Izuku Midoriya

Izuku had loved you for seventeen years.

That was the pathetic part, really.

Seventeen years of knowing exactly how he felt about you and never once finding the courage to say the words when they mattered.

It had started at U.A., back when they were teenagers and Izuku still turned red whenever someone stood too close to him. You had slipped into his life so naturally that he hadn't even realized he was falling in love until it was already too late to stop it. You studied together. Trained together. Graduated together. You were there when he officially became a Pro Hero, and he was there for every victory you had chased for yourself.

Everyone had known.

Kacchan had known. Uraraka had known. Iida had definitely known.

You probably knew too.

Izuku was apparently the only idiot who couldn't do anything about it.

He always had an excuse.

After graduation.

After his agency was established.

After things settled down.

After he could take you somewhere nice.

After he worked up enough courage to finally look you in the eyes and tell you that he had been hopelessly, completely in love with you since he was sixteen.

Then, when they were twenty-eight, he ran out of afters.

You started dating someone.

Izuku remembered the exact moment you told him.

He had smiled.

God, he hated that smile now.

He had hugged you and told you he was happy for you because that was what a good friend was supposed to do.

Two years later, Izuku stood at your wedding and watched you marry him.

Five years after that, you were dead.

Thirty-five years old.

Gone.

They called it an accident.

Izuku never believed them.

Maybe being a hero had made him suspicious. Maybe grief had eaten away whatever rational part of his mind remained. Maybe he simply needed someone to blame because accepting that you could disappear from the world without someone being responsible was somehow worse.

But Izuku knew your husband had something to do with it.

He just couldn't prove it.

And proof was everything.

For weeks after your funeral, Izuku barely slept. His agency practically ran without him. His apartment became littered with notebooks, photographs, police reports, timelines, and every scrap of information he could find.

Nothing brought you back.

Nothing changed the fact that he had wasted seventeen years loving you silently.

Until one night, Izuku broke.

He sat on the floor of his apartment with his back against the couch, staring through the balcony doors at a sky scattered with stars.

His eyes burned.

His throat hurt.

And for once, the Symbol of Hope didn't have any hope left. "Please."

His voice barely came out.

Izuku looked toward the stars. "God. The universe. Whoever is listening."

Nothing.

Of course there was nothing.

His fingers tightened around the photograph in his hand. You were laughing in it, twenty-eight years old, standing beside him on a beach.

That beach.

That stupid sunset.

Izuku remembered that day better than almost anything.

You had been single.

He had planned to tell you.

He had spent the entire morning rehearsing it.

Then he chickened out.

The following week, you met the man you would eventually marry.

Izuku pressed the photograph against his forehead.

"Send me back." His voice cracked. "I don't care what it costs."

Silence.

"I'll give anything."

The room suddenly became cold.

Izuku froze.

Not ordinary cold.

One For All had taught him to recognize danger before his mind could understand it, and every instinct in his body suddenly screamed.

Something was behind him. "Anything?"

Izuku turned.

A man was sitting on his couch.

Izuku hadn't heard the door.

Hadn't heard the window.

Nothing.

The stranger sat comfortably, one ankle resting over his opposite knee, dressed far too nicely for someone who had apparently materialized inside another person's apartment.

Izuku immediately stood. "Who are you?"

The man's smile widened. "Crowley."

Something about the name crawled underneath Izuku's skin. "What are you?"

Crowley gave an amused little hum. "Oh, I think you already know."

Izuku did.

He just didn't want to say it.

A demon.

He should have attacked.

Should have called someone.

Should have done literally anything except listen.

Instead, Izuku looked down at the photograph still clutched in his hand.

Crowley noticed.

"Seven years," the demon said.

Izuku's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"I can give you seven years."

Izuku's heart stopped.

"Back to twenty-eight. Back to your precious little sunset. Back before someone else got there first."

Izuku couldn't breathe. "What's the price?"

"There he is." Crowley grinned. "Straight to business."

"What's. The. Price?"

Crowley's expression changed. "A piece of your soul."

Izuku stared at him.

He should have been terrified.

Instead, his first thought was embarrassingly simple.

That's it?

Crowley laughed. "Oh, you humans are delightful when you're desperate."

"Will I remember?"

Crowley's amusement faded slightly. "Everything."

Izuku swallowed.

Your wedding.

Your funeral.

Your body disappearing beneath flowers.

Thirty-five years of memories trapped inside a twenty-eight-year-old body.

"Will you change anything else?"

"No."

"Will you hurt them?"

"No."

"Will anyone else remember?"

"No."

Izuku nodded.

Crowley tilted his head. "You aren't going to think about this?"

"No."

"You don't even know how much of your soul I'm taking."

"I don't care."

That finally wiped the smile from Crowley's face.

Izuku stepped closer. "You said you can send me back to that day."

"I can."

"Then do it."

Crowley studied him for a long moment.

Perhaps even demons knew when someone was too far gone to bargain properly.

Eventually, Crowley stood.

He extended his hand. "Deal?"

Izuku looked at it.

Heroes weren't supposed to make deals with demons.

Heroes weren't supposed to gamble pieces of their souls.

Izuku had spent his entire life saving people.

Maybe this was simply the first time he had decided to save someone selfishly.

He grabbed Crowley's hand. "Deal."

Pain ripped through him.

Izuku screamed.

It felt like something had reached beneath his ribs and torn through a part of him that had never been meant to be touched.

The apartment vanished.

The walls disappeared.

Crowley's face blurred.

Then came darkness.

And waves.

Izuku's eyes opened.

For several seconds, he couldn't move.

Warm sand pressed beneath his palms.

The ocean stretched endlessly ahead of him, painted orange and gold beneath the sinking sun.

A breeze brushed through his curls.

Izuku stared.

No.

No, no, no.

His breathing became shallow.

He knew this place.

His hands flew toward his face.

Smooth.

No scar near his jaw from the warehouse collapse at thirty-two.

His body felt different too. Younger. Lighter.

Izuku looked down at himself.

The shirt.

He remembered this shirt.

His heart started pounding so violently that it hurt.

Then he heard you laugh.

Every thought in his head disappeared.

Izuku slowly turned.

There you were.

Twenty-eight.

Alive.

Sitting beside him in the sand, watching the sunset like nothing had happened.

Like seven years hadn't passed.

Like Izuku hadn't watched them lower you into the ground.

His eyes immediately filled with tears.

Alive.

You were alive.

Your skin was warm from the sun. Your hair shifted gently in the ocean breeze. There wasn't a funeral. There wasn't a husband. There wasn't a phone call in the middle of the night telling him something had happened to you.

You were right there.

Izuku's hand trembled against the sand.

He wanted to grab you.

Pull you against him.

Hold you until his arms stopped shaking.

But he couldn't.

Because you didn't know.

To you, this was just another evening with Izuku.

His eyes darted toward the date on his phone.

His stomach dropped.

August 16.

He remembered.

Of course he remembered.

This was the day.

Tomorrow, you would go out with some friends.

You would meet him.

A week later, you would tell Izuku that you'd started seeing someone.

And Izuku would smile.

Not this time.

He had been given one impossible chance.

One day.

One sunset.

One opportunity to change everything.

Izuku stared at you while the sun slowly disappeared into the ocean.

Seven years ago, he had sat in this exact spot with his heart pounding and a confession sitting behind his teeth.

He had been scared of ruining the friendship.

Scared you wouldn't feel the same.

Scared of rejection.

Thirty-five-year-old Izuku wanted to grab his younger self by the shoulders and scream at him.

Rejection was nothing.

Watching you marry someone else was worse.

Standing beside your grave was worse.

Living in a world where you didn't exist was worse.

Anything was better than that.

His hand curled into the sand.

He could still feel where Crowley had touched him.

A piece of his soul.

Gone.

Izuku didn't regret it.

He would have given the whole damn thing.

His green eyes remained fixed on you as the last sliver of sunlight painted your face gold.

"I need to tell you something."

His voice shook.

Izuku almost laughed at himself.

Seven years.

A demon.

Part of his soul.

Apparently that was what it took for Izuku to finally grow a spine.

He shifted toward you completely.

"I was supposed to tell you this today." His throat tightened. "You don't know that. But I do."

He breathed slowly.

No running.

No excuses.

No after.

"I've loved you since high school."

There.

The words existed now.

Izuku's eyes burned, but he couldn't stop smiling. "I've loved you for so long that I don't remember what it feels like not to."

His fingers trembled against his knee. "And I've been terrified that saying something would change what we have. But I realized something."

His smile softened. "Losing what we have because I told you the truth would hurt."

Izuku looked directly into your eyes. "But losing you because I was too scared to try would hurt so much more."

He knew.

He had already lived it.

The waves rolled gently onto shore behind you.

Izuku's heart hammered.

He didn't know if changing this would save you.

He didn't know whether fate could be rewritten so easily.

He didn't know what Crowley had really taken from him, or whether the demon would return someday to collect something worse.

Those were problems for another day.

Tonight, you were alive.

Tonight, you weren't married.

Tonight, Izuku still had a chance.

He reached toward you slowly, stopping just short of taking your hand.

He wouldn't assume.

Wouldn't force destiny simply because he'd suffered through the version he hated.

This time, he would give you the choice he'd been too afraid to offer seven years ago.

"I don't want to be just your friend anymore."

Izuku's voice was barely louder than the waves. His eyes softened. "So... would you let me take you on a date?"