After breakfast, they didn't spar today.
Rumi had declared—half-joking, half-serious—that she'd already "taught the little green gremlin everything worth knowing," and that pushing him any harder might actually break something important (like her ego, or the apartment floor).
So instead, they migrated to the living room couch, the same one that had served as their accidental bed the night before.
The TV flickered on to some mindless daytime hero analysis show—replays of recent patrols, pundits arguing about rankings, the usual noise.
Neither of them paid much attention. Izuku sat slouched against one armrest, legs stretched out across the cushions; Rumi sprawled beside him, one long leg thrown carelessly over his thighs, her head resting back against the couch as she toyed his hair.
The room was quiet except for the low drone of the television and the occasional soft creak of the old couch springs when one of them shifted. Sunlight poured in through the half-open blinds, warming the hardwood and painting lazy golden stripes across Rumi's bare thighs and the faded black tank she still wore.
At first the silence was comfortable—easy, like they'd done this a hundred times.
Then Rumi tilted her head toward him, crimson eyes glinting with sudden mischief.
"You know," she said, voice low and drawling, "you're surprisingly quiet when you're not muttering quirk stats under your breath."
Izuku glanced over, one eyebrow lifting. "Is that a complaint?"
"Nah." She smirked, shifting so her leg slid a little higher across his lap, the warm muscle of her calf brushing deliberately against his hip. "Just an observation. Makes me wonder what else you're quiet about."
He let out a soft huff of laughter, but his gaze flicked down to where her skin pressed against his sweatpants, then back up to her face. "You fishing for compliments, Usagiyama?"
"Maybe." She stretched one arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing the nape of his neck in a feather-light touch that sent a faint shiver down his spine. "Or maybe I'm just curious how long it'll take you to admit you've been staring at my legs since I sat down."
Izuku's ears went faintly pink, but he didn't look away. "They're… noticeable," he said evenly. "Hard not to."
Rumi's grin sharpened, showing a hint of sharp teeth. She leaned in closer—close enough that he could smell the faint citrus of her shampoo mixed with the clean warmth of her skin.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Zuzu," she murmured, voice dropping to that husky register she only used when she wanted something. Her fingers slid from his neck to trace the line of his jaw, slow and deliberate. "Keep going."
He caught her wrist gently—but didn't pull her hand away.
"You first," he countered, turning his head just enough to press a soft, deliberate kiss to the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped under his lips. "You've been playing with my hair for the last ten minutes like it's your new favorite toy."
Rumi's breath hitched—just barely—but enough for him to notice. Her ears flicked forward, betraying her.
"Can you blame me?" she shot back, recovering quickly. She tugged her hand free only to slide it into his messy green curls instead, fingers carding through them with lazy possession. "It's soft. And you make this cute little face when I pull just right."
She demonstrated—giving a gentle tug that made his eyelids flutter and a low sound catch in the back of his throat.
"See?" she whispered, leaning in until their noses almost brushed. "There it is."
Izuku exhaled through his nose, half-laugh, half-sigh. His free hand settled on the thick muscle of her thigh, thumb stroking slow circles over the smooth skin just below the hem of her shorts.
"You're dangerous," he said quietly, voice rougher now.
"Says the guy who can bench-press a building." Her lips curved against his cheek as she nuzzled closer, breath warm against his ear. "But I like dangerous."
He turned his head at the same moment she did.
Their mouths met—slow at first, exploratory, like they were still testing the edges of whatever this was. Then deeper. Hungrier.
Her tongue brushed his and he groaned softly into the kiss, fingers tightening on her thigh hard enough to leave faint white marks that faded almost instantly.
Rumi broke away first—just enough to speak, lips still grazing his.
"Get your Provisional License first," she muttered, amused.
"Oh? Well I'm gonna need some inspiration before that" Izuku replied, voice low and wrecked.
" Okay, just this once time, just lips though" she said.
He pulled her closer by the waist until she was half in his lap, her knees bracketing his hips again like they had that morning—only this time neither of them panicked.
She laughed against his mouth—bright, breathless—then kissed him harder, hands sliding under his shirt to map the hard planes of his stomach and the old scars that crisscrossed his skin like battle maps.
The hero analysis show droned on in the background, forgotten. Outside, the city kept moving.
...
At exactly 20:00, the moon hung low over the skyline of Hosu City, bathing the streets in a pale silver glow.
High above the rooftops, on the tallest building in sight, Izuku stood alone.
The city below pulsed faintly with life — neon signs flickering, traffic lights blinking, distant sirens wailing somewhere far off. From up here, it looked peaceful. Fragile. Almost unaware of the storm that was about to descend.
His sharp green eyes moved slowly, methodically.
Alleyways. Rooftops. Fire escapes. Vent shafts.
Nothing escaped him.
He had left Rumi back at home. She had insisted tonight would be their break.
"No training, no fighting, no trouble," she'd said, yawning halfway through a movie. Ten minutes later she was asleep, one ear drooping slightly, popcorn spilled across the blanket.
Izuku had smiled softly, covered her with a blanket, and slipped out the window without a sound.
Now, the wind brushed against his suit as he hovered slightly above the rooftop's edge.
'I wonder when they'll come,' he thought, patience thinning.
'Iida's probably somewhere in this district already… stalking Stain. But I'm not here for him.'
His eyes sharpened.
'I want the Nomu.'
The air around him shimmered faintly as power radiated off his body in controlled waves. His black suit hugged his frame like liquid steel, subtle metallic threads catching the moonlight. Even standing still, he looked like a weapon sheathed in calm.
Minutes passed. Then thirty. His jaw tightened slightly.
'How long do I have to wait?'
A faint pulse of irritation rippled through his aura, bending the air around him like heat distortion.
Then—
It happened.
A distortion.
On a neighboring rooftop, space itself warped inward like fabric being twisted. Darkness pooled unnaturally in midair.
A black, misty portal spiraled open. Izuku's eyes gleamed. Two figures stepped through.
One — wrapped in a tattered red scarf stained darker in places, blades strapped along his arms. His posture was grounded, deliberate. Hero Killer Stain.
The other — pale, hunched slightly, fingers twitching with restless irritation. His cracked lips parted in a crooked expression. Shigaraki Tomura.
Izuku's lips curled slowly. Finally. He didn't hesitate. He shot downward like a falling star.
BOOM.
He stopped inches above the rooftop, the shockwave from his arrival scattering gravel and cracking the tarred surface beneath him. Dust spiraled outward in a ring.
He hovered eye-level with them, calm. Unbothered.
"What do we have here?" Izuku said, voice steady but heavy with restrained force. "Hero Killer Stain… and chapped-lips guy from before. Interesting pairing."
The wind howled between the buildings.
Stain's eyes sharpened, a grin stretching beneath his scarf.
"Well, if it isn't the golden child of U.A.," he rasped. "The media's darling. Tell me, boy… are you here to play hero?"
Izuku's expression didn't change.
"I'm not here for you," he replied flatly. "You're just an NPC. For now."
Shigaraki scoffed, stepping forward, scratching absently at his neck.
"NPC?" he muttered, eye twitching. "You talk like you're above us."
His fingers flexed. The concrete beneath his sandals began to crumble softly, turning to dust.
"Kurogiri mentioned you," Shigaraki continued. "Said you were… different. Let's see if that's true."
Izuku's gaze shifted to him.
"You couldn't handle All Might on your best day," he said calmly. "You think you're ready for me?"
Shigaraki's grin faltered for a split second.
The mention of All Might twisted something inside him.
His hand trembled violently.
"Watch your mouth," he hissed.
Stain chuckled darkly.
"He's right," the Hero Killer said, drawing a blade. The metal glinted under moonlight. "You lack conviction, Shigaraki. You destroy for amusement. I purge for a cause."
Shigaraki snapped his head toward him.
"And you murder to feel important."
"Better than whining about society in a bar," Stain shot back.
The tension between them sparked like static before a lightning strike.
Izuku exhaled slowly.
"You both talk too much."
That silenced them. Now both pairs of eyes locked onto him.
The killing intent shifted. Combined. Stain lowered into a crouch, blade angled precisely. His movements were controlled — efficient. Dangerous.
Shigaraki's hand hovered inches from the rooftop surface, decay already spreading outward in spiderweb fractures.
"Let's see what kind of hero you are," Stain murmured.
"Try not to die too fast," Shigaraki added.
Izuku's emerald eyes flashed faintly in the dark. The air pressure around him subtly increased.
"Don't worry," he said quietly.
"I won't."
TO BE CONTINUED