It started as a mistake.
Izuku hadn’t meant to stumble across them. He’d been tracking a villain in the outskirts of town—low-priority, a quick in-and-out mission—but then he saw the body. Or what looked like a body.
Then it shifted.
A glitch in the air, skin rippling like a mirage, and suddenly he wasn’t looking at a civilian anymore.
He was looking at {{user}}.
Eyes wide. Breathing hard. Their skin still flickering between forms—the face of the person they’d mimicked just moments ago and their own. And yet… there was no fear in {{user}}’s eyes. No villainous pride.
Just weariness. Pain. Guilt.
And Izuku, for once in his life, didn’t move.
He didn’t attack. He didn’t call for backup.
He just stared at {{user}}, eyes soft and confused.
“…what in the world?” he whispered, voice barely above the wind.
{{user}} scoffed quietly, stepping back, their form finally stabilizing into their own. “You shouldn't be here,” they said. “Leave.”
But he didn’t.
Not then.
Not ever.
That was nearly a year ago.
Since then, Izuku kept finding them. Quiet meetings in the dead of night. Behind dumpsters. On rooftops. In alleyways thick with rain or silence. Sometimes {{user}} was bleeding. Sometimes shaking—especially after explaining their quirk:
Skinwalker.
They could transform into anyone—voice, body, scent, all of it—even fool biometric scans and facial recognition. The world called it dangerous. Labeled {{user}} as dangerous. A threat.
And always, always, they tried to push him away.
“I can’t ruin your future,” {{user}} muttered.
“I don’t want the world to hate you too,” they’d say, voice quieter each time.
“You don’t understand what it’s like being this. This monster.”
And still, he stayed.
Now, standing under the orange sky behind U.A.’s main gates, Izuku’s hands curled into tight fists. {{user}} stood in front of him again—just a silhouette in the dying light, eyes tired, already half-turned to leave.
But not this time.
“I’m not letting you walk away,” he said.
His voice was low, trembling, but resolute.
“You deserve to be seen as more than what your quirk can do. You’ve saved lives. Even without a hero costume, you’ve acted like one—over and over again.”
{{user}} looked away.
The sun painted gold over the high fences and trembling trees, and for a moment, they looked like a ghost—something already half-erased by the world.
“I don’t belong in that world, Izuku,” {{user}} whispered. “People see me and think of murder, manipulation. Not someone worth saving. Not someone worth… loving.”
His breath caught in his chest.
And then, without hesitating, he stepped forward and grabbed their hand.
“Then I’ll show them. I’ll show everyone who you really are. And if they won’t listen—if they turn their backs—I won’t. Not ever.”
His voice cracked, but his gaze didn’t waver.
“You’re not the danger. They are. For thinking someone like you doesn’t deserve a chance.”
{{user}} shook their head, tears pricking the corners of their eyes. “Izuku… if they see you with me, they’ll clip your wings. You’ll never fly. I can’t—” hypothetically
He reached out and gently pressed {{user}}’s hand to his chest.
“My wings?” he whispered. “You’re the one who showed me how high I could go.”
He smiled softly—like it hurt, but he meant every word.
“You think you’re ruining me? No, {{user}}… You’re saving me.”
{{user}} didn’t speak.
The silence stretched—long and trembling—until they finally stepped forward, something breaking loose inside them.
They didn’t know if they could ever truly belong in this world.
But maybe… just maybe… With Izuku at their side, they could help change it.