A soft chime marked his entry into the café, but the only indication any one else was even in the building was a soft "be with you in a minute" that filtered in from the back kitchen. Aizawa took a moment to look around the room. It was cozy and welcoming, and he guessed the emptiness was due only to the late hour and the fact that it was located in a residential neighborhood—it likely would get filled up mainly by the pre-work and after-school crowds.

After a quick threat assessment of the building—exits at front and rear, no cameras or visible security measures in place, four cats including a snaggle-toothed long-haired black kitten that had Aizawa's hands twitching with the urge to touch, a low-risk situation overall—the pro hero approached the counter. As he was just starting to look over the menu, a soft snort escaping as he registered the cat-themed names of specialty drinks, the sole barista came in.

"Let me know if you've got any questions about the menu. All coffee's roasted in house, pastries fresh this morning but the cookies are from this afternoon so they're still soft. You need a minute?"

Aizawa looked up from the menu as the floating voice was accompanied by a body coming out of the back room and approaching the counter. The college-aged kid was short and could have been called plain by someone with less-developed awareness, but the underground hero could see the intelligence and affability in the young man's big green eyes.

"Can I get a double-redeye and a melon bread? For here."

The man started reaching for his wallet, nestled in the back pocket of his (clean, nicer) jumpsuit, but the other man waved him off and pointed at a sign on the counter.

'Heroes drink free' was printed in a big green font. And underneath, in smaller hand-printed writing, was 'except Hawks - you know what you did.' Even further below was written 'fuck you too but pls forgive - xoxo Hawks' in messy red pen.

"Grab a seat and I'll bring this out," the young man said sunnily.

"Thanks," he murmured, heading in the direction of the black-haired cat he'd picked out before. Sliding into a booth, he wiggled his fingers at the cat, accompanied with a soft 'sksksk' to get its attention. To his glee—which, on Eraserhead's face at this moment, looked merely like he was less constipated—the feline stood up and sauntered over. She jumped up and, after making a few circles

in his lap, plopped down.

He mourned the cleanliness of the more-formal jumpsuit, but realized he should have expected it'd get covered in cat hair. How exactly one was supposed to dress for a date at a cat café—and was this a date? or just a precursor?—was unknown to him.

A quick check of the cat's collar (Eraserhead Jr. oh god) and it was suddenly apparent how the young man at the counter knew Aizawa was a pro hero—someone at the café, maybe even the barista himself, was a fanboy. It was slightly unsettling how... not-unsettled he was by the man knowing his hero status. Normally, he'd be on edge by being recognized in public, but this kid...

Aizawa turned to look at the other man behind the counter. The man grabbed the coffee drink— no, two drinks, and a small plate with the melon bread, all expertly balanced in one hand. He moved towards the front door and locked it, flipping the 'open' sign over. Then, approaching Aizawa's booth, he put the bread and one drink in front of the hero and held on to the other as he slipped in the other side.

"Izuku. Um, M-m-midoriya Izuku. But just Izuku is f-fine."

The green-haired kid's voice was lower than Aizawa had been expecting, and he hadn't stuttered when taking his order. But that name didn't explain why he'd sat down at...

Oh. Ohh.

Another, longer, more-appraising look at the kid. Cataloging bitten-red lips, chaotic and

asymmetrical freckles, shaggy but clean green-black hair. Sparkling, green—so, so green—eyes.

Aizawa abruptly keeled over, smashing his forehead on the table, just narrowly avoiding the high- caffeine drink.

"He's cute and he works at a cat café, what the hell."

"Um, actually," Izuku interrupted, causing Aizawa to look up at the sheepish (nervous, anxious) smile, "I own the café. See—" he pointed at the small logo on the apron "—Meowdoriya café. Get it, like Midoriya. Meowdoriya..." He trailed off.

A loud thud echoed the mostly-empty room as Aizawa banged his forehead back down, followed by an intelligible and strangled scream. The dozing cat in his lap hadn't moved an inch.

"He's cute and he owns a cat café fuck fuck fuck."

"Is that—is that a bad—I'm sorry?" Izuku sounded uncertain, a hint of dangerous self-doubt in his

voice.

The pro hero, recognizing that tone and knowing the downward spiral it could lead to, shot out a hand to stop the younger man from getting up and retreating back to the kitchen.

"Nope." Aizawa raised his head, looking directly into the other man's intelligent eyes. "That is the exact opposite of bad. You are absolutely fucking perfect and I'm... it's throwing me off, to be honest. Good shit like this—like you—doesn't exactly come my way very often. Why haven't we done this until now?"

Izuku relaxed slightly. "Probably because you've been too hung up on failing to capture me." "Uh huh. It only counts as failure if I were actually trying."

"Sure, tell yourself that." Izuku—the vigilante Deku, as Aizawa had clearly realized—took a sip of his own hot drink before continuing. "So, what now?"

"I don't know. I didn't exactly make a plan."

"Well. I mean, n-n-now that you know who I am..."

"Kid. Deku... Izuku," he rolled the name off his tongue intimately. "I haven't actually been trying to catch you in over a year. Several, if I'm being honest. I'm certainly not going to start now."

"Ok. Thanks, Eraserhead." "Shouta."

"...Shouta."

"So." Aizawa took a sip—the two shots of espresso weren't overpoweringly bitter, and the oaken flavors of the roasted-in-house coffee shone. This would definitely be a new regular stop for him whenever he was in the neighborhood. Even if things with Izuku didn't work out. "I'm the first hero to find out your real identity. You okay with that?"

"Second." Izuku looked away.

The jealousy that rippled through his body was entirely unexpected. That there was another hero

out there who had known his vigilante's—no, the vigilante's—name before him.

Aizawa had never considered himself a possessive man. The few casual and short-lived relationships he'd been in before, he'd kept his partners at an arm's length—both physically and emotionally.

But here, this vigilante he barely knew, almost ten years his junior—

"Who." He couldn't keep the ice out of his voice.

Izuku rolled his eyes. "Not like that. It's—"

"Who." Aizawa shot his hands out and pressed down on Izuku's forearms, a little firmly but most certainly not forcefully.

"Nezu!" the boy squeaked.

"Nezu?" The hero released Izuku's arms and leaned back in confusion, his jealousy immediately

wiped out. "How the hell did you even meet Nezu?"

The younger man tensed up ever-so-slightly. "He c-c-contacted me after I was denied admission to

UA."

"You were—" Aizawa was flabbergasted; Izuku had all the qualities, both physical and mental, that made an amazing hero. "You failed the practical?"

Izuku snorted but quickly schooled his expression. "I wasn't even allowed to apply to the hero course. I applied to general studies, aced the written exam."

"But—"

"Nezu tried, he really did. But the board went over his head. So he came to me personally, helped

me get to where I am. Made sure I would succeed even if no high school would admit me. I mean, who did you think I was getting pro-hero-level gear from?"

An awkward silence passed as Aizawa digested that information, and as Izuku waited for Aizawa to ask the question he clearly didn't want to answer.

"I have never heard of the school board overruling a student's admission." "That's not a question."

Aizawa sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to order you to tell me why." "I want to tell you."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"Fear," Izuku said baldly. "You're, well. You're the only person in my life, really, and you haven't even met me—the real me—until today. If I lost you..."

The hero placed his hands on the table, palm up, and wiggled his fingers until Izuku placed his own hands in them. The older man laced their fingers together.

"Izuku. Do you trust me?" "More than anyone else."

"Then listen. There is nothing you could say that would make me leave." And Aizawa was startled to realize that he really meant it.

"I'm quirkless."

The words sounded shotgun-loud in the otherwise-silent café. Aizawa felt his hands squeeze tight —painfully tight—around the other man's. He said nothing, his face growing darker by the second.

"You're mad," Izuku said heartbreakingly quiet. "I'll just—"

The vigilante made as if to get up but Aizawa held him in place. The hero tightened his grip once more before loosening, starting to gently stroke the back of Izuku's scarred hands with his calloused thumbs.

"Not mad, no, not at you." Never at you, his mind supplied. "I... I'm well aware of the statistics. How high the chance is that we would have never met. How easily you could have—"

"If Nezu hadn't come to me, after..." Izuku trailed off.

They sat in a poignant silence, Aizawa gently caressing Izuku's hands. Abruptly, the pro hero snorted.

"They have a betting board on your quirk down at the precinct."

"Oh?" Izuku perked up, their maudlin moment over. "Any good guesses?"

"Mostly what you'd expect, given we've never seen you use a quirk. Intelligence, analysis, dexterity."

"Meh."

"Sansa's convinced you might be part cat." "Ah, so that's the real reason you liked me." "I should be so lucky."

With a beat of silence and a flush, Izuku asked the question they were dancing around. "So, are we going to try this? For real, I mean. If you just want a plus-one to the w-w-wedding, I'm... fine with that too, I guess. Or, if you... know, that—you know, you don't want..." The vigilante looked down at their linked hands.

"What are you doing Tuesday afternoon? And do you own a suit?" "Working, but I've got part-time employees who can cover. And no. Why?"

"I'm going to pick up my suit for the wedding on Tuesday; you can come get one at the same time."

"Oh." Izuku sounded a little let down but smiled softly anyway. "That'd be—" "And afterwards I want to take you on a date. A real date."

Aizawa felt his heart flutter at the blinding grin that split across the younger man's face. Cute didn't do him justice. Beautiful, awe-inspiring. Perfect.

A chirp from Aizawa's phone let him know it was time to leave—he still had to get to his agency and change into his hero costume before his shift that night. How had a half-hour already passed by?

"Have to go?" Izuku asked. "Patrol?"

"Mmhmm. Am I going to see you out there tonight?" Aizawa wasn't sure if it was improper to ask, wasn't sure how their hero-vigilante relationship would go, and he didn't want to overstep.

"Sunday night... you'll be in Red Light, right?"

"Why am I not surprised you have my patrol route memorized?"

Izuku laughed. "I'm sticking around the docks tonight, and take Mondays off. So I guess I won't see you until Tuesday. Text me with details?"

"Absolutely."

Aizawa made to stand up, but he was tugged back down so that a blushing Izuku could place a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Have a good patrol, Shouta." "Have a good patrol, Izuku."