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Hitoshi knew the diner wedged on the corner next to the 7 Eleven like the back of his hand. Or claws. Or wing, if you wanted to get technical.
He didn’t like getting technical.
The little bell above the door chimed, like it always did. The waitress wiping down the bar top looked up. Popped her gum. “By yourself tonight, babe?” she asked—like she always did.
Hitoshi nudged the door shut with his boot, sinking into the gray scarf wrapped around his shoulders. People eventually gave up waiting for you to talk back that way. At least normies did. But here, tucked away in one of the city’s hole-in-the-wall joints like Mighty Cup O’Coffee, you couldn’t count on anyone being normal.
The girl hovering by the jukebox was staring. Everyone did whenever the door opened after midnight. It was like the diner was holding its breath, waiting. A group of men and women in dark suits stopped sipping their coffee. The two muscle heads hunched over the bar top twisted to look back at him. The blond one glared over the rim of his aviator sunglasses.
Dark shades for 2 AM.
There was a reason for that.
Hitoshi ran a thumb over the scar on his index finger, peeking out from the frayed edge of the only fingerless glove he had left, and dropped into a booth by the window. Like he always did.
Just sit down and nod, kid. Sit down and nod.
The eyes fixed to the back of his head flitted away. Went back to their coffees and waffles and mysterious conversations. The diner rolled back into motion, buzzing with low voices and the clink of silverware.
“Missed you last week.” The waitress—Camie, her name tag read—slid a laminated menu across the table. It gleamed against the red formica, as greasy as the checkered floor. Everything at Mighty’s had a fine layer of grease to it.
“I’ll have someone with ya in a sec.” Camie winked. Like they knew each other. Like this was a game they played.
They didn’t. And it wasn’t.
Not with her, anyway.
He tried not to think about that too hard: not with her.
It was too early for that shit.
And Mighty’s was so full of Unusuals the wings hidden beneath Hitoshi’s skin began to itch.
The fluorescent lights shuddered. Like the fuzzy neon sign fighting to stay visible under Musutafu’s washed-out night sky. A flash of red glinted behind Blondie’s aviators, his eyes fox-like and as sharp as the canine slipping over his friend’s bottom lip. The girl by the jukebox punched in a number for classic American rock. Queen. She flickered, like the lights.
Hitoshi traced the heart engraved onto the tabletop with a bitten-to-shit nail. It didn’t matter who had crawled out of their crypt for the night or who was wandering the city after the witching hour. Right now it wasn't his job to care, and he hadn't come here to mingle. He came here for coffee. Dark roast. Cream, no sugar. Waffles a la mode on a bad night. And—
“Hey, stranger.”
He jerked upright.
And the only human awake in this corner of Musutafu, apparently.
Mighty’s was supposed to be a fluke. A late night one-off.
But it had coffee dark enough to rival the midnight shadows festering in a haunted alleyway, what more could you want? You needed it after knocking around ghouls for a living. Or rival clans. Clan lines ran deep, and territory feuds ran even deeper. If you were lucky you were born on clan sites overseeing veins of lonely highway or untouched land that hadn’t pulled anyone’s eye.
Hitoshi hadn’t been born lucky. The Yuuei clan didn’t get mountains or open sky. They got skyscrapers and highrises to guard over. Apartment buildings. Convenience stores and city parks. Rival clan lords wanting their streets were a bitch to deal with.
But sometimes it wasn’t his own kind stirring up trouble. Sometimes it was the occasional blood-drunk vampire. Lone werewolves—also drunk on a cocktail of supernatural magic bullshit—without a pack to tether them on full moons. Ghosts infesting buildings on clan territory that normies liked to believe were circuit shortages or naturally creaky floors. It was the kind of work that would make anyone envy Rip Van Winkle at the end of the night. It built up an appetite.
And a gargoyle’s gotta eat.
Hitoshi just hadn’t planned on the human.
“Didn’t see you last week,” his waiter said lightly. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Hitoshi blinked. He could feel his heartbeat pulse behind his eyelids. A steady thump, thump, thump. He squinted at the crooked little star drawn in permanent marker next to the kanji on the waiter’s name tag. He didn’t have to read it. He already knew it.
Midoriya Izuku.
He knew it like he knew every human who lived in the crumbling apartment building the clan roosted on during the day. Anyone, even unwitting normies, living on clan territory, was the clan’s to protect. And a guy with a face like Izuku’s? Baby-faced and expressive, the kind you did a double-take for? Had a penchant for attracting trouble.
Not that Izuku knew it.
Hitoshi’s eyes flicked to the window. A light rain flecked the glass, slicking the streets an oily black. The shadows stayed shadows. Quiet and unmoving. Hitoshi relaxed. He didn’t want to think about flukes and night watches.
He held out his coffee cup, playing his hand at being the chronically tired normie who had nothing to hide, and said, “never can.”
Izuku smiled. The sort of smile that dimpled his cheeks and made his freckles pop, the green eyes hiding under the curly fringe of his bangs shining a little brighter. It was the sort of smile that made Hitoshi feel like a creep.
It was dangerous.
He was here for coffee. Not to keep watch. Izuku working here was a fluke, like Mighty’s. Humans were fragile. Ignorant.
Beautiful.
Izuku held up his pot of coffee and settled his hip against the table. Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy tumbled through the jukebox.
“This won’t help.”
“You gonna cut me off, Freckles?”
Izuku tossed a quick look over his shoulder. Jukebox girl was still watching them, more of a smudge now than a girl as the seconds ticked by. So were Blondie and his sharp-toothed friend. They rippled with kitsune magic, a fiery aura Izuku’s human eyes couldn’t see. Not without invitation.
A human with no Sight working odd hours at an Unusual diner in the rough part of the city?
Freckles was lucky he hadn’t been kidnapped, enthralled, or sold as a pet on the black market. The gatekeeper who owned this place must take human safety seriously, if the subtle sheen of the protection charm woven into the stitching of the diner uniforms had anything to say about it. It was old magic. The kind strong enough to raise the hairs on the back of Hitoshi’s neck in warning. It said to anyone who looked a little too long and a little too intently, DO NOT TAKE. Not that ghouls—the nomu—cared about whose magical handprint was on who.
Not that Hitoshi would ever let that happen. It was in his nature. To protect. Even when his kind got eyed as warily as the nomu.
He almost hated how much he secretly liked his glamour.
Izuku slid into the booth when Camie didn’t materialize out of the kitchen, his red Mighty’s shirt bunching around deceptively broad shoulders. For as short and innocent-looking as he was, he probably packed one hell of a punch. He leaned forward, his eyes bottle glass green under the cheap lighting. Hitoshi smelled mint. A light breeze of cologne.
“Never,” he said in a stage whisper, and added, like he always did, “not when you’re my favorite regular.” A little pink swept up his cheekbones. He tipped the pot.
A warm feeling pooled beneath Hitoshi’s sternum. His wings itched again.
Izuku kept talking. It was a good voice. Smooth and comforting like coffee.
“You hungry tonight? You always get waffles, but I’ve never seen you order the midnight special. You know it was the first thing on the menu when this place opened twenty years back? Yagi sold nothing but coffee and waffles—all of it inspired by the favorite food of the superhero from that old cartoon The Adventures of All Might? God, I miss that show. Nothing like Saturday morning cartoons with a bowl of cereal in the living room when Mom hadn’t woken up yet, just me and All Might against the world for twenty-five minutes. Made you believe in something truly good, like magic.” The dimples came back, his voice tapering, growing soft. Hitoshi’s pulse jumped at the word magic.
“But anyway, this was my mom’s favorite place to eat, and I always got—” A splash of coffee puddled around the mug in a ring. Izuku paused. The tips of his ears burned red.
“…The midnight special. Sorry. I’m rambling again.” Hitoshi’s mouth quirked.
He wouldn’t call it a smile. Not yet. Let it go, he thought. Like he always did. Izuku doesn't even know who you are outside this place.
He sipped his coffee. “You’re good.”
Izuku smiled shyly. Hitoshi’s gaze snagged on the freckle perched on the corner of his mouth.
His skin felt too tight. Hitoshi traced the scar on his finger again to keep his wings from flaring. Just this once, he thought. He leaned over the table.
“I got time.”
For a human without a sliver of magic in his bones, Izuku was pretty damn good at attracting the Unusual.
“You notice anything special about our favorite problem human who moved into the roost a few months back?”
Hitoshi set his elbows on his knees, crouched on the edge of a law firm’s roof deck. A full moon shone, and under it, every building and pit stop in the city with a magical footprint glittered. He looked down. Musutafu trickled by in a little neon river twenty-six stories below, its ley lines pulsing with life. Magic. Spirits. Other Unusuals crossing through gates—that veil that kept Hitoshi’s world invisible to the naked human eye. To Izuku.
Who, Hitoshi noticed, his hawk-like vision narrowing, was walking out of the apartment building down the street to a graveyard shift at Mighty’s. His uniform glittered beneath his jacket. The Gatekeeper’s magic.
Whoever he was. Gatekeepers had their own laws.
“You mean how all Freckles has to do is walk out the door to attract a ghoul or the fae?” Or elves, Hitoshi thought sourly as a group of silvery club-going elves who had grown a little too fond of the apartment lately all turned in perfect synchrony when Izuku passed. Hitoshi’s wings flared, ready for a dive. “Then yeah. I’ve noticed.”
A prickle skittered across the back of his neck. His mentor was still staring at him. Waiting. Shouta loomed beside him a shadow beneath the moonlight in his robes, barbed wings tucked neatly at his sides.
Shouta narrowed gold eyes at him, bright as a coin. “Anything else?”
Hitoshi curled his claws into the stone, wary. A clan Guardian, a protector, couldn’t be missing obvious shit.
“We’ll have to renegotiate ground rules with the elf prince. Again.” Before anyone goes missing. Izuku’s smile flashed through his thoughts. Elves liked a pretty smile. The thought bunched in his chest, cold and tight. Down below, one of the elves broke free from the group, twirling after Izuku.
Hitoshi tensed.
A heavy hand settled on his shoulder. “Just sit back and watch, kid,” Shouta murmured. “Sit back and watch. Trust in a Gatekeeper’s magic.” A little of the rage brewing in Hitoshi’s chest bled out of him, settling like grime between his ribs. Shouta knew what he was doing. He always did. Hitoshi took comfort in that, letting his mentor’s words seep through his thoughts whenever anything felt out of control. Just let it be, kid. Just let it be. Hitoshi watched as Izuku laughed at whatever the elf was saying. He thought of the way Izuku had said hey stranger and the freckle by the corner of his mouth. How it lifted whenever Izuku smiled.
He wanted to dive. He trembled from the need of it. Shouta’s grip tightened, claws pricking his skin.
The elf danced back toward the group. Izuku walked away.
Hitoshi sucked down a breath.
“Keep watching,” Shouta murmured. Izuku stepped closer to the ley line. Waved to a spirit couple on a midnight stroll. They turned to watch him. So did a couple pixies. Pixies were a bitch to deal with. Izuku smiled at them unknowingly. Hitoshi’s heart stumbled. Picked itself up back again. Shouta’s grip tightened. Wait, it said.
Being a Guardian wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Sometimes it gave you heart attacks.
The protection magic sewn into Izuku’s uniform glowed brighter, a sunburst of magic settling around him in a halo. Then he stepped through the ley line. The sunburst vanished. The Unusuals on the street stopped watching and kept walking. Hitoshi squinted.
“What was that?”
“Cor aurum,” Shouta said. He sounded as tired as Hitoshi felt. “Non-magical at the core, but pure enough to amplify natural magic in the fae, elves, witches, anyone with a connection to the ley line. Even ghouls. It’s ambrosia for vampires. So you’re right. We are going to have to renegotiate territory terms and ground rules with the elf prince.” Shouta’s mouth twisted, like his next words were going to hurt.
“And everyone else.”
Hitoshi frowned. “What are you saying?”
Shouta scrubbed a hand over his face. Through his wild black hair, already tangled from gusts of icy autumn wind. “I’m saying, I hope you like Mighty’s midnight special, because the elders want you to keep an eye on it now. Guard it. You got a new patrol route. A new night watch.” Hitoshi straightened to his full height. His senses sharpened, as if he might be able to smell whatever was wrong, or different. Maybe he could keep it far away from Izuku. His wings twitched again.
“Why?”
Shouta sighed. He did a lot of sighing. Especially these days. “Your diner boy’s got a literal heart of gold.”
Cor aurum were only born once every thousand years, if the conditions were right. Stars, planets, telluric currents, supernatural energy pulsing through ley lines at just right at the right place, at just the right time.
Everything must have lined up perfectly with Izuku. Some sort of cosmic bliss. And yet here he was, one of the purest mortals since Hercules, living in downtown Musutafu’s oldest, most magical, apartments, working the graveyard shift at a diner.
“Hey, stranger.”
Hitoshi eyed the imp clinging to Izuku’s pant leg. “This one yours, Bat? Pretty, pretty, human boy—I’ll trade you gold for it. All my shinies.” It hadn’t crossed the veil with a glamour, its magic too weak to leave any sort of lasting impression like something truly malevolent. Izuku couldn’t feel it clinging to him with branch-thin fingers and three rows of sharp teeth. It flitted away with a giggle when Hitoshi smiled.
Beyond the veil, the imp wasn't the only one who had teeth.
“Hey, yourself.”
“Couldn’t sleep again?” Izuku leaned against the booth, a fresh pot of coffee in hand. The imp disappeared beyond the veil, bored. Gargoyles were serious business, and imps didn’t have time for serious business and anyone who didn’t trade in shinies. Even when cor aurum were on the line. Hitoshi relaxed. Slightly. There were still some questionables hanging around Mighty’s at 3 AM. He glanced at the squid-like demon hovering behind them. She retracted all six tentacles into a trench coat and stepped back into the night.
“Cream?” Izuku asked. Hitoshi's gaze snagged on his mouth. His lips were rosebud pink. Soft, a little chapped from the city chill.
“Sugar," Hitoshi said, without thinking, and stiffened. That was a lie. He didn't take sugar. Heat crawled up his neck.
Izuku’s cheeks dimpled. “I’ll see what I can do.” His voice curled in Hitoshi’s chest. Roosted there so he could take the words out one by one to examine them later.
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Let it go, he told himself. But Izuku hovered.
Hitoshi held up his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Thanks. Long shift.”
“Tell me about it,” Izuku laughed. “I’m here ‘til 4 AM.” His eyes widened suddenly, as if he’d forgotten something important. He quickly checked for Camie, dropping into the booth.
“What about you? I’ve never asked. What do you do?”
Protect you, Hitoshi thought. He leaned back in his seat. He’d think of this later, too. Izuku’s eyes fixed on him. Sweeping over his face—lingering on his mouth—as if Izuku was studying him. Committing him to memory. A gargoyle. A small, wild part of Hitoshi preened. It was stupid to feel that way. Izuku couldn’t see beyond his glamour. Didn’t know him for what he truly was. Might run away screaming if he did.
But right now, he didn’t.
Hitoshi forced the thought down, grinning wryly. “What do you think I do?”
Izuku hummed, propping his chin in his hand. “Undercover cop.”
Hitoshi snorted. Sipped his coffee. “No.”
“Security guard?”
“So close.”
Izuku’s impossibly green eyes narrowed. Hitoshi studied the hair curling over the shell of his ear, escaping from under the brim of his Mighty’s hat. Plus Ultra! It read. Izuku pursed his lips.
“Reclusive fantasy author under an anonymous pen name, who can only write after coming here for inspiration.”
“Weirdly specific.”
Izuku smiled. It dimpled his cheeks again. “Paranormal investigator.” He lowered his voice, raising his eyebrows. “Sometimes I think this place could be haunted.”
Hitoshi choked. The overhead fluorescent lights dimmed, then brightened. Jukebox girl flickered on the other side of the diner, rolling her eyes. Izuku gaped, smacking his hands down on the Formica.
“What, really?!”
Hitoshi made a noise in the back of his throat. Maybe it was a laugh. Maybe he really was choking. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “No.”
Izuku chuckled. He traced the heart on the table absently. A little H had been engraved inside it. A jolt ran through Hitoshi’s veins.
“I’ll find out one day,” Izuku said. His finger stopped circling the heart to trace the H. Hitoshi's heart beat harder.
“One day,” he repeated, wondering if it was true.
A head poked out of the kitchen. Camie. An aura of Djinn magic hovered over her briefly in a blue, sparkling cloud. She smirked.
“Sorry, babe, but we flirt off the clock, ya feel?”
Izuku jumped out of the pocked leather booth like it had burned him. Camie cackled, ducking back into the kitchen. Hitoshi raised a brow.
“Did I get you in trouble?"
Izuku plucked his notebook from his apron. “Not if you order. So,” his smile widened. The tips of his ears were pink again. “What can I get you, stranger?”
Hitoshi swirled creamer into his coffee.
“Gimme the midnight special.”
“Do you believe in things like guardian angels?” Izuku asked a few nights later. His breath misted out in front of him, steaming in the alley. He’d been on break when Hitoshi reached Mighty’s.
Wanna talk? he’d asked, and for five minutes they stared up together at the strip of cold autumn sky hanging over the highrises, listening to each other breathe. A winged shadow crossed the moon.
Clan. Watching over them.
Hitoshi toed a rumpled receipt scuttling across the concrete. His knuckles ached from the ghoul he'd fought earlier. But he’d take that any day over an angel. They weren’t what most normies imagined them to be. They definitely weren’t as pretty to look at. Like reapers. He’d met one with Shouta once. The memory still made him shudder.
“Depends,” Hitoshi said finally. Izuku hummed, sinking into his scarf and jacket. He leaned back against the brick as if he could suck a little of the diner’s warmth out of it. He shivered.
“Things probably don’t exist the way we expect them to, anyway,” he said. “Otherwise, I think they’d be like…the gargoyles on the roof of my apartment building.”
Hitoshi stiffened. He kept his voice light. “Gargoyles, huh?”
Izuku tilted his head. “They’re always there,” he said, as if that explained everything. “And there’s this one I like. I’ll go up there and sit under him and just…think. Write for a while. Listen to music. I used to have a place like that as a kid. A little creek out by my Mom’s old house. There’s nothing like that here. But he comes pretty close. Makes me feel calm. Safe. Like a guardian angel. “ His breath escaped in a cloud again. Hitoshi watched it dance and shrivel, something warm curling in his chest. Izuku looked up. The night had swallowed up the bottle glass green of his eyes. They glittered.
“I think he’s beautiful,” he whispered. Hitoshi leaned down. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his skull again, beating a path out of his chest.
“Yeah?”
“Tall, handsome,” Izuku murmured. His breath misted in and out again, his eyes hooded. Dark. His fingers brushed Hitoshi’s knuckles. “Nice eyes. Good jaw line. Cool hair.”
“Might be bedhead,” Hitoshi drawled. Izuku laughed. Hitoshi felt warmer with it.
“Could be. He’s a pretty sleepy guy. Needs lots of coffee.”
“Mmm, shame.”
“Not,” Izuku whispered, closer now, “if I wake him up a little.” The corner of his mouth curved. Hitoshi’s breath caught in his throat. Izuku’s gaze dropped to his mouth.
“Sometimes,” he murmured, close enough for Hitoshi to smell his cologne, “I feel like I know you. Weird, right?”
“No,” Hitoshi rasped, sweeping a hand down Izuku’s cheek. Under his jaw. Izuku's eyes fluttered shut, and the dark thing in Hitoshi growled. Just this once, he thought. Just this once.
The back door opened. “Izuku! We need you on table three please!”
Hitoshi’s hand dropped. The door shut again, taking all the magic with it.
Izuku jumped back, blinking owlishly. “Shit,” he hissed, scurrying toward the back door. “I have to— I gotta—” he paused. Bit his lip. He fiddled with his coat zipper. “You know, I got a pot of coffee with your name on it. And a midnight special.”
Hitoshi smiled. He took a step forward just to watch that dazed, hopeful look overtake Izuku’s expression again. “I’m in.”
Izuku hovered by the door. He looked beautiful then, shy, flushed under the diner lights. Hitoshi could almost see the little halo of cor aurum energy crowning his head. He opened his mouth to say something. Hitoshi never heard what it was. A scream ripped through Musutafu’s late night quiet, and Izuku paled. He met Hitoshi’s eye for a fraction of a second.
It stretched on like an eternity. Like most life-changing things do. Izuku froze on the steps to the diner, his hand falling away from the door. He didn’t have to say it—what he was going to do. Hitoshi could already feel it, like a touch of black magic on the back of his neck. There was something wicked was waiting in the street. Izuku almost looked sorry. Hitoshi lunged for him.
“Wait—!”
Izuku was gone before Hitoshi’s voice could echo through the alley. He shot off into the dark, like the cor aurum he was, like the heroes he’d always dreamed of. Hitoshi’s heart sank.
“Izuku! Dammit!”
A family of Tanuki spirits picking through dumpsters cowered when he shot into the sky. Nothing good could be happening if a gargoyle was in flight. The wind picked up, stirring from the pump of his wings, his claws growing sharp, his teeth long in his mouth. A shout sounded down the road to his left.
Izuku.
He dove.
Later, he’ll wonder how it happened. The Sight Izuku gained. He’ll daydream about it. How he’d landed on a pickpocket in full form with a roar, his wings barbed and teeth bared. A switchblade skittered across the asphalt. The thing beneath him writhed, not human. The ghoul shrieked, reaching for Izuku, white under the streetlamps.
And looking up at Hitoshi in horror.
The old Gatekeeper had few explanations. Yagi Toshinori was thin and frail, his blue eyes ley line-bright when the clan lords greeted him on the roof the next night.
“It’s old magic,” he said apologetically, bowing his head. “The cor aurum may gain Sight with my spell if the need arises. They are still part of us, after all. No matter how disconnected. And I invite all to See. What young Midoriya needs now is time.”
Hitoshi stared bleakly out toward the city skyline. Shouta was silent beside him, a steady, grounding presence. He didn’t have to say much.
Izuku hadn’t left his apartment in two nights.
At moonrise the next night, when the stone had crumbled from his skin and Hitoshi was left to guard Musutafu’s streets, a dream lingered fresh in his mind.
Hair tickling his stone. A warm back pressed against his chest. Fingers tracing his claws. His teeth. The grooves of his face. His clan mates watched him out of the corners of their eyes. They didn’t ask. Only waited.
Izuku’s door still hadn’t opened.
Mighty’s felt cold when Hitoshi shoved inside for coffee later. Camie smiled at him. Like she’d known it was only a matter of time. He didn’t look her in the eye. The Jukebox ghost watched him like a funeral-goer witnessing a procession. Even the imps left him alone.
A shadow fell over him. Hitoshi scowled, dropping into a booth. “Just coffee,” he bit out.
A heartbeat of silence followed. Then, “Hey, stranger.”
Hitoshi jerked, an ache hollowing out his stomach. He stared.
Izuku slid into the booth across from him, out of uniform, a glaring plaid orange button-up in its place that was just as rumpled as he was. His green hair looked damp, freshly washed. Soft and curling around his ears. Hitoshi’s hand twitched. He forced himself not to reach out. Feel it for himself.
Izuku wrung his hands. “I—”
“I’m sorry,” Hitoshi cut in quietly. He picked at the peeling laminate on his menu, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. This was it. The end.
“What happened that night...I hadn’t meant for you to see me like that.”
Izuku said nothing. The seconds ticked by. Hitoshi’s heart crumpled. Sank a little deeper.
“Hitoshi,” Izuku murmured. “Look at me.”
He glared at the heart scratched on the table.
He wouldn’t.
“Please?”
Hitoshi sighed. Just this once, he thought.
He looked.
Izuku’s eyes were red-rimmed. Greener than he’d ever seen them. Izuku shook his head. “No. Really look at me.”
Hitoshi frowned. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. Not yet. “I am.”
“But that’s not all of you. Please?”
Hitoshi looked out the window. Something dark flooded through his veins when he caught his reflection's eye, already brimming with a lavender, catlike glow. He watched the moment his wings flared and his skin hardened. Claws sprouted from his fingertips, horns curling from his temples. Izuku watched, too, looking through the window.
Hitoshi waited. The dark things inside him tensed, rearing up like thorns.
“You don’t scare me,” Izuku said quietly. “Nothing about you in this form scares me. But that ghoul did. Seeing what it almost did to you did.” He turned to look Hitoshi in the eye. “Everything’s different. Everything. I have to adjust to that.”
Hitoshi flinched, looked away. The dark thing inside him twisted. Filled the spaces in his chest until he wondered if he’d ever be able to breathe again.
Izuku reached for his hand. Laced their fingers together. He was cold to the touch. Hitoshi stiffened. He could sense the pulse beneath Izuku's skin, tapping out a wild rhythm. A pang of hurt lanced through his chest. Or maybe it was hope.
“But not to you.” Izuku said. His voice caught. “Never to you. Not when I know why the rooftop always made me feel so safe. Why I felt like I knew you.” He brought Hitoshi’s hand to his lips, brushed a kiss against his fingers. Each of his knuckles.
“Because I already do.”
Something different than hurt, or hope, wrenched Hitoshi's chest wide open. He waited to breathe. Wondered if Izuku had ever looked more beautiful.
“I’m not scared of you,” Izuku whispered. “So don’t be scared of me.”
Hitoshi swallowed. Breathed in deep. Cupped Izuku’s hand like it was made out of glass. It felt warm again. “I’m not.”
He meant it.
Izuku smiled. The dimpled one he loved so much. “So, what do you say? I think there’s a pot of coffee with our names on it. And a midnight special.”
Hitoshi traced a claw lightly over Izuku’s knuckles.
“I got time.”