Three weeks since the confession.
Three weeks of being a meme.
Three weeks of strangers recognizing her on patrol and asking if she was "the marriage declaration girl."
Three weeks of the agency splitting into two distinct camps:
Camp One: Treated her like she was already Bakugo's wife. Called her "ma'am" sometimes. Asked her opinion on things that definitely weren't her jurisdiction. Stepped aside in hallways like she outranked them.
Camp Two: Thought the whole thing was hilarious. Made jokes. Placed bets on how long until the actual wedding. Left copies of bridal magazines on her desk.
She preferred Camp Two.
At least they were honest about the ridiculousness.
Currently she was trying to do actual work. Incident reports from yesterday's patrol. Nothing exciting. One quirk accident. Two noise complaints. Standard paperwork.
Her desk was in the open operations area. Visible. Accessible.
A mistake.
She sensed them before she saw them.
The energy shift.
The way conversations around her suddenly got quieter.
She looked up.
They were approaching.
All of them.
Kirishima. Mina. Kaminari. Sero. Jiro.
The Bakusquad.
She'd heard people call them that. The friend group from U.A. The ones who'd known Bakugo since they were fifteen. His people.
They'd been friendly before. Professional. Casual hellos. Work coordination.
But this was different.
This was coordinated.
Predatory.
They surrounded her desk.
Kirishima leaned against the side. Arms crossed. Grinning.
"Tsukino-san," he said. Too cheerful. "Got a minute?"
She looked at them.
All of them staring. Waiting.
"I'm working," she said.
"This'll be quick," Mina said. She pulled up a chair. Sat down. "We just have some questions."
"I'm sure you do."
"So many questions," Kaminari added. He was leaning over her desk now. Looking at her incident report. "Like—how long have you been planning the hair ruffle?"
"I wasn't planning—"
"Because that was smooth," Kaminari continued. "Like really smooth. The declaration was bold but the hair ruffle? That's what sold it."
"I wasn't trying to sell anything—"
"The optics were perfect," Jiro said. She was standing slightly back. Arms crossed. But there was a smile on her face. "Physically claiming him in front of witnesses. Very alpha move."
"I didn't—it wasn't—"
"And the timeline," Mina interrupted. She had her phone out. Notes app open. "You've wanted to marry him since you were fourteen?"
"I was young—"
"You had posters."
How did she—
"How do you know about the posters?"
"Bakugo's mom called Kirishima," Mina said simply. "Told him everything. We have all the intel."
Amaya looked at Kirishima.
He shrugged. "Mitsuki-san loves to talk. And she really likes you. Wouldn't stop going on about the commitment. The dedication. The fact that you waited four hours for an autograph."
"Oh my god," Amaya said.
"Four hours," Kaminari repeated. "That's—that's commitment."
"I was a fan—"
"You ARE a fan," Sero corrected. He'd pulled up a chair too now. They were all sitting. Or standing. But close. Too close. "Present tense. You still have the posters, right?"
"That's not—"
"Do you have the calendar?" Kaminari asked.
"I'm not answering that."
"She has the calendar," Jiro said.
"How do you—"
"Your face. You made a face."
Mina was typing notes.
Actually typing notes.
"What are you doing?" Amaya asked.
"Documentation. This is important historical information."
"It's not—"
"It is," Kirishima said firmly. "You declared marriage to our best friend in front of thirty people after nine years of dedication. That's—that's legendary. We need to document this."
"For what?"
"The wedding speech," Mina said without looking up. "Obviously."
Amaya put her face in her hands.
"There's no wedding—"
"Yet," Kaminari added.
"There's no wedding yet," Mina corrected. "But there will be. You've got a six-month timeline. Rank fifty. Then official dating. Then probably engagement within a year based on your commitment level—"
"How do you know about the six months?"
"Mitsuki-san," Kirishima said again.
Of course.
Of course Bakugo's mother had told them everything.
"Also Bakugo's been different," Jiro added.
That got Amaya's attention.
She looked up.
"Different how?"
"Less angry," Sero said. "Still angry. But less."
"He smiled yesterday," Kaminari said. "Actual smile. Not the murder smile. The real one."
"He smiles—"
"Not at work," Mina said. "Not at the agency. But yesterday he was on his phone and he smiled. Like actually smiled." She leaned forward. "Was he texting you?"
"I'm not—"
"He was texting her," Jiro said.
"How do you—"
"Your face. You made another face."
Amaya needed better control of her face.
"We're not—we're keeping it professional until—"
"Until six months," Mina finished. "We know. But that doesn't mean he's not texting you."
He was texting her.
Occasionally.
Work stuff mostly.
But also:
Did you eat today?
Your incident report from Tuesday was good.
Rank update came through. You're at 58 now.
Small things. Professional things. Things that could technically be explained as just a boss checking on an employee.
But they felt like more.
"The texting is professional," Amaya said.
"Sure it is," Kaminari said. "And I'm the number one hero."
Sero snorted.
Kirishima was still grinning. "Look, we're not trying to make this harder. We're just—we're invested now. You declared it publicly. We're allowed to be invested."
"You're his friends—"
"And you're going to be his girlfriend in six months," Mina said. "Which makes you our friend too. That's how this works."
"I don't—"
"Do you like coffee?" Mina asked.
The subject change was whiplash-inducing.
"What?"
"Coffee. Do you like it?"
"...Yes?"
"Good. Friday night. After shift. We're going to that place on 6th Street. You're coming."
"I have patrol—"
"Swap it," Kirishima said. "Take Saturday morning instead."
"I can't just—"
"You can," Jiro said. "We do it all the time. Hana will approve it."
"But—"
"You're coming," Mina said firmly. "Non-negotiable. If you're going to be part of this—" She gestured vaguely at all of them. "—then you need to actually be part of it."
Amaya looked at them.
All of them watching her. Waiting.
Not hostile. Not mocking.
Just—
Welcoming.
In their chaotic, overwhelming way.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?" Mina's face lit up.
"Yeah. Okay. Friday night."
"YES." Mina actually clapped. "This is happening. Oh we have so much to talk about. Nine years of pining? The posters? The calendar? The—"
"Alright, alright," Kirishima said. He stood up. Put a hand on Mina's shoulder. "Let her breathe. We got what we came for."
"Did we though?" Kaminari asked. "I still have questions—"
"Later," Jiro said. She grabbed his jacket. Pulled him back. "Let her work."
They started dispersing.
Mina paused. Leaned down close.
"For what it's worth," she said quietly. "I think you're good for him. He's been—lighter. Since you. So. Yeah. We approve."
She left before Amaya could respond.
They all left.
Back to their own work. Their own desks.
Leaving her sitting there.
With her incident reports.
Her desk.
Her coffee going cold.
She looked around the operations floor.
A few people were watching. Smiling. Knowing looks.
Kamiko caught her eye from across the room.
Gave her a thumbs up.
She put her face back in her hands.
Three weeks.
Three weeks and she'd gone from "new hire trying to be professional" to "that girl who declared marriage and is now being adopted by the Bakusquad."
Her phone buzzed.
She looked.
Unknown number.
She opened it.
My friends are annoying. Sorry.
She smiled.
Typed: They're enthusiastic.
Three dots appeared.
They're betting on wedding dates.
Are they.
Mina has a spreadsheet.
Of course she does.
Kirishima gave you six months before I propose.
Her heart did something.
That's longer than the six months we agreed on.
He's an optimist.
She stared at the message.
Typed: Are you?
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
I'm realistic. You'll hit fifty in four months at your current pace. Not six.
Not an answer to her question.
But also exactly an answer to her question.
She typed: Three months.
You think you can do it in three?
I'm motivated.
I've noticed.
She smiled wider.
Put her phone down.
Went back to her incident reports.
Around her the agency continued. People working. Talking. Living.
Some of them treated her like the future boss's wife.
Some of them laughed at the situation.
Some of them—like the Bakusquad—had apparently decided she was part of the family now whether she liked it or not.
And Bakugo—
Bakugo was texting her about wedding proposal timelines like it was a tactical operation.
Which it kind of was.
She'd declared the intent.
Set the goal.
And now she was executing.
Rank 58.
Going to 50 in three months.
Then official dating.
Then—
Well.
Then they'd see.
But knowing her commitment level.
Knowing his apparent inability to ignore her anymore.
Knowing Mitsuki's enthusiastic approval and the Bakusquad's adoption and the fact that he smiled at his phone when she texted—
Yeah.
Mina's spreadsheet was probably accurate.
She picked up her pen.
Signed the incident report.
Submitted it.
Checked her ranking again.
Three months to 50.
She could do that.
She'd done harder things.
Waited nine years.
Declared marriage publicly.
Met his mother.
Survived being cornered by his friends.
Three more months was nothing.
...
Except it felt like everything.
But in a good way.
The kind of everything that had a timeline.
A goal.
An end point that was actually a beginning.
She could do three months.
She could absolutely do three months.
Friday came faster than expected.
The coffee place on 6th Street was small. Cozy. The kind of place that had mismatched furniture and art on the walls and played indie music that was just quiet enough to talk over.
She arrived at seven.
They were already there.
All of them. A table in the corner. Loud. Laughing.
Mina saw her first.
Waved enthusiastically.
She walked over.
They made room. Pulled up a chair.
Kaminari bought her a coffee without asking what she wanted.
It was perfect.
How did he—
"Bakugo mentioned you like it sweet," Kaminari said when she looked surprised. "So. Sweet."
Bakugo had mentioned her coffee preferences.
To his friends.
She filed that away.
"Thanks."
They talked.
About everything. About nothing.
Work. Patrols. Some new restaurant Mina wanted to try. Sero's disaster of a date last week. Jiro's band's upcoming show.
They asked her questions.
Not invasive ones. Just—normal ones.
Where she was from. How she'd ended up at Bakugo's agency. What her favorite rescue was.
They laughed at her stories.
She laughed at theirs.
Kirishima did an impression of Bakugo that was so accurate she almost spit out her coffee.
Mina showed her the spreadsheet.
It was elaborate.
Color-coded.
With probability calculations.
"I have too much time on my hands," Mina admitted.
"Or exactly the right amount," Jiro countered.
Two hours passed.
Then three.
She didn't notice.
Just—
Existed there.
With them.
Part of something.
The circle she'd watched from outside for so long.
Now inside it.
Because she'd been bold enough—stupid enough—brave enough—to declare what she wanted.
And apparently that was the price of admission.
Honesty.
Commitment.
Public humiliation followed by acceptance.
She'd paid it.
And this—
This was what she got.
Friends.
His friends.
Who were becoming her friends.
Because that's how this worked apparently.
You declared marriage to someone.
You got adopted by their entire social structure.
She could live with that.
She could absolutely live with that.