"You did well out there."

The words were accompanied by hands; two at first, massaging his shoulders gently, working out the kinks in his muscles and making him feel so much more relaxed in just a few moments. Then the next set came down and began working a similar magic on his neck, and he practically melted into his chair. No longer was he bent over, staring down at the floor with narrowed eyes and an uncertain expression; now he was leaning back into the chair, embracing the sensation of her hands working out the kinks in his sore muscles.

He couldn't see her, but he could SEE her, in his mind's eye, pressing hands he knew were more than capable of crushing whole watermelons or human bones with ease instead put that strength to the task of working the kinks and aches from his sorest spots, massaging him in that way only she could. Tiny starburst scars were used as demarcations for pressure points, fingers exploring them and working the tissue beneath with a firmness so soft it was like iron wrapped in silk. He let his head fall all the way back, and there she was.

She had taken off her mask for the first time since the beginning of the festival. Her eyes were without irises, black pupils and sclera staring down at him with a glimmer of her usual passive knowingness as she pressed a thumb against a particularly sore spot and he grunted as a quick jolt of pain gave way to a smooth sensation of wholeness again. Her pale pink lips curled into a smile as she bent down and kissed him, and he pressed his own mouth back with all the force he could muster after the battering he'd just taken.

She was beautiful. More beautiful than he could have ever hoped to deserve; not a day went by where he didn't doubt himself. Was it okay for a Quirkless Deku like himself to… have this? This happiness and comfort and joy and love, the sort of love that made him whisper her name when he fell into fearful fits of self-loathing late at night, holding tight to himself as he burrowed deeper into his covers and thought of her around him, holding him tight and refusing to let go? Was it okay for her to socialize with an inconsequential nothing like him?

Her face alone was enough to make him doubt himself all over again; the narrowness of her jaw and the milky complexion of her skin was strange, the way she used her mask to emphasize the sharp angle of her jawline was perhaps bizarre to the uninitiated, but she had told Izuku long ago why it was she did that to herself. Her nose was tall and regal, strange words perhaps to describe a nose, but suitable nonetheless. Her lips were pale pink, thin but full and, as she had taught him with great frequency, superbly kissable.

"I… I could've done better," he replied, after she broke off from him and gave him a chance to breathe again, leaving him blushing red and stammering a little. "I... almost had him, Mezoka, he was on the edge... one more shot to his knee and his leg would've been kaput."

She chuckled, not at his proclamation but his furthered insistence on using strange English colloquialisms he had picked up from old All-Might interviews. She had told him once it was just one of many little habits he had that pleased her so much. The hands on his shoulders moved down to his upper arms, lifting them up and squeezing them tight. She'd always enjoyed the feel of his building musculature, missing no opportunity to explore it with her hands. He felt much the same about her own build, though for some reason people always seemed more confused when he began to massage her back in public than when she did the same to him.

People were usually pretty silly, they both agreed. One of many mutual agreements they had come to, along with other such nuggets of wisdom as 'ice cream is meant to be shared because it's in a ball, so you can both lick it easier' and 'just because you can't share clothes doesn't mean you can't share accessories'. The latter was why she was wearing one of his All-Might bracelets while he wore her plain grey headband. Once she had let him wear her mask; that had been a special day indeed. (And he had, despite her best efforts to convince him that it was not inspired by any sort of ninja's mask, very much felt like a ninja.)

"That's what practice is for, Izu." she replied, the two hands on his neck moving up to his hair, slowly working the mass of sweaty green locks into something slightly more presentable. "Besides, you made it to the quarter finals. If you didn't have the pro's eyes on you before, you definitely do now. At least one-hundred offers, seventy-three percent chance for at least twenty more than that."

"You and your n-numbers..." he said, chuckling softly. "If I had a yen f-for every time you spouted some statistic or f-figure..."

"You'd have roughly one-thousand two-hundred forty-five yen, give or take about ten percent for my imperfect memory." she replied.

"One-thousand two-hundred forty-SIX." he teased, before she found a knot in his left bicep and he found himself far too occupied by the sensation of relief when she erased it from existence with her fingers.

The two fell into silence for a long moment, before the TV in the waiting room clicked on with a quiet pop. She placed the remote in one of her extra hands back down on the table beside them and continued to work at his arms while they watched the Sports Festival continue.

He realized after a minute or so that there was a bizarre wetness on his upper lip, and when he pressed his finger to it he realized that it wasn't blood; his breath hitched and she sighed gently and reached down as he began to cry. He was baffled, personally; he had done so much better than he had expected, fighting through the obstacle course and the chariot battle, taking down the girl with the anti-gravity hands using a series of darting punches and kicks to the arms to disable them before finishing it with a grapple into a sleeper hold. He had no reason to be upset by this; his progress was remarkable.

Then it showed a replay of him getting kicked across the arena by Tenya Iida and he understood. The taller boy had been quite courteous, bowing to Izuku before their fight began and offering him a hand up afterwards. He had remarked how impressive Izuku's fighting was, and even asked him where he had learned to do that one particular form of spin-kick that had nearly knocked his head from his shoulders.

But it had all been punctuated with that one thing. The thing that always reminded him of his own failings, that one simple line that everybody used, that always cut so much deeper than it should have. It always came in different forms and fashions, from different sources and with different words. Some didn't even mean it to be an insult, a curse or a mark of dismissal, and yet it almost always felt like one.

"Doubly impressive for one without a Quirk," had been the line this time. At other points it had been "And you're Quirkless too, that's even crazier!" or "I can't believe you beat me with no Quirk!"

It ate at him. It made him feel... wrong. Incorrect. Dysfunctional, improperly made, like a worthless shitty Deku. He choked on nothing and cried in near silence, angry that he was upset and saddened by his anger because he just couldn't be normal and functional and proper, could he? He had to be a useless Deku.

Why did it matter so much? Why did so many people make such a big deal out of it, that he had an extra joint in a toe and lacked something that for so many people was as minor as the ability to stretch their fingers or change their hair colour? Why was it always the thing people saw first, saw most and usually saw last? It was never 'you did so well' or 'you fought so hard', it always had to be punctuated with that same stupid disclaimer that he did so well or fought so hard 'for somebody with no Quirk'.

He hated it. He hated it and at times he hated himself because of it, because he was inherently unfinished, incomplete, obsolete. An evolutionary dead end, somebody had once called him, and he hated himself because even at the peak of his success he still felt unworthy and unable.

"Izuku, three successes for the day." He felt hands press gently against his cheeks, guiding his head upwards. She had moved around in front of him, squatting down in her UA tracksuit with the top unzipped and dangling around her waist, leaving her upper body in a tank top with holes in the back for her excess arms.

For just a moment Izuku was once again wowed by his girlfriend's beauty. Her size didn't scare or intimidate him; squatting as she was, she still remained head and shoulders over him sat in his chair. Standing, the top of his mop of green hair barely reached the bottom of her chest. The fact that she could pick up one of him in each hand and probably juggle at least three at once would have made most men shy away from a relationship; it only made her more beautiful to Izuku, something so utterly beyond his reach that somehow deigned to descend to him, hold him close and love him as he had never been loved before.

He stared into her eyes, feeling guiltier than ever until she pulled his face towards hers and gently laid his forehead against hers. He sniffled, searching his mind as they touched one another, eyes closed and mind racing. Three successes, three things he'd done right. What had he done?

That was obvious, wasn't it? First place in the obstacle race. Third in the chariot battle. Quarter finals of the tournament. The crowd had been in awe. Present Mic and Eraserhead, both announcers, had been audibly impressed by his performance. Nobody knew who he was; a general education student making an upset like this was almost unheard of. And when Eraserhead had read the 'Quirkless' note on his file… there had been total silence in the wake of his first victory. Whether it was born of shock, awe or horror, Izuku couldn't say.

And now here he was. Crying in a waiting room underneath the same stadium where thousands had cheered for him. And like that the world snapped back into place and he felt the shame and guilt and loathing slip away, leaving only the many gentle hands of his girlfriend who he still wasn't convinced he deserved and the steady drum of his settling heartbeat.

She kissed him, and he kissed her back, and the two stayed like that for a minute or two. They didn't speak, they didn't even make any noise at all; they held one another, sharing the warmth of their bodies and the soreness of the day's exertions, before finally she stood up and didn't let go. Izuku rose up with her, and after a moment he found himself up in the air, held in her arms.

"Oh," he said, before she sat him on her shoulders with one set of arms wrapped around his thighs and another holding his ankles.

He learned against the top of her head and admired his new height by looking around with a soft smile. Then she began walking toward the door and he realized what she was doing. He didn't even have to speak; she just passed her mask up to him and he slid it over her head with a smile before leaning into her.

"You're a shoe-in for the Hero course by now." she declared, voice muffled a touch by her mask. "It's time our classmates met my boyfriend."

Izuku just blushed and rubbed his cheek a little, expectant but nervous. He wasn't a hundred percent sure who her classmates were exactly; he had analyzed their Quirks plenty, and she had mentioned a few in passing (apparently Kouda was quiet and liked animals, Tokoyami was the edgy bird-goth and Mineta was an unbearable pervert) but he hadn't had a chance to read any sort of class roster or official listing, so he was left rather blank on who he may end up learning with.

Unless he ended up with Class 1-B, Which was also a distinct possibility. Or he may not even end up in Heroics at all, he reflected; perhaps he would simply be lauded and ignored. There were no rules against a Quirkless student getting into Heroics, but he still had his doubts. The word of the law was one thing; would they really let a potential liability like him into Heroics? It was risky for them, wasn't it, letting him train alongside and even with students with such wondrous powers?

Was... was that really okay?

He ducked a little and winced at the harsh spring sunlight, eyes slamming shut as they entered the bleachers. He opened them slowly, readjusting to the light, and then realized where he was exactly.

All around him were people he recognized from the festival, Heroics students aplenty. So this was her class then! They were all looking. Every one of them, besides a few on the fringes who hadn't seemed to notice yet. One, a blonde with spiked hair streaked with black in places, stood up and stared outright, practically gaping. Izuku recognized the girl beside him (now behind him, given his turn) as the Uraraka Ochaco, the one with the gravity manipulation whose arms he had deadened with pressure point strikes during their battle. She had two slings in, one for each arm, making it almost look like she was wearing a straightjacket. He winced and waved a hand, and was surprised when she waved back. Or, tried to, one of her arms loosely wiggling in its sling.

"Hey!" she called. "You're Midoriya, right? You were so cool in our fight!"

Izuku just nodded, looking around at all the other

Mezoka Shouji smiled under her mask and gestured to Izuku with one of her free hands.

"This is Midoriya Izuku." she declared, with the same deadpan honesty as everything else she said. "My boyfriend."

The small crowd they had accumulated went silent for a moment, before Izuku heard a quiet but very clearly surprised breath from behind him. He twisted, and his eyes went wide.

"Kacchan?" he said, just as the named individual squinted at him with a single confused red eye, a black patch covering the empty where would normally lie a second identical orb.

"Deku?"