Shouto's never been good at managing his own bouts of panic, but he hopes he's at least learned in his years of pro-hero work how to handle them from others.
Izuku's shocks him, though. It's not like he hasn't seen Izuku like this before; the poor guy nearly got shot, after all. It's just that, it comes at an unexpected time. And Shouto's glad he's there to help, and Izuku hasn't agreed to this interview alone, because he doesn't want to know what Izuku would have done if he decided on a whim he doesn't want to be Loverman and subsequently announced his real name to the entire Japanese population.
But now, in the aftermath of the interview – long ended, and they've long since retreated in favor of dinner and a quiet night – Izuku sits at Shouto's sectional, a mug of warm hot cocoa delicately in his grasp.
That's new, too; Shouto's subconscious has decided on calling Midoriya 'Izuku' now. Which he supposes has been a long time coming, considering just how many of Izuku's friends refer to him by first name. But still, it shocks him – how he's already begun thinking of him as Izuku, having only called him that for the first time just a few hours prior.
Izuku's knees are drawn up, his arms around them with the mug in between. There's a movie on the television, but neither of them is watching it; for the past half hour or so, Izuku has been quiet and contemplative, staring into his hot cocoa. Shouto's mind has been wandering between Izuku in front of him, the night, the declaration – and the fact that he has a grand piano arriving the next morning to place in the empty corner of the living area.
"I'm sorry," Izuku says, and even with the sound of the television nearly drowning him out at such a low volume, Shouto startles. His gaze resettles on Izuku, but the boy isn't looking at him. He's long since changed from his suit, he's removed his wig, and he's washed his face; now he looks hollow, perfectly swimming in the spare change of clothes Shouto's given him. He wears a worn-out Creati hooded sweatshirt from Shouto's university days, along with a pair of joggers that hang low off his hips when he stands (not that Shouto's noticed, or anything).
"Sorry?" Shouto repeats, a question, because he genuinely cannot see why Izuku is apologizing. After their short break, their intermission as Mona so delicately put it, the interview concluded normally. Even with Izuku's shorter answers and less animated facial expressions and hand gestures, he seemed casual, regular, at least to the typical viewer. Shouto could still see the nerves bundled behind Izuku's expression, and he feared maybe they wouldn't make it through the final fifteen minutes, but Izuku lasted until they got to the car.
It was as he was plucking the bobby pins from his wig that the tears started. And they were silent – Shouto wouldn't have even known if he hadn't spared Izuku a glance as they headed down the road towards the diner. The tear tracks glinted with the light of the streetlamps to illuminate them, and Shouto felt his heart break. "I'm having something delivered," he'd said, turning rather sharply in the direction of his apartment, and that's when the dam broke; that's when Izuku's choked sobs and apologies and self-hatreds flooded the car, and all Shouto could do was listen.
And now here they sit, with Izuku's thirty-second apology of the evening (Shouto's been counting) hanging in the air between them, lingering above in the tall ceilings of his living space. And finally Izuku looks at him, and no, there aren't any more tears, but Shouto can still see the sadness in his puffy, red eyes. He's cried all he can, but there's still more, still more broken pieces of Izuku that have yet to be put back together.
Izuku cracks a broken smile. It looks painful. "About the interview," he murmurs, again so quiet that the noise of the television nearly swallows it, but so loud that it still reverberates off Shouto's eardrums. "About…well, everything."
"It's okay," Shouto says, for the thirty-second time this evening. "I just want to know if you're okay."
Izuku puzzles at this. His shattered smile rearranges into a look of confusion, complete with a head-tilt that makes Shouto practically melt. He's adorable even when he's sad, even when he's having an identity crisis, and Shouto hates that his lizard brain is so one-track that it can't even focus on the distress still lingering in those wide, confused eyes. "I'm okay," Izuku says, but it upturns at the end into more of a questioning tone and leaves Shouto wondering if he really believes it.
"Really?" Shouto counters. "Because it doesn't really seem like it."
And Izuku exhales, and it's heavier than any of the words exchanged between the two of them in the past twenty-four hours. He returns his gaze to the mug in his hands, and Shouto wants to scream look at me, Izuku but he doesn't; he doesn't, and he regrets it, because Izuku's lip starts to quiver staring at that stupid cup and Shouto kind of wants to take it and throw it against the wall.
"I never really liked being the center of attention," Izuku says, and this time Shouto actually reaches for the television remote and mutes it, just so he can make sure he hears correctly. Izuku still stares into that damn mug, his finger idly rubs the side of it. "Ah, and I guess…when Gran Torino hired me to play piano at the bar, it was kind of a 'gimme' job more than anything."
"A 'gimme' job?" Shouto repeats, stands and moves so that he sits next to Izuku, rather than so far away. It forces Izuku to look up at him, if only for a moment, and then he drops his head once more. He sets the mug aside, though, now captivated by the look of his fingernails.
"Oh, like a… 'here, I know you're a struggling college student who can't find a job so how about I pay you to do this once or twice a week'," he explains with a vague hand gesture. "He already had a baby grand and everything, his wife taught ballet lessons there before it was a bar."
"Elastique?" Shouto asks; he remembers hearing of a woman with a Quirk like that who taught ballet lessons. Izuku's eyes widen for a moment, and he glances up at Shouto and nods hesitantly.
"You know her?" he asks, like he's surprised anyone but him could ever enjoy digging into hero lore.
"Yeah," Shouto replies with a shrug. "She was a big part in the arrest of the Shanghai bombers in ninety-four."
Izuku just bobs his head, and he seems eager to continue the conversation about it, but he gives his head a short shake and exhales. "The point is, um. I wasn't…expecting all this."
"Right," Shouto murmurs.
"And I wouldn't have even done this whole thing if it wasn't for that damn Toga chick," he groans, and Shouto is firstly shocked that Izuku has raised his voice; he's secondly shocked that Izuku swore. He doesn't know that he's ever heard Izuku cuss before, and it sounds a bit odd coming from him. Cute, but odd nonetheless. He shakes his head, tells himself to focus on the real problem here – Toga.
"Toga," he says. "You mentioned with All Might that you knew her."
"She followed me home, Shouto," Izuku sounds exasperated now, and his words come fast like he's been wanting to talk about this for ages. "Three times. Maybe more, after Kacchan told me what her Quirk is. She picked my lock the third time, and the only reason I knew she was there was because she fell asleep on my couch."
Shouto blinks. "She didn't – she didn't hurt you?" he asks, though it doesn't necessarily seem like the most important bit of the story to focus on. He's in shock, though; Toga is one of the more violent members of the League. (Not that any of them aren't violent; she just has a reputation.)
"No," he replies, and his hands tremble as he wrings them in each other. "That's the weirdest part. I walked into my living room, screamed seeing her there, and she freaked out and left."
"A stalker," Shouto hums. "And that was…when?"
"I was nineteen," Izuku gripes, rubs his eyes. "Just barely, too. I hadn't talked to Kacchan in years, but he's the only person I knew in the pro hero industry aside from Eijirou, and Eijirou lived across the country by then."
"Which is when he became your bodyguard," Shouto concludes, and Izuku nods his head.
"He wasn't as much of a dick as I expected," he swears again, and again it startles Shouto. He huffs a laugh, quiet and almost nonexistent, but Izuku's lips upturn in a way that Shouto thinks he probably caught on. "I asked him to grab a coffee with me, he asked me what was up with my terrible wig. And then he agreed to be my bodyguard in exchange for information on Toga."
Shouto nods along, absorbs as much as he can. "I can't begin to fathom what that must have been like," he whispers after a moment, and Izuku exhales beside him, finally turns to look at him.
"It was awful," he says, honesty pouring into his words, "but other people have had it worse. At least she didn't hurt me."
"That's almost worse," Shouto argues. "Because then you're left wondering when she will."
"Hm?"
"When she'll hurt you," Shouto clarifies, and Izuku's eyes widen, like he's been waiting for validation for years and has finally given up on it when he receives it. "It's like…predator and prey."
"Yeah," Izuku whispers, his eyes still blown wide.
They chat a bit more, and Izuku stays over until it's nearing one in the morning, says he has to go home. Shouto offers his guest bedroom, and even though he insists Izuku isn't intruding, Izuku is stubborn and relentless until they're walking down to Shouto's car. Izuku makes a comment about still wearing Shouto's clothes; Shouto tells him to keep them.
The drive home is quiet, the lulling of the radio enough to satiate the need for conversation. Shouto is used to the quiet by now. He's used to silences falling between them, whether it's at the diner or in the car or before or after gigs. And it's always been peaceful, but today that peace does not find Shouto; what finds him is the anxiety of knowing, now, what Izuku has seen, what he's been through. It rattles around in his skull off-beat to the smooth jazz radio playing amiably in the car. He hates it. He feels the urge to slam on the brakes and shut off the radio and tell Izuku, Hey, Toga is back and Katsuki and a bunch of other pros are dealing with it, but he can't find it in himself to do so. He's never been so bold.
And so he pulls up to the side door to Izuku's apartment complex, walks with him up the stairs – Izuku passes right by the elevator. It's tiring, especially considering the time and what they've gone through today, but Shouto doesn't mind enough to say anything. He just follows, keeps his eyes out for danger. Which, of course, there is none.
Shouto's never doubted Katsuki's skills before, and he shouldn't be starting now, but he worries.
Izuku looks adorable.
The interview has gotten some traction, and luckily unless they were watching live, the audience can't tell that Izuku (Loverman) and Shouto had to take an intermission. The video editors did a wonderful job covering it before posting it on YouTube, and Izuku and Shouto sit together on Izuku's couch, reading the comments on Izuku's laptop.
"Look, Shouto!" Izuku squeals. "This one says she's been listening since I was twenty! She's an early fan!"
Izuku wears a pastel blue blazer with a white button-up underneath, black slacks and a black bowtie. His hair – a blush pink, decently curly wig with a few stray strands of white – is pulled back in a braided bun. In the kitchen Ochaco and Tenya hold their own conversation over the dinner they're preparing for the four of them. Loverman's gig tonight is at Mr. Smith's lounge again – Smirnoff's – and Ochaco and Tenya have the night off, so of course they come over for dinner.
It's warm in the apartment, cozy and homey and nothing like Shouto's vast expanse of cold that is his penthouse. He hasn't been able to wipe the gentle smile from his lips all day, and now reading YouTube comments over Izuku's shoulder has him smiling even wider. It almost hurts; his lips aren't used to tugging this way. But it's a good hurt, and he's happy, which is more than he can say most days.
"'I love your song Windpipes'," Izuku quotes the comment, "'it's the song I proposed to my girlfriend to!' Oh, I remember that, at my gig at Les Mystiques lounge across town!"
Ochaco pokes her head around the corner. "You remember things like that? Doesn't that happen a lot?"
Izuku bobs his head. "Yeah, like once a month. But it's always so cool when it happens! It's like, I got to give them that special moment, ya know?"
Shouto hums, and he glances over at Ochaco and Tenya in the kitchen. Tenya playfully squeezes Ochaco's sides, and the latter squeals a laugh, turns around and lays her hands on Tenya's shoulders and makes him hover a few inches off the ground, until he's laughing at her to let him down.
He's going to propose tonight.
Okay – well, Shouto doesn't know for sure, because Tenya hasn't told him. But the atmosphere in the room feels so…he doesn't know how to describe it, really. Like Tenya is worried she'll say no. Like he's still trying to muster the courage to do it in the first place. And honestly, Shouto only started noticing when Izuku leaned over right after Tenya and Ochaco arrived, and said in a low tone, "Tonight's the night."
Shouto supposes if Izuku thinks so, then it has to be true. Izuku's never been wrong about these kinds of things (even though he claims to be Quirkless, Shouto will take to his grave that Izuku can read minds), and Shouto isn't one to doubt Izuku.
Ochaco and Tenya prepare a simple stir fry for them, and they squeeze together on Izuku's sectional to eat, completely forgoing the dining room table – which is littered with scribbled sheet music. Izuku apologizes over and over, but the rest of them insist it's fine, and Shouto can't lie; he'd rather have his thigh pressed to Izuku's on the couch than be sitting next to him at the table.
"You really need to get a TV," Ochaco whines through a bite of food. "What are we supposed to do now?"
"Talk to each other?" Tenya suggests with an exaggerated eye-roll and a chopping motion of his hand. Izuku laughs, and so does Ochaco, and she playfully swats at his side. He laughs, too.
Izuku looks to Shouto. "I think you don't have to worry about being such a strict bodyguard tonight," he jeers, "since you've got two of the coolest non-hero heroes on call."
"Deku," Ochaco giggles, hides her face behind her bowl, "that's embarrassing!"
"It's true," Shouto says, and curiously, Ochaco's and Tenya's eyes train on him. Under their gaze he can only offer a shrug. "Don't know how you guys didn't get hero offers. Tsuyu or Rikido, either."
Ochaco and Tenya exchange looks, and eventually Tenya offers a half-hearted shrug. "Not the proper market?" he offers vaguely, and Shouto knows it's bullshit; All Might sent offers to every single one of them.
And then he remembers that look, back from the questioning so long ago. How long has it been – a month? Two? But he still remembers that look, that fear that something more sinister is happening, and Shouto couldn't quite pin it before, and it had slipped his mind. But now—
"You mean you never got offers?"
And their eyes resettle on him. Izuku's too, now. Minutely, Ochaco shakes her head, and Tenya offers a feeble "No."
Shouto feels his heart sink.
He doesn't get a chance to press further, though, because Izuku is peeling the bowl out of his hands and taking Ochaco's and Tenya's on his way by, heading into the kitchen to wash them before they leave for the evening. Shouto follows, leaves Ochaco and Tenya to have some time alone – at least, as much as it can be called 'alone' in Izuku's relatively small apartment. He keeps his voice hushed when he speaks, leans in closer to Izuku, "Are you ready for tonight?"
Izuku hums, gives up on washing the dishes and just rinses them before setting them in the sink. "I am," he nods after a moment. "I've got all their favorites queued up," he nods towards Ochaco and Tenya on the couch. They're huddled together, Tenya's arm slung so delicately over Ochaco's shoulders, so casually, like this is how they always sit together. And Shouto finds himself jealous of it, of the hushed whispers that he can just barely hear from here, of the tentative finger-taps Tenya dances across Ochaco's shoulder. He finds himself jealous because they're happy, they've found happiness outside of being pro heroes and, at least from this angle, it looks like all they need is each other.
And Shouto takes the time to consider, for the first time, what losing his position as a pro hero would mean to him. Subsequently, he takes the time to consider what losing Izuku would mean. And unsurprisingly, he finds that he hates the bitter thought, the way it sits on his tongue. What is surprising, though, is that if he forces himself to choose, he cannot think of a scenario in which his answer isn't Izuku.
The thought hangs with him. It hangs with him from his rearview mirror as the four of them pile into Shouto's car, Ochaco and Tenya clambering over each other into the back seat while Izuku takes his rightful place up front. Tenya asks Izuku to turn the radio on, and when Izuku does he seems to be the only one surprised that he's on the radio. And it's not some classy jazz station, like Shouto is used to listening to. No, it's Japan's Top Hits, and they're playing the weekly countdown of fan-voted favorites, and Mr. Loverman's Midnight on the Moon is playing. It's reaching the swell of the bridge that reminds Shouto of the way he felt after his first hero gig at All Might's agency, mostly because it's the song that played on the radio even back then. It's been topping the charts for years.
It continues to hang over his shoulders as the four of them approach the glassy façade that is Smirnoff's. When they step inside, Mr. Smith is at the door, welcoming Mr. Loverman and Shouto back, and apprehensively greeting Ochaco and Tenya until Izuku explains that they're also here as bodyguards. It's how Izuku manages to sneak them in early, to see his rehearsal. There are more employees now, Shouto notes – a few young men and women wander the floors, some cleaning tables, others laying centerpieces. They turn their heads, ogle Mr. Loverman – ogle Shouto, which feels out of place next to Mr. Loverman, now – and Mr. Smith ushers them along, up towards the stairs and into the VIP area once more.
Shouto drops into a booth near the stage, and Ochaco and Tenya sit across from him, their voices resuming that hushed tone from earlier in the evening. Izuku sets up at the piano. He's much more confident on the bench today, Shouto notices, even if he's watching Izuku's back. He can tell the man doesn't slouch today; he rolls his shoulders back, sits tall, sturdy at the bench. And Shouto smiles a little, to himself, glad to see that Loverman has resurfaced after that interview.
It's fifteen minutes before the doors are set to open to the venue that Shouto finally moves from the booth. Izuku's finished warming up, he finished just a few minutes ago, and he's already dropped his duffel off underneath Shouto's table. Ochaco and Tenya have chosen another table a few away from Shouto's, and there they sit, in their own little bubble, while Shouto continues to contemplate what exactly Izuku means to him, if he finds himself willing to give everything for him. And he's still contemplating this when Izuku drops down into the seat across from him, his smile bright and radiant as ever. "I'm excited," he states, his voice just as warm as his smile.
"Yeah?" Shouto asks, forces his eyes to focus after zoning out so stupendously. He draws his eyes up Izuku's face – he hasn't worn any makeup today, nor has he worn contacts. And Shouto wonders, idly, if this is why Izuku's confidence is radiating from him today; if he's more Izuku than usual, if he's allowing himself to feel confident in himself.
"Yeah!" Izuku chirps, splaying his hands on the table, palms down, fingertips spread as wide as they'll go. "I've got such a good feeling about tonight's performance," he says, and that smile on his face only grows wider, and Shouto thinks yeah, there's no way I can go back to not seeing this smile every day.
Because he does see Izuku practically every day, now. Of course, Loverman is a busy man – but when he's not a busy man, Izuku's dropping into his office unannounced with coffee and a few muffins, or he's calling Shouto at the end of his shift (sometimes nearing one in the morning) and saying he's starving, can they go get dinner? And Shouto's never one to decline, not when it means seeing that bright smile, not when it means seeing Izuku. Shouto's beginning to realize that he cares less and less for Mr. Loverman – the celebrity infatuation is gone – and instead, instead he replaces that infatuation with genuine love for Izuku, the man behind the mask (or rather, wig and contacts), the man who's succeeded in reminding Shouto why it is he became a hero. To save people like him, so kind and genuine and good-hearted and lovable and—
I'm in love with Izuku.
It's not a new realization. At the very least, it's been a long time coming. But it still starts a shiver in his toes that worms its way all the way through Shouto's body, resting like a warm, happy vibration in his chest, a tingling thought that reminds him why he felt so jealous of his friends so openly in love. So openly because they can be, and it grips his heart, so wonderfully tingly, and squeezes until he feels like he can't breathe. Because he can't wrap his arm around Izuku's shoulder, he can't exist with just Izuku in the little bubbles Ochaco and Tenya so easily draw up around themselves. He can't have it, and it hurts.
"…to? Shouto!"
Shouto blinks. "Sorry," he murmurs, and Izuku smiles – but this time it's clouded with worry, and Shouto decides he doesn't very much enjoy the look of that on Izuku's face. He quirks his lips in an attempt of a smile of his own, and it must work, because the radiance returns to Izuku's lips, and Izuku pushes himself to stand with those hands so delicately splayed on the table.
"They're opening the doors in five," Izuku relays the message Mr. Smith must have just come and presented them with, because when he looks over at the entrance of the VIP area, the velvet rope is drawn and outside it stands a brawny young woman – must be her Quirk, Shouto thinks. Shouto nods in acknowledgement at Izuku's sentiment, then looks him over, sees that his confidence hasn't dwindled; if anything, it's swelled.
"You're going to do great, Loverman," Shouto murmurs, soft and breathy and barely there. But Izuku hears him, and his eyes crinkle with the absolute force of his grin. And he nods, once, and turns towards the grand piano and seats himself at it delicately.
His playlist choice is beautiful. Shouto helped, but only minutely, before Ochaco and Tenya arrived earlier that evening. Really, all Shouto does is help rearrange the first four songs in an order that makes them flow better; he suggests Cacophony ahead of Illusion; he idles over the other options Izuku's picked. And it sounds amazing, and of course none of that is Shouto's doing. It's all Loverman, it's all Izuku.
He leads with Verbatim, and it sounds so different from all his other performances of it. The crowd hasn't quite settled by the time he plays the first note, but the second it's strummed they fall silent; all eyes fall on him, and while Shouto's haven't settled anywhere different since Izuku made his way back to the piano, they're glued to him now. They trace his body from here, his hands, the look of concentration on his face, the way his back arches ever so slightly. And the music, the music, it's so fitting. It fills the room, but it doesn't overpower it. It's lilting, but slow, the way a waltz might drag in some places and skip in others. And it's beautiful, it's gorgeous, it's everything to Shouto and now he knows he can never let Izuku go because if he never gets to hear this again, he might as well shrivel and die on the spot.
Izuku tails Verbatim with a song of a faster tempo. It's a rare play, and Shouto can only recall the name so quickly because he's the one who helped arrange the setlist. Down the Rabbit Hole, Izuku's so charmingly named it, and Shouto recalls how boring he's always thought the story of Alice in Wonderland to be. He thinks, idly, if Izuku had written the soundtrack for it, he'd have enjoyed it a lot more. The song is a dance of fingers, those same fingers that had so delicately splayed on Shouto's table just a mere fifteen minutes or so ago, and Shouto wishes he could hold those hands, could drag Izuku from the table and pull him into a dance, but then Izuku wouldn't be playing the piano and he finds he's quite torn at the prospect.
And the songs flow from one to the next with such lilting ease that Shouto finds himself drifting. He hasn't gotten much sleep as of late, with the doubled reports and extra morning patrols and the late nights. And he doesn't mind. He'd never been one to get much sleep when he was younger, and now it feels even less necessary, like there's a reason he's not getting any sleep, because there is, and that reason is currently playing him to sleep at the piano.
He has to drum his fingertips on his knees to keep himself alert. Just because Ochaco and Tenya are here most certainly does not mean that he has the night off. Not when he can see them out of the corner of his eye, and he can see Tenya rising from the table, with Ochaco almost too encapsulated to notice, and he can see Ochaco turning to look at him finally as he meets her side of the table.
And glass shatters.
It takes Shouto exactly one point four eight seconds to meet Izuku's side, to have Izuku pressed against him with one arm while the other throws up a wall of ice. It takes another four point two six seconds for a villain to come tumbling across the floor of the main area, and for Ochaco and Tenya to both run for the exit of the VIP area. After that, it's three point five seven seconds until Shouto hears screaming, hears the sound of someone hitting someone else.
And time absolutely stops when Shouto finally gets another look at Izuku.
His eyes are blown wide and he's frozen. His face is contorted into a grimace that looks almost painful, and it's because Izuku looks like he's in pain, and Shouto knows he's terrified. He's rooted to the spot, his breath comes barely even in rhythm, it's like a stutter. His heart beats off-handedly, skips every other like a hesitation, like it's nervous to pump. Like every single part of Izuku's body is screaming to run besides his feet, arguably the most important piece of this particular equation.
Shouto turns entirely to face Izuku. Fuck the stupid villain, whoever it is – he's spent so much time training at Ochaco's and Tenya's sides that he has no doubt they can take them. The voice that growls in the background is unrecognizable, and Shouto can safely assume it's not anyone from the League. He cups Izuku's face, forces him to look up. "Loverman," he calls out, and Izuku's eyes are glossy. He's panicking, looks like he may be fully gone, honestly, and it's terrifying. Most of the others in the VIP area are being escorted out by two side heroes – Catarina and Thimble, if Shouto remembers correctly – and so he doesn't stop himself from breathing out, "Izuku."
Izuku's eyes drift to his, warily, clouded with worry. Shouto almost wishes Izuku were wearing contacts right now – perhaps to hide how utterly horrified he looks right now. And all Shouto can do is whisper a stream of "It'll be alright"s, which slowly muddle into not much more than incoherent mumbling, all while he keeps Izuku's face in his hands.
He can hear Tenya's leg engines, can hear Ochaco's melee attacks throwing the villain around. He can also hear how, in the midst of it all, they still call out to onlookers, to the crowd of middle-aged people who have Quirks that just aren't strong enough to make them heroes, directing them away from the danger. And it doesn't take long for the villain to be suspended, and it's only two minutes and forty-six seconds after that that the police arrive to take him away in handcuffs.
Shouto still holds Izuku's face in his hands by the time the night recovers from the interruption. Tenya and Ochaco are the first to resume their seats, and slowly others migrate back to where they were. But Izuku is rooted to the spot, and Shouto's not about to be the first to pull away. He isn't quite sure exactly when these tear tracts appear on Izuku's face, but he's been wiping away a silent stream of tears for a bit now when a chatter washes over the audience. It seems they're all anxious to resume the night, to pretend the villain attack hasn't upended the evening, and only when Mr. Smith himself clears his throat along the side of the VIP area does Shouto drag his eyes from Izuku's and scan them over the crowd.
Most of them stare at him, at Loverman. At Shouto holding Loverman's face so tenderly, whispering words that have been lost to him long ago. He, with all the hesitation in the world, withdraws his hands from Izuku's face, reaches for the microphone propped by the grand piano. And the crowd's eyes trace over him, not with a tenderness but almost an annoyance, as he grabs for the microphone and pulls it to his lips. He taps it once, ensures it's on.
"Show's over."