Chapter Text
Shinsou Hitoshi wakes up at five AM to go through his morning routine as he's always done.
He puts on his jogging suit, goes out for a run and returns to his private gym to complete his training and by 8AM he’s showered and ready to go out.
By 10AM he’s already at the Hero HQ, greeting the only heroes he feels remotely amicable towards –former UA comrades, mostly. Today is patrolling day, and his area is mostly quiet and peaceful.
At 12AM sharp, his cellphone rings.
He does not know yet what is about to unfold.
The Pro Hero Echo scans his surroundings once more, and finding nothing amiss he pulls his phone out. He only sees the notification of a New Message and he taps it open.
"Hello," it reads. "It's been a while. Would you like to get coffee on Saturday?"
Hitoshi frowns on reflex, he has never been one for social calls, and while he's no longer a social pariah, he seldom went out with his coworkers if it could be avoided. Actually, who was-?
Glaring up at him, he reads a name he hasn’t heard in a while –but one he reads almost religiously every single day.
Izuku.
More specifically, Midoriya Izuku.
His hands are cold, his breath is caught in his lungs.
What was this?
Something also gets caught in his throat and Shinsou thinks it’s a scream.
With trembling hands, the purple-haired man has the presence of mind of typing back,
“Who are you?”
Because he might be many things, but Shinsou Hitoshi is not stupid and hasn’t been a Pro Hero this long for nothing. Honestly, after this many years, it was far more likely that the line had been finally closed and re-sold.
(Because after so many years of unconnected calls, and Failed to Send messages, Hitoshi is reluctant to believe.)
“It’s Deku.”
The received message feels like it’s burning its way into his retina. There's no way this could be him.
“Midoriya Izuku?” He sends back, imagining the other person frowning and typing their denial and then Hitoshi would sigh and be sad some more and move on. “Former UA student, pupil to All Might?”
“This is Shinsou Hitoshi, right?”
“Yes.”
“I was your boyfriend back when we were at UA; do you believe me now?”
Hitoshi feels very, very old.
“I suppose so.” Impersonal. Not letting through any sign of his trembling hands, of his blurry eyes.
“Good. So?”
Feeling he's making a big mistake, Hitoshi lets his heart decide and he types out his reply.
“see you on Saturday. I have a lot to ask you.”
The air was still crisp, as the sun slowly warmed up the air, as Hitoshi makes his way to the painfully familiar cafe. It had been close to six years since he had last come here, and somehow, despite the new paint-job, and the outdoor gazebo, it looks unchanged.
There aren't many people this early in the morning, but Hitoshi still hesitates before approaching the only lonely and suspicious person iinside. Even if he thinks this is all an elaborate ruse, the purple-haired man can’t help but whisper,
“Izuku?”
The man in the designer coat and equally expensive sunglasses turns to him, a lax and foreign smile on his lips. There are new scars on his face, his scalp. “Ah, Shinsou-kun.” He says, calling him the same thing as all those years back, as if it had only been an instant and not six years since they last spoke. “You’re a Pro Hero now, right? Congratulations. I’m sorry I missed your graduation.”
Hitoshi stares and stares, feeling a buzzing in his ears, and he doesn’t quite remember how to formulate words. Izuku –is it really him? – doesn’t seem to find it all that strange, as he gestures at the seat opposite of him. At the back of his mind, Hitoshi notices it’s a small table for two. “You would be very helpful if you could pretend you were expecting me. Take a seat, order something.”
As if the mind-control hero was Izuku and not him, Hitoshi finds himself pulling back the chair and sitting down without being aware of his motions. He tries being as nonchalant as possible but he couldn’t stop staring.
A waiter approaches them, serves Izuku a cup of coffee and places a tiramisu between them both. He had probably asked Shinsou if he wanted coffee because when the man next notices, there was a steaming cup by his side.
Izuku’s smile turns a bit contrite. “Sorry, I don’t know if you still liked the tiramisu from this place, but I went ahead and ordered it.”
He probably notices that Hitoshi isn’t all quite there, so he goes silent, sipping at his coffee and scooping the tiniest amount possible of dessert into his mouth.
There are a thousand things Hitoshi wants to know, to say, but it costs so much effort to make his jaw work again. Izuku nudges his leg, an obvious sign for him to please act natural. Hitoshi isn’t sure he can, but he drops his eyes to his lap and tries to order his thoughts. “Where were you?”
“Around.” Izuku’s voice is light, the answer too, and it hurts Hitoshi way more than he’s willing to admit.
“You were kidnapped.” He says, voice tight and fast, like when you move your hand over the fire fast enough not to get burned. “We… I… I couldn’t rescue you, I couldn’t find you, I thought- “
The other man interrupts him with a quiet hum. “Maybe it would be better for you to keep thinking like that.”
Under the table, Hitoshi grabs his knee and clenches his fist– he feels anxious and jittery and not a hundred-percent there.
“What- what are you talking about?”
Izuku shoots him a look for him to calm down, but while the Pro Hero modulates his breathing and re-schools his expression he can feel the growing desire to cry.
The man in front of him is familiar yet a stranger. With his designer clothes, his short, almost buzzed hair, the new scars on his face, neck. But most of all, when Izuku looks at him over his expensive-looking sunglasses with eyes the color of blood, Shinsou mourns the loss of the evergreen.
“I’m no longer the Deku that you knew, Shinsou-kun. It might be kinder for you to think me dead.”
The Pro Hero Echo suddenly feels seventeen again, lost and small and confused. He stammers. “I can- I can get to know you again. I can- “
The missing man sighs. “It’s not that simple, Shinsou-kun.”
“Oh is it?”
Izuku ignores him as he flags down the waiter again, he grabs the menu by his side and points at a dozen things on it with a carefree air.
“Are you currently held hostage?” Hitoshi suddenly asks, voice urgent and low. As if willing Izuku to say yes, so they can figure out something– at least Hitoshi would have something to work with, would know what to do and not despair.
As if to mock his urgency, his statement, or the situation in general, Izuku ignores him in favor of eating another spoonful of tiramisu with deliberate calm.
“Nope.” He says afterwards, with a smack of his lips. He stares and smiles. “I was rescued.”
“By whom?” Hitoshi persists, too tired, too confused to turn this into a proper interrogation.
Another spoon of tiramisu.
“By someone you heroes seemed to hate.”
So by a villain. Hitoshi concludes with mounting dread. He digs his nails through his pants, into the flesh of his knees as he tries dragging himself out of the pits of despair. He’d have time to figure out who it was later, for now he would focus. “Why are you back?” He asks more as Echo than as the twenty-three-year-old man with a broken heart.
This gives Izuku pause. He ponders about this, twirling the spoon between deft fingers. They are red, as if he had scrapped his hands raw just before coming here. They’re both interrupted by the waiter arriving with a tray full of assorted desserts. With the help of the cheerful Izuku, they both make room for the desserts letting them pile on the small table.
The man who went missing at seventeen babbles animatedly about the cakes and pastries laid out between them, complimenting the chef and promising a generous tip to the waiter. His cheerful demeanour soon evaporates when the waiter bows and leaves and Izuku stares his way. His face is practically inscrutable behind those darned sunglasses, behind that placid smile, and Hitoshi is not sure if that’s the reason he feels he’s going to be sick with tension.
Izuku’s head lowers an inch. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can offer a good enough response for that.”
Hitoshi scowls and proceeds anyway. “Are you being threatened?”
The mask is back on as Izuku leans back, eats another spoonful of tiramisu and hums. “Not yet. I will be soon, and it’ll be a friend of yours.”
A Hero?
Worry continues to eat at his gut, as well as a growing sensation of dread. “Why are you here? Why now, after all those years?”
Maybe if he asks again and again, he’ll finally get his answer.
“Because I…” Izuku falters and doesn’t continue. For the first time, a frown crosses his face. He sets down the spoon. He mouths the words as if afraid of being heard. I wanted to see you.
Hitoshi blinks quickly to get rid of the tears. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening.
“If this were real, Izuku would have hugged me the moment I stepped inside.” He says and he’s not too sure if it’s an accusation.
Izuku looks contrite. “I know.”
He doesn’t offer anything else and Hitoshi doesn’t have the heart to continue.
“You should eat something. You’re looking pale.”
“I’m not…” He trails off, the nausea only growing as he acknowledges it. Izuku nods as if he understood.
“It’s okay.” He says, soft, so soft it almost makes Hitoshi forget they’re not seventeen again. “It was nice seeing you again.” He then says and the illusion shatters.
He doesn’t make any move to leave but still Hitoshi flinches in an aborted motion to throw himself atop Izuku to stop him, don’t let him leave, keep him there before he disappears again.
“Don’t worry, you’ll see me again.” Izuku says, but his expression is sad, almost mad. “Although… if you really want to see me again you have to promise me something.”
Was this the villain who had kidnapped him talking? Was this the proposal he wanted Izuku to forward? The Pro Hero Echo leans closer.
“When we meet again, you won’t hesitate to attack me. When we meet again you won’t freeze when we see each other, you won’t try to shield me or seclude me. If you approach me, I will attack you and go for the kill. Same as everyone else.”
Izuku’s vague smile disappears from his mouth. “Shinsou-kun?”
“Shinsou-kun?”
When Hitoshi comes back to his senses, there is cake in his hand from the dessert he had unknowingly crushed. There’s a copper tang in his mouth and he feels as if he drowned and his corpse had been mistaken for someone alive and gotten hauled out of the sea against his wishes.
Izuku is gone.
He’s gone again and left nothing behind.
Nothing but sickly sweet pastries and a broken man.
He stands up to leave. A waiter approaches him, asking if he would like to pack the cakes to take them home. Hitoshi apologizes and says he doesn’t have enough money to pay for them.
The waiter informs him that the gentleman he had been with had paid for everything before leaving. All cash, no card. No ID either. Unsurprising, really.
Feeling rather revolted by the sweet smell, Hitoshi shoves the packed pastries into plastic bags, thinking that he could dump them off at work –maybe Creati or Uravity would like them. He’s not too careful and he accidentally shoves the cutlery to the floor.
He apologizes and squats down to gather the utensils and freezes. The spoon that Izuku had used is old and rusty and twisted. Completely unusable.
Echo pockets it as evidence. He’s not careful with the fingerprints. There was little doubt that the man in front of him was Izuku. That’s not what he was going to examine.
His cellphone pings. It’s Izuku.
“I missed you every second I was away. I’m sorry. Please keep your promise.”
Hitoshi’s following messages bounce.
Of course they did.
(For the first time in six years, Hitoshi cries himself to sleep. It wouldn’t be the last.)