Chapter 6: ...That Was My First Date

Aiko stared down at the clothes folded neatly on the futon. Well—clothes might’ve been generous. She didn’t have much, just things granddad managed to pick up for her. One pair of sweat pants which were too thick for the summer and definitely not cute enough for a date, and a bunch of oversized tees that covered her petite frame like dresses.

She pulled on a white T-shirt—the one with the faded sakura blossom printed across the front and along the bottom hem. It was soft from too many washes and far too big, but she cinched it at the waist with a strip of black ribbon she’d found tangled in driftwood weeks ago. Then she grabbed a thin piece of plastic ribbon—the shiny kind you’d find on old packaging—and tied it carefully into a small bow, securing it to the blue streak in her hair just above her ear.

Her long white socks were worn but clean. She tugged them up above her knees and slipped on her black boots. It wasn’t a date outfit. Not really. But it was the best she had.

He won’t care what you wear. Probably. Unless he does. Unless this is a test. What if he shows up in something cool? What if he looks really good and you look like a fever dream from a school arts festival?

She adjusted the ribbon in her hair and stepped back from the mirror. Her face was composed. Her shoulders relaxed. Nothing in her appearance gave away the storm inside.

This is fine. You’re fine. Your socks match and you’re only having a mild emotional breakdown, which is honestly a personal best.

Aiko grabbed her small cross body bag which already had some loose change in it. She slipped her bag over her shoulder and padded toward the door. Tetsurō was waiting there, wiping his hands on a rag though they were already clean.

“Big day, hm?” he said, his voice low but warm. “Just… stay alert, Aiko. Keep your wits about you. And don’t stay out too late.”

She gave him a small smile. “I won’t. Izuku has school later anyway.”

He studied her for a moment, then reached into his pocket and slipped a couple of folded bills into her hand.

Aiko blinked, startled. “Granddad…?”

“A gentleman usually pays,” Tetsurō said softly, the faintest smile tugging at his beard. “But a lady should always be prepared.”

Aiko’s chest tightened, the corners of her mouth lifting despite herself.

His gaze lingered on her a beat longer, gentler now. “I’m sure he’ll be good to you,” he said. “But if he isn’t… you remember your worth. You don’t settle for less.”

She nodded, her throat suddenly tight. “I know.”

He reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair from her shoulder, then gave a quiet chuckle. “Go on then. He’s waiting.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Izuku was already at the beach. He’d been there for ten minutes. Technically fifteen. Okay—twenty-three. He’d been pacing for the first ten, rearranging the same three pieces of trash over and over like they were part of some ritual offering to the sea gods of anxiety. Now he was sitting on the wall, legs bouncing, trying not to fidget with the collar of his school uniform.

This isn’t a date. Probably. Maybe. It could be a date. But don’t say “date” out loud. She’ll run. You’ll die. Everyone loses.

Izuku glanced up. And there she was. Walking toward him through the morning light, soft and glowing like a scene from a movie he wasn’t emotionally prepared for. His heart lurched into his throat. His palms instantly began sweating.

If I were Kacchan, my hands would be exploding right now.

Which, honestly, didn’t feel far off.

His eyes swept over her before he could stop himself—a reflex, a helpless act of awe. She looked… different. Not drastically. Just more... wow.

Her T-shirt-dress swayed gently with each step, cinched at the waist with a piece of black ribbon.

Oh my god she tied it like a belt. That’s adorable. That’s—

His eyes scanned the rest of her, then widened.

Her waist is tiny. Like… really tiny. But she’s also really—whoa—

He snapped his gaze away.

WHY DID YOU LOOK DOWN. Look at her face. Her face, you absolute disaster.

He forced his eyes upward, only to get blindsided again.

Did she... did she get more beautiful overnight?

She had a bow in her hair. A shiny little plastic one, tied right above one of the blue streaks—and was that…?

A paperclip?

It was. It was literally held in place with a paperclip. Something squeezed in his chest.

She really tried. She made the effort with whatever she had. For me.

That thought alone cut through to the deepest part of him. Something about the way she always seemed so composed, yet here she was, holding herself together with plastic ribbon and a paperclip like it was no big deal. His heart clenched.

Oh no. I’m gonna cry. I’m actually gonna cry. Get it together, Midoriya. Do not cry because of a paperclip.

She reached him and smiled, calm and steady as ever. He managed to smile back, but his chest was still aching like his heart was trying to say something his mouth wasn’t brave enough to.

“Hey, Izuku.”

His brain: static.
His mouth: useless.
His heart: going 200 bpm.

She said my name again. That’s it. That’s the whole event. This is now the greatest moment of my life.

Izuku swallowed hard. Words. Right. That was a thing he knew how to do.

“You, um—” He gestured vaguely toward her. “You look… really beau—nice. I mean—great. I mean... Not that you didn’t look great before. You did. Always. But just—today especially. I like your… belt! And the bow. You look really…”

He trailed off, mortified, his face turning bright red.

"...Beautiful," he finally managed.

Aiko blushed. “Thank you.”

Was that a blush? Is she blushing? Oh my god. That’s a blush. I did that. I caused that. I’m a menace. I’m unstoppable. Wait—don’t faint. Don’t faint.

A breeze tugged at the hem of her shirt. The ribbon at her waist fluttered. They stood there for a second longer, her eyes dipped shyly to the ground, then back to him. Izuku’s heart thudded, but this time, he didn’t flinch from it.

“You ready?” he asked, a little more sure of himself now.

She gave a small nod, still a little pink. “Mm-hm.”

He smiled warmly, then turned toward the street. “Come on,” he said, glancing back at her. “It’s this way.”

She stepped forward without a word, falling into stride beside him, just a little closer than before.

Aiko felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

Why are my legs noodles. Why is my voice missing. Why does he smell like matcha and laundry detergent? Why does he look so good in that school uniform? Why is his sleeve brushing mine? Oh no, it’s brushing mine. Is that on purpose? Should I move away? No, that would be weird. But staying here is also weird. Why is everything weird? Is this what a date feels like? Is this normal? Are people just walking around doing this without panicking? Is this why adults drink coffee?

She glanced sideways at him. He caught her looking and smiled. Not shy or flustered. Just warm.

“So,” he said, voice steady, hands tucked into his school uniform pockets, “if you could eat only one dessert for the rest of your life… what would it be?”

Aiko blinked. Hard.

What the hell is happening. He’s calm. He’s calm and asking dessert questions like we’ve been doing this for years. He’s adorable and relaxed and I’m over here struggling to remember how legs work. No. No no no no. Did we switch roles? Help.

“I—I think… the, um—uh—"

Oh my god! Speak! Just say a dessert! Any desert!

"Le—lemon drizzle cake?" she blurted.

He turned to her, clearly amused. “Really?”

She nodded fast, heart hammering. “Yeah. The soft kind. With the… you know, the little sugar crust on top?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “That sounds amazing.”

Why is he looking at you like that. Is that a new smile? Is that a confident smile?? Where did that come from? Stop it. Stop being so cute. I’m gonna pass out.

He walked a few more steps, hands still in his pockets. Then, casually—

“I think mine’s taiyaki.”

She looked up, grateful for the shift. “The fish one?”

He nodded. “Yup. Red bean filling. Especially when it’s still warm.”

He glanced at her—just in time to see her nod quickly again, eyes wide, cheeks still pink.

Oh no. She’s flustered. She’s actually flustered. Because of me? Is this what winning feels like? I’ve never felt this powerful and close to vomiting at the same time.

She was still looking at him, nodding like she was trying really hard to act normal, and it was… honestly kind of destroying him. The oversized shirt-dress. The paperclip bow. The lemon drizzle cake stutter. He was not okay.

Do not mess this up. Do not spiral. Do not cry. Be chill. Be cool. Be normal for five minutes!

They reached the little shop just as the door creaked open with a cheerful jingle. Izuku stepped ahead and held it for her. Aiko offered a shy smile as she passed him, her eyes flicking up to meet his just briefly.

That’s when it hit him—a soft, clean scent, like fresh soap and something faintly floral. Maybe cherry blossoms. Maybe just… her.

His brain completely short-circuited.

Oh no. She smells nice. I like it. I really like it.

He nodded at nothing and sort of… saluted the air. She didn’t seem to notice.

Thank god.

They made their way to the counter. Izuku reached for the menu and held it out in front of him. Aiko stepped in close to read it too, her shoulder just inches from his arm. He could feel her warmth. It was peaceful.

She’s not even touching me… but it feels like she is.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He was suddenly hyper-aware of everything... the soft brush of her hair near his cheek, the faint rise and fall of her breath, the way her eyes scanned the list. But he felt calm. Like standing near her realigned something in him he didn’t know was off.

Focus, Midoriya.

He cleared his throat and glanced at her. “Any idea what you want?”

Aiko nodded, a bit too fast. “Um… pistachio, please. The green one. It’s kind of the same color as your—” She cut herself off, eyes widening slightly. “—uh, I just like that one.”

Izuku blinked. Then smiled—the kind of smile that looked like he was trying very, very hard not to break into a full-on grin.

“Pistachio it is,” he said, lowering the menu. His voice was soft but clearly amused.

He placed their order—mango for himself, mochi on both—then reached for his wallet. At the same time, Aiko began fumbling with the clasp of her tiny purse.

“I’ve got it,” he said, with a quiet confidence that made it sound as though his voice had been temporarily upgraded.

She hesitated, hand still hovering over her small purse. “Are you sure?”

He turned to her with a confident smile. “Yeah, of course.”

Aiko gave the smallest nod. Izuku turned back to the counter to pay, trying not to show how proud he was of keeping it together.

Okay. Cool. Normal. This is normal date behavior. You’re doing fine. She’s flustered. You’re not. You’re a functioning member of society. This is going great.

Izuku took the cones from the counter carefully, handing one to her. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, fingers brushing his for half a second—not long enough to count, but long enough to notice.

He motioned to the other side of the shop. “There’s a free table over there.”

She glanced in the direction he pointed, gave a little nod, and turned to lead the way. His eyes followed her automatically. Then paused.

Oh—

His gaze dipped, completely uninvited, catching the curve of her waist where the ribbon sat snug against the shirt.

Nope nope nope—

He snapped his eyes up so fast he probably looked like someone just called his name across a battlefield.

Don’t do that. What are you doing. Look at the ice cream. Think about the ice cream. Ice cream is safe.

They walked toward the far corner of the shop—a quiet little alcove with a small round table and two chairs tucked beneath the window. Aiko stepped lightly, and just as she reached the table, she turned to face him.

Her long hair lifted with the breeze from the ceiling fan and spun around her like something out of a slow motion hair salon commercial.

She smiled brightly, her eyes twinkled, her voice soft and sweet when she asked—“Is this table okay?”

He froze.

Yes. Words. He had those. Probably.

Oh god. Her cute voice. That smile. Those eyes. Abort. ABORT. Confidence gone. Reboot failed. System error. We’re back to factory settings. Somebody send help.

“Y-Yep! I mean—yes. Totally. Uh—great table. Love tables. Big fan.”

His voice cracked halfway through. His face went red enough to match the mochi topping.

Cool. That’s fine. Just embarrass yourself in front of the prettiest girl you’ve ever met. Over a table. A piece of furniture. That’s normal. You’re normal. Everyone loves tables.

He stared down at his mango ice cream like it might have the answers.

It did not.

Then—trying to salvage something, anything—he quickly stepped forward and reached for her chair. “Ah—here, let me just—”

He pulled it out for her. A bit too fast. It made a sound. A loud one.

Aiko giggled as she sat down. “Thanks.”

And just like that, she was calm again.

And he was unraveling. Again.

They both took a few bites in silence while Izuku kept glancing at her from across the table like she might vanish at any second. Her cheeks puffed slightly as she chewed.

“This is really good,” she said, nodding to herself. “And the mochi topping is so soft.”

Izuku perked up. “Y-Yeah! I—I almost didn’t try it the first time. I thought it’d be, um… chewy? In like, a bad way? But it’s actually the right kind of sticky, not enough to get stuck in your teeth, but uh—yeah, and—and not too sweet, and—uh—”

Oh my god, he's back to spiraling again. Why? What happened? Was it the ice cream? Does he have brain freeze? It's fine... it's fine! This is nice. He's funny like this.

She grinned. “You really thought that through.”

He blinked. “I—I think about food a lot.”

She nearly choked on a piece of mochi.

That’s it. I’m going to die. He’s too cute. He’s too much. I can’t function under these conditions.

She giggled, trying to play it off. “I can tell.”

His face went pink again, eyes darting back to his dessert.

Her eyes lingered on him. The way his hair fell over his eyes… a little messy, a little soft, like he didn’t even realize how good it looked.

The light caught in the strands, making the green seem brighter than usual, almost glowing. He tucked a hand behind his ear as he spoke, still nervously rambling about mochi, and her heart gave a stupid little flutter.

Does he know? Does he have any idea what he looks like right now? Because this should be illegal. I need a paper bag. And maybe a defibrillator. This isn’t fair. He’s talking about dessert and somehow managing to look like a Studio Ghibli love interest. Stop it. Stop being so precious. Your hair is doing the floppy thing. Your voice is doing the stuttering thing. Your eyes are being all shiny and sincere and—oh no. He looked up. Whoa. Look away, look casual, look like you weren’t just mentally writing your wedding vows.

He tilted his head slightly. “So, which do you prefer?”

Aiko blinked. Hard. “…What?”

He smiled, a little sheepish now. “S-Sorry—I was just asking. I always feel calmer when it rains, but most people hate it.”

“Oh,” she said quickly, cheeks flushing. “Right. Yes. I mean—no. I mean… I like both?”

Great. Nailed it. Incredible work. Truly the picture of grace and composure. Next time maybe try listening instead of constructing imaginary fanfiction about his hair.

“So…” she began, a touch more composed, “the other day—when I dropped my notes. You said you also make notes on quirks.”

He looked up, curious. “Yeah?”

Her fingers traced the edge of what remained of her cone. “Could I see some?”

Izuku lit up like someone had flipped a switch inside him.

“Oh—yeah! Of course!” he said, already reaching for his backpack. He unzipped the front pocket and pulled out two slightly scuffed blue notebooks, the covers worn soft from use. “This is my current one.”

He handed her the top one. Aiko took it carefully, her fingers brushing the familiar-feeling cover. The title on the front was handwritten: Hero Analysis for the Future.

She flipped through a few pages. “Wow. You… really went all in on this, huh?”

He laughed a little, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

She flipped a few more pages, her eyes trailing over the cramped handwriting and diagrams. There were sketches of heroes mid-motion, notes scrawled in the margins, arrows connecting one thought to another.

Izuku leaned in before he could stop himself, his shoulder brushing hers as he pointed toward a half-finished drawing.

“That one—” his voice dropped, quiet but steady, “—I was trying to figure out how Kamui Woods increases the snapback speed of his branches. If you reinforce the base here—” his finger traced the arrow—“the momentum carries further. Stronger offense. Quicker recovery.”

Aiko tilted her head, following the motion of his finger. The scent of soap and summer air clung to him, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his arm. His hair brushed lightly against her temple when he leaned closer, and she forgot, for a second, how to breathe.

“That’s… really clever,” she murmured.

He froze, blinking at her in surprise, before rubbing the back of his neck with a small, embarrassed grin. “I-I kinda get carried away sometimes.”

Her lips curved. “No. I like it. You see details no one else notices.”

Izuku’s pulse stumbled. She wasn’t teasing—her voice was soft, sincere. The kind of compliment that settled deep in his chest.

Their eyes met, closer than either of them realized. For a second, the whole world narrowed to just that—her gaze, calm and unwavering, and his own heartbeat hammering so loud he was sure she could hear it.

Aiko’s fingers lingered on the edge of the page. His hand hovered near hers where it rested against the notebook, close enough that the warmth of his skin ghosted against her knuckles.

Aiko could feel her breath quicken. If she shifted even a fraction, her hand would touch his.

The thought sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. She forced her eyes back to the notes, flipping the page with deliberate care.

Izuku exhaled quietly, the moment stretching thin between them—so delicate it felt like it might snap.

She turned another page—then froze.

Izuku’s stomach dropped the instant he saw where her eyes landed.

Scrawled across the entire page, in his unmistakable handwriting: Aiko Takara. Over and over. Written in different sizes—some neat, some rushed—with dozens of tiny hearts scattered around it.

Aiko's eyes widened.

Heat rushed to her cheeks, blooming scarlet. She froze, lashes low, as if unsure whether to close the notebook or throw it across the room.

Izuku made a noise that was somewhere between a squeak and a dying kettle.

“Th-that’s—! I—uh—! That’s not—! I mean—!”

He lurched forward instinctively, then recoiled like the notebook was radioactive. His hands hovered uselessly in the air, clenching and unclenching, before he slapped them against his knees and sat bolt upright, ramrod stiff.

“P-please don’t look at that!” he blurted, his voice cracking so sharply that the old man at the counter turned his head.

Aiko blinked, fingers curling around the page. Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. Her blush deepened. “…Oh.”

Izuku’s brain exploded.

Oh?? Oh what?? Oh good?? Oh bad?? Oh ‘I think you’re a creep’?? OH WHAT???

He groaned loudly and collapsed forward, dragging both hands down his burning face until his voice came out muffled behind his palms.

“I—I wasn’t gonna show you that page! I… I mean, I-it’s—it’s not like I do that— I, I mean, I did do that, b-but I don’t, uh, I don’t normally do that! I mean—write… uhh… names—! It—it’s just penmanship! Yes! I—I like to practice my handwriting, ‘cause it’s messy, and the um… the strokes, they need practice! A-and sometimes I just use random words, like not—not that your name is random!! It was just—uh—coincidence! Yeah! A coincidence…!”

His hands flailed helplessly, then stilled for half a second as his brain betrayed him with a fresh horror.

“—a-and the hearts! I-I don’t even know what happened there, or how—uhh—! I-I mean, who draws hearts without noticing?! That’s insane! I must’ve—like—dropped my pen? Or… or… or maybe it was muscle memory?! Yeah, m-muscle memory! N-not… not feelings memory! Definitely not that!!”

He lurched forward again, waving both hands in frantic denial—only to smack his elbow into the napkin holder. It toppled instantly, spilling tissues across the table and floor in a slow-motion avalanche of mortification.

Izuku froze, then scrambled to gather them back up, babbling even faster.

“A-and anyway—even if I did write it on purpose—which I didn’t—it’s not ‘cause I was thinking about… you, like that! It’s just—sometimes you, uh, pop into my head and then you, um, stay there, and then suddenly there’s a notebook page, a-and it’s not like I spend all day thinking about you—oh my god I sound like I do—I don’t! I don’t, except maybe, uh, sometimes, b-but not like… ALL day, just—just parts of the—m-most of the—n-no, a little of the day! Which is… n-not weird! Not in a weird way! In a… in a totally… normal way!! Oh no, why does everything I say make it worse??”

By the time he sat back up with a half-crumpled wad of tissues in his hands, his face was bright red, his hair sticking out worse than usual, and his voice was hanging somewhere between a whisper and a wail.

Aiko bit her lip, shoulders shaking just slightly, though whether from nerves or trying not to laugh, he couldn’t tell.

She gave a tiny shake of her head, still not looking at him directly, voice barely above a whisper.

“…It’s okay.”

Her face was still pink.

He was crimson, shaking with the effort not to combust on the spot.

No it’s not. It’s the opposite of okay. This is it. This is how I die. Forget villains—I’m going to be buried under a landslide of my own humiliation. Just put ‘died of romantic stupidity’ on my gravestone.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. He sat there, red-faced, quietly restacking the fallen napkins. Aiko closed the notebook carefully—like she was putting a secret back in its box—and set it on the table. She tilted her head, eyes dropping to the more battered one in front of him.

‘…What happened to that one?’

Izuku blinked, grateful for the lifeline. He cleared his throat, glancing down. ‘Oh—uh. Yeah. Kacchan kind of… exploded it. Long story.’

Aiko looked at him. “Kacchan?”

“Yeah, he’s my fri—uh…” Izuku hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “A guy from my school.”

Her brows lifted. “He exploded it?”

“Yeah.” Izuku gave a sheepish shrug. “With his quirk.”

“Did you do something to him?”

“No! I just—he saw me writing one day and got… mad about it. I guess he thought it was weird.”

Aiko’s eyes lingered on the charred edges of the notebook. “That’s really messed up.”

“He, uh… he does stuff like that,” Izuku said, scratching his cheek. “He’s always been kind of—intense.”

Aiko looked up, expression flat. “Kacchan sounds like a jerk.”

Izuku let out a laugh—a real one this time. “Yeah. Yeah, he kind of is.”

She handed the notebook back gently. “I think it’s cool you kept it.”

He gave a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah. I worked hard on it. Even if it smells like smoke now.”

He glanced down at the notebook. Around them, the shop had thinned out, a couple paying at the counter, the hum of the ceiling fan louder now that most of the chatter had faded. Izuku glanced down at his bag, then up at the clock.

“Oh—it’s getting late, I have to get to school,” he said, eyes flicking to her. “How far is your place from here?”

Aiko followed his gaze, then tilted her head slightly. “About fifteen minutes? East, toward the station.”

Izuku nodded. “That’s on the way to school, sort of.”

Then, with a soft smile, “I’ll walk you home.”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to. But because she wasn't sure if granddad would get mad at her.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Thanks.”

Izuku stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. She followed him out, the bell above the door jingling behind them.

They walked closely, talking about their likes and dislikes, the summer air soft around them. When they reached the top of her street, they slowed to a stop. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there, looking at each other.

Izuku shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. “So… will you be at the beach tomorrow?”

Aiko nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled. “Cool. Then… see you tomorrow?”

She opened her mouth, then paused. Her cheeks pinked.

“Thank you for the dat—uh—the, um… the ice cream.”

His heart clenched. Her voice was so soft. So shy.

It was a date. It’s okay, Aiko. You can say it. It was a date.

He didn’t say anything out loud—just smiled. One of those small, hopeful ones that felt like it might be carrying too much.

Then, quietly, shyly, he said,

“…That was my first date.”

Aiko’s eyes widened slightly. Her blush deepened.

She didn’t speak—just gave the faintest nod, lips parting like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

They stood like that for a moment, a silent warmth blooming in the space between them.

Then he gave a small wave and turned to go, heading back toward the main road, the soft sound of his footsteps fading behind him.