The door loomed in front of him like a final boss battle.

Izuku stood stiffly on the porch, hands clenched at his sides, his green curls slightly tousled from nervously running his fingers through them for the past ten minutes. His hero training had prepared him for villains, disasters, and life-or-death decisions—but not this.

Not meeting your parents.

“I-I-I’m fine… d-d-don’t worry,” he stammered, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. His freckles stood out starkly against his pale face, and his eyes darted between the doorbell and the flower bouquet he was gripping like a lifeline.

You tried not to laugh.

He looked like he was about to pass out.

“Izuku,” you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “They’re just my parents. Not the League of Villains.”

He nodded rapidly. “R-right. Right. But what if they don’t like me? What if I say something weird? What if I trip and knock over a lamp? What if—”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He froze.

Then blinked.

Then exhaled—just a little.

“You’re not going to trip,” you said. “And even if you do, they’ll love you anyway. Because I do.”

That made him pause.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the bouquet stopped trembling in his hands.

“You love me,” he repeated, voice soft.

You smiled. “I do.”

He looked at the door again, then back at you.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m ready. I think.”

You reached out and rang the bell.

And as the door opened, Izuku straightened his posture, plastered on his best polite smile, and whispered under his breath:

“Plus Ultra…”