It was supposed to be a simple reunion — drinks, laughter, the old gang all in one place again after years of exhaustion, hero work, and the occasional hospital visit that came with the job. You didn’t think it would feel this nostalgic, sitting in the same circle with people who’d once shared cramped dorms and chaotic missions.
You also didn’t think you’d spend the whole night avoiding looking at Kyoka Jirou.
You were twenty-five now, a pro hero with your own agency, but every time she laughed across the table — that half-smirk, half-crinkle in her eyes thing she always did — it was like being seventeen again. Like you were back in Class 1A, pretending the way your stomach twisted around her was just nerves.
She looked good. Short hair still messy, eyeliner slightly smudged, sleeves rolled up just enough to show her forearms. You caught yourself staring too long once and had to down your drink to hide it.
Midnight passed, the reunion crowd thinning as everyone said their goodbyes. Denki was tipsy and crying about how proud he was of everyone; Mina was filming him; Bakugou was swearing at both of them. You were about to sneak out for air when someone caught your wrist.
“Hey,” Jirou said, voice low and a little too soft to be casual. “Bathroom. Now.”
You blinked. “…Is this a fight or—”
She rolled her eyes. “You look like you’re about to throw up, dumbass. Come on.”
You let her pull you along, trying to laugh it off, but your heart was hammering so loud you swore she could hear it. The bathroom was quiet compared to the party outside, the air cooler, steadier.
You both leaned over the sink, splashing your faces, trying to wash the alcohol glow away. You looked up in the mirror — hair a mess, eyes still too bright — and caught her staring at you through the reflection.
“What?” you said, smiling a little. “Do I look that bad?”
Jirou exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “No. You look…” She trailed off, biting her lip. “Forget it.”
You turned, frowning softly. “Kyoka.”
“Don’t—” she started, but then she just sighed, muttering, “Screw it.”
When she looked up again, her expression was raw. “Look, I know you’re not—like, you’ve never said you’re into girls or anything, and I’m probably the world’s biggest idiot for saying this, but I can’t keep pretending it’s nothing. I’ve liked you since UA, okay? Since those stupid nights when you’d fall asleep on the couch mid-sentence, or when you’d make me coffee before patrols because you ‘just felt like it.’ I—” She laughed weakly. “God, this is so dumb.”
You blinked at her, heart clenching. “Kyoka…”
She shook her head, words tumbling out faster now. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to get it out before I explode or something. I know you’re probably not—”
You stepped closer, quiet but certain. “You think I’m not into girls?”
Her eyes widened. “I—I mean, you never said—”
“Then maybe I should’ve.” You smiled faintly, cheeks flushed. “Because I am. And you’re kinda the reason I figured that out.”
Her jaw dropped just slightly. “Wait. What?”
You chuckled, brushing your thumb along her cheek. “You’re not the only one who’s been pining since UA, Kyoka.”
She didn’t have time to respond before you leaned in and kissed her — soft, quick at first, then deeper when she tilted up into it, hands gripping the front of your jacket like she’d been waiting years. You were taller by a few inches, but she still managed to pull you down like gravity was on her side.
When you both pulled away, breathless, she was staring at you with that same disbelieving look you used to get when she aced a solo.