To Stand by Your Side (DekuBaku)

Chapter 32: You Can Run...

"I'm not sure how widely known it is, but it's no secret that I've helped out at U.A. multiple times in the past," he said, each word thick in his mouth. "And I'll admit, Bakugou is one of my favorite students to spar with. My guess is that the illusion was utilized because the person he was fighting was his classmate—she would be well aware of this fact, and probably planned to use it against him. Obviously, that didn't work, but..." he sighed. "I ran down because I was confused and wanted to see it closer. Think about it—if you suddenly saw a mirror image of yourself out of nowhere, you'd run down too, wouldn't you?"

He'd shoved his hands deep in his pockets earlier, thankful that their mad shaking was out of sight.

Ignore how scared I am. Ignore how fucking afraid I am for my boyfriend.

And thankfully, thankfully, she went quiet.

"...I see." The reporter finally replied, still not leaving his eyes. "Nothing more, Valiant?"

"Nothing more," he blurted, hoping the urgency hadn't given his game away. "Now, please leave me be. I know you news people probably know where the hell I live, so let me go the twenty feet past you to my apartment so I can sleep before my four A.M. shift."

The recording device was lowered, clicked off, and put away, just as the reporter broke her too-even stare.

"You're clearly nervous." She pursed her lips, but didn't pull the recorder back out. "I don't believe that what you say is all there is to this, Japan's perpetual bachelor. You can say your work comes before everything else all you want, but when physical proof of you and that high schooler being together surfaces, I hope you're ready to talk."

There won't be any physical proof. Not unless we decide to out ourselves, anyways.

"I don't think that's something I'll need to concern myself with." Each word scraped through his mouth like a razor, bloody and raw, but all Izuku did—could do, really—was shoulder past the reporter in stark, frigid silence.

I won't. I won't. I won't.

He slipped through the shoddy apartment gate without being trailed, but even with the knowledge that he'd been let to go free, Izuku's legs carried him to the lobby before he even touched the stairs.

Was there anyone like that reporter here? he asked. Did anyone go up to my apartment? Did someone come in here and bug the place?

It was all he could do to keep his voice from cracking, crumbling, shattering under the weight of everything that'd happened that evening. He was soundly assured that no one with the reporter's description had come by, that nothing suspicious had happened, but that didn't mean Izuku didn't take care to examine every step and every tiny crack in the wall before entering his apartment. It was still locked—realistically, no one could have been there.

I'm fine. I'm fine. Everything's... everything's fine.

But even with that logic, the only thing that could quell his paranoia was a full sweep of his personal living space for cameras, recorders, anything that didn't belong.

Ten minutes to midnight, Izuku collapsed on his bed, buried his face in his hands, and cried.

No one's here. No one's in my space. I'm safe. I'm safe. Kacchan's perfectly safe, and I... I-I...

Blearily, Izuku tossed around the idea of searching for a new apartment, somewhere that wasn't contaminated with all the pain and fear and distress this one held despite all the good that had happened between its walls, too.