Chapter Text
Izuku leaned all of his weight against the trunk door of his minivan. This was his fourth try, and finally, it didn’t pop back open from the bulging bags of clothes and books, furniture he couldn’t leave behind, and every piece of his life from these past four years.
He kept his eyes on the door for an extra five seconds, just to be sure. When it stayed, he sighed, overwhelmed but relieved, and dragged himself to the driver’s seat.
He couldn’t see through the back window, which would make this more difficult. But, luckily, he’d made the drive home from college more times than he could remember—and, well, he wasn’t about to rearrange for a minute longer. Beside him, Seaweed seemed to be fast asleep, her gentle breathing body shifting the mesh of her carrier every few seconds.
Izuku fastened his seatbelt. He couldn’t cry anymore, couldn’t weep out the feelings for one more stupid minute, so he wiped his eyes once, defying what had swelled there, and turned on his car.
As he drove through campus, he smiled, waved, at favorite trees and acquaintances, and let this wonderful place wash over him one last time.
The best way home was right along the coast.
It was probably half an hour slower than the straight shot highway route back into town, and the asphalt of the road was more mangled and broken every time he made the trip—from the water rising, infiltrating, eating up the land. But he took it anyway. Anything was worth it for the sake of the view, the sun glimmering off the ocean on a nice day, waves breaking against the dark, pointed rocks, salt air pouring through the pines. If he kept his windows down, he’d catch whiffs of it the whole way back.
Today, though, his windows were up. Rain swelled on and off, patchy, bits of faraway storms coloring the ocean’s horizon with dark streaks. The blues piled up against each other, clouds eighteen shades alone, grey-white, baby blue, all dancing against the seasick green of the saltwater. The place where the ocean met the sky looked like what it felt to dream.
Seaweed trilled from her carrier at the sound of the drizzle deepening on the windshield. Izuku smiled, reaching one hand beneath the zipper to rub the soft place between her ears. She trilled again, this time in appreciation.
His playlist must have ended, because the music changed from sloughs of melancholy piano to “Don’t Let Me Down,” a late Beatles single. Izuku felt his body change, hands tightening on the steering wheel as his speakers vibrated with the opening melody, mantra, and then the first verse / Nobody every loved me like she does / Oh, she does / Yes, she does /
Katsuki showed this song to him years ago, as they were listening through each other's favorite albums together. Izuku remembered bits of context—that this one seemed to be a sort of nod at the band’s early fame, the love and naivety that they couldn’t get back / I’m in love for the first time / Don’t you know it’s gonna last? / It’s a love that lasts forever / It’s a love that has no past—
Izuku pressed skip.
Then, he looked back at the ocean, taking in the endlessness of it, the rain that persisted. All of those blues, consumed by one.
It was the height of afternoon when Izuku pulled into the driveway of his house, but it felt closer to evening with how dark the sky had become. Thick pines stretched overhead, some so tall that their tops were covered in cottony bits of sky.
He didn’t feel like unpacking yet—needed to stretch, drink some water, and let Seaweed do the same. So he grabbed her carrier, his keys from the console, and headed outside.
The front doormat was floral, rustly straw, weathered and crunchy beneath his feet. It was ugly out there, somehow uglier every time he saw the thing, but he didn't have the heart to pitch it. Rearranging this place always felt like a betrayal, even after almost two years since his Grandpa passed.
Seaweed meowed.
“I know, I know,” he said to her, and he jingled the keys into the lock and opened the door.
The place smelled stale. Izuku flipped on the light switch, and the house hummed to life. The overhead light casted a dull wash over the furniture, the green living room carpet, and as soon as Seaweed’s carrier was unzipped, she hopped into action, trilling as she zoomed around the space. She did this every time they got back, excited to refamiliarize herself with the old house. And rub up against every single piece of furniture she could find.
Izuku sat down on that old, cream couch, a small puff of dust lifted when he put his weight on it. The grandfather clock across the room sent soft clicks through the space. It was another thing he didn’t have the heart to move, even though its seconds were a notch too slow.
Izuku felt the threat of tears again, something about the sound getting to him. But then Seaweed was at his feet, rubbing against his calves, and Izuku shook his head and took a deep breath. He grabbed his cat into his lap, where she curled into his touch and lifted her chin to be stroked beneath.
His phone was on silent all afternoon, since he didn’t want to get distracted by it on the drive. When he grabbed it from his pocket and turned it off of focus, his lockscreen flooded with notifications from his friends at school, goodbyes, “Got home’s,” “It can’t be over’s” “Come back, come back, come back—
Izuku scrolled past them all, overwhelmed, until he noticed a different type of message. Ochako’s.
Ochako: Hi baby! Let me know when you get back into town. We have plans tonight ;3
Izuku smiled. Instinctively, he opened the message and started typing that it’d been a long day, that he didn’t think he’d be up for it tonight, but then he looked around at the room again, imagining the silence of a night alone—imagining her smile, and how much he missed it—and he hearted her message, typing,
Izuku: what time?
Three hours later, Ochako was outside his door with her arms wide open. She slammed into Izuku, hugging him so deep that he could feel it in his bones.
“Oh, ‘zu,” she said, into his hair. “Feels like it’s been ages.”
Izuku held her tight. She smelled like warm vanilla, like home—so much better than his house. “Because it has,” said Izuku.
They were in frequent contact, but hadn't seen each other in person since early last summer. Izuku spent the late summer working up at school, and she spent the winter holiday down in Florida with Mina—a vacation to celebrate their engagement.
When Ochako let him go, she wiped her eyes, still smiling.
“We did it,” she said.
“Some of us better than others,” said Izuku.
Ochako scrunched her nose, laughing a little. “A degree’s a degree.”
“A degree’s a degree, unless the degree says valedictorian, you have an engagement ring on your finger, and I own a romance novel with your name on the cover.”
Ochako laughed harder, pride in her eyes and red on her cheeks. They were still in the doorway, that bristly welcome mat beneath their shoes.
“So, you do see my Instagram stories,” said Ochako, crossing her arms, brows raised and teasing. “You never like them, or anything.”
Izuku chuckled. “I do! Or, I like the, uhm—posts—”
“Yeah, well, if you’re looking at my story without liking it, why are you even looking in the first place?”
“I swear, the etiquette's always changing for these—”
“Seaweed!”
When Ochako noticed Seaweed rubbing against her leg, she immediately lowered herself to rub the animal between her ears, along her back fur, under her chin. “Awwh, you’re so lucky. My cat avoids anyone it meets. Has she gotten even cuter? I swear, she's even cuter than last time.”
Izuku’s chest warmed. He said, “Come inside,” and both of them followed.
For an hour or so, Ochako helped Izuku put the last of his school stuff away. It was a grueling task, something that he always dreaded doing alone. Having company made it lighter. They were on the final bag of clothes, at least. They left the bins of books for later.
“We’ll have to start getting ready in fifteen minutes,” said Ochako, after checking the time at some intermittent moment of the evening.
Izuku forgot about their plans. He said, “Where are we going?”
Ochako smirked back at him, a pair of Izuku’s half-folded jeans in her hands, and Izuku knew he wasn’t going to like the answer. “It’s a surprise,” she said.
“Does it have to be?”
Laughing, Ochako said, “Yes.”
Izuku groaned, but his smile shined through it. He slumped back on his bed, gaze falling on the dressertop of dusty trophies—all of those years of chess tournaments, incarnate. At the foot of one of the bigger ones sat a weathered black bracelet, twinkling with the charm of a knight. He didn’t remember putting it there.
Ochako’s eyes followed his gaze, but she mistook the nature of it.
“Do you ever miss playing?”
Izuku looked back at her. “Sometimes,” he said.
“You still could. There are some community clubs around town, you know? Mina and I were thinking of joining one, just for something new to do.”
Izuku sat up, plucking a t-shirt from the small pile of unfolded laundry beside him. He said, “Is that where we’re going tonight?”
Ochako huffed. “Even after all these years, you still don’t know how to relax, go with the flow.”
“I know how to relax.”
“You’re learning,” said Ochako, onto a new pair of jeans. “You’ll like it, don’t worry.”
Izuku rolled his eyes, fakely overdramatic, smiling through it. “How am I supposed to dress, if I don’t know where we’re going?”
“Queer.”
Izuku blinked. “What?”
“Dress queer,” said Ochako. “I’m not saying anything else.”
The Uber driver that picked them up was a woman who knew Ochako’s name from her novel. As soon as they entered, she started talking to her about it; Ochako glowed, smiling with complete joy and honor. Almost five minutes in, and Izuku still hadn’t said a word.
“—and the beach scene, when they where—oh, it was so steamy! And then, in the hotel—”
The driver gawked, cutting herself off. Izuku blushed in the back of the vehicle.
He’d dressed like he always did, supposing it was queer enough for whatever this was; a pair of baggy jeans and a green, long-sleeved tee that, he thought, hung off of him nicely.
The rolling trees deepened in color as they travelled further from the ocean, and into the woods. The ferns got lusher, some of them so big and unkempt that they brushed against the right side of the car as they passed. Everything was still fog-capped, and Izuku zoned in and out of the conversation, getting lost in what surrounded. It seemed like they were going to the middle of nowhere.
When, after yards and years of nothing, they pulled into a bar, he realized why Ochako wouldn’t let them drive. She glanced back at him when they came to a stop. Izuku reciprocated her smile, and then looked back at the bar. Up front, in a twirly pink sign, read “Sally’s,” and beside the front door, wooden rainbows and flyers lined the doorway. Warm twinkly lights hung off the gutters. The building seemed to radiate warmth, an old-fashioned chimney huffing smoke out the top. It joined the fog. Music and chatter buzzed through the cracked windows. The sky was almost black.
When they removed themselves from the car, Ochako autographed a piece of paper for the driver, and then pulled her fan into a hug. They waved at each other as she drove away.
Sally’s lot was packed to the brim, cars parked all the way on the grass.
“Looks like every gay person in town’s here tonight,” said Ochako.
Izuku realized, a few seconds into scanning the lot, whose car he was looking for, and he stopped, shook his head to clear it, and turned his attention to Ochako. “How’d you find this place?”
Ochako shrugged. “Looked it up. I didn’t know if we had one in town.”
“Me neither,” said Izuku. “It’s wonderful.” He meant it. It was reassuring to know that his hometown had a place like this, a little sanctuary out in the middle of the woods. He wished he knew about it sooner.
“By the way,” said Ochako, giving him a wild look. “I can go home with Mina and pick up my car in the morning, if you want to take someone home.”
Izuku raised his brows at her, laughing a little. “You trying to get me laid?”
“Something like that,” said Ochako. She hooked her arm around Izuku’s and looked back at the entrance. “Shall we?”
The inside was even more cozy and spectacular. The pink-warm lighting shadowed the walls, dancing off the wood panels and bringing to life posters of drag queens and movies and pride flags of every kind. It was packed, everyone hanging off of each other, but there was no sense of danger. No feeling of too much. A fire burned from a little place in the corner of the room, the brightest thing in there. And the door in the back swung open, closed, revealing an outside porch area full of even more folks.
Mina stood near the door with a couple of others, probably waiting there to greet them, and when she noticed their arrival, she screamed and pulled Izuku into a bear hug.
“Izuku!” Her hair rubbed softly against Izuku’s neck, words slurring. “I can’t believe you came.” When she pulled away, she scanned Izuku up and down, patting him, as if she wasn’t convinced he was solid. Then, she saw Ochako, and her attention narrowed. She grabbed Ochako by the waist and pulled her into a deep kiss. When they parted, she raised her drink in the air and yelled, “That’s my future wife!”
The whole bar roared with sound—claps, cracks, hollers. Ochako laughed, looking momentarily self-conscious, but then Mina kissed the look off her face.
Izuku kept smiling. He didn’t recognize Mina’s new friends, so he introduced himself. They were co-workers, he found out. And somehow, they’d heard about Izuku.
“Good things, I hope?”
The pair laughed, and said, “Good things!”
The bar seemed to have rooms even further back, or upstairs, this sense of movement coursing through the space. People disappearing past corners. He wanted a drink. And, he thought, he’d grab one for Ochako too—who was deep still in conversation with Mina a few feet away. Izuku thought he caught some of it, a recall of the Uber experience. Rosé cider was half off, said the wooden sign on the counter. Izuku jammed himself between two people sitting at the bar. A tight squeeze, but luckily, the bartender noticed him right away.
“I’ll take one of those,” he said, pointing at the cider sign.
The bartender smiled sweetly back at him. Their lips were pierced in multiple places, and spindly tattoos crept up their neck. “Open or closed?”
“Open,” said Izuku. He pulled out his card, handing it to the tender, and let his gaze drag along the rows of liquor bottles, backdropped by neon rainbow lights that lit up their bodies, and the polaroids, and the scraps of notes along the wall, and—
And then, finally, Izuku saw him.
Katsuki Bakugou, in a black tank top that showed off the muscles of his arm, his neck, perfectly. His hair was roughed up, shaggier and long in a way Izuku’d never seen it, and his cargo pants hugged his thighs like a dream.
Izuku followed Katsuki’s jet-red gaze, his sparkling smile, and found the man Katsuki was looking at.
Not just looking. Leaning against the other end of the bar, one arm wrapped around his waist.