Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You can’t become a hero,” All-Might told him bluntly, one sunny spring day when Midoriya Izuku was fourteen years old. “It’s dangerous enough for those who do have quirks—without one, you’d only be putting yourself in danger.” He turned away, unaware of the tears rising in Izuku’s eyes as his heart sank like a ball of lead in his chest. “My advice is to become a police officer instead. It’s not as glamorous as being a hero, but it’s necessary. You could help a lot of people that way, you know.” And then he was gone, leaving Izuku alone and numb on the empty rooftop.

Izuku went straight home and spent the following week in a fog. By the time he emerged on the other side, he was sitting in front of his school counselor as she tapped her pen impatiently, waiting for him to give her something to work with. The last time he remembered talking to her, he’d told her he wanted to go to UA, and she had sighed and told him, for the twentieth time, that maybe he ought to set his sights elsewhere.

Now, he pressed his lips together. “Criminal justice,” he said. “I want to become a police officer. Where can I go for that?” In all likelihood, UA’s Genderal Education program would have a good track for that. But if he wasn’t going to UA to become a hero, then he’d rather not go at all. It would hurt too much.

She gave him a pinched look, but did not laugh or tell him to think smaller. After weeks of him insisting on heroics, and then one more week of blank silence, she gave up the fight and finally started scribbling on forms.

And Izuku, while far from happy, could at least be reluctantly satisfied. All-Might had told him to become a police officer, and Izuku couldn’t possibly disappoint him. Who was he to say that the greatest hero in the world was wrong?

“Become a police officer.” It was advice given in good faith and, less than three years later, taken in good faith. Izuku studied for the exam, passed it with a respectably high score, and submitted a copy of his diploma and his test results with his application for police training.

Less than a week later, a polite letter arrived in the mail, expressing gratitude for his interest, and regret that they would be unable to accept his application.

The panic attack and its aftershocks had more or less subsided by the following day, at least enough for Izuku to leave his room and pull himself back into something resembling a human being. He dressed in his best clothes, wrestled his tie into something presentable for once, and paid a visit to the address listed on the application paperwork. There, receptionists ran him in circles before he finally sat down in the office of someone at a reasonable level of authority.

He would forget the man’s name as soon as he left, but he would never forget how skilled a speaker he was. It was almost impressive how easily he talked Izuku in circles, toward the exit door again and again before Izuku finally applied blunt force.

“Was I rejected because I’m quirkless?”

The man behind the desk seemed taken aback by the directness, then disappointed that politeness hadn’t forced him out the door already, then resigned.

“You seem like a bright, clever young man,” he said. “Any place of employment would be fortunate to have someone with your drive.” He folded his hands and leaned forward. “But the fact of the matter is that police work is a very physical, hazardous job.”

“I can do the work,” Izuku insisted. “I passed the exam—they said my score was in the ninety-fifth percentile—”

“Do you think criminals and villains will stop to ask you about your test scores?” the man asked him.

“No, but—”

“We are not heroes,” he went on. “But we are still officers of the law, and as such, we must still be able to keep up with them. A quirkless officer would only become a liability, one more civilian that the heroes must protect. I am sorry to be so blunt with you. I am only saying this so that I may save your life.”

Police officers aren’t authorized to use their quirks, Izuku thought. Police officers already need the protection of heroes. But he clamped his teeth around his own bitterness, bowed and thanked the man for his time, and left.

He didn’t break until that evening, while his mother was out running an errand. In the privacy of his own room he screamed and wept and hit things, tore down academic awards and study schedules and the one medal he’d won in his high school’s martial arts club. He cursed and sobbed until he was left exhausted in his ransacked bedroom, glaring tearfully up at the single remaining All-Might poster on his wall.

“They didn’t want me, either.” he hissed. The laminated smile seemed to mock him.

By the time his mother came home, his room was cleaned, his tears dried, and Izuku was on their battered old computer searching for job openings.

At the end of the day, Izuku wanted to make the world a better place. He wanted to protect people, or at least help people. And if you really thought about it, mopping floors and wiping glass and emptying trash bins was very helpful, wasn’t it? Even if he would have to move to Kiyashi Ward to do it, with all the troublesome costs that came with finding a new apartment and moving in and living on his own. At least he had work.

The ink was still wet on his employment paperwork when his mother got a call from abroad. His father was serving her divorce papers.

It was a hurried affair. Mom signed the papers, and the paychecks deposited in her bank account shrank to the alimony pittance agreed upon by the court. She could live on it—frugally.

Resentment curdled in the pit of Izuku’s stomach. He could have stayed home, helped to support her, if only he could have gotten a job in Musutafu. But hardly any of the positions he’d applied to locally had offered so much as a call back, and those that did respond were firmly in the negative. With a new apartment and living expenses, he’d have enough trouble supporting himself without worrying about his mother’s shrunken income.

It was one more bitter pill that the world was forcing down his throat, and Izuku couldn’t do anything but choke it down and carry on.

Fortune was a funny thing.

His first job out of high school was a bust; the cleaning company had been forced to downsize, and Izuku was one of the first on the chopping block. It wasn’t quite as catastrophic as it could have been, thankfully. He’d found another company close by, one that paid better since it served hospitals, among other places. His first day was just a few weeks away, and he had to make his funds last.

Today was still a busy day, even without work; he was behind on laundry, his apartment needed a thorough cleaning, and the fridge hadn’t been stocked in two weeks. He’d been living on rice, bread, and mayonnaise since last Saturday, and today was the day to finally go shopping for some real food. He already had a list with prices and a budget; if he followed it, then he could buy groceries for the rest of the month, with enough wiggle room for a treat here and there, if he was good. There might even be enough to set aside and save, eventually.

He could do this.

With these thoughts running through his head, Izuku joined a small crowd waiting at the crosswalk for the light to turn. He had his phone out, tapping aimlessly through news articles that he barely read, and hardly noticed that the crowd was growing behind him as more people joined it. The light turned, and there was a general jostling as people moved forward to cross. Izuku stumbled along among them, feeling a little like a cow in the middle of a herd.

The crowd began to disperse on the other side as people split off in different directions. With the store only a block away, Izuku reached into his pocket to check his wallet.

It wasn’t there.

There was a split second in which he felt nothing but cold, as if someone had shoved a hose into his mouth and sprayed liquid nitrogen down his throat. He stood frozen with one hand in his pocket, grasping at nothing. The crowd had almost entirely scattered, everyone leaving so quickly that Izuku couldn’t possibly choose one to pursue.

That had been his food money for the rest of this month, until he could work again and get paid. He had some left over, but no amount of frantic mental math could produce a way to make it last enough to feed himself. He would have to go hungry—or worse, ask his mother for help.

There was no warning, beyond a split second of burning behind his eyes. In the middle of the sidewalk alongside a busy street, Izuku burst into tears.

People were staring, he was sure. But Izuku was past caring, and even if he weren’t, there was no way to stop the tears or muffle his voice. So he stood there, sobbing like a child, in public, because this felt like rock bottom but he knew deep down he could always get lower.

He couldn’t do this. He should have known all along he couldn’t do this, and now he’d have to take food out of his mother’s mouth just to keep from starving. And after that—what if it happened again? Of course it would happen again, because he was a useless, quirkless idiot with stupid dreams and no one wanted him around and eventually he’d have to move back home after his mother had gone to all the trouble to help him find an apartment and pay fees out of her own pocket just to get his start.

All of it had been for nothing, because he couldn’t do this. How could he ever have thought he could do this?

“Um,” a voice said awkwardly. “Hey. Excuse me?”

Izuku jumped, choking on a sob, and hastily scrubbed the tears off his face so that he could at least see who was talking to him.

It was another kid—another young man roughly his own age. He was awkwardly avoiding Izuku’s eyes—not that Izuku blamed him for that—as he held out Izuku’s wallet.

“You, uh, dropped this. In the street. Crowd must’ve bumped you.”

Relief washed over him like warm water as Izuku almost lunged to take his wallet. A litany of garbled thank-yous was halfway out of his throat when he got a good look at the stranger and stopped in his tracks.

Izuku was a man of observation and details. He had to be, to survive this long. Navigating school life, Kacchan’s perilous attention, and the turbulent halls of his old high school had been an exercise in watching and judging. Reading someone’s intentions in their body language and facial expressions could be the difference between getting beat up and escaping with his belongings intact.

So he noticed things like the stranger’s refusal to meet his eyes, the tremors in the hand holding out his wallet, the subtle shifting of his feet that told Izuku that he wanted to leave as soon as possible.

(He noticed other things as well: the patched clothes that hung too loose on his body, the unkempt hair that needed a cut, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the dark circles under his eyes, the—)

Izuku sighed.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice still wobbly from crying. “I know you took it. Thanks for giving it back.”

The would-be thief’s eyes flashed with alarm, and he shoved the wallet back into Izuku’s hands and ran. Izuku watched him vanish into the crowd, and kept his wallet close throughout the rest of his errand.

The following month, two weeks and one paycheck into his new job, Izuku found himself in the city again. There was a new spring in his step; things were a little less desperate now, and he had worked out his entire food budget and found enough money to splurge a little on lunch. He kept a hand on his wallet and a weather eye out, detaching himself from the crowd as best he could at the crosswalk. Let it not be said that he didn't learn from past mistakes.

It was luck, or it was the fact that Izuku was actively looking for it this time. He scanned the crowd quickly and spotted a familiar hunched form with a head of messy hair. Dark blue eyes, dull with hunger and fatigue, met his for a moment. The eyes widened, and the pickpocket backed out of the crowd and started walking away quickly.

Izuku wasn’t sure why he did it. He never had been good at minding his own business, or making sensible decisions in general, but this sort of took the cake for him.

For some reason he hurried to catch up and said, “Wait.”

And for some reason, the almost-thief listened.

Still holding onto his wallet, Izuku did a few quick mental calculations. “There’s a restaurant a few blocks down,” he said. “They make good tempura udon. Let me buy you lunch?”

The pickpocket gaped at him for far longer than was probably appropriate. Izuku twitched under his stare, suddenly wishing the sidewalk would open up and swallow him.

“Didn’t I try to rob you last month?” the pickpocket said carefully, as if he thought Izuku was slow.

“Yeah,” Izuku said, his voice high-pitched with embarrassment. “And if you want to turn down free food, be my guest, but—”

“No,” the pickpocket said quickly, and winced as if in embarrassment. “No, uh. Sure. Fine. Whatever. It’s your money.”

The walk to the restaurant was silent and awkward but thankfully quick, and to Izuku’s relief his impromptu lunch partner didn’t immediately order the most expensive thing on the menu. In fact, he waited for Izuku to order first, and then picked something a handful of yen cheaper. It was a surprisingly considerate gesture, and Izuku wondered whether he ought to thank him, before the moment of opportunity slipped by.

Izuku half hoped that their shared lunch would pass in silence until it was over, but the pickpocket only made it about five minutes before asking, “So what’s your deal?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” said Izuku.

He rolled his eyes. “C’mon. I robbed you on the street and just barely changed my mind.”

“Well, I figured you weren’t doing it for fun,” Izuku said. “I can fit this into my budget, sort of.”

“Only sort of?”

“I’m a janitor, I just started last month and I’ve been living kind of hand to mouth lately,” Izuku said, flushing with embarrassment. “I’m not exactly rolling in cash right now.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m doing this. It just felt wrong to do nothing. You look more tired than I feel.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well. Kinda hard to get your eight hours of REM on a park bench.”

Izuku winced. “Oh.”

The silence stretched again until the food arrived—katsudon for Izuku and their basic udon bowl for his new acquaintance. The stranger tucked in with an enthusiasm that was just on the wrong side of polite, but Izuku simply pulled his bowl out of soup-spatter range and indulged in his favorite meal. Not as good as Mom’s, but still good.

Having decent food in his belly seemed to loosen up his new acquaintance a bit. “It’s not so bad,” he said, almost startling Izuku with his abruptness. “Gym owner across town owes me a favor, so he lets me stash my stuff in a locker and use the showers for free. He knows I’m not the kind of guy who shits on the locker room floor or steals stuff from customers.”

Izuku must have made some kind of face, because the young man glared at him. “I don’t,” he said forcefully. “I’m not an idiot, I’ve got a good deal with him and if I pull anything like that, I’m out on my ass. I do what I have to do to eat, but I know better than to screw people over when they’re being helpful.”

“Oh,” Izuku said. “That’s… good to know.”

“Yeah.” He smirked. “Your wallet’s safe, don’t worry.”

It was meant to be a joke, probably, but Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. “Can I ask… why’d you give it back? I mean, not that I’m not grateful! I’m just wondering… if things are as bad for you as you say, then…”

“I mean… the crying, mostly.”

“Oh.”

The would-be thief pulled a face. “I… look, I don’t want to do this, okay? If I could make money any other way, I would, but my credit’s nonexistent and I don’t have a home address or a phone, and picking pockets is safer than most of the stuff you can do for payment under the table. So I figure, if I’m gonna do this, I might as well stick to people who won’t miss it too much if it’s gone. And I dunno, you looked sort of well dressed so I went for it. But then before I could walk away, suddenly you were having a panic meltdown in the street.”

Izuku winced. “I wasn’t in the street.”

“Whatever. I figured if losing one wallet’s worth of cash was the end of the world for you, then I should probably try taking it from somebody else.”

Izuku was silent for a while, taking all of that in. “Well, thanks,” he murmured. “That cash was my whole food budget for the month, so.”

“Shit, really? And you’re still buying me lunch?”

“That was last month,” Izuku said. “I have more breathing room now, ,and I always leave some money for treats. This just means no more treats until after my next paycheck.”

The other man held his gaze briefly. Just for a split second, there was something almost open in his expression, before he went back to his half-finished food.

Izuku opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened it again.

“You know,” he said, and he wasn’t quite sure why his mouth was forming these words, but it was and his brain was too slow to stop it. “I, uh. I have a couch.”

He blinked. “Uh. Good for you?”

“It’s not much,” Izuku said, stirring his food with his chopsticks. “But it’s no park bench.”

His new acquaintance choked on his soup. “What.” His outburst turned a few heads, but thankfully no one was interested enough to keep watching.

“I’m just saying—”

“You don’t even know me. You don’t even know my name! You don’t know a damn thing about me, who I am, where I’m from—”

“Do I need to?” Izuku murmured.

This stopped the other man’s tirade short. “Do you—uh, yeah, I think you do, if you’re offering to let me sleep on your damn couch.”

Izuku sighed, hunched over his bowl as he waited for the people around them to look away again.

“Just—why would you even say that?”

It was meant to be rhetorical, Izuku knew. It was an expression of disbelief, not a question that needed an answer.

And yet…

“I wanted to be a hero, when I was a kid,” he said quietly. He was surprised at how much it still hurt to say out loud. “But hero school didn’t want me. So then I thought I’d be a cop instead. But the police academy didn’t want me either. So then I tried to find any job at all, but nobody in my whole city wanted me. So I had to come here, and move out so I wouldn’t be a drain on my mom, and take whatever crappy job I could get, and whatever garbage people throw at me when they find out I’m quirkless.”

Izuku winced as the word left his mouth, sneaking a glance at the other man just to gauge his reaction. None of the usual disdain or pity was present on his face. He looked shocked, more than anything else. Izuku wondered what he would be once the shock wore off.

“So, uh,” he went on awkwardly. “I know I’m not homeless, and I’m lucky and stuff. But I sort of know what it’s like to need help. And… you look like you need help.”

His new acquaintance stared at him for a moment more, then put down his chopsticks. He sighed, rubbing his forehead irritably as if warding off a headache.

“Fuck,” he said, muffled into his hand. “Okay. Let me back up for a sec.” He drew his fingers through his messy purple hair, pursed his lips, and said, “My name’s Shinsou.”

Izuku triple-checked his math, and… it was doable. Not exactly comfortable, but doable. His new job paid better than the last, and it was enough to cover extra food.

He spent the first week cautious and wary and walking on eggshells. This whole thing was, objectively, a bad idea: inviting a stranger into his home was bad enough, let alone one who had just stolen from him. And yes, he did give it back, but it crossed Izuku’s mind that it might have been a ploy to gain his trust. And even if the change of heart was genuine, who was to say that it wouldn’t change again?

Of course, Izuku did have one advantage: he had no valuables and next to no money in his apartment. Everything he owned of value was back at his mother's place, and he only ever withdrew cash right when he was going to use it. The most expensive things he kept were his phone and his laptop. His laptop was old and battered anyway, and he guarded his phone by keeping it on his person at all times.

They circled each other for a few weeks, both of them wary; Izuku could tell that Shinsou had similar misgivings about his own intentions. But as time passed, things settled. Shinsou slept on his couch and ate only as much of his food as he needed. As people went, he was easy to coexist with.

Eventually, leaving the apartment for a full shift stopped feeling like a gamble.

It was rare that Izuku ever encountered a patient when doing his rounds. The wing where he was usually assigned housed long-term resident patients, all of whom were taken elsewhere from their rooms when it came time for Izuku to come in. Usually mealtimes, or hours set aside for crafts and activities. Cleaning hospital rooms was a touch more labor-intensive and personal than it was in the offices; he wasn’t just mopping floors and wiping down surfaces, but disinfecting everything and changing out sheets, as well. It paid decently for a reason.

So it was a bit of a surprise when Izuku entered one of the rooms on the fourth floor and found himself face to face with the patient occupying it.

“Oh!” he said, surprised, at the exact same time as the woman sitting on the bed did the same. The sheets were neat, but not hospital-neat. This particular patient always made up her own bed, even knowing that the sheets would be changed for her. It was a nice gesture, and Izuku was finally putting a face to the name posted outside her door.

He had seen her before, not in her room but in passing. She was about his mother’s age, a little thin and sickly-looking with sunken cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. From what he had seen of her she seemed polite and unobtrusive, never smiling but not quite frowning either. It wasn’t often that she met anyone’s eyes, but in the few glimpses Izuku caught of them, they were pale gray with a constant faraway look, as if she were thinking herself into better places than a hospital.

She had a kind face. Izuku hoped she had visitors, besides clumsy janitors that forgot to knock before entering.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, horribly embarrassed. “I should have knocked—I’ll leave you alone, just a moment.” Hastily he began to back out of the room again.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m supposed to be out right now, but I wasn’t feeling well, so I came back. I hoped you’d be done.”

“Oh.” Izuku hesitated. “Do you need me to get a nurse, or a doctor, or…?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, that won’t be necessary, thank you. I just needed to rest for a little while. Would you be all right with coming back in… twenty minutes? I’ll be out by then.”

“Oh, that’s fine!” Izuku replied. “I have other rooms to clean, so I can circle back later. Again, sorry for barging in."

“Don’t be sorry,” she replied. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look upset, either. “I’m always happy for the company. I don’t get very many visitors.”

“I… see.” Izuku buried his discomfort deep as he backed out of the room. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with what she was saying, of course. there was just something terribly sad about a woman living in a sterile white room, calling a janitor accidentally barging in “company”.

When his shift finished, Izuku tracked down his supervisor on the pretense of asking about his work schedule. As supervisors went, Okamoto was probably the least troublesome he’d ever had to deal with. She was an even-tempered woman who didn’t go out of her way to condescend to him, and she wasn’t above indulging in a bit of gossip. If anyone was safe to probe for information through small talk, it was her.

Her eyebrows jumped when he brought up the woman in Room 419, and she gave a quick glance around as if to make sure no one was listening in. “I’m kind of surprised you’re asking me this, Midoriya,” she said. “Tanigawa’s got the same shift as you, and she says you never shut up about heroes.”

“What does that have to do with her?”

“Didn’t you read her name plate?” Okamoto asked.

“What, Todoroki Rei?” Realization clicked into place. It wasn't an uncommon surname, but... “Wait. Todoroki—you mean she’s related to Endeavor? As in, the number one, Flame Hero Endeavor?”

“Not related,” Okamoto said with a glint in her eye. “Married. She’s his wife.”

“Endeavor’s wife?” Izuku struggled to control the volume of his voice. “Why hasn’t it been in the news? I mean, not that heroes and their families don’t deserve privacy, but… the top hero’s wife… if she’s sick enough to be hospitalized, I would’ve thought the news would at least mention it.”

“She’s not that kind of sick,” Okamoto said, keeping her voice down. “She’s a long-term psychiatric patient.”

Izuku’s jaw dropped. “What? Why? How did she—?”

Okamoto shrugged. “Nobody knows. At least I don’t, she’s been here longer than I have. Apparently he checked her in almost fifteen years ago and hasn’t been back since. I think a couple of her kids come by once in a while. Hardly anybody knows she’s here, and nobody outside her immediate family is allowed to visit.”

“That’s horrible,” Izuku said softly. “For the wife of a hero… of the top hero…”

“Must be a tough life,” Okamoto said. “Lots of pressure, lots of attention. Maybe she snapped somewhere down the line. Heroes are public figures, you know? If that's what happened, I’m not surprised Endeavor never let it reach the media.”

“That…” The words stick in Izuku’s throat. “That doesn’t sound very heroic. Just… abandoning your wife in some hospital.”

She shrugged again, looking a little uncomfortable. “I figure he has his reasons. And this place isn’t so bad—she’s got a better deal than Mad Bertha in the attic, you know?”

“Excuse me!” A sharp voice cut into the conversation before Izuku could think of a reply. One of the nurses stood at the nearest bend in the hallway, glaring at them. “I’m sure neither of you are paid to stand around and gossip like hens.”

“Midoriya’s off shift, Raichi-san,” Okamoto informed her. “So technically he’s not being paid at all, right now.”

The nurse’s eyes narrowed. “Then he has no reason to be here any longer, does he?”

Izuku pursed his lips and left without argument to gather his things and head home. One nurse’s annoyance meant little to him; the people in his life who were irritated with him considerably outnumbered those that weren’t. But the worry and discomfort that had started swimming in his belly after his brief encounter with Todoroki Rei had only gotten worse. He wondered at Okamoto’s casual tone and only mild discomfort with what she was talking about.

But… she had a point, didn’t she? Endeavor was the top hero in all of Japan. He saved thousands of lives. He protected people, and to think that wouldn’t extend to his own family was absurd. He must have his reasons.

Exactly, Izuku thought as he rode the train home. He was the top hero, after all. A man like that ended up belonging to the world, the way All-Might had. Maybe that was something Endeavor himself regretted, never getting to visit his sick wife.

Except…

Fifteen years, Okamoto had said. Endeavor had only been number one for a little over a year.

He got home lost in thought, barely noticing at first that Shinsou was nowhere to be seen. His strange roommate's bedding was folded up on the couch, his small bag of belongings still stashed at the foot of it, but Shinsou himself was gone. The only thing out of place was on the kitchen table: a newspaper cut to shreds and a few neat piles of coupons. An uncomfortable smile crossed Izuku’s face when he saw them. The last time he’d let Shinsou tag along for grocery shopping, Shinsou had brought similar stacks with them, and proceeded to earn the cashier’s hatred until the end result was three bags of groceries while the store, somehow, owed them five hundred yen.

He wondered vaguely if extreme couponing was a quirk.

After a few minutes of puttering in the kitchen, Izuku sat down with a ready-made dinner and browsed his phone for news. Musutafu was quiet, thank goodness. Edgeshot and his team stopped a robbery in a high-profile bank in Tokyo. The Wild Wild Pussycats responded to a landslide in the mountains that buried half a town, with no casualties in the end. There was Battle Fist taking down a gang of villains single-handed, Chargebolt and Cellophane saving a residential block from some villain’s battle robots, Froppy paying a surprise visit to the children’s ward in Hosu General, Uravity and Nejire-chan doing a joint interview together…

Izuku kept scrolling until he found an article on Endeavor, which didn’t take long. The Flame Hero was in Shikoku, rooting out some villain mastermind responsible for a series of attacks on government buildings. He thought back to his wife, sitting alone in her hospital room, and his heart gave another painful twist. He wondered if the Flame Hero ever thought of his wife when he was away.

He was washing dishes an hour later when the door opened, and a tired-looking Shinsou came yawning into the kitchen.

“Hey, Shinsou,” Izuku greeted, eyeing him curiously. “Did something happen?”

Shinsou grunted and went about fixing himself a bowl of instant miso soup.

“Go anywhere interesting?” Izuku asked, hoping he didn’t sound too nosy.

“Gas station,” was the reply.

“Oh.” Izuku paused. “Were you… at the gas station this whole time?”

“Yep.”

“...What for?”

“Cashiering.”

It took Izuku a moment to realize what he meant, and to spot the nametag pinned to his shirt. “Oh. ...Oh! You got a job?”

“Yup. Only place that doesn’t harp about… stuff.” Shinsou leaned against the counter. “Figured I’d earn my keep. Now that I can.” At Izuku’s confused look, he added, “You’d be surprised how many doors open up once you have an address to put on job apps. So… thanks.”

“No problem,” Izuku replied, his spirits lifting. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”’

“Not much, I just had something to eat and read the news.” Izuku grinned. “UA’s Trouble Class are all licensed heroes now. It’s been interesting.”

Shinsou paused, one hand on the saucepan handle. “You follow the Trouble Class? What am I talking about, of course you follow the Trouble Class.”

“It was bound to happen. One of my childhood friends was in that class.”

“Shut up, no they weren’t.” Shinsou gaped at him. “Seriously? Which one?”

Izuku hesitated for a moment. “Cluster Bomb,” he admitted. “I know, I know, he was only in that class for a year and a half. But All-Might was one of their teachers, and after they got attacked on that school trip, at the start of their first year? I was hooked.”

“I can’t believe a guy like you knows Cluster Bomb,” Shinsou mused. “I can’t believe a guy like you is friends with Cluster Bomb.”

Izuku turned off the sink and went to dry his hands. “I haven’t talked to him since before high school started. We’re not really friends, anymore.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Not really. He was a pretty crap friend, actually.”

Shinsou barked out a soft laugh.

“I had some favorites though,” Izuku went on. “In the Trouble Class. I liked Uravity a lot. And Red Riot, I loved how Red Riot talked about power and quirks and manly spirit and stuff. I liked Comet Tail, especially after he really started using his fire and ice together. Froppy,” he added, remembering the article he’d seen. “Froppy was so awesome back then.”

“Just back then?” Shinsou asked.

“Well, no, she’s still cool, just—I don’t know. It’s weird to think about.”

“What is?”

“I saw an article about her today,” Izuku said. “It wasn’t about a fight, or a rescue. It was about her visiting a children’s hospital. And that’s great! Don’t get me wrong, I love when heroes do stuff like that. But…” He pursed his lips. “Did you ever follow the Trouble Class?”

“A... little bit,” Shinsou replied hesitantly. “I remember Froppy. Why?”

“She dominated her second Sports Festival, and she barely missed the podium in her third,” Izuku said. “She got interviewed a couple of times, and she was just… so tough, and confident, and sure of herself. She’s an amazing fighter, but now it’s like the only time the news talks about her is in fluff pieces. Or that one time she helped save those shipwrecked cruise line passengers, and the news only mentioned her playing clapping games with kids to keep their spirits up.” He sighed, frustrated. “She’s a good hero, but the news only ever talks about her being cute. I don’t know how she feels about it, but it feels like it should be insulting.”

Shinsou turned off the stove and poured his heated soup into a bowl. “Damn. You really are invested, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…” Izuku stared at a point in the distance, chewing at the corner of his lip. “It’s just… they were my age. And sometimes I couldn’t help but feel like I could’ve been one of them, if only… if I’d just…” He let the thought trail off there. “Sorry. I’m probably not making any sense.”

From across the kitchen, Shinsou stared at him, frowning as if in thought. “You are,” he said. “It makes a lot of sense.”

“I guess everybody dreams about being a hero at some point,” Izuku said, with a forced laugh.

“Yeah,” Shinsou answered, laughing along. “You got that right.”

"It was just dead in the water, for me," Izuku said. "Because I didn't have the one thing... I mean, I've never felt like I needed a quirk? Just to... to live. To exist. But everybody else disagrees. It's like if I'd just had a quirk, they would've given me a chance. Any quirk at all."

Shinsou didn't answer, and the conversation petered out to silence.

At the end of his shift, Izuku put his supplies away but kept his uniform and nametag on. The last thing he wanted was his cart slowing him down, but he saw the way people looked at his uniform and let their attention slide off of him, slick as oil. No one paid attention to the cleaning staff, and that was an advantage that Izuku felt no guilt for using.

Sure enough, the other passengers on the elevator politely ignored him, moving aside to let him off whether they were visitors or hospital employees. Izuku wove between them almost effortlessly, until he found himself in the quiet hallway outside Todoroki Rei’s room. Steadying his nerves, he knocked.

There was a pause, and then a cautious, “Come in.”

Izuku opened the door slowly and stepped through. “Hello, Todoroki-san, I hope I’m not… intruding…?”

It was purely by chance, that Izuku happened to be looking in the right direction to see the woman’s face as he stepped into her room. Had he looked anywhere else, had he taken more than a split second to find her face, he wouldn’t have seen the way she watched the door with fear in her eyes. She blinked and it was gone, replaced by surprise, but the tight line of her shoulders did not loosen.

There was no mistaking it; she’d been afraid until she saw who he was.

“Oh,” she said, confused and wary. “It’s you again. Did you need something?”

Izuku opened his mouth to reply, and realized in that moment that he had no idea how. He hadn’t thought of what he’d say to her. He hadn’t thought anything past “She looks lonely, maybe I should visit her.”

He felt a little foolish now. This woman didn’t know him. He didn’t know her either, beyond Okamoto’s gossip, and the worst way to get to know someone was to learn the rumors about them.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said. “But you said before that you don’t get many visitors, so I thought I’d… visit. Once my shift was over.” The woman blinked, and he pushed forward clumsily. “I mean! If you want. I don’t want to force you to—if you’d like me to leave, just ask, and I’ll leave you alone. I’m so sorry, this must be so inappropriate, I didn’t mean—” His words trailed off into stammering, and then stopped entirely.

He noticed, then, that her tense shoulders had loosened. She hadn’t completely relaxed, but she looked more curious than wary.

“It’s all right,” she said, studying him. “As long as it won’t get you in trouble.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” he said. “Oh! Sorry, I forgot. I’m Midoriya Izuku. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Todoroki-san.”

Just for a moment, another spark of wariness flashed in her eyes. “You as well,” she said after a moment. “I’m sorry, this is just—terribly awkward.”

“No, that’s my fault, I kind of… jumped into this,” Izuku admitted. “I do that sometimes, making decisions without thinking. It’s just, I know a little about what it’s like to be lonely. And how much it can help sometimes, to have people to talk to.” He swallowed his nervousness. “I like to be helpful.”

For the first time, her face softened. “I see. That’s very kind of you.” She glanced to the lone chair in her room. “Would you like to sit?”

“Oh! Yes, thank you.” Encouraged, Izuku pulled the chair up and sat down.

“If it comforts you, I’m not entirely alone,” she said. “My son and daughter visit from time to time, when they can. But all my children are grown now. They’re all very busy.” She paused. “My youngest sends letters, sometimes.”

Her youngest—Endeavor’s youngest son and the only one of his children to follow him into heroics. Todoroki Shouto, the ace of UA’s Trouble Class, now the pro hero Comet Tail.

“That’s good,” Izuku said. “I’m going to visit my own mother soon. I try to see her whenever I can, now that I’m out of the house. She’d worry, otherwise.”

Something about the woman’s bearing softened. “All good mothers worry for their children,” she said. “Tell me about yourself, Midoriya-san. Do you often stop to talk to lonely people out of the goodness of your heart?”

Embarrassment made his ears warm. “Sometimes, if it’s needed,” he said. “Like I said, I like to be helpful.”

“Well, I suppose your in a good line of work for it,” she said, a little awkwardly as if she only realized that it was unkind as she was saying it. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right.” Izuku laughed a little. “It’s not where I would’ve seen myself. And it’s not—it wasn’t my first choice. But I’m making the best of it.”

He couldn’t tell if it was the right or the wrong thing to say. The lingering dregs of tense wariness finally drained away, but she looked sad.

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose we can’t always choose the hands we’re dealt.”

“Is there something you’re passionate about, Todoroki-san?” Izuku asked.

“I used to study history,” she answered, and a wistful look crossed her face. “I was in school for it, when I was young. I’d go back and finish my degree, if I could. I wanted to study abroad, see the world, but… well… things don’t always turn out the way we expect. Or the way we want.”

It felt so familiar that Izuku could feel his own words bursting at the back of his throat. I wanted to be a hero, his mind screamed. I wanted to save people with a smile—

But.

Okamoto was right about one thing. Heroes were public figures, and their families often bore some of the weight of that attention. If Todoroki Rei wanted to talk about the heroes in her family then he would let her, but he wouldn’t steer the conversation in that direction otherwise. Not when she was starting to look more at ease.

“I… went to a high school with a focus on justice and law,” Izuku said, settling for half-truths. “I was going to become a police officer. I took the exam and everything. But when I tried to apply for training, they, ah. It didn’t work out.” He swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. It may not have been his first choice, nor what he truly wanted, but the rejection had hurt. Even now, it still hurt. “Looking back, I could’ve gone into quirk science, if I’d thought ahead. I’ve always been interested in quirks.” Todoroki went strangely still for a moment, and Izuku was afraid he’d wandered into an uncomfortable topic. “It’s because I don’t have one,” he said, and she sat up straighter in surprise. “The world revolves around them now, but I was born without one. They’ve always fascinated me.”

“I… see.” She was looking at him differently now, as if she was seeing him in a new light. Izuku only hoped that it was a good one. “It’s a worthy field of study, I suppose.”

Izuku wondered if he would have been turned away from that, as well, if some professor or dean would have told him that he couldn’t possibly understand quirks if he didn’t have one himself.

“I had… some choices,” he said. “But here’s where I ended up, for better or worse.”

“I suppose it’s selfish of me to say,” she replied. “But if things had turned out differently, then I wouldn’t be sitting here now, having a nice conversation with a very kind young man.” Izuku grinned. “I do mean that, Midoriya-san. Thank you.”

When Izuku finally said his goodbyes, with a promise to visit again soon, it occurred to him that Todoroki had not smiled once since he walked in. But as he left, there was no trace of the tension and wariness, nor the strange split-second fear he’d seen when he first walked in. She still looked thin and tired and sickly, but she also looked at ease, and perhaps he could settle for that.

The next time he visited Todoroki Rei, he brought cookies.

Chapter Text

Izuku paused, his cart parked to the side of the hallway so as not to block foot traffic, and steadied himself as best he could. The first half of his shift was over, and he could finally take his lunch break. If he ate fast enough, he could devote most of it to a nap.

With Shinsou working shifts at the gas station, money wasn’t as tight as it had been before. Two pooled incomes did still mean two mouths to feed, but there was room to breathe, at least. For Izuku, there was room to save, as well.

He had missed Mom’s last birthday. He’d given her a call, of course, but with money so tight there had been no room to get her anything, not even a card. But now that he had some money set aside, he could buy her something nice. It was too late for a birthday present, even a late birthday present, but there was nothing wrong with getting someone a present just because.

Focusing on those thoughts, Izuku put his things away and trudged to the break room to eat. His day had started off badly; he woke up exhausted after staying up late working out his budget, and barely had time to eat before he left. In his sleepy rush out of the apartment, he'd spilled coffee on his jacket, permanently staining an already shabby, patched garment he’d had since high school. And so it was that he went to work sleep-deprived, hungry, and self-conscious, and hoped the usual cleaning-staff invisibility would save him from further embarrassment.

His lunch was plain rice with a few leftovers he’d saved from last night, drab as mud but filling. Once he had eaten and cleared away all his trash, he tucked himself into a chair in the corner, set an alarm on his phone, and shut his eyes to catch up on sleep.

It felt as though he had only rested his eyes for a moment before someone was shaking him awake with an abrupt “Excuse me!”

“Excuse me” was a very polite phrase, and the nurse standing over him managed to say it in the rudest way possible. If Izuku hadn’t been so tired, he might have been impressed.

“Yes?” he said, still half asleep. “Did you need something?”

His heart sank when he recognized her. Raichi Mieko was not one of the head nurses at the hospital, but given how she conducted herself, she was probably headed in that direction. She was a strict, no-nonsense woman who never seemed to have a kind word for anyone. The last time Izuku had encountered her, she had berated him and Okamoto for gossiping.

“You should be ashamed of your conduct,” she scolded him now. “This room is not for your own personal use. No one wants to come in here and see someone sleeping in the corner. You look like you just came in off the street. Have some decorum! You may only be a janitor, but this is a hospital, and your behavior reflects poorly on it.”

Izuku opened his mouth to defend himself, but Raichi leveled a glare at him, and the words curdled on his tongue. His stomach twisted in embarrassment, and he averted his eyes to the floor. A glare that literally paralyzed its target with shame and fear was a fantastically useful quirk, but he couldn't help but think it was the wrong one for someone with a career in patient care.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I just, I didn’t get much sleep last night, so—”

“And that is no one’s fault but your own,” Raichi snapped. “Don’t let it happen again, or I’ll have a word with your supervisor.” With that, she stalked out of the room, shouldering past Okamoto in the doorway.

“Sorry, kid,” Okamoto said with a wince. “If it makes you feel any better, she definitely won’t remember you. She never remembers that I’m a supervisor, for one.” She grinned wryly. “She’s a control freak, but she’s also too good for the likes of us. Go on back to your nap, I’ll wake you up if she comes back.”

Izuku thanked her until she waved him off, and spent the rest of his break fast asleep.

By the time his workday ended, Izuku was desperately glad he’d had that nap. He was exhausted enough as it was; how much worse would it have been if he hadn’t rested at all?

In spite of his weariness, he managed to slip upstairs and duck into Todoroki’s room for a quick visit. She looked as thin and tired as ever, but her eyes lit up at the sight of him.

“Hi again, Todoroki-san,” he greeted with a smile. “I’m done for the day, but I wanted to say hello before I left.”

“You look like you could use the rest,” she remarked, not unkindly. “Headed home, I hope?”

“Probably. I was thinking of hitting up the mall before it closes, though. I should get my mom something nice.” He pursed his lips, then added, “I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?”

She looked surprised by the question, but not unpleasantly so. “Well, I don’t know your mother, but… you can never go wrong with giving her something she can use. I used to get my mother gift cards to specialty stores, when the time came for gift-giving. And once, my daughter—” She paused, and the corners of her mouth turned up. “My daughter once spent her pocket money on some of those facial masks, so we could try them together. That was fun. Everyone likes to have a little me time once in a while.” She shook her head. “I hope that helps.”

Izuku, struck speechless, took a moment to shake his head and reply. “I… me too.” She looked confused. “You look very happy, talking about your daughter. She sounds like a wonderful person.”

Todoroki blinked, startled, and then ducked her head almost bashfully. It was the closest to a real smile she had ever shown him. “She is. Though, you’re quite lovely yourself, Midoriya-san. Your mother is lucky to have such a thoughtful son.”

It was still early in the evening when Izuku said his goodbyes and left the hospital. There was enough time to reach the nearest shopping center with a couple of hours left before stores started closing. He made it to the train station, and as if to make up for the awful day leading up to it, there was an open seat waiting for him when he got on the train, and the ride passed without any delays.

Izuku found the outdoor mall fairly bustling with the evening crowd. Plenty of them were high school students, with school hours ended for the day. Izuku wove through the other shoppers, energized by the new, far more pleasant task ahead of him, until he reached the store that he wanted.

Saitaka was arguably the jewel of this particular mall, as well as any other shopping center it might settle in. It was a national chain of beauty and personal care stores, and immensely popular at that: sleek, trendy, high-end and pricey. They sold everything from jewelry to hair care products to artisan soaps. In more recent years, Saitaka was famous for becoming the main commercial sponsor for the Snake Heroine, Uwabami, one of the most glamorous heroines in the business. Uwabami, in turn, had become the face of Saitaka; her face was, in fact, plastered on an ad over the entrance, watching Izuku approach with sultry eyes on an immaculate face.

It was the sort of place where it was impossible not to feel underdressed. The fact that Izuku was wearing a coffee-stained secondhand jacket at the moment only made it worse. Izuku could feel people staring, and ducked his head as he made his way slowly through the aisles, searching.

Mom wouldn’t care much for most of the stuff in this store. She had little need for jewelry, she rarely wore makeup, and she didn’t use anything for her hair but a shampoo and conditioner. Still, Izuku had seen his mother’s eyes light up at magazine ads before. There was no such thing as being too old to pamper yourself.

As Izuku turned a corner, he spotted a store employee making her way over. For a moment he froze, uncertain. Was it that obvious that he had almost no idea what he was doing? But to his relief, the employee stopped to inspect some of the shelves, and he quickly moved on.

He paused in skin care to look over their products. Would any of these make a nice present? That was the problem with looking for gifts in stores like these. Buying someone deodorant or moisturizer might send the wrong message. After a moment of hunting, he found a bottle of lotion with a price that didn’t make him age several years, and picked it up to examine the ingredients. Was Mom allergic to any of this stuff?

As he turned away to see the other options, he spotted the same employee lingering at the end of the aisle. Izuku only realized he was staring when the woman turned her head and made eye contact for a moment. Embarrassed, he offered a polite smile and went back to his search.

Tucked into the back of the store was the small section devoted to special products for unique quirks and mutations, which he could skip. But a few aisles down, he entered the bath and shower care products. He could barely hold back a pleased noise. Cute soaps, shower caddies, bath sets—these were good gifts, nice-looking gifts, gifts that his mother could use. With a renewed eagerness he scanned the shelves, and suddenly his lack of options turned into too many.

Finally, he stumbled upon a shelf full of fancy spa kits: soaps, scrubs, shower gels, bath bombs, even a few face masks, all in cute, colorful bags. The price was just barely within his budget, but he was willing to splurge a little. He had missed her birthday, after all.

Todoroki was right. Mom worked hard, and she deserved to relax.

He picked up a couple of them to compare, muttering to himself as he read the labels and ingredients. He was wondering if he should call her and ask what scents she liked, when a throat cleared itself next to him.

Izuku started, nearly dropping the kits in his hands. There was another Saitaka employee standing next to him, not the woman from before but a taller man with some kind of mutation quirk that made his skin glitter in the light.

“O-oh, hello!” he stammered. “I’m sorry, was I in your way?”

“Good evening,” the employee replied, in a voice that made Izuku want to melt through the floor. “Could you put those items down, please?”

“Um, all right?” Izuku complied. Was there something wrong with them? Maybe a recall that had just gone into effect.

“Thank you. Empty your pockets, please.”

“What?” Izuku gaped at him, confused. His eyes landed on the nametag pinned to the man’s uniform. Kirameki, it read, and beneath his name, Loss Prevention. “Wait, I’m not—”

“Empty. Your pockets. Please.” The man didn’t sound angry; that was the worst part. He spoke slowly, as if he were talking to a very dim child.

Burning with humiliation, Izuku reached into the pockets of his jacket and turned them inside out, revealing nothing but his wallet, spare change, lint, and a half-empty pack of gum. “Th-there, see? I’m not going to steal anything—”

“You certainly aren’t,” Kirameki cut him off. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“What?” Izuku blurted out. His throat tightened, and his eyes began to burn with the threat of tears. “But—I haven’t done anything wrong, I’m just—”

“Sir, I need you to leave, right now,” Kirameki said. “You clearly have no business being here.”

“I’m just shopping like everyone else!” Izuku’s eyes watered. “I was going to buy one of those—”

“I’m sure,” Kirameki said dryly. He moved closer, forcing Izuku to step back, then kept coming, clearly herding him in the direction of the exit. “Please don’t be difficult, sir, I’m sure we’ve both had a long day, and this will be resolved much faster if you leave the store.”

“But—”

Kirameki sighed, irritated. “If you don’t leave, then we’ll have no choice but to call for the authorities. Starshower’s agency is two blocks away from the mall, and she has no shortage of interns who’d love to come down and show you where the door is.”

Izuku stared at him, trying and failing to hold back tears. He looked around, searching for a sympathetic face, and found the lady employee watching nearby, glaring at him with her arms crossed.

His nerve failed him, and he turned and hurried to the exit.

Of course, rather than let him leave on his own, Kirameki insisted on escorting him every step of the way, which drew stares from the other shoppers. Izuku was chivvied out the front door, with one more parting threat to call the heroes if he tried to sneak back in.

It wasn’t until Izuku made it home that the weight of every misfortune that day finally fell upon him at once, and he burst into tears as soon as the front door was shut and locked. A split second after he started, he remembered that he no longer lived alone. He couldn’t even have a private crying fit in the comfort of his own apartment anymore.

For his part, Shinsou looked suitably horrified and uncomfortable when he saw him. “Whoa, what happened?” he asked. “You look like somebody just kicked a cat in front of you.” When Izuku couldn’t respond, his roommate heaved a sigh and herded him to the kitchen, where there was tea in the kettle and soup cooling on the stove.

Eventually, Izuku calmed down enough to haltingly explain what had happened. “It was just—so embarrassing, and so unfair, and—” Izuku swallowed another hiccup. He was tired of crying. “And so stupid! I was going to buy something from them! I was going to give them my money, and they tossed me out for it!”

“Yeah,” Shinsou said. “Well… that’s Saitaka for you.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, that whole chain kinda has a reputation for being obsessed with their reputation,” Shinsou said with a shrug. “They’re always doing stuff like kicking out people who look too poor, or calling the cops and heroes on homeless people who wander too close.” He wrinkled his nose. “Plus, it isn’t an accident that all their sales people are thin and fair-skinned with no visible mutations. Unless they're pretty mutations.” He paused. “Hey, you were at the Wookies one, right?”

“Huh?”

“The Saitaka at the Kiyashi Ward shopping mall. That’s the one you went to, right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Izuku said. “Why?”

“Bath section’s toward the back of the store. Lots of camera blind spots, if I remember right.”

The conversation was swiftly dipping into strange territory. “Um, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“If you can grab something off the shelves without them noticing, you can take it right to the returns desk,” Shinsou said. “Pitch a fit when they don’t let you return it without a receipt. Best case scenario they give you the money to shut you up. Worst case, they tell you to leave, and you walk right out and sell it somewhere else.”

Izuku gaped at him.

“I mean, you have to be better dressed than that,” Shinsou went on. “I bet they tailed you through the store, right? If you dress like somebody who can afford to shop there all the time, they’re a lot nicer. Though, if you look lost they’ll hound you trying to be helpful. If you look like you know what you’re there for, they’ll leave you alone. Actually, that last one’s pretty much true for anywhere.”

“I’m not, uh.” Izuku swallowed hard. “I’m not really interested in shoplifting.”

“Is it really shoplifting if they tell you to leave with it?” At Izuku’s shocked look, the corner of Shinsou’s mouth gave a wry twitch. “Just kidding, it’s definitely shoplifting.”

Izuku took a long sip of his tea, settling himself before he answered. “Have you ever done that before?”

“Not at Saitaka. They’d have the cops of the phone as soon as I walked by the door.” Shinsou shrugged. “Like I said. They have an image thing going. So don’t beat yourself up about getting kicked out. That place is so smug they’d bottle their farts and call it perfume.”

Izuku choked on a laugh, but said nothing more. After all, this was the first time Shinsou had talked about his past since he first started crashing on the couch. Izuku wasn’t sure if there was a right way to answer.

“I don’t do it now,” Shinsou said, startling him. “In case you were wondering. Stealing and stuff. It’s, uh… not a good way to live. But sometimes it’s the only way.” He shrugged, looking at the bowl of soup in front of him instead of Izuku. “Right now, I don’t have to do it.”

“Will you start again if you ever have to?” Izuku asked. “I mean—not that I’ll judge you if you do, of course. But, would you?”

He half expected Shinsou to refuse to answer him—plausible deniability and everything. In fact, for as long as it took him to drain his bowl, Shinsou didn’t say a thing, and Izuku didn’t press him.

At last, Shinsou set his bowl down and said, “You’ve never been hungry before.”

“I mean, that depends on how you define—”

“It doesn’t,” Shinsou said, eyes boring steadily into Izuku. “You’ve never been hungry before.”

“Okay,” Izuku said softly. Shinsou nodded, took his bowl, and left the table.

The last dregs of warm August left, and chilly September took its place. Shinsou had been living with him for over a month, and his visits to Todoroki’s room had become a regular occurrence. It wasn’t daily, but Izuku liked to pop in from time to time. He had yet to cross paths with one of her visiting children, but he had walked in to find her reading a letter once or twice before. These were the only times that Izuku ever saw her smiling.

On this particular Tuesday, Izuku approached her room not for a visit, but to clean it again. Of course, it was a toss-up as to whether or not she would be out. Usually she was, but once in a while, as with the first time they met, she would feel too sick to wander about.

Izuku knocked, and was rewarded with the sound of footsteps and a voice saying, “Just a moment!” He frowned, because it was not definitely not Todoroki’s voice. Was she meeting with a therapist today? She couldn’t be; he wouldn’t have been scheduled to clean if she was.

The door opened, and one of the doctors stepped out. Izuku recognized him, somewhat. Ketsuda was one of many doctors here, and like most of them, he paid little mind to the cleaning staff. Izuku only knew Ketsuda because he worked closely with Nurse Raichi, who liked to brag about it whenever she could.

“Sorry to be in the way,” the doctor said with a polite smile.

“It’s no trouble,” Izuku said. “Is Todoroki-san in right now? I can come back later.”

“Todoroki-san?” The doctor’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Are you familiar with my patient?”

That was… a loaded question. And as Izuku met the doctor’s eyes briefly, he realized that he didn’t want to answer it truthfully. In all likelihood the doctor would forget about this encounter immediately, but he didn’t want there to be any chance of Raichi catching wind of his visits. Best not to invite trouble. “No, sensei,” he said. “I just read her name plate on the wall.”

“Ah, of course. No, she isn’t in at the moment; go right in, and have a good day.” Without another word, the doctor walked away.

Izuku frowned after him for a moment. Ketsuda was a medical doctor; he knew that from overhearing Raichi. Todoroki was a psychiatric patient, wasn’t she?

Of course, she was always looking sickly and under the weather, so it stood to reason that she’d need to see a doctor.

Still…

He shook his head, pushed his cart into the room, and got started on cleaning. It wasn’t his business to pry; he wasn’t a doctor, just a janitor, and his job was clear. Todoroki’s medical situation was no one's business but her own, and her doctor's.

There was a note left on the bedside table, folded in half with her name written on the outside. Izuku carefully moved it out of the way as he wiped it down.

He didn’t question it. Of course he didn’t; he wouldn’t realize there was anything to question for a while yet.

About a half hour later, Izuku was mopping a bathroom floor when the phone in his pocket buzzed. Surprise made him twitch, but he relaxed when it didn’t continue. A text message, not a call. He paused, glanced at the door, and carefully leaned the mop handle up against the wall.

Strictly speaking, he wasn’t supposed to have his phone while on the job. It wasn’t that it was against the rules, just mildly discouraged. There were lockers available to the cleaning staff for a reason, after all. But there were also rumors of lunches and other items disappearing from the lockers. Izuku didn’t know of a single janitor that left important things like wallets and keys and electronics in the lockers, so he didn’t either. And besides, it was good to receive messages right when they were sent.

He opened the screen.

It was a good thing that he’d set the mop aside, because he definitely would have dropped it otherwise. As it was, he narrowly avoided dropping his phone onto the hard, unforgiving tile floor.

The text was from Shinsou's prepaid phone. Just got off shift, it read. Was the fridge broken when you left?

And Izuku didn’t know. He’d rushed out that morning with two breakfast bars to eat on the train. He hadn’t checked the fridge. The last time he opened it was the night before.

His hand shook as he typed out a reply. What do you mean broken?

After waiting on bated breath for a few minutes, Izuku slipped his phone back in his pocket and continued cleaning in an effort to work off his sudden anxiety. Buoyed by frantic energy, he finished in what was probably record time. He was wheeling down the hallway to his next room when his phone buzzed again, and he pulled to one side and checked it.

It’s just not working. Plugged in but off. Milk smells a little bad. Dunno if I trust the chicken.

Izuku’s heart plummeted. The fridge was shot. They either needed a repair or a new fridge. Hastily he emailed the property manager about it; with a little luck, she could call someone and take care of it within the week. And sure, throwing out some of the perishable food might set them back a little, but that was all right! They could deal with that. It was in budget. It wasn’t the end of the world—

“What do you think you're doing! You’re here to clean, now get off your phone!”

He was already half-panicked and on edge. His hands were already shaking. At Nurse Raichi’s angry raised voice, he jumped. His phone slipped from his fingers, and his attempt to catch it only knocked it to the side. It didn’t land on the floor as he’d feared.

It landed in his mop bucket.

“No!” Izuku dove after it, plunging elbow deep in dirty, soapy water. There was no point, of course; the damage was done, and his phone was dead by the time he fished it out.

“Will you keep your voice down!” Raichi snapped. “You’re in a hospital, and so help me—” Izuku was past paying attention. The nurse continued with her blistering scolding, and he heard none of it. The refrigerator he could have dealt with. That was just a matter of talking to the property manager to see about calling repairs.

But his phone? His phone was supposed to last him another two years. He couldn’t replace it now, it wasn’t in his plan or in his budget.

He couldn’t afford this.

Raichi was still speaking sternly nearby. Ignoring her, Izuku put his now-useless phone away and fled as fast as the cumbersome cart would allow.

They weren’t going to fix the fridge.

Sakata the property manager sent someone down to check it, who came to the conclusion that the fridge was broken because of something Izuku had done. What he’d done, they wouldn’t say. The only answer they would give him was that he had broken the fridge, and that meant he had to pay for a new one.

After they left, Izuku shut himself in his bedroom and rode out the subsequent panic attack. It lasted a full half hour, with a brief two-minute intermission of clarity. When he finally came out of it he was dizzy, shaky, and exhausted, and it took another ten minutes before he was ready to stand up. On wobbly legs he staggered to the kitchen and set about making tea.

Without the refrigerator humming, the kitchen was overwhelmingly silent, which only added to the black hole of despair that Izuku was steadily digging. He burned his hand on the kettle twice, and scalded his mouth on the tea when he forgot to let it cool before trying to drink it.

The silent, dead refrigerator was behind him. His phone, dead and stained with dirty mop water, sat on the table in front of him.

Izuku hunched over his steaming cup of tea and stared vaguely downward, his mind blank. Everything had gone wrong, and he couldn’t even call his mom.

 At some point when the tears had long dried and the emptiness set in, he looked up to find Shinsou sitting across from him, nursing his own cup of tea. For a while, neither of them spoke.

“So,” Shinsou said, breaking the silence. “We’re in luck.”

Izuku wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and raised his head. “What?”

“I have a solution,” Shinsou said. “I don’t think you’ll like it. But it’s the best I can come up with, and if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Dread clumped in the back of Izuku’s throat. “I don’t want to pick pockets in the street just to get a new phone and fridge, Shinsou.”

Instead of getting offended, Shinsou actually snorted. “Obviously not. You’d have to pick pockets for weeks. Or commit credit card fraud, and I try to avoid that.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled and folded up sheet of paper and slid it across the table. Izuku took it, unfolded it, and read what was printed on it.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked.

“Library,” Shinsou said. “The announcement was on their website, and printing is free.”

“I don’t understand,” Izuku said. “This is a flyer for the Standing Pillars Foundation. What does that have to do with us?”

“You’re half right,” Shinsou said. “That’s a flyer for the SPF’s next fundraiser gala. They hold a few every year, basically a fancy party for executives and big-ticket donors. Everybody dresses up and shows off how much money they have. It’s in a couple weeks, and I have a couple of press passes that can get us in the door.”

“And then what?”

“And then we pick pockets,” Shinsou said patiently. “Well, I pick pockets. You get to be my lookout, which is great because I don’t usually have a lookout. Nice change of pace.”

Izuku gaped at him.

“It’s a bigger risk than I usually take at these things,” Shinsou went on, looking at the flyer instead of at Izuku’s face. “Usually when I crash a rich people party, it’s just to fill up on canapes. Maybe a glass of champagne if i’m feeling fancy.”

“You want to rob a charity fundraiser,” Izuku said faintly.

“Well…”

“You want to rob,” Izuku’s voice tightened, “a charity fundraiser, for disabled former heroes.”

“Okay, I know it sounds bad, but—”

“To pay for a new fridge.”

“That’s actually why I was glad it was the SPF instead of, like, Hope for Pros,” Shinsou said. “I knew you’d be iffy about it, so Standing Pillars is the best for this.”

“What are you talking about?” Izuku demanded. “I’m not going to rob a charity!”

Shinsou finally looked at him, then pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Hell, Midoriya, you’re supposed to be the one who’s obsessed with hero gossip. How do you not know this?”

“It’s not gossip—what does that have to do with robbing a charity—”

“Standing Pillars has been under investigation, like three times for misuse of funds,” Shinsou said patiently. “They’ve ended up ‘inconclusive’ every time, but if you search ‘SPF former employee interview’, the entire first page of results will be different people talking about how they blow their donations on executive salaries and partying. They spend chump change on their actual mission statement. Robbing them is as close to a victimless crime as you’re ever gonna get.”

Izuku sat with his face in his hands, eyes covered, and breathed. The only sensible, moral thing to do was dismiss it outright. Obviously he should dismiss it. This wasn’t a possibility at all.

“You wouldn’t....” His voice cracked. “You wouldn’t be robbing the charity, though. You said picking pockets. You’d be robbing the donors.”

He half-expected Shinsou to correct him—”we, not you,”—but Shinsou didn’t reply at all, at first. Izuku was at a loss trying to read his expression.

“I made a mistake when I met you,” Shinsou said at last. “That’s always a risk, stealing from someone who can’t afford to be robbed. I don’t know if I’ve ever done it before. I don’t think I have. I’ve tried to be careful.” He nodded to the printed flyer. “I can promise you that we won’t find anyone at that party who can’t afford to lose the cash in their pockets.”

Izuku took another deep breath, shuddering all the while. He wasn’t considering this. He wasn’t considering this.

After a moment, Shinsou shrugged. “Well, that’s all I wanted to say. Take it or leave it.” With that, he got up from the table and left.

Izuku spent the next few hours neck-deep in finances, adding, subtracting, and redoing his math again and again until he could read the results printed on the backs of his eyelids.

Even with the money he’d saved, even by cutting every non-essential expense for the next three months, he could barely scrape together enough to replace his phone, much less the fridge.

He could budget until he was blue in the face, but the money just wasn’t there.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Izuku said faintly, as Shinsou dragged him through a secondhand store in search of formal-looking clothes for pocket change..

“I can’t believe we're doing this,” he muttered as he hunted through his old bedroom closet, with his mother just down the hall eating lunch in the kitchen.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he said under his breath, as he and Shinsou sat together on the train in gently-used formal wear. “This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea.”

“Will you relax?” Shinsou said, his voice light. It was only by virtue of their physical proximity that Izuku could feel how tense he was. “I’ve done stuff like this dozens of times.”

“Why do you even have press passes?” izuku muttered. He still had the one that Shinsou pushed into his hands before they left the apartment. Shinsou’s had a small photograph of his face on it; Izuku’s was plain, with “INTERN” printed at the bottom in large, conspicuous letters. “Intern? Really?”

“It’s your first time, so no pep talk in the world is gonna make you look any less terrified,” Shinsou said. He was adjusting his own disguise, which consisted of a dress shirt borrowed from Izuku’s closet, a thrift-store suit jacket, and an empty camera bag. "If you wear the intern pass, you'll have a reason to look like you don't belong."

“Yeah, it’s my first time committing a crime,” Izuku hissed. “How the hell did I let you talk me into this?”

“Yeah, see, this is why you get the intern pass.” Shinsou sat back. “Now, remember what we talked about. Avoid cameras, don’t get drawn into any conversations, don’t wander off and lose sight of me. Just keep an eye out for anyone watching while I do my thing. People probably won’t give you the time of day when you have ‘intern’ stamped on your pass, but on the off chance somebody does start talking to you, just be polite, act intimidated, and wait for me to come bail you out. Get it?”

Izuku sighed deeply. “Got it.”

“Good.”

The event was held at a decently upscale venue in Musutafu, some event center named after a local politician from the last decade. By the time they got there, most of the attendees were already inside. The front entrance was apparently only for donors and invitees, because as they approached, Shinsou took hold of his elbow and steered him around to a side entrance marked out for press. If there had been a line of journalists waiting for entry at any point, it was now gone, leaving only a pair of doormen to keep an eye on newcomers.

There was no doubt in Izuku’s mind that they were about to be turned away—at best. At worst, they’d have security called on them, or police, or even heroes—

He watched as a friendly, loose, grinning Shinsou cracked a joke that made one of the doormen laugh. Their passes were inspected for a moment, and then they were waved through.

Izuku bit his tongue to keep the shock off his face. It couldn’t be that easy. It couldn’t possibly be that easy to get in.

“There are heroes in attendance, but no high-rankers,” Shinsou murmured to him as they made their way through the entrance hall. “It means they don’t have to pay for more security, and there’s no one interesting enough to attract villains.”

“You never said there’d be heroes here,” Izuku hissed. The ballroom was right there. They were almost inside.

“Take it easy,” Shinsou told him. “None of them are heavy hitters. Event’s not big enough for that. SPF fundraisers are for people who only care about looking good. See?” He surreptitiously pointed, and Izuku glanced in the direction he was indicated.

His mouth almost dropped open. That was Uwabami. The Snake Heroine was less then ten meters away.

“I’m going to die,” he whispered.

Shinsou huffed out a laugh. “And here I thought your conscience would be the biggest risk, not your inner fanboy.”

“I’ll be okay,” Izuku said. “As long as she doesn’t… talk to me or anything.”

Shinsou actually snorted. “What, little old you? Her ladyship would never stoop to talk to a couple of lowly no-name journalists. And the only interns she cares about are the kind she can send for coffee or use as backup dancers in her hair commercials.”

“Oh.” Izuku stopped, blinked, and squinted at him. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“What?” Shinsou shrugged. “You think you’re the only one who knows about heroes?” Before Izuku could press him further, he began steering them both through the crowd. “C’mon, the refreshment table is over here. Hungry?”

The food looked more decorative than edible, but Izuku followed Shinsou’s lead in taking a few hors d’oeuvres, leaving the pre-filled champagne glasses where they were. The last thing he wanted was to risk getting drunk. When he had finished selecting finger foods, he turned around to see Shinsou making friendly small-talk with a middle-aged man in a suit that was probably worth more than Izuku’s yearly earnings. Moments later the man moved on, and Shinsou stepped back into Izuku’s space. With a quick, deft motion that only Izuku could see, he slipped a small roll of cash into his camera bag. In spite of the guilty twist in his stomach, Izuku couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Do you have some kind of charisma boosting quirk?” he asked.

Shinsou went still for a moment, then shrugged. “If I have to use my quirk as a meal ticket, then I might as well starve,” he said. “Speaking of, how’re the snacks?”

“I’m not even sure what this is,” Izuku admitted. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not something you can really consider a ‘snack.’”

“Fair enough. …Done eating? Here, take these and come with me.” Shinsou shoved a small notebook and pen into his hands and led him to the nearest wall. Izuku couldn’t help but sigh with relief; the crowd was starting to feel a little too close. “Pretend to take down notes, but keep an eye on the crowd, and keep an eye on me. Just spot me, got it? If you see people start to get suspicious, tuck the pen behind your ear. That’s the signal. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said nervously.

“Just, be cool until I get back.” With that, Shinsou made his way back into the crowd. Izuku settled in to watch.

It was, simply put, quite a show.

Shinsou moved with easy confidence, weaving through bodies and hobnobbing along with all the rest of them. Even knowing what he was really doing, Izuku had a hard time following his movements. A few times he spotted Shinsou slipping things into the camera bag, but had completely missed what was taken and who from. It was absolutely illegal, and probably unethical on top of it, but ethics didn’t make it any less fascinating to watch.

Dutifully, Izuku kept an eye on the people around him, searching faces for any flash of suspicion or alarm. But he couldn’t help but look to Shinsou every now and then, and marvel at the technique that went into it.

Izuku couldn’t help it. He started to take notes.

Time passed. Izuku kept an eye on the attendees and watched Shinsou work. He took more notes, and as the minutes stretched, the churning dread in his gut settled. It still sat in the pit of his stomach, a heavy and inescapable weight, but he stopped feeling like he might throw up at any moment. Now that the general churning dread was gone, he had room for other, smaller worries. Should he have taken more refreshments? What was the signal if he had to use the restroom?

“Hello.”

Izuku jumped at the sound of the voice, slipping in and out of the realm of panic in the blink of an eye. Carefully he turned around, and his mind emptied itself of coherent thought when he realized who was addressing him.

Uwabami watched him with four pairs of eyes: one warm and amber, the other three small, black, and beady. The three snakes sprouting from her hair swayed gently, tongues flicking out as if tasting the air. “My,” she remarked, her voice warm and butter-smooth. “You look a little lost, don’t you?”

For a moment, Izuku struggled to pick his jaw up off the floor. “Uh.” He pressed his mouth shut, holding back the urge to babble nervously. “Please excuse me, Uwabami-san, it’s the first time I’ve ever been to one of these functions.”

“Yes, I can tell.” She reached out to flick her manicured nail lightly against his press pass. “An intern, hm? I do hope your supervisor isn’t working you too hard.” She pursed her lips into an attractive pout. “I try to go easy on interns. They’re so eager to please.”

Coffee and backup dancers, Izuku thought distantly. “You’re very kind,” he said. “They mostly have me fetching coffee back at the office."

"Oh, what a waste." Uwabami pursed her lips in a pout. "A face like yours was made for the cameras."

The compliment caught him off guard, and he had to press his jaw closed to keep from babbling like an idiot. "This... this is the first time they let me go to a real function," he said, once he was sure his tongue wouldn't trip over itself. “I never dreamed I’d be able to meet someone as glamorous as you, Uwabami-san.”

She laughed warmly, and surprised him by putting her hand lightly on his shoulder as if to steady herself in her merriment. “You are a charmer, aren’t you?” she said. “And a cute one, at that. It really is a shame.”

It took a moment for Izuku to register what she said. “A shame, Uwabami-san?”

“It’s a shame you’re not really a media intern,” Uwabami said, without losing her smile. The hand on his shoulder tightened imperceptibly. “You would do so well in journalism, you know? You have the smile for it. Those freckles don’t hurt, either.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Izuku said. He tried to inch his way back but Uwabami’s grip wouldn’t allow a hairsbreadth of extra distance between them. “I’m an intern—if you’ll let me get my supervisor, I’ll—”

“Yes, by all means, take me straight to them,” she said, with a cold glint in her eye. “I’d love to know just how many of you managed to sneak your way in here.”

“Uwabami-san, please, I don’t—”

She sighed, almost pityingly, as if she were talking to a very stupid child. “Do you know what a snake is doing when it flicks its tongue?” she asked. “It’s rather fascinating, actually—they smell with their tongues. For example, on you, they smell… soap, disinfectant, a little bit of bleach, and industrial-strength floor cleaner. Among other things you’d find in a janitor’s closet.” She leaned closer. “Do you know what they don’t smell?”

Izuku stared at her, speechless.

“Any trace of a news office.” She smiled at him through thick, curled golden lashes. “I’m a celebrity, sweetheart. I know what a press intern smells like, and you’re not a press intern.”

“You must be mistaken,” Izuku said, ice-cold with dread.

“Oh yes, silly me, I must be.” Uwabami’s smile sharpened. “But in all honesty, I must thank you—one of my managers has been badgering me to make more arrests, when I just started a new contract and battle damage is a nightmare for photo shoots. This should get her off my back for a while.”

Izuku was on the verge of panic when a familiar presence sidled in and settled an arm around his shoulders, ignoring Uwabami’s hand.

“Hello, Uwabami-san,” Shinsou said politely. His arm was tight around Izuku’s shoulders. Every part of him was tense.

The heroine’s eyes lit up. “You must be his… supervisor,” she said. Her voice was like warm honey, her eyes like chips of ice.

Something strange happened then. Uwabami went still—dead still, from the tips of her toes to the trio of snakes on her head. The viper-sharp smile slipped off her face, and her golden eyes took on a blank, thousand-yard stare.

“Take your hand off him,” Shinsou said. The heroine obeyed, letting her hand fall to her side. “Walk away, go back to the party, and forget you ever saw either of us.”

Izuku watched, shocked, as Uwabami turned and walked away, moving smoothly but slowly back into the crowds of mingling party-goers.

Before Izuku could think, Shinsou was already dragging him out to a side room. “Wait. Shinsou—”

“Shut up.”

Izuku stopped talking, but did so of his own accord. Once they were out of the immediate view of the attendees, Shinsou released him roughly and paced.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

“Shinsou—”

“I said shut up, Midoriya.”

Shinsou paced for a moment more, running a shaking hand through his hair. He stopped short, curling and twisting his fingers into it as if he wanted to tear it out. To Izuku’s alarm, he saw tears gathering in Shinsou’s eyes.

“Damn it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Midoriya, after all this—” He shut his eyes. “Damn it. I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Shinsou, I don’t—”

Shinsou tore open the camera bag, turned it over, and dumped the contents onto the carpet. Cash, coins, jewely, and expensive watches spilled out onto the carpet. With a few final shakes, Shinsou let the bag fall to his side, then grabbed Izuku by the arm and dragged him toward the side exit route.

“Shinsou, what’s going—”

“Midoriya, I’m not gonna tell you to shut up again.”

“When can I talk?” Izuku asked.

“Not here. Just—not here.”

Together they stumbled out of the building and into the alley alongside it. Shinsou didn’t slow down until they had reached the train station, and he didn’t stop moving at all until they were on the next train home.

Izuku sat next to him, heart pounding as he tried to process what had just happened. They had almost—he had almost gotten them caught. Shinsou had stepped in and saved them both. He’d used his quirk.

His back hit the plastic seat with a dull thud, and he found that he couldn’t breathe deeply without his chest shuddering. Curious, he lifted one hand to his face and found it trembling visibly.

All the while, Shinsou didn’t say another word.

“Can I talk now?” Izuku asked, in the heavy silence of the apartment.

Shinsou sat on the old secondhand couch where he normally slept, taking off the cheap suit jacket and tie, bundling them up, and tossing them to the side.

“Shinsou.”

He stopped. He raised his head, finally met Izuku’s eyes, and said nothing.

“What just happened?”

Away went the eye contact. Shinsou began gathering the pieces of his disguise and stuffing them in his bag at the foot of the sofa.

“Are you going to answer me?”

Shinsou zipped the bag up. “Are you sure you want me to?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t,” Izuku said sharply. “Is this about your quirk?”

Shinsou flinched. “What about my quirk?” he snapped.

Caught off guard by the sudden harshness in his voice, Izuku hesitated. “Well, first off, you never mentioned it before," he said cautiously. "It's... some kind of mind control, right? And you made a point of getting her attention first, so it's either triggered by speech or eye contact." Shinsou didn't answer. "But also, you used your quirk to bail me out,” Izuku went on. “So… thank you? I guess? I’m just—I’m confused, Shinsou, because what happened back there spooked you and I just want to understand—”

“You can’t understand,” Shinsou said flatly. “You of all people would never understand.”

It was Izuku's turn to flinch. “Then make me understand.”

Shinsou was on his feet in a flash. “How?” he demanded. “How can I possibly make you understand? You don’t even have a quirk!”

“Then explain it to me! Let me try, Shinsou—” Izuku stopped, frustrated. “Like why you dumped the money. I’m not upset about it, I’m just confused.”

“I have one rule.” Shinsou stepped closer until they were eye to eye. “If I have to use my quirk as a meal ticket, then I might as well starve.”

“I don’t—what does your quirk have to do with anything—?”

“What, you think you’re the only one who wanted something you couldn’t have?” Shinsou’s eyes flashed with anger. “You think you’re the only one the heroes wouldn’t take? What the hell do you think people say about somebody like me? You think it’s fun, watching people clam up so I can’t control them? Getting yelled at for talking, as if I’m gonna whip out my brainwash quirk just for fun?” He broke off, and Izuku saw his eyes glistening again. “So no. You won’t understand. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to have a quirk that everyone thinks is a good fit for a villain.”

Izuku’s throat seized. “Sh-Shinsou—”

“And I dropped the cash because I broke my one fucking rule saving your dumb ass, all right? I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to do this! I never wanted to do this, but I didn’t want to die either! So I lie, and I cheat, and I steal, and I do it my own goddamn self, because—” His voice broke, and he looked furious at himself for it. “Because as soon as I use my quirk to take something that isn’t mine, then I stop being some scumbag on the street, and I start being the villain they all knew I would be. I’d rather starve.”

And then the apartment was silent.

Izuku stared at him, blinking back the threat of tears. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he didn’t bother trying to speak. When a few moments of silence had passed, Shinsou finally turned away. Izuku let him go without a fight. Neither of them spoke again for the remainder of the night.

By the following morning, Shinsou was gone.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Izuku pulled himself together and went in to work.

His shift was the usual one today. He knew the route by heart and could perform each task in his sleep, and so he threw himself into the process with an almost desperate energy. He worked robotically, mopping every floor, disinfecting ever surface, scrubbing at spots he pretended to see, all in an effort to stay ahead of his own thoughts.

He even tried smiling it away. That was what All-Might used to do, and Izuku might not be a hero, but he was very stressed.

When he reached Room 419, it almost came as a surprise. He knocked, as he usually did, and this time the door opened—to reveal Nurse Raichi’s scowling face. Immediately, Izuku’s tongue locked in his mouth.

“What on earth do you want?” the nurse demanded, and embarrassment curdled Izuku’s already churning stomach.

“I… to clean?” he stammered out, suddenly off-balance and unsure.

He knew, logically, that he had a perfectly legitimate reason to be there. This was his job, his process, and his scheduled time to be performing it. But all he could feel in that moment was shame for disrupting Raichi while she, too, was doing her job.

“You aren’t supposed to be here yet,” she snapped. “Now—”

“Raichi-san, please,” a familiar voice broke in, and Ketsuda joined her at the door to offer Izuku a sheepish smile. “It’s quite all right, I’ve just run a bit long with my appointment. Come back in about twenty minutes and the room will be clear for you.”

“I—all right,” Izuku said, relieved.

“Thank you for your hard work,” Ketsuda said courteously, and the door closed. Out of range of Raichi's quirk, Izuku could breathe again.

At the end of his long shift, Izuku weighed the pros and cons of visiting Todoroki again. On the one hand, it might bring up his mood to spend some time in her calming presence. But on the other, his mood might bring hers down. He couldn’t be selfish about this, not with a stranger who was already in a vulnerable position.

The decision was made for him when he went up to the fourth floor just in time to see Ketsuda walking into Todoroki’s room again. His heart sank with disappointment; if Ketsuda was there, then Raichi probably wasn’t far. She took a lot of pride at having a prominent doctor’s confidence, and if Rei was her personal charge then she wouldn’t miss the chance to assist him now.

With a heavy heart, Izuku headed home.

 One of Izuku’s priceless little points of solace was the knowledge that, no matter how bad things got, he could always go home and find his mother waiting with open arms and a home-cooked meal.

The first thing he had done after Shinsou’s departure was replace his phone. He had enough money saved to pay for it, and not a fraction of what he needed for a new refrigerator, so he might as well solve one problem at a time. After his long day at work, he called his mother, and of course she was happy to have him over for a day. Izuku suspected she would have been happy to let him live with her again, but it wasn’t worth it when no one would hire him in Musutafu.

At home, it was too easy to slip into old habits. Mom was easy to talk to, not just because she was the only one he could talk to. Izuku always—always—relaxed around her, for better or for worse.

“I’ll buy you a mini-fridge,” she said after Izuku accidentally let slip about his problem.

“Mom, no—”

“Mom, yes,” she retorted. “You can pay me back if you want. But you need somewhere to store perishables. You can’t buy ready-made meals every day, it’s too expensive.”

He put up a fight, but his convictions crumbled against her relentless, gentle insistence. “I’m paying you back,” he insisted. “Show me the receipt so I know how much.”

“Of course, dear,” she said, smiling indulgently. So help him, he was going to garnish his own wages for her until every yen was back in her pocket. She would never admit it, but money was tight for her, too. Forty-three was awfully late to join the workforce, and her options suffered for it. Even the price of a mini-fridge was enough to make things difficult for her.

“Are you doing all right, all alone in Kiyashi?” Mom asked over two steaming cups of tea. “How’s work?”

“It’s… okay, I guess. Aside from the phone in the mop bucket.” Izuku winced. That had been so avoidable.

“You just look troubled,” Mom said. “I know you think you’re very good at hiding it, but you aren’t. Not to me.”

“I’ve just had a lot going on,” Izuku murmured.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I helped someone commit a crime, it went south and he took off, I should be relieved that he’s gone but I’m not. “I dunno, it’s hard to explain,” he said. “I guess it’s sort of… a moral crisis?”

She froze, her cup halfway to her mouth. “Izuku, are you in trouble for something?”

“No!” he said hastily. “No, I’m not, don’t worry. I’ve just been thinking about a lot.”

Like Shinsou and his quirk, choosing between crime and starving. Like Todoroki, locked away in a hospital while her hero husband enjoyed fame and fortune without her. Like charities that stole from the needy, and shops that treated innocent people like criminals.

“Hey, Mom? Do you ever…” Izuku hesitated, struggling to string his jumbled thoughts into a proper question. “Do you ever think that maybe things aren’t… fair?”

His mother blinked. “I think you’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Just… laws and stuff. I don’t know. Things people do that are okay even if they really… aren’t okay.” He shook his head, frustrated. “Sorry, that didn’t make any sense.”

Izuku fell silent, drinking his tea to cover up his frustration. Across from him, his mother sighed.

“Of course things aren’t fair,” she said softly. “I stopped believing things were fair when you were five years old.”

Izuku winced. “Yeah, I guess it was pretty unfair that I was born quirkless.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mom replied. “I don’t know whether your quirklessness was fair or not. I don’t know if fairness can be applied to things like that.” She put her cup down. “But I do know that the day they told us you were quirkless was the day everyone in your life stopped treating you fairly. Your doctor, telling you in such a callous way. Your teachers. Your classmates.” She hesitated, eyebrows knitted together tightly. “Even me.”

“What?” Izuku almost spilled his tea. “Mom, no, you’ve always been there for me. You’ve always been fair.”

“Have I?” she smiled, bitter and sad. “Izuku, do you remember what I said to you that night, after your diagnosis? You were so little, but I remember it clear as day—you were watching that video of All-Might again, the lights are off and you were crying your eyes out, and you asked me—you asked me if you could still be a hero. And I said…”

“You said you were sorry,” Izuku finished for her.

“And in three words, I was telling you the same cruel thing the doctor told you,” Mom went on. “I told you the same thing All-Might said, when you were fourteen years old and you felt like time was running out. I told you to give up. I told you that—that you’d never be good enough.” Tears trickled down her face, and she stopped to wipe them away.

“Mom…” Izuku reached across to her, hesitating before he took her hand. “You were just trying to be honest with me.”

“Is that what you wanted to hear, Izuku?” she asked. “Did you want to hear me be honest, brutally honest, when you were four years old?”

“I don’t—would that have been better, to lie to me?” he asked. His throat was almost too tight to speak through. It was so hard not to cry when Mom was crying.

“Oh, Izuku.” Mom clasped his hand gently in both of hers. “There are so many things I could have told you. I could have told you that I loved you, and I believed in you. I could have told you that I would support you every step of the way, no matter where you ended up. That wouldn’t have been a lie at all.” She paused to wipe her eyes, for what little good it did. "And instead of saying any of those things, I... I panicked, Izuku. I crumbled right then and there, when I should have been the one being strong for you. And I should have said this years ago, but I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm sorry I let myself give up, and I'm sorry I ever made you feel like giving up."

The dam broke. Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over, and the truth came cascading out with them. “I just—I don’t like where I am, Mom," he said plaintively. "I’ve been trying and trying and trying and it’s never good enough for anybody, and every time I try to do something about it, it just gets worse. I still—” He chokes on a laugh. “I still want to be a hero, and save people, but I just—I don’t know how. There’s only one way to do that and now… now it’s too late for me to do it. I want to save the world but nobody ever lets me try.”

Mom released his hand, walked around the table, and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Izuku, don’t you ever think that,” she said. “Don’t you ever think there’s only one way to save the world. You’ll find yours. I know you will.”

“I guess I could try vigilantism,” he choked out.

“Don’t tease your mother.” She held him until the tears subsided, and then sat with him as he calmed down enough to speak without hiccuping on every syllable.

“It’s just… there’s so much wrong with the world,” Izuku said at last, wiping his eyes. “And so much of it can’t be stopped, because there aren't any laws against it. Have you ever noticed that?”

“Of course I have,” she said. “And… well, I suppose it stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Lots of the worst things that ever happened were legal at the time,” she said. “And some of the bravest, kindest, most selfless things were against the law. Laws are made by people, and people aren’t always fair.” She shook her head. “Oh listen to me, you’d think I was telling you to turn to a life of crime.”

“That’d be weird advice,” Izuku said with a raspy laugh.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, you’ll find your calling one day,” she said. “I have a feeling it’ll be something unconventional, because conventional means have only got you so far, and… and I know you, Izuku. I know how determined you are. It’s one of those things I’m most proud of. You never give up and you never stop moving forward.” She pulled him into another hug. “Promise me that, Izuku. Promise me you’ll never stop trying.”

“I promise,” he said. “I won’t ever stop.”

Izuku hummed to himself as he trundled down the hallway with his cart. A couple of days had passed, and he had heard nothing from Shinsou. Just the day before, curiosity and a bit of free time had led him to the neighborhood where he first encountered him. He’d found no sign of him; either he wasn’t there, or Shinsou had seen him and kept well away.

And so, his life was resuming as it once had. His budget needed adjustment, and it was strange to have the apartment to himself again, but… that was the way of things. It was likely that he wouldn’t see Shinsou again. Izuku wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

He knocked on Todoroki’s door again, and was surprised when it opened. “Oh, hi, I’m just here to… clean the room…” His voice trailed off.

The young woman looking back at him was almost the spitting image of Todoroki. Aside from her age, the only things she didn’t share with her mother were a pair of glasses and a few wisps of red in her white hair.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman, who couldn’t possibly be anyone but Todoroki’s daughter, bowed in embarrassment. “Mom, I lost track of time—the janitor’s already here to clean your room.”

“Oh, let him in,” Todoroki called back. “Hello, Midoriya-san, it’s good to see you.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Izuku said sheepishly. He tried not to stare.

She was smiling, which was an improvement from the usual, but the same could not be said for the rest of her. She looked as if she hadn’t slept well: a bit paler, her cheeks more sunken, the circles darker under her eyes. Was she getting worse?

“That’s okay!” Todoroki’s daughter assured him. “Really, I mean it when I said I lost track of time.” She stepped back into the room and made her way over to give her mother a hug. “I should get going, I have homework to grade. You keep in touch, okay, Mom? Let me know if you need anything.”

“It was lovely to see you again, dear. Don’t work too hard, now.”

“I’ll try, but no promises.” With a bright smile, the younger Todoroki kissed her mother on the cheek. “Bye, Mom. I’ll see you again in a few weeks, okay?” Izuku stood to the side as she left, and she nodded politely before continuing on down the hall toward the elevators.

“My daughter, Fuyumi,” Todoroki said once she was gone. “She’s a school teacher. Grade four. The children run her ragged, and she loves them for it.”

“She seems kind,” Izuku remarked. “She looks just like you.”

Todoroki gave him one of her rare smiles. “She’s done so well, all on her own. I’m proud of her.”

“That’s good.” Izuku paused, and she made no move to get up. “Shall I come back later, then?”

She blinked at him, frowning in confusion. “Why should you?”

“To clean,” he clarified. “I can do a few more rooms first?”

“I won’t… I won’t be in your way,” Todoroki said. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

Izuku hesitated. “What? I mean, I’d rather come back when you’re feeling well enough to leave. I’m not allowed to clean while patients are in their rooms.”

The frown deepened. Todoroki squinted at him, as if she struggled to make out his face from across the room. “I’m…” Her voice was faint. “I’m terribly sorry, but could you repeat that?”

A leaden pit formed in Izuku’s chest, and he stepped closer uncertainly. “Todoroki-san… are you feeling all right? Should I get one of the nurses?”

All at once, her glassy eyes turned sharp. Todoroki all but leapt to her feet. “No,” she said. “No, no… I don’t need my nurse. Please, you mustn’t…” Her voice trailed off again, and she swayed on her feet. Some sixth sense drove Izuku forward, and he caught her as she fell into a dead faint.

“Todoroki-san? Todoroki-san!” Izuku managed to lower her down to the bed rather than the hard floor. She didn’t respond, and when he checked her pulse, he found it fluttery and weak. Casting about, he spotted the call-nurse button and pressed it frantically.

At any other time, he would have been mortified to see Nurse Raichi hurrying in, but at this particular moment he didn’t have room to care.

“What on earth are you doing in here—”

“Raichi-san, please, she just collapsed,” Izuku cut her off. “Something’s wrong with her.”

“I can see that!” the nurse snapped, pushing him aside. “Get out, I’ll handle this.”

“Should I call in more nurses? Or a doctor—”

“I said get out! Go back to work, you fool!”

Izuku hurried out of the room and headed straight for the nearest nurse. “Um, excuse me, but the woman in Room 419 just collapsed.”

“Oh my goodness—thank you!” In an instant the nurse was heading straight for the room, calling out codes and instructions to the other nurses within earshot. In seconds, there were four heading for the room, and a few others were hurrying in the opposite direction, presumably to spread the alert. Izuku went back to move his cart out of the hallway; the last thing he wanted was to block traffic.

He turned a corner and nearly ran his cart straight into Todoroki Fuyumi. She was wild-eyed with alarm, but stopped when she saw him.

"It was—Midoriya, right?” she asked, breathless. “I was waiting for the elevator, and some of the nurses went past, they said something about Room 419—did something happen to my mother?”

“I—I’m not sure,” Izuku answered. “She collapsed after you left, so I called in some nurses… I don’t know what happened.”

Her face crumpled. “I knew it, I knew I should’ve said something. She was—she got confused, while I was visiting her, she looked off—” She cut herself off before she could babble.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said weakly. “Is… does this happen often?”

“No!” she burst out. “She’s not supposed to be sick—not sick like this, she’s just…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry. I have to go, I have to find out what’s happening—” She rushed past him back to the room, leaving him alone and shaken in the midst of controlled chaos.

It was hardly the first time he had ever felt helpless.

The better part of a week passed before the intermittent stream of doctors and nurses in and out of Todoroki’s room finally dwindled, and the opportunity for a visit opened to him again. For five days, Izuku was left sick with unease, with no one to talk to about his worries.

Well, almost no one. He managed to find the nurse he had alerted—the second nurse, not Raichi—and coax a few answers from her. Rather than being suspicious or offended, the woman seemed touched by his concern. Still, the only information she offered was that Todoroki had experienced a dangerous drop in blood pressure, that she was all right now, and no more than that.

Even when the day came that Izuku felt safe enough to venture to her room again, he hesitated. He wasn’t family. He wasn’t sure that Todoroki even considered him a friend. Would he be welcome after a scare like that? She’d want to see her family again, not some nosy janitor she barely knew.

But… he was worried. Scared for her, even. The fact that even her daughter was confused about her condition only worsened his feelings.

By noon when his lunch break rolled around, he resolved to at least look in on her. If she wasn’t in the mood for visitors, then he would leave her be, but it never hurt to ask. Yes, it was as simple as that—he’d just ask, instead of dithering in uncertainty.

He made his way down the fourth floor hallway, shoving down his nervousness as he passed nurses and employees that had far more business being there than he did. Shinsou’s voice came to him unbidden—If you look like you know what you’re there for, they’ll leave you alone. He forced himself to relax, and walked as if he were merely making his way back to his cart.

Luck was with him; the hallway was empty when he reached Room 419. Izuku leapt on the opening to slip inside unnoticed.

His eyes landed on Todoroki, sitting at her bed, just in time to see her flinch as if he’d thrown something at her. The temperature in the room dropped.

“Please.” She leaned away from the door, hiding her face. “Please, I can’t—I can’t do this anymore, please—”

“Todoroki-san?”

She started, head whipping up to look at him. Her eyes widened in shock.

“O-oh. It’s you, Midoriya-san—I’m sorry. I thought you were… I thought…” She sat staring at him, mouth open in speechless horror. There were already tears in her eyes.

Izuku was very glad that he’d closed the door as soon as he was inside. He took a tentative step toward her, not wanting to scare her even worse. “Todoroki-san, what’s wrong?”

“I...” She sat up straighter at his cautious approach. If she was trying to stop trembling, it wasn’t working. “I’m sorry. You startled me, I thought you were... n-nothing. It was nothing.”

“You thought I was someone else,” he said, and then, “You thought someone was coming in to hurt you.”

She continued to stare at him, wide eyed and blinking rapidly with shining wet eyes.

“Todoroki-san?” Izuku took another cautious step forward. “Is… is someone hurting you?”

Before his eyes, the frail woman folded. She bent double to make herself small, still trembling, covering her face as if it could hold back her quiet, broken sobs.

Izuku was at her side before he realized he was moving. “Todoroki-san—please,” he whispered. “I want to help. Can you tell me what’s happening?”

In the midst of her tears, she shook her head.

“Your daughter said—she said you’re not supposed to be sick. Not sick like this. Is something—” He cut himself off. “Todoroki-san, is someone making you sick?”

She flinched again, then took a deep, shuddering breath.

Izuku waited. He thought back—weeks back—to when he’d walked into Todoroki’s empty room and found a doctor poking around, offering half-answers and leaving a note that Izuku hadn’t read. “Is it Ketsuda-sensei?” he asked softly.

Todoroki went still. For a few moments she simply breathed until her fitful sobbing finally calmed, but still she kept silent.

Frustration built up within him, and he swallowed against it. "Okay," he said, his voice breaking. "So, I don't know if I can help. But I won't know for sure unless I try. Please, Todoroki-san. Please just let me try."

Slowly, her hands slid down from her face. Tears still coursed down her face, but her sobs had quieted. She looked at him, meeting his eyes just for a moment, before returning her gaze to the floor.

“He came six months ago,” she said, and hesitated again.

"Ketsuda-sensei?" he asked cautiously.

She nodded. “I-I’m… I’m a psychiatric patient, but I’m still assigned a, a primary care physician. Six months ago, he… he replaced my last one.”

Izuku folded his hands in his lap and let her continue.

“It was all right at first. He was… kind. I thought he was kind. But then, one day, he injected me with something.” Rei’s hand crept up to her shoulder, as if feeling the spot. “He told me it was just a vaccine, a—a booster shot. But then he did it again, a week later, with the same excuse. I asked Fuyumi about it, and she said that I was already up to date on my immunizations. That was when I started to get suspicious."

She took a deep, shaky breath. "He kept coming back, giving me injections or just monitoring me. Checking my vitals. Taking notes. He’d, he’d ask me things, and if I tried to question him on anything, he’d get angry.” She paused, wiping her eyes. “I think it was… two months, after it started? The nurse—Nurse Raichi. She started helping him. Suddenly she was the only nurse who would ever respond to my calls. If I tried to protest, or ask her things, she'd... she'd just look at me, and it was like I'd forgotten what to say, or how to speak." She sniffled and shook her head. "That was when Ketsuda-sensei stopped bothering with lies. He went from injections to pills. I started getting sick. And the whole time, he'd just... document it.”

Sickening horror settled in, toxic and cloying. “He’s testing drugs on you.”

She nodded.

“Todoroki-san, why—why haven’t you told anyone before?” he asked. “I mean—have you told anyone?”

A sharp cough ripped itself from the woman’s throat, either a dry sob or a bark of bitter laughter. “Tell who?” she asked harshly, as tears rolled down her face again. “Who would listen? Who would believe some—some crazy woman in the hospital over the doctor caring for her? And Raichi—I can’t escape her. When I leave my room, she’s always watching. If she sees me talking to the other nurses, she uses her quirk on me, and makes threats.”

“What about your family?” Izuku pressed. “Your son and daughter? What about—” He hesitated. “What about your husband?”

She froze. Literally—Izuku could see ice forming on her hands and arms. When he exhaled, he could see his breath in the air between them.

Slowly, Todoroki raised her head. Her eyes were painfully weary—too weary even for tears, perhaps.

“You know who he is,” she said. “Don’t you, Midoriya-san?”

Izuku opened his mouth, then closed it. Suddenly he felt very young. “I mean… Todoroki isn’t an uncommon name…” It was no use. He couldn’t deflect or deny it, not with her eyes steadily boring into him that way. “But… yes. I do know. He’s Endeavor, isn’t he?”

“He is,” she whispered.

“But—then, wouldn’t he help?” Izuku asked. “He’s a hero. He’s the number one hero. If he knew someone was hurting you, then… then he’d do something, wouldn’t he?” Ketsuda-sensei had to be stupid or suicidal to pull something like this with the wife of the number one hero—

“No,” she whispered. “He won’t.”

Izuku stared at her, speechless.

“He won’t—he won’t help.” Her shoulders shuddered, but no more tears came. “Midoriya-san—he won’t help.”

It was nearly impossible not to cry in her place, but Izuku forced down the threat of tears. “Can you tell me why?”

An eerie serenity had settled over her, even with the tears still drying on her face. “He already has what he wanted," she said. "He doesn’t need me anymore. He put me here to disappear.”

That didn't make any sense. “What—what did he want from you?”

“Shouto," she said, almost matter-of-factly. "He just wanted Shouto. Once he had Shouto, he didn't need me. He didn't need any of us."

Todoroki Shouto, otherwise known as—“Comet Tail?” Izuku murmured. “I don’t understand.”

“A child with both our quirks. That’s why he wanted me, for my quirk, I—”

“Todoroki-san—”

"I hurt him," she said, speaking as if she were physically unable to stop. "I was so afraid, and—I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t get away, and I could feel—I knew he wasn’t safe.”

“Who wasn’t safe—?”

“Shouto,” she replied. Her breath quickened as she spoke. “His left side. His fire side. Fire, like his father. I was so afraid of Enji, and some days—some days I looked at it and I couldn’t tell the difference. And I knew Shouto wasn’t safe with me. I knew there was something wrong with me, I knew I might slip, and hurt him—and then—I did.” Her hand slid up to cover her face—the left side of her face.

Izuku felt his veins flood with ice water. “You mean—Comet Tail’s scar.” No one knew where Comet Tail’s scar came from; he’d had it since he was a kid. Everyone thought it was just a childhood quirk accident. “You did that?”

“I was in the kitchen,” she whispered. “I heard him behind me, and when I turned, I saw his face—the left side of his face. Only I didn’t see him at all. All I could see was Enji.” Her voice broke as she went on. “There was a kettle on the stove… He was six years old. He was only six years old.”

Izuku said nothing. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

After a moment, she steadied herself again. “Enji put me here and never looked back,” she said. “I can’t contact him. Even if I could, he wouldn’t listen. He put me here to disappear. My children can’t ask him for help—he doesn’t speak to them. They weren’t born with the quirks he wanted, so he has no use for them either.” She hesitated. “Shouto… he would. I think. He... forgave me for it. I don’t know why. He sends letters, sometimes. But I can’t ask him for help. I can’t ask for anything from him. Not after what I did.” She took one last shaky breath and wiped her reddened eyes. “I’m sorry, Midoriya-san, I shouldn’t have burdened you with that.”

He stared at the pattern on the floor.

“You should go,” she said. “If—if Ketsuda-sensei or Raichi-san find you in here… you’ll get in trouble.”

Izuku stiffened. “But—”

“Just go,” she told him. “I’ll be all right. Whatever happens.”

“You won’t, though,” Izuku murmured. “You won’t be all right.”

“I punished my son for what his father did to me,” she said. “I threw boiling water on his face when he was six years old. So maybe this is what I deserve." Her weary eyes turned away from him. "You have so much kindness in you, Midoriya-san. Don’t waste it on someone like me.”

Pain in his hands made Izuku look down, and he found them clenched into tight fists in his lap. He looked back at Todoroki Rei, small and tired and alone, bent low beneath the weight of her pain and guilt.

“Todo—” he began, and tried again. “Rei-san.”

Her eyes flickered to him, but only briefly.

“I don’t know what you deserve,” he said. “That’s up to whoever you hurt. So, I don’t know your son, but if you hurt him and he forgave you, then I’ll trust his judgment. I’m not part of your family, I’m a stranger. It’s not for me to know for sure, what you deserve.”

He set his shoulders. “But what I do know is that this isn’t about what you deserve. It’s about right and wrong. And this—what’s happening to you? This is wrong.”

She flinched.

“If things keep going like this, then he’ll kill you,” he said. “And then what? A man like that—he’d just move on to the next person he can take advantage of. He didn’t do this to you because you deserved it. He did it because he had power over you, and he could get away with it. Maybe the other people he hurts won’t have the same guilt you’re carrying. Someone needs to do something about it.”

When she finally looked at him, he met her eyes fiercely.

“And if no one else can, then that someone’s going to be me.”

Dressed in the nicest casual clothes he had, Izuku got off at the train stop at the nearest department store and made his way down the sidewalk. A stocking cap pulled low over his forehead hid his hair, sunglasses hid at least part of his face, and he kept his collar popped to obscure the rest. He felt, in all honesty, a little ridiculous, but if there was a better way to do this, he didn’t know what it was.

His jacket pockets were unzipped as far as they would go. Anyone walking by could see his wallet and phone just by looking, and if someone reached in, they could probably take either of them out without even touching the pocket itself. Izuku made no move to remedy this, and continued on his way to the store.

He had nearly broken through a crowd of other pedestrians when his patience paid off, and he felt a hand slide into his wide-open pocket. If he hadn’t been waiting for it, he might not have noticed at all.

But he did notice, quick enough to reach back and grab the thieving hand by the wrist. A familiar muttered curse confirmed who it was.

Izuku let out a sigh of relief. “Hi, Shinsou.” The would-be pickpocket froze. With his free hand, Izuku pulled off his sunglasses. “I need to talk to you.”

“Let go,” Shinsou hissed. “What’s with the glasses and the popped collar? You look like a douche.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Izuku pulled him to the side, out of the way of the foot traffic, and finally released his wrist. “But I seriously need to talk to you.”

Shinsou moved to brush past him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I need your help—”

“That’s nice.”

“—conning someone.”

Shinsou froze mid-step. Izuku waited, holding his breath, until Shinsou finally whipped around to glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Remember how you said there was no one at the SPF charity who couldn’t afford to lose their wallet?” Izuku said. “Well, I found somebody who deserves to lose his wallet. He deserves to lose everything.”

“Is this—” Shinsou stared at him, incredulous. “Is this some kind of revenge plot you’re trying to drag me into? Because I'm not about that.”

“No,” Izuku said. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and was relieved when Shinsou didn’t walk away. Pausing, Izuku took in Shinsou’s appearance, and sighed. “You look hungry again. Can I explain things over food?”

Shinsou hesitated. “I’m not some… some con for hire,” he said.

“What if you could help someone?”

He almost missed it, but it was there—just for a split second, he saw Shinsou’s eyes light up. “What…?”

“What if, instead of stealing and lying and tricking people just to feed yourself,” Izuku said. “What if you did it to help someone? What if you could screw someone over to stop them from hurting people?”

Shinsou’s jaw clenched. “You—just because I told you about some stupid old dream I had, doesn’t mean you can…”

“Let me buy you lunch,” Izuku said. “Hear me out, and if the answer’s no, then it’s no. But just… hear me out. Please?”

The other man stayed still for a moment longer, then signed in resignation. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Lead the way, I guess.”

At a ramen shop two blocks down, Izuku told the story in as neutral terms as he could. He made no mention of Todoroki Rei’s identity, or the reason she was in a mental hospital in the first place. The problem, at its heart, was simple: a vulnerable person taken advantage of by people abusing their power over her. Once he finished his story, he stirred the noodles in his bowl, caught his breath, and waited for Shinsou to finish mulling it over.

For his part, Shinsou had started eating as soon as his food was in front of him and still hadn’t stopped. He had listened without interruptions, beyond the occasional noisy slurp. By the time Izuku was done talking, he was nearly done eating. Izuku didn’t blame him for being hungry; he hadn’t even raided the pantry before he left the apartment.

Shinsou put his chopsticks down, muttered a quick thanks that Izuku nearly missed, and sat back in his chair.

“Well,” he said. “That’s… fucked.”

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed.

“What a tool.”

"That's one word for him."

Shinsou hesitated, staring off into the middle distance. “I take it you want to do something a little bigger than stealing his wallet.”

“I want to ruin his life,” Izuku said. “I know it’s a lot to ask. And honestly, I don’t even know if you can really help. But you’re the only person I know that I can ask about something like this.”

“And if all else fails, you can always get me to brainwash him into walking into traffic,” Shinsou said dryly.

“What—no!” Izuku struggled to keep his voice down. “I wasn’t even thinking of your quirk—”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“I wanted to ask you for advice,” Izuku hissed. “I wanted to ask you if you knew a way I could, I don’t know, trick these people into exposing themselves. I’ve gotten this far in my life without a quirk, I don’t need to use other people for theirs.”

“Oh, yeah,” Shinsou snorted. “Janitor. That’s pretty far, good job, Midoriya.”

“Just because people won’t acknowledge you doesn’t mean you haven’t accomplished anything,” Izuku retorted. “And I think you know that, Shinsou.”

To his surprise, Shinsou cringed.

“Is this your way of telling me no?” Izuku asked. “If it is, please tell me so I can pay the bill and get started on thinking of something else.”

Shinsou stared at him for moment more. There was something odd in his eyes, as if he couldn’t figure Izuku out.

“You’re… really determined to do this,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Izuku replied.

“Why? If you do it the way you’re asking for, then nobody can ever know.” He nudged his bowl away. “Hell, even if you could do it legit somehow… if nobody listens to this woman as is, then nobody’s gonna know you helped her either way.”

“What, you think I want to do this for a medal?" Izuku snapped, frustrated. "She’s in trouble and I want to help her. I’d like your help, if you want to give it, but I’m doing this whether or not you’re in.”

The searching stare returned. “You really mean that, don’t you.”

“I mean it.”

Shinsou spent only one more second gaping at him, then put his chopsticks down and heaved a sigh. “Damn it. Well now I have to see where this goes.”

Izuku sat up straighter in his seat. “You mean—?”

“Have you thought about how you want to do this?” Shinsou asked. “Or are you flying blind? Because, I gotta admit, this is a little outside of my wheelhouse.”

Izuku took a moment to wrestle down his eagerness. “Shinsou, thank you—”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Shinsou said flatly. “Just answer the question.”

“I wish there was a way to just… engineer a confession,” Izuku said. “Record them talking about what they’re doing, something like that. Then I could just drop the recording on the hospital director’s desk.” He thought for a moment. “There’s already some investigating going on, after she collapsed.”

Shinsou perked up in his seat. “Seriously? You mean someone thought it was weird that a patient in a hospital got sick?”

“It’s weird that a psychiatric patient with no prior medical conditions passed out from a dangerous drop in blood pressure, yeah,” Izuku said. “But since Ketsuda’s her personal doctor, he can manipulate the data to keep the suspicion off of himself.”

“Bastard.” Shinsou thought for a moment. “There’re two people behind this, right? Doctor and nurse?”

“Yes.”

“It takes trust, breaking the law with a partner,” Shinsou said. “Trust is hard to build, easy to break. If the pressure’s already on them, then it’s even easier.”

Izuku nodded thoughtfully. “So then…”

“Yeah?”

“What would happen if they both thought the other was going to turn them in?”

Shinsou’s eyes lit up again, and this time they stayed bright. “Okay, I’ve got an idea, but I need you to bring me something from a couple people’s offices.”

Izuku smiled back. “I’m a janitor,” he said. “I can get in any office you want.”

“Excuse me, Okamoto-san?”

“Did you need something, Midoriya?”

“When do you work on Wednesday?”

“Ten-thirty to four, why?”

“Can I switch shifts with you? I have a dentist’s appointment, and it was the only time they could fit me in.”

“Can do. Hey, pro-tip? Be careful cleaning Ketsuda’s office. He gets a little snappy if he thinks you moved something.”

“Ah, don’t worry! I’ll be very careful.”

“Hey, Tanigawa, you look a little hungry.”

“I’m starving. I haven’t eaten in six hours.”

“You want to take off early? I can finish up for you.”

“You sure? I haven’t even gotten started on the director’s office…”

“It’s all right! I insist.”

“Thanks, Midoriya. You’re all right.”

A few things disappeared from various offices. No one ever noticed them, because they weren’t the sorts of things people minded being stolen.

A crumpled, week-old memo from the director’s office, and a sheet of scribbled-on scratch paper from Ketsuda-sensei’s, both of them fished out of the trash. A blank memo form. A blank medical report.

It was awfully easy to steal from trash cans, when it was one’s own job to empty them in the first place.

"Okay," Shinsou said. "Here we go." Papers were spread out across the kitchen table: the old memo in the director's handwriting, the scratch-paper notes in Ketsuda's, and the two blank forms that Izuku had slipped from their respective offices.

"Are the samples good enough?" Izuku asked anxiously. "I couldn't exactly root around for an example of every character."

"They'll do," Shinsou assured him, already studying them closely. "Besides, the point of this is to spook them enough that they don't think straight, and neither of these people strike me as pro handwriting analysts."

"Is there anything I can do?" Izuku asked.

"Nah, it'll be fine." Shinsou paused. "Actually... the report. I could probably use your help with the wording. Just to make it plausible, you know? I don't know how many medical reports you've read, but you're the guy who works in the setting, so..."

"I've seen a few," Izuku said. "It gets boring sometimes. Reading material is reading material."

Shinsou smirked. "Cool. In that case, I'll sketch out what it should say, and you help me make it sound like an actual doctor wrote it."

"I can do that."

"Good, because this is the easy part," Shinsou told him. "Hard part's planting these things, and that's kinda gonna be on you."

Izuku stiffened. He wasn't surprised, of course, but the reminder still struck a nerve. "I'm no pickpocket. I've never tried... you know, sleight of hand stuff."

"You're not a pickpocket, but you've already got the invisibility advantage," Shinsou said. "It's not about sleight of hand. It's about lying to somebody's face and getting away before you make an impression by accident."

Izuku took a deep breath.

Shinsou paused, pencil hovering over a piece of scratch paper. "If you're worried," he said, "I can be there. I can spot you like you were doing for me."

"You can?"

His—roommate? partner? acquaintance?—cracked a grin. "You've got more than one work uniform, don't you?"

 Izuku should have been nervous.

There was no reason not to be nervous. He’d already finagled his way into two offices he normally didn’t touch. That alone should have had him staving off a panic attack in the bathroom. And here he was about to—

This was for real. This was the part that couldn’t go wrong, or it would all be for nothing.

But as he made his way through the hallways, trundling his cart along as he always did, he found himself humming, and it was only slightly an act. His heart felt light—lighter than it had since he’d seen Todoroki Rei collapse. Since Shinsou left. Since the fundraiser. Since the fridge broke and his phone drowned in the mop bucket. Since…

Izuku could hardly remember the last time he’d done something and it felt right. Like a key sliding into the lock it was made for.

His first stop was at one of the nurse’s station, where he made several passes before he could catch her alone. “Oh, good morning, Raichi-san,” he said cheerfully.

She frowned at him, zero recognition in her eyes. "Can I help you?" she barked.

“Sorry to bother you, but you work closely with Ketsuda-sensei, don't you?" Izuku went on, careful not to look at her face. Her glare only worked if he saw it.

He needn't have worried; at the sound of Ketsuda's name, she straightened and preened a little. She almost looked pleased. "Why, yes. Ketsuda-sensei holds me in close confidence."

"Well, this form was left lying around in one of the rooms I cleaned, and it has his name on it," Izuku said. "It seems important, so could you make sure he gets it back? Thanks so much!” He left the folded sheet of paper in her hands and moved on again before she could take any note of him.

With a little luck, once she inevitably read what was on it, she wouldn’t care about him at all.

His path took him to another floor. Ketsuda’s schedule would put him at Room 532 in about two minutes, so he should be just arriving…

The doctor was a few minutes late; Izuku circled the hallway twice before he crossed paths with him, on his way to the patient’s room.

“Ketsuda-sensei, sorry to bother you,” he said. “You’re the doctor for the patient in 419, right?"

The doctor looked straight at him, eyes sharpening. "Yes, of course, and you're the janitor who last cleaned the room, correct?"

Izuku's stomach swooped. "Er. Yes. In fact, i was just cleaning her room, and found this in it." He held out another slip of paper, willing his hand not to tremble—with nervousness or anger. "I don’t know if it’s yours, but I didn’t want to throw it away. Seemed important.”

The doctor looked surprised as he took the slip. “A… memo from the director…? Thank you, I’ll see to this immediately.”

Izuku turned to go.

"It was... Midoriya, wasn't it?" Ketsuda called after him. "I think I've seen you before. Do you often clean Todoroki-san's room?"

Izuku froze. This was the last thing he wanted, to be recognized. It was an innocuous question by itself, but for Ketsuda to take notice of him could spell disaster."Er, yes?" he said. He turned around, heart pounding, just in time to look past the doctor and see Shinsou heading toward them, dressed in the drab uniform of the hospital's janitorial staff. Izuku caught his wink.

"Hey, Doc?" Shinsou said as he passed.

Ketsuda started at his sudden arrival. "What—?"

"Forget you saw us. Read the memo."

“Did you hear?” Okamoto asked excitedly. “Hey Midoriya, did you hear?”

“Hear about what?”

“Raichi got canned. And that one doctor—Ketsuda? He got arrested.”

Izuku let his jaw drop. “Are you serious? Is that what everyone’s buzzing about? What happened?”

“It’s awful.” Okamoto’s smile dropped. “No, seriously, it’s actually really awful and the bastard belongs in jail. He was testing drugs on psychiatric patients. Can’t get much lower than that.”

Izuku pulled a face. “That’s disgusting. But, wait, what about Raichi?”

“Oh she knew about it, and he was paying her off to cover for him. But she ended up turning over a bunch of evidence—apparently she was documenting everything just in case things went south. Which they did.”

“Incredible,” Izuku said faintly. “Well, I can’t say I’ll miss her.”

“Yeah, she was a pain. Still, I never imagined she’d stoop this low. Kind of a shame she got out of getting arrested, but she’ll probably never work in the medical field again.” Okamoto smirked. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll have to stoop to cleaning floors herself.”

“Were the patients okay?” Izuku asked. “There were more than one?”

“There were a few. Though, one of them had a medical emergency recently. Kicked off an investigation. I think that’s what made them both panic, because according to some very reliable sources, they basically broke down the directors door to squeal on each other at the same time.” Okamoto laughed bitterly. “So much for honor among thieves, I guess.”

Izuku hummed thoughtfully, and went back to sipping his watery breakroom tea.

Okamoto couldn’t know, of course, that the real cause for panic had been a half-finished report pinning the blame on the nurse, and a memo from the director’s office about an emergency meeting between Raichi and the hospital’s board of directors. Both of them in passable imitations of Ketsuda and the director’s handwriting, respectively.

She didn’t need to know.

He stopped by Todoroki Rei’s room before he left for the day, and looked in to find her reading a book. “You look better, Todoroki-san,” he said.

It was true; she had yet to reach a healthy weight, but there was a little color back in her cheeks, and it looked as if she had slept. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

“You did something,” she said. “I don’t know what, but you—you must have—”

“I’m a janitor,” he said. “I do lots of things. Including, occasionally, taking out the trash.”

Shock registered on her face for a split second, and she laughed. It was a quiet sound, as if she were used to muffling her voice and making herself small. But it was a genuine laugh, with a bright smile to go with it.

A switch seemed to flip, and the laughter turned to tears. It took a moment for her to regain control, and she sniffled and blinked her streaming eyes clear again.

“I don’t—I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “I can’t—you saved me, and I didn’t—I don’t…”

“Todoroki-san,” Izuku said softly. “I hope you’re not going to say that you don’t deserve it.”

Her smile turned weary and sad. “I thought you said you don’t know what I deserve.”

“I also said that it’s up to anyone you hurt,” Izuku replied. “From what you told me, your children forgive you. I trust their judgment.” He smiled back. “I hope you find healing, and in the meantime, I hope we can be friends.”

After a moment of consideration, her eyes softened. “I do like your visits. You talk about so many interesting things.”

“Well, I’m always learning, so there’s a lot more where they came from,” Izuku said brightly. “I look forward to sharing them with you, Todoroki-san.”

“You called me Rei-san earlier,” she said. “I… wouldn’t mind if you continued. It’s a little informal, but I’d rather…” She pursed her lips. “I like to be myself, instead of my husband’s wife.”

“Fair enough, Rei-san,” Izuku said. “I have to go now. But I’ll be back later. Get better soon.”

There were plans forming in his head as he left. Though, perhaps they couldn’t quite be called plans yet. They were more like ideas. Notions. Concepts. Nothing that could be acted on now, but someday, maybe…

It was something worth thinking about.

Saitaka's Kiyashi Ward location was no stranger to belligerent customers. Rich shoppers were often entitled shoppers, used to getting their way and not kind to those who refused them.

Because of this, the young woman doing a shift at the customer service desk was hardly surprised that a customer got feisty when she refused to do a return on an opened spa kit without a receipt.

“I can’t believe this,” the well-dressed young man spluttered. “You call this customer service? Where’s your manager?”

The woman smiled, took a deep breath of self-satisfaction, and replied, “Sir, I am the manager on duty. And I say that we don’t process returns without a receipt.”

“What about a credit care statement?” the customer demanded.

“Receipts only, sir. Now, would you like me to have security escort you out, or is there something else I can help you with?”

The young man glared at her over his sunglasses and stormed out under his own power, taking the spa kit with him. With a sigh, the woman sat back and replayed the moment to herself again and again. Shame she had to be so firm with him—he was awfully cute.

Outside, Izuku’s disgruntled scowl melted away to a frown, and he wove through the crowd of shoppers with the spa kit tucked under his arm.

“You are one petty bitch.”

Izuku looked over to find Shinsou keeping pace with him. “Have you been following me?”

“Maybe, maybe not. That was pretty slick back there. How’d it feel?”

“Weird,” Izuku admitted. “I don’t think I’ll do it again. I almost didn’t do it just now, but…”

“But?”

“But the woman at the customer service desk was the same one who sicced loss prevention on me last time.”

“Petty bitch,” Shinsou repeated.

“Did you want something from me?” Izuku asked.

“Is…” Shinsou hesitated, pausing in the midst of the crowd. “Is this gonna be a regular thing with you? Screwing over assholes?”

Izuku halted alongside him. He thought about it, probably more deeply than Shinsou wanted him to. He thought about Todoroki Rei and the people who had hurt her. He thought about the Standing Pillars Foundation, taking money away from people who needed it. He thought about all the cruelties in the world, slipping through the gaps in the law.

“I’d like it to be,” he said at last. “But… I’d need help. There’s a lot that I don’t know, and I want to learn.”

“You need a partner,” Shinsou said.

Izuku raised an eyebrow at him. “You told me breaking the law with a partner takes trust.”

“You’re one of the few people who’ve ever kept talking to me after finding out what my quirk was,” Shinsou said bluntly. “I’m starting to think maybe you actually don’t give a shit. So if you can trust me not to brainwash you as soon as look at you, I guess I can meet you halfway.”

“How'd it feel?" Izuku asked.

Shinsou stared.

"Using your quirk like that, to take down someone who deserved it?" Izuku went on. Shinsou averted his eyes. “I’m not saying I want to make you. I’m just curious. You don’t like using your quirk to break the law. What are your thoughts on unlicensed altruistic quirk use?”

Shinsou’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He ran his hand through his messy purple hair. Izuku could tell just by his body language that he was thinking pretty hard about it, too.

“I think—maybe. Yeah.” Shinsou drew his shoulders up. “I think I could hack it. So, what, you want us to be… vigilantes? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Well it looks like we can’t be heroes the normal way,” Izuku said with a shrug. “And there are plenty of cracks the heroes can’t fill. Can’t fix every problem by punching villains’ teeth in.”

“You’re right there.” Shinsou took a deep breath. “Shit. I’m actually doing this. We’re actually doing this.” He laughed, either nervous or excited or both. “I’m gonna teach you to pick pockets.”

“Can you teach me to imitate handwriting too? Because that was cool.”

“I’ll show you what I know,” Shinsou said. “And from there… we’ll see.”

“We’ll see,” Izuku agreed.

The future stretched before him, bright and tangled and unknown. For the first time, it looked like a future worth living.