d sneak him a packet of medicine. When he woke up in the morning after a brutal training session the day before, he made sure to check on Aoyama with ginger tea and a gentle wake-up call. When the boy glared at his English homework in the common room, Midoriya offered to tutor him. He’d laugh when the blonde started lamenting already being bilingual, why did he have to learn a third language?
In turn, Aoyama began supporting him back. Plates of cheese and other high-protein snacks after an intense workout. Thorough step-by-step instructions of how to properly maintain his curls, Aoyama chastising him for letting his hair grow bushy without care. Keeping a few pens on his person at all times to offer when Midoriya wanted to write a note.
Little acts of kindness.
Their friendship was more subtle than others. They had their groups of people they sat with at lunch. They had different sparring partners, different internships, different tastes. The class chalked it up as both boys being their usual outgoing selves, knowing that after the hellish first year they’d gone through, the class would always be supportive of their members.
A handful of times found both boys out on their balconies late at night. Sometimes from the inability to sleep, sometimes from nightmares. Midoriya never said much on those nights, just offered a gentle smile to his neighbor. Aoyama too seemed to sparkle less in those quiet evenings. They’d look out across the campus to watch the patrolling teachers. They’d stare up at the few stars seen through the light pollution. They’d whisper about things on their mind, never heavy or serious, just general thoughts.
It was peaceful in those moments.
Their dorm layouts stayed the same throughout each year. They moved to another building at the start of their second year but Aoyama and Midoriya remained neighbors. Their small traditions continued. The depth of their friendship was still unacknowledged by their classmates but it didn't matter as long as they knew. Aoyama kept a jar of lotion suited for scars on his vanity. Midoriya kept a French-to-Japanese dictionary in the pile of books on his nightstand. They may never call each other their best friends but they cared for each other the way only people who'd understand could.
And it was halfway through their second year when they both truly understood.
All for One’s final plans came to fruition. Shigaraki and the League of Villains tried to start a reign of terror, decimating a city and rampaging against an assault the heroes had planned. All students with provisional licenses were called to action. Every U.A. student fought with all of their heart. Heroes and villains alike fell. Aoyama found himself defending a residential area alongside Tetsutetsu and Shoji as they evacuated civilians. He’d worked himself past the point of exhaustion, pushing down crippling nausea and pain to shoot at the swarm of clones and criminals. If his stomach collapsed on itself from saving just one more life, then so be it.
But when the fighting finally stopped, everyone took a second to check in. Rescue operations continued, those with rescue-suited quirks forcing themselves to move forward. Aoyama had collapsed to his knees in pain as the comms they’d been given by their school started a roll call.
Aizawa was injured. Bakugou and Todoroki, the two heavy hitters of their class, were rushed to the hospital. Minor injuries from every student, just not enough to stop them from helping.
Midoriya had defeated Shigaraki but at a cost. He hung on the verge of death.
The entire class rippled in fear and anxiety. Relief, at having won against a supervillain and saving countless lives. Concern, for their friends and loved ones.
They’d packed the joint hospital room for their classmates. Kirishima held Bakugou’s hands and confessed with tears in their eyes, the blonde activating his quirk in embarrassment as everyone stared in surprise. The explosions grew worse when the teasing started but the boy never let go of Kirishima’s hand.
It took two weeks for Midoriya to wake up.
No one knew what exactly happened at the final showdown. The heroes had either been blown away or killed. Todoroki and Bakugou had been fighting the inner circle of the League. Only Midoriya faced Shigaraki and none of the students were allowed to sit by his bedside when he gave his statement. Only his mother had been in the room, clutching her son’s hands and weeping gratefully into a tissue.
Whatever did happen left the boy with haunted eyes and a set of disintegration scars all over his body. A handprint burned into the junction of his neck and shoulder, visible with uncollared shirts. Both legs and arms were broken.
But when Iida expressed his relief with tears in his eyes, Uraraka and Tsuyu clutching each other's hands as they sat on Midoriya’s bed, Todoroki demanding his own hospital bed moved closer—the green-haired boy teared up and smiled for the first time since he woke.
Midoriya was quick to recover through the sheer force of his willpower. He pushed himself in physical therapy, much to Recovery Girl’s consternation. His closest friends were supportive of his healing but cautioned him to take it easy. They joked about how he never knew how to relax. The One for All user only smiled and said he had a lot of catching up to do, not commenting on his friends’ concerned glances, the over-worried whispers. He only said he was fine. He’d be fine.
But it was Aoyama who never mentioned his strenuous pace. The French boy visited only a few times to his physical therapy sessions as all of his class created a rotation to help him; everyone eager to reassure themselves they were all alive. The blonde just cheered him on and offered a hand when Midoriya fell down, never fretting over his collapsed form. And when he was finally cleared from the hospital, hugging his distraught mother and returning to the dorms, it was Aoyama who let everyone into Midoriya’s room to fill it with cards and “Welcome home!” decorations.
And it was Aoyama who stayed on the balcony after he woke up to Midoriya screaming. He waited for his friend to join him, standing in the cool air as he ignored any crying he may or may not have heard. When the injured boy finally did appear, he locked eyes with Aoyoma, and his face crumpled in relief. He’d sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, Aoyama copying him from his room. They sat in silence and watched the sky.
“Thanks,” he had said, without any further conversation or explanation. Aoyama never said he was welcome, even if he was.
Thanks for being here.
Thanks for not dying.
Thanks for not leaving me alone.
Almost every night for the next month, the two found themselves on their balconies way past midnight. Aoyama slowly began offering distractions—articles from his favorite magazines, what drama was happening in class 2-C, how Satou was working on an authentic croissant recipe for him—and Midoriya began relaxing. Responding back.
They talked more than before. From inconsequential topics like hero costumes and the cost of international shipping to the darker aspects of their lives.
They’d both been bullied as children. Aoyama for having an unstable quirk that other kids called weak. How since his quirk manifested he’d have to wear his support item; how the meaner kids thought it would be funny to mess with it. Being called a half-breed in his middle school in France, the casual racism and insults to his mother pushing him to wear a positive mask.
Midoriya for being a “late bloomer.” He whispered the words “I was quirkless” like he was dragging it from a well. Aoyama didn’t comment, just offered support, as Midoriya mentioned being tormented. Called weak and useless. How he’d always wonder if his father left his mother because of him.
(Aoyama didn’t like Bakugou on principle: too angry, too brash, too unwilling to sparkle. He burned like an inferno that wished he was a sun. At least he had good fashion taste. But when Midoriya mentions a childhood friend who left him behind, a tormenter who liked to destroy his things and push him around, he never says a name. Yet Aoyama guesses. He will wonder who else knows and won’t realize he is the first until much later.)
(And much later, when Bakugou and Izuku are rising through the hero ranks with an honest apology from the blonde, bridges slowly mending, Yuuga will look down his nose at the explosive boy—thank you growth spurt—and call him a lucky bastard in French. Threaten him to mean it. He will still be captain of the Bakugou Watch and Izuku Protection Squad, no matter how much Izuku says everything is fine now. Ochako is his vice president.)
The story of what happened with Shigaraki comes out in bits and pieces across their balconies over their remaining second year. Who All for One was, how he corrupted the teenage villain. How in the end, nothing would stop Shigaraki from his madness. The doctor’s experiments and the boy’s trauma pushed him to the extremes, decaying everything in sight. It was only through all of his power and a fervent desire to protect people that Midoriya was able to stop him. He cried as he explained. He never mentioned the exact end of the fight but they both knew very well that Shigaraki wasn’t currently in any prison cell.
Even with their deeper secrets shared between them, their friendship continues the same way it did before. They don’t need to be spending every second together to know they are close friends. They support each other in their work and they provide a listening ear when they have crush drama. Midoriya teased Aoyama about Monoma; Aoyama teased him back about Todoroki. They pushed each other to be better. They grew.
-.-.-.-
It wasn’t so much that their relationship happened all of a sudden. It wasn’t even that they were inevitable. Small moments blossomed over time.
-.-
“J-Je suis content que nous soyons amis, Aoyama-kun," Midoriya grinned at the end of their second year. They were both on Aoyama’s balcony sharing a care package from his mother. “Did I say that right?”
The blonde beamed. He put down a cookie and reached out to grab one of Midoriya’s scarred hands. “Oui, prononciation parfaite. Please call me Yuuga though, mon ami. It is only right. I am glad we are friends too.”
He wouldn’t admit to blushing, not that Aoyama could see it in the dark anyway. “Call me Izuku, then.”
-.-
“Your hair is getting long, Yuuga-kun.” He playfully tugged on a blonde lock. It had grown past the boy’s typical chin-length, beginning to form waves when left unstyled. They were both walking back from the support department, Midoriya helping Aoyama design a new belt that would conduct his quirk into the sensors on his armor’s fingertips. The boy in question nodded, pressing his clasped hands under his chin and pouting.
“It is most tragic, I know. My work-study has kept me from my stylist for too long. I apologize for how monstrous I must appear, mon haricot vert.” Aoyama teased.
“No, no, I like it!” Midoriya laughed at his antics. He grinned up at his friend. While he’d hit his own growth spurt, he felt slighted that almost every other boy in their class had as well. Shoji, Shinsou, and Iida were still the tallest, but Aoyama was approaching Kouda’s surprising height. At least he was comforted by the fact that he was broader than most, and could bench press several of his classmates at once without even needing his quirk.
The longer hair suited the boy. His own curls had been cut a little shorter, forced into an undercut by Mina’s and Hagakure’s peer pressure. But without the hair products, without the careful swoop Aoyama typically tried to emulate, he looked more natural. Usually, only Midoriya got to see that side, late at night or early morning. Natural happiness was better than a sparkly mask.
“Hmmmm, I see. I may experiment! A new iconic look, maybe?”
“It suits you,” Midoriya complimented. Aoyama’s eyes twinkled. The green-haired boy couldn’t stop smiling if he tried.
Then Aoyama’s nickname registered.
“Hey! I am not a green bean!”
He chased the laughing boy all the way back to the dorms. If he used his quirk to cheat a little and drag him into a headlock, no one had any proof.
-.-
“I am a dual citizen between France and Japan. I lived in France most of my life. It is...hard, sometimes, to remember the words I need. I do not like feeling stupid,” he said, face down in his workbook. He typically loved art history but this essay was proving difficult. Midoriya had asked what he was struggling with, hoping to help him work through the problem. The cheerful boy hadn’t been expecting that answer or the self-deprecation.
“You’re not stupid, Yuuga. You’re one of the most observant people I know,” Midoriya said across the table. Which was true. Midoriya hadn’t realized at first just how much Aoyoma noticed. He hung on the fringes, claiming it was to get gossip but more often than not he was analyzing people and their emotions in order to react.
“I couldn’t hold a candle to you, mon ami. Some of the things you put in those notebooks can be enlightening.”
Enlightening. Never creepy, weird, or terrifying. Even his closest friends could be disturbed by the detail he’d note on people’s quirks and actions. It had only taken one day of Midoriya analyzing Aoyama’s quirk to blurt out ideas to help the blonde. Since then, Aoyama was startled but pleased at being observed and loved to read about himself and their friends. He never said anything negative about his notebooks. Midoriya appreciated it more than he could really say.
“Nevertheless! I will not stop twinkling and I will defeat this atrocious essay!” Aoyama cheered, psyching himself up with all the dazzle he could muster. Midoriya cheered with him, pumping his fists in the air while the blonde dramatically posed.
Tokoyami had wandered into the common room in the early morning, looking for breakfast, when he’d looked at the two students still awake. Both he and Dark Shadow squinted.
Too bright.
-.-
“How does he sparkle like that?” Inko whispered to her son who just grinned and shook his head.
Aoyama was placing dishes on the table, humming tunelessly and beaming. He hadn’t been able to visit his family overseas in over a year and when he mentioned spending the holidays at the dorms, homesick and alone, Midoriya had immediately invited the teen to spend the break with him. Inko had apologized about the apartment not being the most glamorous when he arrived in all of his glittery glory, but Aoyama had simply smiled and pressed a kiss to her hand. He’d complimented her home, her parenting, and her beauty in one charming breath and the woman hadn’t stopped blushing since.
“We’re not sure. I think it’s a latent part of his quirk. Yuuga-kun just says he was just born twinkling.”
Inko giggled. When they sat down to eat, she turned to her houseguest and blushed when he thoroughly praised her cooking with pure sincerity. Izuku had watched their interactions with a small smile, teasing Aoyama when he groaned and patted his stomach after finishing dinner. The two boys beamed at each other. Comfortable and glowing. She watched with tears in her eyes and a happy heart, proud of her once shy son making such incredible friends. Joyful at her son’s own joy. She sniffled.
Yuuga-kun, hm? Oh, Izuku.
It wasn’t so much that the relationship just happened. It was maybe that it was inevitable. If anything, out of all of the people in the world, out of all of the fates and designs, Midoriya Inko saw it first.
-.-
Sero laughed, placing an arm over Midoriya’s shoulders. The boy smiled as he ate, unaffected by the spice.
“Man, only you and Baku-bro can withstand abuelita’s cooking. Respect.”
The number one student in their year just shrugged softly, not dislodging Sero's arm. The blonde in question was smugly eating his chorizo at a table while Kaminari and Kirishima desperately searched for water after stealing a bite from their friend’s plate.
They’d all had a potluck on the long weekend after midterms. Bakugou had cooked an absolutely delicious curry, Satou made individual cakes for everyone, and Yaoyorozu simply brought chef-quality sushi she’d purchased. Everyone tried to bring their favorites but a few students brought family recipes. The bright red chorizo from Sero’s grandmother’s cookbook was incredibly delicious, and also incredibly intimidating to the whole class.
Jirou and Aoyoma walked into the dining room last, returning from a joint shift at Present Mic’s radio station earlier that day. They’d both signed up to be interns and had even ended up on air a few times. However, they’d volunteered for the long weekend shifts in order to work both the station and their regular hero work studies. They both looked dead on their feet.
Midoriya complimented Sero on his food and went back for seconds, Sero grinning and laughing at the horrified looks Mina was giving both Midoriya and Bakugou.
He walked up to the table at the same time as Aoyama. Jirou has just curled into her girlfriend’s side to rest. The blonde was grabbing a plate with his eyes barely open, scooping a variety of different foods. The French teen was always eager to try new cuisine—”you must expand your palate!”—but Midoriya’s hand shooting out to grab his wrist startled him into awareness.
“Yuuga-kun, you don’t want that.”
“Hm?” He looked down at the scarred hand encircling his wrist. He’d been grabbing a spoonful of rice and meat colored an alarming shade of red.
“You’re going to end up with the worst stomach ache ever, it’s really spicy. Here, try this! Tsuyu made this delicious ochazuke, green tea is your favorite. I’ll grab you some.”
Aoyama watched as Midoriya doctored up a bowl and then proceeded to take the plate from his hands and nonchalantly finish putting on different food, commenting about what he knew Aoyama would hate. Teased him about being a picky eater even if he wanted to try everything, but it was an unfortunate side effect of his quirk.
He raised a sculpted eyebrow at his friend who cheerily shoved the dishes into his hands and gently pushed him to the couch.
“Merci,” he muttered, exhausted from the stress of exams and still working while on their break.
“No problem!” And like a green whirlwind, Midoriya went back to the table to load up on chorizo and a few meat skewers. He returned to sit by Aoyama, happily chatting about the face-off Bakugou and Satou had over the kitchen oven that morning, the sound of their class and friends talking and fighting around them.
The blonde took a bite of the ochazuke, listening intently, cheeks flushed.
-.-
When people looked askance at the grizzly scars covering Midoriya’s body, Aoyama acted out to draw their attention away. When they started asking uncomfortable questions of all of the villains Midoriya had managed to stop during his time at UA, Aoyama butted into the conversation with non-sequiturs and nonsensical rambling. When he’d overheard a business course student talking about how plain and unmarketable Midoriya would be even with his strong quirk, Aoyama spent hours on an outline detailing every positive attribute the teen had and slamming it onto her desk.
When people scowled at Aoyama’s more flamboyant nature, Midoriya just stared at them and smiled until they unnerved themselves and walked away. When a younger heroics student laughed at Aoyama running to the bathroom after a training demonstration, Midoriya followed the boy to his homeroom and provided an entire breakdown of every weakness of the kid's quirk and how easy it would be to exploit. When trouble found Midoriya—as it often did—and someone tried holding Aoyama hostage during an errand run because they thought he was weaker, he happily let Aoyama shoot a laser through the man’s gun, taking his own pleasure in immediately throwing the criminal to the ground.
No one said they were never protective.
-.-
Midoriya enjoyed physical affection, but even after three years of friendship and growing comfortable in his skin, he still rarely initiated physical contact with people.
There was still a part of him that remembered reaching out to comfort and being rejected, hard. Unsure of his welcome in another person’s space. He knows better, he does, he has regular sessions with Hound Dog that started once his teachers discovered just how late of a bloomer he was, so he understands he’s allowed to want touch without expecting it to be violent.
Sure, he guided with a gentle hand or carefully touched someone’s arm to get their attention if needed. He’d give hugs to the more reserved members of his friends—namely Todoroki and Shinsou—but it was Iida who reached out and placed a steady hand on his shoulder. Uraraka and Tsuyu who looped their arms through his. Eri would run and throw herself at him whenever she visited. Mirio, Kirishima, even Shindo Yu that he befriended would drape an arm around him in a manly fashion.
But Aoyama would hold his hand.
Aoyama did it with everyone. He would tug on someone’s hand playfully or place their hands in his if he wanted to offer comfort.
Yet whenever they met in their Spot, on whichever balcony they felt like stargazing on that night, Aoyama would tug Midoriya onto one of the cushions they’d bought for the concrete floor by his hand. Sometimes he let go. Sometimes he held on when the nightmares and intrusive thoughts plagued him. The ease with which he reached out and the delight on his face when Midoriya reached back caused a wall he didn’t even know he had to lower.
So when they were alone, they held hands. They never spoke about why. They never spoke about what it meant.
Midoriya then started reaching first. When he pulled Aoyama to his side to share body heat when the winter grew colder but they were too stubborn to go inside. When he was hyper-focused and stuck in his thoughts, he’d fiddle with the rings Aoyama sometimes wore. When loud yelling from the self-proclaimed Bakusquad jolted him during their study sessions, he’d instinctively grab Aoyama’s hand in a panic.
In turn, the blonde traced his scars reverently, reminding Midoriya he was a survivor. He swung their hands in a big arc, gleefully laughing when the smaller boy had to stand on his tiptoes.
And somehow, even in the late nights, even when sleep-deprived or running on adrenaline, they could always find each other’s hand automatically.
-.-.-.-.-
Their first kiss wasn’t a dramatic reveal like with Kirishima and Bakugou. It wasn’t a blushing, sweet kiss like the one Ururaka and Tsuyu shared after their first date.
No death-defying fights or miscommunication.
It was like being in an orbit.
Midoriya was up early on a Sunday morning despite the late-night studying with Iida. He wanted to get as much work done today before their upcoming finals and license exam, maybe go to one of the training gyms to practice the new super move he’d fine-tuned.
It was as easy as breathing to shuffle over to Aoyama’s door in his pajamas and knock, knowing the blonde would answer. And he did, sleep ruffled and scowling, less than the usual perfection he tried to portray. But one look at his guest brought the first sparkle of the day.
He’d ushered Midoriya inside and forced him onto the vanity chair. He dropped the scar lotion into the teen’s hands who dutifully began lathering his arm. Aoyama yawned and fussed with his own braid for a minute before standing behind Midoriya and grabbing the hair mask marketed for curls.
He rubbed the treatment into Midoriya’s scalp with the motions of a hundred practices. He’d basically demanded at the start of the year to help with hair care after Midoriya tried to do it himself and left it in too long. It didn’t hurt him but he had shiny stiff hair for a few days. Midoriya hummed in approval at the minor head massage.
“What time did you go to bed, hmm?” Aoyama asked.
Midoriya just shrugged.
“I can’t really say anything myself. I had to outwit those physics sets.”
They both chuckled, knowing that Aoyama was great at most sciences, just not physics. Though Midoriya knew the blonde had been up late; his light was still on when the green-haired boy collapsed in bed.
Aoyama ran the last of the product into the short hairs along his neck like he always did. Midoriya shivered pleasantly then stretched his arms. When his shoulder satisfyingly cracked—and Aoyama clicked his tongue in disgust—he turned to look at the blonde with a sleepy smile.
“Thanks, Yuuga-kun.”
“The world will thank me even more when you have gorgeous hair for your hero debut, no?” He said.
“True. But I have to compete with you and that’s a whole other level,” Midoriya teased. Aoyama sniffed haughtily—unconvincingly—before smiling gently. He reached out to rub at a spot on Midoriya’s freckled cheek.
“A pen is not a pillow, silly,” he teased back, trying to rub off the mark. Midoriya opened his mouth to quip back but paused. He had a tingling sensation crawling up his spine. He met Aoyama’s fond eyes; watched them turn contemplative. They shared a moment of silence to breathe in.
Warmth and comfort and home.
There was no “what is happening” or “should I?” There was only “oh.”
Like it was obvious.
Oh.
Okay.
Midoriya carefully grabbed the hand on his face and tangled their fingers, still pressed to his cheek. He straightened his posture.
“Yuuga-kun?” He whispered.
Aoyama met him halfway.
Fireworks were overrated, they both thought. The feeling of a warm blanket draped over their shoulders, a strong hand to hold, basking in the sunlight.
That was much better.
“Izuku,” he whispered back when they parted, blushing. Aoyama watched a truly magnificent smile bloom on the boy’s face. He could’ve sworn Midoriya was the one able to sparkle.
“Yeah,” the boy—almost a man now, they were both almost adults weren't they—breathed. He squeezed Aoyama’s hand and tugged him back down to share another gentle kiss.
“Mon coeur.”
In the early morning light of Aoyama’s room, breathing in lavender and sleep and hair product, they both smiled, indestructible.
-.-.-.-.-
The party was in full swing by the time they walked in.
Everyone was dressed their best and high on their latest achievement.
Kirishima and Bakugou were pressed side to side, talking to Midnight about the agency they both signed with and suspiciously red in the face from whatever comments the Rated R Heroine had been making. Tsuyu and Uraraka were gently swaying to the music, Tokoyami was long-suffering as Dark Shadow egged Kaminari on in stealing the AUX cord from Jirou. Iida and Yaoyorozu were having a heartfelt moment with Kendou, Aizawa, and Vlad King as representatives.
Present Mic and Cementoss were chatting while Shoji, Kouda, and Shinsou lounged on the nearby couch, silent but elated. Sero was teaching Mina how to tango to her delight. The members of the original class 1-B mingled with 1-A, rivalries long turned into a friendly competition. Setsuna and Awase cuddled up and gossiped with Ojiro and Hagakure who were arm in arm.
Todoroki and Sato had started a heated conversation, most likely about one of the conspiracy theorist videos they both enjoyed. Kuroiro lurked on the edges of their duo, intrigued and trying to hide it.
All Might walked in first, flushed with pride at all of his students. Several cheered when they saw him, a few approached to thank him for his heartfelt speech at the graduation ceremony.
They didn’t comment on how red his eyes were, nor that he had obviously just met with his favorite student—not that he’d ever admit it or they’d ever begrudged it. No, everyone knew just which member of their class was able to move Yagi Toshinori to tears from sheer love and pride.
Midoriya was the next to arrive, still emotional from his talk with his mentor and the effusive joy his mother showered on him after the ceremony.
But as he came through the door, he pulled Aoyama with him, the blonde glowing and pleased. He had been able to introduce Midoriya to his parents who both immediately loved the sweet powerhouse of a young man. Inko had simply hugged the two tightly when she saw them hand-in-hand. They’d been held back from the party because of the introductions and the time All Might wanted to share with his protege.
(And if Aoyama finally understood the enormity of the origin of Midoriya’s quirk, that was only because of a hushed conversation when they were pressed close in bed. History and secrets and trust. He had happily let Midoriya and All Might share a moment to themselves.)
Shoji, observant as always, was the first to notice. He nudged his counterparts on the couch in surprise. Shinsou had startled but grinned, reminiscent of Aizawa. Kouda had signed something in excitement.
As the couple walked further into the room, a large lounge in a hotel that Nedzu rented for the hero students, more and more eyes snapped to them. Cheers at their arrival started and died off when they saw the clasped hands, the touching shoulders. The blush and sparkle in their eyes.
“Deku!” Uraraka yelled in glee.
Midoriya laughed when she tried to tackle him. Tsuyu followed at a sedate pace.
“We did it!” She continued.
“We did!” He cheered back, one arm wrapped around her.
When she pulled back, he beamed at his best friend, so proud of her. Of all of them. They survived and they were on the path to becoming great heroes. He was about to tell her that when she smacked his shoulder. Hard.
“And what is this! Why didn’t you tell me?” She yelled, pointing at how he was still holding Aoyama’s hand.
“Ahhhhhh,” he hesitated, sharing a secret smile with his boyfriend. Aoyama pursed his lips to hold in laughter, acting demure but secretly pleased at the drama they created. Midoriya loved it. Loved him.
“I’m surprised you didn’t know? It was kind of obvious.”
“They are just unobservant, mon beau.”
Their friends surrounding them, student and teacher alike, all protested simultaneously. Mina yelled mocking accusations.
“Did anyone have this in a bet?” Kaminari called jokingly. The cascade of laughter and love surrounding them overwhelmed Midoriya for a second. Uraraka “aww”-ed when she noticed him tearing up in joy. She nudged his side. If he went with the motion and leaned further into the lithe man at his side, she didn't comment.
“So seriously, spill? When did this happen?”
“How did this happen?” Sero teased.
“They are pretty similar, kero.”
“Sunshine bois,” Shinsou called from his place on the couch.
Midoriya just shrugged one shoulder, grinning broadly. “Maybe it was fate.”
Aizawa quietly collected money from Nemuri and Yamada in the corner. He smirked into his capture scarf, having put it over the suit he was wearing. The teachers watched fondly as Iida chopped the air in congratulations, as Monoma came up and gently mocked Aoyama for his poor taste in men, as the classes that survived one of the worst villain attacks of their lifetime officially became heroes but would always be this: joyful, determined, and stuck in each other’s orbit.
“Oui,” Aoyama said, swinging their hands. Midoriya took a moment to kiss the blonde’s knuckles to good-natured jeers and teasing. They both blushed, thriving and loved.
“C'était inévitable.”
-.-.-.-.-
“Mon amour, you are the sun to my stars.”
“Yuu...the sun is a star.”
Soft laughter. A gentle kiss.
“You are the brightest of all, Izuku.”
A scarred hand traced the curve of a pale cheek. Green and blue eyes meet, the world still ahead of them despite their new mantles and responsibilities.
“And you are wondrous and infinite.”
A whisper.
“Marry me, mon soleil?”
“Yes.”
-.-.-.-.-