give me love // bakudeku

if "home is where the heart is," then we're all just fucked.

midoriya izuku waited numbly outside the airport entrance with chilled hands and a flimsy scarf wrapped around his neck. his teeth were chattering in the cool weather, and his nose and cheeks had turned a shade of windburn-pink, lightly dusted over his prominent freckles. his duffel bag hung painfully over his shoulder; the strap dug through his coat and into his skin, and he couldn't wait to unload it into the taxi. it wasn't too heavy, but packing away his entire life into one bag definitely wasn't light.

he idly skimmed through the few text messages he'd received during the flight. one from his mother, that told him to text when he'd landed safely. one from his next door neighbor uraraka ochako, that told him to have a safe flight and to visit often. and another from iida tenya, that told him to be careful and not talk to strangers. there was another message, but he chose to ignore it–he always did.

it wasn't long before a snow-dusted taxi drove up to the curb, and izuku clambered into the vehicle. he gave the driver the directions to his new living space, turning back to his phone as the driver pulled out of the airport.

he'd needed a fresh start; he had for awhile. too many painful memories haunted him in the old, one-bedroom apartment of his previous address. of course, moving halfway across the country in hopes of finding a new source of happiness wasn't the best way to go about it, but izuku never did things subtly. it was go big or go home, always had been.

the cityscape was different from the old, rundown town he'd lived the past nineteen years of his life. tall buildings, large billboards, crowds of people hurrying down the sidewalk. he was used to old, brick-built, one-story shops and people who'd known him since he was a baby. he was used to off-brand burger joints and wannabe starbucks shops that were better than their widespread counterpart. he was used to familiarity, and he didn't know how to feel looking out the window.

izuku thanked the taxi driver when they'd arrived at his destination. he could feel the anxiety begin to creep under his skin, into his bones. he used to take medication for it, but he'd deemed it unnecessary. though, the bottle still sat heavy deep in his bag with his anti-depressants—those, he still took.

apartment 1407 was harder to find than izuku had planned; the elevator didn't work past the fifth floor, and the freckled-male trekked the last two stories up a dingy flight of stairs with his duffel settling into the same painful spot it had earlier. odd stains littered the carpeted hallway as he searched for the correct apartment number, and a small niggling thought pressed him as to why he thought getting into contact again with one of his high school classmates was worth it. no, he knew why. he needed to leave, and this was the only way he could.

his knuckles wrapped against the door, and izuku waited patiently. his eyes flitted down the hallway. what he was searching for, he didn't know, but paranoia ate at him like a starving beast.

"coming!" came a shout from the other side of the door. it wasn't a moment later that the door had opened and revealed a tall, muscled man with a wide grin on his face. the black hair that izuku knew in high school had been replaced with fire-engine red; it suited him more. "midoriya-san! it's been years, man, how are you? come on in!"

izuku stepped through the threshold; his knuckles turned white as he balled them into anxious fists. "i... i've been okay, kirishima-kun. you?"

the redhead didn't miss a beat. "i've been great! sorry i wasn't able to pick you up from the airport earlier."

"it's okay, uh, is there anywhere i could put my stuff?" he asked; he teetered slightly on his feet, and his eyes danced about the living room.

there was a small television backed against the wall, a couch opposite to it, a small recliner near the balcony door, a coffee table in front of the couch, a few takeout boxes and cups littering the small table. instruments filled the empty space; a drum kit near the television, a couple amps placed about the room, two guitars on display, a bass next to them. he'd forgotten–kirishima had joined a band shortly after high school. it'd been his dream since izuku met him.