That’s the thing with Uraraka.
The initial fusion was difficult. He’ll admit it. Uraraka was the first person he’s fused with since Kaachan, the first person to want to fuse with him ever, and that expectation gave him a lot of nerves at first. He was scared that their fusion would fail right there in front of everyone, or even worse, that they would fuse and whatever she’d find there would be too disgusting, too horrible for her to withstand.
He didn’t think she’d show it too much. Uraraka was, like a lot of his classmates, exceptionally nice, but Izuku also knows what he is. Who he is. At the time, the idea of Uraraka liking what she’d found was nearly impossible, but he expected her to be kind about it, last out the fusion before quietly explaining to him that it just couldn’t happen again.
But instead, Uraraka had opened herself up to him and they had clicked, fused, just like that. Instead of dumb, weak, nerdy Deku, he was, they were, powerful, unending, everything and anything at once.
And that one fusion began something Izuku will never be able to thank Uraraka enough for.
Now, the question of trust isn’t even that, a question. He doesn’t need to hype himself up. He doesn’t fear what will happen. He just looks at Uraraka and leaps, knowing in his head and his heart, that she will catch him.
He is no less certain today, standing next to her on the UA training grounds. They don’t have anyone to fight really, at least not anyone who’s there in person. Instead, they stand in the middle of nearly thirty robots, given to them with explicit instructions to not completely destroy them under a rather flimsy threat of expulsion from Aizawa.
If the man really wanted to expel them he would have done so ages ago, not now, a hundred broken bones and unsanctioned rescue missions later.
“Are you ready?” Uraraka asks, but it's more a formality at this point. They both know that Izuku needs no extra notice to fuse with her, that he’s entirely willing at any time, to feel the confidence and trust they have when their souls join and whatever chains they have, whatever doubts they may feel are broken.
When they become Boundless yet again.
He grins at her anyways, from where he’s finished his final stretches. The bots around them creak ever so slightly, but they’ve been programmed to remain still until their activation code is spoken, so the field feels at once full and far too empty.
Not that it matters to Izuku. Nothing matters when he can feel his soul stretching in all directions, freed and yet grounded all at the same time.
“Ready,” he says, getting into position.
Most people tend to dance in their fusions, a combination of an easy solution to getting in sync with each other and a step combo that would be difficult to mess up too badly, and Izuku and Uraraka had started with something like that, a simple swaying two-step accompanied with as many awkward glances and red faces as the two of them could produce. As it was the two of them, there was much more than necessary for a dance in which they barely even allowed themselves to touch each other’s hands.
But they’ve grown past that.
Now, the dance is less of a need and more of a want, a compulsion to start their fusion off right, rather than to get themselves on even footing. If need be, he and Uraraka could fuse right there on the fake grass, nothing more than a single touch of the hand to join their souls.
Right now, they don’t need to be that quick, however, and the fusion is more enjoyable if they start it out the way they want to and not just for the sake of time.
Which means that Uraraka steadies herself, finishing off her own stretches to take a few paces away from him.
Her smile is catching, even if Izuku is already smiling himself, and he finds himself grinning wider, meeting her excited gaze. It’s time, he thinks, and before he can get beyond that, Uraraka is running at him.
They need to time this perfectly. If Uraraka runs too fast, Izuku won’t be ready for her and they’ll both just end up on the floor, with matching bruises on their foreheads and accompanying sympathetic grins. If Izuku is too slow, it’ll end up being something similar.
Neither of them worries about it too much. They’ve done this time and time again. If they mess up then they just end up fused but aching, but if they do this right, they end up like this .
Uraraka jumps at the last moment, and Izuku catches her as he always does, spinning her around before activating his quirk and throwing her upwards.
She screams, but he knows its a happy sound, has heard it enough times to know the difference, and with that he follows her, sending One For All into his legs for a strong and quick push. He shoots himself off the ground following her arc, watching as she starts to fall then slows to a stop with the kind of grace that assures him she’s activated her quirk. He meets her halfway down, still almost a hundred feet in the air, and this is where he would worry if it were anyone else.
If it weren’t Uraraka, who he trusts with his life.
But it is, and so there’s no need to worry, no need to do anything but hold his arms out and know that she will catch him.
She does and they spin, laughing at the feeling of Uraraka’s quirk enveloping them both. Her arms reach out and clasp at his forearms, gripping tight along the skin here.
“It’s a long way down,” she says, teasing and rehearsed as if they don’t know the moves like they do the souls humming under their own skin.
Izuku feels his lips quirk as they do every time she gets quippy with him, and does his best to play along, to keep the genuine happiness from bubbling up and out of him like the inescapable spring it is.
“It’s not too short a drive,” he says, even though the distance is enough to make a grown man squeal. “I say it takes two seconds less than the last time.”
Uraraka raises a brow at him and calmly readjusts her hands, sliding hers down until they’re clutching at Izuku’s own, then she uncurls her fingers until all of the pink pads of her fingertips are accessible. Izuku’s stomach swoops in anticipation.
“Let’s test that shall we?”
And in one movement, she taps her hands, still caught in Izuku’s grip, together and releases her quirk. Gravity jerks them down into a spiraling loop, only held together by the hold they have on each other. They spin in circles together, bodies nearly parallel, as they go careening down to the earth.
The adrenaline pounds in his ears, his heart in his chest, but Izuku knows he’ll be safe. That they’ll be safe.
Because they are brilliant, bodies lighting up like starts, colors spiraling around them as the fusion takes its hold. They are green and pink and gold and white. They are themselves individually and they are one, and then they are something new all-together.
They’ve been made anew but they know exactly who this person is.
Izuku and Uraraka don’t hit the ground, but someone else does, with legs powerful enough to withstand the impact and a demeanor that belays not only their confidence to withstand the simulation but their confidence in themself as well.
After all, in a world that has denied them on the basis of quirk and money and limits and so many other things, together here, they are, above all else, Boundless.