It's a day as any other until something — a movement, a flash of color — catches Izuku's eye, and he turns around to get a better look. And as soon as he does, he knows he probably shouldn't have.
The boy's expression freezes as he tightens his grip on the book he just took off the shelf; god damn whoever planned the premiere for this day and this hour. It would be so easy to arrest him here, or even call for pro hero backup, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the city, surrounded by hero agencies. The thought persist, even though Izuku can clearly remember his last meeting with the hero in training felt as if he was fighting another person; never once Shouto hesitated, never once called him by his name that he must have known, because he used it before...
The idea to simply turn back around comes too late; some loud kids stand right beside him, bound to turn some heads. Not much left to do for him, besides putting on a grinning mask and greeting the other as if the fight from weeks before never happened, when he inevitably gets noticed. "Hi, Shouto."