Izuku's phone buzzed against the tabletop, the screen lighting up with a new message.

Ochako: Still at Katsuki's. Eri finally knocked out. Giving him some company while you're out—he's letting me stay for tea. Good luck on your date! Be nice, okay?

Izuku exhaled slowly, his fingers hovering over the screen before locking his phone and setting it facedown.

Still at Katsuki's.

That meant Eri was asleep, which was good. But Ochako staying for tea? That wasn't exactly normal. Katsuki wasn't the type to entertain guests unless there was a practical reason for it. Maybe she just didn't feel like going home yet.

Or maybe she was prying.

Izuku frowned slightly, tapping his fingers against the table. He could practically hear her teasing him now, needling Katsuki for information, nudging him in a way that only she could get away with. And if Katsuki hadn't kicked her out yet, maybe that meant…

No. Nope. Not going down that road right now.

He glanced at his phone again, resisting the urge to text back. It wasn't like he needed to check in. Eri was fine—she was fine. Katsuki would take care of her. He had been doing this on his own long before Izuku ever showed up. But still…

He hoped she didn't give him too much trouble.

She had been a little fussy earlier, though that was nothing new. She was still adjusting to him—some days better than others. He just hoped tonight wasn't one of the bad ones.

He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the napkin, sighing.

You're on a date, focus.

This was supposed to be something for him—a rare chance to meet someone new, to step out of his comfort zone. He had promised himself he'd give this a real shot.

But the more he told himself that, the more his mind wandered back to the blonde man across the hall.

Katsuki had been acting weird earlier. He'd brushed Izuku off, barely looked at him before telling him to just go already. He had seemed… tense, more than usual. Not quite irritated, but something else.

Izuku had wanted to ask about it, but he hadn't. He'd just left.

Now he kind of wished he hadn't.

He shook his head. No, stop it.

Katsuki wasn't his problem. And if there was something wrong, Katsuki wasn't exactly the type to talk about it.

Izuku leaned back, forcing himself to refocus.

The chime of the restaurant door pulled Izuku's attention, and he sat up a little straighter as his date stepped inside.

She was pretty, just like in the picture Ochako had shown him—warm brown eyes, auburn hair loosely pinned back with a few strands framing her face. She had a casual but put-together style, wearing a soft cream sweater under a fitted coat.

Her gaze swept the restaurant until she spotted him. The moment their eyes met, she smiled—bright, open, the kind that put people at ease.

"Izuku?"

He stood quickly, nodding as he returned her smile. "Yeah—hi."

Emi pulled off her coat, draping it over the back of the chair before settling in across from him. As she adjusted her sleeves, her fingers brushed over a simple silver ring on her thumb, twisting it absentmindedly before she caught herself and tucked her hands into her lap.

"Sorry if I kept you waiting," she said, tilting her head. "I was worried I'd be late, but looks like you got here early."

Izuku chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh—bad habit."

She grinned. "Well, I'll take that as enthusiasm."

Her tone was light, teasing—but now that he was paying attention, he noticed. That little flick of her thumb against her ring, the way her fingers turned it over, a nervous tell despite how confident she sounded.

Something about that made him feel less alone in his own nerves.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

She picked up the menu, scanning it with a thoughtful hum. "Have you been here before?"

Izuku shook his head. "No, but Ochako said it's good."

Emi smiled. "Yeah, my coworkers love this place. I've been meaning to try it." She glanced at him over the menu. "Ochako tells me you work from home?"

He nodded, grateful for an easy topic. "Yeah, I run a small business—mostly freelance work, commissions. It's nice being able to set my own hours."

"That sounds amazing." She leaned in slightly, intrigued. "I wish I had that kind of freedom. My job's great, but sometimes I miss having time for personal projects."

Izuku smiled, relaxing a little. "Yeah, that's definitely a perk. What do you do again? Ochako mentioned something about design?"

"Mhm, graphic design. I work for a marketing firm, but I do some illustration work on the side." She set the menu down, eyes lighting up a little. Her fingers tapped against her ring again, rolling it between her knuckles as she spoke. "Actually, I've done some work for D&D campaigns—custom character art, stuff like that."

"Oh, that's really cool." His interest piqued. "So you play too?"

She laughed, nodding. "Of course! I've been playing for years. I actually met Ochako through a game night, but I never joined your group since I already had one."

"That's right, she mentioned that." Izuku found himself smiling. "She said your group gets pretty competitive."

"Oh, we do," she said, grinning as she reached for her water. "But in a good way. Maybe we could do a crossover one-shot sometime?"

The idea was genuinely appealing, and for a moment, Izuku let himself get swept up in it. This was fun—easy.

But something still felt off.

Every response was balanced, every answer polite. There was no sharp edge, no unpredictability.

Not like—

Izuku stopped the thought before it could fully form.

He shouldn't be comparing her to Katsuki. That wasn't fair.

But the realization settled in, uncomfortable and unshakable.

With Katsuki, conversation was never just easy—it was real, even when it was frustrating. A rhythm he had come to expect, maybe even look forward to.

And now, in the absence of that, he noticed it more than ever.

Izuku blinked back to the present as Emi swirled the ice in her glass before leaning in slightly, her lips curling in amusement. "So, what's been your latest obsession?"

Izuku opened his mouth—then hesitated.

It should have been an easy question. Normally, he'd go on about a deep-dive research topic, a new mechanic he was obsessing over, something intricate and nerdy.

But the first thing that came to mind was Eri.

"Educational toys for toddlers," he said before he could stop himself.

Emi blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a small laugh. "Did not expect that one."

Izuku chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I've been looking into different ones—puzzles, shape sorters, anything that helps with fine motor skills and early problem-solving."

Her brows lifted slightly. "That's really specific. You have a niece or something?"

The question was innocent. Expected.

But it still made him pause.

He could have just said yes. Could have let it slide.

Instead, he hesitated.

"I—uh, not exactly," he admitted. "I help babysit my neighbor's daughter."

Emi nodded, offering a genuine smile, but her fingers started twisting her ring again. "That's sweet of you."

And that should have been the end of it.

But something about it nagged at him.

Because that was all it was to her—just sweet.

Just something a good neighbor would do.

That was all she saw.

And for the first time, Izuku realized that wasn't what it felt like to him.

The thought sat heavy in his chest, but he swallowed it down, forcing a small chuckle as he moved the conversation forward.

Because now wasn't the time to think about that.

The dinner plates had been cleared, and a quiet understanding settled between them as the evening wound down.

Emi set her glass down, studying him for a moment, thumb running over the surface of her ring.

"It was really nice getting to know you tonight," she said, smiling.

Izuku returned the smile, and it was genuine. "Yeah, I had a great time."

And he had. Emi was great. Someone he could absolutely see himself talking to again, even playing a campaign with someday.

But as much as he tried to convince himself this could be something, something promising—he knew it wasn't.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression turning wry. "But you were distracted tonight."

Izuku blinked, caught off guard. "I—" He let out a sheepish laugh. "Was it that obvious?"

She smirked. "A little. I mean, you were polite about it, but your head was somewhere else. I figured I'd just call it out."

Heat crept up his neck. He rubbed at his temple. "I'm really sorry. You didn't deserve that."

"Hey, don't worry about it." She leaned back, smiling. Then, after a beat, she asked, "Do you already like someone?"

Izuku stiffened.

Because if someone had asked him this morning, he would have said no.

But now? Now that someone else had put it into words, now that he could feel it in his chest—

He swallowed. "It's… complicated."

Emi hummed, her expression knowing. "It usually is."

Izuku let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I wasn't expecting to be confronted like this on a first date."

Then she smiled, rolling her ring absently between her fingers, before meeting his eyes again.

"Hey, no judgment," she teased. "I just think you should figure it out. And, for what it's worth, I bet they're interested."

Izuku exhaled slowly, shaking his head with a small, disbelieving smile. "You don't even know the situation."

"I don't have to," she said simply, like it was obvious. "You're a catch, Izuku. And whoever it is, if they're as important to you as they seemed to be tonight… well, I'd like to think they feel the same way."

The words hit deeper than they should have.

Izuku nodded, still feeling a little exposed. "Thanks. And, seriously, I'm sorry if I wasted your time."

She shook her head. "Not at all. Besides…" She flashed a teasing grin. "If it doesn't work out, you can give me a call."

Izuku laughed, more at ease now. "I'll keep that in mind."

They stood, exchanging goodbyes as they stepped outside. Izuku hesitated, shifting his weight slightly. "Let me walk you home?"

She waved him off. "No need. I ordered a ride, so I'll be fine."

Izuku nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Alright. Thanks again for tonight."

"Same to you," Emi said, adjusting her coat as she glanced at him one last time. Her gaze lingered just a little before she smiled. "Good luck, Izuku."

The words were meant to be light, but they stuck with him long after she was gone.

He watched her disappear into the waiting car, its red taillights fading into the distance before he finally turned toward home.

The evening had been good. Fun, even. But the moment he stepped outside, the weight of it settled in—he had been elsewhere the whole time.

The cold air bit at his cheeks as he walked, his breath misting in the dim glow of streetlights. His feet moved on instinct, but his mind was tangled in everything she'd said.

She had asked him if he already liked someone.

And the moment the question had left her mouth, his stomach had twisted.

Because he knew the answer.

He had known for a while.

Izuku let out a slow breath, his hands tightening in his coat pockets as he retraced his steps home.

The streets were quieter than before, the occasional hum of a passing car the only thing cutting through the stillness. The night stretched ahead of him, long and quiet, and he had nowhere left to put the thoughts circling in his head.

It had started creeping up on him in all the small moments.

Late nights at Katsuki's apartment, Eri curled between them, fast asleep while Katsuki sat beside him, quieter than usual. The sharp, stubborn grumbles softened at the edges when he thought no one was looking. The way Katsuki fought to keep his world together, the way he tried, the way Izuku had seen the cracks in his rough edges and never wanted to look away.

It had started a long time ago.

And now, tonight, he couldn't ignore it anymore.

Somewhere between all of that, this had started.

And for a long time, Izuku had convinced himself it didn't matter.

He had decided—decided—to keep it to himself. To accept it for what it was and move forward without expecting anything in return.

Because Katsuki had enough on his plate. Because their relationship—this messy, unspoken thing they had built between them—was fragile. Because Izuku had no right to want more.

And yet, tonight, when someone had finally said it—when the words had left someone else's mouth, when the reality of it had been spoken into the world—it suddenly felt real in a way that it hadn't before.

It was out there now. Real. Spoken. And that meant it couldn't be buried again—not really.

No matter how much he wanted to.

A sharp exhale left him as he turned onto their street, the apartment complex looming ahead. His fingers twitched in his pockets as his mind circled back, over and over, to the only question that mattered now.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

Because walking away from it, pretending it wasn't there, pretending that it didn't change everything—he had told himself he could do that.

But after tonight, he knew he couldn't.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he reached the front entrance, and before he even thought about it, his steps slowed outside Katsuki's door.

The light was still on inside.

His breath felt too tight in his chest, his body caught between instinct and hesitation.

His hand lifted, just barely, hovering near the door.

I could just knock.

Katsuki would answer. He'd be his usual blunt, stubborn self. Maybe he'd be irritated about something. Maybe he'd be tired, Eri finally asleep in her crib after another fussy night. Maybe he'd scoff at Izuku showing up so late, tell him he was being weird.

Or maybe—

Maybe Izuku would see something in his face that made this even harder.

The possibility made something lurch in his chest, his fingers twitching before curling into a fist.

Because what then?

What would he even say?

The reality of it hit him like a weight in his gut.

Katsuki didn't know. He had no reason to. Not about how much Izuku thought about him, not about the way this had crept under his skin. Not about the way Izuku lingered too long when they were together, or how his heart had started stupidly, recklessly attaching itself to every small, fleeting moment between them.

Katsuki had no idea.

And Izuku had no idea if he ever could.

Or if he even wanted him to.

Because the moment he spoke it aloud—really spoke it aloud—it would change everything.

His hand fell back to his side.

Not tonight.

Not yet.

He turned sharply on his heel, retreating to his own door, his pulse hammering in his ears.

For now, he would just—

What?

What was left to do except try to move forward? To keep being there for Katsuki and Eri, to keep their lives as steady as possible?

Because he wanted to be close. He wanted to be there for them—however he could be.

But he was scared of disrupting what they already had.

Scared of pushing too far.

Scared that if he tried, if he reached out even an inch beyond where they stood now—he'd ruin it.

So instead, he inhaled sharply, pushing his way inside his apartment and shutting the door behind him.

For now, he would focus on that.

On them.

Even if he couldn't act on what he felt, even if it ached to hold it inside—he would take it one step at a time.

Because whatever kept pulling him back to Katsuki—it wasn't going away. And one day, he wouldn't be able to run from it.