Deku never really understood why Kacchan's car was always so stuffy when he enters; there would always be heavy pressure in the air with looming specks of dust moving about. And his side of the car is always hit by rays of sunlight. Yet he still sat on the steaming seat and looked over at the driver buckling his seatbelt. The driver looked back at Deku.
"Ah sorry," Kacchan moaned as he started the car and turned on the air conditioning, "I never really turn on this thing when you're not here. Heat's kind of home for me."
"I-its fine, Kacchan! You don't need to; you could just drop me off nearby anyway."
Kacchan started driving along. "You should probably start and get a car of your own. You know, now that we uh…uh…yeah."
"Yeah," Deku solemnly replied. He wondered where Kacchan's mind is at this point. A man of fire and arrogance never really had time for emotions. Not by himself, anyway.
At late nights, after a long day of fighting villains and saving the masses, Deku's husband would come home. Costume ragged and parts of his skin singed. You could hear heavy breathing on him every time he would enter the door, trudging in and practically dragging his grenadier bracers on the floor. No matter the hero, the mask tends to fall off after a long day. Deku knew to wait until after his shower to talk to Kacchan. When he was fresh and clean, he'd jump on the couch with a big sigh.
Deku would sit beside Kacchan as he dries off his hair with a towel. "Kacchan…" he would speak softly "you uh alright?" He would simply get a groan or a nod in reply as the grumpy hero turns on the television.
After a few moments of silence, Deku would try again; he'd ask about who'd Kacchan fought, who he'd saved, and who he didn't. Kacchan would simply answer with a word or two, which led to a sentence, which led to paragraphs that blended with screams and kicks. There was a lot on his mind. There was a world out there that was, or is, scary. Where people are scared and heroes get tired. He spurted out pressure, rage, hurt, and paced back and forth, drowned in his own stream of consciousness. Then Deku would calm him down and talk him back to the couch. They'd hug, kiss, and be quiet for a while until eventually his Kacchan wanted dinner.
Today, though, Deku had no right to do that. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when they're friends again, when Kacchan forgets that he likes it when the air conditioning is on, when he has his own car. Maybe he has the right to express worry when this divorce didn't just become finalized.
"H-have you found a place to stay yet? Did you ask Kirishima if you can sleep on his couch?" Deku asked.
"Why, you don't think I was able to find an apartment of my own?"
"No- I just. I mean we've only been separated for- It's just been a hell of a few…just… never mind."
There was silence. Kacchan never really liked asking for help. Being one of the top heroes and crashing on a friend's couch because of a divorce doesn't really spell out "doing well" or "independently stable". Deku thought of apologizing but he realized there was no point. Kacchan would still be mad, the ride would still be long, arduous, and very awkward.
"I- sorry," Kacchan muttered under his breath, "I tried to joke and I just made it worse. Kirishima told me he'd bought a little futon so I won't have to sleep on a couch. It was actually uh nice."
Just as Deku was about to reply, the car stopped with a jolt. In front of them are cars jammed close to each other, unwilling to give up the chance to leave first. Unsynchronized honks flew across the air with the occasional screams of cab drivers against the people with private vehicles. Kacchan, the man who screamed deathly after winning the U.A. Sports Festival because he didn't win the way he wanted to, started groaning under his breath and tapping his fingers rapidly on the steering wheel.
Deku sat patiently with his hands by his lap, his fingers fidgeting together, he didn't realize the drive would be this long. He planned on being dropped off at the nearest bus stop and just deciding there whether to get back to his empty apartment or drink somewhere undisturbed; he never thought of drinking, but it seemed appropriate. Whatever he would do after, he just wished to do it immediately. This car ride is the only connection between him and this universe where he expects Kacchan to turn the car around, find his lawyer, rip up the papers they fought so hard to sign, and take the both of them home where everything was safe and comfortable. He didn't want to buy a new car for himself, his seat was adjusting to his heat, the air was getting cold again, and the dusts seemingly have settled; it felt normal. Like they were just driving back home from a date. He didn't want it to. He wanted to feel this separation. He wanted to feel sad. He wanted this to hurt as much as it possibly could to the point that his arms feel no strength.
Deku found out he was quirkless as a child. However, it was overly quickly. He was able to overcome it throughout growing up and he never truly remembered the life before being a quirkless. It became his reality, his standard. The years prior to realizing that he may never be a hero was still agony, though. He tried to grab empty cans of soda near him without moving and attempted to burn crayon drawings of All Might by blowing air till his cheeks turned red; he would smell his own breath by cupping his hand to his mouth, and if it was even the least bit hot, he would be ecstatic. There was this pain in trying wherein you don't understand that things cannot go anywhere else. Deku wished to go find this child watching All Might videos, shake him, and crying as he yells that the man in the screen will never be him. That there will be pain, and to feel it as early as possible because there are things you need to cry excessively about in order to stop crying all together.
Deku eventually forgot how it felt to be a child, crying helplessly as he sits and watches a future he wishes to have. Today, sitting beside Kacchan, he remembers.