BAKUGO KATSUKI

The news alert came through at 2:47 PM on a Thursday.

Katsuki was in his agency's training room, running combat drills with his sidekicks, when his phone buzzed insistently against his hip. He ignored it-he was in the middle of demonstrating a new explosive technique-but it buzzed again. And again.

"Take five," he barked at his team, pulling out his phone.

Three news alerts. All the same headline: DEKU ENGAGES VILLAIN IN DOWNTOWN SAPPORO - LIVE COVERAGE

His thumb moved before his brain caught up, opening the live stream.

The footage was shaky-someone's phone camera from street level-but clear enough. Deku was in full hero gear, moving with that distinctive fluid grace that came from years of mastering One For All. The villain was massive, some kind of mutation quirk that had turned him into a walking fortress of stone and metal, easily three stories tall.

Katsuki's chest tightened reflexively. The villain was huge. But as he watched, his tactical mind kicked in, analyzing the fight with professional detachment.

Deku wasn't panicking. Wasn't desperate. He was working.

The villain swung a massive fist, and Deku activated Float, rising smoothly out of range. Not wasting energy on a big jump, just efficient movement. He hovered for a split second, analyzing, then dove back down with Fa Jin charged in his legs, the kinetic energy propelling him forward in a blur of green lightning.

The impact against the villain's shoulder was precise-not trying to break through the armor, just testing its integrity. Gathering information.

Smart. That was smart fighting.

The villain roared, spinning with surprising speed for something that size, and Deku was already gone, using Danger Sense to predict the movement before it happened. He landed on a nearby building's fire escape, and Katsuki could see him muttering to himself even through the grainy footage-analyzing, calculating, planning.

Always thinking. Can't just fight, has to understand everything first.

The villain charged, and Deku switched tactics. Blackwhip erupted from his arms, multiple tendrils wrapping around the creature's legs. Not trying to restrain it completely-that would be impossible with something that strong-but redirecting its momentum, making it stumble.

The moment it was off-balance, Deku activated Gearshift.

The world seemed to slow down around him-or rather, he sped up, moving so fast the camera could barely track him. He was on the villain's back in an instant, one hand pressed against the weak point where stone met metal at the base of its neck.

Delaware Smash. Controlled, focused, just enough power to crack the armor without causing collateral damage to the surrounding buildings.

The villain howled, reaching back to grab him, but Deku was already moving again. Float to gain height, Fa Jin to build momentum, then a devastating aerial kick enhanced with the full power of One For All that sent the creature crashing into the reinforced plaza the police had been evacuating.

It didn't get back up.

The whole fight had taken maybe four minutes.

Katsuki realized he'd been holding his breath. He forced himself to exhale slowly, his hands tight around his phone.

That was... that was good work. Clean, efficient, tactical. Deku had used seven different quirks in four minutes, switching between them as naturally as breathing, each one deployed exactly when and where it was needed. No wasted movement. No unnecessary risks.

He's gotten better. Stronger. More controlled.

The thought should have been satisfying. Professional pride in a colleague's growth. Instead, it made something hot and uncomfortable twist in Katsuki's gut.

Deku was fighting alone. In Sapporo. Hundreds of miles away. And Katsuki had just watched it happen on a phone screen like every other civilian, completely unable to do anything if something had gone wrong.

Not that anything had gone wrong. Deku had handled it perfectly. Didn't need backup. Didn't need-

His phone was still in his hand. His thumb hovered over Deku's contact.

Just checking in. Professional courtesy. That's what colleagues do.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Saw your fight. Transition between Float and Fa Jin was clean. Don't get sloppy.

He hit send before he could overthink it, then immediately wanted to take it back. That sounded too... invested. Too much like he'd dropped everything to watch.

Which he had.

But Deku didn't need to know that.

The response came faster than expected.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Kacchan! Thanks! I was actually worried about that transition timing. The villain was faster than I expected.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Wait, you were watching the live coverage? I didn't think it would make national news that fast!

Katsuki's jaw tightened. Of course Deku would notice. Of course he'd question it.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Got the news alert. Was in the middle of training.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Oh! Sorry if I interrupted your session. You didn't have to watch!

Didn't have to. Like it had been a choice. Like Katsuki's fingers hadn't moved on autopilot the second he'd seen Deku's name in the headline.

Before Katsuki could figure out how to respond, another message came through.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Todoroki-kun just texted me too! He had some really good observations about my Blackwhip control. Were you both watching?

Katsuki stared at his phone.

Half-and-Half had texted him. About the fight. At the same time Katsuki had.

That meant Todoroki had been watching too. Had dropped whatever he was doing the moment the news alert came through. Had felt compelled to reach out, to offer feedback, to make contact.

Just like Katsuki had.

Something hot and possessive flared in Katsuki's chest, sharp enough to make his breath catch. They'd both been watching. Both been tracking Deku's movements closely enough to get immediate alerts. Both been unable to just let it go without saying something.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: What did Half-and-Half say?

MIDORIYA IZUKU: He noticed I'm using Blackwhip more fluidly now! Better control than last month, he said. And he wants to talk about coordination exercises when I'm back in the area.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: It's so nice that you both pay such close attention! I really appreciate the feedback.

Pay such close attention. Yeah. That was one way to put it.

Katsuki's thumb hovered over the keyboard. He should say something casual. Something that didn't reveal how his heart had been in his throat for those four minutes. Something that didn't acknowledge the uncomfortable realization that he and Todoroki had both been doing the exact same thing at the exact same time.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: You didn't mention you had an operation today.

The message sat there, accusatory in a way Katsuki hadn't intended. He watched the three dots appear and disappear several times as Deku typed and deleted responses.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: It came up kind of last minute. Emergency response to a villain sighting. I didn't want to bother you guys while you were working!

Didn't want to bother them. Like they wouldn't want to know. Like it was somehow an imposition to keep them informed.

Katsuki's jaw clenched. He typed and deleted three different responses before settling on:

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Next time you're in Tokyo, we're doing training drills. Your transition timing needs work.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Sounds great! I should be back in the area next week. Can't wait!

Katsuki shoved his phone back in his pocket and returned to the training room. His sidekicks were waiting, looking at him expectantly.

"Alright, break's over," he barked. "Let's go again. And this time, don't telegraph your movements so obviously. If I can see you coming from a mile away, so can any villain worth their salt."

They jumped back into formation, and Katsuki threw himself into the training with aggressive focus. Anything to stop thinking about green lightning and fluid quirk transitions and the uncomfortable knowledge that Todoroki had been watching too.

That they'd both reached out.

That Deku hadn't told them about the operation beforehand.

That it bothered him more than it should.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto was in a strategy meeting when the news alert came through.

His phone was face-down on the conference table, set to silent, but he felt the vibration. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.

He ignored it. He was in the middle of discussing patrol routes with his team, and checking his phone in the middle of a meeting would be unprofessional.

The fourth vibration made his hand twitch toward the device.

"Todoroki-san?" His second-in-command was looking at him with concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," Shoto said, but his hand was already moving, flipping the phone over.

Four news alerts. All about Midoriya.

DEKU ENGAGES VILLAIN IN DOWNTOWN SAPPORO - LIVE COVERAGE

His heart rate spiked. He was on his feet before he'd consciously decided to move.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "I need to take this. Continue without me."

He was out of the conference room and pulling up the live stream before anyone could respond.

The footage loaded on his phone screen, and Shoto's analytical mind immediately began cataloging details. Villain: mutation-type quirk, approximately nine meters tall, stone and metal composition. Threat level: significant but manageable for a top-tier hero. Civilian presence: minimal, evacuation in progress.

And Midoriya, moving through the fight with practiced precision.

Shoto watched him activate Float, the way his body rose smoothly into the air without wasted energy. Watched him charge Fa Jin in his legs, the green lightning crackling around him as he built kinetic force. Watched him deploy Blackwhip with fluid control, the dark tendrils wrapping around the villain's legs like extensions of his own body.

Beautiful. The word rose unbidden in Shoto's mind again, and this time he didn't push it away fast enough.

Not beautiful. Impressive. Tactically sound. Professionally executed.

But the way Midoriya moved, the confidence in every gesture, the seamless transitions between quirks-it was beautiful. There was no other word for it.

Shoto's chest felt tight as he watched Midoriya activate Gearshift, his body blurring with speed as he closed the distance to the villain. The precision of that final Delaware Smash, the way Midoriya had calculated exactly how much force to use to incapacitate without causing excessive collateral damage-

Four minutes. The entire fight had taken four minutes.

Shoto realized he'd been holding his breath. He forced himself to exhale, his fingers tight around his phone.

Midoriya was fine. The fight was over. The villain was down. Everything had gone according to plan.

So why did Shoto's heart still feel like it was trying to break through his ribs?

He should go back to the meeting. His team was waiting. This was unprofessional, abandoning a strategy session to watch news coverage of another hero's fight.

Instead, he opened his messages and started typing.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Saw your fight on the news. Your Blackwhip control has improved significantly. More fluid than last month.

He hesitated, then added:

TODOROKI SHOTO: Let me know when you're free. We should discuss coordination exercises.

Professional. Collegial. The kind of message one hero sent to another after observing their technique.

Nothing more complicated than that.

The response came quickly.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Todoroki-kun! Thanks! I was actually worried about that transition timing. Do you think the delay between Float and Fa Jin was noticeable?

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Also, were you watching the live coverage? I didn't think it would make national news that fast!

Shoto's fingers moved across the keyboard.

TODOROKI SHOTO: It made national news within three minutes. The delay was minimal-most villains wouldn't exploit it. But someone with enhanced perception might.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Good point. I'll work on that. Hey, Kacchan texted me about the fight too! Were you both watching?

Shoto's hand froze over his phone.

Bakugo had texted him. About the fight. At the same time Shoto had.

That meant Bakugo had been watching too. Had dropped whatever he was doing-training, probably, knowing him-to watch Midoriya's fight. Had felt compelled to reach out afterward.

Just like Shoto had.

The realization settled in his chest, heavy and uncomfortable. They'd both been watching. Both been tracking Midoriya closely enough to get immediate alerts. Both been unable to just observe without making contact.

TODOROKI SHOTO: I wasn't aware Bakugo was watching as well.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Yeah! He had some good feedback about my transition timing too. It's so nice that you both pay such close attention! I really appreciate it.

Pay such close attention. That was certainly one way to describe the way Shoto had abandoned a strategy meeting the moment Midoriya's name appeared in a news alert.

TODOROKI SHOTO: You didn't mention you had an operation scheduled today.

The message felt more pointed than Shoto had intended. He watched the three dots appear and disappear as Midoriya typed.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: It was kind of last minute! Emergency response. I didn't want to bother you guys while you were working!

Didn't want to bother them. As if knowing Midoriya was walking into a fight wouldn't be preferable to finding out about it through breaking news coverage.

Shoto's jaw tightened. He started typing a response, then stopped. What was he supposed to say? That he wanted to be informed of Midoriya's operations? That watching him fight on a phone screen made something possessive and uncomfortable burn in his chest? That the thought of Midoriya facing danger without Shoto's knowledge felt wrong in a way he couldn't articulate?

All of that was too revealing. Too much.

TODOROKI SHOTO: I'd prefer to know in advance next time. For coordination purposes.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Of course! I'll keep you both in the loop. Thanks for watching out for me!

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Kacchan mentioned training drills next week when I'm back in Tokyo. Want to join?

Shoto's response was immediate.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Yes. Let me know when you're available.

He stared at his phone for a long moment after Midoriya's enthusiastic confirmation. Then he opened a new message thread.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Bakugo.

The response came after a few seconds.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: What.

TODOROKI SHOTO: You texted Midoriya about his fight.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: So did you.

TODOROKI SHOTO: We were both watching.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Yeah. So?

Shoto's fingers hovered over the keyboard. What was he trying to say? That it meant something that they'd both been watching? That they'd both reached out at the same time? That they were both clearly more invested in Midoriya's safety than either of them wanted to admit?

TODOROKI SHOTO: He didn't tell us about the operation beforehand.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: I know.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: He said it was last minute. Emergency response.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Do you believe that?

A longer pause this time.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Does it matter? He handled it fine.

TODOROKI SHOTO: That's not the point.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Then what is the point, Half-and-Half?

Shoto stared at the message. What was the point? That he wanted to know when Midoriya was in danger? That watching him fight from hundreds of miles away made him feel helpless in a way he hated? That the thought of Midoriya keeping operations from them felt like a rejection he had no right to feel?

TODOROKI SHOTO: Never mind. I'll see you next week for training.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Yeah. Next week.

Shoto set his phone down and returned to the conference room. His team looked up as he entered, questions in their eyes, but he waved them off.

"Continue," he said, settling back into his seat.

But his mind wasn't on patrol routes or strategy anymore. It was on green lightning and fluid quirk transitions and the uncomfortable knowledge that Bakugo had been watching too.

That they'd both reached out.

That Midoriya hadn't told them beforehand.

That it bothered him more than it should.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Izuku finally made it back to his temporary apartment in Sapporo at 6:30 PM, exhausted and covered in stone dust.

The fight had gone well-better than expected, actually. The villain had been tough, but Izuku had managed to take him down without any civilian casualties or major property damage. His quirk control was getting better, more instinctive. He'd barely had to think about the transitions between Float and Fa Jin, between Blackwhip and Gearshift. It was all becoming second nature.

All Might would be proud.

His phone had been buzzing intermittently for the past few hours, but he'd been too busy with post-operation procedures to check it properly. Now, finally alone, he scrolled through the notifications.

Twenty-three missed messages. Most of them in the group chat with his former classmates, congratulating him on the fight. A few from his agency. One from his mom.

And two separate conversations-one with Todoroki-kun, one with Kacchan-both about the fight.

Izuku's chest warmed as he read through them. Todoroki-kun's detailed tactical analysis, pointing out the transition delay Izuku had been worried about. Kacchan's gruff feedback about his technique, which was basically Kacchan-speak for "good job."

They'd both been watching. Both reached out immediately.

That made him happy in a way he couldn't quite articulate. Knowing they were paying attention, even from hundreds of miles away. Knowing they cared enough to watch, to analyze, to offer feedback.

He typed out a message to the group chat they shared.

MIDORIYA IZUKU: Thanks for watching today, you guys! Your feedback really helps. Can't wait to see you both next week for training!

The responses came quickly.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Don't get cocky. You still have work to do.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Looking forward to it.

Izuku smiled at his phone, warmth spreading through his chest. This was nice. Having people who cared, who paid attention, who wanted to help him improve.

He was lucky to have friends like them.

Really lucky.

He set his phone down and headed for the shower, completely unaware of the way both Bakugo and Todoroki were staring at their own phones in separate cities, both feeling that same uncomfortable tightness in their chests, both wondering why the thought of seeing him again felt less like friendly anticipation and more like desperate need.

Neither of them examined it too closely.

Neither of them wanted to know what it meant.

Not yet.