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There is nothing more freeing, in Izuku’s opinion, than being on the ice. It’s the closest he’ll ever come to flight.
Of course, with flight, also comes falls.
Izuku crashes to the ice, knee, hip, and elbow cracking against the surface. A string of expletives pulled from multiple languages leaves his mouth in a cascade of frustration as he comes to a stop.
A scrape against the ice, someone’s blade shaving off the top layer as they stop nearby.
“Wow! Coach really needs to stop teaching you so many curse words,” Uraraka chirps. Izuku looks up to see her holding her hand out to him.
Izuku lets her help him up, smiling wryly. “It’s not just his fault.” He grew up around Kacchan—he came to the team already knowing most of his current repertoire of curses.
“Right, right,” Uraraka nods and plays along. “There’s the ones we’ve been teaching each other! Anyway, I think you were super close that time—I’m sure you’ll get it soon!”
“Thanks.” Izuku’s been trying to figure out the axel for a while now. He’s come close, even landed it a couple times, but is far from being able to consistently perform it, as evidenced by the bruises on his skin left by the harsh kiss of the ice.
Briefly, he glances around, looking for their coach so he can ask him a question. Usually, he waits in one particular spot to keep an eye on them all, but he’s not there when Izuku looks, and he’s not anywhere else Izuku searches. The man is almost seven feet tall, and his hair is the wildest mess of blond curls, he shouldn’t be easy to lose.
Maybe he just went to the restroom or stepped out for a moment or something. Sasaki-san is still on the ice, working with one of the older skaters, so maybe Izuku can go ask him—
Before he can act on that though, one of the entrance doors slams open.
“We had this time booked,” someone snaps, a stranger Izuku has never seen met. He’s tall—not as tall as Izuku’s coach, though—with long black hair pulled back in a half-bun.
“And I’m telling you, they still have the rink for an hour!” One of the rink managers, Shiretoko-san, yells back. Her green hair is tied back with a headband today, thick ponytail streaming out behind her. “So you can just be patient and wait your turn!”
Izuku’s coach follows behind the two of them at a slower speed, hands raised to try to defuse the situation. “I’m sure we can work something out. Aizawa-kun doesn’t have that many students, does he? Perhaps we could share the rink, since they’re already here.”
Sasaki-san grinds to a stop near where the other three are arguing. “We will do no such thing.”
Around the rink, the various students all stop to watch the brewing catfight. Izuku and Uraraka are no exception, whispering to each other and speculating about what seems to be a scheduling mix-up.
Being at this particular end of the rink, they both notice when the other set of entrance doors open. They’re opened much quieter than the first set, the click and squeak drawing the two’s attention. Izuku and Uraraka both spin around to catch sight of whoever is entering.
It’s a boy their age, tall and slender with gravity-defying lavender hair. He has a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and glances around before tiptoeing down the stairs.
“We have a sneak,” Uraraka hisses, shoving at Izuku’s arm. He’s not paying attention to her, so a seemingly gentle shove sends him sprawling.
An unfamiliar voice snorts as Izuku gets back on his feet. Izuku whips around to catch sight of the stranger boy covering his mouth with a hand, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.
“Uh,” Izuku starts, and raises a hand to wave. “Hi?” His face is on fire. Did Uraraka really have to push him in front of a stranger? Now he’s covered in ice dust and she’s cackling like a hyena behind him.
The stranger boy looks away, letting his hand drop from his mouth just for it to migrate up to rub the back of his neck. “Hey.”
“Are you—is that your coach?” Izuku stammers, pointing at where Izuku’s coach, the stranger coach, Sasaki-san, and Shiretoko-san are still arguing.
“Yeah? What of it?” The stranger glares at Izuku, who backs up a smidge and puts his hands in the air.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it—”
But the boy is already walking away, back turned to Izuku and Uraraka, who has stopped laughing to clap a hand on Izuku’s shoulder.
“Looks like student and coach are both asses,” she says, patting his shoulder.
Izuku sighs. “I’m sure we just got off on the wrong foot.” As he speaks, determination fills him, a warmth chasing away the chill of the rink. “I’m going to go clear things up with him—thanks, Uraraka!”
“Hey, wait, Deku—” she calls, but he’s already skating off, catching up to where stranger boy walked off to.
Izuku leans over the rink wall. The stranger is sitting on a bench with one skate on, working on shoving his other foot into a skate as well. He glances up and glares at Izuku.
“What do you want?”
“I’m sorry,” Izuku says. “I really didn’t mean anything by that comment, I was just curious! My name is Midoriya Izuku. What’s yours?”
The boy blinks and shakes his head. “How much can I pay you to leave me alone?”
“Don’t even bother,” Uraraka yells from where she’s watching the exchange. “Once he’s decided you’re going to be his friend, that’s it! There’s no changing his mind, only delaying the inevitable.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll never see each other after today, so I don’t really see the point.” The boy finishes lacing up his other skate, tugging on the laces and cinching them down tight.
“We’ll never see each other after today.”
That sounds like a challenge.