Chapter 1: Unwanted Affection and a Protective Best Friend
The common room air was thick with the smell of burnt popcorn and teenage desperation. On the screen, some CGI hero was delivering a monologue about justice, but nobody was really listening. The real drama was on the sagging sectional sofa.
Izuku Midoriya was trying, very hard, to become one with the cushions. His long, curly white hair was a veil he wished he could pull completely over his face, his wine-red eyes fixed on the screen with the intensity of a man reading his own death warrant. The problem was his left arm. It was currently locked in the warm, inescapable grip of Ochako Uraraka, who had nestled against his side like a particularly cheerful barnacle.
“This part is so cool, don’t you think, Deku?” Ochako sighed, her head tilting onto his shoulder. Her touch was gentle, but it sent waves of panic through him. He could feel every individual one of her fingers.
“Y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice tight. “Super cool.” He offered a weak, strained smile, his body a plank of wood. He’d tried the subtle shifts, the casual reach for his drink with that very arm, the fabricated cough that required him to turn away. Each maneuver had been met with a cheerful readjustment from Ochako, her hold somehow becoming more secure. He was trapped in a prison of kindness and popcorn-scented goodwill.
Across the room, in the open kitchen alcove, Katsuki Bakugo was watching. He wasn’t just watching; he was scorching the scene with his glare. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He was finishing up a batch of curry, the rich, spicy aroma cutting through the buttery fog, and the way he slammed the wooden spoon against the pot’s rim was downright violent.
“Hey, shitty-hair, if you breathe on that rice, I’ll boil your fingers off,” he barked at Eijiro Kirishima, who jumped back from the cooker with a nervous laugh.
But Katsuki’s attention wasn’t on the food. It was locked on the sofa. On Izuku’s politely horrified expression. On Ochako’s oblivious hands.
With a final, resonant clang, he set the heavy pot onto a trivet. He grabbed a plate, piled it high with steaming rice and curry, and stalked out of the kitchen like a storm front. The chatter in the room dipped by a few decibels as he passed.
He came to a halt directly in front of the sofa, looming over Ochako and Izuku. The light from the screen played over the sharp angles of his face.
“Round Face.”
Ochako blinked up at him, her smile faltering only slightly. “Oh, hey Bakugo! That smells amazing!”
“Hands. Off.”
The words were flat, final, and dropped into the room like bricks. The movie’s soundtrack swelled awkwardly. A few heads turned.
Ochako’s cheerful expression finally cracked into confusion. “Huh?”
“You’re crushing his circulation. And my will to live.” Katsuki’s eyes, sharp and crimson, flicked to Izuku’s trapped arm. “He’s allergic to desperate bitches. Gets a rash. Now, unstick yourself before I pour this curry in your lap.”
A stunned silence blanketed the common room. Even the CGI hero seemed to pause. Izuku’s face flooded with heat, a stark contrast to his pale hair. “K-Kacchan!” he squeaked, mortified.
Ochako recoiled as if shocked, finally releasing Izuku’s arm. Her face crumpled, a mix of hurt and dawning humiliation. “I wasn’t—I was just—!”
“You were just being a nuisance,” Katsuki finished, his voice losing none of its edge. He thrust the plate of curry into Izuku’s newly freed hands. “Eat. You’re too skinny.”
From the counter by the wall, where a sleek coffee machine hummed, two pairs of adult eyes observed the scene. Shota Aizawa, wrapped in his yellow sleeping bag like a disgruntled caterpillar, took a slow sip from a steaming mug. Next to him, Hizashi Yamada, leaning against the counter with his signature grin, let out a low, appreciative chuckle.
“And the drama award for this semester goes to…” Yamada murmured, swirling his own coffee.
Aizawa’s dark eyes followed Katsuki, who was now stomping back to the kitchen, shooting warning glares at anyone in his path. “Bakugo’s delivery needs work,” Aizawa said, his voice a dry monotone. “But his assessment of social dynamics is, unfortunately, accurate.”
“You mean the Uraraka crush or the Midoriya paralysis?”
“Both.” Aizawa took another sip. “It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion. With more popcorn.”
Back on the sofa, Izuku stared down at the plate of curry, his appetite gone. Ochako had shrunk into the opposite corner of the sectional, eyes glistening, determinedly looking at the screen but seeing none of it. The cozy movie night atmosphere had been thoroughly and brutally assassinated.
“I’m… I’m gonna take this to my room,” Izuku mumbled, standing up. He couldn’t bear the weight of Ochako’s silent devastation or the curious glances from their classmates.
“Good idea,” Katsuki called from the kitchen, not turning around. “And chew properly! Don’t just inhale it!”
Izuku fled, the plate warm in his hands, the shame hotter in his chest.
Ten minutes later, a fist hammered on his dorm room door. It wasn’t a knock; it was a declaration.
“Open up, shitty nerd.”
Izuku, who had been pushing the excellent curry around his plate, sighed and padded to the door. He opened it to find Katsuki, now holding two cans of iced tea, his expression one of simmering irritation.
“You let that go on for twenty minutes,” Katsuki accused, barging in and thrusting a can into Izuku’s hand. He dropped onto the desk chair, spinning it to face the room. “What’s the matter with you? Your spine dissolve?”
“It’s not that simple, Kacchan,” Izuku said, sinking onto his bed. He ran a hand through his long hair, a nervous habit. “She’s just being friendly. I don’t want to be mean.”
“Friendly?” Katsuki snorted, cracking open his tea. “Deku, she was practically grafting herself to your side. ‘Friendly’ is a fist bump. That was a full-scale territorial claim. And you just sat there, smiling like an idiot, letting her think it was fine.”
“I’ve tried to hint!”
“Your hints are weaker than All Might’s teaching skills. You gotta be direct.”
“And say what?” Izuku’s wine-red eyes flashed with rare frustration. “‘Sorry, Ochako, I can’t cuddle because I have a boyfriend at another school’? That’ll go over great. It’ll be a secret for about six seconds before the entire school knows. And then it’s not just my business, it’s his.” He looked down at his hands. “I don’t want that for Kaito.”
Katsuki’s glare softened, just a fraction. He knew the deal. He was the only one at UA who did. He’d met Kaito, the second-year from Shiketsu with the calm demeanor and the stupidly sharp cheekbones. He’d seen the way Izuku’s whole being lit up when he got a text from him, the way he’d talk for hours after one of their rare, carefully orchestrated dates. He’d even, grudgingly, admitted the guy wasn’t totally lame after spotting him at their shared gym, spotting him with impressive form.
“Fine,” Katsuki grumbled, conceding the point. “But you gotta do something. My method was a little—”
“A little? Kacchan, you called her a desperate bitch in front of everyone!”
“—aggressive,” Katsuki continued, as if Izuku hadn’t spoken. “But it got the job done. Now, you need a better long-term strategy. One that doesn’t involve me having to commit social murder every week.”
“What’s my strategy, then?” Izuku asked, genuinely desperate.
“How the hell should I know? Lie. Tell her you’re into guys.”
Izuku stared at him. “That’s… that’s not a lie, Kacchan.”
“Exactly. But you don’t have to say that part. Just let the idea float out there. Plant the seed. She asks you to the stupid school festival dance, you say ‘sorry, not really into girls like that.’ Vague. Lets her down but doesn’t out you or your pretty-boy boyfriend.”
It was, Izuku had to admit, a less explosive plan than Katsuki’s usual modus operandi. It still felt terrifying.
His phone, face-down on his bed, buzzed. Then buzzed again. A specific, double-pulse pattern. Izuku’s heart did a familiar, happy flip-flop. He snatched it up.
Kaito’s name glowed on the screen, followed by a text: ‘Got a surprise. Secured a weekend pass. This Saturday. You’re mine.’
A grin spread across Izuku’s face, so wide and unguarded it made him look years younger. All the tension from the common room melted away.
“Ugh, that’s the gross face,” Katsuki said, taking a long swig of his tea. “Pretty-boy?”
“He got a weekend pass,” Izuku said, his voice hushed with excitement. “This Saturday.”
“Huh. Took him long enough.” Katsuki paused. “You gonna tell Round Face you’re busy this Saturday?”
The grin faded. Reality seeped back in. “She’s been talking about a group trip to that new hero museum downtown. She… already kind of assumed I was going.”
Katsuki leveled a look at him. The look said everything. It said ‘Grow a spine.’ It said ‘Handle your business.’ It said ‘Or I will, and it will be messier.’
“Right,” Izuku said, swallowing hard. He looked back at his phone, at Kaito’s message. His boyfriend. A whole, uninterrupted Saturday. A secret worth protecting.
He typed back, his fingers flying: ‘I’ll clear my schedule. Can’t wait. ♥’
He hit send, the commitment made. The joy was immediate, but it was now edged with a new, sharp anxiety. He had to navigate Ochako’s crushed hopes, preserve his secret in the pressure-cooker of the dorms, and carve out a perfect day with Kaito.
Downstairs, the movie credits were rolling. Ochako, having fled the common room, was in her own room, tears of embarrassment finally falling, her cheerful persistence hardening into a confused, painful resolve. She liked Izuku. Really liked him. And she wasn’t a quitter. Bakugo was just being his usual rude self. Maybe Izuku just needed a clearer sign.
Aizawa-sensei, finally zipping himself out of his sleeping bag, glanced toward the dorm rooms upstairs as he shuffled out of the common room. Yamada fell into step beside him.
“Think the problem will resolve itself?” Yamada asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
Aizawa let out a long, weary sigh that spoke of years of dealing with teenage angst and poorly concealed secrets. “No,” he said. “It’s going to get much worse before it gets better. They always do.”
The hallway was quiet, but the tension from the common room had dissipated into the walls, a lingering charge waiting for the next spark. Izuku stared at his phone screen, the glow illuminating his determined face. Saturday was coming. He just had to make it until then without the whole, fragile world he’d built coming apart at the seams.