You know what I’m really looking forward to? Izuku giving his first few autographs.

I reckon the very first person to ask for Izuku’s autograph will be Kouta. The little boy was the first to call Izuku “his hero” and he even wrote him something akin to fan mail (with an apology woven in).

So one day, when they meet again, Kouta offers Izuku a piece of paper and a pen and, bluntly as he is, all but demands, “I want your autograph!”

Izuku almost drops the offered items, eyes going wide. “Huh?! Me?!”

“Yeah!” Kouta shoves the items back into Izuku’s softened grip, grinning up at the young hero. “Heroes give autographs, right? And you’re the only hero I accept!”

Izuku is still in a daze, feeling completely out of it as he hesitates over the piece of paper, pen quivering slightly. It’s not like he has never thought about this possibility – as a child, he even practiced different signs for the day he would need it. But… that had been a childish dream. This here was real. It felt good, and weird, and surreal all at the same time.

He settles for a flourish sign, reading “Deku”. It’s not that good, it looks inexperienced and awkward, but Kouta seems happy enough about it, proudly showing off the autograph to anyone in sight. (“Just look, not touch, though!”)

Lost in thought, Izuku decides to ask the one person who will probably understand how he’s feeling right now, and he goes to look for his mentor.

“You don’t know how to feel about it,” Toshinori tilts his head at him as Izuku has finished his recounting, understanding palpable in the soft smile he gives the boy.

Izuku grimaces while he rubs the back of his head. “It’s just that… I always wanted to be a hero, yes, but before I met you… even after that… I always doubted that I could… become one? So when Kouta asked me for an autograph… I felt as if I had finally done it. And yet I wondered… if this is real?”

A thoughtful hum leaves Toshinori at that, and he leans back, taking in how Izuku fidgets and seems to wait for his answer.

Deciding that he found the best way to go about it, Toshinori digs through the papers strewn out over his desk until he finds a blank sheet of paper and a pen. Offering both to Izuku, he encourages the boy, “You know, that makes me realize – I don’t have your autograph yet.”

Izuku’s mouth falls open at that, gaping at his teacher, his idol, much like a fish would. It takes him a moment to realize that Toshinori is serious about this, and another moment that the man is still holding paper and pen out to him.

This time, when Izuku scribbles a wobbly autograph onto the paper, there are overwhelmed tears running down his cheek and dripping onto the paper next to the ink. Toshinori chuckles at him and ruffle his hair – and this time, Izuku can accept this amazing moment as reality.

(He almost regrets writing the autograph, though, since Toshinori insists to pin the autograph next to his workplace to a wall so that he always has it in his sights. That’s so embarrassing.)