Chapter 3: I feel… safe… around you.

Aiko returned the next day. She arrived well before sunrise, same as before—bare legs dusted with sand, hair loose and tangled. Her ripped tote was now stitched at the bottom with thick black thread.

But this time, Izuku was already waiting. He stood near the edge of the beach, half-shadowed by a rusted signpost, fidgeting nervously with something behind his back. His weight shifted from foot to foot, sneakers scuffing the sand. His green curls were messier than usual, and he looked like he hadn’t been able to sleep much the night before.

When he saw her approaching, his breath caught, his heart pounded—he straightened a little too fast, almost stumbling over a rock behind him.

“H-Hi again,” he blurted, his voice rising an octave. His eyes darted sideways—to the sea, to the sand, to anywhere but her face. “Uhh… I-I brought something. For you.”

He stepped forward, fumbling a little as he held out a navy-blue backpack—the fabric slightly faded, the corners soft with wear, but clean and neatly packed.

“It was mine,” he said quickly. “I—I… have a new one now. I just thought, maybe… your bag, um—yesterday—uh—it kind of broke, so…”

He trailed off, swallowing hard, the tips of his ears turning red.

“And, uh—it’s navy, so… it kinda matches the blue in your hair.”

He flushed the moment the words left his mouth, panic flickering in his eyes.

“I mean—not that I was, like, staring at your hair or anything! I just—noticed! It’s a cool detail—!”

Aiko blinked, then smiled—soft and amused. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Izuku.”

She calmly reached out to take the bag, her fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary.

“I like your hair too,” she added lightly. “It suits you.”

His brain short-circuited.

Her eyes. Her dimples. Her voice. Her—wait what did she just say?

He panicked.

“My—? Oh! Uh—thanks! I mean—it’s just—green. And messy. It kinda does its own thing—like me! Not that I’m messy, I mean—I kind of am, but—uh—only a little, sometimes—!”

His hands fluttered mid-air like he was trying to physically scoop the words back into his mouth.

Aiko tilted her head gently, a hint of concern flickering behind her smile. “Are you alright?”

He froze like a bug caught in a flashlight beam.

“Me? Yes! I mean—no! I mean—yes, I’m totally fine. Just… processing. You. I mean, not you, like you-you, just—this. All of it.”

The longer he spoke, the deeper the color spread across his cheeks. Aiko didn’t tease. She just watched him with her sparking eyes.

She smiled again. “You’re very sweet.”

He made a sound that might’ve been a word. Or a small implosion.

Before he could combust completely, he reached into the bag again and pulled out a second item: a pale pink notebook. Brand new. Still crisp at the edges.

“And, uh… this too,” he mumbled, holding it out. “I thought maybe you could use it for your notes. Instead of… you know. Scrap paper.”

She accepted it carefully, her fingers brushing his again—and like before, the contact sent a spark through him that melted any remaining composure.

Aiko ran her hand gently over the cover of the notebook.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “And pink is my favorite color.”

He nearly passed out.

“R-really?” he finally managed.

She nodded, slipping it gently back into the backpack he’d given her. “It’s kind of the opposite of me,” she added, as if half to herself. “But I like that.”

He blinked at her, head tilting slightly. “What do you mean?”

Aiko glanced toward the water, the morning sun just beginning to rise over the waves. “It’s soft. Bright. Safe. Everything I’m not.”

Izuku frowned without thinking. “I… I don’t think that’s true.”

She turned back to him, surprised by the conviction in his voice.

“I-I mean,” he blurted, hands flying up like he was under interrogation, “I-I don’t really know you! Not really—I just—”

His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again.

“You look soft. I mean—not soft soft, just… calm. Warm.”

His voice dropped a little, almost a whisper. “You feel safe. I—I feel… safe… around you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere.

“So, um… maybe pink suits you more than you think.”

Aiko didn’t respond right away. But she looked at him for a long moment, a small smile starting to form on her lips again.

“Thank you,” she said at last, voice low. “All of this… it’s incredibly thoughtful.”

Izuku was suddenly very aware of the sand in his shoes. “Uhm… you’re welcome. Uh… Anyway, I was just about to start today’s clean-up. Normally I work out in the mornings and clear the beach after school, but… I switch it up sometimes.”

He took a deep breath. “If you—uh—if you’re not busy, I-I mean, you don’t have to or anything, but—”

“I’d like to help.”

His eyes widened. “R-really?”

She gave a tiny smile. “It looks like a lot of work for one person.”

“It is,” he admitted, then immediately panicked. “Not that I’m complaining! I mean—I like doing it! It’s just… a big beach.”

Aiko crouched, picking up a dented can half-buried in the sand. “Then let’s make it smaller.”

Izuku just stood there for a second, watching her. Watching the way her hair fell into her face as she moved. Watching the way she didn’t hesitate.

Then he grabbed a bag and knelt beside her, heart still hammering against his ribs, and together they began.

The morning sun crept higher as they worked side by side. At first, the silence was filled only with the rustle of plastic, the clink of metal, the occasional flap of seagull wings overhead. But slowly, it loosened... and so did they.

“Watch out!” Izuku yelped, his voice cracking slightly, as Aiko gave a sharp tug on a half-buried folding chair. The metal groaned—and gave way all at once, nearly sending her sprawling backward into the sand.

She staggered but caught herself, laughing as she stumbled upright. “You could’ve warned me sooner!”

“I thought you had it!” he blurted, rushing over. “You looked—uh—you looked really confident!”

She shot him a sideways smirk, brushing grit from her hands. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Together, they dragged the mangled chair toward the growing pile of junk near the seawall. It was heavier than it looked, rusted solid at the hinges and filled with sand. Aiko tugged with quiet determination.

Then she stumbled again—her boot catching on a buried coil of wire. She pitched forward with a startled gasp, and Izuku moved on instinct.

His hand caught her elbow first—then her back, steadying her just before she hit the ground. His fingers splayed against the fabric of her shirt, and for one terrifying second he thought she might fall anyway. But she didn’t.

Then she straightened slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, her breath a little uneven. She glanced up at him, that familiar, amused spark flickering in her eyes.

“Wow,” she said, a little breathless. “You’re really strong.”

Izuku’s brain short-circuited for the second time that morning.

I touched her. I touched her back. And her elbow. That counts as two separate points of contact. She noticed. She complimented my strength. Oh no, she felt my hand. My whole palm. She’s so tiny—why does she feel so small? Why does my hand feel huge right now? Is my heart visible? Am I glowing?

“N-no! I mean—thank you! I work out! Not like… aggressively or anything, just—y’know, beach cleaning is kind of a full-body thing and—”

Aiko bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “Breathe, Izuku.”

He nodded quickly, sucking in air like he’d just resurfaced from underwater. “Right. Breathing. Got it.”

He opened his mouth to say something else—

—and froze as a wet slap of seaweed hit him square in the face.

It clung there with unsettling commitment. Cold, slimy, salty.

He stood there a moment, stunned, mouth slightly open. Then, very slowly, he peeled it off—eyes wide, blinking in disbelief.

Aiko stood a few steps away, hands loosely behind her back, looking at the sky like it had just started raining philosophy.

“…Did you just—?”

Another piece of seaweed smacked him in the shoulder.

He stared at her.

She smiled. Cute. Innocent. Absolutely guilty.

“Aiko,” he said, half-grinning, caught between disbelief and a laugh he couldn’t hold back.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied smoothly, already bending to pick up more.

“Oh, that’s it—!”

He grabbed a clump of seaweed from the sand and flung it with uncharacteristic boldness. It splatted against her knee with a satisfying squish.

She gasped, eyes wide—then broke into a clear, bubbling laugh that rang out across the shore like windchimes. He couldn’t help but grin.

Game on.

He didn’t know what had come over him. Normally he’d be terrified to even joke with a girl, let alone launch seaweed at one. But Aiko made things feel lighter. Like he wasn’t just allowed to laugh—but expected to.

Seaweed flew in every direction. Izuku was dodging and lobbing back with growing confidence, grinning wider than he had in weeks. Aiko ducked behind a broken crate, popping out just long enough to toss another handful.

“You’re gonna regret that!” Izuku shouted, laughing.

“Only if you can hit me!” she called back, weaving between old tires like it was serious combat training.

“You’re literally covered in kelp!”

“So are you!”

A strand of seaweed dangled from his elbow like a limp ribbon. He glanced down, then grinned and tossed it at her like a boomerang.

It missed by a mile, but neither of them cared.

“You’re quick!” he called, breathless.

“Well for a future pro hero, your stealth could use some work,” she teased, giggling as a piece landed in her hair.

She’s… so cute.

Wait—did I just think that? I did. I totally did. Oh no, now I can’t stop thinking it. And now I kind of want to run over there and squeeze her cheeks. What is wrong with me?!

They were a blur of motion, laughter, and sunlight—just two kids on a beach, the world momentarily shrunk to nothing but the salty air and the splash of seaweed.

And for a few precious minutes, Izuku forgot everything else. The weight of expectations. the pressure of quirks and dreams… Even All Might.

It was just Aiko. Her laugh. The sun catching in her hair. The thrill of being seen—and maybe, just maybe, liked.

But just as he was winding up for another throw, Aiko’s body stilled. Her smile dropped like a shutter.

She turned sharply, eyes scanning the sky—then flicked toward the sun’s position, squinting as though she’d only just registered how far it had moved.

“No,” she whispered under her breath, barely audible.

Izuku straightened, still catching his breath. “Aiko?”

Her eyes snapped to him, wide and alarmed.

“I have to go.”

“What? Wait—did something happen?”

But she was already moving—brushing sand from her legs, grabbing the backpack and her old tote in one swift motion. Her hands trembled.

“I stayed too long,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Izuku took a tentative step forward, confused and a little afraid. “Are you okay? Did I—?”

“I’m sorry,” she cut in, too fast, too formal. She bowed—quick, stiff. “Thank you for today. Truly.”

Then she turned and bolted.

Not just leaving—but fleeing.

Her footsteps barely made a sound on the sand, but the urgency in them rang loud in his ears.

Izuku stood frozen, a clump of seaweed still in his hand, heart pounding for a different reason now. Panic prickled under his skin.

Did I say something wrong? Did I do something? Why did she run like that?

The waves kept rolling in. The breeze carried a distant gull cry. The seaweed still clung to his shirt like a joke no one was laughing at anymore. The way she vanished, like the moment had never happened at all, left a hollow ache blooming in his chest.

And just like that, the beach felt quiet again.