Chapter 14:...This Is Still Kinda Heavy...

The rest of summer blurred into sweat, sunburn, and shared bentos. Aiko and Izuku returned to the beach almost every day, slowly clearing more of the rusted junk that had taken root there.

Most mornings, Izuku arrived early to train—running sprints, pushing tires across the sand—always working by the time Aiko showed up in her new fitted tees and denim shorts.

Sometimes she trained alongside him, mimicking his movements; other times she cheered him on from the seawall, offering water and sarcastic commentary in equal measure.

They saved the cleanup for later, once the sun climbed higher and their limbs were warm. She worked hard—harder than anyone would expect from a girl with so much to hide.

Because Izuku was on summer break now, Tetsurō allowed her longer days—so long as she stayed close. The rule was simple: she could be out as long as she stayed with Izuku, avoided crowds, and kept alert. The beach and the little boba shop near the workshop became her new boundaries. With more daylight came more progress on the cleanup… and more time beside the one person who made hiding feel less like a prison, and more like a choice.

She also got very good at dodging All Might. There were at least five near-misses. One time, she dove headfirst behind a collapsed fridge. Another, she crouched behind a mountain of tires and didn’t move for twenty minutes. She’d seen him in both his towering hero form and the gaunt, hunched version that haunted the edges of her understanding. And each time, her breath still caught in her throat like it was the first.

Aiko grunted, the sound cutting through the crash of waves. She braced herself, but the old TV in her grip still slipped; it was more than half her size, heavier than she’d expected. Her feet shifted in the sand as she tried to steady it, her shoulders shook with effort.

“Hey—whoa—wait!” Izuku called, jogging over. “That’s way too heavy, you’ll hurt yourself!”

“I’ve got it—!” she started—but the corner of the TV dipped to one side, and the sudden shift nearly pulled her off balance.

Before she could react, his hands were there—his fingers sliding under hers, taking the full weight of it like it was nothing. The tension in her arms vanished in an instant. She realised that she wasn’t really holding it anymore.

Her fingers stayed in place anyway, resting lightly against his, like letting go would break something more fragile than the TV.

Their eyes locked. The breeze tugged at her hair.

He didn’t say anything. Just held the weight for her.

Then—slowly—his fingers brushed softly against hers.

Her breath caught. The moment stretched, delicate and still. And her hand moved on its own, fingertips slipping down, deliberately, until they intertwined with his.

Neither one spoke.

He glanced at her, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips. Heat bloomed across her cheeks before she could stop it.

Aiko’s chest tightened, her pulse thudding in her ears. The TV was nothing now—just an excuse for her hands to linger against his.

Her lips parted like she might speak, then closed again, blush deepening. A nervous laugh escaped instead. “Um… should we…”

Izuku blinked, like snapping out of a trance. “Oh—uh—right! S-sorry—yeah.”

They both adjusted their grips a little too quickly, though she knew the truth—he was carrying all the weight. Her palms barely pressed against the frame, more pretense than strength, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go.

Together, they shuffled it the rest of the way and let the TV drop onto the growing scrap pile with a heavy thud.

Aiko dusted her hands on her shorts, though they hadn’t done much work. Her cheeks were still warm, her pulse still quick. When she glanced up, Izuku was already looking at her, and for a second her breath caught again.

She managed a small, shy smile. For a moment, the world felt still—just the crash of waves and the weight of his eyes lingering on hers. Heat prickled at the back of her neck, and she looked away too quickly, forcing herself toward the next heap.

She crouched low to tug at a tangle of bent metal bars and rusted piping. Something clanged loose, rolling into the sand. She leaned in further, bracing a knee against the pile.

That’s when the groan of shifting weight rumbled above her.

The vending machine—full-sized, dented and scarred, its glass long since shattered—tilted at the top of the mound, its balance undone by the piece she’d just pulled free.

“Aiko, move—!”

Her head snapped up just as the hulking machine lurched forward. The shadow fell over her.

But before it could hit, Izuku was there.

The entire vending machine crashed down into his palms with a teeth-rattling clang—metal groaning under its own weight. His sneakers dug trenches in the sand as he staggered back a step, but he locked his stance—back straight, shoulders taut, every muscle straining as he held it aloft.

Aiko froze. The machine loomed above her, balanced entirely in his grip. But she wasn’t looking at the vending machine anymore.

Her gaze swept over him—his arms rigid with effort, biceps bulging, chest heaving beneath the damp fabric of his shirt. His jaw was tight, his shoulders broad, every line of him braced like steel. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

“Oh. My…—” she breathed, the words slipping out, unfinished. A tiny, flustered smile tugged at her mouth, equal parts awe and disbelief as her hand reached up and hovered somewhere around his bicep. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.

Her eyes flicked back up to his face, wide and shining. “Izuku…” she whispered, voice trembling.

He risked a glance down at her, catching exactly where her eyes lingered—on his arms, his chest, the sheer strength holding the vending machine overhead. Her cheeks flushed, her lips curved in that small, stunned smile.

Color shot across his own face, his arms trembling not just from the weight now. He managed a crooked, sheepish grin.

“I-it’s okay,” he panted. “I’ve got it. But, uh…” He adjusted his grip with a grunt, wobbling slightly. “…this is still kinda heavy…”

Her daze broke in a squeak. “Oh—sorry!” She scrambled out from under him, face burning.

As soon as she cleared the way, he exhaled and lowered the vending machine to the sand with a heavy thud, shoulders sagging.

Silence stretched.

Aiko pressed a hand to her cheek, still pink. Her eyes darted back over him—then away quickly. “…You’re so strong,” she breathed, almost shy.

Izuku blinked, chest still heaving. His hands flexed once against his thighs like he was only now realizing what just happened. “I… I just saved you,” he said, the words tumbling out in a daze.

Her gaze swept over him again—his chest rising hard and fast, his arms still taut with effort, the faint tremor in his hands. Heat lingered on her face as her lips curved, small and flustered. She bit down gently on her lower lip, the smile trembling.

“Mmhmm…” The hum slipped out, breathy and dazed, like she could hardly form words at all.

Then, softer, steadier, her eyes lifted back to his.

“…my hero,” she whispered.

The world seemed to narrow to just the two of them—their breath, the sand, the heat still clinging to the air. His face flushed deeper, eyes wide, before a crooked, helpless smile broke through.

✧ ✧ ✧

They finished the last of the cleanup as the sun dipped lower, spilling shadows over the sand. The breeze was softer now, tinged with salt and the faint scent of distant grills. Aiko brushed her hands off on her shirt. “Not bad,” she murmured.

Izuku flashed a grin. “We make a good team.”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips. She didn’t disagree.

Izuku shifted on his feet. “Uh—I’ll be right back,” he mumbled. “Just… wait here, okay?”

Aiko tilted her head. “Where are you—?”

But he was already jogging off toward the road, waving a hand behind him.

She watched him go, faintly amused, then sat down with a quiet sigh. She pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees, watching the tide roll in and out. The beach was still littered with debris, but not like before. A lot of it was gone—dozens of rusted hulks and broken appliances hauled off or broken down, thanks to him.

Every day, Izuku moved with more purpose. He didn’t flinch at the sight of a heavy load anymore. He didn’t apologize as much when he tripped over his words. Even the way he spoke to her, though still shy and soft, was changing. Braver. Clearer. He met her eyes more now. Smiled longer. Laughed easier.

She hugged her knees a little tighter—then winced.

A faint ache pulsed along her thigh—yesterday’s clinch drills. Rika hadn’t gone easy.

Aiko shifted slightly, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face, just in case anyone was watching. Not that anyone ever was.

Six months from now, this place might actually be beautiful. Smooth, open sand. No jagged metal to catch your foot on. No smell of rust baking in the sun. Just wind and sea and the memory of how hard they’d worked to make it whole again.

And Izuku—he’d be stronger too. Not just in muscle, but in presence. Steadier. Maybe still a little awkward, but more confident.

A quiet pride warmed her chest, settling just beneath her ribs. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting it sit there before the breeze stirred her hair again.

Then came the sound of his footsteps.

She looked up. Izuku had a small conbini bag swinging from his wrist. He dropped down beside her, a little closer than before.

“Sorry,” he said, offering a chilled bottle. “Didn’t want to take too long.”

“Oh—I love strawberry milk,” she said, eyebrows lifting. “How did you know?”

He gave a tiny shrug, cheeks pink. “I—you… got it the other day…”

Their shoulders brushed lightly as she leaned a little closer, smiling as she peeked inside the bag. “Veggie onigiri… and—oh! Pocky and mochi?”

Her face lit up. “Thanks. This is… really sweet.”

They ate in quiet for a while, listening to the hush of the waves. Aiko leaned back on her hands, legs stretched out, the sand still warm beneath her.

Izuku fumbled with the plastic wrap on his own onigiri—pickled plum, a little more tart than sweet. He peeked at her sideways.

“Uh… want a bite of mine?” he asked, holding it out, a little unsure. “It’s different from yours.”

Aiko turned her head. “What kind is it?”

“Umeboshi,” he said. “It’s kind of—well, it’s a bit sour…”

She leaned in and took a small bite, her lips brushing the edge of the rice before pulling away.

Her eyes widened. “Mmm. That’s actually really good.”

She looked down at her own. “Here—try mine.”

He blinked. “O-oh, uh… are you sure?”

She was already holding it up for him.

Izuku leaned in—maybe a little too fast—nearly bumping her hand as he took a bite. Their eyes met, just for a moment, as he pulled back, chewing. But he didn’t move away again.

Instead, he stayed there—closer than before—the warmth between them subtle but undeniable. His knee brushed lightly against hers, and he didn’t shift.

“Yours is really good too,” he murmured, still sitting close, eyes on hers.

After a few minutes, she glanced over. “You always do that,” she said softly.

Izuku blinked. “Do what?”

“Pay attention to little things. What I like. What I don’t. Most people don’t notice stuff like that.”

He looked down at his onigiri, face warming. “I—I don’t know… I guess I just… I’m only like that with some… people.”

Aiko turned back toward the sea, a small smile tugging at her lips. The light had softened now, casting rose-gold across the waves.

Izuku fell quiet, sneaking glances whenever she brushed hair from her eyes or tapped her bottle against her knee.

The sky melted from gold to pink to lavender. Cicadas hummed in the distance.

Aiko took a final sip from her bottle. “I wish we could stay here forever,” she murmured, her voice barely above the waves.

Izuku’s eyes didn’t leave her face, he gave a small smile. “Yeah… me too.”

They eventually left the shore, walking a street still warm from the sun. The cicadas had quieted, replaced by the low whir of a vending machine and the soft clink of wind chimes drifting from a balcony overhead.

Aiko could feel Izuku fidgeting beside her—not visibly, but in the rhythm of his steps. The way his footfalls shifted out of sync with hers every few seconds. The subtle way his arm kept tensing. Easing. Tensing again.

She didn’t glance at him, but she felt his presence—every inch of nervous energy radiating off him like static. She could hear the soft rustle of his sleeve each time his hand swung a little too close.

Then—barely—a brush.

A pinky, feather-light, grazing the side of her hand. A single spark of warmth that felt louder than the hum of street-lights overhead.

She kept her gaze forward, pulse drumming in her ears.

But her fingers shifted, just enough that the back of her hand skimmed his. She heard the breath catch in his chest, could almost picture the wide-eyed panic on his face without turning to look.

Another hesitant brush.

A lingering pause.

One more heartbeat.

And without a word, their fingers gently, loosely threaded together.

She felt the twitch of his thumb—nervous, disbelieving—then a soft squeeze as he realized she wasn’t letting go.

Neither risked a glance; words would have broken the fragile spell.

But they didn’t let go.

✧ ✧ ✧

The quiet walk carried them all the way to her street. Neither spoke, as though afraid sound might undo what their hands were saying for them.

When they reached her door, their steps slowed to a halt. Their fingers lingered together a moment longer, then slipped apart, brushing once as they let go. Aiko’s palm still tingled where his warmth had been.

Izuku slid the strap of her backpack off his own shoulder, holding it for a beat before passing it to her. Their fingers brushed in the handoff—just a light touch, but it lingered. He smiled, soft and a little shy.

Pink bloomed across his cheeks in the glow of the streetlight. He shuffled his feet, eyes flicking up to hers before dropping again.

“See you tomorrow,” he said quietly.

Aiko nodded, her own cheeks warm. “Mm,” she hummed, almost too shy to trust her voice.

He gave a small wave before backing a step away, still blushing as he turned down the street.

Aiko stood in the doorway for a moment, watching his retreating figure until he disappeared past the corner. Only then did she slip inside, pressing her fingers to her palm as if to hold the warmth there a little longer.

Tetsurō was soldering something at his workbench, the soft hiss and crackle masking the sound of the door—he didn’t hear her come in.

With a small exhale, she set the backpack down with a soft clank—metal scraps shifting and clinking against each other inside.

She glanced over at the trash can. It was full—overflowing a little, actually, with charred wires and packaging scraps. Quietly, she pulled out the bag and tied it up.

Outside, the street was still warm from the day. Aiko carried the trash to the usual spot near the curb, where morning collection would come.

She had just set the bag down when—

“Aiko.”

A familiar voice.

She straightened slowly, hand still on the trash bag.

Bakugo leaned against the alley wall—arms crossed, eyes sharp. His posture was relaxed, but his presence wasn’t. He looked like he’d been there a while.

Aiko’s brows furrowed. “How do you even know my name?”

He didn’t answer—just pushed off the wall and stalked closer.

Aiko looked around. “Kacchan, have you been… stalking me?”

“Tch. Don’t flatter yourself.”

She pointed down the block. “In that case, the anger-management clinic’s three streets over. Maybe take a number.”

Bakugo ignored it. “That thing you pulled the other night—copying my blast. Explain.”

“You mean when I upgraded your sparkles?” A shrug. “Trade secret.”

His jaw twitched. “Look, you little brat—are you gonna spill or do I need to blast it out of you?”

Aiko didn’t flinch. “Try, and I’ll throw glitter and confetti next time. Might even add a light-show.”

Bakugo stepped into her space, heat prickling the air. “Listen up. I don’t like mysteries on my turf. What’s your quirk?”

Aiko folded her arms. “I don’t like bullies on mine. What’s your IQ?”

“Smart mouth for somebody bite-sized.”

“Tiny package—big payload,” she shot back. “You of all people should appreciate that.”

A spark snapped at his palm. “One more joke and—”

“—and you’ll set off more party poppers?” She tapped her ear. “That ringing’s already courtesy of you. Thanks.”

Bakugo’s jaw flexed. The air around his hand fizzed hotter, little showers of light sizzling against the asphalt. He took a deliberate step forward, shoulders squaring.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growled, sparks crawling higher up his forearm. “Keep testing me.”

Aiko cocked her head, unfazed. “Testing? I thought I already passed—you hit the dirt in record time.”

That did it. The faint, dangerous smile on Bakugo’s face vanished; the crackle in his palm flared to a pulsing glare.

“Careful—” Aiko said, eyes glittering. “Last time you tried that, you crash-landed in the garbage.”

She nudged the tied trash bag at her feet with the tip of her boot. “Convenient, though. We’re already standing by your throne.”

His eye twitched. A louder snap–hiss burst from his hand, bits of grit skittering across the pavement.

Bakugo’s voice dropped dangerously low. “I came here to be civil.”

“Oh,” she snorted, stepping around him toward the forge door, “this is you civil? Yikes.”

“Last offer,” he snapped. “Tell me how that counter works, or I keep digging till I get answers. And I always get answers.”

Aiko’s hand closed on the sliding door. She looked back, eyes hard as flint.

“Dig all you want, Sparkles. Just don’t cry when you hit bedrock.”

The door rattled shut between them.

She stood just inside for a moment, heart thudding. Through the window, she saw his silhouette hesitate—just for a second—before turning away. The sound of his footsteps faded into the night.

Aiko exhaled slowly and leaned her forehead against the door.

“Such a weirdo,” she murmured.

But the tightness in her gut didn’t ease.

What if he really did start digging?