You felt too overwhelmed to process just how happy you truly were. And it was like that for so long, you had strong, reliable hands that could carry so much. And yet your heart, it was fragile, it was numbed, it held so much, more and more and more and more as the days, months, years went by, it weighed heavy.
It felt heavy, that was the first thing you processed when you looked at your reflection. The makeup artist that you were able to snag last-minute, your assistant, and the hairdresser who Torri was able to convince to help you out on such short notice, were all letting out their exclamations of captivation and enchantment at your appearance.
You smiled as well, tuning them in and allowing their choir of compliments to fade into you.
“Y/N, you look absolutely gorgeous! Oh my, once the media catches sight of you–”
“Truly, your head-of-hair is one of the best I’ve ever worked with! Truly, delightful!”
“And my, with just a bit of concealment of those bags and you’re already looking ready for a red carpet! Your features suit you so beautifully, has anyone ever told you that?”
You continue to avoid their gazes bashfully, smiling and giggling uncontrollably at the influx of compliments. You looked up at yourself again, feeling through your hair (careful not to mess it up), examining the makeup that worked just right for you, and probably the best part of all, the outfit. You’d thought for sure that you would try on every single outfit Torri could get their hands on, but the moment you wore this one, you knew it was the right one. You’re sure everyone agreed as well. You felt so beautiful, admiring this body of yours as your body, not the world’s to hide behind, but yours to love.
Yours.
Your giddiness was unconcealable. It had been so long since you dressed and made up yourself, you’d been so ruthlessly distracted and busy these past three years, and god were you grateful to be looking so ethereal.
“You guys did amazing..!” You spoke, and god did you mean it. “For the outfit–” the outfit that she grabbed so last minute— “and, and the makeup looks so good like– I haven’t looked so good in years—” and it was true, you’d looked nothing but exhausted and worn-down for so long that you just gave up on ever trying to break free of it. You wondered if you’d ever look good again. “And the hair looks amazing, thank you.” You turned to all of them, giving your most polite bow, “Thank you all so much for doing all of this on such short notice, you’re all life-savers.” Torri’s body went warm with fondness for your joy, and the two cosmetologists gave each other giddied looks, both seemingly amazed at your humble gratitude. Torri looked at them with her smile, knowingly, “They’ve always been like this.”
You smiled at her too, before your eye caught your necklace that sat on the counter.
It feels too fast to have already been in the car. You dreaded the end of your makeup and hair process, the way you dreaded the end of long car rides that’d put you to sleep, the end of an episode you really like, the end of and the silence of the night air that would eventually be interrupted by the sharp and loud sounds of bombs flaring, shots firing, and the inevitable sound of screaming that would always follow.
Your brows furrowed, interrupting your unexpressive stare out the window. You dreaded the end of the war the way you dreaded the end of long car rides. Because you no longer knew what to do with yourself. You’d sit and process for just a second as you feel the car slow to a stop, and ponder just for a second the outcome of just staying seated. Before you’d finally stand up on wobbly legs, and fight to find out what to do next. You really thought you would’ve fallen asleep in the car.
You really thought you’d die in the war.
“Y/N?” Suddenly you were back. Your eyes were wide, and you frantically looked around until your eyes were found by Torri. “Are you okay? We should hurry up and go before–”
Suddenly the silence that stalled broke through, and cries, yells, and exclamations had your neck snapping around. You were outside the mid-sized, sleek, black car that drove you, and you could barely see anything through the intense flashing of the paparazzi’s cameras. You were too overwhelmed to describe your intense hatred for the paparazzi, fucking losers. With Torri’s hand in yours, you pushed through and to the best of your ability, used your other senses to make your way past the white that splotched your vision. The party was being held at what you recalled was a building that UA would use to house most of their parties. You still worried in the back of your mind that you’d forgotten the layout, but on the bright side, since you were showing up a bit late you didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone on your way in. As you felt for a door handle and opened it, you and your assistant both let out a sound of relief at being able to finally see again. You rushed to open the door and get in, and finally let go of their hand to put both of yours on the wall in an attempt to steady yourself.
The familiarity of nausea sank into you, and you cringed at the feeling. Bright lights never went well with you because of the nature of your quirk, and you began feeling the headache that you knew would be coming pound into your head. Torri was already at your side, “Y/N are you okay?? I’m so sorry about this– I was hoping that by showing up late the crowd would have cleared at least a little– and– I also had been told that after what happened at last year’s party they would have thought to at least increase the security–”
You allowed yourself to lean on her shoulder. “I’m fine Torri, it’s not your fault, don’t worry about it! You know how I get.” Combined with your already shivering nerves, the aftermath of the lights added to your stress. Nonetheless, you tried to take in a deep breath, fixed your hair back into place, and held your head up high.
No more hiding.
You walked with a type of confidence in your stride, and eventually, that confidence began to rub of on your assistant, who would proceed to go from shrunken in, eyes darting around anxiously, to more open and ready to interact. After not even a minute of walking through the halls that you felt relieved to not have forgotten, the muffled noise of a party reached it’s peak behind a large pair of double doors. You knew that if you spent a single moment contemplating, you’d never open them. With a feeling of finality, you threw your hands to clumsily grab at the handles, moving them outwards instinctively before–
you stopped.
With a shaky exhale, you felt the pangs of embarrassment. ‘God, why am I so scared?’
Well, you weren’t entirely clueless. You could think of a couple of reasons off the top of your head, but even so..
'You’re here’ you reminded yourself; 'You’re already wearing the clothes, you already did your hair, you’re here’
Torri doesn’t comment on your nerves, not once.
Yet again your embarrassment beats you, you grab Torri’s hand before she can ask questions and quickly use your quirk, finally bringing the both of you to the other side of the door.
Your eyes were open but you couldn’t see anything.
So much, so much everywhere– colors, sounds, people.
You couldn’t take in any features, you couldn’t connect any familiarity.
“Oh god- it’s so crowded..!” Torri rushed to cover her mouth in embarrassment, neck snapping North East South West– every direction, trying to take it all in. “Jesus Christ I’m SCARED.” You finally admitted, looking at her with your wide, adrenaline-hit, unfocused eyes. “ME TOO!!” Torri cries out, eyes wide with horror. You continue to desperately look around, slightly relived that everyone’s yet to notice you. “Oh god what do we do….” You said at your usual volume (which usually isn’t too loud), not expecting her to hear you. "N/N!!“ They suddenly cried out, tugging your arm before flapping their arm in some direction— "Look!!” Your eyes followed their flappy arm’s direction to do just that, before squinting up ahead. “..What.. What- I DON’T SEE ANYTHING!!”
“FOOD!!” She cried out, her flappiness becoming frantic, before she then proceeded to start slapping your shoulder. “Food! Food! Look at all of that fancy food!!” She began lightly bounce up and down, and your eyes widened as they finally focus on the (very obvious) food table. You began bouncing in excitement as well, spotting an extremely elegant chocolate fountain. “No. Way.” A giddy smile began to overtake their face– “Are those finger sandwiches– OH–!” You were pulling her over within seconds.
Almost as quickly as it overtook you both, you and her timid attitude dissipated as soon as you were both finally in front of the heavenly assortment of what might’ve been the best food you’ve seen in a while. Ya’ll were not slick, grabbing your plates and stacking. You both practically forgot that you were at a party, treating it more like a buffet. As you finished (for the moment), you took a moment to gaze longingly at your plate with excitement, admiring it. “Torri, I’m gonna fuck this up so good.” You stated shamelessly, still eyeing your plate. Already being used to your blunt attitude, they simply nodded in agreement, setting her plate down. “There’s some drinks over there on the other side, I’ll go grab us some.” She turned to walk away, “Watch my plate, don’t eat it.” You smiled, having finally taken a bite of one the many foods you chose, “Thaaaank youuuu.” You called halfheartedly, before turning back to what currently mattered most.
In all honesty, you didn’t actually want to eat as much as you were acting like you did, you just wanted to shake this nervous feeling that continued to bubble inside of you. The food was good, and god, it did look amazing, but yet you couldn’t help but wish you were just anywhere else at the moment. You tuned in and out to the music that blasted in the background, but the sound of your slow, awkward chewing drowned everything out. It was too calculated, too slow, and you were too aware. You swallowed, but soon it felt too long– where did they go? Why aren’t they back yet? You turned to look around, the loneliness and embarrassment of standing all alone beginning to choke you. Your eyes darted around, but any area that wasn’t already filled with people (which was rarely any) lacked Torri’s frame.
You took a deep breath and turned back to the table; 'This is fine.’
You continued breathing, thinking, comforting yourself, because 'she’ll be back any second now..’
'There’s nothing to worry about’.
The abrupt stop of music pulled you out, and you raised your head and looked around. You couldn’t help the distant, buzzing, fearful feeling that rushed through you– “What happened?” You said to no one but yourself, your head snapping in all directions for the third time tonight, searching, worried, confused.
“WHAAAAAAAT’S UPPPP, UA KIDSSS!” A voice that you registered came from your direction forward, called (yelled) out to the crowd that began to one by one, collectively turn to it’s direction.
His direction, because you would know his voice in any reality, any time, anywhere.
“You already know me, your former school DJ! Or teacher, if you were lucky enough!” He was standing, posed captivatingly the way he almost always was, up on a stage that you vaguely recognize from a few gathering-type events that have happened at UA in the past. The sunshine reflected off his glasses in a way that you were familiar with. “Welcome to the FIFTH, class of ____ , REUINION!!!” Cheers began to erupt almost immediately in celebration.
“Let’s just take a quick moment to thank those who took the initiative into setting this amaaaazing event up and planning it, round of applause to.. CLASS 1A!”
You were intensely aware of your wide eyes and smile, clapping along with everyone else. You were because you knew you felt guilty, left out.
And you should’ve helped.
And you should’ve been here, happy, like everyone else, with everyone else.
You should’ve been here.
But this isn’t about you and you know it so you smile and force yourself to be supportive until you fully, wholeheartedly, clap obnoxiously loud. Just like everyone else.
The whistles, exclamations, and claps simmer down, and Present Mic clears his throat. 'He’s getting rusty,’ and the thought makes you a little sad. “I, for one, just want to say how happy I am that we all get to spend this time with each other another year. RIGHT ERASER!?” Your eyes widen at the reveal of Mr. Aizawa, who had been trying to (and successfully) hiding from the gaze of everyone in the party. A feeling hits you like a truck, a dreaded guilt.
A reality check.
You don’t know why you allowed yourself to forget it, perhaps it was the busyness of everything, the distractions, but it hits you all at once and suddenly the world begins looking very different, the future becomes more twisted, the decision to attend this party more dreadfully reckless.
The future’s filled with the consequences of your actions and you’re not strong enough to face them.
You’re too occupied, but in the back of your mind some part of you acknowledges Present Mic’s vulnerable honesty, how you never would have gotten it before the war between Heroes and Villains, and how he immediately pulls Aizawa in to make himself feel safer, less vulnerable. You shake your head, stopping the thought immediately– it makes you even sadder.
“But who cares what I’VE got to say– LET’S HEAR IT FROM THE TOP THREE WHO’VE BEEN FIGHTING FOR NUMBER ONE SINCE THEY’VE GRADUATED! YOU ALREADY KNOW WHO, PEOPLE!!!!”
And hell yeah you did.
It was an out-of-body experience watching them walk on stage, and it subconsciously scared you how you never would’ve seen or heard them coming, despite their towering size. Your face is flushed, but you don’t know what it’s from, exactly. Probably a mixture of various things. But one thing’s for sure—
God-damn.
They seemed to already tower over both Sensei and Present Mic, but the stage that held them up even higher did nothing but enhance their height. And the bulkiness, and the costumes, and- and- you could barely process it, you had to look at them individually to even process their very existences.
Bakugo’s face held a scowl, one more of petty annoyance rather than something malicious. He was wider, stronger, taller, more mature, adult-looking. His hero costume seemed to grow with him. Rather than the dark green of his old, hulk buster-looking gauntlets, they were more intimidating, black with red and silver outlines. You looked him over in admiration, his whole color scheme was a new red and various shades of black and orange, and it suits him. You recall his stance; his huge arms were crossed while he scowled like a toddler (he’s never growing out of that, you conclude), and his foot was tapping aggressively to a non-existent beat. You’re convinced the only thing keeping him from marching off the stage was the hand that currently grasped the fabric of his hero costume at his waist.
You follow the hand– and it leads to Shoto. Your eyes frantically skim over him– he’s also gotten taller, bulkier, but his blue jumpsuit holds familiarity and you don’t feel the same intimidation (proof of the psychology of color theory) as you did when looking at Bakugo, you feel a rather calm intimidation that makes you feel safe rather than threatened. His hair’s pushed back beautifully, well, it’s always been beautiful regardless, but the subtle change of it and reveal of his forehead is deadly. His hero costume is adjusted around his left side, as his jumpsuit that he’s still wearing seems to change fabrics, and cuts off at his shoulder blade, revealing his full left arm. It makes sense to you immediately, he’s finally become comfortable enough with his fire side that he’s adjusted his costume to use it better, he’s begun to take care of that side of himself, and you feel yourself rip in half in a way. You shut it down, you’d rather be happy for him. You’d rather not let anyone ever know ever again.
And you know who’s next to Shoto.
And you tell yourself you won’t look but of course you do.
His hero costume’s mostly the same, with slight color adjustments here or there. Either that, or it’s the lighting of the room. And he is taller, expecting him to shorter than both Shoto and Bakugo like he always has been but no– he’s just as tall.
And you look down so you don’t look at his face, pathetic as you are, if you did you’d never sleep again, haunted by his eyes that you pray never look at you ever again. You know you’ll always hope they do.
And suddenly you hope they do– just for a second, and you look back up, desperate to see his eyes, to see if there’s anything left to see–
And his gaze explores the room, the crowd, in a warm, harmless way, that has you grimacing at the thought of being seen by him the same way he sees everyone else.
The feeling of being seen by him suddenly fills you with dread, and you rush to lean over the table, covering your face as best as you can before his eyes get anywhere near you, you can’t go back ever again if he does.
You thank your silhouette tonight, it successfully helps you to avoid his gaze.
Izuku smiles across the room, hoping everyone feels the love and joy that radiates from him tonight. He’s grateful, really, from the bottom of his heart, that he’s able to have the opportunity and privilege of seeing everyone year after year. After Mina suggested he do a welcoming speech as the official Number One Hero of Japan (for this year) to– “Get everyone pumped!” He couldn’t help but want to include Kacchan and Shoto as well, feeling incomplete without them. The three of them have been alternating, sharing, and (in a friendly manner!! Despite Kacchan being.. himself) competing for the title of Number One ever since graduation, true to Present Mic’s words, and despite their diverse nature and quirks, have somehow found their way back to each other’s sides upon a stage.
“Thank you, Present Mic. And thank you, everyone for taking the time to come back this year, I know it’s not always easy to find the time.”
The feeling of swooning was sick, made you twitch. Izuku was always good at this. Making people feel seen, taking their vulnerability and caressing it, holding it close and respecting it. You feel a storm brew inside you, fogging you up and twisting your insides, you’ll never find anyone to see you the way he did ever again.
Izuku’s continued to grow into his confidence, you also immediately recognize. The more years he spent at UA and the less he broke his bones when fighting (never less enough and you hated it), the more his confidence seemed to boost and come through. Izuku’s analytical and direct, despite his manners and cute, sensitive tone, he’s intelligent and can see things for what they are. You knew he had to have recognized his strength and superior skills compared to the many others who seemed to chase what he had, and it no doubt couldn’t help but boost his confidence. God, he knew he was all that, he had to have.
You grimace again tonight, you’re sure it feels so good for him, to have you chasing after him so restlessly. Suddenly you’re aware of your behavior again, and shame fills you at your childish, pathetic thought-process and fear of being seen by him. 'God,’ you think to yourself, 'this is humiliating.’ And it shouldn’t be, you’re aware of that too.
“I’m.. I’m so grateful that we’re all here together again, and I’m also grateful for the future where we’ll spend another night, all of us here together again.” Cheers fill the room again, different from the ones Present Mic received. This was Pro-Hero Deku, and his kindness and gentle nature was something precious and beautiful, deserving of something better than thoughtless clapping and cheers. You could tell that everyone in this room listened to and understood what was coming out of his mouth, they paid attention to and him and heard him out. It’s what he’s always deserved. “But, I shouldn’t be talking about the future, when we should all be enjoying the current moment right now! So–” He takes a step forward, sure and confident, “Let’s all have a fun night together!”
Finalizing cheers erupt, and his sure smile remains– until he realized how finalizing his words were, and that he brought Kacchan and Shoto upon that stage for a reason. “U-uh!!” He quickly begins speaking before the crowd and their attention comes apart– “AND SHOTO AND KACCHAN ALSO HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY!!” The room goes quiet comically fast, and you make a face and look down, your head in your hand.
Bakugo and Todoroki weren’t any better off, Bakugo making a face at Deku, and Todoroki’s blank expression remaining unchanged, before his eyes widened at the process of Deku’s words and he spots the microphone that Deku was already moving his way. Todoroki also forgot that he was supposed to be giving a speech. He holds the microphone, looking down at it and contemplating what to say, before looking back up at the crowd. “Thank you, Izuku. Though, I’m not sure what else I could say that you haven’t.” He’s as polite and blunt as always, and you feel like this is the first time you’ve ever heard him call Izuku by his first name. “I also hope that everyone’s having a good night.”
……..
The silence stretches on and begins to get awkward, everyone expecting something more to be said. After a couple of seconds, Shoto realizes the awkwardness and tries to add more. “..Uh… I wasn’t Number One this year, but I promise that next year I–”
“Like hell, DAMN ICY-HOT!!”
Everyone collectively flinches at the loud, explosion of a voice that comes through the microphone. Bakugo’s always been an explosion, in everything. He grew to be calmer though, which made you totally forget that anyone declaring their hope of being Number One has never once failed to light him up like the bomb he is (no matter how much character development he gets, somethings never change you suppose).
“Shitty-Deku beat me by one saved citizen this year,” he holds the mic now and calls the shots, “but next year, I ain’t letting that shit slide again.” You’ve never taken promises seriously until him. Everyone always found a way to disappoint, but he never has once. “Next year, I will be on top. THAT’S a promise.”
'Cringe-lord’ you insulted him instinctively, lacking malice.
No cheers, no claps, no coughs or crickets or anything. Tonight, everyone feels Katuski’s energy intensely. And he knows it, he lifts the microphone up to speak one more time,
“..Also have fun, I guess.”
The collective cheers that erupt are final, for real this time. You sigh and feel your body relax slightly, having been tensed ever since the music and lights cut off. You feel familiarity finally give you something to grasp on as your gaze remains fixed on the red cloth of the table that you’re still slouched over on. You feel nauseous and don’t want to continue eating. You continue staring, wishing your mind would just pause for just a second.
“He’s a bit immature to be the Number-One of next year, don’t you think?” A smooth voice remarks from right beside you. In your distracted state, you didn’t notice him slide up to your right and lean his back against the table you slouched on. You knew immediately who he was referring to, and you couldn’t help the speed with which you reply, the most sure thing you’ve probably said all night.
“Not at all. His passion and drive is what we need more of.” His eyes, bored, scroll over to get a look a you, desiring to see the face of the person who these words fall from. His eyes widen when he immediately registers you, fully turning to you with his full attention compared to his initial, bored attitude he used when trying to strike up a conversation (start a fight) to entertain himself. Your gaze remains fixed on the table cloth, brows furrowing.
“Hey… You’re-”
“Ugh, Neito Monoma! There you are, can I seriously not let you out of my sight for a couple of minutes without you stirring up conflict?” Another voice calls out, and you have a feeling your nerves are only going to increase from here on. “Itsuka.” He breathes out, and you wonder why he’s so shaken at your simple presence, he’s not one to be like that and you want to say it annoys you to cover for your increasing anxiety. Kendo stops and turns to you, an apologetic smile on her face and her hand ready to chop, “I’m sorry! He wasn’t bothering you, was h-” And she also stops in a stunned manner, arm freezing mid-air when her eyes recognize your face, your eyes looking back at her. You’re still, just like a doll, and now she too is also breathless. “Hey.. y-you’re..”
“HEYYYYY!! ITSUKA!! NEITO!! HEEEEEYYYYYY!!!!” Another voice approaches and you can’t help but find it and this current situation obnoxious, “WHAT’S UP GUYSSS!!!” He’s too close to be yelling, and he puts his arms around his friends who are still stunned. You turn to face them all fully now, no longer slouched over. “Why are we all over here? Something happen?” Tetsutetsu looks up at you, “Who’s tha-” He begins to ask, before his eyes catch yours and he immediately recognizes you. He stands stunned as well, his mouth remaining dropped open, and you could laugh if you weren’t already wondering how to deal with this new situation you were thrown into.
The silence stretches on for a few more seconds before Tetsutetsu finally closes his (now probably dry) mouth, before stretching it back open to speak. “..You’re-”
“HEY MANNNN!!” Another voice calls out as it approaches and Jesus Christ you’re not even surprised anymore, accepting your fate. Your eyes widen, uncontrollably overwhelmed at the wall of muscle of your former classmate that enters your vision, his attention focused on Tetsutetsu. “I’ve been looking for you, couldn’t wait to ask you how you’ve been!” The friendliest, sweetest guy you’d ever met, Eijiro Kirishima was right in front of you and you could barely comprehend him. His height, his familiar-and-different hero costume, his hair that he grew out, his roots starting to show through and his now deeper voice that had you feeling just how red your face must’ve been. Your ears burned in a way that they rarely ever did and you prayed it would go away before he looked at you like you knew he was bound to.
The trio of Class 1-B simply stares at him in their silent, astounded states, and Eijiro’s bright smile grows concerned, his red eyebrows dropping with his smile. “Hey- what’s going-” his head turns slightly to you, eyes catching yours for a millisecond before he’s instinctively turning back to the three, before his eyes widen immediately as he comprehends what he perceived, and he snaps his head right back to you, jaw dropped.
It’s silent again. “…Y/N..?” He asks, in disbelief despite knowing that it’s you. You smile awkwardly and lift your hand up just as awkwardly, waving in a small motion. “..Hey.” You’re sure you’re impossible to hear, but nonetheless your voice gives him the confirmation that you are in fact here.
He embraces you shamelessly, wrapping his arms around and lifting you up. All you can spare is a gasp, your arms around his shoulders and your hands attempting to grip him for leverage (you’d never be able to, your hands are too small). His face is in your neck, and you blush at the intimacy that you haven’t even dreamt of having anytime soon.
Barely a minute passes, and the whole time you choose not to look forward at the faces of those three, the thought already making you warm with embarrassment, more than you already are at being held up and nuzzled into. You feel put on display.
“I can’t believe it..” His breath’s warm on your neck and his sharp tooth grazes it just a smidge, you shiver and flinch, knowing he probably isn’t even realizing it. He pulls back, looking you in the eye, with so much emotion that leaves you in an overwhelmed, almost high-like state. “You’re really here. You’re..” he breathes out, “really here.”
Your smile is shy but genuine, and you look up at him the way you always have, “I missed you.” You slip out honestly, and his eyes tremble in a way that has you immediately wrapping your arms around him again, his hold tightening. He feels safe. He always has to you and you’ve told him, but it’s been too long since you’ve last been held together by arms that weren’t your own.
“Heyyyy Eijiro!” Another voice beams out as it approaches, one that has you perking up as you immediately recognize it. “Didn’t I tell you the speeches were a good idea to get everyone hyped? I was a little worried about Bakugo’s but it actually turned out– hey, what are you doing?” She eyes his distracted, hunched over form that covered your upper body from her perspective.
You pull away as much as his thick arms would allow and smile at her as bright as you can manage. Her eyes widen, and to your panic, immediately tear up.
“…Y/N.?”
Before you knew it, you were surrounded by most of your former classmates. “I’m so overjoyed to see you, ribbit!” Tsu remarks, pulling away with a bright, cute smile of joy on her face. You return the energy with the brightest smile you’ve had in a while; “Thank you, Tsu. I’m so glad to be back, and to see you too.” And you meant it. Being greeted with joy, cheer, and support rather than the anger and hate you (for some reason) expected lifted your spirits and blew away your anxiety almost immediately. “Dang, how long has it been?” Kaminari wonders, standing aside you; “Three years, four?” You avoid his eyes that held no anger, still apologetic nonetheless. “Almost four.” Mina confirms, her arms crossed defensively over herself. Though you don’t flinch or seem to react at the confirmation, internally your anxiety burns you, and the nauseous feeling returns. “Yeah,” you force out in what feels more like a croak, and Mina looks at you, also somehow towering over you a bit, “it’s been almost four years.” Your classmates all have different looks, postures and thoughts that give the same energy, something somber. You straighten your posture and face them all, preparing to finally grow up. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry for leaving you all hanging for so long.” Might as well address the elephant in the room, you’re too old to dance around it like you would’ve when you were younger and had everything to lose, and were just as ready to throw it all away just because you could.
But it’s different now, because you didn’t die in the War. You survived, and now you’re to deal with the consequences of your actions. You straighten up, your arms awkward and rigid, hands interlocked behind you. “..I understand if you’re all angry– you all have every right to be.” Their silence remains, and you rush to continue before interruption– “But I missed you all, and I hope you’re all doing good– at the very least..” And the silence continues and you let it, not finding much of anything else to say. What else could you say?
“Y/N.” Yaoyorozu speaks up, her melodic and calm voice is clear even in the noise of the party. She’s always been beautiful, but damn– she really did continue to shine with time. Her hair’s gotten longer, more gorgeous, and even her hero costume’s improved– tremendously. She ditched the beige belts (they didn’t suit her), and kept the one piece, changing the original leotard-piece to have shorts with large holes in the sides to expose as much skin as possible for her quirk. She ditched the heels too, thank god (you couldn’t count how many times she face-planted during training). You’re sure she’d make any color work, but the red truly suited her, undoubtedly. You look at her, a spark of overwhelming emotion within you– what would she possibly have to say to you? A lecture, an insult, disappointment? Would she put you in your place?
“I’m so glad you’re alright, Y/N.” Her smile grows on her face, and it feels like it’s in slow motion. The relief hasn’t set in because her words haven’t yet, you find yourself thoughtless, speechless, consumed in surprise.
“Yeesh N/N, you thought we hated you? 'Course not.” Sero spoke up next, a bashful yet casual hand rubbing at his neck.
“We were definitely worried..” Uraraka pitched in firmly.
“Definitely worried, I for one thought you died like, three different times.” Jirou adds in, her bluntness coming through.
Hagakure nods, not like anyone would’ve seen it, “I couldn’t even turn on the news, it was just so–..”
“Yeah, for sure.” Kiri added, and nobody needed her to finish where she cut off, they all knew what she meant, you as well.
Immediately, you find your head not-so-subtly snapping to Mina, searching her face.
Sometime in the past, you’d find her closed in on herself, arms wrapped around her torso and her distraught expression to the ground. But the future is now, and she stands tall, chin out and eyes already on you.
Strong, she’s strong.
“I was really worried about you, you know.”
You don’t dare interrupt.
“..After what happened, to.. Miss Midnight, everyone, Bakugo and almost Deku as well–” You flinch at the mention, you couldn’t bear the thought.
“I couldn’t stand losing anyone else. And.. when you left, when you did– basically the same thing he did– I mean– I know it wasn’t the same but–”
“Yeah.. I left you all behind.” You get it.
“….But it really was your fight.” She defends you, and you wonder why. “It was.. your goal.. it was.. what you wanted. I knew it from the beginning.. you told me.” And somehow, you feel a certain way at the idea that she remembered such a thing about you.
“..But even so, I was scared, I cared about you. A lot. You were my friend, and I– I really did get so scared you weren’t going to come back.”
Her gaze falls to the necklace you always wore, to this day are still wearing. “I just– I keep thinking about the first official battle of that war, when we were trying to stop that Giant Villian, and it was so scary for me that I– I hesitated. I faltered and– I almost got hurt, real bad. If it weren’t for Eijiro, at least.. And you weren’t there to be apart of it, the war– but when I got the chance to tell you about it you were so worried.”
She smiles, fondly, somberly. Your face heats up subconsciously, at the idea that you could make someone feel such a way. “You were so worried about all of us, and you even tried to convince Aizawa Sensei to prohibit us from participating in the War.”
Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open at the same time, the question about to escape you before–
“Mr. Aizawa told us.” Ojiro confirms your suspicion, a hesitant smile on his face.
Iida adds in, “He meant no harm, I assure you, L/N.”
'Damnit, no one asked you guys–!!’ You spit internally, purely out of embarrassment, frown deepening and the burning intensifying.
“What I’m trying to say is, I know you didn’t want any of that for us ..I didn’t want any of that for you, either. And yeah, I know it’s inevitable since we’re heroes and all.. But I– I care about us, what we have, all of us as Class 1A. And.. I think it’s good to go through things together, just like we did in UA…
I just wish you would’ve let me be there for you.”
You were too overwhelmed to be embarrassed about the publicity of this conversation being in front of the whole of your class. You were embarrassed, but you were also shocked, happy, sad, reminiscent, guilty and sorry. You were sorry sorry sorry.
“Mina..” You tried to compile your thoughts in the most comprehensible way possible;
“You’re right. About everything. I– You guys had every right to feel the way you all did, your feelings were valid and I– I didn’t take them into consideration. Which wasn’t fair to you guys, you guys didn’t deserve that. I put you guys in such a low position, you guys were concerned and had no idea what was going on and I- I made no good effort to at least try and communicate. I totally shut down on you guys and left you guys in the dark… It’s like you said– we were like a family, and– after everything we’d been through together, I should’ve known better than to put you guys through this.”
You bow, feeling your legs tremble under the weight of yourself and what you’re ready to carry,
“I’m sorry, everyone. I hope I can somehow make things up to you all.”
You give it a minute, escaping for just a second longer– before you’d rise up, prepared to end things.
You rise abruptly, being immediately pulled into a warm hug. Mina’s hugs were distinctly firm, chest-to-chest to hold you close and never let you go. She’d hold you with everything she had, and you could feel it. And she was always like that, before and after the war between Heroes and Villians. You’d accept her hugs with joy, always and forever, and this one is no exception. Your arms wrap around her, in a way that you’d read about in stories online, in the only way you knew how. Close and respectful, always. You’d give yourself a pat on the back for the successful hug later.
Slowly but surely, the rest of the Class begins to surround you both, awkwardly joining the hug, patting your head, or just standing watch with a smile on their face, loving in the different ways each of them knew. “I m-missed you tooooooooo!” Mineta cried, running to cling to your leg, “FOR-FOR MORE THAN JUST YOUR HOT BOOOODY!!”
You immediately teleport away just before he gets too close, giving him a blank look that always has and to this day, makes him freeze dead in his tracks, and look at you with fear. Mineta has always been a free-target (and victim.. a little bit) for you, and the girls of Class 1A ever since you all met him. Aizawa would make a point to promptly look away anytime you, or any of the girls stomped him, slapped him, or (in your case) threw him into (or through!!) a wall. You lost all sense of boundaries and respect for his literal existence ever since that one time you and the girls were changing in the locker rooms with the boys on the other side. Both you and Kyoka began to hear some.. suspicious.. dialogue on the other side. You remember immediately giving her that look at the talk of “a shaw-shanked hole in the wall!” And– “A gift from the previous generation!” Or whatever the fuck. You’ll never forget the absolute self-control it took for you to not taze that little-shit the next time you saw him, to not shove one of your smaller knives right through the little hole you knew he was peeping through (if you permanently blinded him you might get in a lot more trouble than he’s worth). You remembered how distraught Jiro was at being the only one who didn’t fall under his gaze, and you remember telling her that she deserves more than to be objectified, and that it makes no stand in beauty at all.
You frown at the idea that Mineta hasn’t grown up in the slightest.
Mina also glares at him, and Hagakure begins to shout while everybody makes that one face that they always make whenever Mineta steps out of line (most of the time). “GRRRRRR– YOU RUINED IT, MINETA! YOU STINKY PERV!” You couldn’t necessarily see it, but you could tell by the motions of her gloves and the movement in the air that she was charging at him to attack. One of the first things you did once you bought a new phone (yours broke forever ago) was pull up Twitter, and after desperately trying to avoid any mention of Midoriya (you ended up stumbling across a few bald-pic edits of him, otherwise you were successful), you ended up reading about the improvement of feminine Hero Costumes, as the title of the thread read: “From SEXY to SENSIBLE!”
You proceeded to read about how female Pro-Heroes began advocating for better and more functional feminine Hero Costumes, designed better for fighting and saving lives rather than for looking good. Many protested various Hero Costume/Equipment companies that would sexualize female Heroes rather than actually give them reliable and supportive gear. Hagakure was one of the Female Pros to kickstart/help this movement come to more attention, by officially announcing that she was having a female-owned small company make her a new Hero Costume that would still help her quirk without making her remain naked. The company and movement boomed after they successfully made her a useful and functional and most importantly, invisible Hero Costume out of her own hair.
You never really liked Hagakure, never really hated her either (though you didn’t like how she talked about Aoyama.. after ..what happened…), but you genuinely grew to have more respect for her after reading about what she’d done.
And especially now. Watching her pummel Mineta, smacking, punching and full-on kicking him while he screams, you couldn’t help but feel a giddy smile grow on your face at the way Mina also joined in. The two of them practically jumped him, with the rest of the girls crowding around and cheering them on, while the boys watched with disturbed, understanding, and unsurprised expressions.
“C'mon girls! Let’s end this little scumbag once and for all!”
“YEAH!” They each cried out in unison, and you couldn’t help but laugh at loud at the sight and childish situation, slightly bending forward as you hugged your sides. You laughed loudly, thoughtlessly, without a care in the world. The type of laugh that had your eyes squeezing shut and watering. Mineta smiled to himself, though it was hidden by his arms that were (genuinely) protecting himself from Hagakure and, now, the rest of the girls. He was glad that he could make you laugh so genuinely, he hadn’t seen you do so in so long, even when you were still at UA.
“What the hell are you morons doing?”
Your laugh gets stuck in the back of your throat in between a gasp and a squeal, immediately freezing at the voice.
The feeling returns. The feeling you’ve been trying to fight all night.
“Jumping Mineta.” Kaminari answers his question.
“No biggie.” Sero adds on.
“I know I’m not a woman and.. not necessarily a victim of Mineta since he’s not into men, but.. can I join?” Shoto asks, his voice monotone with a hint of.. giddiness(?) to it (Shoto’s always been a feminist so you’re not shocked, just.. okay you’re a little shocked at how excited he is to also participate in jumping Mineta, but you’ve also known him as someone who likes being included), and you’re expression immediately deadpans. 'Damnit Todoroki.’ You think, instinctively.
“Also Y/N’s here.”
Sato was the one to say so, and you try to loosen up, though you feel your heart about to send itself into cardiac arrest. You try to belittle yourself as much as possible, make as little of a scene as possible, so you do all you’ve ever been so effortlessly good at.
You lie, though, you prefer to hide behind the word “act”.
You turn around and casually wave. “Hiiii.”
Your expression remains blank, it feels that way at least, but your cheeks are ablaze and you hope they just assume it’s your makeup.
Your ears are obvious, though, they’re brighter than the red of your cheeks, fighting to be as bright as Katsuki’s new Hero Costume.
Shoto and Katsuki hold expressions of shared shock, eyes wide.
Katsuki’s mouth opens, instinctively wanting to say something– but nothing coming out. He couldn’t find the words. His eyes hadn’t caught up with his mind, and his mind hadn’t caught up with his heart.
Shoto’s eyes continue to widen, as he continues to process. He takes longer to process emotions, he always has, and his mind slows and fog fills his ears as his eyes compare what he’s seeing to the memories of you.
But they’re not who you’re looking at.
How could they be?
Izuku stands dead center.
He was silent the moment he came over, his idle chatting to recover from his embarrassment from the speeches, fading the moment he began approaching his classmates. He took a sharp breath in while rambling, and found himself stopping dead in his tracks the moment the smell of you slapped every single feeling and memory he’d been repressing awake. No different than a slap to the face, he found himself, reeling, dizzy, snapping his neck every single direction, searching searching searching.
And the moment he saw the back of you he just knew.
Your laugh.
It’d been years since he heard your laugh, so genuine and open and thoughtless and sweet and colorful and lively. Nothing else had ever brought him immediate joy and satisfaction better than your laugh would. Nothing was ever like your laugh, nothing would ever be the same. He knew so, which made the thought that he’d never get to hear it again even more unbearable to him than it already was.
Your laugh. It totally contrasted the gloom and darkness of your eyes, always had, which is why it shocked him every time he heard it, no matter how often it became. And it just as much shocked him at the lack of it, a frown didn’t suit you, depression wasn’t for you.
And yet it became all he could associate with you.
The moment he heard you the denial was immediate, to protect him from getting his hopes up. But your frame was something he could never deny.
Your signature scent that surrounded him like a fog, your laugh that sent him into a high-like trance.
He’d never forget. He could repress and deny all he wanted but his mind, body, and soul would never forget your body. Every dip, curve, plush, soft, rough, marked, scarred area was ingrained into him, apart of him. The places he’d held you, touched you, felt, smelled, kissed, sucked, he never forgot, he never would.
Though your arms seemed to bulk up from the last time he saw you, you generally remained very similar-looking, seemingly not growing any taller. You always had, even in the pictures you’d shown him as a young child so long ago, your face never went through any drastic changes. He could still find the familiar features that made you, you. Well, it’s not entirely true, he’d know. There was one obvious change he’d seen. Something obvious in your expression, something that was just no longer there.
He froze the moment he saw you, he knew it was you the moment he saw you, meanwhile Shoto and Kacchan continued to speak casually to one another, continuing their (one-sided) banter as they approached their huddled classmates.
He couldn’t do a thing. He couldn’t do a thing but just– wait, wait for you to turn around, wait to finally confirm who you are.
And once you do.
His eyes are wide, ogling, and his jaw clenched tightly (though he’ll only feel it later when he calms enough to be aware of the soreness) as he took in a sharp breath that he nearly choked on.
It’s you, you in your awkward, embarrassed, red-faced glory. He could recognize every single expression upon you, he knew them all too well already.
He’d never forget, he’d never forget you no matter how hard he could try.
His first thought was that you’re okay, he wants to search you, feel you, make sure you’re okay. And yet, at the same time, he finds himself burning in the inside, so overwhelmed. The way he feels when he’s overstimulated or like how Kacchan gets sometimes when he’s feeling claustrophobic–
he’s restless.
Your face, flushed, remains gorgeous, beautiful, so so unbelievably attractive. You’d always been so beautiful to him, it intimidated him, and he’d never understand why someone as beautiful as you would ever approach him with that desire in you that you told him you had. The desire to stick around, to be his friend. As he’d never understand, you in turn would never believe that he thought you were so beautiful.
And his face heats up, he feels it straight away– your stronger, healthier frame, and remaining gentle, yet, simultaneously intense gaze that always bore holes into him, would become a whole new challenge for him to not ogle at. He could already tell so, by the way he shamelessly already is.
You tried so hard to keep your unease unknown to everyone around you, but as the seconds tick, tick, ticked, you couldn’t help but fidget in your place, your eyes anywhere but forward.
Insecurity, fear, embarrassment, all of it tore at you, scooped out your sensibility and left nothing but TV static. Your fists clench, wanting so bad to throw your feelings to the wind.
“…So you finally decided to show your face again, huh crybaby?”
“..Yeah.. I see you finally decided to toss those ugly-ass gauntlets.. I always thought they looked hella cheap.”
He doesn’t snarl, and he doesn’t hold malice. Neither do you.
This is just Katuski and you, this is just how the two of you are. No need for the vulnerable, gentle, concern. It never suited the two of you.
He clicks his tongue, trying to get a feel for you and who you’ve become. It’s all ingenuine, word-vomit for the sake of finding answers, and the both of you know it.
That’s the other thing about the dynamic of you and his, it’s always a silent, mutual understanding with nothing said.
His voice is mocking, never having to pretend to be annoyed. “Oh yeah? Nice hero costume, by the way.”
He taunts your more elegant clothing whilst lacking any humor, successfully making you feel even more singled out, more obvious, than you already currently did.
You smile just as humorlessly, last ditch attempt to make this tension feel somewhat more bearable.
“I didn’t get the memo.”
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