Chapter Text
[Izuku] : hey i’m sorry i know it’s really late notice but is it okay if i come by and talk to you guys about something? nothing bad! i just need some advice
[Ochako] : of course it’s fine!!! are you okay? do you also need dinner? we made loads of takoyaki and i know you were on patrol earlier so i bet u haven’t eaten yet!!
[Izuku] : are you sure? that’s so kind of you thank you sm ｡°(°¯᷄◠¯᷅°)°｡
[Ochako] : it’s only takoyaki lmao lmk when you’re on your way and i’ll heat up a plate!
He’s barely been on their doorstep for thirty seconds, scuffing his shoes on the floral welcome mat with his hands in his pockets when Ochako throws the door open, beaming at him. “It’s good to see you!” In an oversized sweater and hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail, she hugs him before gesturing him inside, and despite his gloom he can’t help but smile back at her.
“I’m sorry to just drop in on you like this - ”
She cuts him off with a scuff, arms folded as he slips his shoes off. He’d called by his apartment to change out of his costume and boots, at least: he couldn’t imagine anything worse than being recognised by some well-meaning fans on his way over here, forced to sign autographs and pose for grinning selfies when he’s feeling so out of sorts. “Stop thinking you’re a burden for calling at eight, Izuku. Besides, is it really dropping in if you texted to ask first?”
Things must be serious, if she’s using his actual name; Izuku’s pretty sure she didn’t even call him that when they were breaking up. Smiling sheepishly, he lets her take his coat and slopes into the living room, raising a hand at the man who springs up from the sofa to greet him, hand outstretched at once. “Hey, Tenya.”
“Izuku,” he says seriously, shaking his hand with a grip hard enough to bend steel. “Ochako said you were on your way - how are you? How was the patrol? The takoyaki’s in the oven, so it shouldn’t take too long to heat up until you’d think it was fresh, though I did only make it myself this afternoon.”
He grins at him as he extracts his hand and flexes it as surreptitiously as he can. “I appreciate it, really. It was quiet tonight, if you can believe that: I think the most exciting thing I did was use Black Whip to retrieve keys someone had dropped down a sewer grate, and mentally prepared a few lesson plans for my second years.”
“That was me,” floats Ochako’s voice from the kitchen, as Tenya sweeps his arm to an empty armchair in offering. “I phoned all the local criminals and told them the number three was on patrol, so they all decided they’d rather have a quiet night in than risk running into you. They’ll be calling you the Rescue Hero soon, but for personal items rather than lives.”
He knows she’s only teasing him, but the title has his smile fading. Izuku takes the armchair as Tenya bustles his way into the kitchen, leaning down to press a kiss to Ochako’s temple, all while he tells himself to get a grip and stop acting odd before one of them notices and begins the questioning he knows is coming. There’s a bundle of cornflower blue wool on the sofa, and Izuku leans over and squints at the metal hook poking out of the top of it. “Who’s started crocheting?”
“Me,” Tenya says, twisting around with his hand raised above his head as if they’re back in the classroom. “I’m not very good, but I’m getting there.”
“You’re a beginner,” Ochako tells him, exasperated but kind. “You can’t immediately be an expert at anything, but you’re doing perfectly well for only just picking it up.” She smiles at Izuku, a mug in either hand as the kettle bubbles behind her. “Katsuki suggested it as a way to keep his hands busy with something. We thought he was being mean at first, but he actually showed Tenya how to do it.”
“After cuffing me over the head with the hook a few times,” Tenya says stiffly, “but he’s a good teacher. He told me I was lucky he wasn’t charging me for lessons, and that some people would pay thousands for the privilege.”
“I told him he should auction lessons off for charity once,” Izuku says, feeling a smile spreading across his face. “I reckon he’d make at least a million, but it would be a problem getting someone who actually wanted to learn to crochet rather than simply staring at him the whole time.” He isn’t quite as well known for his crafting skills as his heroics, but Katsuki had caused a minor stir when a paparazzo asked where his turtleneck was from and laughed when he found out it was handmade, causing Katsuki to try and bite him. He’d received hundreds of letters that week, Eijirou had later told them in hushed tones, from fans begging him to bring out his own fashion line, or at least how-to guides on how to make their own black-and-orange turtlenecks.
“He said he was too busy to spend his time on that and encourage a load of imitators,” he’d said, beaming, “but he makes me any jumpers I ask for.”
Tenya’s pile of wool looks worlds away from anything resembling clothing, and he scoops it up and sits down at the table with a heavy sigh as he begins trying to untangle the threads. Ochako joins him, plate in one hand and beckoning Izuku with the other. “Come on, sit, sit! Get this down and then you can ask us anything you want.”
The layer of tension lying thick in his stomach lessens somewhat in their presence, and with a plate of steaming takoyaki and mug of green tea in front of him. They let him munch through it as they chat and bicker good-naturedly in front of him, updating him on their benign updates they thought too boring for text messages but which flow easily in his presence.
“We were thinking of getting a pet - it’s not fair to have a dog, not with our schedules, and I’d like a cat, but Tenya is allergic so we’re looking at allergy solutions and hoping there’s a pro somewhere out there whose Quirk stops allergies and they can bottle it for mass production - but if not, then maybe a hamster? We haven’t worked out the finer details yet.”
“Tensei extended his trip to the States for another week - meeting up with old friends who emigrated there, some of his contemporaries when he first went pro, you know - so if there’s any memorabilia or snacks you want him to bring back, just tell me and I’ll pass it on to him.”
“Did I tell you my parents got a sponsorship deal back home? My parents! They didn’t want me on any billboards, just them with some of this new cement that’s meant to dry quicker than the standard: something to do with the Uraraka surname and it being a family run business, and it’s so sweet how excited they were about it! I’ll have to get you some photos of them next time I’m back there!”
The second he swallows the last bite of takoyaki and drains his tea, Izuku sets his mug aside and realises two pairs of eyes are focused on him, one curious, one concerned. They’d been timing their life updates to the progress of his meal, then. “Is everything really alright, Izuku?” Tenya says without preamble, brow furrowed and leaning forwards in his seat. “You’ve been very quiet, and reaching out to ask for advice surprised us.”
He didn’t get a chance to add to the conversation, not with their chattering and a mouth full of takoyaki, but Izuku shrugs and offers him a smile. “It’s nothing serious, I promise. It’s just - kind of awkward.”
“Awkward?” Ochako echoes, head tilted to one side. “In what way?”
Izuku takes his time to reply, first pushing his plate and mug aside then running a hand through his hair to push his curls off his forehead. There’s only so much stalling he can do with two people watching him, though, eyebrows raising higher and higher all the while, and at last he sighs and tries not to slide down in his chair. “It’s, uh. Kind of relationship advice.” He tries not to look at Ochako when he says it, but she scowls all the same.
“Don’t be so silly: the only one making it awkward is you. It’s not awkward, Tenya, is it?” She wheels to face him but he’s already shaking his head, looking reproachfully at Izuku.
“We’d rather you came to us for advice,” he says gravely, making Izuku feel about two feet tall. He picks up his crochet again, brow furrowing as he resumes his attempts to unravel it. “There’s nothing awkward about it.”
“It’s not exactly the done thing, though, is it?” Izuku says, not sure if it sounds as defensive as he feels. “Asking your ex and their new partner for advice on your romantic life.”
“It is what it is,” Tenya says, not even looking up from his crochet. “We’re your friends first and foremost, and it would be ridiculous for me to pretend that Ochako didn’t have a life or dated anyone before me. You two ended things amicably, and regardless of her dating you, she married me.”
“Very true,” Izuku admits, and his mouth twitches while Ochako beams.
“And I told you that you could always come to me about anything, right?” she says encouragingly. “So, who’s the lucky girl? Or is it a guy?”
He supposes there’s no way he’d be able to get advice without revealing who it was, and his stomach tightens. “Guy.”
“Is it someone we know?”
“Yes.”
“Another pro hero?” Ochako’s eyes light up, a smile beginning to spread across her face. “Someone we went to school with?”
“Yep.” It feels like the most awkward game of twenty questions possible, his answers monosyllabic from the tension. Tenya and Ochako don’t seem to have noticed: the former is frowning, clearly thinking hard, while Ochako’s eyes have widened.
“I know,” she says in a rush, sitting bolt upright. “It’s Shouto, isn’t it?”
He knew, from the moment he first texted her, that she’d get it in one. Pressing his lips together, Izuku nods jerkily and Ochako lets out a squeak, hands clasped to her face. Tenya merely blinks. “How did you work that out so quickly?”
“Who else would it be?” Ochako says, dropping her hands but now fanning herself with them. “A classmate who’s still single, intimidatingly good looking and close enough to Izuku that he wants to ask for advice before making any moves - who else could it be?”
“He is exceptionally handsome,” Tenya agrees, nodding solemnly. “Very astute, sweetheart.”
Ochako beams at the praise, but her smile falters at the sight of Izuku’s expression. “You don’t look very happy about it, Deku. Do you not want to have a crush on him?”
“It’s not that.” He swallows hard, a hand moving to rub the back of his neck as he stares into the remnants of his tea. It’s the thought that’s been going around his head for days now, keeping him restless and staring at his ceiling night after night and an omnipresent sense of unease dwelling in his chest. “I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Surely - ?” Tenya begins, but Ochako shushes him before he can go any further. She looks back at Izuku, face creased with concern.
“Let’s start from the beginning. How did you realise you had feelings for him?” she says softly. “Did you just wake up one morning and think oh, wow, I never realised he was so beautiful, or did something happen to make you think of him in that way? You’ve been so close for so long, but only as friends, so what changed?”
“Something happened, yeah. Remember the lab fire in Alderon, a few weeks ago?” He pushes his mug away from him and Tenya leans over to grab hold of it, standing at once. “Oh, I wasn’t implying - ” His words fall on deaf ears as Tenya makes for the kitchen, and Ochako shakes her head as she watches him go, smiling to herself.
“It sounds like the type of conversation best had over a cup of tea with friends, anyway.” She reaches out to squeeze his arm and they wait until Tenya returns with three steaming mugs, grandly handing them out, before Izuku steadies himself and resumes his explanation.
“Alderon,” he repeats, hands clasped around his mug. “The chemical fire. I wasn’t one of the heroes specifically requested to attend ‘cause of my Quirk, but I was nearby and wanted to lend a hand. Shouto was the first one they called, obviously.” When they couldn’t be sure which of the chemicals was the one that had roaring flames engulfing multiple floors of the building in no time, the obvious solution had to be to call the hero whose ice could snuff out even the most extreme blazes. “He had it controlled in no time, but he was still in the building when I got there because one of the workers had brought their kid with them - something about their childcare falling through, and on any normal day it would’ve been no big deal for them to curl up with a book beside their desk, but they got separated in all the chaos and Shouto was the one who immediately went off to find them.”
“Oh, I remember,” Tenya says, sitting up straighter. “There were pictures of them leaving the building, wasn’t there? Him with a little girl?”
“Yes,” Izuku says, and his mouth automatically curves into a smile at the thought of those photos, the girl with her arms wound around Shouto’s neck and clinging tight as he carried her out of a frozen doorway, ignoring the cameras to focus on whatever he was saying to her as he carried her towards a waiting ambulance. “I’ve seen him with civilians before, of course, but there was just something - different. Something that made me stop and watch him, reassuring that kid and making them laugh - and then he saw me looking, and - ”
He still remembers the gut punch of Shouto catching sight of him as he lingered in the background, somewhat of a spare part since Eri had arrived and deftly took over the first aid. Without realising it he’d been staring at the other man as he crouched down before the girl sitting in the open doorway of the ambulance, paramedics fussing behind her: at Shouto’s hair, recently cut shorter than usual, unable to tuck now non-existent bangs behind his ears and showing off his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. The softness in his expression as he spoke to the child, a hand on her shoulder and then standing up and stepping back with a nod when the child’s father appeared to crush her in a hug. It was then when he’d looked up, and Izuku had only realised he was staring when Shouto met his gaze and raised his eyebrows quizzically at him, eyes creasing at the edges, and then -
“He smiled at me,” Izuku says quietly, pressing his lips together and fingers tightening around the mug before him. “Just like he’s done so many times before, but this time, something about that smile took my breath away. I realised I wanted more than to be his friend; that I wanted to wake up to that smile every morning.”
Ochako and Tenya are staring at him, and part of him can’t stand their matching expressions of pity. “Oh, Deku,” Ochako says softly, and she reaches out to settle one small hand over his, still clasped together on the table. “It hit you all at once?”
“Yep.” He’d paced his apartment for what must have been hours that night, running his hands through his hair over and over until his curls were a wiry mess of static. Years - over a decade - of friendship suddenly felt recontextualised, the excitement of seeing Shouto these last few months and the way his heart raced at the weight of his hand on his shoulder taking on a new meaning. The feelings had only grown in the days that followed, the sense that he couldn’t push aside the new ways he felt for Shouto.
“It’s probably been building in you for a long time,” Tenya says unexpectedly, stirring his own tea. “That’s how it was with me for Ochako, anyway. I’d always admired her, and thought she was very attractive - but it wasn’t until you helped me with my tie for the hero awards that I realised I felt for you as more than a friend.”
Ochako blinks, wheeling away from him to face Tenya. “When I helped you with your tie?”
“Yes. I’d done it too tightly, and you made me crouch down so you could redo it for me. You said you couldn’t send me out there not looking my best, patted my face, and that was it.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the night.”
Come to think about it, there’d been a vacant look on Tenya’s face in most of the photos from that event, and Izuku has to fight back a smile at the thought of the cogs whirring in his brain as he tried to process the realisation. Ochako makes no effort to hide hers, even if she still seems unconvinced. “That’s what made you ask me out for dinner? Fixing your tie?”
“I like the way you touched my cheek, and wanted more of it,” Tenya says simply. He looks at Izuku again, a crease between his brows. “Why don’t you ask Shouto if he’d like to go for dinner, and make it clear your intentions are romantic rather than as a friend? It doesn’t have to be anything more complex than that.”
Ochako nods along to his words, twisting to face Izuku again. “If you’re worried about it affecting your friendship, I don’t think it would!” she says encouragingly. “He’s still friendly with Sero even after he turned him down, right? I know you’re way closer with him than Sero’s ever been, but I don’t think he’d let it affect your friendship!”
Izuku doesn’t reply, simply because he doesn’t know how to put it into words. All those years, seeing Shouto as just a friend, only for these feelings to sweep over him and almost overwhelm him. It’s a dizzying thought, bewildering that the way he viewed him could change so radically, and surreal for it to actually be happening. A cool silence spreads out between them and, staring at the wood grain of the table, he doesn’t have to glance up at them to know Ochako and Tenya are swapping anxious looks. “Deku?” Ochako probes, voice softer this time. “You don’t really think it would affect your friendship, do you?”
“It’s not that.” The mention of Sero hasn’t helped matters, and Izuku finds he has to swallow once or twice before he’s able to manage the rest. “It’s - well. I don’t know his sexuality, and when I really thought about it - about conversations we’ve had, about families and relationships - I realised he’s never once mentioned it. Not once, when we’ve talked about everything. So at first I thought that he’s maybe not attracted to men, since he turned Sero down - but if he’s never spoken about it, then maybe it’s something he’s not interested in at all.”
The silence begins anew following his words, and while he has the sense that Tenya is grappling with the information just unloaded on him, Ochako’s eyebrows are knitted together in thought. “Maybe he is aroace,” she says slowly, head to one side. “Now you say it, I never remember him showing interest in anyone.”
“No,” Izuku agrees, a hollow feeling in his chest. “Never. Which makes me wonder if I’m pining after a man who wouldn’t want me in the way I want him.”
He’d move on, of course. He’d have to, just as he did when he and Ochako realised they simply worked better as friends, no animosity or hard feelings between them when they parted ways and their relationship returned to being platonic. It would be the same with Shouto, he knows, their friendship remaining so even if something romantic didn’t happen - but he doesn’t want that. He wants the romance with Shouto, the first smile of his in the morning, the feeling of the other man’s silken hair beneath his fingers. There’s a longing within him for Shouto unlike what he’s ever felt for another person before, desire stirring in his stomach whenever he catches sight of him on a billboard, a text from him appearing on his phone, runs his fingertips over the embroidered throw Shouto bought him as a housewarming present, one he insisted cost too much but which Shouto merely laughed off in that soft way of his and insisted had instantly made him think of him -
Now, in Ochako and Tenya’s kitchen, he pulls his hands out of her grip and buries his head in them so they don’t have to bear witness to the way he’s clenching his teeth together. He wants Shouto so badly he aches, a newfound malady that thrills and terrifies him all at once, and he hasn’t a clue what to do about it. It’s not as if he can take the plunge like Tenya did, gathering up his courage to ask the object of his affection out on a date, as much as he longs to call Shouto up and do exactly that.
“I’m sorry, Izuku. I’m not sure how we can help you,” Tenya says quietly, not unkindly. “Surely it’s something only Shouto himself can tell you, if he - ”
“No,” Ochako interjects suddenly, and Izuku looks up at her, blinking, to see an oddly determined expression on her face. “We can’t help, but I think there’s one person who might be able to.”
“Who?” Izuku and Tenya say together, bewildered.
Ochako tilts her chin up, mouth set in the way Izuku knows means she’s made up her mind. “Momo. If anyone knows Shouto’s sexuality, then it’s Momo.”
Izuku stares at her, amazed that he never considered it himself. Momo, Shouto’s constant companion, quiet and kind and an ideal person to confide something in. He’d be astonished if there was ever a time in her life where she partook in gossip, or refused to give advice to someone who approached her for it. “You think so?”
She nods. “They work together, don’t they? You’re one of his best friends, Deku, but I think she’s the person he’d be closest to. She’s certainly the person he spends the most time with, right? If he’s spoken to anyone about it, it’ll be Momo.”
“Excellent idea!” Tenya booms, a hand settling on her back. “She’s exactly the type of person to go to for advice, and be sure they’ll be a confidant - yes, Izuku, Momo’s exactly the person you should speak to.”
The first blossoms of hope begin to bloom in his chest, a clear, tangible plan for what to do. There’s a lot of what-ifs he’s relying on going in his favour - that Shouto would want a relationship, want one with a man, and want one with him specifically - but if they do, then who better to plot out his next moves than Momo? Full of renewed vigour, Izuku straightens in his seat and squares his shoulders. “So, you think I should just - go to her agency? Ask to talk to her and then get relationship advice from her?”
“Why not? She’s very clever. Not that we aren’t, of course,” Ochako adds, shrugging demurely, “but she’s the cleverest person we know, and she might have an insight into Shouto that we don’t.”
“But,” Tenya says, suddenly grave, “you have to be careful if you go to her agency, Izuku. After all, it isn’t her agency alone.”
“And I’m not sure I’d be in the right mindset to chat to Shouto if I met him in the lobby when I’m there to ask his partner for advice,” Izuku agrees, chest tight. There’s a high likelihood he’d run into Shouto the second he stepped through the revolving glass doors, his march towards the reception desk waylaid by the man who’d been one of his closest friends for the last twelve years but suddenly seemed so much more important than that. Despite himself, he feels his mouth twitching. “Okay. Wow. I’m gonna do it.”
“You’re gonna do it!” Ochako echoes, beaming at him. “This is so exciting - you have to let us know how it goes, okay? It’ll go great, but still, we wanna know.”
“It won’t be immediate: I’m gonna have to speak to Momo, come up with a game plan, arrange something with Shouto, confess to him, then see how it goes.” To word it all aloud makes the situation seem a hell of a lot more daunting, but Izuku squares his shoulders. “No big deal. I defeated an entire villainous organisation and its centuries old leader when I was sixteen. Telling my best friend I think I might love him is a tiny deal in comparison."
“Absolutely minuscule,” Tenya says soothingly - or as soothingly as Tenya can manage, anyway, when he’s reaching out to pat Izuku’s shoulder as if he’s trying to put him through the floorboards. “Just as long as you don’t do your usual and put yourself in a life or death situation when you confess to him: I still think a restaurant would be a better setting for that.”
“I’ll try my best,” Izuku tells him, fighting to keep his voice as solemn as possible even while Ochako’s mouth is twitching with the effort of holding back a laugh.
It’s two days before he has free time from UA for Momo to fit him into her schedule, agreeing to meet him in a soundproofed room where the only interruption would come if a major incident was declared. He hadn’t specifically requested the room to be soundproofed, only private, but felt his nerves assuaged somewhat when he remembered Shouto telling him that most of the rooms in their agency were. A few people call out greetings as he makes his way to the reception desk, uniform not particularly well hidden beneath a hoodie, and he’s sure his responding smile looks more like a grimace. While he’d normally be at this agency with the specific purpose of seeing Shouto, word getting back to him that he’s here today ranks high on the list of one of those things that would send his heart into double time.
He’s directed up to Momo’s office and decides to take the stairs, deciding he’d prefer climbing thirty flights to sharing an elevator with people whose first instinct might be to shout about the fact he was there. Thighs aching, he’s breathless when he knocks on the door with the calligraphed nameplate and pushes it open at the automatic response, the woman within no doubt waiting on his arrival. When Izuku steps inside it’s to see Momo already preparing a teapot, glancing over at him with a serene smile. “Hello, Izuku. How are you?”
“Good, thanks,” he says in a rush, shrugging off the hoodie and setting it on the closest chair. Sweat’s already starting to bead on the back of his neck, but from the exertion or his nerves, he has no idea. “And you? Thank you so much for meeting me.”
“Of course.” There’s a floral print to the teacups, gold trim on their edges and the saucers. Are they porcelain or china? He has no clue of the difference, but Momo could tell him the composition of each in a heartbeat. Come to think about it, if they aren’t some family heirloom then there’s a good chance Momo created the teacups herself. Her voice breaks him out of his anxious, jumbled thoughts. “I’m well, thank you. Please, sit.”
The chair almost skids beneath him by how quickly Izuku throws himself into it. Momo doesn’t comment - perhaps more out of politeness than noticing the squeak against the floorboards - and he notices that she’s in a turtleneck and leggings, the type of clothes that could be pulled off in a moment to reveal her hero costume underneath if the situation called for it. Momo carries over the tray and sets it on the small table before him, and Izuku stares down at the sponge cake and biscuits that accompany the drinks. “Thank you so much, but I don’t know how hungry I am.”
“I’m not either,” Momo says casually, taking her own seat, “but I helped the fire department replace a few hydrants yesterday that a villain had destroyed during a ruckus, so I need to up my calories for today. It would be rude of me to be the only one eating, so please, indulge me.” She gives a slight shrug. “Advice always feels easier to give and receive over afternoon tea.”
Maybe in her world, but dread immediately seeps through Izuku’s veins at having to voice the speech he’s agonised over for days now. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. It feels like I’m back in high school again.”
“High school?” Her eyebrows pull together. “Have you injured yourself again, Izuku? I don’t think I’m the best person to help you with that, Izuku - I know Eri’s out on patrol today, so maybe - ?”
“No,” he interjects, feeling as though his face is about to burst into flames from the embarrassment, and Momo immediately thinking he was back to breaking all his fingers again. Does Shouto ever run the risk of actually bursting into flames when he’s embarrassed? The opposite has happened when he’s stressed - Izuku remembers the whole room plunging into an icy coolness back in school when they were watching Endeavor’s fight with that Nomu - but Shouto is so cool and calm that he doesn’t think he can remember a time when the other man was embarrassed. Anger could be a situation that could cause the other part of his Quirk to go haywire, but he’s got an even better grip over that emotion, and even when he’s been at his most irate Izuku never remembers fearing that he’d set the closest item of furniture on fire - or worse, his clothes, because surely they wouldn’t be fireproof and at risk of charring right off him to expose the skin beneath -
Momo gives a delicate little cough, and Izuku is wrenched from the runaway train of his thoughts. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly, fighting the urge to slap some sense back into himself. “No, nothing like that. It’s more - personal.”
“I see.” Ever polite, Momo doesn’t push for answers. She merely reaches for the teapot and fills his cup, the crisp smell of orange filling the air. “Lady Grey,” she explains at Izuku’s raised eyebrows. “Earl Grey but with orange and lemon peel.”
He’s always wondered if Momo has a massive hidden larder in her home, stacked from floor to ceiling with hundreds of varieties of tea. “Sounds good,” he says, more of politeness than anything else, and takes a sip. “Okay, wow, this is great.”
The corners of her eyes crease with her smile as she fills her own cup, head bowed and her shiny black curtain of hair falling forwards to hide her face. It must be a paperwork day, then, if her hair is loose down her back until she’s called into action and forced to tie it up again. “Yosetsu isn’t as much of a fan,” she tells him as she sets the teapot aside, fingers curling around the handle of her cup. “He’s not a tea drinker in general, but he’s grown to like Darjeeling.”
The concept of Yaoyorozu Momo - who spent most of high school with her nose in a book and has the most impeccable manners of anyone he’s ever met - being won over by Awase Yosetsu - who curses in every other sentence - is one that still baffles Izuku, but decides it’s not his place to question it. Shouto had seen similarly confused when he’d once asked him about it, sitting in a quiet corner of a bar to avoid being noticed by any potential fans, and he could only attribute it to Yosetsu determinedly turning up at the same incidents their agency was called to and engaging Momo in conversation about the books they were currently reading.
“Do you and Shouto have tea together?” he says, so sudden it catches him off guard. He’s not sure where the thought came from - but, then again, his thoughts seem to keep steadfastly returning to Shouto recently. Izuku takes another sip of tea purely to keep his mouth occupied.
“Not often, what with our schedules. Half the time we’ve only just poured out our cups when we’re getting a call.” Momo pauses midway through reaching for a biscuit and, over the rim of her cup, steely grey eyes are focused on Izuku. “Why do you ask?”
He supposes it’s an achievement, making his way through ten minutes of her company without her suspicions being piqued. “It’s why I’m here,” he says after a moment’s hesitation, setting his cup aside. “It’s - it’s about Shouto.”
“Shouto,” Momo echoes, eyebrows raised. “What about him? You don’t want to poach him to make your own agency together, do you?”
“No, no!” He’s sure they’re both aware of how high pitched and strained his laugh is. “No, I’m still going solo. I wouldn’t want to be so sneaky and take him away from you, either - and this isn’t me trying to be polite about poaching him, or poaching you, or - ” Izuku cuts off abruptly at Momo’s expression, the clear resignation of being in for one of his distracted rambles. “It’s not that. It’s not that at all.” It steadies him, taking a deep breath and rubbing his hand along his jaw, but not much. There’s no sense in dancing around the topic any more. “Is Shouto - attracted to other men? Romantically?”
At once Momo’s quizzical look vanishes, replaced by something cool and detached. “That’s not my place to say, Izuku,” she tells him in the same tone reserved for reporters who pushed for too much information, chin slightly tilted. “You should know that.”
“No, I - oh, God.” He buries his face in his hands, and he’ll take muddling his words over looking at Momo’s face in a heartbeat. “I’m asking because - because I’m attracted to him. I’d like a relationship with him, and - and I don’t know if I’d be on a fool’s errand, pursuing someone who’s asexual or aromantic or just doesn’t want a relationship with another man.”
There’s silence. Izuku counts ten, then twenty beats before he lifts his head, and sees Momo staring at him with a stricken expression, all the colour drained from her face. “What?” he says at once, alarmed. “What’s so - did I say something wrong?”
He watches the movement of Momo’s throat as she swallows, gathers herself, and shakes her head. “No,” she manages, and Izuku is taken aback by just how sorrowful one single word is. “You didn’t. It’s just… Izuku, Shouto’s been in love with you since we were fifteen years old.”
Izuku can only stare at her, bewildered. He’s missed something, clearly, misunderstood what she’s said. Shouto - with him - for twelve years? No. Surely not. “He can’t have been,” he manages at last, voice hoarse. “Not all that time. He’s not - no way.”
“He has,” Momo insists, eyebrows pulled together and shoulders rounded as if they’re bearing the weight of the world upon them. “Ever since the Sports Festival in our first year. It wasn’t love then, of course, but that was the spark that started it for him.
He opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, unable to believe it. “It’s been twelve years, Momo.”
“I know.”
“I’ve dated other people! Why did he never - he could’ve - ?”
“I know,” she repeats, visibly pained. “But things we think are easily done aren’t the same for Shouto.”
The tea and cakes are long forgotten about as Izuku sits back in his chair, palms pressed together in front of his mouth. It’s unfathomable, even though Momo’s certainty is absolute and it’s something only Shouto alone would have been able to tell her. She’s no liar, or one who would exaggerate a confession given to her. She’s staring him in the eye, lips pressed together and waiting, waiting for his reaction.
She’s right, of course. Learning who Shouto was when they first met felt like learning another language at times, puzzling to understand someone so closed off, so ready to reject a Quirk Izuku wouldn’t have imagined receiving in his wildest dreams. The revelation of his upbringing - the way so many of his interactions with other people were clouded by the trauma he’d experienced - had broken his heart and made him determined to be there for him, available for whatever Shouto needed and whenever he needed him. Clearly, though, he’s been lacking in that department, if he failed to notice Shouto’s feelings for him for over a decade. Izuku’s eyes slide closed, and something inside him loathes himself for not noticing what should have been blatantly obvious to any decent friend.
“It’s been a long process for him, but he’s happy now,” Momo continues when he remains silent, eyebrows knitted together. “He’s actually happy, unburdened by his family and knowing exactly who he is and what he wants.” Her eyes slide to him, lips pressing together. “But not always acting on it.”
The physical effect happiness has on Shouto is staggering. He smiles so much more easily these days than he did as a teenager, ones that actually show his teeth and have the corners of his eyes creasing with the size of them. They look so natural on him, so reassuring, that the public had no choice but to gradually push aside the fact that he was a son of the disgraced Endeavor and simply accept him as Shouto himself, the Rescue Hero who hasn’t been out of the top three in years. He’d relentlessly worked on being seen as a person they could trust, open and honest in a way Endeavor has been, and it had come as a blessed relief to Izuku that everyone finally accepted the truth he’d known for years: Shouto had the kindest heart of anyone he’s ever met.
“How long have you known?” he whispers as Momo sets her cup aside, clasping her hands together instead. “This whole time?”
She shakes her head, the shining curtain of her hair catching the light. “I’ve known for… three years, I think. He only told me after you started dating Ochako, and in a very sad, simple way. All he said was, there’s my chance gone, and wouldn’t elaborate on it until I pushed for a proper answer. That’s when he told me how long it had been.”
He lets out a moan, hands sliding into his hair to fist in his curls. “We broke up two years ago. She married Tenya five months ago.”
“I know,” Momo tells him, “and the only reason I’ve been able to come up with for why he hasn’t confessed his feelings to you since is that he’s just settled into the status quo, and thought that if something would’ve happened between you, it would’ve happened before now.”
“And there were years where something could’ve happened.” He feels sick to his stomach at the mere thought of it, of every affectionate gesture from Shouto hiding hidden longing behind it, made worse in the knowledge he’d just accepted the longing would never come to fruition.
“Yes,” Momo says, a crease between her brows, “but not as long as you’d think. He had to sort everything out with his family first: romance was the last thing on his mind while the court cases happened and his father finally faced justice, and with Touya…” She trails off, steadies herself, and continues. “It was horrendous, how the authorities kept him alive in that state. It feels perverse to say that the only silver lining was Shouto being able to spend time with him and bring him some peace in his final days, when physically he was in such agony.”
“I know.” It had taken eight years for Touya to finally succumb to his injuries, and he often wondered if he ever felt fresh air against his face even once during that time. Katsuki had summed it up best when he said they put animals down for a tenth of the pain Touya was in, but even he would’ve bit his tongue off before he whispered it to anyone other than Izuku or Eijirou. “And he never let Touya down or rearranged plans to see him, not once.”
Gloom seems to have settled over them now, a reminder of what Shouto had had to go through before he found the cure to it himself. “His family came before everything,” Momo notes. “Those that deserved it, anyway. I think they’re such a big contributor to his happiness now - would you have ever thought he’d be so good with children before he became an uncle?”
“Yes,” Izuku says, and the mention of Fuyumi and Natsuo’s kids brings a sudden, welcomed smile to his face. “Kacchan told me he was good with them when they had to do the remediation course - what I could work out beneath all the insults and put-downs, anyway. It wouldn’t have been my first thought, back when I first met Shouto, but if he was kind and patient to kids when he was a teenager then he’d be the number one babysitter when he was an adult.”
“Which Fuyumi and Natsuo have taken advantage of,” Momo says, mouth twitching. “But he doesn’t care if he spends his day off looking after them; he loves those kids.”
She doesn’t have to tell Izuku that, not when he’s got a few dozen selfies on his phone from Shouto and his nieces and nephews, smiling patiently with a face of badly applied glittery makeup or ink stains on his fingers from helping them to colour in. The latest came through four days ago, where one of Fuyumi’s daughters had put butterfly clips all along his hairline, and Shouto’s caption - I didn’t plan for my Saturday night to be spent getting a makeover from a three-year-old - was accompanied by a softness in his expression that had the breath catching in Izuku’s throat, returning to the photo over and over again. In the present, the thought of it merely hurts.
“He could’ve told me this himself. About his family, and waiting.” He presses his lips together, the pain yawning in his chest once more. “If I knew he felt like that, things might’ve been different. I could’ve come to this realisation before now, if I knew he thought about me like that. I don’t know, I just - ” He scrubs his hands over his face, sighing hugely. “I feel like such an idiot, Momo.”
Momo’s eyebrows arch. “You’re assuming he told me, when I worked this all out myself. Shouto’s taciturn at the best of times, and he barely breathed a word to me about how he felt about you unless I got the information out of him bit by bit.”
“I don’t think he’s told anyone else his sexuality other than you,” Izuku says, and the sadness settles over Momo’s face once more.
“Whereas I don’t think I could tell you with confidence what it is,” she says quietly, “other than that you’re the only person he’s ever thought of in that way.”
The pain is so great that it brings him to his feet, so abruptly the cold tea slops over the rim of the cup. “I need to talk to him,” Izuku says at once, heart hammering against his ribs. “Talk about this, work things out - make up for lost time - ”
“Hold on,” Momo interjects, a palm raised and frowning at him as she remains seated. “You know it’s this week he goes to France, right?”
“Oh, shit.” With the tumult of his feelings for Shouto taking precedence in his mind, he’d completely forgotten the other man’s prior commitment: a two week trip to Paris to help train heroes in an agency that’s aiming to achieve a speciality in rescues. Izuku stares at him, aghast. “That’s this week?”
Momo nods, no hint of jest in her features. “He leaves on Thursday - and, if I were you, I’d leave the confession until after he comes home. There’s no sense in telling him before he goes because he’ll be too distracted to actually help the French out, mooning over you rather than training them.”
“You’re right,” Izuku says robotically, until he can’t help but blurt out his actual thoughts. “Are you sure, though? What if he meets some beautiful French hero over there and falls head over heels in love and forgets all about me? I’d deserve it, for my ignorance, and then I would be the one hiding my feelings. I’d definitely deserve it.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Momo says calmly, “and no, he won’t. I can categorically say that the chances of that happening are less than none. Two weeks in a foreign country isn’t going to change twelve years of longing.” She frowns at him, as if daring him to disagree, but Izuku can’t help himself.
“Two weeks in the city of romance,” he laments, returning to his seat and staring miserably into the cold dregs of tea. “Dining at the best restaurants and being flattered by a whole load of beautiful pro heroes.”
Shaking her head, Momo lifts her dessert fork and spears her cake. “Shouto hates people fussing over him and he’s a picky eater, both of which you’re aware of. And,” she adds, lifting a forkful to her mouth, “he’s going to be horrified when he gets to Paris and realises it’s not like you see in the movies. It’s filthy, you know.”
She’s so serene as she makes her way through the cake that Izuku feels it gradually rubbing off on him, chipping away at the kernel of fear in his heart. “I think you’re right,” he whispers, and means it this time. Momo nods, dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief.
“I am.” Setting it aside, she reaches out to clasp his hands with both of hers. Her fingers and palms are calloused from years of hero work but, Momo being Momo, her nails are filed into glossy, polished semicircles. “I sound like a killjoy,” she says quietly, “but you have no idea how happy I am to hear you feel the same way about him, Izuku.” She smiles at him, and her eyes are shining as she squeezes his hands. “Think of it as two weeks to plan out exactly how you’re going to tell him how you feel about him. Anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
“Thank you so much,” Izuku tells her, and knows his smile is tremulous in return. “For everything.” Two weeks compared to twelve years is nothing, really. Two weeks of pining, of dreaming, of planning how best to tell him exactly how deeply Izuku feels for him -
It’s playing through his head when he’s alone in his apartment late that evening, curled under a throw on the sofa and fighting sleep. Searching for his phone, Izuku types and retypes a message to Shouto until he’s finally satisfied, heart thumping all the while.
[Izuku] : i forgot it was this week you were heading to france!! have an amazing time! can we go out for dinner when you get back? i really want to see you :)
He figures it’s innocent enough to not raise any suspicions in Shouto, making it sound more of a friendly catchup than an intention to declare his feelings for him. It isn’t long before the response buzzes through and he pictures Shouto curled up in bed in an oversized shirt, cheek pressed to the pillow and eyes heavy as he stabs at the screen with a thumb.
[Shouto] : Of course we can. I wish I could go for dinner with you instead of on an international flight, but here we are.
He might’ve laughed it off in the past, but now Izuku feels desire curl in his stomach alongside the sad, yearning sadness in the knowledge Shouto means every word of it. Steeling himself, he tells himself that it’s only two weeks; that, while Shouto’s longed after him for twelve years, he’s also never known Momo to be wrong in twelve years.
[Izuku] : as much as i want to tell you to cancel the trip, it wouldn’t be very heroic of me. i’ll find THE best restaurant in tokyo i promise! bring me back some macarons?
[Shouto] : I’ll try my best, but if I’m honest, I’m dreading the food. I tried bouillabaisse once and felt sick for days. Find somewhere with cold soba, will you?
Izuku huffs with laughter, closes his eyes, and knocks his phone against his forehead. Stupid. He’s so stupid.
[Izuku] : consider it done :)