Trigger Warning:

- PTSD

- panic attack

Another month had passed.

August brought with it the end of summer break and the beginning of the next semester.

Which of course meant that Izuku and Kamiko were going to salvage the last bits of monsoon season before their responsibilities called to them.

In other words, a date.

There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them: not all their dates had to involve some sort of exorbitant expense. After the scolding Izuku received from his higher-up, they decided to limit the number of times they met up at a pricey place. Both of them were simply content having the other's presence nearby.

Such was one of their dates now. Walking hand-in-hand, never leaving the other's side, Izuku and Kamiko meandered the city, observing any attraction that might have caught their interest.

Eventually, one did.

A petite ice cream stall.

Izuku watched Kamiko dash toward the vendor and ask about the flavors. To attract customers, the vendor designed his ice cream scoops in the shapes of kittens. It certainly seemed to be working, given how Kamiko inspected the menu with unhidden enthusiasm. Not to mention, the prices were reasonable.

Kamiko chose the red curry-pandan flavor for the cat face and coconut for the ears. Izuku had never knew there were so many varieties of ice cream. His knowledge was limited to the containers available at the local grocery store. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and matcha. After the vendor prepared the kitten in a cone, he passed it to Kamiko.

"How's the taste?" Izuku asked.

Her tail perked up. That was a good sign, right? "Sir, could you make one more, please?" Okay. That was definitely a positive reaction.

Kamiko handed the second ice cream to Izuku, clearly intending for him to eat it. It was her manner of doing it that had Izuku erupt into a burst of chortles. With one eye shut and ear drooped down, she looked silly. The look was completed with the tongue just peeking out from a lip bite. Between bouts of laughter, Izuku exclaimed, "Did you have brain freeze? You seem ridiculous!"

But the longer she maintained that face, the less funny and more adorable she appeared.

"Try it!" she beamed as she took another bite from her own.

Izuku did as she told. Indeed, the flavor was unique. Each element had its own subtle quality that altogether, the dessert was not overpowering on the tongue. It was not too sweet. That was the ultimate compliment a pâtissier could receive, and Izuku made sure that the ice cream vendor knew it.

Partly because of being a hero, partly because of his personality, Izuku liked making people smile. The praise brought a grin to the vendor's face, which in turn brought joy to Izuku. His girlfriend was happy, the man he encountered was happy, so he was happy. Izuku was relieved that the vendor was not racist toward Kamiko. Or if he secretly was, then he had the decency not to express it. Either way, the outing was going smoothly. What more could Izuku want?

Turns out, there was.

He would have been lying if he said that the five percent discount the vendor gave them had no effect on him.

"I'm going to recommend you to my colleagues," Izuku told the ice cream seller before leaving with Kamiko to their next unknown destination.

But ice cream was hardly enough to constitute as a meal.

By afternoon, Izuku and Kamiko required proper sustenance.

Since Izuku paid for dessert in the morning, Kamiko insisted on treating him this round. She wondered where they should have lunch. Someplace reputable to be tolerant toward mutants and renowned for their quality in dishes. She opened her phone, locating nearby restaurants.

All of a sudden, a waft of melted caramel and ashes of incense drifted her way. Very faint, barely noticeable. However, with Kamiko's fox gift of having a keen sense of smell, even trace fragrances like these were easily detectable. She briefly contemplated whether it was her growling stomach that was making her hallucinate smells.

But no. The aroma intensified.

The source moved closer to her. She attempted to observe the owner of such an innovative combination of scents.

There. Standing by the unlit lamppost. A tall, light-skinned young man with spiky, ash blonde hair and scarlet eyes. A sneer lined his mouth, almost set in permanently. Though the man was dressed in casual wear, only a fool would not recognize the person. Bakugou Katsuki. Pro-Hero name Dynamite. His role was crucial in the fall of the League of Villains and the Paranormal Liberation Army. Even now, he garnered plenty of acclaim for his actions then.

From solely his appearance, Dynamite was an intense person. The numerous interviews and live footage of battles portrayed Dynamite's rage and rashness, eventually becoming his trademark. A counterpart to Izuku's cordiality and calmness. Izuku had told Kamiko plenty about him, but nothing could have prepared for this encounter.

He had spotted the two of them much earlier than Kamiko did. In fact, he seemed to be waiting for them to notice him before taking action.

He saundered toward them, perpetual frown never turning up.

More than just their personalities, Kamiko figured, Dynamite's and Izuku's auras were vastly different. Whereas Izuku smelled of a pine forest after rainfall, this man's miasma of ashes was a stark contrast. Although his explosion quirk likely had a factor in that.

Dynamite took long, confident strides. It was juxtaposed with the lax, carefree nature of his hands in his jacket pockets. He easily covered the distance in seconds. Kamiko felt her ears flop back and tail tremble. His presence built up such a pressure that it was impossible to not feel nervous around him.

He stopped until he was about three-and-a-half meters away. Just enough that he could gaze at both Izuku and Kamiko without having to crane his head up.

"To think that I would meet you outside of gym club or our houses … my luck must be terrible today," he spoke.

Kamiko was taken aback. That was not a very polite thing to say. Greetings were not conducted like that. But when Izuku answered him, she understood that this conversation was a recurring event. Still, not nice. Also, that statement did not make sense when he had been watching them first.

Izuku cheered, "Kacchan! Hi! It's good to see you. Meet Furukawa Kamiko, my girlfriend. Kamiko, this is Bakugou Katsuki. Dynamite."

Kamiko bowed, as was courtesy. For all his rudeness and arrogance, he commandeered respect. Deservedly, so. "A pleasure to meet you, Dynamite-san." There was another reason as well.

And Dynamite was the one who brought it up. Waving a dismissive hand, he said, "No need for the formalities. Just call me Bakugou. How are you doing now? After the incident, I mean."

That was the second reason. Bakugou was present the night she had been attacked by the mob of masked men. Along with Izuku's, his assistance had been essential to her rescue. He had been the one to bring a team of police officers and heroes to the scene. For that, she was eternally grateful.

"Much better. Thank you for asking," Kamiko replied. "I never got the opportunity to express my gratitude. So I'll say it now. I'm glad you protected me."

He waved his hand again, telling her it was his duty both as a hero and an ally to Izuku. "This idiot here," he jut a finger toward Izuku, "wanted to ask you out. Looking at you guys now, I presume he did?"

Kamiko felt no shame in replying. "Yes."

"How long?"

She did not notice Izuku tugging the sleeve of her arm, urging her to not answer that question. Utterly unaware, she said, "Since June." She also missed the quiet groan that escaped his throat.

Perhaps that was why neither of them were prepared for Bakugou launching himself into the air and covering the distance in less than a second. One moment he was standing far away. The next, he shoved Iuku onto his back and shook him violently.

"You're such an asshole, Izuku!" Bakugou shouted. "First your mom! Now your girlfriend! Why is that I hear every important development in your love life from everyone except you?!"

Between breaths, Izuku gasped, "I'm sorry! I was busy, and you were, too!"

"For two whole freaking months?!"

Kamiko was unsure about what to do. Should she have intervened or not? This tackle was not like the one with Etsudo, who trapped Izuku simply to tease her. Being friends, Kamiko had the authority to tell her to leave him. In this situation, however, she had neither the disposition nor the power. In fact, she was afraid that a slight mistake on her part might enrage the already furious man to unimaginable heights.

She began squealing as a result. "Squeak! Guys! I think we can talk this out civilly. Squeak! There has to be a misunderstanding." Tremors ran up and down her spine, and her tail started to twitch.

But both of them were not listening to her.

"You looked so exasperated every time I brought up my relationship developments with you!" Izuku countered.

Bakugou gave him another vigorous jerk. "That's because you're always making a fool out of yourself. Without me, who's going to give you fashion advice? Who's going to tell you when to step up?"

Kamiko was about to try again when something Bakugou said caught her attention. "Wait! Fashion advice?"

Of all things, that seemed to be what diverted his attention from the fight. Pausing momentarily in his pursuit to teach Izuku a lesson, he faced Kamiko. "That's right. I was the one who told this idiot what to wear. Green shirt, brown pants. Guess who came up with that combination?"

Kamiko immediately recalled all the instances where Izuku dressed in that get up. "That was your doing?" she exclaimed, incredulously.

"Duh. One time, this idiot wore this hideous brown tuxedo to a hero convention. It was so baggy and ugly, it still gives me nightmares when I think about it! Your boyfriend's sense of style is trash, I'm telling you!"

It was so sudden. So unconventional. So preposterous. The entire situation was ridiculous enough that Kamiko found herself giggling uncontrollably. Small bursts at first. Then outright bouts. Both boys stopped grappling with each other. Kamiko laughed so hard that tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. She had to clutch her stomach to control the shaking.

"Forgive me! It's just … you guys … this whole thing." Her sentences were left trailing. After regaining some semblance of composure, she grinned, "The childishness between you two, it's refreshing. I can't remember the last time I laughed like that. It truly is a pleasure to meet you Bakugou."

Less than ten minutes had passed since she properly met the Pro-Hero, but already she attained a good grasp of his personality. Bakugou was a contradiction. From his words down to his actions, everything about him conflicted somehow. Anger was the mode by which he knew how to express care. Using the cliché analogy "hard on the outside, soft on the inside" did not aptly describe him, but Bakugou indeed possessed an emotional side. She experienced joy, knowing that there was more to the man besides a livid exterior.

Seeing the slight red color manifest on his cheeks brought about another fit of chuckles. "Sure," he grumbled. And he freed Izuku.

Izuku stood on his feet, brushing off dust. "Thank you, Kamiko. Otherwise, it would have made headlines. Pro-Hero Deku was killed by Dynamite because he failed to give dating updates."

"Your outfit is still garbage," Bakugou retorted. "Anyway, Best Jeanist sent me on a stupid errand to pick up sushi. Luckily, he gave me his credit card. So I'm going to get a little payback. If you guys are hungry, you can join me. We can celebrate this nerd's courage to finally ask you out while we're at it."

Kamiko's rumbling stomach was all the affirmation the trio needed.

Compared to Izuku's fashion sense, Best Jeanist's choice of cuisine was excellent.

Although, Katsuki would never admit it to his face.

So when the three of them finally reached the establishment, Katsuki was ready to max out the limit on his employer's credit card. However, a complication arose that none of them anticipated.

The restaurant was anti-mutant.

There were two workers standing by the entrance. Seeing them, one of them stepped forward. "The two men are allowed to enter the premises. Item stays behind."

Katsuki sensed the moment that Izuku was about to step up and defend Furukawa's honor. Instead, Katsuki decided to give the worker a piece of his mind. Grabbing the employee by the collar and pulling him close to his face, Katsuki whispered, "Listen here, you worthless piece of shit. I think you know who I am. You better. I almost fucking died to give this country another chance. For four years I have been working night and day Pro-Hero. I fight villains, terrorists, and other national threats.

"So nothing but praise and appreciation for me should be spitting out of your mouth. In fact, you should be kissing my feet. I did not save your sorry ass just to hear you be a douchebag. Keep your racist slurs to yourself and let us in."

Most people would find it odd. Bakugou Katsuki, personality as explosive as his quirk. Insults were his only language, and shouting his only tone. So why drop his voice now? Why reserve boisterous outrage for Izuku? Katsuki had learned the hard way that no one takes a consistently angry person's fury seriously. Because he behaved irritated so often, people had become accustomed to it. The way to change that that was to change his strategy. Noise failed him; perhaps quietness would not.

He was right. The combination of hushed murmurs and filthy curses made the hairs of wrongdoers' arms rise. It induced more terror than his former behavior. Such was the case now. Visibly frightened, the employee meekly argued that it was the company's policy to have mutants kept out.

"Then break it," Katsuki countered. "It's a stupid policy. You have three hungry customers. Take it or leave it."

The worker backed down, stuttering that both heroes and their 'plus one' were invited inside. Katsuki released the worker's collar and beckoned for the two of them to follow him.

Once inside, he heard Furukawa mumble, "Thank you, Bakugou."

He did not respond. Admittedly, he did not hold much respect for mutants himself. Not because he viewed them as otherworldly or subhuman. Katsuki did not hold racist ideologies like that. Instead, he held the same disdain for them as he held for every other person on the planet. Even after everything he went through, Katsuki believed himself to be the best in the world and the epitome of what everyone should aspire to be. Occasionally, Izuku called him out for his grandiose sense of self-worth. Pretentious, overambitious, ostentatious, were some of the words he used. He did not care. After all, he had good taste in clothes. Did not that automatically make him beyond par with human civilization?

What was the point of saying all of that now? He was here with the intention to get revenge on his boss for all that excessive paperwork and other inane tasks.

Katsuki found them three adjacent seats around a large round table. In front of each chair was a touch-screen, displaying the menu options and prices. Of course, Katsuki selected the most expensive items. He would have his fill first before ordering his boss's meal.

The restaurant was notable in more ways than one. Ignoring the disrespect of the employees, the aesthetics and the themes of the establishment were novel. A miniature cargo train ran around the circumference of the table, delivering small plates of dishes to the customers. The table ran the entire length of one false wall, and only one side was visible to the patrons. The other half remained hidden by the wall, where the kitchens were. Only two holes in the partition to allow for entry and exit of the train provided indication of where the meals were coming and going.

The three of them passed the time discussing trivial topics. Internships, college, music school, U.A., plans for the autumn, and things like that. When Izuku brought up about the incident with his superior paying the bill, Katsuki roared out of laughter. He told him that he was a dunce and deserved to be charged a ridiculous amount of interest. That this was why credit cards were better than cash. The train came and went, transporting full plates and empty plates to its destinations.

It was then.

After Katsuki placed another order for spicy crab salad sushi, he asked, "So since you're officially dating, do your parents know about you guys?"

Both lovers whipped their heads toward him simultaneously. Furukawa had just put a roll of sushi in her mouth, and Izuku was about to. The piece between Izuku's chopsticks fell onto his plate as they stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Katsuki could almost see computer loading circles hovering above their heads as they processed his question.

"Well?" he prompted again, undeterred.

That snapped them out of their shock. Furukawa choked on her morsel and Izuku yelped.

"I didn't tell my mom and dad!" Furukawa exclaimed.

Izuku replied, "Same here! It completely slipped my mind to tell Mom!"

Looking at them both, unimpressed, Katsuki let out a heavy sigh. They are both incurable idiots, he thought to himself. Absolutely perfect for each other.

About one and half hours later, the trio left the restaurant.

Katsuki informed them that he had to return to Best Jeanist's hero agency, so he was going to part ways with them soon. Meanwhile, Izuku decided to escort Kamiko to the bus station.

It was nightfall when they departed. The time marking the start of a vivacious night. Izuku had taken her to a street where crowds of people gathered and mingled. The flashing lights, the mix of conversations, the cacophony of sounds … Kamiko felt nervous. The sensation was just too much.

She heard Izuku ask her something. "Hey! Are you okay? Are you worried about the people making mean comments about you?"

She opened her mouth to tell him that that was not the case. However, no sound would come out. Instead, the surrounding aura intensified so much that a monotonous, loud ringing echoed in her ears. There was a sushi wrapper in her hand that she intended to throw in the nearest trash can. It slipped between her fingers.

Kamiko covered her face with her palms, hoping to find some relief. It felt like a cloth was being shoved down her throat, down her windpipe. Much like the gag the gang of masked men had pushed inside her mouth. The world alternated between gigantic and miniscule every passing second, and it was all so overwhelming.

Eventually, she succumbed to it. Curling into a ball and burying her head between her knees, Kamiko tried to breathe. That metaphorical gag pressed down harder. Her chest began to burn. Suffocation had trapped her in its web completely. Kamiko tried to scream. Again, nothing came out. There was no indication that she was in pain, save for the onslaught of tears she could not hold back.

Kamiko would not have been surprised if she died right now. So desperate for a reprieve that even death's kiss would have felt like a blessing.

All of a sudden, something touched her wrist. Warm. Soft. Gentle. Full of life in the best way possible. Kamiko could not help but flinch instinctively before easing into the contact. Izuku. Izuku was the one comforting her, and she liked it. After raising her head just enough to peer at him, she found herself leaning against him. Love and adoration radiated from his single touch. His down-to-earth personality slowly stabilized her.

Perhaps that was why she became so acutely aware of each of his motions. His fingers, which had only been brushing her fur, covered her hands in his own. "Honey," he murmured. The nickname almost made her melt into a pool of honey. Almost, for she did not release her deathlike grip on her arms. "Focus on my voice." He traced meaningless patterns on the back of her hands. She followed his movements attentively. "You're having a panic attack," he continued in that same, soft voice. "You must try to take a deep breath. Can you do that for me?"

This time, Kamiko was able to respond somewhat verbally. A strangled squeal escaped her lips. The choking atmosphere concentrated once more.

"You're safe, and I need you to breath with me." Izuku spoke a level above a whisper, likely sensing the shift in her behavior. Yet she hardly heard him over the dissonance of voices and lights.

Though she did not realize it, Kamiko had curled into herself so tightly that she was vibrating on the cement sidewalk. Black spots appeared in her vision. A warning that she was about to lose consciousness any moment. She became so focused on staying awake that she did not notice her hold on herself had loosened and Izuku had grabbed her hands.

Not until she felt cotton fabric and a steady pulse beneath them. A heart. A steadily beating heart. Izuku's heart. An inhalation. An exhalation. Izuku's lungs. With the black spots getting bigger in size and number, Kamiko observed his chest rise and fall in a consistent rhythm in a daze.

"Breathe," he said so quietly that Kamiko thought she hallucinated it.

And she did as he told in one mighty sigh.

The dark circles began to vanish. Her ability to focus returned. Kamiko stopped struggling to remain awake. Her hands, which had somehow held onto Izuku's shirt, now clenched the material between strong fists. Still struggling to breathe, but not so much as earlier, she let his ministrations guide her back to safety.

With one hand, Izuku kept her palms against him. With the other, he reached behind to stroke her back. Drawing circles just below her shoulder blades, Kamiko felt the knots of tension uncoil. Izuku kept at it for several minutes. Never saying a word, his actions calmed the spurs of short breaths and racing heartbeats.

Finally, Kamiko felt relaxed. Relaxed enough for Izuku to speak again.

"Good job, Kamiko. Let's do another exercise. Could you name five things that you can see for me?"

Kamiko was scared to look away from him. What if the bright lights and loud sounds triggered her again? But the faith and encouragement on his face compelled her to not let him down. Taking a deep breath, she broke her gaze from him. "I … I see … a blue car. Tall lamppost. Smartphone. A brown Labrador. And Bakugou shouting at the crowd. Why?"

A loud bang emanated from said shouter. "Yeah," he answered. "He is chasing away the people who were recording you. Don't mind him. You're doing great. Now tell me four things you can touch."

"Concrete … your shirt … the glass … and … and … and …" She found herself unable to name the fourth item. The name of the object hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she could not bring herself to say it. Why? The tears that had stopped flowing threatened to return.

Izuku squeezed her hands. "Hey, hey, hey! It's okay. This is not a test. Don't stress yourself. We can skip to the next part. Name three things you can hear."

Some time after the insensitive horde of phone-recording people dissipated and Kamiko's panic attack faded, Izuku helped her onto her feet.

Katsuki had bid them goodbye, but Izuku was reluctant to do the same for Kamiko. He remained close to her, afraid that she might relapse again, and he would not be there.

Fear of isolated, dark alleys and now fear of bright, public-infested areas. He had every good reason to be concerned for her.

"Would you like anything, Kamiko?" he asked.

She nodded. Tearfully, she replied, "I want to go home."

It was that apprehension that made him say, "Then I'll take you home."