BAKUGO KATSUKI

The Hero Rankings Ceremony was exactly the kind of self-congratulatory bullshit Katsuki had learned to tolerate over the past six years as a pro.

Spotlights swept across the massive convention center in Yokohama, illuminating a stage decorated with enough pyrotechnics to make his quirk jealous. Heroes packed the venue-some in formal wear, others in modified costume variants-all waiting to see how the rankings had shifted this quarter. The air buzzed with speculation, networking, and the particular brand of competitive tension that only existed when you put Japan's top heroes in one room.

Katsuki stood near the back with his arms crossed, his tailored black suit feeling restrictive compared to his usual combat gear. At twenty-six, Dynamight had earned his place in the top rankings, currently holding the number three spot with a record that spoke for itself: highest villain capture rate in the Kanto region, fastest average response time in Tokyo, and a growing reputation for tactical efficiency that his publicist never shut up about.

Not that any of it mattered when he was in the room.

Katsuki's eyes tracked across the crowd, searching for a specific shade of green he'd been anticipating seeing all week. They texted daily-had since graduation-but between Katsuki's patrol schedule in Tokyo's Shibuya and Shinjuku districts and Deku's work covering Musutafu and the surrounding areas, they hadn't been in the same place for almost three weeks.

Three weeks too fucking long, though Katsuki would rather eat his gauntlets than admit that out loud.

"Bakugo! There you are!"

Katsuki turned to find Kirishima approaching, his red hair styled back professionally, sharp-toothed grin as bright as ever. Red Riot had built a solid reputation in Chiba, currently ranked fifteenth with a specialty in disaster response and structural rescue.

"Shitty Hair," Katsuki greeted, the old nickname softened by years of genuine friendship. "Thought you were handling that earthquake response in Chiba."

"Wrapped it up yesterday. Wouldn't miss this-first time the whole class has been together since Hagakure's wedding last year." Kirishima's eyes sparkled with something knowing. "Plus, I heard Midoriya's getting a special commendation tonight. Community Hero of the Year or something. You know about that?"

Katsuki's jaw tightened. Of course he knew. Deku had mentioned it in passing during their video call three days ago, downplaying it like he always did, like he wasn't revolutionizing what it meant to be a neighborhood hero. Like his community integration programs weren't being adopted by agencies across Japan. Like he wasn't the reason crime rates in Musutafu had dropped by forty percent in four years.

"Yeah, I know," Katsuki said shortly.

"Right. Because you two talk every day." Kirishima's grin widened. "Man, it's good that you've stayed so close. Remember when you used to-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll blast you through the fucking ceiling."

"-compete so intensely," Kirishima finished smoothly. "Relax. I'm just saying it's growth. You've both built amazing careers without the rivalry getting toxic. Well, mostly."

Katsuki grunted, taking a drink from the glass of whiskey someone had pressed into his hand earlier. The rivalry hadn't gone anywhere-it had just evolved. Now instead of competing over grades and training scores, they pushed each other on response times, rescue efficiency, community impact. Deku had claimed the number one spot two years ago and hadn't let go since. Katsuki had been chasing him ever since, the gap between them narrowing with each quarter.

Some things never changed. Including the way his chest tightened whenever he thought about seeing Deku again, though that was probably just the competitive drive. Had to be.

"Bakugo. Kirishima."

The temperature dropped several degrees. Katsuki didn't need to turn to know who'd approached, but he did anyway, meeting heterochromatic eyes with his own sharp glare.

Shoto Todoroki looked unfairly composed in a tailored charcoal suit, his distinctive hair perfectly styled, his expression that same unnervingly calm mask he'd worn since their UA days. At twenty-six, Todoroki had grown into his features-sharper jawline, broader shoulders, an air of quiet authority that came from being the number two hero in Japan.

Number two. One spot above Katsuki. One spot below Deku.

The bastard had claimed it six months ago after a high-profile operation in Osaka where he'd stopped a villain organization that had been operating across the Kansai region for years. Since then, he'd split his time between Osaka and Tokyo, maintaining a presence in both cities with the kind of efficiency that made Katsuki's teeth grind.

"Todoroki! Good to see you, man!" Kirishima stepped forward, ever the diplomat. "How's the Osaka-Tokyo split working out?"

"Efficiently. I've established patrol routes in both cities that allow for optimal coverage." Todoroki's gaze flicked to Katsuki. "I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you'd consider this ceremony a waste of time."

"My publicist insisted," Katsuki said flatly. "What's your excuse? Thought you'd be too busy brooding in whichever penthouse you're using this week."

Something flickered in Todoroki's expression-amusement, maybe. "My agency required attendance. Apparently, maintaining public relations is part of being a top hero."

"Your old man still trying to take credit for your work?"

"Always." Todoroki's lips quirked slightly. "I've learned to ignore it."

Kirishima glanced between them, clearly sensing the tension that always existed when they occupied the same space. "Right. Well, I'm gonna go find Mina before the ceremony starts. You two... try not to start anything."

He escaped into the crowd, leaving Katsuki alone with Todoroki. They stood in loaded silence, both of them scanning the venue with an intensity that had nothing to do with hero work.

"Have you seen Midoriya yet?" Todoroki asked, his tone carefully neutral.

There it was. Of course Half-and-Half would ask about Deku first thing.

Katsuki's free hand clenched at his side. "No."

"I see." Todoroki's gaze continued sweeping the crowd. "He texted that he was running late. Something about a rescue operation in Musutafu that extended longer than expected."

"You tracking his schedule now, Half-and-Half?"

"We keep in touch." Todoroki met his gaze evenly. "As I'm sure you're aware, since you do the same."

The air between them crackled with unspoken challenge. Katsuki was acutely aware that they were in public, surrounded by heroes and media, which was probably the only thing keeping him from saying something he'd regret.

Because yeah, he and Deku kept in touch. Daily texts, video calls when schedules aligned, joint operations when their territories overlapped. It was normal. They were friends-had been since they'd finally gotten their shit together in third year. The fact that Katsuki looked forward to those messages more than anything else in his day was just... efficient communication between top heroes. Strategic networking.

The fact that Todoroki apparently did the same thing was fucking annoying for reasons Katsuki didn't care to examine.

"Midoriya values staying connected with his former classmates," Todoroki said, his voice still maddeningly calm. "It's one of his strengths as a hero-maintaining those relationships, building networks of trust."

"I know what his fucking strengths are," Katsuki snapped, then immediately regretted the edge in his voice. He took a breath, forcing his tone back to something resembling professional. "How's the Osaka work going?"

If Todoroki was surprised by the subject change, he didn't show it. "Productive. The villain networks there are more organized than in Tokyo, but we've made significant progress. I'll be spending more time in Tokyo next quarter, though. There's been an increase in coordinated attacks that suggest the organizations are communicating across regions."

"Yeah, I've noticed that in Shibuya. Bastards are getting smarter about timing their operations." Katsuki frowned, his tactical mind engaging despite his irritation. "You coordinating with the Tokyo agencies?"

"When necessary. Though most of my Tokyo work has been in areas adjacent to Musutafu." Todoroki's expression remained neutral, but something in his tone made Katsuki's jaw clench. "Midoriya and I have worked several joint operations in the past few months. His analytical approach complements my quirk's versatility well."

Of course they had. Of course Todoroki had found excuses to work cases near Musutafu, to coordinate with Deku's agency, to spend time in his territory.

Not that Katsuki had done the exact same thing. Not that he'd specifically chosen patrol routes that maximized the chances of running into Deku during border incidents. Not that he'd volunteered for joint operations in Musutafu more times than was strictly professional.

That was different. That was just... tactical efficiency. Making use of their established teamwork from UA. Completely reasonable.

The fact that Todoroki was doing it too was just irritating. The guy already had the number two spot-did he have to monopolize Deku's time too?

"Deku works well with everyone," Katsuki said, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "That's his whole thing. Building teams, bringing people together. Don't act like you're special."

Todoroki's eyes narrowed fractionally. "I wasn't suggesting I was special. I was simply noting that we've developed an effective working relationship."

"Yeah, well, Deku and I have been working together since we were kids. We don't need to 'develop' shit-we already know how the other thinks."

"Interesting. And yet I've noticed Midoriya requests my assistance on complex operations quite frequently."

"Because you're geographically convenient, not because you're his first choice."

"Are you certain about that?"

Katsuki's palm sparked with small explosions before he controlled it. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he getting into a pissing contest with Todoroki over who worked with Deku more? It wasn't a competition. Deku was allowed to work with whoever he wanted. It didn't matter.

Except apparently it did matter, because the thought of Todoroki spending time with Deku, working closely with him, being the one Deku called when he needed backup-it made something hot and uncomfortable twist in Katsuki's chest.

Probably just competitive drive. He and Deku had always pushed each other, always competed. It was natural to feel territorial about that dynamic. Didn't mean anything.

"Forget it," Katsuki muttered, taking another drink. "This is stupid."

"Agreed," Todoroki said, though his posture remained tense.

They stood there in hostile silence, both watching the entrance with an intensity that would've been embarrassing if Katsuki gave a shit about appearances.

The thing was, Deku had stayed in Musutafu. Deliberately, stubbornly stayed in the city where he'd grown up, where All Might had taught at UA, where he'd first dreamed of becoming a hero. While other top heroes spread themselves across multiple cities or took high-profile positions in Tokyo or Osaka, Deku had planted roots.

"I want to be the kind of hero people can count on seeing," he'd said once, about a year after graduation, when agencies from across Japan were offering him positions that would've tripled his salary. "All Might was always there, you know? In Musutafu, at UA. People knew they could count on him. I want to build that same trust, that same presence. I want to be their Symbol of Hope, not just... a hero who shows up sometimes."

It was so fucking Deku that Katsuki had wanted to shake him and respect him in equal measure.

Instead, he'd established his own territory in Tokyo's busiest districts, close enough to Musutafu that he could be there in minutes if needed. Close enough that their paths crossed regularly on joint operations. Close enough that he could pretend the proximity was purely strategic.

Todoroki had done something similar, splitting his time between Osaka and Tokyo, always finding reasons to coordinate with Musutafu's hero agencies, always available when Deku needed backup.

They were both... what? Dedicated to maintaining their friendship with a former classmate? That was normal. That was fine.

The fact that they were apparently both doing it with the same intensity was just coincidence.

"Fuck," Katsuki said suddenly, his voice tight.

Todoroki followed his gaze and went very still.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto had always prided himself on his control.

Control over his quirk, painstakingly learned through years of training and therapy. Control over his emotions, necessary for survival in the Todoroki household. Control over his public image, his hero work, his carefully constructed life as someone separate from his father's shadow.

But watching Izuku Midoriya enter the venue, Shoto felt that control slip dangerously.

Midoriya looked... good. He'd grown into himself over the past six years, his frame filled out with muscle earned through constant hero work, his green curls slightly longer than he'd worn them at UA, his suit tailored to actually fit instead of hanging loose like his old uniforms. But it was his presence that had changed most-the confidence in his stride, the way he smiled and greeted other heroes with genuine warmth, the aura of capability and kindness that made people gravitate toward him.

The Symbol of Hope. Japan's number one hero.

Shoto's chest tightened with something he refused to name.

"He looks good," Bakugo said, his voice rough.

"Yes," Shoto agreed, because there was no point in denying it.

They watched as Midoriya was immediately surrounded by well-wishers and fans, his smile bright and genuine as he signed autographs and posed for photos. He was in his element here, comfortable with the attention in a way he'd never been as a student. Six years of being the top hero had given him a polish that somehow hadn't diminished his fundamental Midoriya-ness-that earnest enthusiasm, that genuine care for everyone around him.

Shoto tracked every movement, every smile, every interaction. Professional observation, he told himself. Understanding how the number one hero conducted himself at public events was valuable intelligence.

The fact that he couldn't look away had nothing to do with the way Midoriya's eyes crinkled when he laughed, or the way his hands moved expressively as he talked, or the way his entire face lit up with joy when he saw someone he recognized.

"We should go over," Bakugo said, though he didn't move.

"Yes," Shoto agreed, though he didn't move either.

Because once they approached, once they were in Midoriya's orbit again, Shoto would have to maintain his careful control. Would have to act professionally. Would have to pretend that three weeks without seeing him hadn't felt longer than it should.

They'd been texting regularly-Midoriya sharing photos from his Musutafu patrols, excited messages about community programs he was developing, analytical breakdowns of rescue operations. Shoto sent dry observations about hero rankings and updates on his Osaka work. Video calls when schedules aligned. Joint operations when their territories overlapped.

It was a good friendship. A strong professional relationship. The fact that Shoto found himself checking his phone more often than necessary, or that he'd started planning his patrol routes to maximize chances of running into Midoriya, or that he'd turned down a lucrative position in Hokkaido specifically because it would've meant being too far from Musutafu-

That was just practical. Strategic networking. Maintaining valuable connections.

"Look at all those extras crowding him," Bakugo muttered, his tone dark. "He just got here and they're already all over him."

Shoto glanced at Bakugo, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had clenched into fists. "He's the number one hero. It's expected."

"Doesn't mean they have to mob him the second he walks in. Guy probably hasn't even caught his breath from whatever rescue he was running."

"You're concerned about his wellbeing," Shoto observed.

"I'm concerned about basic fucking courtesy," Bakugo snapped. "He's been working all day and these vultures are treating him like a photo op."

Shoto returned his attention to Midoriya, who was now talking animatedly with Uraraka and Iida, his expression relaxed and happy. He didn't look overwhelmed. He looked like he was exactly where he wanted to be.

But Bakugo had a point. Midoriya had mentioned the warehouse fire in his text-a complex rescue operation that had taken hours. He was probably exhausted, even if he didn't show it.

"We should extract him," Shoto said. "Give him space to breathe before the ceremony starts."

"Yeah," Bakugo agreed immediately. "Yeah, we should."

They started forward together, moving through the crowd with the efficiency of top heroes used to navigating disaster zones. Shoto was acutely aware of Bakugo beside him, the way they'd unconsciously fallen into a coordinated approach, both of them focused on the same target.

On Midoriya.

As they got closer, Shoto could hear Midoriya's voice, animated and warm as he talked with their former classmates.

"-and the new neighborhood watch program is already showing results! We've had a thirty percent decrease in petty crime in the residential districts, and the community feedback has been overwhelmingly positive. People feel safer knowing there's a structured system for reporting concerns, and-oh!"

Midoriya had spotted them. His entire face transformed, his smile becoming impossibly brighter, his eyes lighting up with genuine joy.

"Kacchan! Todoroki!"

The nickname still surprised Shoto sometimes. Midoriya had started using his given name in their second year at UA, after the sports festival, after they'd started becoming something like friends. It had felt significant then-a marker of trust, of closeness. Now it was natural, comfortable, though Shoto still felt a small spark of warmth whenever Midoriya said it.

Midoriya excused himself from Uraraka and Iida, moving toward them with that characteristic enthusiasm that hadn't dimmed despite six years of professional hero work. As he approached, Shoto noticed the small details-the faint shadows under his eyes, the slight stiffness in his left shoulder that suggested recent injury, the way his suit was slightly wrinkled despite obvious efforts to look presentable.

He'd come straight from the rescue operation. Probably hadn't eaten. Definitely hadn't rested.

Something protective flared in Shoto's chest, sharp and immediate.

"It's so good to see you both!" Midoriya's voice was warm, genuine. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it, Todoroki-I know you've been busy with the Osaka operations."

"I made time," Shoto said, which was true. He'd rearranged his entire schedule to be here. "You look tired."

Midoriya laughed, rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous gesture Shoto had catalogued years ago. "Ah, yeah, the warehouse fire ran longer than expected. But everyone got out safely, which is what matters! The structural damage was pretty extensive, but we managed to contain it before-"

"Deku," Bakugo interrupted, his tone sharp. "When's the last time you ate?"

Midoriya blinked. "Um. Breakfast?"

"It's seven PM."

"Is it?" Midoriya checked his phone, looking genuinely surprised. "Oh. I guess I lost track of time. There was the rescue, and then the debrief, and then I had to rush here, and-"

"You're an idiot," Bakugo said, but his voice lacked real heat. "Come on. There's food in the back before this shit show starts."

"I should probably stay and-"

"You should eat," Shoto said firmly. "The ceremony doesn't start for another thirty minutes. You have time."

Midoriya looked between them, something soft and pleased in his expression. "You guys are ganging up on me."

"Because you're terrible at taking care of yourself," Bakugo said.

"We're concerned," Shoto added, which was true. Completely true. The fact that he wanted to personally ensure Midoriya ate, rested, took care of himself-that was just friendship. Normal concern for a colleague's wellbeing.

"Okay, okay," Midoriya laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "Food sounds good, actually. I'm starving."

They moved toward the catering area together, Shoto and Bakugo unconsciously flanking Midoriya, both of them maintaining a subtle barrier between him and the crowd. It was instinctive, protective, the kind of formation they'd developed during joint operations.

Except this wasn't an operation. This was a social event. And Midoriya didn't need protection from other heroes.

But Shoto found himself staying close anyway, hyperaware of every person who looked at Midoriya, every hero who started to approach. Beside him, Bakugo radiated the same territorial energy, his red eyes tracking potential interruptions with predatory focus.

"So how's the Osaka work going?" Midoriya asked as they reached the catering tables. He started loading a plate with an efficiency that suggested genuine hunger. "Your last text mentioned you were close to tracking down the smuggling ring's headquarters?"

Shoto felt a small surge of satisfaction that Midoriya remembered the details of his work. "We found it three days ago. Coordinated raid with local agencies. Arrested fifteen members of the organization, including two of the leaders."

"That's amazing!" Midoriya's eyes shone with genuine pride. "I saw some of the news coverage, but I didn't realize you'd gotten the leaders too. That's going to seriously disrupt their operations."

"It should. Though we're still tracking the remaining members." Shoto paused. "I'll be spending more time in Tokyo next quarter. The evidence suggests they have connections to organizations operating in the Kanto region."

"Oh, that's-that's good. I mean, not good that there are connections, but good that you'll be around more." Midoriya's smile was warm, genuine. "We should coordinate if you're working near Musutafu. Your quirk would be really useful for some of the situations we've been dealing with."

"I'd like that," Shoto said, and meant it more than was probably appropriate.

"Yeah, well, I've been handling joint operations with Deku for months," Bakugo cut in, his tone sharp. "Got a whole system worked out. Real efficient."

Midoriya laughed. "Kacchan's been amazing to work with. Remember that villain group that was operating across the Musutafu-Tokyo border? We shut them down in three weeks because of Kacchan's tactical planning."

"It was your analysis that identified their pattern," Bakugo said gruffly. "I just executed the strategy."

"You did more than that and you know it." Midoriya turned to Shoto, his expression animated. "He coordinated five agencies across two cities, managed to predict their next three moves, and personally took down their leader. It was incredible."

Shoto felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest. Jealousy? No. That was ridiculous. He had no reason to be jealous of Bakugo's work with Midoriya. They were all professionals. They all worked together sometimes.

The fact that Bakugo apparently worked with Midoriya regularly, had established systems and strategies, had earned that bright pride in Midoriya's voice-

That didn't matter. Shoto had worked plenty of operations with Midoriya too. Successful operations. Important operations.

"I'm sure Bakugo's tactical skills were valuable," Shoto said, his tone carefully neutral. "Though I've found that Midoriya's analytical approach works well with a variety of hero types. He's adaptable."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Bakugo's eyes narrowed.

"Meaning he's an effective team leader regardless of who he's working with. It's one of his strengths."

"Yeah, I fucking know it's one of his strengths. I've been working with him since we were kids."

"And yet you're in Tokyo while he's in Musutafu. Interesting choice of territory."

"Says the guy who splits his time between two cities and somehow always ends up near Musutafu."

"My patrol routes are strategically planned for optimal coverage."

"Sure they are."

"Guys," Midoriya interrupted, looking between them with confusion. "Is everything okay? You seem... tense."

Shoto forced himself to relax, to smooth his expression back into something neutral. What was he doing? Why was he getting into an argument with Bakugo over work assignments? It was unprofessional. Unnecessary.

The fact that the thought of Bakugo working closely with Midoriya, spending time with him, being the one Midoriya relied on-it made something hot and uncomfortable burn in Shoto's chest.

Probably just competitive drive. They'd always had a rivalry, the three of them. It was natural to feel territorial about professional relationships. Didn't mean anything.

"Everything's fine," Shoto said. "Bakugo and I were just discussing operational efficiency."

"Sounded more like you were arguing about who gets to work with me more," Midoriya said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "Which is silly, because I work with lots of heroes. You're both amazing partners."

"Obviously," Bakugo muttered.

"Of course," Shoto agreed.

Midoriya studied them for a moment longer, then shook his head with a small smile. "You two are so weird sometimes. Come on, let's find seats before the ceremony starts. I want to hear about your Shibuya operations, Kacchan-your last text mentioned something about a new villain group using quirk-enhancement drugs?"

As they moved toward the seating area, Shoto found himself hyperaware of their positioning. Midoriya walked between them, close enough that Shoto could smell his cologne-something clean and subtle, cedar and citrus. Close enough that their arms occasionally brushed, sending small sparks of awareness through him.

On Midoriya's other side, Bakugo maintained the same proximity, his posture protective, possessive in a way that made Shoto's jaw clench.

This was ridiculous. They were friends. Colleagues. Former classmates maintaining professional relationships. The fact that Shoto wanted to be closer, wanted Midoriya's attention focused on him, wanted to be the one Midoriya called first when he needed backup-

That was just normal friendship. Normal professional respect.

The fact that he apparently felt territorial about it, that the thought of Bakugo monopolizing Midoriya's time made something hot and uncomfortable burn in his chest-

That was just competitive drive. Had to be.

Didn't mean anything else.

Couldn't mean anything else.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Izuku was exhausted, hungry, and pretty sure he still had soot in his hair from the warehouse fire, but seeing Kacchan and Todoroki made everything else fade into background noise.

He'd missed them. Missed them more than was probably normal for friends and former classmates, but Izuku had never been good at doing things halfway. When he cared about people, he cared completely, and he cared about both of them more than he knew how to express.

They'd found seats together near the front-Izuku between them, both of them close enough that he could feel their warmth, their presence. It felt right, somehow. Safe. Like something had clicked into place that he hadn't realized was missing.

"So the quirk-enhancement drugs," Izuku said, turning to Kacchan. "Are they similar to the Trigger cases we dealt with at UA, or is this something new?"

Kacchan's expression sharpened, his tactical mind engaging. "New formula. More stable, longer-lasting effects. The bastards are getting smarter about distribution too-targeting low-level villains who are desperate enough to take the risk."

"That's concerning. Have you been able to trace the source?"

"Working on it. Got a lead on a lab in Shinjuku, but they're careful. Gonna take time to build a case." Kacchan's eyes flicked to Todoroki, something challenging in his gaze. "Unless Half-and-Half here has some insight from his Osaka work. Heard there were similar cases in Kansai."

Todoroki's expression remained neutral, but Izuku noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. "There were. Different distribution network, but the drug composition was similar. I can share our case files if it would be helpful."

"Yeah, that'd be useful," Kacchan said grudgingly.

"I'll send them tomorrow."

"Great."

The silence that followed felt loaded with something Izuku couldn't quite identify. There was tension between them-there always was, that competitive edge that had existed since UA-but this felt different. Sharper. More personal.

"Is everything okay with you two?" Izuku asked carefully. "You've been kind of... intense since I got here."

"We're fine," they said in unison, then glared at each other.

Izuku frowned. "You don't seem fine. Did something happen? Are you fighting about something?"

"No," Todoroki said.

"We're not fighting," Kacchan added.

"Then why do you both look like you want to blast each other through the ceiling?"

"That's just my face," Kacchan muttered.

"And I'm simply tired from travel," Todoroki said smoothly.

Izuku didn't believe either of them, but before he could press further, the lights dimmed and a voice boomed over the speakers, announcing the start of the ceremony. The crowd settled, attention turning to the stage where the Hero Public Safety Commission president was taking the podium.

Izuku tried to focus on the opening remarks, but he was acutely aware of Kacchan and Todoroki on either side of him. The way they both sat slightly angled toward him. The way their attention seemed split between the stage and him. The way the air between the three of them felt charged with something he couldn't name.

Maybe he was imagining it. He was tired, after all. The rescue operation had been intense, and he hadn't eaten properly, and his shoulder was aching from where he'd taken a hit from falling debris. His mind was probably just playing tricks on him.

Except Kacchan's knee was pressed against his under the table. And Todoroki's arm was resting on the back of his chair, close enough that Izuku could feel the heat of him.

And both of them kept glancing at him when they thought he wasn't looking.

The ceremony progressed through various awards and commendations. Izuku watched as heroes he'd known for years were recognized for their work, feeling genuine pride for their accomplishments. When Kacchan was called up for having the highest villain capture rate in Tokyo, Izuku applauded enthusiastically, his heart swelling with pride.

"That's amazing, Kacchan," he whispered when Bakugo returned to his seat. "You've worked so hard for this."

Kacchan's expression softened fractionally. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta keep up with you."

When Todoroki received commendation for his multi-city coordination work, Izuku felt the same surge of pride. "You're doing incredible work, Todoroki. Seriously. The way you've managed to maintain a presence in both cities while still being so effective-it's really impressive."

"Thank you," Todoroki said quietly, and something in his expression made Izuku's breath catch. "That means a lot, coming from you."

Then it was Izuku's turn. Community Hero of the Year. He walked to the stage feeling self-conscious, hyperaware of the cameras, the crowd, the weight of expectation. But when he looked back at his seat, he saw Kacchan and Todoroki both watching him with expressions of fierce pride, and something settled in his chest.

His speech was brief-talking about the importance of neighborhood integration, about being the kind of hero people could count on seeing every day, about building trust through consistent presence. About learning from All Might that being a Symbol of Hope meant being there, reliably, constantly, for the people who needed you.

The applause was thunderous. But all Izuku could focus on was Kacchan and Todoroki, both of them on their feet, both of them looking at him like he'd done something extraordinary instead of just talking about basic community engagement.

When he returned to his seat, they both congratulated him-Kacchan with a gruff "Good speech, nerd" and Todoroki with a quiet "You're changing what it means to be a hero"-and Izuku felt his face heat with pleasure.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. Rankings were announced-Izuku maintaining his number one spot, Todoroki at number two, Kacchan at number three. There were speeches from the Commission, networking opportunities, photo ops with the media.

Through it all, Kacchan and Todoroki stayed close. Protective, almost. Deflecting overly aggressive reporters, running interference when Izuku got cornered by heroes wanting to discuss collaboration opportunities, making sure he actually ate the dinner that was served.

It was... nice. Really nice. Having them both there, both of them looking out for him, both of them present in a way that made Izuku feel grounded despite the chaos of the event.

"You guys don't have to babysit me," Izuku said at one point, when Kacchan had just scared off a particularly persistent journalist. "I can handle myself."

"We know you can," Todoroki said. "But you shouldn't have to. Not tonight."

"You've been working all day," Kacchan added. "Let us handle the vultures."

Izuku's chest felt warm. "Thank you. Both of you. I really appreciate it."

They both looked at him with expressions that made something flutter in Izuku's stomach-intense, focused, almost hungry. Then the moment passed, and they were back to their usual selves, and Izuku wondered if he'd imagined it.

As the ceremony wound down and people began to disperse, Izuku found himself reluctant to leave. He didn't want this night to end. Didn't want to go back to Musutafu alone, to his empty apartment, to the reality of their separate lives and territories.

"Hey," he said impulsively. "Do you guys want to get coffee or something? There's a place near here that stays open late. We could catch up properly, without all the..." He gestured at the venue, the lingering crowds, the cameras.

Kacchan and Todoroki exchanged a look-some unspoken communication passing between them-and then both nodded.

"Yeah," Kacchan said. "Coffee sounds good."

"I'd like that," Todoroki agreed.

They left together, slipping out a side entrance to avoid the media circus at the main doors. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of the ocean from Yokohama's harbor. The city lights glittered around them, and for a moment, Izuku just breathed, feeling the tension of the day finally start to ease.

"This way," he said, leading them down a quiet street toward the coffee shop he'd discovered during a previous visit to Yokohama. "It's a small place, but they make amazing coffee. And they have those pastries you like, Kacchan-the ones with the spicy filling."

"How the fuck do you remember that?"

"I remember everything about you," Izuku said without thinking, then felt his face heat. "I mean-about both of you. I pay attention. That's all."

The silence that followed felt heavy. When Izuku glanced back, both Kacchan and Todoroki were staring at him with expressions he couldn't quite read.

"What?" Izuku asked, suddenly self-conscious. "Did I say something weird?"

"No," Todoroki said quietly. "Not weird."

"Just very you," Kacchan added, his voice rough.

They walked in silence for a moment, the three of them falling into an easy rhythm despite the strange tension. Izuku was hyperaware of their proximity-Kacchan on his left, Todoroki on his right, both of them close enough that their arms occasionally brushed his.

It felt significant, somehow. Like they were on the edge of something important, something that would change everything if Izuku could just figure out what it was.

But his mind was tired, his body was exhausted, and he couldn't quite grasp the shape of whatever was building between them.

So instead, he just walked, flanked by the two people he cared about most in the world, and tried not to think about why that felt so perfectly, terrifyingly right.

The coffee shop appeared ahead, warm light spilling from its windows onto the quiet street. And as they pushed through the door together-still close, still in that protective formation that felt more natural than it should-Izuku couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight.

Something that couldn't be shifted back.

A/N Hey guys this is my first MHA Fanfiction I hope you enjoy if you like my work, please check out my other Fanfiction. I also have a story on WebNovel called The Shadow's Bride. Please leave a vote and a comment and tell me what you think. I will be posting every Saturday for sure depending on how popular it gets I might post Sunday and Monday as well.