He lost them, the embers faded. Well, they had to eventually. Izuku always finds a way to shake them off, Yueii has formed a contract in which from those years, all heroes would be trained in advanced schedule, daily activities which involves the students using their quirks. Which, Izuku was robbed of. Stripped from the only thing that kept his place in the school, feeling casted into depths. He watched every moment from the sidelines, the sport festivals rivalry, those laughter after defeating the villain teams by scoring the newest best, those nights they'd sit in the common room, sharing each other's new techniques and what emotions that went through them after a rough spar. All of these moments, is what Izuku mourns every night alone. Because he used to be in those moments. Right in those cracks and space. He'd always be there. It had been five years since he left for America. Five years since the end of his relationship with both Katsuki and Shoto. Nearly six years since he had severed all contact with his past. Now he sat in a room surrounded by those same familiar faces, coffee in his hands as they discussed a mission. One that revolved around his life line.

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•{~~~~~}•

The man on the other side of the line hums following the light chuckle.

It was autumn in America, so the crisp chilling morning wind hovered on Izuku's pale skin. His freckles were less visible thanks to the science of winter and the miraculous effects that tunes and plays with his physical form starting from when he was still a toddler child.

The little coffee shop downtown was quieter than usual, especially during busy hours now. It seems to be no longer bustling the way it had been at the beginning and height of the year. The cold weather had caught most people indoors, which is the cause of Izuku braving himself to go outside and visit the particular cafe.

It was different, and it was mildly comfortable.

That does not mean that Izuku hates the public and vultures, in case anyone's wondering lowly of him.

Izuku sat at the far end of the stool, leaning against the raised counter. His face was flushed a soft peachy pink, the steam rising from his mug of sugary hot chocolate soothing the ache lingering in his cheeks. He held his phone to his ear while his dry, chapped lips met the rim of the mug in his free hand. A small, faint, yet serene smile rested on his face.

Izuku felt warmth creep into his cheeks. It wasn't often that he got to hear praises from his former sensei anymore; everyone had lives of their own to live after all these years.

It seriously did not help that their timelines were no longer aligned. Even now, in the early hours of the morning, Izuku was on the phone with All-Might, while on the older man's end, it was already nearing midnight.

The mop of curls lands on his shoulders as he slumps back. He felt a sense of guilt crawling through his skin and heart.

Was he being a bother?

But then again, they were the ones to dial first. And Izuku always– almost never– never not picks up.

The thought of it eases him slightly.

After the war, after Izuku's graduation, flying across to America, leaving his past awoke... The past shackles, he'd been free from doubt. From pressure. From his own expectations. He had always been the one watching since the beginning.

Watching his friends become heroes through the fractured glow of a phone screen was a peculiar kind of torture.

One day it was a grainy clip of a rescue gone viral. The next, a hero ranking ceremony plastered across every platform. Interviews. Agency advertisements. Rumours that spread faster than facts. The Top Twenty were dissected daily, praised for impossible rescues one morning, dragged through scandalous headlines by nightfall.

Hero society had never stopped moving.

It simply learned how to move without him.

But not once did he blamed.

Or even harbour thoughts of it.

Watching everyone grow into stronger versions of themselves, in both mind and body, was all Izuku had ever wanted.

Names that once answered roll call after him now stood beneath bold headlines, titles accompanied by polished portraits and badges. Their smiles had grown which makes Izuku realize that– time can change everything. Hints of the suffering thus they went through just to get to where they are standing, the kind expected from heroes who lived beneath cameras as much as the sky.

Every achievement was cherished. Every mistake was magnified. Every victory celebrated and framed for a lifetime by millions of strangers who believed they knew the people behind the costumes.

Izuku always, ALWAYS stood and watched along the sidelines, his gaze lingering long after each clip had ended, as though looking away would make the years between them feel.... real.

To the future once chased with everything he had left to give.

Sometimes he'd catch a familiar laugh buried in a press conference, or recognize a determination of a friend's shoulders during a televised rescue. For a fleeting second, they looked exactly as they had back then in Yueii.—only older, more matured, more experienced and disciplined, carrying the weight of a society that had entrusted them with hope.

Hope.

Then the clip would end.

The algorithm would move on.

And so would the world.

He hadn't heard or didn't know if any of his old schoolmates had ever thought to sought out for him, and he never takes on the choice to guess. Izuku just takes it in as in everyone has their limits, and it would be unfair for him to feel forgotten. Especially, if he was the one to...

Nevermind.

He stifled a sniffle, a warm smile settling across his face. His heart beats just a little faster. He missed them. A lot.

He missed his friends. He missed the kids. He missed the way Aizawa would, without warning, show up at the Class 3-A dorms during holidays with an overexcited Eri in one hand and Kota trailing close behind, both of them eager to spend the day with everyone, even if Kita stubbornly rejects even the slightest mention of it.

Eri had spent the entire Christmas afternoon carefully painting little easter eggs for everyone, still not quiet understanding the holidays rotation or it's activities, tongue poking out in concentration as she insisted each one had to be perfect. Kota had grumbled the whole time, claiming crafts were boring, only to secretly make one of his own when he thought no one was looking, then later hid it under Izuku's pile of presents.

Later that evening, the two of them had stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the common room, singing a Christmas song for Aizawa and the class—

And for the boy who had saved risked his life to save theirs in return.

He could still remember Eri's bright, warm and sweet smile and Kota's embarrassed scowl whenever someone applauded.

The memories never stopped aching.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time they met, to the quiet impression he'd left in young Kota's eyes. A smile curled at his lips. Deep down, he wished he could have stayed to watch the boy grow up day by day, instead of witnessing it through recorded videos, scattered photos, and the occasional passing remark.

But there were things that can't be pushed and kept further.

There was another small tug on his chest. 

Another feeling of guilt.

It was the feeling of missing out on someone’s life—of watching it unfold from a distance rather than being part of it.

Izuku, by all means, didn't want to be seen as selfish. More than that, he didn't want to be selfish.

And yet..

In some small, weirdly kind of way, they'd slowly become his to worry about. Of course it wasn't just him. He'd watched them heal, celebrated each hesitating or timid step forward, and continued checking in long after him moving overseas—asking about school, birthdays, and the little victories that seemed insignificant to everyone else. Every little thing that had occurs, it doesn't matter if he's not the first to hear it. As long as it passes to him next, he's already grateful.

Like a parent calling home while away on a long trip, he only wanted to know they were safe. That they were smiling. That they'd finally experience life as any other child should.

His gaze lingered on the blanket of snow beyond the window, the quiet stillness outside holding his attention a little longer than it should have. Movement caught the corner of his eye.

Someone passing by lifted a hand in greeting, pulling him gently back to the present. Izuku turned toward the gesture, his expression softening as recognition settled in. It was one of the familiar faces of his students.

A warm smile found its way onto his face as he returned the wave.

No words were exchanged. They simply shared a pair of quiet smiles and small nods before the girl hurried back to the small group waiting for her, disappearing into the snowfall as they continued on their way.

Izuku recognizes her. She was in one of his classes.

It wasn't out of the blue that Izuku would cross paths with his students from the University he lectures.

They'd all heard about Deku– even when hearing the long spoken name, it sends shivers down Izuku's already cold, freezing body.

Deku was a name he'd left behind long ago. It wasn't intentional, nor had he consciously chosen to abandon it. It had simply... happened.

Every so often, though, it found its way back.

Usually, it came from students who excitedly confessed they'd idolized Deku during the war, their eyes shining as they spoke to the very person they admired without ever realizing it. Others, less kind, used the name with a sneer—dragging it through rumors and half-truths in an attempt to stain the legacy of the hero he once was had once carried the hopes of an entire generation.

Izuku never corrected either of them.

He simply listened.

Because, it never works.

He's a lecturer for the Quirkless community for one. He wasn't there to create heroes. He was there for the people society had quietly learned to overlook. The quirkless. The children who grew up believing their future had already been decided the moment they were told, at four years old, that nothing would ever manifest. The ones who spent their lives being encouraged to lower their expectations before they'd even had the chance to dream.

And for those who did have quirks but struggled to understand them—or themselves—he wanted them to leave knowing that their greatest potential had never been defined by power alone.

Heck, he was the example.

He *is.*

It didn't help that the name had followed him for most of his life. It had once been his public hero name, after all. It had grown from a small, crippling seed that would slowly grow into a rose bristling with thorns, picking and slashing the skins inside his body internally and mentally, only to be carefully trimmed into something worthy to shove in a bouquet, showing it's growth.

Showing that Izuku could be a hero.

He was pulled back to the present, jolted from his thoughts. His gaze had been fixed on a snowman that definitely hadn't been there before. Someone had probably spotted the pristine blanket of fresh snow and seized the opportunity.

He had been unconsciously glaring at it.

A flush of embarrassment warmed his face. The snowman was staring right back at him. Its beret had slipped lopsidedly over its head, the tiny baby carrot jammed into its face sat crooked, and the pebbles that made up its features had already begun melting into the snow, leaving little holes and dark streaks going down.

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Just like that, the thoughts weighing on him dissolved. The past faded into the quiet snowfall around him.

It was all behind him now.

Oh, crap. He'd forgotten All-Might had been calling his name repeatedly. Old habits die hard.

Izuku didn't dare to look around him.... he probably muttered loud enough for people to turn their heads, heat creeping up his neck with embarrassment. He must have looked completely spaced out to everyone nearby—the little kid seated a couple of stools away, to be specific. He doesn't want to make a fool out of himself Infront of a child.

All-Might laughs again.

Izuku felt caught between sentences, letting out an awkward little chuckle. He buried his face deeper into his thick wool scarf—red mixed with gray and blue, all woven together. A scarf he had received back in high school from old acquaintances. Nearly six years later, he still didn’t have the heart to throw it away or give it up.

There was a rustle of clothing. A lot of noise now that Izuku finally dawn on. It seemed as if All-Might was not alone. He furrowed his brows, he didn't mind that. 

Maybe someone has something to discuss with All-Might, and it just happens so that All-Might wants to have a little chat with him.

Honestly, Izuku still couldn't get over the fact that All Might insisted on calling him Young Midoriya, despite the years that had passed and the clear image that he was no longer a boy.

There was a short silence. Then, a stifled laugh. But, it strangely sounded more than just–a. Plural.

It sounded like a group of them. Some snickering, and some muffled laughs. All-Might had gone completely silent. Oh, no. Is it serious!? There was a cough on the other end, it was All-Might. Izuku slunk back forward. Phew, All-Might was still there.

Somehow, his grip tightened ten folds on the steaming hot mug. Izuku should be thankful the cold kept him numb. There was a rustle and some grunts that interrupted All-Might, which left Izuku stomach churning.

Izuku's heart drops.

his stomach wrenches.

It twisted. Familiar.

He nibbles on his tongue. His Warm chocolate had gone cold long ago and is now halfway drunk.

What... That was.... Too.. Low.

Izuku exclaimed, taken aback. the churning never seems to stop does it.

30 percentage and only 20 heroes for an island that big. It's a death wish.

Izuku's brows knitted together as his gaze dropped to the table surface.

His fingers curled against his phone screen.

His words began to tumble over one another, his mind racing faster than his mouth could keep up.

Izuku's breath caught, his words drowning at the tip of his throat.

Some eerily long silence took over, then slowly, he heard mutterings in the background. But they don't sound anything like his mentor and Sensei.

Izuku keeps quiet. The silence from the other end of the Lind deadening. He waits for an answer, at least a little noise for him to know what's going on.

There was a sigh on the other end.

That was definitely All-Might.

And that, the tired, loused voice unusually on its fur end at the moment, Aizawa.

Izuku listened in to the other murmurs.

Someone replied to that.

That tilts Izuku's appetite sideways. It wasn't the comments, no. He doesn't pay any minds to those. But those voices seem... odly... Familiar..

Then there was a shush. Someone whispering the murmurs to stop.

Izuku lifts an eyebrow.

The phone shuffles, then another voice well known to Izuku spoke.

Aizawa sighed quietly on the other end of the line.

A brief pause followed.

There was a short pause.

His voice remained as flat as ever, but there was no hesitation behind his words.

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The room seems to be chirping soundly.

Izuku ended the call not long ago, finally letting the heroes rest their guard down. Moving and making noises as much as they like.

Iida straightened, chopping a hand through the air for emphasis.

Some murmurs grumbles, some hummed a sad agreement.

It has definitely been a while since all of them last contacted izuku. And unknowingly, all of them have collectively decided that two people have been the ones who never even brought him up.

At the front desk of All-Mights office–

Dynamight and Shoto.

The former students watch closely at the two, their broad, aged well-trained backs stretched their hero suit.

Both of them were currently discussing something with All-Might.

Aizawa sensei had left not too long ago, he had students to tend for.

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Katsuki tries, he tries the hardest he can to not raise his voice any further. To not get too overworked and overwhelmed by everything.

How much longer does Izuku have to stay far away from them...

Izuku...

He felt his hand being dragged, slowly, fingers caresses his palm, pushing small circles and little squeezes in between. It was rough, but edged with comfort.

His eyes drift from the ground, meeting with his partner's heterochromia eyes.

Only 3 months after the war, both Katsuki and Shoto found out about their kept feelings for each other.

Katsuki realized that Shoto understood him. He didn't play dumb or sit there letting Katsuki chew his ear off—he understood him through his actions. It had always been embarrassingly obvious that Shoto was absolutely terrible with words. That was exactly why Katsuki trusted him. Not because Shoto would do things for him, but because Katsuki knew the bastard's intentions were always genuine. As the years passed, Shoto only grew better at showing what he meant through his actions.

At first, Shoto only sought out Katsuki because he was the only one who didn't baby him. Katsuki had no filter, and Shoto was no different. Somewhere along the way, Katsuki became one of Shoto's safe places. After fights at home, Shoto would always find his way back to him, and his boyfriend would already be waiting—with a can of beer in hand, or a pile of blankets and a late-night movie if words weren't what Shoto needed. Of course, Katsuki had changed, too. The sharp edges hadn't disappeared, but they had softened over the years. Therapy, a lot of patience, and more than a few couple's counseling sessions had gotten them this far. Somehow, they made it work.

But during those time... They also sought out to their closest friend.

Izuku.

Izuku admitted he'd never thought of either of them romantically before. But somewhere between unspoken glances and quiet conversations, Katsuki and Shoto had Reached the same conclusion without ever saying it aloud: no matter what it took, they wanted Izuku by their side. No matter the outcome, they were determined to have him.

Behind the feelings they came to share, there was one undeniable truth: Izuku had changed them both long before they ever fell in love with him. He had challenged Katsuki to become someone better without ever giving up on him, standing beside him through guilt, anger, and every ugly part Katsuki believed made him unworthy. And for Shoto, Izuku had reached past the weight of his family name and treated him as nothing more—and nothing less—than himself, reminding him that his future belonged to no one else. He never asked for gratitude, nor did he realize the impact he left behind. He simply extended a hand whenever someone needed one. Somewhere between those countless acts of selflessness, Katsuki and Shoto found themselves loving the boy who had spent his entire life saving everyone but himself.

Everything changed the day Izuku forgave him. Katsuki had spent years believing forgiveness was something he hadn't earned, carrying the weight of his childhood mistakes like a sentence he was meant to serve forever. Yet Izuku offered it without hesitation—not because he had forgotten the past, but because he had chosen to believe in the person Katsuki had fought so hard to become. It was then Katsuki realized that love wasn't found in grand confessions or impossible promises. Sometimes, it was found in the quiet grace of someone looking at every broken part of you... and choosing to stay anyway.

And so, with a little trick, Izuku let's pass his guard and agrees to try things out.

Not long after, their classmates found out as well, one by one, until it reaches home.

It was perfectly fine. Both Katsuki and Shoto believed Izuku would eventually return their feelings. Things unfolded naturally—they laughed together, shared lingering hugs, dozed off tangled across the common room's bean bags, worked side by side in the kitchen, sparred as a trio, and, before long, did almost everything together. To them, it felt less like they were waiting for Izuku to catch up, and more like he had already become an inseparable part of their lives.

Until

It didn't feel like it anymore.

Just a month after graduation, Izuku broke things off with both of the pro's.

None out of both got the chance to even ask why– Izuku had already set off to America with his mother.

For the past eight years, both Katsuki and Shoto had learned to live around an absence that never truly faded. Pain settled into the quiet corners of their lives, woven together with uncertainty, quiet disappointment, and questions that had long since gone unanswered. Time moved forward as it always did, carrying careers, victories, and failures with it, yet there remained a space no one had ever managed to fill.

Their classmates were no different. Each of them had lost something the day Izuku disappeared—not merely a friend or a colleague, but a piece of themselves that had quietly shaped who they had become. They learned how to smile without him, how to celebrate without him, how to grieve without speaking his name. Still, every reunion, every milestone, every empty seat at the table served as a silent reminder that someone was missing.

Everyone, in one way or another, had lost an Izuku in their life.

They thought that they'd never be able to contact him, to even ask what they did.

That was until, a year ago when Kaminari heard Aizawa sensei on a call with...

Izuku

At first, Aizawa warned him not to tell anyone.

But at the same night, the class decided to meet up at a nearby bar to loosen up.

And by Denki's law, it means undoing a seal and spilling the secrets.

The gril on his hand tightens slightly. Katsuki grits his teeth, trying to feel down his heartbeat.

the two of them were stubborn.

They didn't even know if Izuku agrees yet.

All-Might watches those two, dragged down by their bickering.

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