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Midoriya Izuku prides himself in many things, in his strength, in his control over One for All, in his capabilities of being a Pro Hero. It wasn’t always like that, he has had his struggles, his doubts and dips of self confidence and self esteem. However, despite that, he fully and truly believes that, at this moment in time, he’s the best person he can be, and he is looking forward to becoming better.
He prides himself in his friends, and knows without a doubt, he wouldn’t be anywhere without Kacchan’s strive for victory, always bolstering Izuku to match his every step, or Shouto’s infallible desire to inspire, or Ochako’s ambition to become stronger with every step she takes. He values his friends, because he wouldn’t have become the Number One Pro Hero without them.
But sometimes…
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE ASKED YOU FIRST!!”
… sometimes the people you’re willing to die for are the ones with their fingers behind the trigger.
“Kacchan,” Izuku sighs, (pleas?), which goes as noticed as it usually does, meaning not at all.
“THAT TWO FACED CANDY FUCKER, HE KNEW I WAS GOING TO ASK YOU-“
Izuku is not surprised at all, though he’s flattered by the both of them. When Shouto had asked, in the sudden, blunt way that Shouto does, Izuku had burst into tears immediately.
Now that he thinks about it, did he even say yes?
-“I’M GOING TO EAT HIS GROSS LEFTOVER SOBA RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM!”
Bakugou Katsuki, the Number Two Pro Hero (Izuku had kicked him down from Number One last year and is still riding the high, feeling as if ‘Chako’s quirk is being used on his body every time he thinks about the look on his face, then the you better not get used to it asshole, I’m taking it right back ), is pacing around his beautifully furnished apartment like a caged tiger, wearing sweatpants and what Izuku is positive is Shouto’s shirt. He looks small in it, and Izuku can’t help but see an angry kitten meowing furiously for having his little cardboard box taken away. He wonders if Toast likes cardboard boxes.
As always when soba is mentioned, Shouto materializes, this time through the front door with a warm call of tadaima (although the last time Izuku had mentioned soba, he had crashed through the window of Chako and Tsu’s pro hero agency building, on the third floor).
Kacchan snaps a glare at his fiancé, who is too busy greeting Toast, a remarkably tiny black cat with heterochromia, also known as the Star of Twitter, to notice.
Shouto stands with a stretch, he’s still in his hero costume, though his fingerless gloves are off and his costume is partially unbuttoned. He slips out of his shoes, lifting his head to catch his fiance’s eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice or acknowledge Izuku at all.
“Katsuki,” he murmurs, in the soft way he does that makes everyone within the five mile radius want to melt to the floor, and gently presses his lips to Kacchan’s forehead.
Izuku has seen the friendship, then love, blossom between those two from the beginning, and witnessed the entirety of the Rivals to Friends to Lovers dynamic that they’ve gone through. Still, years later, he still feels gooey and proud to see Kacchan visibly soften, all of the anger erased as if it never existed, and has to bite back a squeal of joy at the pure love struck tone that soaks his okaeri.
Later, when he’s re-enacting the scene to ‘Chako, they’ll both squeal together at how cute his two most emotionally repressed friends are with each other.
Now, however, he holds his breath at Shouto lovingly rubbing his nose against Kacchan’s, much like what he did with Toast seconds earlier. Perhaps he should look away, actually he really really should look away, except that Chako will demand details later and Izuki must provide or she’ll be slightly disappointed and he can’t have that.
(It’s also too cute to look away from.)
They both do look soft, wrapped up in their own world. Izuku wonders if Shouto even noticed him at all, his mind so focused on all that is Kacchan (after Toast, of course). He distinctly remembers third year at UA, when acts of such pure and obvious public affection had everyone fear for their lives. Shouto’s lack of shame or any sense of social construct combined with Kacchan’s refusal for anyone to see him let down his tough shell (like a cockroach) resulted in the majority of the common area being blasted with one explosion or another. Izuku has long since lost track of how much furniture Kacchan had destroyed because of his shameless boyfriend.
(Fourteen chairs, seven tables, three couches, two TVs, two toasters, the kitchen sink, four doors, Mineta’s nose, three game controllers and a consol, and the kitchen’s oven.)
It has been years since then and Kacchan is no longer the cockroach he was.
Izuku must’ve been mumbling again- he’d like to think he has gotten better at containing his thoughts inside of his head, but he really hasn’t- or perhaps Kacchan’s godlike perception is able to draw him out from the bubble that comes whenever he’s within five feet of Shouto. Whatever the reason may be, clarity blinks into his eyes and he shoves at his fiance’s chest hard enough for him to stumble.
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” He points at Shouto aggressively, the sudden shift between I will kill for you and I will kill you making Izuku’s head spin. The cockroach shell is struggling to appear again, but it’s cracking under Shouto’s confused noise matched with his iconic head tilt.
The last time this head tilt had made its appearance in the public, three people had fainted.
Kacchan’s eye twitches, but he remains strong in the force of Clueless Shouto, another icon on Twitter. Izuku is not as strong and his phone is capturing a picture before he even thinks about it, like the true hero he is.
“I assure you Katsuki, I have not fucked your-”
“Don’t you fucking dare, ” Kacchan seethes.
Don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise, Izuku chants to himself, pushing down the intense need to hit record on his phone. He puts his phone away hastily. He’s not sure anyone would survive hearing Shouto say fucked in that deadpan tone of his anyways.
There’s a slight pressure against his leg and an even slighter mrr? that manages to capture his attention away. Bicolor eyes of blue and yellow blink up at him, there’s a patch of white dots underneath Toast’s left eye that has Izuku swallowing the urge to cry. He picks Toast up carefully, scratching behind her ears. Her purr soothes his soul.
Maybe Chako is willing to get a cat, despite being allergic to them.
The Number 2 Pro Hero takes a deep, controlling breath, like what Izuku’s therapist had taught Izuku in the beginning of his pro hero career.
“Shouto,” Kacchan says, a false sense of patience intertwining in his tone. Izuku clutches Toast tighter against his chest. Should an impromptu murder occur, he’ll make sure to stop by the drug store for some Claritin for ‘Chako and maybe a cat treat to help Toast adjust to her new home. He thinks the konbini next to their apartment has some.
“Why the fuck did you ask Deku to be your best man?”
There it is, the root of Kacchan’s current rage. Two days ago, Izuku was buying a gift for Tsuyu’s birthday with Shouto, when the man himself (Number 3 Pro Hero, Number 1 Hottest Pro Hero for the past 5 years) picked up a cute frog plushie and said Izuku be my best man. Then Izuku burst into tears.
He really didn’t give an answer did he?
“Because he’s my friend,” Shouto says, in the present. Kacchan tchs, not impressed at all by his answer. Izuku feels warm though, because he’s Shouto’s friend.
“I’m aware of that, you idiot, but I’m sure you can dig deep enough in that tiny brain of yours to recall that I told you he was going to be my best man,” he spits the last words out through his teeth, with enough force that Izuku wonders how hard it was to say them.
Shouto’s eyes narrow at that and Izuku feels a sudden chill fall over him.
Toast’s purr goes up a notch.
“I thought Kirishima was going to be your best man.”
That’s a good point, Izuku thinks, scratching Toast gently and mindlessly. Kirishima would be a perfect best man for Katsuki, he was his first true friend, the first friend he had ever acknowledged as a friend that is.
“Your dumb ass was there when he begged me to be the flower girl!” Katsuki snaps. The words flower girl has never been said so angrily in the history of ever. The image of Eijiro begging to be a flower girl is surprisingly easy to conjure. Izuku wonders how many times he said manly unironically.
Probably one too many times.
Shouto blinks, then tips his head in acknowledgement, before moving on.
“Izuku was my first friend, he should be my best man,” he insists, finally starting to unclasp his belt full of his canisters. Izuku doesn’t miss Kacchan’s eyes following his fingers but he wishes he does.
“Well he was my first fri-” he chokes off, biting his tongue before Izuke can have time to perk up with a swirl of hope channeling through his veins. Was he about to-?
“dumbass,” he finishes, somewhat lamely, but Izuku feels himself drift even higher. He was Kacchan’s first dumbass.
Shouto and Kacchan look at him at the same time, in the unimpressed and intimidating way Izuku had only seen them do, which signalled the realization that he might’ve said that out loud.
“Izuku,” Shouto says blankly, “hello.”
He definitely didn’t know I was here.
“Hi!” Izuku beams, “how was work?”
“It was good, there was this squirrel-”
“Tell him you don’t want to be his best man anymore so you can be mine,” Kacchan interrupts, literally placing himself between them.
“Um-”
“He’s not my best man yet.”
Despite the many years of Kacchan gracefully growing into his lean, live wired frame and Izuku himself filling out, Shouto still stands over the both of them, roughly half a head taller than Kacchan. Tall enough that Izuku can easily look above Kacchan and blink up at Shouto dumbly. Kacchan twists around, pressing his finger hard enough against his fiance’s chest that Izuku knows it hurts, just as he knows there’s the ugly twisted snarl that Shouto managed to fall for(?) all those years ago painted on his face.
“What do you mean not ye-”
“He hasn’t said yes yet.”
Uh oh.
Izuku isn’t exactly sure why the feeling of dread makes a home inside of his chest, except maybe he recognizes the stillness in Kacchan’s shoulders, or the look in Shouto’s eyes- the same look that follows every challenges he faces, from eating Takis until it burns a hole through his stomach to staring down a giant, twenty foot tall lizard terrorizing Tokyo. They’re communicating, in the special way they do, and Izuku has yet to understand their special language they created together, but he has gathered enough information (that would be Notebook #111: The Todobaku Edition) to know that this isn’t merely a simple argument anymore.
It’s now a challenge.
As they both turn towards Izuku, supposedly coming to some form of agreement, Izuku has to fight the urge to hide behind Toast.
It’s not just any challenge, he’s the challenge.
Izuku does what any normal human would have done under the twin intense scare of the power couple that took the entire world by storm through the power of twitter and their unfairly beautiful cat, and he slowly set Toast down back on the floor.
And bolts.
“You ran,” ‘Chako says, later, looking impressively unimpressed while chewing on some melon pan, her cheeks puffed out like an intimidating chipmunk.
Izuku groans from where he’s laying face first on the couch inside the office she shares with Tsu, bought specifically for him.
“I ran,” he agrees, voice muffled against the soft leather-like fabric, or maybe it was leather. Izuku doesn’t know, but it’s possibly the most comfortable thing Izuku has ever been blessed with to sit on. It’s like a hug, one that can last forever.
“That was stupid,” Tsuyu, as blunt as ever, says. She’s sitting on top of her desk, eyes never straying from the paperwork in front of her. Izuku groans into the leather(?).
Tsuchan’s and Chako’s agency is Izuku’s favorite place. The building itself is small, only three stories, sandwiched between a cute monthly themed cafe and a ramen shop. The entire third floor is their office, with a quant kitchen area nestled in the corner, floor to ceiling quirk and bulletproof windows looking out to the street below, and Izuku’s couch. An aquarium makes up the other wall, and Tsuchan always brings back a little something for it after a mission in her division. There’s something loved about the place, something worn in. One of the pull out futons by the kitchen isn’t put up yet, sheets strewn from a quick nap. The frog plushie Izuku got Tsu is sitting beside her on her desk.
“Why didn’t you just tell them whose best man you’ll be?” Tsu says, as if it is that easy.
“Izu,” Chako starts, setting down her melon pan, “do you want to be their best man?”
“Wha- yes, of course,” Why wouldn’t he? He already has the speech written for Todoroki, written as soon as he got home after he asked, even though he didn’t even say yes. It’s a beautiful, tear jerking speech, he cried every time he recited into his bathroom mirror at three in the morning.
“Whose?”
That’s the 1.5 million yen question, because while he has his speech for Shouto’s memorized, last night when he returned to his dingy apartment, the very first thing he did was open Notebook 141: The Best Man Edition, freshly bought, with only one other thing in it, and wrote another speech, the Kacchan Edition, and had burst into tears reciting it at four in the morning.
Izuku groans again, pressing further into the couch. Perhaps if the Number One Pro Hero suffocated right here, all the problems in the world would resolve themselves and fossil fuels would be efficiently replaced.
“That’s unlikely,” Tsuyu says, striking the heart, “besides, Bakugou would bring you back to life just to get what he wants.”
He’s never leaving this couch again.
He’s taking his lunch break by himself, which is rare. Usually, he eats with Tsu and Chako, or crosses paths with Shouto, or quite literally runs into Hagakure, or Denki slams into him while he’s walking to the ramen shop next to Tsu and Chako’s agency and he winds up across town with the Bakusquad with or without the Baku. This time, however, he sits in his favorite katsudon restaurant by himself and peers out the window.
So he’s entirely surprised when someone sits across from him, blandly saying his name.
“Shouto!” he sits up, always happy to see his best friend, “don’t you have patrol right now?”
“Hitoshi is doing it today,” Shouto hums. Around him, subtle whispers that have been occurring since Izuku sat down became less than subtle. The group of teenagers near them look like they’re going to pass out.
“Really? I thought he only did nights.”
Shouto hums again, this time his tone a shade darker.
“He owes me,” is all he says, words simple and brimming with mystery and intrigue. Izuku is practically vibrating with questions.
“Here,” Shouto slides a package towards him, a simple yellow envelope, not labelled. There isn’t even a smell to it.
Izuku wonders if he’s doing it on purpose, placing a blank envelope and sliding it his way like some shady informant giving information to a equally shady cop to take down an elite assassin that is actually the Prime Minister’s-
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Shouto tilts his head and there’s a very audible gasp from one of the seats and a somewhat less audible Kami-sama has blessed me.
Izuku tears open the envelope in careful, ragid rips that causes Shouto to release a slight huff of amusement. Izuku knows him enough to detect the tinge of impatience as well. He slowly pulls out the contents, having genuinely no clue at what it could be, and when his eyes catch the title of it, he gives out a gasp so loud that all other sounds momentarily pause.
The Legends of All Might.
“This- this is,” Izuku cradles it against his chest, eyes glazing over slightly. What he is carrying in his hands is nothing short of the most amazing thing he had ever seen in his life. The original, specially laminated American style All Might comic book, the first of the first, telling the unspoken tales of his life in America. There’s only 100 copies of them ever made, and some no good rich fanboy in America owns 98 of them. Izuku had doubted he’d be able to get his hands on one even if he sold his soul and the soul of everyone he ever loved.
Here he is, however, and no souls were sold.
(He’s pretty sure.)
He’s careful not to clench his fist, his body trembling so hard that it causes the table to shake. He’s reached some sort of nirvana, an inner and outer peace. He stares at the smiling face of young All Might, in his original hero costume. The text is American English, everything about it is authentic. Izuku knows, he can feel it.
“This- thi- money- huh- how?” He says, weakly, carefully placing it on top of the envelope. He’s afraid he might sweat on it if he holds it any longer.
Shouto smiles, the small, amused little one, but the fondness behind it is just as authentic as the wrapped miracle in front of him.
“Hitoshi isn’t the only one who owes me favors,” he says smoothly, as if he hadn’t just made Izuku’s entire life.
“Also I used the old man’s credit card, so it’s fine.”
Izuku verbally keysmashes, then gives a small, maniacal laugh.
“Why?”
At that, Shouto’s face clears, smooths out impossibly flawlessly and he leans forward.
“Be my-”
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!”
After that, there’s no attempt at being subtle. Kacchan bursts through the door so violently the bell attached to the door flings off it and lands in someone’s udon bowl. He marches towards the two other pro heroes with a feral look on his face.
“K-kacchan-”
“Katsuki,” Shouto says, not even the slightest bit fazed.
“I’m glad you know my name, assface,” Kacchan snipes, before slamming his palm on the table. Izuki quickly lifts the comic book, suddenly fearing for its life. Kacchan, perspective as ever, notices this and his eyes catches what Izuku is so desperate to preserve for eternity, to be buried with him when he dies a heroic death. In front of him and everyone in the little shop and everyone peering through the window and snapping pictures at a rapid pace, Kacchan freezes.
“What the fuck,” he whispers, so quietly that Izuku actually feels alarmed. Then he turns to his fiance and, with the love and devotion of someone who is about to marry the love of their life, snarls out a much louder, much more Kacchan like “WHAT THE FUCK!”
He brings out his other hand, and promptly slams an envelope onto the poor, abused table.
A blank, yellow envelope, that doesn’t even have a smell.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!!”
Shouto smirks, although it’s not very noticeable, a small twitch of the mouth and a hint of a glint in his eyes. Izuku knows him enough to detect it, and if he can, Kacchan can as well.
“Oh? Did I beat you to it, again ?”
Izuku sucks in a deep breath as Kacchan’s entire body twitches violently. A hush falls over the crowd, even time seems to freeze in pure shock. For a split second, the Number Two Pro Hero Ground Zero goes blank, a certain stillness that has Izuku resisting the urge to jump out of the window and flee for his life, or call for backup.
He looks speechless.
That split second is over in, well, a split second, and a look of sheer, visceral rage sparks in his eyes and continues down to his palms.
(Izuku has just enough time to lunge and grab the envelope off the table- if it is what he thinks it is, he would sacrifice himself to ensure its safety- before the table itself incinergrates, the intensity of the explosion so great that there’s no debris left at all.)
“Shouto,” he says, an eerie calm that is completely betrayed by the fact that there is no table left, and that half the restaurant is hastily paying their bill and the other half has their phones out. If Izuku didn’t consider Shouto as fearless before, he does now, because he stares up at his fiance with an arched brow and a god forbid amused little sparkle dancing in his eyes. Kacchan places his hand behind him on the booth he’s sitting on and leans close, the wood smoking beneath his palms, and there’s nothing else to describe the tension as anything other than heated at that moment.
“That won’t happen again,” he whispers, quiet enough that Izuku almost doesn’t catch it.
Shouto grins, in a feral way that looks suspiciously like Kacchan’s, and leans in close enough that their nose brushes. Izuku suddenly feels hot, but he’s not sure if it’s because of the sudden rise of temperature or because of what he’s looking at right now.
“Bet,” Shouto murmurs, and Izuku can see enough of Kacchan’s face to see his pupils widen, before he looks down, if he witnesses anymore of this his head will explode with all the blood that’s rushing to it (and no, that is not a euphemism).
Instead, he opens up Kacchan’s packet, because he has to be sure. There, in a specially laminated American styled comic book, reads The Legends of All Might.
He thinks he might pass out.
He returns to his apartment in a daze, with only one copy of the last two previously unowned The Legends of All Might, because after the owner had came up to them, shaking to the point that his words struggled to come out and asked them to leave, Kacchan had snatched his copy with a scowl and a since you already have one, fuck face, and dragged Shouto out with an intent look on his face that gave away more than Izuku wanted it to.
His twitter is still going off right now, Izuku had made the mistake of looking at it on the way home and not only is “todobaku” trending for the second time this month, the first time because Shouto kissed Kacchan on the cheek during a quick interview after a villain fight and Kacchan couldn’t talk for a solid two minutes, but also he himself is trending under “#thirdwheel” and every single one of his so called friends are fueling it.
At least the world doesn’t think that he and Shouto are having an illicit affair anymore.
He places his comic book in a frame, not even daring to take it out of its wrapping, and replaces the picture of his mom, Yagi, and him at the beach after graduation by his bed with it.
He then sits on his bed and stares at it for an hour straight.
Three days later, Kacchan visits him during lunch and gives him the best katsudon he has ever had in his life, homemade from scratch. Then he proceeds to send Shouto a triumphant smirk when he shows up five minutes later with a carry out from Izuku’s favorite restaurant.
Shouto sends the container to ashes.
The next day Shouto gives him a pair of red shoes that can not only withstand One for All at full power but can also keep his feet cool during hot summers and warm during winters. They are the most comfortable shoes he has ever had in his life, and he cries when he notices the little All Might charm attached to it.
Kacchan tries to blast them when he sees them, but it doesn't even leave a mark. The screech of fury he gives out is in multiple tiktok videos that Denki sends into the group chat.
Shouto retweets one of them posted on twitter, then proceeds to post a selfie of him with Toast curled up in a ball on his shoulder and twitter actually breaks down for two hours.
“You’re leading them on,” Tsuyu says, and Izuku winces at the disappointed kero she releases right after, “you’ll have to choose soon.”
Tsu chan is, as always, correct.
“I don’t know who to choose,” planting his face onto the leather couch sounds like a really good idea right now, so he does just that, “What if I choose one and hurt the other?” The last thing he wants is to ruin a wedding because he sides with one person or another. They’re both his best friends, he knows Kacchan since they were babies, and Shouto was always there for him. Then Kacchan and him made amends and he knows that they would both catch him if he falls.
Both of them already have.
Now they’re fighting over him as if- as if he’s the last of his mother’s cookies, and they’re both children biting and clawing at each other to be the first to the cookie jar. They’ll probably go as far as taking the cookie out of the other’s mouth just to have it, or hitting them over the head with a cutting board.
Or pretending to be injured so that the other will get distracted because the other is a kind individual and Kacchan is soulless and will do whatever he can to get the last cookie.
Now he wants his mother’s cookies.
If he ever gets some he’s never telling Kacchan at all, those cookies will be Izuku’s and Izuku’s only and he will take pleasure in eating the last one, perhaps even record a video of it and send it to Kacchan.
“I don’t want to be the last cookie,” he mumbles into the couch, and he can practically feel the unimpressed look Tsu is sending his way. Chako is out, most likely gleefully beating the shit out of some villain.
“You're not special,” Tsu says, not harshly but not kindly either, just in a blunt, simple way that is disguising a poison tipped arrow to the heart. It reminds him of third year, when Shouto and Tsu were assigned to judge everyone’s hero moves by Aizawa and proceeded to make the majority of the class cry.
She continues as Izuku turns his head to blink at her dumbly, “you will never be the reason why their marriage will be ruined, you’re not stronger than their love for each other and you never will be.
“No matter who you choose, even if the other will be hurt, they won’t hold a grudge for long because they’re getting married to each other, and you won’t change that.”
She takes a sip of her tea as if she hadn’t completely annihilated Izuku and finishes him off somewhat savagely.
“So get over yourself and give them an answer, kero .”
Izuku is staring at his two speeches, mind in a whirlwind. Tsu’s right, about everything, he has been leading them on. His decision on who to be the best man for won’t affect their marriage. They may be fighting for the last cookie now, but when the last cookie is gone and eaten, they’ll go back to sharing toys and collecting bugs together. Even when one develops a quirk and the other doesn’t, even if there’s years of bullying, they will make it up again.
Izuku you’re projecting again, ‘Chako’s teasing voice pops up in his head, or perhaps it’s Tsu’s dry, amused one.
Things would be so much easier if Kiri hadn’t wanted to be the flower girl.
He’s going to make the decision today, he decides, no matter what. The next time he sees one of them, he’ll tell them. He is not the last cookie, he can decide for himself who will eat him and who will beg his mother to make more.
A knock on his door interrupts his thoughts, so Izuku carefully places his speeches in his bedside drawer, glances at The Legends of All Might, and goes to answer it. He doesn’t remember any packages he’s delivered, or if he’s supposed to meet anyone right now, so it’s probably one of the neighbors shyly asking for sugar again.
It’s not.
Unless his neighbor has gotten taller and leaner and got face surgery to look like Todoroki Shouto, Izuku can safely say that it’s not his neighbor.
“Izuku,” Shouto greets, as per usual, but all Izuku is feeling is a sense of panic. The Universe is playing him right now, it’s too soon. It’s too soon. When he said the next time he’ll see one of them, he was kind of hoping for something a little longer than five minutes.
“Sh- Shouto, um, hi!” His smile is bright and it feels oddly like a grimace, “please come in.” Shouto nods sharply, taking off his shoes and immediately goes to sit on his, much less comfortable, couch. He pats the cushion next to him.
Izuku sits on his recliner instead, too nervous to move any further than that. Please let this be about work, please let this be-
“I need to talk about you being my best man.”
Izuku takes a deep breath. He’s the Number One Pro Hero, he can give an answer. He flips a coin in his head and makes a decision.
“I-”
“You should be Katsuki’s.”
“I actually- uh,” Izuku pauses, his brain filtering in Shouto’s words impossibly slowly, “what?”
“Izuku,” Shouto looks in his eyes, expression steady and serious, “be Katsuki’s best man.”
Izuku has been completely derailed, all thoughts fleeing his mind in shock. Shouto is stubborn, stubborn enough to date Kacchan and succeed, when he focuses on something, he goes for it. Just yesterday he had hired someone to renovate Izuku’s entire kitchen that’s been partially destroyed for a couple months now after Izuku’s last attempt at making curry.
“I- why?”
Shouto leans back against the couch, there’s an uncharacteristic tiredness about him, his expression unusually upen, even for Izuku. He’s not wearing his hero costume, but there’s a bruise on his cheek and his hand is bandaged, and there’s a bag by his feet, he must’ve gone straight here from work.
“I thought about it,” he starts, softly, looking up at the ceiling, “and I came to a realization.”
“Izuku,” he says, looking back at him, “I want you to be my best man.”
Huh? What’s with the mix signals here?
“You just said-”
“But I don’t need you to be.”
Izuku stops, mouth parted. His brain is working overtime, supplying him with too many questions at once to even talk. Shouto continues before he rediscovers his ability to think properly.
“You’re my best friend, I admire your strength and you’re a fantastic hero, there’s no one else I would rather have by my side when I marry the man I love than you.”
Okay tears, calm down, don’t start now. Shouto’s head blurs, because his tears never listen to him.
“But-” He pauses at this, tilting his head, before saying slowly, as if he’s struggling to come up with the words, “you already knew that didn’t you? I don’t tell you it enough, but I do tell you. You know,”
He looks at him meaningfully, and suddenly Izuku is getting what Shouto is trying to say. He can feel his throat close up.
“Katsuki feels the same, about you, he’s proud of you, you know,” he adds thoughtfully, “for beating him and becoming Number One. He knows how much you earned it.
“You're his best friend, too, and he doesn’t think he deserves that, for all that he’s done to you.”
He made up for it, Izuku wants to say, but Shouto gives him a look and he stops. He probably would’ve ended up making strange noises instead.
“He will never tell anyone, not even me, but I think, I think you being his best man would show how much you mean to him, because not once did he think about asking Eijiro first, it’s always been you.
“He loves you, Izuku, like a brother and a friend, and you deserve to know that and he deserves to show that to you, in the only way he can.”
He stands up, gathering his bag and throwing it over his shoulder casually, as if Izuku isn’t trying to withhold his own sobs, as if he doesn’t have ugly snot dripping down his nose.
Izuku doesn’t move, he can’t, if he does he’ll break down, not even when Shouto moves towards the door. There’s a shuffling noise that tells that he’s putting his shoes back on.
“I almost asked Hitoshi, but I would never subject him to being the focus of attention for that long-” Izuku snorts at that and a strangled sob comes out with it-”so I asked Momo instead-” he can hear his smile, the fondness that’s evident there- “I should’ve asked her from the beginning.”
“Have a good day, Izuku, please tell Katsuki soon.” With that, the door clicks shut behind him.
Izuku doesn’t stop crying until he passes out on the couch. The next day he wakes up from the best sleep of his life.
The door is ominous.
It’s staring at him, daring at him to knock, taunting him. It knows what the other side of it holds, and it’s not just Toast, who just trended on twitter again last night. Izuku sucks in a deep breath and knocks.
“Fucking- HOLD ON!”
A laugh escapes him, a hint breathy and a lot hysterical, but he waits. He thinks of Shouto’s words, of his own decision. Perhaps Kacchan isn’t the only one that’s trying to convey something, perhaps Izuku can try talking in Kacchan’s language for once instead. Perhaps they both need this.
Izuku has not once eaten all of his mother’s cookies, he always saved some for Kacchan.
He can hear Kacchan’s loud, obnoxious stomping, the kind that’s purely for show to convey how irritated he is. There’s a small mew and he hears stumbling, before a fucking cat I will slow cook you over a fire, get the fuck away from me, but Izuku knows he’s apologizing quiet enough that he can’t hear it.
The door swing opens, Kacchan’s snarling face level with his own beaming one, “WHAT- oh it’s you, what the fuck do you want?”
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, his smile widening at his somewhat docile tone, maybe a little unhinged with nerves, “I made my decision.”
The sakura trees are in full bloom, some gently falling around the venue artfully, as if each petal is purposefully placing itself to create a beautiful painting, the dying sunlight catching and highlighting the flowers in a gentle glow.
Behind where Shouto will stand, Momo looks stunning, as usual, in a long, sleeveless dark blue dress, tied neatly behind her neck. Her hair is up, with a burnt orange ribbon that glints among her dark hair. Tenya is up there as well, looking like he belongs in the dark blue suit, his orange tie fitting snugly. Chako and Tsuyu are next, their dresses similar to Momo’s. They all look so amazing, dressed in dark blue, with a little something orange that stands out proudly.
Izuku starts crying for the fifth time, careful not to get tears on his suit, custom made by Creati herself. Unlike Shouto’s line, Izuku’s suit is burnt orange, his tie a dark blue. His hair is combed back, showing off his freckles and ruddy cheeks. Mina is vibrating beside him, her dark orange dress stunning, matching her skin somewhat perfectly. Kyouka and Denki both clean up nicely, Denki looking surprisingly composed and clean cut, his suit matching Izuku’s.
This is it, Izuku thinks, wildly, using his handkerchief to blow his nose loudly, tears streaming down his face.
Everyone looks so beautiful, and he can see his mother sobbing in the front row besides Mitsuki, even though the wedding hasn’t even started yet.
The sun sends warm colors across the river, and it outlines Yagi perfectly, the glow of his gaunt, glistening blue eyes, looking over his former students with such intense pride that a fresh wave of tears overcome Izuku. He blows his nose again, loudly.
“Deku, if you make that ugly ass noise one more time, I’m kicking you out,” Katsuki hisses, not once turning away from staring down the aisle intently.
“Sorry,” Izuku whispers, but it goes ignored.
Izuku isn’t offended, one, because he’s used to it, and two, because the music has started, and Shouto is making his way up, his mother by his side.
Kacchan stands still, Izuku isn’t even sure he’s breathing, and he can see the wide eyed look, face so openly vulnerable in front of everyone. Except, Katsuki isn’t seeing everyone, he’s seeing Shouto and only Shouto. Shouto, in his white suit and orange tie, with his hair down, nothing but a small braid on his left side, small flowers braided into it.
(Eijiro, true to his flower girl form, is tossing flowers with abundant enthusiasm.)
Rei lets him go with a soft kiss on his cheek, and Shouto smiles at her, before turning back to his fiance, who has yet to look away from him.
“Breathe Kacchan,” Izuku whispers.
Kacchan sucks in a deep breath, the only time he has ever listened to Izuku, and it comes out unsteady. Izuku can see sweat lightly clinking to his neck. His suit is black, which Izuku is sure doesn’t help matters.
The sudden image of Kaccha exploding his fiance before he can marry him makes Izuku torn between paling or laughing. He does neither.
“Hi,” Shouto whispers, looking in awe, as if he can’t believe this is happening.
Me too, Izuku thinks.
“Hi,” Katsuki whispers back. He reaches out his hand and grasps Shouto’s tightly. Shouto smiles and Izuku, well, he starts crying again but it’s not his fault.
“Here,” Mina whispers behind him, causing him to flinch. That’s right, other people exist. In her hands is Toast, with the rings on a vest wrapped around her. She mews softly when he grabs her, before relaxing with a gentle, quiet purr.
“Are you two ready?” Yagi asks. Kacchan and Shouto both look up at him, squeezing each other’s hands once more before letting go. Izuku hearts swell at the sight of them, knowing they’ve been ready for a long time, as they nod.
Yagi smiles, not the smile that has captured the hearts of millions, or the smile that he never let falter as the Symbol of Peace. This smile means more, because it’s small and proud and genuine. Then he straightens up, even though he towers over every single person here, and begins.
“We are gathered here today…”