Chapter Text
The bar reeks of cheap beer, sweaty bodies, and spilled liquor. It’s the living definition of a dive, shitty music rattling the walls, discarded drinks coating the sticky floor, the kind of place that an ad would describe as “having character,” but at twenty-fucking-three, Izuku Midoriya has had enough character for a lifetime.
Point taken. Never let Denki choose the bar.
He lifts his beer to his lips and takes a long sip, but it does little to temp down the nervous buzzing in his chest. Something that was served in an enclosed bottle seemed the safest bet, but he’s going to need something stronger if he’s going to survive the night.
It’s not that he hates going out - but it’s ten p.m. on a Wednesday night, he’d worked a nearly twelve-hour day and everyone is so, well, loud. He’ll get over the hum of anxiety in his chest, it’ll just take a few shots to get there. And maybe a few more.
“Izukuuuuuu.” Mina grabs his arm, pink fingers circling his wrist. She’s already two sheets to the wind as she drags him to the bar. “We’re doing shots.”
Enough said. “Shots of what?” Izuku pulls a stool up to the bar.
“I don’t know,” she laughs. “Denki ordered them.”
He can’t stop from making a face at that, but the desire to have a buzz wins out over the disgust towards whatever sugary, jet-fuel monstrosity shot he’s about to ingest. Someone slings an arm over him, and he jumps, before realizing it’s Denki, golden eyes glowing, already tipsy in his typical lightweight fashion.
Izuku lifts the shot glass to his lips and pauses. “What am I about to drink, Denks?”
“Mmm. Don’t know. Bubble gum something.”
He grits his teeth. “If this kills me, my ghost will haunt you.”
“Aww.” Denki leans into Izuku’s shoulder, putting all of his bodyweight into his arm. Thank god he’s still just as gangly as ever. “I missed you, Izu-ku. I’d be okay if your ghost haunted me.”
Izuku laughs as he throws the shot back. It burns as it goes down, searing his throat and leaving him coughing. “Jesus,” he gags. “You sure know how to pick them.”
Denki plucks a glass off the counter and downs it without blinking. “It’s not that bad.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Mmm. Maybe.” He giggles. “You like it. Admit it, you missed meee.”
Denki has always been a flirt when he’s intoxicated, and Izuku can’t help but be amused by it. It’s harmless, and it’s endearing, reminding of him of their third year at UA, of how Hanta and Denki used to sneak alcohol into the dorms, of how Aizawa pretended not to notice. He’d probably figured that after everything they’d been through, a little underage drinking wouldn’t kill anyone. And he would have been right - the memories made overruled any trouble they had gotten into, after all.
Everything had changed after that year.
Izuku pushes it out of his mind, throwing back another shot before nervously glancing around. “Is Kacchan coming?”
“Yeah, he and ‘Toshi get off at eleven. This is the closest we could get to getting the gang back together.”
He knows. Getting the schedules to all align is a bitch, one of the many reasons why Izuku barely gets to see his former class. He hums his agreement. The shots are starting to settle into his bloodstream, a comfortable buzz hitting his head. “I missed you guys.” It’s been too long since they had a proper reunion.
“You know, you can always hit us up. Doesn’t have to be a whole planned thing,” Mina chimes in from his other side, throwing her arm around his shoulder to meet Denki’s. “You’re a part of us too. Don’t have to wait for Denki to get stoned and mass text everyone.”
“I know,” Izuku says. He does know. But it’s always felt wrong, every time he’s been the one to reach out. Almost everyone from his former class works together, aside from Iida, who went to his family’s agency, Mineta, who, for good reason, switched careers entirely after the war, and a few others who scattered around. Everyone else joined the United Agency under Hawks, except for, well.
Izuku.
He hadn’t taken it personally, that his best friends had all worked together without him, knowing that it wasn’t personal, not at all really. But that hadn’t stopped the thought from creeping into his mind, during every lonely night, every time he laid in his room at UA thinking about how damn empty the campus had been, ever since his class had graduated. He’d gotten better at managing it, but it had never gotten less painful.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Izuku continues. “We all work a lot.”
“Just text the group chat!” Mina chirps. “There is always someone wanting to go out. Usually Denki,” she says, reaching around Izuku to poke him in the side.
Denki jolts away. “Hey!”
“I’m just saying, you have a problem, man.”
“You’re just jealous of how fun I am.” The bar door clinks open, and Denki turns on his heel sharply, his arm dropping off Izuku’s shoulders. “Toshi!” he calls, and then he’s gone, shuffling off.
Izuku turns too, to find Hitoshi and Kacchan walking in together, Hitoshi using a singular hand to reject Denki’s overeager hug while unraveling his black scarf with another. Kacchan kicks snow off his boots, scowling as he does so, proceeding to also push Denki aside with a sarcastic glower.
They lock eyes, and Izuku smiles. He hasn’t changed a bit.
Emboldened from the alcohol, he slides off his barstool and hurries over, throwing his arms around Kacchan’s broad shoulders with a casual warmness. “Kacchan!” he squeaks.
He makes a face as he shrugs Izuku off his shoulders. “Get off me, nerd,” he snarls, but there’s no malice behind it.
Izuku lets go, albeit reluctantly. “I missed you.”
Crimson eyes look him up and down. “Sparky’s already got you trashed, huh?”
“No! Just a shot or two.”
“Yeah, I know, I can smell it on you. What fucking monstrosity did he pick today?”
“Don’t know.” Izuku mulls. “Do you want one?”
“No,” he snaps. Izuku flashes him a look, widening his eyes, pouting, and he relents. It’s so damn easy, every time. “Fine. But just because I’ve been at work for twelve goddamn hours.”
Kacchan follows him back to the bar, settling onto an empty stool. Izuku grabs two shots of whatever Denki had ordered and they throw them back together, Kacchan making less of a face than he’d anticipated. He’d always had a higher tolerance for sweet drinks than Izuku did, after all, or maybe just a better poker face.
“So, twelve hours,” Izuku starts, before Kacchan waves him off.
“Don’ wanna talk about it.”
“You always work so much.”
“Trying to top the charts is hard work, nerd.”
Izuku frowns. That sounds wrong, but he’s not sure why. Maybe because Kacchan isn’t topping the charts the way he should, not at all, only breaching the top ten once in the last five years, and even then, just for a few days after a massive yakuza ring takedown. Then he’d opened his mouth in interviews afterwards and well, that was quickly gone.
Mina bumps into his side with her shoulder. “I think working on your media personality might do you better, if that’s still your goal.”
Kacchan elbows her back. “Tch. You sayin’ I don’t have a good personality?”
Her yellow eyes flash as she glances around playfully. “Denki,” she coos, “Let’s go dance!”
“You’re avoiding the question, Pinky!” Kacchan calls after her, but she’s gone, grabbing Denki’s hand and pulling him into the group of girls taking up the sad excuse of a dance floor. It’s really just a spare few feet of floor, that when the high top tables are pushed ever-so-carefully out of the way, is room for maybe a dozen people to dance.
“You think I have a good personality, right, Deku?” he asks.
“Mmm. The best.”
Kacchan laughs hoarsely. “Okay, now I know you’re drunk.”
Izuku protests, Kacchan keeps teasing, Izuku laughs until he’s dizzy. It’s like nothing has changed, even though everything has. Kacchan switches the shots to Fireball, a better decision for sure, two more shots down and everything is blurry, but in the best sort of way. His nerves fade, and he’s back laughing with his friends. Everything is normal.
Someone pulls him onto the dance floor. Ochako, he thinks. She spins him straight into the group, and he laughs as he’s thrown amongst them. Denki is back, flirty as ever, leaning into Izuku’s side and telling him all about his latest flings, before Eijirou and Hanta pulls him off of him to go play a game of pool in the corner. They invite him to come, but he’s far too dizzy to concentrate on anything, much less beating his friends at a game, so they grab Kacchan instead, bickering as they walk to the pool table about who has to be saddled on a team with Denki. Izuku finds himself crashed in a booth instead, his head in Mina’s lap as she combs through green curls with her fingers and rambles about how much they all miss him.
“...And you have no idea, there’s so many new fucking rules and legistration, and I’ve about had it. I swear every time we bring anyone in, it’s all paperwork, and everyone is so stupid that it’s always filed wrong, and all I think is how we need Izuku here to organize it all.”
“Mmm,” Izuku hums. “I’m not organized.” If his room is any indication.
“But you were always so good at homework. And you liked it,” she says, making a face. “Now it’s like we’re at each other’s throats every single day about who has to file what, Denki is playing dumb to go out of it, Katsuki is threatening war crimes every time it’s his turn, and so it falls to me, all the time, and it’s sooo sexist.”
“So you want me back around, just to do your paperwork?” Izuku frowns. “I don’t even need a quirk for that. Guess it suits me.”
“No, no!” Mina slaps a hand against her forehead. “I was just rambling, ‘Zuku, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just wrong without you.”
He closes his eyes, basking in the warmth of her hands as she plays with his curls. She’s always been so safe, one of the few people who was unashamedly honest with him after they all graduated. The truth is, despite all the promises he’d been given, over and over, by everyone, they had grown apart. When ten of your best friends all work together, in the same career, and you don’t, what else is going to happen? The group chat is always dry, and he’s tired of initiating, of sending messages into the void to hear nothing back.
He’ll always be the odd one out.
“Mina?” he asks.
“Yeah?”
“Does anyone ever talk about me?” Izuku swallows hard. “I mean, does anyone talk about me, without just mentioning that they want me to do their paperwork for them?”
Mina chuckles. “I never should have said anything about the paperwork. You’ll be fixated on that forever.”
Izuku wants to argue, but she’s right, so he doesn’t bother. “But do they?”
“Yeah, Zu. All the time. Katsuki is the worst. Every time he makes a mistake, every time he’s tired or cranky, which is a lot, you know him, he’s always snapping and grumbling that you should be here.”
That fills his chest with a warmth he can’t quite place. “Don’t let Kacchan hear that. He doesn’t make mistakes.”
She laughs again. “Right. But you’re missed, Izuku. You’re missed a lot.” She goes quiet after that, and Izuku can tell that she wants to say more. He lays in her lap for a minute, watching his friends play pool in the corner, watching as Kacchan makes a perfect shot and practically roar in Denki’s face that he’s holding the team on his shoulders. Hanta and Eijirou are winning. He must be so angry. It makes him giggle, just thinking about it.
Everything is a blur. He does another shot with Mina before she tabs out, having an early shift the next day. He ends up in the middle of a four-way dispute as to who cheated at the game of pool, until Kacchan threatens to crack a stick in half and skewer them all with it. Some people leave. Others join. His head spins, he thinks at some point he trips and almost falls, or maybe he does fall. It would explain how he ended up in a different booth with Kacchan, leaning into his shoulder while Kacchan tries unsuccessfully to get him to drink water.
“I’m going to kick Sparky’s ass,” he grumbles, setting the glass of water on the table in front of them. “No more vodka shots for you. Not now, not ever.”
“Mmm, nooo,” Izuku protests weakly, waving a hand weakly in front of him. “More.”
Kacchan slaps his hand and lifts the water glass to his lips again. “Water, Deku,” he growls.
Reluctantly, Izuku grabs the straw with his lips and takes several long sips. That satisfies Kacchan enough, and he sets the glass back on the table. He closes his eyes for a minute, willing his head to stop spinning, but not so much minding the buzz humming through his veins. He’s calm. He’s safe.
“I miss you,” he mumbles into Kacchan’s sleeve.
“Tch. You just saw me a few weeks ago.”
“A few weeks ago,” he whines. “Besides, it was at a charity event, and I barely got to talk to you.”
“Yeah.” Kacchan runs a hand through short blond hair and sighs. “Sorry, s’been busy. You know this. Won’t always be this way.”
“Yes it will.” He’s not in control of his words right now, not really, and everything he’s kept boxed inside the last year or so comes rising in his chest. “Everyone says it will be different, and nothing changes. It’s like I’m forgotten.”
Izuku can feel him grab his shoulders and shake, just slightly. “Stop it, ‘Zuku, no one has forgotten about you for a single day. Life just looks different now. You know this.”
“I hate my life,” he mutters.
“You don’t mean that.”
He doesn’t, not even one bit, but it doesn’t cover up the angry rush of loneliness that hits him, every day, every time he picks up his phone to no new messages, every time he eats dinner alone, goes back to his room alone.
“‘M really lonely, Kacchan.”
There’s quiet for a moment, then a sharp intake of breath. Kacchan lets go of his shoulders, and a strong arm settles against his back. “You gotta tell us these things, ‘Zu, we don’t hear from you and we assume you’re busy with teaching.”
“I am busy.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Don’t wanna be a bother.”
Kacchan groans. “You’re always so goddamn annoying, when you say shit like that, you know that? You never are, never can be.”
Izuku sighs, nestling against Kacchan’s arm. He’ll regret this in the morning, but for now, it’s closeness and it’s nice. “I miss you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Red eyes search around the room. Everyone is winding down, the time so obscenely late that none of them should really be out, not anymore. “We gotta get you home. Can’t teach the little shits well unless you sleep this one off.”
“They’re not shits,” Izuku weakly protests. “And I’m good.”
A hand ruffles his hair. “Sure, Deku.”
Izuku wakes with his alarm and the worst hangover he’s had in his adult life. He groans the minute light hits his eyes, feebly reaching to his nightstand, grabbing his water cup, and chugging as much as he can without hurling. He tosses a few ibuprofen in his mouth, washing them down before letting his head fall into his hands.
His alarm goes off again, and he grabs his phone and blindly fumbles to find the mute button. Apparently, in his drunken state last night, he’d felt the need to set twelve different alarms to avoid missing class. Probably not too bad of an idea, truth be told.
His head pounds, and he still fights the urge to be sick. Nope, never going out on a weeknight again. No matter how much they beg. Izuku knows that coordinating their schedules is a bitch, but really, a fucking Wednesday?
Even though everything in him is screaming to stay in bed, to call in sick, it’s not his nature to ever skip out on a day of class, so Izuku drags himself out of bed and splashes water on his face until he feels, well, at least alive. He gets dressed quickly, needing to grab some caffeine on the way to class, at least so he can give up the sense of put-togetherness, even if it’s a massive ruse. They’re kids. They’ll buy it. Right?
Green curls lay rumpled, and the damp hand he runs over them does little to tamper down the frizz, but it’s the best he can do. By the time he’s ready, all Izuku has time to do is grab an energy drink and a protein bar from the vending machine in the lobby before shuffling off to his classroom. There’s already a few students milling about, and he swallows hard before he enters the room, steadying himself, forcing the persona of professional, proficient teacher on, even though he truthfully wants to curl up and die.
No dying, Kacchan would say.
Izuku smiles.
Maybe he’s going to be okay.
The energy drink keeps him awake, but hardly focused. There’s a reason why Kacchan made him swear them off his final year at UA, after all. Izuku is bouncing around the classroom, heart rate through the roof, swinging back and forth from foot to foot, but he’s awake and still talking, so it’s a win. Besides, the lesson he’d prepared last weekend on hero ethics is holding his attention, and he’s midway through a long rambling rant when he’s abruptly cut off.
“Midoriya-sensei?”
Izuku stops talking mid sentence, eyes shooting up from the scattered notes on his desk to find Kota, hand raised in the air for god knows how long. He’s been known to ignore raised hands, not of any malicious intention, but because he gets so lost in his lecture that he forgets to pay attention to the twenty sets of eyes watching him.
“Yes, Kota?”
“Someone’s at the door.”
Only then does he hear the knocking, rattling the door, growing louder every few seconds. Izuku jumps slightly, before hurrying over and pulling the door open before it flies off the hinges.
It’s Kacchan, fully decked out in his hero outfit, gloved hand loosely holding a bag of takeout in his direction. He leans against the door frame, a lazy smile on his lips.
“Kacch-I mean, Dynamight!” Izuku trips over his words, trying to cling to the aura of professionalism in this classroom. Sometimes, it’s really damn hard. “What are you doing here?”
Kacchan waves the takeout bag back and forth, as if that’s supposed to answer the question. “When’s your lunch?”
Izuku glances over his shoulder at the clock. “Err, about ten minutes.” Less, if he dismisses now.
“Hmm.” Kacchan mulls for a minute before leaning into the classroom and waving at the kids. “‘Sup, little shits.”
“Kacchan-” he hisses, color flushing to his cheeks. The students aren’t bothered at all, probably used to being called a whole lot worse by some of the other teachers, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is fucking embarrassing. He watches Kota’s eyes flash around the room, a snarky grin crossing his cheeks, as he already knows he’s going to get it later, especially from that one.
Izuku walks back to his desk and slaps his notes shut. “Class dismissed, be back at one.”
Kacchan waves cheerily at the students as they file out, offering sarcastic high-fives to some of them as they shuffle past. Only when they’re all gone does he step into the classroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it.
“Such an honor to see you in action, Midoriya-sensei,” he says with a smirk. “Never thought I’d live to see you be a real adult, little gremlins looking up to you and everything.”
Izuku scowls. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought you’d be glad to see me.”
His face immediately softens. “I didn’t say I wasn’t, Kacchan, it’s just.” He pauses. “It’s been five years, and you’ve never stopped by.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Kacchan once again extends the bag. “Figured we could eat lunch.”
“Is that for me?”
“Are you ever going to stop asking such fucking stupid questions?” He makes a face as he strides towards Izuku’s desk and sets the bag atop it. “Of course it is. Figured you wouldn’t have any.”
“Hey!” Izuku jumps to defend himself. “I have a protein bar. You’re a jerk.”
“Not a real meal, nerd. Throw that shit away. Brought you udon.”
“Thanks, Kacchan.”
“You got an office or something?”
“Uh, yeah. But I usually just eat in here. It’s kind of, uh,” he pauses, not entirely sure how to explain.
“A giant fucking mess?” Kacchan finishes.
“Uh, kinda, yeah.” Izuku scratches nervously at his head. “I have lots of papers I uh, haven’t graded, they’re everywhere. I mean, I graded some, but I haven’t put the grades in, and I was going to do that last night but then Kaminari texted me and you know, the night kind of, uh, got away from me and I haven’t had a chance to-”
“Enough, enough, I get it.” Kacchan settles into a chair on the first row of the classroom and throws his boots up on the desk. “This is fine, nerd.”
“Okay.” Izuku claims the desk beside him, and Kacchan tosses him a container of noodles. He opens it, and the smell immediately makes him sigh. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until that exact moment. “Damn. Thank you.”
“Best not let the little shits hear you, with language like that.”
“Oh, fuck off, Kacchan.”
The blond throws his head back and laughs. The sound is like music in Izuku’s ears. “I didn’t know that Midoriya-sensei said ‘fuck’ now. Oh, how we’ve all grown.”
“You’re a bad influence,” Izuku mutters, taking a bite of the udon and audibly groaning. Like everything Kacchan has ever given him, it’s delicious. That, or he’s just starving. Maybe both.
“Whatever, nerd. Brought you food, you can shut it.”
He’s right, so Izuku doesn’t tease further, instead grabbing his half-finished energy drink and taking a long swig. Kacchan slams his feet on the floor abruptly, and he jumps suddenly, half-dropping the can back onto his desk.
“What the actual fuck is that, Deku?” He snarls. He leans towards him and grabs the can off the desk, studying it for a minute before slapping it back down. “This stuff is shit. Are you fucking serious?”
“It’s just a Celsius!” Izuku squeaks, fumbling to take the can back.
“Do you know how goddamn awful that shit is for you?” Kacchan falls back into his chair, groaning dramatically as if he’s been personally wounded. “Lethal dose of caffeine. Artificial sweeteners. Fucking chemicals. Jesus Christ, Deku, you’d drop dead if left to your own devices.”
“I would not!”
“Oh really? You’re hungover as fuck, and your idea of recovery is a fucking energy drink and a protein bar? Bet you haven’t even touched the protein bar.”
Izuku opens his mouth to argue back, then snaps it shut. He’s right. Of course. “I’m eating now!”
“Yeah, because I brought your dumb ass food.” Kacchan rolls his eyes. “I swear to god, you’ll be the death of me.”
“Haven’t I been already?” Izuku points out, then grimaces. Touchy subject.
“Jesus, Deku.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
They eat in silence for a few moments, no sounds besides the slurping of noodles and the churning of students milling about in the hallway. True to form, Kacchan finishes his food first, pushing his empty container aside and glancing back over at Izuku.
“We gon’ talk about what you said last night?”
Heat flushes to Izuku’s cheeks. Most of last night is a blur, but he distinctly remembers leaning all over Kacchan and whining about being pathetic and lonely. “Nope,” he says.
“Tough shit, nerd, we’re gonna talk about it.”
Izuku groans, shoveling the last few bites of his udon into his mouth. “Please, just forget about it. I was really drunk.”
“Yeah, and we’ll talk about that dumbass choice later,” Kacchan growls. “But I know you, I know you meant the shit you said, even if you didn’t mean to say it.”
Izuku grimaces, face falling into his hands, feeling the headache start to creep back in. “Great, so you think I’m a pathetic loser now, too.”
“God, Zuku, no one thinks that. Jus’ don’t like hearing you say you hate your life, s’all.”
“I don’t hate my life,” Izuku quickly amends. “I was just missing everyone. That’s it.”
“Yeah, and I get it, but you gotta say something.”
Izuku stands and grabs the empty food containers, taking a second to gather his thoughts as he tosses them in the trash can in the corner of the room. “You all work so much. My feelings are not your burden.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Kacchan rolls his eyes. “No one thinks you’re a burden. Even though I haven’t been around, you matter to me, can you get that through your thick fucking skull?”
“No,” Izuku deadpans. “I am a dumbass, after all.”
He laughs again, and it hits Izuku just how much he’s missed this. The last five years have been good and shitty all at once, and somehow this, today, somehow makes it okay.
“I was honest about one part of it,” Izuku admits. “I did miss you. Missed this. Feels like you work a lot.”
“Mmm. For once, you’re right about somethin’.” Kacchan sighs. “Work a damn lot.”
“More than the others, it seems.”
“I don’t mind. Like the work, ya know.”
“Yeah,” Izuku concedes. “Doesn’t change the fact that I miss you.”
“I’ll come around more. Promise.”
He’s never known Kacchan to say something he doesn’t mean, so he simply nods. “Thanks, Kacchan.”
“Everyone misses you, Deku,” he says gruffly. “Even me, okay?”
“I know.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I mostly just miss kicking your ass.”
Izuku smiles. “I know.”
“Good.” Kacchan glances at the clock on the wall and audibly groans. “I gotta go. I’m on in twenty, and Shinsou will have my ass if I’m late again.”
“Are you two friends now or something?”
Kacchan laughs shallowly. “Me and the mind fucker? No. We just work graveyard shifts a lot.” He stands slowly and stretches with a grunt. “These desks are a lot more goddamn uncomfortable than I remember.”
“They’re not so bad.”
“Sure, nerd.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing from the doorway, and Izuku Midoriya is alone again, somehow feeling an even bigger hole than before.