Two hours before the 'event', Izuku offers his ticket to the sports stadium's employee, excitement making him bounce on his toes. "I never knew you were so interested in baseball," Ochaco says, Izuku nodding while waiting for his friends to finish getting their tickets checked.
"It makes sense." Shoto bows to the employee after scanning his ticket. "Izuku's always been a fan of numbers and analytics. Baseball is one of the most complicated games statistically." Izuku nods. "It's so fascinating to see how one pitch or stolen base changes everything!"
"I think it drags on too long." Iida fixes his glasses as the group walks up the stairs, Izuku enjoying the goosebumps on his skin when first stepping into the stadium. No matter how many times he's been there, the feeling of experiencing a game in person never changes.
Their seats are top tier, thanks to Shoto (or his father, though Izuku isn't sure if the man even realizes his son 'borrowed' his credit card) wanting to celebrate Izuku's birthday in 'style'. Izuku almost feels like they're on the field when they sit. "This is amazing!"
"Is this safe?" Iida scans the netting with wary eyes. "A foul ball has the ability to cause severe damage." "We'll be fine!" Ochaco smacks his shoulder with a grin, then drops her 'supplies' in front of her. "Its the best place to get Izuku on the jumbo-tron for his birthday!"
"You really don't have to!" Once, a too-tipsy Izuku reveals that this was his secret dream as a child. Going to games every year and seeing everyone's faces light up when the camera caught them had been so cool to him as a boy. And even at twenty-six, it still lingers.
When Ochaco hears about this, she starts plotting. Hence why she's brought markers, several poster boards, and a plan that makes his cheeks flush. She gets to work as soon as they sit down, her plan to make several to swap between during the innings to catch the camera's focus.
Shoto, sitting between her and Izuku, seems interested in 'helping', and Izuku is far too mortified about this childish plan to engage. So he turns to Iida, letting his friend distract him from his embarrassment by teaching him fun tidbits about the teams and their pitchers.
And the first two innings, Izuku enjoys the game as he normally does. The cheering, the tension, and the amazing plays are the star of the show. But it's during the third inning's break that his life gets turned upside-down. "Oh, look," Shoto says, pointing. "They noticed us."
Izuku looks over to see a camera pointing at their group, and Izuku can understand why. Girls at baseball games always catch interest, especially sitting so close to the field. She squeals and grabs her poster, handing it to Shoto. "Here, point this at Izuku!" "Wait, point?"
He looks up at the same time the crowd loses it. When he reads the posterboard that Shoto holds with a blank face, Izuku wants to melt into a puddle. The sign reads 'It's his birthday! Any hot, built guys want to give him birthday kisses?' with an arrow pointing down at Izuku.
"Ochaco!" Izuku hisses, glancing to the jumbo-tron to see his strawberry cheeks (freckles and all) plastered there with a heart around it. The one they normally use for the kiss cam. He covers his face with one hand, awkwardly waving with the other. Izuku's gonna pass out.
"I knew that would work!" She pumps her arms without care about the thousands of people (millions, including the live recording) seeing her. Then again, she didn't just get exploited as a desperately single gay guy alone on his birthday, so she's got no reason to be embarrassed.
He slumps in his seat and tugs Shoto's arm to force the sign down. Izuku doesn't think this is what his four-year-old self imagined his time on the jumbo-tron would be. "That worked well," Shoto says, unaware of Izuku's mental breakdown. "Ochaco, that was highly invasive!"
At Iida's scolding, Ochaco shakes her head. "Nothing I said was a lie! He came out years ago, and we all know his type. There's nothing wrong with liking a guy that can manhandle you during-" "We're at a kid's event!" Izuku groans, covering his head. His friends are the worst.
A hand pats his back, Shoto's voice barely decipherable over the cheering of something happening on the field. "If nobody will kiss you, I'll buy you ice cream in one of those silly plastic hats." "Thanks, Shoto," he mutters, smiling despite his shame. Okay, not THE worse.
Izuku watches the inning, even almost forgets what happened. Stewing won't change it, and at least he'll have something to hang over Ochaco's head next time he wants her to pay for his coffee before midnight yoga. Except, right as he settles in the idea, the place erupts again.
"Oh my god." Ochaco's excited gasp makes him look up, focus naturally going to the jumbo-tron. His eyes widen as he tries to process what he's seeing. There, somewhere in the ballpark, is another group like theirs. A man with bright red hair is holding a sign. A reply to his.
'He volunteers! And thinks your freckles are cute' is scribbled sloppily on what looks like the back of a makeshift sign. There's a heart, then an arrow that leads to... The most attractive men he's ever seen. Even with his scowl, the guy looks like a top model or superhero.
"I belive he would fit your requirements," Shoto says, like he put out an ad for a job application over someone to make out with. "He doesn't seem happy about it," Iida adds. Izuku frowns when silently admitting his friend's right. "Maybe his friends are playing a prank."
"Then we'll just have to ask!" Ochaco's back on her menace mode, grabbing the previous poster and flipping it over to 'work her magic'. Izuku, unsure if he wants to stop her or see what'll happen next, ends up trying to distract himself with the game they're meant to watch.
But from how restless the crowd gets at the next inning, it seems he's not the only one who is losing the plot of the moment. Ochaco, handing the sign to the dutiful Shoto, doesn't disappoint. 'He's gotta ask himself! The birthday boy likes guys that know what they want.'
It's comical to see the pink and purple lettering, full of winky emojis and hearts, held up over Shoto's calm expression. If this wasn't Ochaco's attempt to give Izuku a heart attack, he might even laugh about it. For now, he's just trying to make it out with an ounce of pride.
Two innings pass with no response. The crowd actually boos each time the camera DOESN'T pan to the handsome blond, and Izuku's anxiety grows. He hadn't asked for the attention. Izuku knows they're on different levels. But maybe, deep down, he hopes the sign wasn't a cruel joke.
But then, after the seventh inning, a burst of screaming and cheers snaps his head up from its gloomy position. The group is back, the friends waving and pointing to the piece of paper in the blond man's hands. It's ripped at the side, slightly crinkled, scribbled all over-
But the camera focuses in on the words and the man whose ears are a little redder than the first time he's on screen. 'I'm buying you a birthday drink after the game, Freckles.' It's not a question, but a statement. A confident one. Izuku really, REALLY likes confident men.
"You've got to write him back." At Ochaco's comment, Izuku looks over, watching her pass another poster and the markers across Shoto's lap. "What... what do I write?" He asks, though accepts the art supplies. "The ball's in your court. But there's only one inning left."
He thinks about what he wants to say to the comment, writing and crossing out several of his answers after fear over the world seeing his thoughts bubbles up. But didn't the mysterious man toss himself onto the fire for Izuku? Shouldn't he do the same to show real interest?
So, with a far too red face and his entire stomach in knots, Izuku doesn't think about his chicken scratch when writing out the risky answer right as the eighth inning ends. He knows all eyes are on him when he takes a slow breath and closes his eyes, lifting it over his head.
Like magic, the crowd explodes. Izuku worries his cheeks will burn off, but he collects his courage and opens his eyes, looking at the jumbo-tron. It's a split screen; on the left, him and his 'Can I order a French Kiss... cocktail?' sign. The right displays the smirking blond.