tv girl and paramore are superior.
Izuku is nervous. Not like this is a new thing, no — he’s almost always anxious. But his heart is beating especially fast at this moment, pounding hard and frantic against his ribcage, making itself known. Izuku takes a moment to remove his tight grip from the steering wheel to run his fingers anxiously through his hair and down the sides of his face. He drags his palms down his cheeks and his skin pulls and his eyelids stretch, and his face looks weird, like when a grandma squishes your cheeks but that opposite — a grandma pulling your face down. He groans quietly, as to not wake Kacchan from the back seat of his Volvo.
Yeah. You heard him right. Kacchan — the cute, pretty, and feisty blonde from the flower shop down the road was in his car. Kacchan, who, mind you, was still practically a stranger, though Izuku knows many things about the man. Kacchan was a type of person who couldn’t choose a favorite color because there were just too many — Izuku was one of those people. Kacchan was also the type of person to stop in the middle of an evening stroll through a park to admire a group of flowers or a cherry blossom — Kacchan was a florist, after all. Kacchan was also the type of person to freak out if he woke in a stranger’s car.
Now, Kacchan might be a little calmer in this situation than if he was in another, say — in a car with a complete stranger. Izuku wasn't that. Kacchan and Izuku were acquainted with each other. Well, Izuku muses as he starts up the car, more than acquainted. Which, in fact, would be completely correct. Kacchan wasn’t much of a talker, but when he got comfortable enough to talk, then whoo. There was no interrupting him. When Kacchan spoke — even if it was soft-spoken or blunt — it was beautiful. Listening to him talk, Izuku means. Kacchan was so passionate, so. . . so incredible. So, Kacchan had talked — really talked — and told Izuku a few heartbreaking things. For instance:
Fuck — uh, I mean, thank you. Thank you, uhm. . . Apologies mean a lot to me. The only people to ever truly — like actually apologize to me — are my friends. And they haven’t much, because they don’t have a fuck to apologize for. It’s mostly silly, stupid shit — me being uncomfortable at a party and needing to go home because everything is too loud and there’s too many people and I get claustrophobic and shit. Uhm, other than that, no one’s ever. . .so. Thank you.
Izuku actually teared up when Kacchan said that. It was just. . . it was just so sad. Kacchan was amazing, even though Izuku’s only known him for like, a day — but still. Kacchan is wonderful, and there isn’t anything good in the world that he doesn’t deserve. Kacchan deserves apologies. God, Izuku wishes he could punch the apologies right out of the people who should say sorry to Kacchan. Kacchan deserves the world — the universe, the galaxies, everything.
Oh, and this:
If I did that, my mom would’ve beat me black and blue — if she wasn’t on a restraining order, anyways.
Now that. . . that made Izuku physically ill. It made him want to scream and cry and throw up — because there’s no fucking way — sorry Mom! — that Kacchan. . . that Kacchan was treated like that by his mother. His fucking mother! Izuku will beat her black and blue if he ever catches her laying a single hand on Kacchan. That was a fucking promise. He wants to cradle Kacchan close and apologize for all the pain and suffering the world causes him — he wants to take Kacchan’s fear and agony away. Kacchan deserves to be happy.
And this:
Sorry. . . Don’t walk behind me. It — I don’t like it. So walk beside me or some shit — please.
Please. The way Kacchan had said it — so quiet and almost scared, like Izuku was still going to walk behind him anyways — the tone in his voice made Izuku’s heart hurt. He had barely enough time to compose himself and figure out what to say to that.
“N-No one. . . No one has e-ever ssaid an-anything lllike that t-to me b-before —no one has ever said anything nice about me like — like that. I-Izuku, you —
Oh fuck. Oh god.
That destroyed Izuku. Fucking broke his heart into smithereens, tore his soul apart and then stepped on it.
Oh, Kacchan. . .
So that’s why Izuku thinks they’re a little more than acquaintances. Izuku surely knows things about Kacchan that no one else does, and Kacchan most definitely knows things about Izuku that no one else does, too. Like how Izuku played basketball when he was younger — no one else (literally no one else) knows this about him. So, Izuku thinks with finality, this is technically okay.
“It’s basically kidnapping.” the little angel sitting on Izuku’s shoulder says. He does not look amused. But to be frank, the annoyed look on his face is kind of funny.
“Do I really look like that when I’m irritated?” Izuku asks himself, obviously not the totally imaginary angel sitting on his left.
“Yes!” the devil on his right cackles. Izuku blushes as ‘he’ continues to laugh. “And don’t worry, Izuku! It’s not kidnapping at all! Just give him a kiss when he wakes up and he’ll forget allllllll about it —”
“I’m not doing that!” Izuku gasps, appalled. The devil pouts and crosses his arms. Izuku sighs and shakes his head. Then, as the nervousness settles deep into his bones and he realizes that Kacchan is in his car, he starts to mumble. “It’s not kidnapping, Kacchan was just really worn down and passed out after crying and saying really emotionally draining stuff! It’s okay! He’s probably safer here than he is in his flower shop, asleep and vulnerable to robberies and actual kidnappings! So this is cool, I’m totally not committing a crime and Kacchan will be okay, he won’t freak out, and everything will be fine!” Izuku pants and grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. He swallows, anxiety making his skin buzz. He scratches at his tattoos nervously, eyes darting around the car. He feels very sweaty. Izuku swallows again and takes his hands off the steering wheel to clasp them together tightly. He squeezes his hands once, twice, thrice and then drops them into his laps. He taps his thighs and breathes out a large, deep sigh. He closes his eyes and just breathes.
Calm down, Izuku. You’re overreacting. It’s okay. You’re worrying over nothing. Kacchan is safe and you probably aren’t committing a crime.
“Oh jeez,” Izuku mutters to himself. Squeezing the steering wheel in a repetitive, rhythmic pattern, he looks at the screen near the dashboard where the radio shows what songs are playing. ‘Blue Hair’ by TV Girl is playing, but Izuku had turned the volume all the way down after he had dropped Kacchan gently into the back seat. He hums, biting his lip thoughtfully as he looks back at sleeping Kacchan. Then he bites back a coo. His heart clenches painfully at the adorable, peaceful expression on Kacchan’s face. The stress lines and the usual furrow in his eyebrows were completely gone — instead, they were replaced with a soft, vulnerable, sweet glow. Kacchan looks angelic when he sleeps — so dreamy and calm and relaxed. He looks happy when he’s sleeping — as if he was always dreaming of something nice. Not that Kacchan deserves anything less than that.
Kacchan makes a soft sound, grunting as his expression shifts for one haunting moment. Izuku is torn between gasping in terror — because what if he wakes up? — and the other part of him wants to melt and tell Kacchan how absolutely cute he is when he’s sleepy.
But then Kacchan stills, face relaxing once more as he snuggles into the back seat of Izuku’s car, nuzzling his cheek into the smooth leather with a sigh. Izuku grits his teeth and clutches his shirt, right above his heart. Kacchan’s so cute! He thinks wildly, blushing deeply, red all the way to his toes. As if Kacchan could sense Izuku’s internal gay panic and decided to make fun of him, he curls into a ball with his hands tucked near chest. He sighs again, looking absolutely perfect and peaceful lying there. Izuku resists the urge to bang his head repeatedly on the dashboard. He starts the car with butterflies in his stomach.
To distract himself from how precious Kacchan is, he turns the radio up a bit, letting the quiet hum of TV Girl fill his car. As the song progresses, Izuku finds himself breathing the lyrics in a whisper under his breath, bobbing his head to the catchy beat. Then he stops, sparing a glance back at Kacchan. Instead of being awake like Izuku had thought, Kacchan is practically melting into the back seat, looking more relaxed and blissed out than ever before. His expression is almost happy now, the faintest of smiles on his lips.
Izuku’s heart lurches.
Kacchan likes music — TV Girl especially.
Izuku looks back at the road with a dopey smile on his face.
I’ll keep that in mind, Kacchan.
“ — There’s really no way of winning
If in their eyes, you’ll always be a dumb blonde.
And she cried, over nothing
So there was nothing I could do to stop
Her from cutting
Her beautiful blue hair off
It looked like cotton candy
And just as quick to be licked away
Last I heard she was living
With a boy who acts his age
And I guess, I’ll just miss her
Even though she isn’t even really gone
Thing are just different
Ever since she cut her blue hair off.”
Izuku sings, tapping the steering wheel to the beat. As he pulls into the tattoo parlor, he reluctantly cuts the engine after catching a glimpse of the next song playing — ‘All I Wanted’ by Paramore — Izuku adores Paramore. Those were his teenage, early adult years. Paramore was the band that played at every party, every wedding, every arcade.
“You’ve got a nice singing voice,” Kacchan says sluggishly.
Izuku screams.