Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The man sat, one leg propped up on the other, arm leaning casually on the countertop, chin resting on a fisted hand. The lights weren’t on and shadows enveloped most of the man’s figure, the only light being from a high-set window leaking the last remnants of evening light. Izuku gulped, but set his jaw, determined. He had a reason - a purpose for being here. It would be counterproductive to run tail and escape. 

“Why are you here?” The man asked - he still hadn’t proffered a name. The slight power imbalance unnerved Izuku, though he figured that was probably the point. 

“To join you.” The man made an irked ch sound, reaching his hand up furtively to his neck before forcing it back down.  

“ No , boy. Why are you here?” Izuku had to think about that. There were so many reasons, and he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with telling the man everything. He finally decided to give his general reason. Not too personal, but effective. 

“This world, this society , is cruel and corrupt. I want to change it.”  The man nodded, satisfied. The purple mist hovered in the background, unspeaking. Calculating. Izuku hadn’t dared ask about it, though it unsettled him slightly. Was it even human? 

With great effort he returned his attention back to the man when he spoke again.

“But what can you offer us?” Ah, this question he could answer. Izuku smiled, though it was more bittersweet — more cold — than happy. 

“I have a plan.”

☆*:.｡. oCHAPTER ONEo .｡.:*☆

Izuku sat at his desk, chair lent backwards and legs propped up on his desk. He idly tapped a pen against the leg of the chair, glancing around him at the other students, lazily looking for stimulus for his achingly bored train of thought. The other kids sat around him at their own idiosyncratic desks, diligent and paying their entire attention on the teacher. Izuku had no idea what they were talking on about, having long since tuned out their extensive droning. 

He fished into his uniform pocket for his phone, lackadaisically swirling it on and scrolling through the news app, not even caring if the teacher saw him using his phone during school hours. He didn’t see the need to feign interest to a maths teacher — they were probably used to their student’s minds wondering or napping in their class anyway. 

“Okay, class dismissed, don’t forget to do that homework sheet I gave you at the beginning of the lesson.” Izuku glanced up, flicking his eyes over to where the teacher was packing up his things and heading out to his next lesson teaching unmotivated teens. Izuku was pleasantly surprised to remember that their next lesson was in the same room, meaning he didn’t have to get out of his comfy position. 

What was next period again? 

Next to him a perky girl with black pigtailed hair tied with sickeningly bright green scrunchies clapped her hands excitedly. “I wonder what Keiko-Sensei will be doing today?” 

Ah. That’s right; next period was work ed. Izuku inwardly groaned, but flicked screens on his phone to the camera, readying himself. I wonder if Bakugou will start anything today, he wondered vaguely. He hoped so. Bakugou had always been invaluable to the needed video clips Izuku was collecting. His every word, action, and insatiable need for validation and needing to be the strongest was exactly what Izuku was looking for. 

The thought that Bakugou was unknowingly playing perfectly along to Izuku’s plan was ironic at the least, the very thought bringing a small smile to Izuku’s face. He hadn’t realised how mephistophelian it had looked until a boy seated in front of him turned around, sighted Izuku’s expression and squeaked in fright, swivelling back to the front of the room quicker than Izuku thought was possible for someone his size. 

His friends snigger at his girly outburst, but are quickly silenced by turning to take their own look at the ‘green haired oddball’. Izuku quickly wiped the smile off his face, berating himself for letting such an expression onto his physiognomy. 

At the front of the room, the door slid open, the tall, gangly form of the work ed teacher slipping through before he pulled the door closed behind him with a dull thud. 

“Good morning!” He called, sounding way too cheery for a Wednesday morning. He was clutching a stack of papers under his arm, which he proceeded to dump onto to podium at the front of the room, turning to grin widely at the sea of expectant students. Izuku raised an eyebrow at him, catching the words Career Aptitude Test on the papers as Keiko-Sensei slapped them down. Knowing Bakugou, and knowing his need to reinstate the fact that he was going to being the fucking Number One Hero this class could go any of two ways, with one way massively outweighing the other. 

Subtly, Izuku turned his phone to angle towards his childhood friend. Bakugou hadn’t seemed to see what the papers were about, yet. It gave Izuku time to push play and wait for the eventual, unavoidable, bout of egotism.  

“As third year middle school students, it’s about time for all of you to start thinking seriously about your futures and what you want to do with your lives. I could pass out these career aptitude tests, but,” he paused for dramatic effect, grabbing up the pile of paper and swinging his arm back. Izuku’s lizard brain subconsciously flinched back at the incoming rain of paper. “ Why bother ?” 

All around Izuku, the other kids began activating their powers in anticipation, the room filling with excited energy and a myriad of quirks that varied from one boy pulling his godamned eyeballs out of their sockets (how the fuck was that a potential hero quirk? Was he going to shock the villains into submission?), to a girl glowing brightly, like an ugly, oversized firefly. 

Izuku watched in mild, dissociated curiosity. It was almost cute, watching all those young, aspiring kids with such bright futures use their quirks with almost innocent-like excitement. Izuku could almost remember when he had been just like that. Minus a quirk, of course. 

Keiko-Sensei laughed, whipping his arm up and around, simultaneously letting go of the pile of now-crumpled test papers, letting them flutter restrainedly up into the air before slowly twirling back down amongst the cheering students. Izuku fought a bark of laughter at the amount of dramatics. He concealed it with a not-so-subtle cough. 

“But I know you all want to become heroes!”

Izuku made a long noncommittal keening ehhh sound. Well, most of them. Everyone else seemed to agree, however, screaming their confirmation at the teacher. The uproar was deafening, and conveniently effective in drowning out Izuku’s derisive snort. 

In the edgy anime-protagonist by-the-window seat, Bakugou sat, barely acknowledging his peer’s excitement. His arms were crossed, his brow furrowed and eyes brooding. He probably thought he was too good for such a childish display of delight.

But Izuku could see the volcano, rumbling just beneath the surface, waiting to erupt. He wanted to show his worth. His power (again). He was just waiting for the moment to strike. 

Keiko-Sensei gave him the exact cue he was looking for. Izuku wondered if the guy was intentionally riling Bakugou up. Probably not — Keiko-Sensei wasn’t exactly known for his   perceptiveness.  

“Oh, yes. Bakugou aren’t you planning on going to UA High?” 

Bakugou looked up, a wide snarly grin full of mean satisfaction spreading across his face. “Fuck yeah I am.” 

Izuku smiled fondly, shifting the camera slightly as Bakugou subtly moved, most likely getting ready to jump up onto his desk like a madman. I really hope you get in, Bakugou. He thought. I really do. 

All around Bakugou the other kids started chattering to each other in disbelief. No one from that crappy public middle school had ever made it into UA before, though with someone as gifted as Bakugou Katsuki, there was little doubt he was going to be the first student ever from Aldera Middle School to make it in.

“He’s going for the national school?”

“That school has a point two acceptance rate!”

“It’s basically impossible to get into!” 

Bakugou cut them off, pointing a self important finger at himself, daring them to continue. “That’s exactly why it’s the only place worthy of me.” He stated, like it was a well known fact. He shifted his feet off his desk, bracing one heel on the side of his chair and propelling himself up off his chair onto his desk, his hands clasp and unclasping like he was barely holding off excited explosions. His grin twisted wider, his eyes surveying the classroom like a king scrutinising his subjects, judging their worth and daring them to refute him. 

“I’ve aced all the mock tests.” He told them calmly, icy cold with certainty, but boiling with unrelenting ambition and self assurance. “I’m the only one at this school who stands a chance at getting in.” The way he said that made him sound both confident and malicious — he was daring anyone in the room to challenge him and try out for UA too. He would be the first student from Aldera Middle School to get into UA, if only because he intimidated every other hopeful out of the idea. 

Izuku barely managed biting back a sarcastic cheer. However fun it would’ve been in the moment, the aftermath and Bakugou’s wrath at being mocked wouldn’t have been entirely worth it. 

“I’m going to become the most famous and richest hero of all time! People across the world will know who I am. And it all starts with UA high!”  

Izuku stifled a sigh as the blond’s ranting began to get a bit tedious, leaning back in his chair a little more and shifting a dead leg, wincing as pins and needles ran up his calf where’d it had been squashed against the desk leg. Idly he rubbed one hand up and down against the uncomfortableness, switching the hand propping up his phone from his right hand to his left. 

To he honest, it was kind of funny watching Bakugou perform up on his desk like that — Izuku would have almost felt embarrassed for the boy if the fact that he was unconsciously humiliating himself by standing on his desk, yelling about his heroism at the top of his lungs and letting off contained, but nevertheless earsplitting explosions wasn’t so fucking hilarious. 

But Izuku had to admit he was kind of confused as to why Keiko-Sensei was just letting this happen; looking down at his clipboard disinterestedly and seemingly oblivious to the fact one of his students was using his quirk inside school and was disrupting the class (and probably the rest of the poor school). 

Finally, the man looked up, fixing bored eyes on Izuku. “Oh, yeah. Midoriya. Don’t you want to go to UA too?” 

Welp. Time to die. Izuku should probably stop the video and put his phone safely away before it was inevitably smashed into (another) unrecognisable piece of splintered junk, when it got in between Bakugou and killing Izuku. 

Maybe if he placed it down and scrambled out of the way quick enough...

Bakugou has stilled, exulted face frozen into something more strained and simmering. Izuku probably only had a few more seconds before the blond snapped and pounced on top of him, full of bruised ego fuelled bloodlust. 

If Izuku managed to place the phone and get the fuck away from it in time, this situation would be invaluable. A potential hero would be filmed bullying a weak, defenceless student. If he forced down his habitual sassy comebacks and drew on some of his once-had meekness and rabbit-like terror, Bakugou would be seen as the villain in this circumstance.

Half-desperately, Izuku spun the phone to face him, trying to make it seem as if he wasn’t the one operating it. Hastily, using his reflection on the device, he moulded his expression into one of pathetic fear, a face of a boy who had been bullied for years — it was a familiar, if a recently slightly unused expression. His eyes widened to the size of saucers, as the sound of Bakugou’s breathing became more laboured and furious, the lid barely contained on the steaming kettle, about to blow.  

The silence stretched on for a few more agonising seconds, then the class erupted in incredulous laughter. Izuku scrambled back away from his desk, accidentally knocking into the desk behind him in his rush to get away from the immediate danger zone. The boy sitting at the desk he’s hit grunted in annoyance, probably only bold enough to be angry because the rest of the class was convinced Izuku was meek and weak-willed. 

“Oi, watch it, stupid.” Izuku muttered a — forcibly — shaky apology, but the boy reached forwards and grabbed his leg. The tips of his fingers pinched painfully into the skin of Izuku’s thigh through the fabric of the uniform pants. 

Izuku struggled helplessly to get away, kicking his leg pathetically in a half hearted attempt to free himself. He wasn’t really worried, but the fact he couldn’t smack this guy to make him let go was slightly irritating. 

Bakugou turned, metaphorical kettle screaming and about to blow. He stalked forward, swiftly gaining on the small amount of space Izuku had covered, his hands twitching, the smell of nitroglycerin and smoke emanating off him.

“ Deku, ” He whispered, low and guttural, and full of barely constrained fury. 

Izuku knew he shouldn’t stand up for himself. Portraying a meek personalitied schoolboy would be hard enough without the temptation of talking back, just a little. What would the old Izuku do?

Sometimes it was hard, remembering what he used to be like, over two years ago now. Before he’d snapped, the weight of all the acrimony from his classmates, teachers. Kacchan. Hero society’s prejudice towards weaker quirked people. Quirkless people. His mum’s belief he couldn’t make it. 

Before his most revered hero took the last straw, telling he couldn’t become a hero. The only person he’d ever worshiped, the person he’d put all his last hopes in, tore down his aspirations like they were flimsy birthday streamers, taken and crumpled up after other people finished having their fun, thrown in the bin and forgotten. 

He’d been shy. Meek and unassuming. Not much to look at, but steel-willed. Behind those green eyes had burned the brightest fire full of ambition and good intention. Now those eyes just held cold resignation, masked by layers upon layers of humour and apathy. If he pretended he was fine, he’d make himself believe it. He’d seen the true side of society, the side that showed that not everyone got a happily ever after. Some people were just handed opportunities on a golden platter, and some, no matter how hard they worked, would only ever get left in the dirt. 

Sometimes Izuku wished he’d never caught onto All Might’s leg that day. If he’d just left it alone, it would have just been an ever-present what-if. A ‘I wonder what he would have said’. Not this horrid, festering wound, full of painful realisation that he would never be able to become a hero. But, surprisingly, his hurt didn’t turn into a wild, uncontrollable fire for revenge and violence, venting every ounce of pain into causing pain in others.

He had stopped, a profound feeling of wrongness filling him. If the hero system was flawed, then shouldn’t it be fixed? And if no one else had seen how flawed it was, wasn't he just the person to slowly, surely make a change?

He didn’t want violence. Violence only begets violence. He just wanted to change things; slowly, ever so subtly till the whole faulty system cracked and a new era of hero society would — hopefully — begin. 

“Think you can go to UA?” Bakugou snarled, shoving his face into Izuku’s, mouth wide in anger, teeth bared. “I thought you had given up on that, already. Guess you’re even dumber than I already thought.” 

Some saliva was spat onto Izuku’s face by Bakugou’s vehemency. He resisted the urge to reach up and wipe it off. “B-Bakugou-“

“I thought your quirkless ass would’ve know it’s place by now.” The blond shoved Izuku, pushing him backwards out the the other boy’s grip, the sudden release of his leg sending him stumbling back and crashing against the wall with an ooft as the wind was driven forcibly out of his lungs. “No one without a quirk should ever even entertain the idea of heroism!” 

The old Izuku would at least have stuck up for himself right? He always had, whatever the price. No matter how much Bakugou had pushed him down, he’d always gotten up, fire burning brighter than ever. But there’d always be a limit to how much kindling was available. The fire would always go out if no more wood was cut, and Izuku had only ever been living on burrowed fuel. 

“Well, actually they got rid of that rule!” Izuku reposted, weakly pushing at Bakugou, but the guy was an immovable wall of flesh. “Quirkless people can get into UA! Maybe I can be the first..” 

Bakugou brought his right hand back, fingers splayed and palm spitting sparks. With a boom that Izuku felt ringing deep in his ears, the blond slammed his palm on the wall right next to Izuku’s head, sending a sharp pain coursing through Izuku’s left ear and knocking his head sideways, leaving Izuku stumbling with one ear ringing and aching, messing with his balance. 

The rest of the class came up behind Bakugou, creating a wall of flesh, emanating a viscous cloud of hatred and mockery. Izuku was more inconvenienced than frightened; having no immediate rout for escape meant he’d have to play this out until the end. Which just meant a higher possibility of being directly hit by one of Bakugou’s explosions. 

And he’d become so good at avoiding them and everything. Hadn’t been hit by one for months. Oh, well. It was only Bakugou’s undoing, really. 

“You’ll never be able to hang out with the best of the best! You’ll die in the exams !” Bakugou growled — he was like a damn animal, growling after every sentence. Izuku barely bit back growling sassily back. 

Izuku looked down. He forced a sad, resigned expression onto his face. Bakugou needed to think he was getting to Izuku. (Even though he wasn’t. Not anymore). 

“ Defenceless Deku. ” Bakugou mocked, “The school’s already crappy, do you really want to embarrass it more by failing so hard ?”

Izuku opened his mouth, eyes peeking up at Bakugou imploringly, hands grasping at the wall in vein, fingers bent and shaking. “I-“ 

The bell rang, loud and assertive. Izuku was mildly impressed at the almost perfect timing, effectively distracting Bakugou for long enough for Izuku to slip quickly between a gap in the human wall and hastily grab his bag and phone from where it was lying. He’d crop the video later. 

“Class dismissed.” Keiko-Sensei droned, like there hadn’t just been a full class bullying session right in front of him for the last ten minutes.

Bakugou turned, eyes burning. He hated being cut off or ignored. “ Deku ...”

But Izuku was already trotting out the door, waving pleasantly at the seething boy as he pocketed his phone after pressing stop on the recording button, pulling open the sliding door and slipping out, mingling and disappearing effortlessly into the sea of students heading outside for lunch. 

Izuku let himself be taken along with the flow, allowing himself to be pushed and jostled until they had all made it out the front doors and the stream of pressing bodies ebbed until Izuku was left standing alone in the middle of the playground between two swing sets. He knew he only had a few minutes at most before Bakugou managed to shoulder his way through the mass of students and make it outside. Besides, he was way too vulnerable out here in the open, easy picking for any bully with a dash of self hatred and a need to punch something. 

With a sigh Izuku turned, making his way unhurriedly around the side of the school. There was a shady corner around the side within an overgrown patch of trees and bushes that Izuku had discovered. He spent every break out there, doing his homework while eating lunch in the small sanctuary. So far no one else except a few unassuming, equally outcast kids had found it. It was almost like an unspoken rule between the bullied kids at Aldera Middle School; to not talk about the place to anyone, and to just enjoy the refuge in silence and gratefulness. 

It was mostly only unnoticed so far because usually students ate their lunches together in their home room or the cafeteria, and the only people who came here for lunch were the people no one cared about or noticed were missing. It had been years since Izuku had even entertained the idea of eating lunch in his home room. He’d tried, a few times here and there, to eat with the rest of his class but it always ended with his bento splattered on the ground outside the window or in his hair. 

Izuku plopped his bag down onto the overgrown grass, dropping down next to it a second afterwards. He leant his back against the wall, resting his head back against the cold stone and closing his eyes with a sigh. Across the small clearing-of-sorts sat a first year, quietly eating a sushi roll, eyes downcast. 

No one asked questions in this corner of the grounds. It was nice, just being allowed to sit and eat his lunch without someone coming up to him to talk to him or push him around. 

Running his fingers through his already mussed-up hair, Izuku reached a hand into his bag to grab his bento, settling it on his lap and lifting off the lid. Chicken katsu. Izuku shrugged, moving to pick up his chopsticks with one hand, digging the other hand into his back pocket to bring out his phone. 

Popping a large lump of rice into his mouth, Izuku looked down, swiping out of the camera app and switching into Messages. Scrolling lazily down to the bottom of the contacts list, he lightly tapped the one labelled Suspicious Group Chat . Looking at that name made him snigger, the sound catching the attention of the first year across from him. Izuku smiled bashfully at her, but couldn’t help keep a grin off his face. The name never ceased to make him laugh, even though it was probably a little immature. 

The page read no new messages and Izuku frowned, reloading the page to no avail. 

“Agh, whatever.” He muttered. He’d do it himself, if he really had to actively keep in touch. 

His fingers flew in practiced patterns across the keyboard as he typed out an irritated message. 

Izuku: Any updates? Remember I’m not there all the time, I asked you to keep me up to date (c" ತ,_ತ)

Almost instantly a new message popped up, like the fucker had just been sitting there, waiting for a text to come in. 

Areta: Come tonight. We need to talk. 

Izuku huffed. Oh so now he wanted to talk. Took him a few months. 

Izuku: Okay, okay. What time? 

Chapter Text

   The walk home seemed to drag by in excruciating slow repetition. Every step lasted at least an hour ground out the monotonous rhythm of scritch, thud, scritch, thud. The path Izuku normally took deviated from the usual civilians’ routs and around the edge of the residential area, skirting the side of the wooded area that closed off the homes from the ‘outside world’ as Bakugou had once called it. The space beyond the civilised wilderness featured perfect picnic clearings, several rural parks and even a patch of slightly more dense jungle of closely packed bushes and trees — which Izuku and Bakugou had gotten lost in numerous occasions in their younger years — was vast expanses of farmland that eventually receded into the highway. 

The Bakugou’s lived nearer to the edge than Izuku did though, so after wasting time meandering past the dewy grass, and whispering trees rocking in the breeze lit by light hues of orange afternoon light, Izuku forcibly pointed his head back towards the more densely populated parts of the residential area. 

Izuku may have also been delaying getting home, as the rare occasion of physically meeting and talking with the League was no small thing. Sure, Izuku played his slight nerves off with sass and humour, but he was always a little bit jittery before a gathering. Shigaraki always preferred texting like the unsocial neet he was, and since Izuku had decided to continue living at home as to not attain suspicion, he wasn’t able to easily pop over whenever it fancied him. 

Anyway, as the Plan centred greatly around Izuku attending and blending in at UA, he couldn’t just disappear for a few years then expect no one to call fowl when he materialised back into existence for the entrance exams. But the main thing that really made Izuku stop and reconsider had been his own mother. He didn’t want to do that to her — him leaving would have been so traumatic for her. As his father had already left, losing her son would have probably driven her into a downward spiral. He didn’t even want to know where that spiral would have ended.

The path Izuku had turned down, that led a pretty straight line right back to his house, passed under a small bridge, the inside walls covered in graffiti and little hearts with lovers’ initials in them. As Izuku approached, he kept a keen eye on the shifting shadows in the middle, always cautious of anything that lurked in the dark; normally everything was fine, he had nothing to fear — except that one time a girl with an invisibility quirk had accidentally bumped into him and nearly given him a heart attack. Apparently everything she touched or wore was cloaked as well so he hadn’t seen anything until he had apparently knocked against a hard pocket of air and nearly pulled out his sharpened scissors. This time however there was something acrid, something almost stale and different about  the air as Izuku stepped underneath the overhang, and into the duskiness of the tunnel. 

He lifted his head warily, sniffing the air for Kurogiri’s signature musky smell mixed with incense, but all he found was a disconcerting mixture of sewerage and rank mud. Izuku wrinkles his nose, frowning slightly as his brain ran over different possibilities but came up blank. He stilled, shoes scuffing the ground softly as he glanced around, body tensing. If there was anything he’d learned from being part of the League, it was to always expect the unknown wasn’t going to be friendly, and probably wanted to attack him — especially if it was in a shady location or a place empty of normal, non-violent civilians. 

This place annoyingly, fitted both scenarios perfectly. 

With careful, practiced movements Izuku shrugged off his backpack and deftly zipped open the front pocket, pulling out a pair of silver metallic sewing scissors, hewn to a nasty point at the end. It was a bit strange to have a pair of sharpened scissors, but the practicality overweighted the peculiarity: no one would suspect scissors in a kid’s school bag like they would a knife.

Izuku turned, ears catching the sound of a disgusting slithering, slooshy noise and had barely enough time to chuck his bag away before the grate in front of him juddered violently then erupted, hurtling through the air before clattering sharply onto the tarmac a few yards away. The thing that broke it came blasting out next, a huge mass of slimy, gelatinous, vomit-coloured goop with eyes full of malicious intent; a wide, crooked grin of triumph twisting it’s mucilaginous features when it’s large, bulbous eyes locked on Izuku. 

Izuku stumbled back, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer shock of being attacked by a large lump of slime, rather than a normal human being as he’d presumed it’d be, but he quickly regained his composure. This was no time to stand gawping like an idiot. The villain was probably a small-fry villain anyway; by the look of him he was on the run from a probably gone-wrong shoplift. He was leagues (heh, get it? League?) above them in brains if not brawn. Izuku wasn’t really a fighter, to an extent — he’d been briefed on the basics of hand-to-hand combat and how to throw a ‘proper’ punch by some of the more minor members of the League, but personally he more thought of himself as one of the more tactical, wily types, able to win a battle with their quick thinking and agility.

The other villain’s eyes locked onto Izuku, letting out a gurgled laugh. 

“You don’t look very strong, but you’ll have to do. I guess no one will suspect such an unassuming kid.” Izuku snorted, quickly attempting to turn it into a cough, but failing miserably. He rolled his eyes. Despite his initial reaction to being called “unassuming”, Izuku had to admit he was a bit pleased with being seen as innocent. It would make the Plan that much more easy, if even a fellow villain couldn’t see beyond his cute freckles and fluffy hair. 

Without warning, the mass of slime lunged, it’s gelatinous body spilling wetly onto the tarmac as it rushed forward, tendrils reaching towards Izuku in an attempt to ensnare him in it’s cold, moist embrace. 

“Not today, Satan.” Izuku muttered as he waited patiently till the other was nearly upon him. At the last millisecond, he deftly sidestepped, barely missing being swallowed whole by the glutinous substance by a hair. The villain slammed face first into the wall of the tunnel, splattering wetly, it’s large eyes popping open wide with surprise. 

 Izuku didn’t wait for the sludge to recuperate and peel itself off the wall, instead tilting back his wrist and sending his combat scissors hurtling point first into the villain’s right eye. It shrieked, most likely more from shock than pain. Did it even feel pain? Izuku couldn’t see any nerves - but then again he couldn’t see any intestines or even a brain swimming around inside the slime, so it was probably all relative. As the other villain writhed, Izuku took a moment to internally analyse it, his eyes forming into slits as he squinted at the bulky mass of sludge. Was this a physical type quirk or a transformative quirk? Did the villain turn back into a regular guy when he deactivated his quirk or was this his permanent form?

The villain removed himself from the wall, the action accompanied by an abhorrent suctiony, squelching sound. It turned, one slimy tendril pulling out the scissors embedded in it’s eyeball and flung them away, the blinded eye secreting a faintly pink mucus—like liquid. It’s other eye blazed with a fury only found when one of your eyeballs has just been gorged by an arts and crafts tool. 

“You’re more annoying than expected.” It snarled, slithering it’s way towards him once more, but Izuku could see the slight hesitancy in it’s advance - it was warier, which was good, at least it had some brain cells left. But it wasn’t about to fall victim to the same trick twice, and Izuku’s only weapon was yards away on the other side of the tunnel; which meant Izuku was going to have to think fast. 

“And you’re more stupid than I expected.” Izuku countered, mildly surprised the lump of sludge hadn’t figured out who he was by now. He was pretty sure no other villain used sharpened scissors. 

Gauging the villain’s uncertainty, Izuku stepped forward, noticing with morbid amusement as the other villain flinched, sliming back a step in response to Izuku’s slow advance. 

Izuku allowed himself a moment, frowning slightly as he assessed the situation. He needed to somehow get past the villain to his scissors, then hopefully use them to fully blind his opponent. There seemed no good way of killing the other villain, as the only solid parts of him seemed to be the mouth and eyes. 

Izuku lifted a foot to step forwards, hoping maybe a desperate sprint towards and past the sludge villain would give him an opportunity to grab his scissors, when the ground began so tremble ever so slightly, the tremors only increasing as the pressure in the air began to push Izuku back, making him stumble and awkwardly catch his footing with little of his dignity intact. He grimaced, putting a hand to his temple as it began to throb from the sheer pressure of the air bearing down on him. 

The uncomfortable feeling felt familiar - he’d felt it anteriorly, just before- oh. Oh, that’s it.  Shit. Shit shit shit shit s-

“SMAAAAAAASH!!”

-hit. Izuku’s mind went blank as he was blown forcefully into the air, the breath knocked out of him as he was flung into the opposite wall, his head cracking painfully against the stone. The world blinked out. 

Izuku came to with a large something slapping his cheek. He swatted blearily at it, but withdrew his hand like he’d been bitten when he cracked open his eyes and the person standing over him came slowly into view. He scrambled back, eyes wide as he fumbled to his feet and began backing away, muscles tight and stance guarded. 

“All Might...” Izuku willed himself to stay calm and in control. He couldn’t imagine the repercussions of him just turning tail and running, or worst attacking. He took a deep breath in, relaxed his shoulders, let his arms fall down to his sides. I’m a fanboy. An avid fanboy. he reminded himself. He moulded his mouth into a excited grin, reminiscent of his pre-villain days. 

“Sorry, flight or fight mode. You surprised me.” He scratched the back of his neck bashfully. “Thank you for saving me back there, All Might. I was in a pretty tight spot.” 

“Not to worry my boy! It is only natural to still be in flight or fight mode after an experience like that!” The hero paused, eyes widening in recognition. “Wait...” 

Izuku winced. He had been hoping that the Number One Hero wouldn’t recall him, counting probably a little too heavily on his nondescript features and the fact that the hero probably saved thousands of lives on a weekly bases and didn’t remember specific faces, even when one of them was of a boy he had flat out told that there was no hope of him ever becoming a hero. 

“Aren’t you the boy who I-“ the hero paused, wincing, his ever-present smile slipping just a little. “Ah. Ah, yes, um...”

Seeing the Number One Hero flustered and at a lack for words would have been a whole heap more enjoyable in a different situation. This particular situation just had Izuku wanting to get the hell outta there, maybe even find someone who could unwind time and give him the opportunity to avoid this situation completely. 

All Might was standing before Izuku, his regularly blinding grin turned down at the sides in shame. “Look, I. I shouldn’t have said that - what I said to you - all those years ago.” All Might said, all in one apologetic rush. “I now realise how unthoughtful and callous it must have sounded - which is not how I meant it to come across as at all! - and how much it must have hurt. I am sincerely sorry for that.” 

The Number One Hero was struggling, grasping desperately for the right words. Izuku wasn’t going to relieve him of the awkwardness and instead stood there, all his mental willpower focussed fully on keeping a glazed, slightly agape expression on his face and forcing his feet to stand their ground, though they were twitching slightly with the overwhelming need to get the fuck out of there. 

He didn’t really care what had happened three years ago; the bitterness had faded into the back of his head, faintly tainting his thoughts but not causing him anymore pain, only stoking his resolve. To put it more accurately, he didn’t let it hurt. 

Belatedly, Izuku realised that All Might had finished floundering, gazing sorrowfully at Izuku and he realised that it was his turn to speak - either to forever cast All Might away or forgive him for throwing his dreams onto the muddy roadside, and grinding his heel into them like a used cigarette butt. 

“No, no, it’s fine, really! I was being immature, wanting something that I now know could never happen. Thank you for letting me realise that!” The words felt bitter on his tongue, even if they were essentially true. All Might had helped him realise he had absolutely no chance of ever becoming a hero. Izuku bowed, attempting to politely end the conversation and leave. Maybe go kick Giran in the groin to let out his anger or something. 

“Wait, what? No, what I meant was-...” The Number One Hero trailed off, his face scrunched up in confusion and slight worry, an expression that Izuku loathed being directed at himself. This entire encounter was like a knife twisting itself in an old wound, aggravating nearly-healed skin and reopening the cut, blood full of bitter resentment and pain leaking viscously out from inside. Why was All Might deciding to be nice now ? Years after he had selfishly poured kerosene all over Izuku’s last hopes of ever becoming a hero, and flicking a match onto the pile of drenched wishes in contempt. 

“Anyway, thank you for helping me!” Izuku backed away, bowing like an incessant dippy bird, a wide grin plastered on his face. 

“Thanks again!” 

With as much dignity as he could muster, Izuku turned and speed-walked away, leaving behind a stunned and spluttering All Might. 

God, he could not get out of there fast enough. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku decided that maybe the main road was the best way of getting home, hopefully mingling amongst a larger group of people would stop him from getting attacked again - and getting spotted by All Might, if the hero was still looking for him - , Izuku was still miffed about his lost combat scissors. No more lurking down unpopulated side roads, as that would only increase his likelihood of getting jumped again. 

The street was full of afternoon shoppers gazing with interest at the shop windows, deliverymen and woman, parents taking their preschoolers home and gaggles of high schoolers wasting time window shopping, buying sweets or making a hell of a racket in the arcade across the street. Izuku smiled and let himself take in the beauty of innocent, everyday life influenced, but not directly related to heroism or villainy. It was refreshing being in a part of town where you weren’t incessantly forced to see heroes traipsing about. 

Izuku followed the forward flow of the crowd, letting it carry him on, blending in easily with the other kids going home after school; becoming one of many. 

Izuku was meandering past a particularly delicious looking patisserie that had recently opened up, stalling for time as he eyed each baked good individually, when he heard a sudden loud crash, followed by shrieks of terror and a higher pitched wail that sounded more like an alarm than a human.

A villain. 

Around Izuku erupted deafening wailings of ding ding ding wooo, ding ding ding whooo of fire trucks and the woo woo of police cars, the sounds growing louder as they approached Izuku then faded slightly again as they past him and headed off to a large strip mall not far away.

Izuku turned, unsurprised to see smoke billowing into the sky from the presumed crime scene, the sounds of screaming only increasing. Morbid curiosity took Izuku towards the source of the smoke. Maybe he’d get to see someone beaten up or something. All Might might even be there to get thrown around, though Izuku doubted the hero would be out and about after handing the sludge villain off to the police. He may not be one of the brainiest of heroes, usually preferring to use his brute strength instead of his head to win battles, but he probably wasn’t stupid enough to get into yet another fight with his hours almost up, or close to. 

Probably.

The entire street was in chaos. The people stupid enough to still be nearby were either reconsidering life choices and running in the opposite direction, or attempting to get as close to the fight scene as possible, wanting to watch the fight despite the high risk, some of them filming it for their blog or to prove they were really there. 

Fires flickered and consumed the nearby shops, the buildings not yet affected by flame crumbled, walls caved in and windows smashed. It was a disaster, both in the literal sense,  and in the wallets of anyone without insurance. Heroes circled warily around the villain responsible for the damage, somehow unable to land a good hit. 

Izuku poked his head up above the fascinated, masochistic mob, his eyes widening when he saw a writhing green mass, a struggling body clasped within its undulating tendrils. The sludge villain? How did it get out... did All Might drop it or something? That seemed rather careless for a pro hero, let alone the Number One Pro Hero. 

Izuku dropped down from his tippy toes and shook his head disappointedly, massaging his temple as he felt the onset of another god why are heroes so annoying caused headache begin to throb. All Might was only doing the public a disservice by keeping his weakened state secret. They had a right to know , after all, since his well-being had a lot to do with their general safety. 

All fake heroes, only in it for the fame and fortune the lot of them. 

Izuku slapped himself. He really needed to stop complaining about the dysfunctional hero system, and thank the villain punching idiots for making his job of actually doing something about the hero system much easier. Use their idiocy against them: the citizens would feel betrayed and angry once they found out All Might had been keeping such an important piece of information a secret. 

Presuming the Number One Hero didn’t disclose the information himself. Izuku was counting on the hero not doing that, which was a risky gamble, but one he was willing to take. 

Izuku shoved his hands into his pockets and forced his way forwards through the dense crowd, remembering that he had seen someone clutched in the sludge’s slimy embrace, and vaguely wondered if he needed to save an innocent from the low level villain’s desperate stupidity. If it became evident that the only way to get the sludge villain to hand himself over to the police, or at least drop the person he was currently suffocating, was to play the ‘I’m part of the League of Villains and can and will have you tracked down and killed for needlessly ending a civilian’s life’ card, he’d just leave it alone and have him found and brought to him personally later. 

Izuku believed in righting wrongs. He believed in an incorrupt society where people saved others because they cared. He did not, however, believe in the pointless slaughter of an innocuous life when there was a better or alternative way to achieve what it is you wanted. Life needed to be taken with meaning. If Izuku killed, he always had a reason to. He needed to know why someone was killed. What for. 

Izuku stopped at the edge of the tape keeping the crowd from entering the blast zone. He looked at the struggling figure trapped in the slime, silently impressed with how long they had been able to hold on for. Then he did a double take. 

Was that Bakugou ? Izuku quirked an eyebrow, barely able to hold back the slight grin that fought for access on his face. This day was looking up! Maybe this was a god’s way of apologising him after such a disgusting day. 

Izuku fished out his phone from his back pocket and filmed a quick video of the heroes obviously not helping a person in need of saving, smiling softly to himself. Every little moment of the heroes neglecting their duty to save citizens in need — whether intentionally or not — gave the people just that little more reason to question the heroes. 

In his peripheral vision Izuku thought he saw a shock of golden hair. He turned to look as he pocketed his phone once more, spotting none other than All Might in his emaciated true form, watching the scene before him unfold with a pained, almost regretful expression, not daring to jump in and help - Izuku had bee right, his hours had indeed been almost up when he’d seen him last. Their prolonged encounter must have drained the last remnants away. 

Izuku tsked, suddenly sick and tired of heroes and corrupt societal mindsets. Not giving himself time to think that maybe, just maybe this was a bad idea, Izuku rushed forward and yeeted himself up over the sidelines, rushing forward towards the other villain with a recklessness born from working with people with little regard for general safety for over three years. 

He’d show these people what real heroism looked like. And, he guessed, despite Bakugou’s history of bullying a certain quirkless boy, the other didn’t deserve to actually die . Maybe get munched on a little, maybe have his ego cut down to a more acceptable level, but not die.  

Izuku twisted mid-run, slipping his bag off his shoulders and grasped the straps in both hands. Pausing for a millisecond, Izuku used his forward momentum to swing his backpack up and around, sending it hurtling into the other villain’s uninjured eye, right in the centre of the slimy orb. The villain screeched, recoiling backwards and momentary letting go of Bakugou slightly. The volatile boy gasped for air, but just as soon choked on it as his scarlet  eyes paused in their desperate roving to land on Izuku.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He wheezed angrily, still mostly breathless. Gods, Izuku went out of his way to save the bastard and now he was being ungrateful? Izuku felt something inside him snap. 

“Because nobody else was going to fucking do anything!” He snapped. Izuku opened his mouth again to yell something even more incriminating when he was cut off by the sound of the sludge villain growling. It was recovering fast, as Izuku hadn’t entirely blinded him, quickly snaking it’s tendrils around Bakugou once more. 

It eyed Izuku with distaste. “You again.” 

“Me.” 

Izuku tensed, about to dart forward when he felt that all-too-familiar pressure building again. He had only a second to tense himself for the inevitable whiplash before All Might streaked past him, landing one mighty blow upon the other villain, the reaction force of the Number One Hero’s Smash knocking Izuku away like a mere pebble, the sheer impact vaporising the villain. 

As Izuku shook his head out of a noggin-meeting-tarmac daze, he felt his ears pop from the loss of air pressure. He groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position with shaky arms. He blinked blurry eyes, his gaze falling on the figure of Bakugou awkwardly crumpled against a signpost on the other side of the street. The boy was groaning, somehow managing to make that usually pitiful noise sound angry. 

Izuku flopped back down onto the pavement, gazing up at the gently floating clouds as his brain tried to work out how the hell he had gotten himself into this situation. 

Well fuck.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

The heroes who had been standing uselessly on the sidelines waited until medics had checked and confirmed Izuku hadn’t somehow obtained a concussion before marching over and crowding around him with lectural intent. As he sat there, rubbing the back of his head in a disgruntled manner they took it in turns to tell him just how stupid he had been for rushing in and doing something they hadn’t had the balls to do. 

“Someone with a non physical quirk like you shouldn’t have put yourself at risk like that!”

“Actually I don’t have a quirk.” 

The heros’ faces heated up in what Izuku indifferently presumes was anger. “What?!”

“Don’t get your spandex in a twist.” 

That, surprisingly, did not help the situation. As the self righteous heroes yammered on, Izuku sighed, tuning out the obnoxious background babble and turning his head to watch All Might as he enthusiastically talked to a reporter on the other side of the street, his stomach twisting bitterly. Oh, shit, the meeting. After a split second decision, Izuku widened his eyes in mock horror and pointed a trembling hand behind the heroes. 

“B-behind you! I-it’s him!-” 

The heroes panicked, whipping around and looking around desperately for the “ him ” Izuku has been pointing at. Except Izuku hadn’t been pointing at anything - if you didn’t count that restaurant across the road. What? It was a great restaurant. 

Before the heroes could realise they’d been tricked, Izuku used their momentary distraction to spring to his feet, the bruises covering him from where he’d struck the side of the wall earlier - and from where he’d made violent contact with the concrete on the strip mall side walk - aching, and legged it to the nearest alleyway, a shifty looking stretch of darkness between a ramen shop and a souvenir store. 

He slipped into the shadows beside a dumpster, waiting silently as he heard the heroes realise his deceit.  There were peeved shouts and a few halfhearted attempts to relocate him, but eventually they realised he wasn’t important enough. Izuku wasn’t surprised, experience told him that the majority of heroes didn’t actually care beyond public show for popularity and publicity. As the group of costume flaunting con men minced their way back over to the gaggle of deluded fans, Izuku allowed himself a breath of relief. 

Turning, he decided to find out where exactly the alley would lead him, hopefully in his desired direction, if only to avoid the crowds of interested onlookers and microphone wielding reporters. Once fully enveloped by the comfortingly shadowy alley, Izuku finally let himself relax, his shoulders untensing and gate slowing. He let out a long sigh as he slipped his hands into his pants pockets. 

As he finally stepped back out into the light on the opposite side of the block, Izuku grit his teeth, his hands forming into clenched fists inside his pockets. Despite the fact Izuku had been sure he’d gotten over it, the fact that Bakugou had been praised for being brave just because he had a powerful quirk and Izuku had been berated for actually doing something grated on his nerves, twisting the ever present knife that embodied the corrupt hero and quirk centred society a little deeper into his heart. 

Izuku only hoped that he’d shown up All Might. Made him feel guilty for not being a better hero. Made him realise even quirkless losers could be powerful. 

This was one of the main reasons he had decided to join the League of Villains. Apart from the obvious benefit of having a few dozen powerful villains on your side and the fact that those said villains were well connected and feared within the underground, they shared his goal. 

The League was working towards a world without the bias and hero centred culture that discriminated against those unlucky few without quirks, or those many with an even vaguely villainous quirk. A world where heroes saved people because they actually wanted to. Because they actually cared . 

Well, that was the ideal. Izuku guessed the world would never actually be that perfect, but who could blame him for trying. 

Once he got out of the main shopping district and into the suburbs once more, the rest of the walk home was pretty uneventful. Izuku wound his way through familiar side streets lined with rural homes and the occasional park. It was quaint. Homely. Full of normal people living normal lives. Whatever Izuku’s intentions, he never wanted to involve innocent citizens in his plans, at least not in a negative way. He may be angry and bitter and the world, but he wasn’t cruel. Not entirely. Anyone who had been raised by Midoriya Inko could never be completely corrupted. 

“Oi! Fucker !”

Izuku paused at the corner before his street and sighed, exasperated. What does he want now ? He didn’t bother looking back, knowing full well who was stomping up behind him. 

Blandly, Izuku wondered if his interrupter was feeling grateful, but quickly dismissed such a ridiculous idea. Bakugou didn’t do thankful. 

Izuku heard Bakugou stop a few feet behind him, then was suddenly spun around as the other boy clamped a lightly sparking hand onto his shoulder and pulled him around to face him. 

Izuku arched a serene eyebrow, not giving the blonde the satisfaction of a proper response. 

“Listen Deku,” he began, his face screwing up in disgusted anger. He dropped his hand back to his side, clenching his hand into a fist. Izuku sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. 

“Look, you seem to have something to tell me, but since whatever you usually say to me is a contumelious, and usually unintelligent insult towards me and my existence in general, I don’t really care. I need to get home, so how about you tell me tomorrow, or, like, not at all. I don’t really mind.”  

Bakugou seemed shocked into silence, which was a nice change. He stood there, gaping as Izuku spun back around on his heel and trotted around the corner. Izuku didn’t bother looking back. He was thoroughly over that day’s shit and all he wanted to do was go and curl up on his bed and ignore existence. 

A little traitorous part of his brain told him he still had to go and deal with Shigaraki’s childishness. He booted the thought away before it could send him spiralling into “nope not happening” land. 

There was a small civilian crossroad ahead. Izuku paid it no attention as he slouched past  it, only pausing to retie his shoelace when he noticed it had come loose and undone. As he was straightening up, there was a massive blast of wind that sent Izuku stumbling back, shocking him into letting out an undignified screech of annoyance. 

When he looked back up, the last person he wanted to see was standing in all his emancipated glory before him. The sunlight was shining directly behind the hero, causing his body to seem like a black hole surrounded by a halo of golden light. 

“Edgy fuck.” Izuku muttered bitterly, raising his eyebrow slightly in a silent question for the man. Why couldn’t he just walk home without being ambushed by the Number fucking One Hero?

He guessed his life had never been that lucky to begin with. But still. 

“Young Midoriya.” The man began, his voice very slightly hesitant. Izuku was only mildly pleased that he still had the sense to be even a little ashamed. He waited. 

“I’m glad I caught you.” The hero continued. “I’d thought I’d missed you.”

“I wish.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, nothing. Do continue.”

“Oh, um, I needed to speak with you.”

Izuku frowned a touch. “Yeah, uh, sorry - I had to get home...”

“Not to worry! Your rescue of your classmate back there was truly amazing. I apologise for not saving him immediately, as I should’ve.” He shifted, glancing away briefly, a fleeting glimpse of guilt flitting across his face before he looked back at Izuku. “Also, I’d like to thank you.”

“For what?” 

“For jumping forward and saving that boy when I did not - could not. What you did was exceedingly brave.”

“Uh, thanks?” 

The hero smiled, a genuine thing that twisted Izuku’s stomach unpleasantly. “I also wanted to talk to you about the question you asked of me, two years ago.”

Oh. Oh fuck. 

“If you hadn’t told me about your life. If you hadn’t run into that fight just before - I would have been a worthless bystander watching from the crowd. So thank you.”

Izuku shrugged helplessly. He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. Wished there was some polite way of getting the fuck out. “No problem?” All Might quirked a smile.

“You told me that you didn’t have a quirk, so when I saw you jump out there to save your fellow student...” All Might trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. Izuku stood before the Number One hero’s emancipated form and attempted to keep the annoyance from filtering through onto his face, only allowing the slight morbid curiosity to show. And if he played up that expression a little, then at least Shigaraki wasn’t there to judge him. 

Izuku couldn’t figure out whether he was offended or wanted to laugh at being pegged as wanting to save Bakugou’s life, considering the shit the other boy had put him through. 

He wondered what All Might was getting at however. The man seemed on the brink of one of those sickeningly inspirational speeches anime protagonists always seemed to conjure up. Izuku only hoped it wouldn’t go on for too long. Gods, so many things were inconveniently popping up to delay him on his way home. Izuku briefly entertained the idea that maybe he had been hit with a low level Unlucky quirk. 

“There are stories about every hero. How they became great.” All Might began. Izuku mentally prepared himself.

“Oh?” 

All Might nodded. “They all had one thing in common: their bodies moved before they had a chance to think. Almost on their own.” The hero smiled, his sickly black eyes crinkling. “And today, that’s what happened to you.”

Weeell, not exactly. But sure.

“Young man. You too can become a hero.” 

The words hit Izuku like he’d been physically struck by dozens of razor sharp, freezing ice shards, cutting into him and filling him with an icy numbness. After everything, after those years of believing he’d never be a hero because of All Might’s words “You can never be a hero, I’m sorry. But—” , the Number One Hero couldn’t just waltz up and suddenly declare he could be a hero only after doing some fancy smansy savie thing.

He couldn’t just suddenly decide Izuku was worthy of being a hero, not only when it benefited him. Not now. It was too late . 

He felt the icy numbness slowly dissolve into a burning fire of rage and hate. How fucking dare him. How dare— 

A sound that sounded like a crazed mix of disbelieving laughter and startled gasp ripped out of Izuku’s gaping mouth. Instantly he clamped it back closed, not having realised it had been hanging open. 

Before he could let himself be drawn too deep into that certain pit of so-far-untouched pain however, his automatic mental defence kicked in, replacing the shock and hurt with sarcastic mirth. 

Izuku chuckled, just quiet enough that All Might wouldn’t hear him and muttered, “ A little late for that, aren’t we now ?” 

He really needed to stop using humour to cover over his emotional hurt, but it worked. As long as it was effective, he didn’t really worry about how it probably wasn’t the best coping mechanism. 

All Might seemed oblivious to Izuku’s internal turmoil as he raised both arms, his body dramatically framed by the golden light from the setting sun, casting his front in shadow and causing his hair to light up like woven - if slightly stringy - gold. “I deem you worthy of my power.”

For a pleasant moment Izuku was tempted to believe that this was all just a painful dream his subconscious had conjured up to spite him. Looking down for a brief moment Izuku looked down, subtly pinching himself. Nothing happened. Damn. 

His mind was still blank, filled with static like a tv with bad reception when All Might continued.

“My quirk is yours to inherit.” 

“What.” 

Suddenly Izuku’s mind was running overtime, trying to figure out how , exactly, a quirk was inherited by someone not related to the user. Maybe All Might was just messing with him? Almost definitely. But the nagging thought that maybe his wasn’t a joke kept prodding at him. 

He really needed to get better at not instinctually believing what someone told him. 

But Izuku couldn’t get over how fake All Might’s smile was, even despite his shrunken form. That smile was too bright, too concealing. Izuku didn’t really know what it hid, and he didn’t like the implications. It was almost.. too friendly . Too happy even in the middle of a fight. It was a little creepy to be honest. At least villains smiled in a fight because they were a little crazy — you always had to have at least one screw loose to work on the other side of the law — , and if the fight wasn’t going to their advantage they didn’t just keep on smiling like some kind of uber-happy masochist. 

But if he was telling the truth, for any reason; Izuku let himself revel in the fucking possibilities that would present. Only one of them being that it would be far easier to get into UA, which, to be fair, would be kind of nice.

Izuku quirked an eyebrow. “Say... what now?” 

He watched as All Might tried to explain — looking for any sign of a lie, any part of his body language that signalled that he wasn’t being completely truthful.

“There are a couple of things you should know about my abilities. Journalists always guess my quirk is super strength or some kind of invulnerability. When people ask in interviews, I always make a joke and dodge the question. That’s because the world needs to believe that their symbol of peace is just a natural born hero like any of them. But I’m not. There’s nothing natural about my ability.

“I wasn’t born with this power, it’s a secret torch that was passed onto me by someone else. And you’re next! I can give you my abilities!”

Izuku’s sassy brain chipped in with a Sorry I’m not at the age of consent yet, lemme run home quickly to ask my mum if I’m allowed. He snorted a bit at the thought but kept his eyes fixed on the hero. So far, to Izuku’s delight, he’d seemed completely sincere. 

“The true name of my power,” All Might continued, raising one hand and channeling some power into it, making it radiate a harsh light and emitting a wind that blew his hair back for no goddamned reason. Was it some extension to his quirk? A little edgy add-on to make these kind of announcements more dramatic? 

God, this hero was such a drama king. “Is One... For... All...” 

“One For All?” Izuku echoed, feeling like he’d heard of something similar to that before, but needing space to think about it. He’d probably remember later, at a completely inconvenient time. 

“Yes. One wielder improves the power, then hands it off to another person and so on. It continues to grow as it’s passed along. It is this cultivated power that allows me to save people. The truth behind my strength.” 

“Why me, though?” Out of all the enthusiastic, prospective heroes Izuku couldn’t begin to understand why All Might deemed him worthy. The thought slightly annoyed Izuku. 

All Might smiled. “I was on a long hunt for a worthy successor. And then - I watched you jump into action as the rest of us stood idly by. You may just be a quirkless fanboy, but you tried to save that kid. You acted like a hero.”

“Thanks UwU.” 

“What?”

“I said thanks.”

“Oh. For a second I thought you said something else.” 

“No, I don’t think so.”

The Number One Hero hummed. “Well, what do you think? You can have more time to think about my offer if you need it.” 

Izuku considered. All through his monologue, All Might had seemed entirely truthful, his face a mix of deadly seriousness and a faint bit of hope. Which was… great. Despite himself, Izuku felt a flutter of excitement bubble up inside himself. 

This could be what the Plan had needed all this time. Izuku knew that he’d probably need to somehow get into UA to continue his planning and documentation, but with the — unknowing — help from All Might he might even be able to get into the the heroes course. 

It was more risky, yes, but worth it. Plus he’d get professional training from a hero and a strong quirk. He’d feel absolutely no remorse for using the Number One Hero for his own gain. All that mattered was the Plan — then everything would be better. 

He looked up at All Might, conviction and determination — just not the kind the hero probably thought he had — in his eyes.

“Alrighty then, I’ll do it.”

“No reluctance. That’s exactly how I’d figured you’d respond.” 

For a second, Izuku allowed himself to feel a spark of amusement on the hero’s behalf. All Might thought he understood Izuku. He knew nothing. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku felt the corners of his mouth pull into a subtle smile of mirth as he imagined All Might’s face when he realised that he had trained and given his power to a villain . Whenever it happened, and it would, eventually, Izuku made a mental note to take a photo of it and set it as his wallpaper. Because he was apparently one of those kind of fucked up villains. 

As he began the hefty trick up the dodgy metal stairs to his apartment, Izuku reasoned that he would be able to witness All Might realising what he’d done, once Izuku released the final product and the world knew the truth — be it a little tampered with — and Izuku outed himself as the mastermind behind it all. 

Or until Izuku got impatient and decided to kill him. Either one. 

He couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

Izuku pulled open his front door, mind mulling over where he’s heard of the name One For All before. It was at the tip of his brain and was driving Izuku a tad mental. 

The door shut behind him with a sharp click, echoing down the empty hallway of his and his mother’s small five room apartment. The smell of dinner was already wafting out under the kitchen door and reminding Izuku just how long it had been since lunch. Homely chopping noises were coming from the kitchen as well, mingling with his mother’s pleasant humming. 

At the sound of the door closing, the humming and chopping noises stopped, followed quickly by his mother rushing out of the combined kitchen and dining room, wiping her hands distractedly on her I cook better than Kacchan apron Izuku had made for her birthday last year. Bakugou hadn’t been over to their house for years so he’d figured that it would be safe. 

She rushed over to the genkan and stood there, fidgeting, as Izuku turned and slipped his shoes off, replacing them with a comfy pair of indoor slippers. Once he was done and had stepped up into the hallway she flung herself at him, simultaneously squeezing the life out of him and checking for injurious.

“Izuku! I was so worried! - I saw you on the news fighting that sludge villain and I...” his mother crumpled like a crushed leaf, letting herself cry into her son’s shoulder as he supported her. Grimly, he rested his chin on her shoulder, gazing set faced in front of him.

She was such a good woman, his mother. Unlike the other 98% of the population she actually cared . She hated it when he put himself in danger, and he hated making her feel bad. But his near — and probably far too — future only promised more and more dangerous, possibly near fatal things and Izuku knew he couldn’t shield his mother from it forever. Not really. And he hated that. 

She didn’t deserve that kind of hurt. 

They stayed like that for a little bit, Izuku just letting his mother hold him and know he was there . That nothing had happened to him. After a while, Inko quieted down and gently pulled back from Izuku, but still touching him. Her eyes were still red from crying - and probably would be too for quite a while - but she had a wobbly frown on her face, like she was trying to be disappointed in Izuku’s actions, when all she really was was happy that her Izuku was alright. 

“That was very imprudent of you!” She scolded, though Izuku could tell it was half hearted. “You could have gotten really hurt, rushing in to save young Bakugou like that. I hope you learn from that and never do such a dumb thing again!” 

Izuku smiled fondly at his mother and leaned forward to kiss her gently on the forehead. 

“I won’t mum.” He said, then quieter. “At least not without reason.” 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Dinner that night was udon with ebi and renkon tempura with way too much soy sauce. Izuku scarfed down the noodles probably a tad too fast, the broth flicking onto his shirt and the table as he attempted to eat an entire two bowls of udon and five plates of tempura in under fifteen minutes.

All while eating, Izuku kept glancing furtively at the clock upove the window. He only had five minutes before Kurogiri’s warp gate appeared inside his wardrobe and seven until he withdrew it. 

Izuku slurped the last of his soup as the clock reached 6:48 and stood up with a clatter, gathering up his dishes and speedily heading to set them by the sink. After halfhearted ringing them off, Izuku made his way to the door. Inko looked up in surprise, a noodle hanging out of her mouth limply, chopsticks and eyebrows raised.

“Izuku?”

“Sorry mum, I just realised I had some homework due tomorrow that I haven’t yet finished. I’m going to go to bed right after too — big day.” He was fidgeting from foot to foot, eager to go. Only a minute left. 

“Okay sweetie. Don’t stay up too late. Remember, it’s better to be healthy than at the top of the class.” 

“Will do. Goodnight.” He calmly slipped out into the hall, an appeasing smile on his face, closed the door softly behind him then bolted to his room, only stopping to carefully shut his door behind him as to not raise suspicion. His mother took any funny behaviour as a sign he was getting sick. He’d slept in till ten one weekend and had woken up to the wailing of ambulance sirens. 

Izuku hastily made his way over to his closet, only just remembering to snatch up his notebook and phone. He opened his closet door, breathed a brief sigh of relief to see Kurogiri’s warp gate was still there, hidden behind his hung up clothes, and stepped into the swirling, misty portal, pulling the closet door closed behind him.

He stepped out the other side, feeling the gate whisk shut behind him. He’d only just made it. 

“Just on time.” Came a calm voice from the other side of the room. Kurogiri. 

“Yeah, sorry. I was finishing dinner.”

“You could just text me if you need more time.”

Izuku huffed a laugh. “We both know I couldn’t’ve.” 

Izuku glanced around the room, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The corners of the room were inky with residual shadows, that never seemed to go away no matter how lit the room was. Kurogiri was in his usual place behind the bar, doing as good a job as ever making the drinking glasses twinkly. 

In front of him, sitting on one of the barstools, was Tomura, hunched over and scratching spasmodically at his neck. 

Izuku rolled his eyes. Shigaraki’s excoriation disorder had started out as mildly concerning before morphing into very annoying and mentally draining for anyone unlucky enough to be forced to watch it longer than a few seconds. He usually did it more often when he was angry, so Izuku guessed that he had seen the news. 

As Izuku stepped forward, nose wrinkling at the sound of Tomura’s nails worrying his flesh, the man in question spun around, hands falling down to reach towards Izuku, all five fingers grasping in the air at Izuku in anger. 

“I saw you...” he muttered, eyes wide and irate, but also laced with a hint of confusion. “Why did you save that boy, Izuku? What was your reason behind that?!” 

Shigaraki was such a drama queen. Izuku sighed. “It was a rash move, I admit. Honestly I wouldn’t‘ve if I hadn’t seen All Might in the crowd. No one was doing anything. I thought...” he struggled to find the right wording, “I thought maybe I could show up the heroes, show the world that a quirkless schoolboy had to run in and do a professional’s job.”

“But in the end, All Might came in to save you anyway.” Shigaraki pointed out. 

“But.” Izuku countered. “It turned out doing that had been a good idea after all.” 

“Oh?” The word was said with disinterest, but he’d caught Tomura’s interest. His hands lay quietly on his lap, one finger tapping slowly. That was a good sign. Now, to keep him happy. 

“Afterwards, All Might stopped me. He said that I’d inspired him — that I too could be a hero.” Izuku allowed himself a smirk at this. It was so ridiculous now, though probably his two years ago self would have been sobbing I’m excitement at the prospect.

Ah. Izuku finally remembered where he’d heard One For All. Of course.

“He told me he wanted to pass onto me One For All .” Izuku carefully pronounced those words, making sure Tomura understood what he was getting at. A nasty grin began to spread over the other villain’s face as Izuku continued talking, his mouth pulling dry skin and cracked lips into a semblance of a smile. Even his tapping stopped.

“The counterpart of All For One. Do you know what we could do with All Might’s quirk? In our hands we might actually be able to go head to head with the heroes who decide to fight back - and trust me they will be many.

“And also. I could actually get into the heroics course in UA, giving us an even bigger advantage.” 

Kurogiri had come up to stand in front of the bar and was nodding along to the ideas Izuku was forming. The misty man picked up a rag and a glass and began polishing it, nodding and mumbling agreements. “Yes, that might just work Midoriya. You may not have known it at the time, but your impulsive actions have led to benefit us.”

“How are you so sure All Might doesn’t suspect you?” Izuku snapped his head around back to Tomura. He waved his hand dismissively. 

“All Might, nor anyone else, suspects anything. I’m a better actor than I look, thanks . I’ve been living as a fanboy for so long, faking it for a little longer has not been too hard.”

Shigaraki merely shrugged, loosing interest and turning away from Izuku to rest his elbows on the countertop. Izuku took that as an invitation and walked up to the stool a few seats beside the blue haired villain, sliding onto it and settling down, propping his chin on his hands and resting his elbows on the bench top. He glanced sideways at Tomura, waiting for him to speak.

“You said before that you’d been getting videos, but nothing big... how is it coming along?...” a pause. “How much longer will it take?” 

Tomura had always been impatient. When Izuku had first thought of the Plan and it had been approved by ‘Sensei’ — Izuku had a slight suspicion that Shigaraki had taken the credit for the idea, because Izuku had never even been recognised for it, merely given the task of executing it since he was in the most optimal situation to do so — the other villain had been at him every two months, sometimes even more frequently, asking for updates and asking ‘ do you think it will be long now ?’. Two years later and thankfully he’d stopped asking so regularly. 

The Plan was going to take time, and was only going to begin in full when he got into UA. It probably would be done by the end of the first year of UA High, if Izuku was lucky. The only reason it had taken so long was that he hadn’t been old enough to enter.

With all the video clips on Bakugou’s arrogance, All Might’s secret and the stuff he would get at UA, the public would no doubt turn against heroes; make them retire and avoid all the unnecessary violence that only led to meaningless casualties and more people hating the villains.

Destroy them from the inside out. 

“I can confidently say, give or take a few months, by the end of the first year of UA. By the ThAt time I should have enough data to compile into one video. One video that will take down all heroes.”

Tomura nodded. 

“We’re planning to announce ourselves — to let the heroes know that we exist and pose a threat. When do you think would be the best time to do so, as not to disrupt the Plan and possibly even to benefit it?” Kurogiri asked, still expertly wiping his glass. 

Izuku hummed, tapping a finger against his chin.

“Give me a few weeks after I get into UA. I’ll gather information, check the timetable and upcoming events. I’ll most likely give you an answer around then.” Kurogiri nodded. That glass looked cleaner than Bakugou’s school record. Damn.

Tomura growled in frustration at having to wait longer but said nothing more. Izuku, figuring that there was nothing more to say turned to go. We was stopped when Kurogiri set his glass down with a sharp clink , clearing his throat. 

“Ah, Midoriya. One last thing — Giran recently told us that there were some people interested in the League. Would you be so kind as to come and attend their interview? You seem the best at judging people and gauging their usefulness.”

Izuku took a dekko back and nodded in assent. “When?”

“They’ll take some time tracking down again, so a few weeks or so, depending how easy they make it. We’ll notify you when we know exactly.”

“Thanks.”

The warp gate appeared in front of Izuku, swirling and rippling mysteriously. He stepped through, not bothering to bid the two villains goodbye. Curtesy was suspended in the underworld. 

Passing through the gate was strange, but not disgustingly horrible. It felt like a pull in his stomach, right in the middle of his belly button, tugging him forward like a gentle fishhook towards a boat. If you fell through it, it was coupled with a terrible falling feeling, like speeding down the Hollywood Dream ride at the USJ. He was told it made some people a little nauseous, but Izuku’d never gotten carsick let alone warpsick. 

Stepping out of his closet, feeling a little like Lucy from Narnia, Izuku set his notebook on his desk and plugged his phone in to charge. Making his way over to his bed, he floumped down onto it, letting himself finally just stop . 

Instantly his brain took advantage of the momentary calm to start going into overdrive, because he was going to get All Might’s quirk and-!, but Izuku held out a mental hand and instead kicked the intrusive thought into the Think about tomorrow or maybe never box within his mind. 

Ah yes. Tomorrow . 

Tomorrow was Friday, and Izuku had foolishly agreed to meet All Might at Dagobah beach on Saturday morning. Izuku hadn’t been told exactly why , but he presumed it was mostly likely to begin his training as soon as possible. Izuku couldn’t understand why he’d chosen Dagobah beach of all places, though. That place was a dumping ground for litterers and people too lazy to continue driving that last mile to the actual dump. 

At this point, the entire beach was full of piles of breaking down recyclables, rusty cars, plastic bottles, microwaves that were probably still giving out radioactive waves, even after being unplugged and abandoned for years, and just enough straws to kill the entire turtle species. Also a random crane, that Izuku had no idea how it got there. 

Izuku groaned. Maybe All Might wanted to do public service and build Izuku’s strength while he was at it. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. Two birds with one stone as they say, but Izuku bet all his saved up twenty thousand yen that the hero wouldn’t actually help, and just sit and watch. Maybe even bring a megaphone to shout encouragements. 

Oh goody . Izuku couldn’t wait.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

The next day sped by in a blur of textbook pages and the background cacophony of Bakugou’s self important yelling. Izuku couldn’t seem to pay attention, his mind fixed solely on the next morning, gradually trying to integrate himself into the fact that he was, in fact, getting All Might’s quirk, and it wasn’t just some good dream. Which was probably a bad thing, since he was 84% sure they had been handed several sheets of homework and that he may have possibly just sat through a maths test. He could only hope he got at least 50% right. 

Izuku, despite his phased-out state, had to also somehow avoid Bakugou. Luckily he was quite adept at that by now, for obvious reasons, so staying out of his way even in a dazed stupor and locked in his own mind, was surprisingly easy. Which was exceedingly fortunate considering that the other boy had wanted to talk to him — or at least what passed for talking for Bakugou — and Izuku had blatantly refused to listen to him. He figured that the blond would be mildly, just mildly , angry. 

Bakugou couldn’t outright attack him in class, not really. The teachers may be used to the blond’s outbursts, but they were all on their last fuse and did not want to put up with his nonsense anymore. Except apparently Keiko Sensei, but he was relatively new. Luckily for Izuku they didn’t have work ed that day. So as long as he avoided the blasty boy during breaks and before and after school he should be fine. 

At the end of the day, just before the bell rang, Izuku quickly slid his stuff off his desk into his bag. He stood up just as the bell rang, shrugging on his bag and leaving with the main group of students, mingling easily with the crowd of other kids all heading in the direction of the students entry, all eager to get home and causing a near-impenetrable wall of bodies. 

Behind him, Izuku noticed Bakugou angrily shoving his way through the throng of kids, but to no avail. By the time the other boy would finally get away from the mass and get his shoes on Izuku would be already two streets away and speed walking the fuck away.

He’d get cornered someday soon and get shit about it, but for now he didn’t care. 

At home, Izuku bypassed his mum and headed into his room. He plonked down his bag and unzipped it, pulling out his laptop. He’d hacked into the settings in his computer to make it so it had three different passcodes and even a voice recognition in order to get in. If he got the first password wrong twice, the security settings took a photo of his face (Izuku would have set it to only after one try, but sometimes he was too tired to type right).

Izuku settled down on his desk, quickly typing his here passwords in and letting out a monotone “Ayyy.” when the voice recognition box popped up. He dug out his phone cord from the front backpack pocket and plugged it into the computer, before bringing out his phone and plugging it to the charger. 

The mini green battery symbol appeared on the lock screen, signalling that everything was properly connected. 

On his computer screen, the photos app popped up, asking whether he’d like to import all his new videos. Izuku selected yes, then sat back as it slowly started bringing all his new files across onto his computer whilst simultaneously whipping them from his phone as he went.

It was an effective system. His computer was much safer than his phone, for obvious reasons, and definitely much less easy to pickpocket. Plus, he scrolled through his phone his phone to show his mum things all the time, and having suspicious-looking videos would lead to some very awkward questions.  

Once the videos had all been imported, he saved Photos and shut off his laptop. He spun his office chair around so he could lean back and prop his feet up on his bed. He shuffled his ass down and lent his head back against the top of the backrest, closing his eyes and heaving a long-suffering sigh. 

Maybe he’d be able to squeeze in a short rest before his mother called for him. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

   Izuku helped make dinner that night, chopping up onion for Tonkotsu ramen and blinking back tears when the acid fumes reached his eyes. As his mum placed the onions, garlic and ginger into the skillet she chatted about her day, making funny quips about coworkers and joking about the Lawson’s cashier that obviously had a crush on her. Izuku smiled and let himself relax, but only as much as he dared, just letting the happiness of the moment wash over him. This moment might never happen again. Times like these were what kept him sane, kept him grounded and stopped him from loosing track of what was important. 

His mother was everything to him, was all he really had left in this world except for the promise that someday everything would be better. Right now, in this moment, he wasn’t a villain, conspiring against heroes. He was just a fourteen year old boy helping his mother with dinner on a Friday night.

“I’ve been noticing...” Inko mused, wiping her hands on a tea towel, “there has been a significant decrease of villain activity over the past year. Seems rather odd doesn’t it? Though I’m not complaining. Some attacks can be very damaging - they’ve had to rebuild that bakery down near Tomi’s Restaurant at least three times.” 

Izuku nodded, thinking back to when he told Tomura that mindless attacks on property wasn’t going to help them in any way. The other villain hadn’t seemed happy, but Kurogiri had reasoned with him and eventually talked him out of it. Apart from low-level villains and petty thieves with destructive quirks, there weren’t that many large villain organisations who were actively going out and causing as much property damage recently. Izuku smiled, leaning back against the kitchen bench top and checking to see if the stove temperature was right. His mother always had a tendency to make the stove just a bit too hot than necessary.

“Yeah, I’ve been noticing that too. Except for the sludge villain and a couple other low level villains, there hasn’t been a single attack this entire month.” He tilted his head speculatively, though it was all for show. He knew that being clever and joking about villainy wasn’t a good idea, but he couldn’t really help it. Joking about his problems made them less real.  

“Maybe they’re waiting for the right moment to strike.” He casually theorised, tapping a finger on his chin. “There has been a decrease in villain activity, but maybe there’s more a reduce in reckless and unorganised attacks. There have been a few direct assaults -  the villains are probably just getting smarter and more organised.” 

His mother looked sidelong at him in askance, though the corners of her mouth were pulled up in a bemused smile. “Don’t go all theoretical on me, Izuku. I don’t even want to know what kinds of things you’re thinking up in that evil little mind of yours.” 

Izuku put a hand to his chest in mock horror, but couldn’t hide his grin. 

“ Mother ! How could you? I was only being logical!” 

“And that’s why I sleep in fear every night.” Izuku couldn’t help but crack up, his mother joining in on his laughter shortly afterwards. It was good to just laugh, no pressing problems weighing them down in that moment. Good to hear normal laughter occasionally, not Shigaraki’s dry throated cackle when he won a game on his Nintendo. 

“On another note,” Inko chuckled, wiping a tear of mirth out of her eye and ruffling her son’s hair affectionately. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your future.” 

That sobered Izuku up. He looked at her, quiet and questioning, an apprehensive eyebrow raised. Inko smiled again but this time it seemed more forced, less genuine. 

“I know you want to go to UA. You’ve been wanting to become a hero your entire life...”

“ But ?” His mum bit her lip, glancing furtively away. 

“But I’m worried. Izuku, I- we know that you’re quirkless. There’s no use pretending that that’s not true, and... and in this society no one accepts anyone without a strong power...” she was tearing up now, and Izuku felt himself shift a bit, uncomfortable. He’d grown out of his emotional cry-babiness years ago, but he still didn’t know how to deal with someone else crying, least of all his mother. He usually just tried to keep it from happening altogether. 

“And even though you’re an amazing, brilliant boy, I feel like you’ll never get past the entrance exam. No one will realise how gifted you are and... I just don’t want you to have to go through that. To be outright rejected by UA.” 

Izuku but his lip, kneading it in uneasiness. Too late, mum. No one has accepted me. No one probably ever will, but don’t worry - I’m used to it. 

He smiled shakily up at his mum, holding his hand out and taking hers, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

“I know mum. I know you care and don’t want me to have to go through that, but... but I feel like that if I never tried, I’ll always regret it. I know the costs, but I’m going to take the entrance exam anyway.”

Inko sniffled, squeezing back. “You’re so strong Izuku. Much stronger than I ever was.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

   ‘ HA HA HA HA HAAA. FEAR NOT CITIZENS. WHY? BECAUSE I AM HE-‘ Izuku blearily struck out at his alarm clock, managing to knock it off the bedside table and onto the floor, effectively cracking off one of it’s All Might hair pieces. Not so high and mighty now , are we All Might? Izuku’s mind grumbled, still only half asleep, as he heaved himself up and out of bed. He was beginning to regret not taking the opportunity to buy a new clock when Inko had asked if he needed one. 

Well, it helped fuel his daily hatred of heroes every morning. But it was still annoying. 

It was five oh five, which gave Izuku enough time to run past FamilyMart to get breakfast, get to Dagobah beach and have at least an hour before he needed to start back for his Saturday classes, with just enough time to duck home for a shower before heading over to school. 

He got dressed quickly, not bothering to shower if he was only going to get dirtier and slipped out his bedroom door, creeping past his mother’s room and down the hallway to the genkan. If he stayed on the edges of the hall, near the wall, he could minimise the amount of creaking of the floorboards to almost naught. 

Ripping a piece of paper out of his pocket notebook, Izuku quickly scribbled a note for his mother explaining where we was going, and blue-tacked it to the front door. Satisfied that she wouldn’t freak out and call the police again, he slipped into a pair of beat up sneakers and headed outside, closing the door softly behind him.  The cold morning air bit at his face and ears. Izuku shivered a bit, regretting not bringing a coat. 

Their apartment was on the third story. One of those tall, minimally funded buildings that gave up on actually putting a stairway inside and just tacked it on on the outside. Rickety metal stairs lead down to the ground from an equally dilapidated iron balcony-type-thing. Every step down on a stair caused it to bend under his weight and groan ominously. 

Dagobah beach was give or take around eleven miles away from his house. Not too far, but far enough that maybe jogging there everyday would increase his — admittedly terrible — fitness levels. Around two kilometres away was a twenty four hour FamilyMart, selling everything from masks, hot bento boxes to bread.

Izuku made it to the ground safely and rubbed his bare arms to warm up a bit. His breath plumed in the frigid air and he knew that his ears were probably turning pink from the cold. They were starting to ache already.

He began walking, slowly easing into a comfortable jog, making a beeline for the FamilyMart and breakfast. There was surprisingly more people than he expected to be up and about this early in the morning. Night shift workers returning home, sipping coffee and looking dead inside, bakeries opening up for the morning rush, young adults making their way back from a night at a shifty bar or something. In Japan, you could never truly be away from a crowd, even in rural arias. Especially in shopping districts like this. 

As Izuku entered the Familymart, he pushed the glass door open, hearing it jangle pleasantly as he stepped inside. The cashier nodded politely and called good morning as Izuku rounded an isle, heading straight for the bread section. After a few desperate moments’ searching, Izuku’s eyes alighted on a carefully packaged baked good, his eyes lighting up in excitement. 

The holy sustenance. 

Izuku reached out and grabbed one, before turning and heading gleefully to the register. He dropped a five hundred yen coin into the bowl for the cashier to take, waiting for the man to press a few buttons before taking his change. 

Izuku made his way outside before hastily unwrapping and biting into his second favourite food. The melon bread was soft and sweet, almost how he’d imagine a cloud, if clouds weren’t flavoured of slightly-polluted water. Did clouds even taste of anything at all? Was it like opening your mouth in a thick mist or snowfall? 

All the same, Izuku was mildly glad his mother wasn’t here to see this. She’d probably throw a well-meaning fit over how he “couldn’t eat only sugar and no protein for breakfast”. 

After he finished he pocketed the plastic wrapper, before slowly  setting off jogging again, aiming to get to Dagobah - optimally- around six. 

If he spent an hour there, he had just enough time to rush back, get home at eight, shower and get to school at eight thirty. He just hoped nothing disturbed his perfectly thought out plan. 

Of course, something would, inevitably, mess it up; if you took into account how bad his luck was. But he was allowed to dream. 

Izuku reached Dagobah beach in time; out of breath and side screaming out because of a particularly persistent stitch that had built up during his run, and refused to go away. It was like a constant reminder of how disgustingly unfit he was. 

All Might in his large, muscular hero form was waiting for Izuku by the steps leading down to the sand. As Izuku jogged up, the hero stepped forward and clapped a hand on Izuku’s shoulder as he came to a standstill. Izuku let out an undignified oof and felt his knees buckle slightly under the hero’s strong hand. 

“My boy! You seem enthusiastic- running here and everything! I just hope it didn’t tire you out before your actual training.” 

Izuku bent over as soon as he was freed from the Number One Hero’s grasp, hands on his knees, and took some deep breaths to calm his rapidly beating heart. After a second, he looked up at the man standing before him, pasting what he hoped with an enthusiastic grin on his face. 

“Hey... All Might,” a deep breath in, “yeah, I decided running here would help boost my stamina or something. Seems I,” another deep breath in, “really need it.” 

  All Might chuckled. “You will improve in no time!” Then he paused. “But you’ll be tired after this, and you’ll be needing to get home in time for school. Please allow me to drive you home.” 

Izuku did a double take as he vigorously shook his head. Wait, All Might had a car ? He guessed he’d never thought of that. The idea that the Number One Hero could own a car had simply never occurred to him — but thinking about it now, it seemed pretty obvious.

“No, no, really! It’s fine! It’ll be good for me anyway.” Izuku spluttered, frantically waving his arms about in a near-futile effort to ward off the hero’s offer . All Might still didn’t look convinced, but didn’t push it, thank God. Honestly it would have just been awkward, and he didn’t want to spend more time in the hero’s presence than he strictly needed to.  

All Might turned and swept his arm out, indicating the entire beach. “This place has been a dumping ground for people in general to unload trash. I thought that it would be an excellent idea for you to get strength training here by clearing everything away.” Izuku nodded. I was a good idea objectively speaking, he had to admit. 

“Plus!” All Might continued, smiling blindingly. “You will be helping the council and the environment by doing this!” 

Izuku couldn’t help snorting. Of course the hero had a good and wholesome ulterior motive to his plan.

“Okay, sure.” Izuku flashed a thumbs up at All Might, turning and heading down the grassy slope to the sandy beach. He figured that if he started with the little things and worked his way to the biggest stuff like cars and refrigerators, it should allow him time to get strong enough to actually move them. 

As Izuku stepped towards the nearest pile of discarded trash, he felt All Might tap him on the shoulder, the other hand coming up to awkwardly clear his throat. Izuku turned and had a sheet of paper shoved into his face, a rough itinerary written on it. He raised an eyebrow. 

“I thought it would be helpful if I made a chart of your daily schedule, putting in how long it takes to get places, when and how long you’re going to train and putting into consideration how much sleep you’ll need and giving time for other recreational activities. This is so you don’t overwork yourself and still keep doing everything you want to do, plus your training.” All Might explained, gesturing to the paper with his free hand. Izuku scanned the page and found that it was actually, surprisingly , pretty well thought out. A little too well thought out: it was kind of scary that the hero seemed to know so much about his daily life. But he was probably thinking too much into it. 

Overthinking was one of his many talents, after all. 

Izuku folded the paper neatly and slipped it into his pocket. He tacked on a grateful smile for the hero, hoping it looked genuine and not as pained as he felt.

“Thank you, I’ll use it.”

He turned back to the trash and bent down, heaving up a microwave and looking back at All Might, a sudden realisation coming to him.

“Where... exactly ... am I putting these?” 

Chapter Text

The next few weeks or so passed monotonously. Everyday Izuku woke up to the insufferable sound of All Might’s catchphrase at the ungodly hour of five am, ran to Lawsons or Familymart where he got a balanced, carbohydrate-rich breakfast of melon bread, then went and lugged trash before heading to school. The only exception was Sundays where he got the privilege of going home and dying in peace instead of school after training instead. 

Izuku’s mother had immediately noticed his new routine and he’d been confronted one night during dinner. She had moved the big bowl of rice away from him and demanded an explanation or he wouldn’t get another helping. He’d told her, not entirely untruthfully, that someone he’d met at the sludge villain attack had seen potential in him, offering to become his mentor and train him. 

Inko had immediately begun a rant about stranger danger and not agreeing to random people’s offers. He should have come to her if he wanted to train her son. She had a point, All Might hadn’t been the most responsible in that particular department. After he’d reassured her, promising that he’d tell his mentor that she wanted to meet him herself, she began stressing that his trainer wanted money in return. She hadn’t really understood that someone might just want to help her son become more strong out of the goodness of their heart. 

“He’s kind.” He had told her, placing a rough hand over her smaller, but no less weathered, hand. “He doesn’t want anything in return, unless you count me getting into UA and making him proud as payment.” 

It was true, really, even though Izuku didn’t completely believe or truly trust it. He had no doubt that the Number One Hero had some sort of ulterior motive, but until he showed even a hint of one he couldn’t just accuse him of such. Innocent until proven guilty. 

All Might only cared because he had a reason to. Only cared because he deemed Izuku important. The moment Izuku somehow became no longer important he would no doubt be cast aside for someone more worthy, more powerful. 

After Inko had finally exhausted all possible sources of worry, she had chatted animatedly for the rest of the meal, encouraging him enthusiastically on his training, even going so far as asking if he’d like her to buy him some hand grippers and small weights. 

Over the next week or so, Izuku kept checking for any news on the potential League members, but as days went by he guessed that the potentials were being more troublesome than necessary, and decided to change the name of the chat and turn on notifications.  He was a busy man after all, if Shigaraki wanted him he’d have to contact Izuku himself. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku’s attention was momentarily diverted as he walked down the freezer isle in Lawsons, gazing at all the different ice-cream available and battling with his sweet tooth and his common sense, because no — he should not get an ice-cream. It was zero-fucking-degrees outside, when he suddenly collided headlong into someone perusing the bread section. That someone squawked as they were sent stumbling and crashing into a shelf of instant ramen. Izuku’s head whipped around, green eyes wide as sauces. 

How the hell hadn’t he sensed them?  

“OhmyGodI’msosorry,” he reached out to help the boy, righting him before taking his hand back, bowing profusely. He may be a villain but he still had manners. Especially when he’d apparently been so caught up in chocolate ice-cream that his trained senses hadn’t sensed someone walking very obviously toward him. 

“I’m so sorry.” He said again, just in case his apology hadn’t been properly communicated the first time. He gazed at the boy abashedly. The guy smiled and rubbed the back of his wild purple hair, letting out a soft, reassuring laugh.

“No, no, it’s fine. I should have seen you.” Izuku’s lips twisted up into a bemused smile. 

“Guess we’re both at fault then.” He glanced to where the boy had been looking before he had ungracefully smashed into him. “But I still feel bad. Please allow me to pay for your things.”

The lavender haired boy opened his mouth to protest but Izuku wagged a finger at him. “I insist.” 

The boy shrugged in defeat and turned to point at the melon bread. “I was going to get one of those.”

Izuku’s eyes lit up. Kin . 

“You like them too?” The boy’s smile brightened a tad. 

“Yeah, they’re, uh, my favourite food actually.” 

Izuku grabbed a melon bread for himself before taking the purplette’s and heading to the register, striking up an animated discussion with the boy, both somehow finding a surprising amount of conversation material in their shared love for the sweet bread.  

It wasn’t the deepest of discussions, but Izuku kind of appreciated that fact. Sometimes one needed to stop talking solely about heavy, pressing concerns, and instead step back and chat about something superficial like your favourite brand of instant ramen — or, of course, how soft and sweet melon bread was and how it melted on your tongue and made the entire experience amazing, no matter how many times you ate it. 

As they headed out the door, the boy started, eyes widening. “Oh — we haven’t introduced ourselves yet,” he flushed and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Shinsou Hitoshi.”

Izuku grinned, taking Shinsou’s hand and shaking it. 

“Midoriya Izuku.” 

They stood outside Lawsons in companionable silence as they ate their bread, the only sounds being the general traffic, the crinkling of plastic wrapping and munching. Izuku finished first, brushing crumbs off his jacket and straightening up out of his slouched position of leaning against a pole.  

“I’ve really got to get going.” He glanced over at his new — friend? Fellow melon bread addict? — apologetically. There was something unexplainably different about Shinsou. He was somehow genuinely nice . Sure, he threaded sarcasm and morbid jokes in with his sentences but he was more simon-pure than any other kids he’d met at school.  He hadn’t asked to know Izuku’s quirk, either. It was refreshing that someone didn’t need to know he had a powerful quirk to think he was worth anything.

He also had this air of bitterness around him, somewhat akin to Izuku’s ever-present mien of resentment. Though Izuku knew he hid it better than the other — if Shinsou was even trying to cover up his anger. Maybe he didn’t want to. But nevertheless, the similarity drew him to the wild haired boy like a moth to a flame. He related to him more than he’d related to anyone else before, omitting the League and other villains who had been and continued to be subjected to the injustice of the current society. It was yet another thing Izuku could empathise with. 

Also his hair was floofy as fuck and Izuku wanted really badly to run his fingers through it, no homo. 

Shinsou paused, his mouth full of sugary carbohydrate. His face fell in disappointment when Izuku began to turn to go. “Where’re you going?” He asked, his voice mildly muffled and very unintelligible.  

“Dagobah Beach.” 

Shinsou raised a quizzical eyebrow. “That place is a dump.” 

“Well, yeah.” Izuku conceded. “But I’m training there. My coach thought it would be a good idea for me to get strength training by cleaning the place up.” 

Shinsou’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “Training for what?” Izuku guessed he didn’t really look like the athletic type. More a bookish, bully victom-y kind. Which was also true, he supposed. 

“I’m aiming to get into UA.” Izuku supplied, making himself think of one his no-so-best moments so a deep red blush creeps up onto his face. Continuing the fein of embarrassment, he shoves his hands into his pockets and turns away slightly, his face still burning from the memory he usually tried to forget. 

“It’s my… dream to become a hero.” The words felt like old ash in his mouth. They’d burned years ago, but even now still left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. 

Shinsou’s face lifted in surprise for a second before settling back into it’s usual deadpan resting bitch expression. “You too, then?” His eyebrows jerked downwards for a millisecond, a second of angry weakness. If Izuku hadn’t been so adept at reading people’s minute mannerisms and expressions, he probably wouldn’t’ve noticed it. “Well, if my quirk was actually suited to combat.” 

“You don’t need a combat style quirk to become a hero, though,” Izuku refuted, turning back to face Shinsou fully, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “Midnight doesn’t have a combat type quirk, but she’s still a successful, deadly R rated hero.” 

Shinsou frowned, bemused. Izuku sighed, trying to explain. 

“What I’m trying to say is, she coupled strength and combative awareness with her quirk to become a lethal R rated hero. I bet that if you just got more hand to hand combat training and built up your strength in general, you’d stand a chance of getting into UA.” Izuku smiled tentatively. He still didn’t know what Shinsou’s quirk was, and trying to be encouraging without being too presumptuous was like stepping on eggshells. 

“I… I guess you’re right, actually.” The purplette nodded, his face a mix of thoughtfulness and what Izuku knew to be a slight budding of hope. “But I have no way of doing so. My parents would never pay for a coach or trainer.” 

The way he said that, like the fact that he could never achieve his goals was irrevocable, grated on Izuku. Just because he was never told he could be a hero, didn’t mean he could just stand back and let that happen to others. Especially when he had a choice in the matter. 

Izuku’s lip quirked up into a small smile when an idea struck him, forming in his mind like a particularly insistent, but no less pretty to look at, weed.

“How about you come train with me?” He ventured, eyes shining hopefully at Shinsou. He had no doubt he was unconsciously doing puppy eyes, a habit he often slipped back into after using it much too frequently as a child to get the newest All Might action figure. His mother was a sucker for her son’s huge, viridescent eyes. “I’m sure my coach wouldn’t mind.” 

Shinsou’s eyes widened comically. “R-really? You’re sure... what about payment or something?” He sounded sceptical. Izuku couldn’t blame him.

He waved a hand dismissively. “No, really, my trainer doesn’t want payment. He’s a good guy, and I’m sure he won’t dislike more company.” 

Shinsou’s face stretched into the first wide, genuine grin Izuku had seen so far. The action almost hid his eye shadows, and lit up his entire face. It suited him, more than the usual sullen look he normally wore. 

 “Thanks, Midoriya.” 

“Call me Izuku.”

“Izuku.” The other said, slowly. It sounded like Shinsou was testing what the name felt like on his tongue, like calling someone by their first name was a very foreign concept. “Then call me Hitoshi.” 

“Alright, Hitoshi — you good to come now or just want to wait until tomorrow?” 

“Nothing better to do.” The other boy shrugged nonchalantly, falling into step with Izuku as the two set off down the road. “Might as well see where this takes me.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

The next week went by in a blur. All Might, called Yagi in front of Shinsou, had been delighted at the thought of two new prospective heroes, instead of just one. He had readily agreed to let Shinsou come and train alongside Izuku. It meant less one-on-one talks with All Might, but the Number One Hero said they would have ample time to discuss his quirk once the initial strength training was completed. 

Izuku had the idea that he and Shinsou could practice hand-to-hand combat and techniques from YouTube tutorials. There was a surprising amount of videos made by heroes and martial artists that was made to help people with no quirk or a non-combative quirk. They decided to meet up at Izuku’s house every Saturday after school and Sunday. 

Izuku had asked if they could switch it around occasionally and go to Shinsou’s house one weekend, but the boy had avoided the question, saying his parents didn’t really approve of him becoming a hero. Izuku hadn’t pushed it; he knew when someone was hiding something uncomfortable or painful. 

They decided to do a trial run the following Sunday. When Izuku had told his mum that a friend was coming over she’d honest to God nearly fainted. It had been pretty understandable too, since he hadn’t brought a friend home or even talked about one in almost eleven years. Which was… mood. 

When the doorbell rung, Inko shrieked from somewhere deep in the house, “Izuku! Someone’s at the door, can you answer it please?”

Izuku scrambled up from his spot doing homework at the kotatsu and ran for the door, reaching it and flinging it open with a grin on his face. Shinsou was standing on the doorstep, his fingers twiddling nervously. One foot was angled back, like he was still in deliberation whether to stay or leg it. He looked up in surprise as the door was flung open forcefully.  

“Oh! Midoriya.” He smiled tentatively, still a bit shy even after spending every morning for a week together. Izuku waved him inside. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Izuku, Hitoshi?” 

“Sorry. Never really had a friend to call by their first name before. It feels weird.” Shinsou paused before squawking softly, hand rising to flail, embarrassed, in the air. 

“I’msosorrythatsoundedweird…” Izuku waved him off, laughing. “No, you’re fine. I’ve said much worse, don’t worry.”

“He really has!” Came his betrayer’s voice from the kitchen. Shinsou cackled. 

“You’ve been outed.” 

Izuku sighed, vowing silently to get his mother back very, very soon. “Indeed.” 

But he could understand where his friend was coming from. The only friend he’d ever had a pet name for had been Bakugou, but Izuku had stopped using it ages ago. Years of bullying tended to do that.  

“Bring him in here, Zuku.” The betrayer’s voice came from the kitchen, the sound of clattering plates and the smell of food wafting out with her voice. From what he could tell, she was making a huge meal of sashimi and tempura with way too much rice. He smiled. 

“Have you eaten yet, Hitoshi?” He queried as his friend slipped his shoes off and stepped out of the genkan. The boy shook his head. 

“Mum’s going shopping this afternoon.” 

“Well I hope you like sashimi and prawn tempura.” 

There was a final clanking noise from the kitchen, then the form of Midoriya Inko bustled out, wiping her hands on her apron and smiling invitingly.  

“Shinsou-kun! How lovely to finally meet you.” Before the poor boy had time to even smile, he was ensnared in one of Inko’s bear hugs. His mother’s hugs were akin to a fly trap. Once you were in, it was neigh impossible to escape. 

“Mmph!” 

“Mother you’re killing my friend.” Izuku informed, voice deadpan. 

Inko quickly retracted her embrace. “Sorry, sorry. I just tend to up and hug people…” she stepped back, finally taking him in. “My! You look awfully pale. Are you getting enough sleep? Are you getting enough daily nutrients? How many cups of water do you drink everyday? Two litres? It doesn’t look like it.” 

“Mum! Mum,” Izuku laughed, stepping in between her and Shinsou. “Is lunch ready? If we needs more water…” 

His suggestion effectively distracted Inko from her mini motherly barrage and instantly she was off, clicking her tongue disapprovingly at his “neglectful parents” and rushing back into the kitchen to finish lunch. 

Izuku glanced back at Shinsou who looked slightly stunned. 

“Don’t mind her.” He chuckled, “Her motherly instincts override her frontal lobe sometimes, I think.” He smiled fondly. 

Shinsou turned to look at Izuku, his face flabbergasted. “How… how did she know I wasn’t drinking enough water?” 

Izuku couldn’t help the peal of laughter that forced itself up and out his throat before he could repress it. “I...” more laughter, “I guess she’s just,” his chest was starting to hurt. “I guess she’s just psychic.” 

The purplette looked miffed. “Do I really look that bad?” 

Izuku finally managed to rein in his laughter and clapped a hand on Shinsou’s shoulder. “No, not bad . Just tired. Mentally drained? Your resting bitch face always looks so dead inside. Plus your lips are like, permanently chapped. His mind flashed momentarily to another person he knew that seemed to always have dry, chapped lips. He snorted. 

“Maybe try some lip balm?” 

He reached down and took Shinsou’s arm, pulling him down the hall. 

“Anyway, come on and have lunch, Hitoshi. Training can wait.” He looked over at his friend and winked conspiratorially. “And don’t worry. My mum already loves you.” 

“Who couldn’t love that mop of fluffy hair?” He muttered under his breath, almost as an afterthought. He prayed that Shinsou hadn’t heard that. 

The morning sun shone warm and bright on Dagobah beach. The water rippled calmly, the gentle to and fro motion of the tide and distant caw of seagulls a harsh contrast to Izuku’s sweaty body and heavy breaths as he lugged trash to a pickup truck. Shinsou was behind him, grunting as he toted a large and heavy radio. All Might in his smaller, more dishevelled form had found himself a place on the top of nearby, and so far untouched heap of junk from where he languidly sipped his take-out coffee and periodically shouted encouragements to the two boys.

Izuku wished he would stop. If he wasn’t going to help or be of use, he could at least keep his damn mouth shut. Maybe he should revolt — start taking trash from the heap he was perched on so he’d fall or something. He was pretty sure Shinsou would help him too, if his distinctly choleric expression was anything to go by. 

His phone vibrated in his back pocket, tearing his attention away from revolting. He looked down in surprise. The only people who texted him was his mum, Shinsou and Shigaraki — or Kurogiri using Shigaraki’s phone because the man was too old fashioned to even get himself a Nokia. 

Shinsou looked up curiously. He’d never heard Izuku’s phone go off before, and probably didn’t realise what the sound had been. The text message sound that he’d set for Shigaraki was an ambiguous orchestral psychedelia song that he’d found in the depths of the internet. 

Izuku let the tyre he was carrying drop down onto the sand and fished his phone out from his pocket. He brought up Messages and tapped on the name Tomura . He sensed Shinsou peeking over his shoulder and jabbed his elbow back into the other boy’s stomach. There was a surprised “ Oof ,” from behind him. Izuku turned to frown at Shinsou as the purplette wheezed, doubled over from the hit. 

“Who’s Areta?” The other boy rasped, still trying to regain his lost breath.  

Izuku considered his words. “An… old friend. Knew him in primary school but he left before middle school. We kept in touch.” 

Shinsou straightened back up, snorting. “Why does his name mean ‘chapped’?” 

Izuku laughed. He’d chosen ‘chapped’ as Shigaraki’s codename as a joke, but the name had stuck. Kurogiri’s was chosen by himself: Kemuri, meaning smoke. 

“It’s an in joke. His real name is Hayakaze.” 

Shinsou grunted, hoisting the radio back onto his shoulder and continuing his trek to the truck. Izuku glanced down at his phone, glad that Shinsou was the kind of person that respected people’s privacy without question. 

Areta:  The meeting is tonight at seven. I’ll be sending a gate to pick you up at six fifty five unless you are in the aria. - Kemuri 

Izuku: I won’t be in the aria. See you then. 

Almost as an afterthought, Izuku quickly typed in,

Izuku: Areta don’t you dare make a sarcastic remark. 

As if the other villain had been waiting for the perfect moment, a text layered in sarcasm appeared. 

Areta: You know me too well Midoriya ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Izuku: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ 

Izuku huffed a laugh as he pocketed his phone, turning back to the car tyre. He squatted down, careful not to bend his back as he heaved the tyre up onto his shoulder again. To his left, All Might shouted something about not being lazy into his megaphone, which Izuku found amusingly hypocritical. 

“Help me with this fridge, will you?” He called to Shinsou. His friend groaned, but headed over. 

“Only if you buy me macha ice-cream after this.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku arrived home that night sore. He blamed Bakugou, even though the blond hadn’t even been at school that day. Recently, he’d begun blaming all his minor inconveniences on Bakugou. If he stubbed his toe, Bakugou was to blame. If he got a C- on an assignment, it was also somehow Bakugou’s fault. Today, the blond was indubitably responsible for his aching muscles. 

Izuku had to admit he hadn’t exactly been particularly fit before his training had started, so all the sudden exercise was causing all kinds of aches and pains to spread over his body. They usually appeared in the morning, preventing him from walking without being accompanied by excruciating agony.  

The front door made a series of creaks in complaint as he opened it. As he slowly and painfully slipped off his shoes, Inko bustled out of the kitchen and crowded him in a warm, if slightly too tight, hug.   

“Izuku! How was your day? How is Shinsou-kun doing?”

“Gee, glad to know I’m your first priority, as your beloved only son.” She flicked him in the nose. 

“I’m only worrying. You know I’m good at that.” Izuku couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged at his lips.  

“He’s doing better. He has semester exams next week, though. I’m not sure if anyone can be okay if they have to endure that.” His grin dropped when he remembered that both their schools did their semester exams around the same time. “Oh, shit, I haven’t studied at all…” 

“Language, Izuku.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” 

He drew back, sliding past her and padding down the hall. “I have a whole bunch of homework.” He called over his shoulder. “If you need help with dinner, just kick down my door or something.” 

He heard his mother chuckle lightly as he entered his room, snapping the door shut behind him. Releasing his bag onto his bedsheets, Izuku lent one hand on the side of his desk as he peeled his socks off, dropping them into the laundry bag beside his door. He wriggled his freed toes, relishing the release from the suffocating confines of the smothering fabric. He bent backwards, his back cracking before he finally plopped down onto his swivel chair and rested his feet up on the desk top. 

He let his head fall back for a moment, his eyes closing as he heaved a tired sigh and tried to ignore all his individual aches and pains. Not even bothering to open his eyes again, Izuku dug around under his butt until his fingers found his phone in his back pocket. He brought it up to his face, his eyes opening up just a crack so he could dial a number. He hadn’t wanted to save this number, but luckily after a few times of calling the wrong number he’d finally remembered it. 

The man answered on the first ring. “Akatani.” 

Izuku let his eyes slip closed again, a lazy smile creeping onto his face despite the fact that the other couldn’t see. 

“Jouhou.”

“You called for an update?”

“Yes.” 

There was a knowing chuckle on the other end of the line. “Progress is coming along smoothly. Kakureta is sending an ambassador to me in a few days. Care to come?” 

Izuku made an affirmative humming noise. “I’d love to.” 

“Eleven pm Saturday. Front or back door?” 

Izuku considered. “Back.” 

See you then, Akatani.” 

Izuku pressed end call, before wiping the number from his call history. 

Izuku set down his phone, reaching over to the bed to retrieve sheets of homework from his bag. Glancing at the clock, Izuku sighed as he saw that he still had two hours before Kurogiri was due to pick him up. 

Izuku shivered. A peek at the thermometer on his window sill told him he should probably put a jacket on. He picked himself up off the desk chair, his fingers gripping and probably crinkling the sheets of paper as he made his way to the living room instead, the warmth of the room enveloping him as soon as he stepped through the door. 

He padded softly over to the couch and slumped down onto the cushions and fumbed for the remote to turn the tv on. The background buzz of the news always calmed him, probably a side effect of Inko keeping the radio on pretty much twenty-four seven in the kitchen when he was younger. Now, he could practically fall asleep to reporters moaning on about villain attacks and which celebrity was going to Tokyo in May. 

The evening news came on as Izuku flipped through his homework, not sure whether he should get maths out of the way or start his essay on the origin of haikus. A pretty blond reporter was standing outside a demolished building, face theatrically worried for the camera as she relayed the incident. 

“Earlier today there was a fight between several unknown villains, resulting in the destruction of a number of shops and restraints in the aria. Despite the region being full of civilians at the time of the attack, no information was able to be gained of their quirks or identities. Before heroes or police could arrive, the villains seem to leave as soon as they came. Luckily, they did not seem interested in harming citizens and so no casualties ensued.”

Izuku settled down further into the cushions, eyes trailing lazily over the tv screen. Faintly, he wondered if that was Shigaraki’s way of collecting the rogue League prospectives, or if it was just some petty gang war between people with overpowered quirks and no control over them or their childish emotions. 

Izuku made a mental note to slyly mention it to Shigaraki that night. 

Izuku sighed, tuning out the background chatter of a talk show and focussed on the sheets before him. He decided to at least begin the essay. Once he had begun it was always easier finishing. Flipping to an empty page in his school notebook, Izuku took the pencil that had been sitting behind his ear for he couldn’t remember how long, subconsciously sticking the end in his mouth as he muttered ideas. Sometimes he stuck pens behind his ears and walked around with them there all day until someone told him, or until he rolled into bed and jabbed the side of his head with it.  

“Bashō was the foremost haiku poet…”

An hour later Izuku stopped to find he’d accidentally filled out thirty pages of ideas. He shook out the cramps in his wrist, re-positioning the pencil behind his ear again to stretch his fingers out of their strained position. He decided to leave the maths homework until after the recruitment meeting. 

Izuku groaned and switched off the television with his foot. Hoisting himself up, he slouched off into the kitchen, setting himself down on a bench stool with a noncommittal grunt. One more hour before Kurogiri was going to pick him up. God, waiting was tedious. 

His mum looked over from where she was spooning rice into a bowl, eyebrow arched.  

“Maths suck out your life force again?” Her lips quirked up into a sly smile, but Izuku noticed her eyes held only sympathy and tenderness. If something really was wrong, she was there to help. Izuku appreciated it, though he’d never tell her. 

Izuku’s only reply was a long, drawn out pterodactyl screech of long suffering pain. Inko nodded in understanding. 

“It be like that sometimes.” She said sagely. Izuku snorted, attempting — and failing — to cover it with a cough. 

His mum smiled, turning away to put the lid back on the rice cooker. She picked up the two bowls of rice, making her way around the bench dividing the kitchen and small dining room. Setting them on the table, she turned back for the plates of vegetables and meat. Izuku slid lackadaisically off the stool and pulled a chair out from the table, making himself comfy as he picked up his bowl and chopsticks. Digging the utensils into the food, Izuku heaped them with rice before shovelling it into his mouth. 

Behind him, Inko let out a resigned squawk of indignation. 

“Izuku! Wait till all the food’s on the table.” She always disapproved, but Izuku always ate his rice before the rest, despite her annoyance. 

With an aggrieved chink of glazed earthenware against tabletop, Inko set the remaining plates down onto the table and pulled out the chair opposite Izuku’s, eyeing him meaningfully as she placed her hands together. “Thank you for the food.” 

Izuku just rolled his eyes. He had more important things to worry about than table manners. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Hitoshi: Oh my god that costume is so on fleek ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Izuku was leaning against the wall beside his closet, one foot tapping a pattern impatiently against the plank wood floor of his room. He’d been here for the past half hour as he waited for the quiet rustling sound of Kurogiri’s warp gate to announce the other villain’s arrival in his room. He choked as he received Shinsou’s text, almost dropping his phone in his sudden burst of laughter. 

He’d sent a picture of a hero with an unusually tight spandex outfit to Shinsou. Sometimes he forgot how dorky Shinsou could be when he was around people he was comfortable with. Apparently Izuku was one of them, which warmed him more than he’d ever admit. 

Izuku: Haha, I should do that (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)

Hitoshi: ╰(*´〇`*)╯♡ YaS you’d look great

Izuku spluttered. Had Shinsou just said he’d look good in a skintight suit? He spent a few precious seconds spluttering and trying to regain his dignity, and when he finally pulled himself together enough to stop flustering, he heard the familiar soft shifting, sandy sound of Kurogiri’s warp gate. Izuku was almost disappointed. 

Izuku: djfhdjgtdjth... uh, um... listen sorry I’ve gtg text you later okay (-.-;)y-~~~

Hitoshi: (￣^￣)ゞsee you

Izuku shoved his phone in his back pocket as he pushed himself off the wall and stepped around to the front to his closet. With a quick check around — at the window, the door — he stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him as he placed a foot through the swirling mass of purple smoke, and let the magnetic tug of the gate pull him through.

Chapter Text

The bar was dimly lit, the bulb above the bench flickering like the wings of a dying insect. Apart from the bar and stools, the rest of the room was cast in shadows. 

The room gave off an ‘edgy, most likely illegal’ atmosphere. Izuku’s eye twitched as the lightbulb coruscated erratically. He made a mental note to replace it in the very near future. 

Before stepping out of the shadows, Izuku flicked his eyes around, gauging the situation. Shigaraki was sitting slumped in the farthest stool next to the wall, gaze as non-committed and bored as ever as he nursed a steaming mug. His middle finger was raised in what was probably both a necessity and a small indicator of his inner thoughts. 

Kurogiri was standing in his usual place behind the counter, polishing his prized glasses. The man made no indication that he knew Izuku was here, though he obviously did. He was probably waiting for Izuku to make himself known, instead of announcing him.  

Two people were standing awkwardly to the side. Shigaraki probably hadn’t invited them to sit down, despite the long hours Izuku had drilled the concept of hospitality into his head. One was a tall, lanky young man, probably around eighteen or nineteen with unruly back hair and burn scars across most of his exposed skin. 

Next to him, with a bright smile — almost worryingly so; no one who smiled that bright wasn’t hiding some form of inner pain  and darkness— was a girl around Izuku’s own age. She had wheat blond hair that was up in two messy buns, and a school uniform on. Izuku blinked in surprise as he recognised the uniform from the all-girls private school from the district next to his. 

The mood in the room was thick with apprehension and thinly veiled discontent. Izuku chose this moment to step forward, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie in a masquerade of nonchalance. He figured that he was probably the one that had to ease the awkward vibe emanating from the two applicants. 

Kurogiri nodded to Izuku as he stepped closer. The black haired young man followed the smoky man’s gaze to Izuku, his electric blue eyes widening as he set eyes on the younger boy, an eyebrow arching in skepticism.   

He turned to Shigaraki. “This is who we were waiting for?” He didn’t sound very impressed. Izuku huffed, blowing a curl of hair out of his face and glowering lightly at the man. If one of the new applicants had a problem with his predilection for hoodies that said ‘hoodie’ or ‘generic popular culture reference’ on it, he would never allow him into the League. 

The girl saw him and waved, a friendly smile lighting up her face. She stepped forward, but the man behind her pulled her back. “You’re so excitable.” He muttered. 

 Shigaraki glanced over at him and grunted in disgust. “Why does your jacket say ‘cotton clothing implement’ on it?” He asked tiredly.  

“Because it’s supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” 

“What.” 

“Watch Mary Poppins.” Izuku enjoined. He slid onto a stool, looking over at the two potentials and gesturing at the seats next to him. “You can sit down you know. We won’t bite.” He considered for a second. “And from the looks of it on the news, you can handle yourselves even if we do.”

The black haired man glanced up in surprise, looking over at Izuku in confusion as he and the girl sat down. “What do you mean?”

Izuku rolled his eyes, yawning. “Oh please. Did you really think your little scuffle wouldn’t be noticed?” He eyed Shigaraki meaningfully. The git didn’t seem to notice. 

The girl seemed to consider. “Well, it was pretty loud. And you did destroy loads of property, Dabi.” The man — Dabi — hissed. “We’re not supposed to just go throwing our names about, Toga.” 

Izuku face palmed. 

“Well,” he tried, sighing exasperatedly. “If you’re going to be joining us we’re all going to know each other’s name anyway. So it doesn’t really matter.” Dabi didn’t look happy but shrugged in resigned assent. Toga seemed more enthusiastic however, grinning more brightly and waving at everyone individually, even Dabi for some reason. 

“Hi! I didn’t properly introduce myself, then. I’m Toga Himiko!” 

“Dabi.” Dabi grunted. Izuku frowned. He’d have to work harder to get Dabi to open up, it seemed. And work especially hard to get Toga to actually shut up — but he kind of enjoyed her shiny nature. It was a stark, kind of nice contrast to the rest of the emo shits who made up the League. 

Kurogiri cleared his throat, setting down his glass and resting his hands on the bar, staring intently at the newcomers with unblinking intensity. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Shigaraki nodded and shifted himself around to face the potentials. 

“I don’t want to waste time.” He growled. “I just have some questions. I don’t demand loyalty or any of that shit. Just one thing; if you do join — if you betray us, just know that I will find you, and I will demonstrate why I’m the leader of the League of Villains.” 

“More like second in command.” Izuku muttered. Shigaraki shot him a murderous stare, eyes piercing right through Izuku’s scull. Toga’s eyes widened and she clapped her hands excitedly. Not... the reaction Izuku was expecting. 

“So cool!” She gushed. “So edgy !” Izuku had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing at her words. He might just like Toga. 

Dabi rolled his eyes so hard Izuku swore he felt the Earth’s rotation shift. “Get on with it, grease-boy.”

Once again Izuku had to consciously bite down on his tongue to stop a stream of loud — potentially damning — cachinnations. Yes, Izuku thought he might enjoy getting to know the newcomers. If they joined. Although, Izuku guessed, he could always track them down and stay in contact with them even if they didn’t. 

Shigaraki made a grunt of annoyance, but surprisingly didn’t do anything beyond slightly flaking the edge of the bar away in agitation. Izuku was almost impressed, the boy was learning a semblance to self control. 

Suddenly, Welcome to the Black Parade began to play from Izuku’s pocket, noise muffled by fabric. Izuku jumped, annoyed at himself for not switching his phone to silent. He fumbled for it, bringing it out to see Giran’s number across the screen. He sighed, clicking the decline button and quickly sending a Sorry, busy. In meeting, ring you later before finally setting the device on silent and sliding it back into his pocket.

He looked up, apologetic. “Sorry. Jouhou. Ah, that reminds me; Kemuri, could you be my back door for a meeting with my informant?” 

“When?”

“Eleven pm Saturday.” 

Kurogiri nodded silently and Izuku turned back to Shigaraki, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. It was all an act, to hopefully make the other man less angry at the interruption. It probably wasn’t necessarily needed. “Sorry for that. Do continue.” 

The blue haired man sighed, all-too used to Izuku’s frequent disturbances and last moment phone calls by now. He was the League’s intelligencer and informal secretary after all. He turned back to the two candidates, staring at them impatiently. 

“Why do you want to join the League?” The two were silent for a moment before Toga spoke up, ever the more loquacious of the two. 

“Because I want to! I like your ideals and want to help.” 

“I have my reasons.” Dabi said after a few more seconds of silence. 

Izuku sighed. “Dabi, mah dude. Don’t think you can just give an answer as half-assed as that.” He caught the other’s eyes for a moment, smirking ever-so slightly as the man ch -ed in irritation. 

“More or less what Toga said.” He snapped. Izuku tutted. “Don’t use that tone with me, young man. You’re trying to convince me to let you join, after all.” 

Shigaraki butted in before Dabi could say something, which was probably for the better. “How much experience have you had?” 

Izuku chuckled. The other probably didn’t want another re-do of Izuku’s incompetence. He’d had to train Izuku how to so much as hold a knife, and hadn’t been especially pleased about the fact. 

“About four or five years.” Dabi’s short reply came, contrasting with Toga’s enthusiastic, “A few months!”

Shigaraki got half way through a sigh of exasperation before she went on hurriedly. “But I know the basics and I’ve practiced and used a knife often. I’m very good!”

The sigh morphed into a breath out in relief. 

“Fine. One last thing.” Shigaraki began tapping his fingers on the varnished surface of the bar, never allowing all five digits to hit the countertop at once. The sharp tmp tmp tmp echoed unnaturally in the silent room. 

“What’s your purpose?” 

The seconds ticked on, the entire room quiet and still. Waiting. Thinking. 

“People… heroes… society — have wronged and abandoned me. I want to be accepted, but I’d also like to get revenge. I want people to realise that I’m only here because they’ve made me become like this.” For once, Toga was solemn. Her ever-present smile was gone and in its place was a thin, sober line. Izuku nodded slowly, lips twitching up in pleasure. “Good, good. Perfect.” 

Her eyebrows twitched downwards at Izuku’s confusing reaction. He couldn’t blame her, people wouldn’t normally smile after hearing something like that. 

Dabi took a little longer, before he shrugged stiffly. “Endeavour.” Was all he said. Izuku nodded, smile growing only bigger. Dabi didn’t need to say anything more. The Number Two Hero had a nefarious reputation amongst the underworld. To many, he might seem to be impressive and powerful. And he was. Powerful, that is. But villains, criminals and people caught up in the vast network of the underworld knew better. The man killed unnecessarily, and was violent even when the situation didn’t call for it. Whatever reason Dabi had for hating Endeavour, Izuku would full-heartedly back him up and support him in bringing the man’s downfall. 

Looking at Dabi, maybe Endeavour had been the one to cause such extensive damage on the man’s body. His eyes caught the other’s for a moment, Dabi no doubt noticing Izuku scrutinising his body. Izuku glanced away. It was none of his business. 

“Hm.” Izuku mused. He knew that neither had lied, though Dabi had probably told only half the truth. These people looked and sounded like the perfect new members for the League. He shouldn’t hold any reservations. 

Yet a bit of doubt that something was still not right gnawed at him. But, without any evidence he couldn’t just accuse either of them of something. He also didn’t want to turn away new recruits with so much potential and a natural ability to get under Shigaraki’s skin. 

Kurogiri was gazing at him expectantly. “Well?” 

Izuku heaved a long sigh of resignation. He looked up, one side of his mouth tugging up as he tried to kick the incessant doubt into a vat at the back of his brain. Then maybe pour a whole lot of other things he didn’t want to think about on top of it, just to make sure.  

“Welcome to the League of Villains.” He announced, arms spread wide. His attempt at buoyancy went flat however as he yawned at the end, arms dropping to his side as he attempted the stifle it. 

“I’m Midoriya Izuku. Don’t call me that. Grease-boy is Shigaraki Tomura and Misty over there is Kurogiri.”

Toga huffed, confused. “Then what do we call you?” 

Izuku smiled. “Unless you’re one hundred percent sure no one’s listening, I’m Akatani. Akatani Mikumo if anyone wants my full name. Shigaraki here is Areta. If they want a real name make something up, or use Hayakaze. Doesn’t matter. Kurogiri is Kemuri.” He tapped lightly on his chin. “I’ll have to come up for aliases for you two soon.” 

Grease-boy got off his stool with an irked grunt. “I’m done here.” 

Izuku shrugged at the departing figure of their leader as the other shuffled from the room, muttering something about Dementium. He turned back to the two new members. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s a bit of a neet. I’m pretty sure he thinks if he defeats Freddy Fazbear enough times he’ll magically be able to kill All Might.”   

Toga blinked. “He plays five nights at Freddies?” 

Izuku waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Oh, he plays everything. Anyway,” He glanced up at Kurogiri, reaching over to tap a fingernail on an immaculate drinking glass. 

“So do either of you want a drink?”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku yawned. He was still tired from the night before. Despite leaving before either of the new League members had the chance to ask him anything, abandoning Kurogiri to show them to their rooms he’d no doubt pre-cleaning just in case, he’d gotten to bed even later than normal. Considering he got up at five every morning, getting to bed at three had fucked with his sleep routine quite a bit. 

Izuku had had years to explore the sheer size of the main League hideout, but despite the ground level only being a meagre bar and a smallish house behind it, the underground labyrinth that was the hideout stretched on for quite a while, hallways twisting and turning. There were many unused rooms; some full of storage containers, some with beds in a semblance of a bedroom. Some were large and empty, intended to be used as training facilities or to hold large crowds for debriefing or some such. Izuku himself had been offered a room here once, but he had declined and chosen to instead stay at home where he could play the role of a normal schoolboy and aspiring hero. 

Dabi and Toga. Izuku had to admit he was curious of those two. They stuck together, like they’d known each other before the League, which made no sense; from what little he knew of the two, they seemed to come from two different lives. One where Dabi got massive permanent scarring and the other still... wore her school uniform? Did it mean something special to her or something? 

“Midoriya! Young Midoriya!”

Izuku turned, excuse already half formed on his tongue as he spun around to face All Might, his skeletal form puffing and shuddering as he rushed to catch up to Izuku. His breath rattled agonisingly, making Izuku wince in what would have been sympathy if he felt any positive emotion towards the Number One Hero. As it was, the sound merely grated on his senses and made his body instinctively shiver. 

Izuku stood and waited as Yagi caught up and bent over, wheezing painfully. After a minute the man straightened up, twisting the edges of his mouth up into a fond smile.

“I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to you privately since young Shinsou arrived.” Izuku nodded, still unsure. Yagi seemed to sense his hesitation because he waved his hand, in an attempt to sweep away Izuku’s worries. It didn’t work.

“I won’t hold you up long, Young Midoriya. I merely wanted up talk to you about One For All.”

“Oh?” Now Izuku was interested. All Might nodded. “I figured you’d like to know more about what will be happening.”

Izuku bobbed his head down curtly in assent. He had been wondering what was happening with his quirk-to-be. The months, days, leading to the UA entrance exam were steadily decreasing.

All Might gesticulated as he explained, hands waving to form meaningful circles and squares. “I was planning to give you One for All after you finished clearing Dagobah beach. Or, if you hadn’t finished the beach by the time the UA entrance exam rolls around, I’d give it to you anyway. Knowing what I know about the exam, you’ll need any sort of help, quirk-wise, you can get. I’m not allowed to give you confidential information on the exam in case of cheating, however. The optimal situation would be if you finished clearing the beach early, so I could give you some time to adjust to your new quirk. But if that opportunity doesn’t arise,” here he winked at Izuku, which sent cold shivers running up the boy’s spine. The motion made Yagi’s entire face twitch, twisted and wrong; his gaunt features not accustomed to such gestures. “I will be here-on-out working as a teacher at UA High School. So I will be able to easily assist and advise you as you adjust and start to understand and use your new power.”

Izuku gawked. All Fucking Might was coming to teach at UA academy?! 

After the initial revulsion at having to spend more time around one of the people he most despised in the world, Izuku realised the opportunity being handed to him on a silver platter.

He had figured that after he’d received One for All, he’d go to UA and All Might would just continue mercilessly punching villains into the stratosphere. Then, maybe, they’d meet on the weekends to train Izuku’s new quirk or something. 

That way it would be as hard as ever to get to him. As hard as ever to quench the gnawing need within him to let his anger out, to put barely restrained fingers around that frail neck and wring the sick, godforsaken life from his already dying body.

Though, of course, Izuku couldn’t do that. For the plan to work, no violence whatsoever could be allowed to be used on heroes or civilians alike. (Shigaraki wasn’t great at keeping that rule, but he was trying).

“You’re teaching at UA?!” It wasn’t hard to say that with enthusiasm. Yagi chuckled. 

“Yes, my boy. I will be teaching the Basic Hero course.” He paused, waiting for Izuku to take in the information before moving on. “Anyway, I’ll stop holding you up. I just wanted to tell you what I’m going to be doing. Enjoy school.”

Izuku saluted sassily as All Might turned and left him standing elatedly on the sidewalk. When the man was out of sight, Izuku spun, mind already racing with the new possibilities, and forced his legs to cooperate enough to make it back to his apartment on time.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku wiped the sweat from his eyes. His shirt was drenched with it, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin as he carried different parts of a ruined car to the truck, red paint old and peeling as he pulled tires and doors off, the vehicle not resisting his dismantling as much as it probably should have been, probably because of it’s old age. 

Shinsou was sick that day, but he’d said he’d most likely be fine by the next day. They’d planned to skip the half day of school and spend the Saturday in town. Shinsou had said that there was a place he wanted to take Izuku, and despite his efforts to extract information from his friend, their destination the next day remained as cryptic as ever. 

On his left, All Might picked himself up off his perch on a junk heap with a soft grunt. He made his way over to Izuku and set a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently in what Izuku presumed was playful affection. 

“You’ve done enough for today, young Midoriya. I’ll see you again on Monday.” 

Izuku dropped the steering wheel he had been carrying under his arm. He heaved a sigh of relief, picking up patches of his soaked t-shirt and shaking it to create a makeshift wind under the fabric. He couldn’t wait to get home and have a shower.

Thinking of home made his mum pop into his head, and more specifically her asking him to tell his mentor to meet with her. He turned, Yagi’s arm falling to his side as Izuku scratched the back of his head awkwardly, almost dislodging the pencil stuck behind his ear from that morning. 

“Actually, I was wondering All Might… I told mum about these daily lessons and she said she’d like to meet you. Would that be… okay?” Okay, so maybe he played up his shyness and hesitant attitude when he was around All Might, but he’d have to keep acting the avid fan and quiet kind of boy until the whole of Japan knew the truth. By then there wouldn’t be much use pretending. 

All Might looked surprised, then a look of resignation crossed his face. His shoulders drooped. “I should have presumed something like this would happen. I guess I couldn’t just ask a boy to have private training with me and expect the mother to just let it happen without question.” He sighed. “Will this Sunday work? Or is that too soon?” 

Izuku shrugged. “Sunday should work. What time?” 

“Three? If I’m to impress your mother, I’ll need some time to prepare.” He chuckled, a small bit of nervousness leaking through his careful nonchalance. 

Izuku laughed. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to do anything to impress my mother. You’re All Might after all, even in your smaller form you have a natural charisma.” 

The Number One Hero’s eyes widened slightly at Izuku false words. “Thank you, young Midoriya. It’s nice to know some people can appreciate me beyond my title and stronger form.” 

Izuku chuckled, the sound sickening to his ears, and grinned. “You’ll always be my hero, All Might. It’s what you do, not what you look like.” 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

“Where are you taking me?” Izuku asked, voice full of suspicion. Shinsou smirked, hand warm and firm as he guided Izuku down the busy street. The hand on Izuku’s wrist was a necessary anchor to keep them from being separated by the thick ocean of bodies around them. 

“You’ll see.”

The idea of skipping school and going into town had initially been Izuku’s idea, but Shinsou had instantly latched onto the idea and told Izuku that he would be taking him somewhere. He would . Izuku had no say in the matter. None whatsoever. 

Shinsou had met Izuku at the bottom of the stairs leading to his second story apartment and had promptly grabbed Izuku’s wrist and began leading him towards the nearest train station. All through the train ride he’d had this smile on his face that was a mix between sly and childishly excited. 

With that spark of anticipation in Shinsou’s eyes, Izuku didn’t have the heart to protest and merely half heartedly complained as he was hauled from the train to the part of town that was more teenager and pop-culture centric. 

The crowd changed to young adults and adolescents, milling around in merchandise stores or clothing shops. There was a huge-ass line for the hedgehog cafe, mostly compiled of younger girls desperate to take cute selfies with slightly panicked small animals. 

Izuku raised his eyebrows at Shinsou.

“What? You’re planning to buy me a huge Doraemon plushie or something?” 

Shinsou laughed. “You like Doraemon?” 

Izuku shrugged. “Not much. More an All Might guy myself.” 

Shinsou weaved around a Western couple taking a selfie in front of an anime poster. The girl glanced at them and giggled, causing Izuku’s cheeks to burn, though he wasn’t entirely sure what for. Shinsou glanced back before turning down another street. 

“But you have no hero merchandise in your room. I just presumed you weren’t the fan-type.” He said.

Izuku bit his lip, glad Shinsou was too busy not getting mowed down by the crowd to look back. “I used to. Threw them out a few years ago. Guess I grew out of them.” 

Shinsou opened his mouth like he was going to reply, but instead let go of Izuku and turned around with a very uncharacteristic flourish. 

“We’re here!” He crowed.

Izuku glanced up at the name of the cafe that they’d stopped in front of. Kotsutouhin Cat Cafe. 

Izuku raised an eyebrow. “Antique… cat cafe?”

Shinsou’s face flushed and he looked away, hands dropping to his sides and finding their way into his jean pockets protectively. “It’s kind of retro. I don’t know. It’s really nice and—“

He was cut off as Izuku poked him gently, face screwed up in light annoyance. “Oi, don’t get all defensive on me now, Hitoshi. Lets go in. I want to see why you like it here.” 

The door was large and had an intricate pattern constructed from stained glass on it, and creaked a little as Izuku pushed it open. The front desk seemed normal enough however, the woman behind it sporting large feline ears and whiskers. She glanced up as they headed inside, face brightening as she spotted Shinsou. 

“Shinsou-kun! Nice to see you. Skipping school on Saturday again?” 

He grinned bashfully. “Never can stay away for too long. No other place does such good coffee.” 

The woman chuckled. “I see you’ve finally brought a friend! Usual room I presume?”  

He nodded. “Thanks, Nekomi-san.” 

Shinsou turned to the small elevator next to the door, pushing aside a potted fern next to it to get to the button. The elevator was small and cramped, but somehow strangely luscious. The inside was mahogany and glass, causing Izuku to gaze at himself from several different directions at once uncomfortably. In vain he scrubbed through his mess of curls to get them to sit better. They didn’t. 

Shinsou caught his eye in the mirror. He smiled. “Your hair looks fine.” He said. 

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open seamlessly. The hallway beyond was also mahogany, antique lamps casting a superlunary glow onto the panelled wall and floor. 

Izuku stepped hesitantly out, feeling very out of place in his ripped jeans, red timberland boots and the person wearing this is a hypocrite hoodie. This place looked nothing like a regular cat cafe, and gave off more of a regal, cat-hair-is-a-parasite-for-the-furniture vibe. 

Shinsou must’ve seen his expression because he tugged lightly on Izuku’s arm and started heading down the hall. “You’ll be pleasantly surprised, trust me.” 

Izuku grunted and shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders as he followed Shinsou up the hallway in case a hook nosed woman in Victorian clothing came out to whack him with a mop. 

A woman in a black skirt and frilly apron appeared out of nowhere as Shinsou stopped at a door and began pushing it open. He jumped. 

Izuku raised his eyebrows slightly. A vanishing quirk? The girl’s skin was lightly green and her irises a bright shade of silver. 

“Jinko-san!” Shinsou shrieked, stumbling backwards before composing himself. He scowled. “I told you not to fade-in when I don’t know you’re there.” 

She giggled before pushing past him to check the room. Izuku walked up, curious, and peeked into the room, eyes widening as his gaze swept the room. 

Damn.

One whole wall was made of glass and looked out over the street. This side of the building caught the most sunlight, and the morning rays of sunshine filtered into the room, casting white lines over the thick beige carpet that sat next to the window. Several cats were lying in the sunlight, stretched out and asleep. 

A long sofa stretched along the right wall, curving around to create a cosy room within a room next to the window. Behind that was a cat play gym, large and intricate, and arching over a large kotatsu. 

The room was naturally lit at that moment, and despite the more modern feel, the room was still antique themed and a large stained glass lamp hung from the ceiling. The floor was dark planking and the walls were panelled mahogany like outside. Despite this, the colour scheme of the furniture worked well with the walls and floor and somehow made mahogany seem modern. 

Along the left wall was a bookshelf with books ranging from ancient to just-published, the middle of it leaving a hole for a big-screen TV. 

Izuku whistled. “You weren’t joking, Hitoshi.” 

The bastard had the audacity to look a little smug, but Izuku decided to let him have this one. 

The girl, Jinko, looked up from scratching a cat behind the ear. She grinned. “Want anything?”

Izuku idly walked to the kotatsu and plucked up a menu from it’s stand. His eyes skimmed lazily over the food options. 

“Can I get a hot chocolate and french toast?” Jinko nodded, writing the order down in her tablet. Shinsou didn’t even bother looking at the menu.

“Long black and banana bread, thanks.” Jinko nodded again and turned to leave. Before she got to the door, however, her entire body faded into nothingness. A few seconds later the door opened and closed, seemingly by itself as she slipped, invisible, through it. 

Shinsou tched in mild annoyance, turning to head over to the carpet which was, now that Izuku looked closer, covered in a small paw pattern. He plonked himself down onto the carpet and let himself fall backwards until he was basking in the sun like the cats surrounding him. One tabby cross heaved itself up, stretching and yawning before padding delicately over to lie on Shinsou’s stomach, making the boy let out a surprised breath of air as it’s heavy body settled itself right on top of his lungs. 

“That woman scares me on purpose.” Shinsou softly complained as he brought one hand up to start petting the cat on top of him. Izuku chuckled. 

“She’s actually pretty easy to hear if you know what to listen for.” He said, coming around the couch and selecting a victim. He bent down, lifting the lethargic animal into his arms like a furry baby. It made a soft mew in half-hearted protest. 

Shinsou sighed. “I know, I know.”

Izuku shuffled backwards until his legs hit the side of the lounge and he sat down heavily, cradling the cat in his arms and enjoying the way it relaxed trustingly in his arms. It was annoyingly adorable. 

Shinsou closed his eyes. The cat on him turned over in its sleep. 

“I have a few cats myself, actually.” Shinsou said. Izuku looked up. 

“Oh? What are their names?” 

Shinsou smiled softly. “Shibou and Genkina. They’re probably jealous of all the cats here, actually. I come here so often.” 

Izuku hummed in amusement, fingers running gently over his cat’s stomach. “You called one of your cats ‘ fat ’?” 

Shinsou sniggered. “Yeah, well, he’s a thicc lil thing. What was I supposed to call him? ‘Skinny’?” 

“I always wanted a cat.” Izuku said. “My mum always said they weren’t worth the hair.” 

“They’re not.” 

Izuku laughed. “Says the person with two cats.” 

“My parents didn’t want me to have them either, actually.” 

Izuku peered down at Shinsou curiously. “How did you convince them? Tell me your secrets.” 

His friend curled up into a sitting position, the cat on his stomach sliding into his lap with a small mewl of disgruntlement. “I…” 

Izuku cocked his head to the side. Shinsou’s face was inscrutable, but his eyebrows were crinkling downwards slightly. Izuku sensed tea. 

“I?” 

Shinsou stroked his cat, forehead creasing and mouth pulled down in disquiet. 

“I sometimes think my parents agree to things and let me have or do things so they can get on my good side. I… I don’t even know why. They’re… my parents. Why wouldn’t they be on my good side?”

“So they got you those cats not because they wanted to, but because they wanted to please you?” 

Shinsou nodded uncomfortably. 

There was a knock at the door and Jinko materialised in the room, carrying a tray with their orders on it. “Here you’s are! Sorry it took a bit long.” 

Izuku scooped the cat off his lap and went to take the tray with a smile. “Thank you.” She grinned back and waved her fingers cheekily at Shinsou. 

“Looks like you’re enjoying yourself, Shinsou-kun.” 

Shinsou huffed. Izuku set the tray on the kotatsu as Jinko vanished out the door again, calling a quick, “Say hi to the Satorus’ for me, will ya?” over her shoulder. 

Izuku glanced after her, confused. “The Satorus'?” 

Shinsou looked away. “My parents. My adoptive parents.” He supplied when Izuku’s look of confusion didn’t go away. 

“But I don’t like thinking of them like that. It makes them more… I don’t know.” He bent down and buried his face in the cat’s fur. When he spoke again, his voice came out muffled. “My original parents were scared of me when my quirk manifested at four. They put me up for adoption almost right after.” He turned his head slightly to look at Izuku, and noticing the greenette’s stunned face, he hurriedly added, “Don’t worry, I can’t even remember what they looked like. I don’t miss them.”

“They were afraid—?” Izuku paused. “You never did tell me what your quirk was.” 

His friend sighed. “I don’t like telling people. It’s kind of… people say it’s villainous.” 

“No quirk is inherently villainous, Hitoshi. It’s what you do with it.” 

Shinsou looked up, confusion etched into the lines of his face. In his slightly upturned eyebrows and crinkled forehead. “But—”

Izuku stepped forward, face serious. This was what he hated about society. This is why their world was so corrupt. This boy with so much potential and a dream to become a hero — a good hero — was cast out and ostracised just because his quirk looked slightly scary. 

This was the kind of world he was working to change. 

“Don’t you dare think that your quirk is villainous. What about heroes with potentially villainous quirks?! Every quirk could be used for evil if wielded by someone with a pernicious intent.” 

Shinsou was staring at him, mouth agape. Izuku forced himself to take a breath in. He realised this was the first time his new friend had ever seen his angry. He was never angry. Not visibly. 

When you work with villains you get good at hiding your emotions. Only show the strong emotions. Contempt, sarcasm, happiness in moderation. Calm. Those weren’t weak. 

Sadness was. Anger, too, if you lost control. 

“You told me once that you wanted to become a hero so you can prove your heroic intentions. So you can show those people that you could become a hero despite them. And that you would never let what they said get to you.” 

Izuku bent down and retrieved Shinsou’s coffee before striding around the lounge until he stood in front of the other boy. He knelt down and gently offered the cup to his shocked friend. “Show this society that anyone can become a hero. If nothing else, I believe in you.” He chuckled softly. “I believe in you so hard, Hitoshi. So go. Go and show them that you . You . Are a badass motherfucker.”

Chapter Text

“I’m going to go to bed,” Izuku said as he finished drying his bowl and turned to leave. Inko glanced up from where she was washing the dishes from that night’s meal. Despite it only being the two of them, there was never a shortage of dirty dishes. Soap suds were all up her arms and some, somehow, had found lodging in her hair. 

“But it’s not even nine yet.” 

Izuku shrugged, wiping his damp hands on his pants and earning an exasperated look from his mother. “I have a bit of homework. And anyways, I have something I wanna do before Yagi-san gets here so I want to get to bed early.”

“Yagi? Is that your trainer’s name?” 

“Yeah.”

Inko hummed contemplatively, seemingly satisfied with his response, and turned back to the My Mum’s Hotter Than This Tea mug she was scouring with a sponge that Izuku had nicknamed Bob. “Alright, sleep well. And keep your window closed, I always seem to hear the wind blowing in your room and I don’t want you to catch a cold.” 

Izuku internally winced. It was only understandable that she had mistaken Kurogiri’s warp gate for the sound of wind.  

“Yep. You too, ‘kay?” He sent her a soft smile before slipping into the hall and into his bedroom, locking the door behind him with a dull click. 

After switching off the light and instead turning on the warm yellow desk light, Izuku quickly got changed out of his daggy jeans and this was made in China t-shirt, and pulled on a pair of clean black jeans, a long sleeved shirt saying this shirt has sleeves , his trademark red timberland boots and a slightly more presentable grey sweater with the word Sweater across it in black stitch. 

He’d always wondered about getting a ‘villain costume’ but had never really considered it a real option. After all, villains wore costumes for much the same reasons heroes did — to be recognised, or to, in some cases, stay anonymous, and to have something easier to fight in. Izuku wanted to stay anonymous, sure, but he could easily achieve that without a full costume. Plus, medical face masks were much less suspicious and were like four hundred yen at FamilyMart. 

He had, actually, done a rough sketch of a possible villain costume once when he was bored in class. Maybe if he never used it for villainy, he could use the design for his hero costume.

The main reason for not getting one however, despite how many times Kurogiri had suggested it, was that Izuku liked to be underestimated. It gave him an advantage over people at the same time they thought they had an advantage over him, thus making them even more vulnerable. If he didn’t look villainous, he couldn’t possibly be a villain, right ? Right.  

 So for now his dorky sweater would have to do. Despite himself, Izuku found himself wishing that he had something more presentable. A tuxedo, perhaps. A simple black one, like the one in his concept design. It was practical, comfy, and could be used outside of work. And it would be useful in a time like this. He wanted to appear more professional, even just a tad, for the Ambassador of Kakureta. Izuku wanted to form an alliance, and Kakureta probably wouldn’t want to form one with a scrawny teen in his only pair of clean, and very oversized, clothing. 

Izuku plucked the pencil out from behind his ear and set it deliberately on the table. He didn’t want to be seen as scatterbrained too (no matter how much he was). 

Reaching into his schoolbag, Izuku pulled out his new pair of sharpened scissors, shoving them into his back pocket. If they were there, it would make them seem like merely a pair of normal crafting scissors he’d forgotten about (so much for not seeming scatterbrained). Putting them into somewhere obviously suspicious like his boot would be too salient. And besides, trying to yank his weapon from his boot in the middle of a potential battle sounded like a bad idea. Better to have them easily accessible. 

Izuku straightened up to stand in the middle of his room, glancing about him in case he’d forgotten something. Nothing coming to mind, he turned and pulled out his desk chair. He still had two hours to get homework done before his personal warp gate chauffeur arrived, and that essay still needed doing. 

A sandy, granulated shifting sound alerted Izuku to the arrival of Kurogiri’s warp gate. Pushing back his chair and closing his textbook, he got up and flicked his light off, plunging his room into pitch blackness. The only light left came from his softly glowing phone screen and the line of light radiating from under the door. 

Snatching up his phone and thrusting it into his back pocket, Izuku turned and stepped up to his closet, quietly pulling open the door and peering in. It was even darker inside than in his room, but the signature sound of the gate was louder, so Izuku knew the portal was right in front of him. Without further ado he stepped inside, pulling the door to his closet shut behind him. 

Izuku landed on polished floorboards, his shoes making a muffled thud as his feet hit the floor. Despite Giran’s grubby aesthetic, his office where he met new recruits and customers was surprisingly grand. It wasn’t a huge room, but the cream coloured walls and beige carpet-covered oak floorboards made the room feel bigger than it actually was. On one side of the room was a big oak door and a bookshelf, on the other side a large mahogany desk with small plush armchairs in front of it, and another behind. There was a potted fern in the corner and a fan on the roof, suspiciously devoid of any dust. A lamp was attached to the middle of the fan, casting white light across the room. There were no windows. 

Izuku had only been there a few times before, and the office was almost enough to make up for the fact that the rest of the building was dark and musty. It was an oasis of cleanliness in villainous disarrangement. 

Giran looked up from where he was shuffling papers on his desk, mouth strangely lacking a cigarette. He must really be trying to impress the Ambassador, huh. They must be offering something for him, some sort of asset or information, because Izuku knew Giran wouldn’t bother being this nice just to help Izuku, no matter how helpful he’d been and continued to be for the man. 

Villains were really ungrateful sometimes.

“Akatani.”

“Jouhou.”

A pause. 

“She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“She?”

“Yes, she and her husband work together in Kakureta, and they are also Ambassadors for the boss. When ones are needed, of course.”

Izuku stepped over to the armchair nearest him and made himself comfy. “Do I get a name?”

“Hagakure Shou, actually.” Izuku turned to spot a tall, elegant woman step into the room. Her hair was long and ever-so wavy, and her eyes were dark and intelligent, flitting over the room and registering all information in under a second. She wore a black turtleneck with a professional jacket over, and dress pants over high-heeled black boots. She looked to Izuku like a deadly office lady, her clothes obviously made for both meetings and massacres. 

The woman seemed to quietly assess the situation. She smiled. “I hope I wasn’t too late.”

Giran waved the woman over to the other chair. “Good evening Hagakure-san. Don’t worry, you are not by any means late. My name is Giran, and this is—”

“Midoriya Izuku.” Izuku cut in, just in case Giran had been about to call him Akatani. Kakureta was all about information and knowledge, much like himself. They would undoubtedly uncover his real name soon enough, if they didn’t already know it, so it would be better to be open about his name and identity from the beginning if he wanted an alliance that wasn’t built on distrust and constant tension. It was dangerous, but worth it. And after all, Izuku wasn’t doing all of this and expecting to be completely safe. He had known the risks of joining the League and becoming, essentially, a villain from the very beginning. 

He wanted what Kakureta offered, and he would obtain it. He didn’t set out to fail. Ever.

“Now, I believe you contacted Kakureta because you wished to form an alliance with us?” Hagakure said, folding her hands on her lap after sitting down, her back straight and posture flawless. “Is that right?”

Izuku sat forward, fingers laced, and smiled. “Actually that was me. Giran here is, what do you say, the in-between. I am part of the League of Villains. I opined that forming a business alliance with Kakureta could be beneficial to both our causes.” 

Hagakure tilted her head in curiosity. “How so? Kakureta is an underground company that specialises in marketing, transporting and selling otherwise illegal goods and weapons, and also has several branches dedicated to forging fake identities and passports and the like. How could forming an alliance benefit us?”

Izuku brought out his phone and unlocked it, bringing up photos and tapping on one he’d taken of one of his many hero analysis notebooks. The book was opened on a page that detailed the strengths and weaknesses of the hero Snipe. He passed the phone to Hagakure. 

“You’re a company that deals and specialises in information, are you not?” Izuku countered, “I have analysed and broken-down every weakness and defence of nearly every hero in Japan, and even some from other countries. If that isn’t enough, I would like to inform you that the League is lead by the most powerful man on Earth, a man with almost limitless power and centuries of knowledge. This could be available to Kakureta should it choose to forge an alliance with the League. 

Hagakure looked up from the phone, eyes widening. “Who? You mean...?”

“All For One. Yes.”

Hagakure’s eyes got impossibly wider. She sat back in her chair, stunned. “So he really is real... but, what could we possibly offer you in return? Having relations with that man is something we could never exceed.”

Izuku grinned. “I’m sure Kakureta could more than help the League out. You see, we need more contacts, more people we can call up at a moment’s notice. We need equipment, weapons, fake IDs, as well, as we’re still a fairly small group with limited resources. Also...” 

“Also?”

“Do you have hackers?”

Hagakure paused. “I believe we do. Yes. We have a side department devoted to keeping any information about us off easily accessible websites and the like. They’re equipped with specialised quirks, and are quite impressive.”

She passed back Izuku’s phone. “Also, your analysis on Snipe’s weaknesses and strengths is quite impressive. Do you perhaps have an information quirk of some kind?”

Izuku pocketed his phone once again, and sat back in his chair, now that he had gotten the upper hand and obtained what he’d wanted, he felt himself relaxing slightly. 

“Hm? Oh, no, nothing like that. But thank you, I hope it may assist you in the future, if you ever need it. And as for the hackers, I just may need their help in the future.”

Hagakure smiled. “Anything else?”

“I don’t think so, no. Thank you, Hagakure-san.”

Hagakure leaned forward, holding out a hand to Izuku. “No problem, it will be a pleasure working with you in the future, Midoriya-kun. When you’re available, just come to headquarters and we can have you fill out some paperwork so we can begin to order and make some IDs and such.”

“It will be a pleasure working with you too.” They shook hands, Hagakure’s hand strong but soft against his. 

Hagakure then stood, bowing briefly to Giran and Izuku before turning and heading for the door. As it clicked shut behind her, Izuku allowed himself to relax more fully. 

“Man that was stressful,” he groaned. “Being diplomatic is tiring.”

Giran grunted in reply to Izuku’s complaint, popping a cigarette into his mouth. He’d most likely held it under the desk this entire time for the moment Hagakure left. The man reached under his desk and pulled out a small pistol, bringing it up to the end of his cigarette like he was about the blow the object’s brains out, and pulled the trigger. Izuku mentally braced himself for the resounding crack but instead of a bullet, a small burst of fire came out of the hole. Giran then used this flame to light his cigar. 

Izuku rolled his eyes, “Extra.” He muttered. 

Giran looked up, one eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly, and face blank, doing a perfect act of pretending he hadn’t heard Izuku’s comment. “Do you need something more?” He blew a long stream of putrid smoke from his mouth, before leaning back and kicking his feet up on his desk. 

Izuku wrinkled his nose, knowing his clothes would be covered in the smell of cigar smoke by the time he got back home. He’d have to wash them, before his mother noticed. 

Izuku dug out his phone again and opened Notes. “Yeah, could I get Kakureta’s leader’s personal number, and Hagakure Shou-san’s business number? I know you have them.”

Giran chuckled. “Of course I do. Why his personal number, though?”

Izuku stretched a lazy smile across his face. “Just give them to me, Giran.” 

“Secretive fucker,” Giran muttered. “Alright kid, I’m only saying them once. Kakureta’s leader is named Satoru Sho. His number is 173 017 927.” He paused a second as Izuku quickly typed down the number. “Hagakure’s number is 018 283 273.”

Izuku finished typing and looked up, eyebrows furrowing. “Satoru?”

“Yeah. Got more information on him, but you’ll have to pay.”

Izuku shrugged. “Not interested. I’ll do my own research.”

Giran stubbed his cigarette butt into the underside of his desk. “Have it your way.”

Izuku was about to get up when he remembered something. “Oh, yes, also.”

Giran eyed him, smoke pluming around him like a noxious genie. “If you want more information you’d better be prepared to pay for it.”

Izuku raised his hands placatingly. “I am, I am. Actually, I have some new information that might interest you.”

Giran raised an eyebrow, not easily impressed. “Oh? Do tell.”

“In exchange I would like any information you have on the villain Dabi.”

“Give me the information first. I’m not just going to go around giving away precious information for some random bit of useless info.”

Izuku sighed. “Fair enough. I have intelligence on All Might, actually. Did you know he’s going to be a teacher at UA? He’ll be teaching the Basic Hero Course.

“His name is Yagi Toshinori, and his real appearance is that of an emaciated middle aged man with long shaggy blond hair and skeletal features.” 

Giran looked skeptical so Izuku expanded. “Remember his fight with Toxic Chainsaw? He was actually wounded badly during the fight, which led to the removal of several of his vital internal organs. Now he can only work as a hero for around two to three hours a day. His buff-er form is something he cannot hold for an extended amount of time. He’s weak , Giran. Weaker than even we believed he was. But I think his biggest weakness is that he cares too much. He would do anything to save someone, especially someone he cares about. Now, I know you’re not tied to us, but please, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t disclose this information to anyone with harmful intent. I have my own plans for All Might, and I don’t need someone else to come in and mess things up.”

Giran sat back in his chair thoughtfully. “Huh. Well, in that case, I actually do have some information on that Dabi guy. Real name’s Todoroki Touya. Ran away from home a few years back, and has been steadily gaining a notorious reputation for being an edgy bastard. According to sources, he was pretty close with the youngest sibling, Todoroki Shouto, but no one’s been able to get close enough to him or follow him undetected long enough to notice if he’s been keeping contact. Apart from that, the guy’s an enigma. If it wasn’t for the one informant I have that’s close to the family, I’d never have even known he was a Todoroki.”

Izuku stood up with abrupt finality. No wonder the guy had a vendetta against Endeavor, the bastard was his own father. 

“Thank Giran, that’s actually really useful. Guess I’ll just need to find someone who can get near to him, then, huh.”

Giran’s only reply was a long puff of smoke that permeated Izuku’s lungs and made him gag. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku rolled out of bed, already somehow knowing he’d slept in longer than he’d planned. A quick glance at his clock told him he only had a few hours at best before his mentor arrived. Though, to be fair, he shouldn’t be that surprised: he had stayed up pretty late the night before. 

He picked himself up off the floor, and made a half-hearted attempt to shove his comforter back onto the mattress in a semblance of a made up bed, and kick some residual trash under his bed, just in case the Number One Hero was feeling particularly nosy that day. 

A quick shower later and Izuku was padding down the hall and towards the front door, hoodie over his arm and timberland boots in hand. 

Inko poked her head out of the living room, polish smudged on her nose and a duster tucked under her arm. “Where’re you going?” She queried. 

Izuku glanced over at her before sitting down at the genkan and pulling his shoes and hoodie on. “Just the shops. I was planning on making cupcakes or something.”

“What flavour?” Inko asked suspiciously. 

“Mud chocolate.” 

His mum sighed in relief and turned back to the tv cabernet. “That’s sweet of you, Izu. Don’t take too long, ‘kay?” 

Izuku smiled at her turned back. “Won’t.”

Izuku stood up and pulled the door open, a rush of chill morning wind hitting him straight on. He grimaced. 

Stepping outside, he closed the door behind him and made his usual precarious way to the ground, before turning left and heading towards the nearest grocery stores. 

Inko had said what he was doing was sweet, probably thinking he was doing this as a treat for his mentor. He wasn’t, actually, he’d just been craving mud cake for a while now and this had seemed like the perfect excuse. Also, he could take the leftovers to share with his friends back at the League. Might make a nice peace-offering for the newcomers. Dabi had seemed chilly towards him when they’d met and for the plan to work there needed to be trust between them. 

And, maybe, Izuku wanted him as a friend too. 

Izuku entered a grocery store with a gaudy cartoon of a man on the window with the words Tsuyomi’s Groceries next to it in bold red hiragana. The bell jangled obnoxiously as he stepped inside, the bored girl at the counter looking up at the noise and giving him a half hearted wave. He waved back. 

He frequented this store, on his numerous trips to and fro from home to get groceries and the like. He always used the change gotten after he bought the stuff requested by Inko to buy himself a melon bread every time he came, so the girl, Hanako, who worked here for her father, knew him and his melon bread addiction pretty well. 

From some of their previous over the counter conversations, she’d told him that she was a college first year, and was working at her father’s store so she could afford the rent for her tiny flat that she shared with another girl, and about twelve dozen or so ferrets. She was nice, in a tired, sarcastic, college student kind of way. She took no crap from any of her customers, and Izuku had frequently witnessed her putting some of her more entitled buyers into their place. (No, Wakuri, you can’t find broccoli flavoured baby food here, and honestly I’m worried as to why it even exists). The numerous incidents had been enough to spark conversation, and eventually they’d become friends. 

Or, whatever you called two people who hung out in the back of an empty parking lot eating half defrosted grape coolish together. 

Occasionally, Izuku would help her stack shelves when he had nothing better to do, or throw out containers of pickled plums or the like that were too far past their expiry date to even give to your already-dying old grandmother. 

She’d told him once, one afternoon in that parking lot that housed more graffiti than even rats, that she too was quirkless. Izuku hadn’t known that he would be getting All Might’s quirk back then, and he had never really hid the fact that he was quirkless, so he could only guess that she had felt safe telling that secret to a fellow outcast. 

“People like us need to stick together, y’know?” She’d said, thoughtfully. “Being like this makes you bitter, doesn’t it? Makes you wonder why you drew the short straw and get ostracised for something you can’t help. But we survive. We make our mark. People won’t even see us coming till it’s too late.” 

He’d agreed. It was true after all, maybe more so than even she knew. One day, because of him, a quirkless boy, the world would be changed for the better. No one would be discriminated against for something they couldn’t help, ever again, if he could help it. And he would help it. 

Izuku walked to the back of the store, contemplating his options as he scanned the different flavours of cake mix. Was he feeling inclined to helping the planet and buying an organic brand that day or not? He was, as a matter of fact, and finally he settled on one that had a disgustingly delicious-looking picture of a mud cake on the front. The kind that was probably made to look so great with the help of copious amounts of glue and other inedible substances.   

And if he couldn’t stop himself from buying a melon bread or two who was going to judge him?

Hanako grinned at him knowingly as she scanned the melon bread through. 

“How’s it going, ‘Zuku?”  She asked, prodding at the screen in front of her and pushing the small display with the amount the items cost on it in small digital numbers around, so Izuku could pay.

He shrugged, popping the money in the small bowl and sliding it back towards her. “Nothing much. My trainer is coming to my place today so I’m making muffins.”

“Trainer?” She raised an eyebrow, a corner of her mouth tugging up in a soft smirk. “What’re you training for? 

He gathered the bag and turned slightly, for the door. “I’m getting into UA.” He supplied, simply. He waved as he turned fully and headed out the door. 

Back at his apartment, Izuku dumped the shopping bag on the kitchen counter, reaching a hand in and plucking out a packet of melon bread. He ripped it open and stuck the loaf in his mouth, munching contemplatively as he rummaged around in the cupboards, retrieving various mixing bowls and spoons. 

Methodically, Izuku cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking it before pouring the pre-made mixture in. Inko bustled in as he was stirring, moving past him to distractedly turn the oven on and dip a cheeky finger into the mixture. 

Izuku slapped her hand away.

“The batter or the muffins, mother. Choose carefully because you can’t have both.” He warned, glaring half-heartedly at her. She only laughed, turning to open the fridge and rustle around inside. 

“He’s coming before lunchtime, but I want to be hospitable…” she worried. “Should I make something or serve some onigiri I made last night?” 

“I’m already making muffins.” Izuku pointed out, and Inko closed the fridge door with a reluctant sigh. “If they don’t cook in time, you can serve the onigiri.” 

“Alright, alright…”

 Izuku moved to pour the batter into the cupcake pan, one hand moving to open the oven door, the other clumsily picking up the pan and somehow managing not to drop it.

He’d had this incident once where he’d accidentally dropped his birthday cake pan full of cake batter onto the floor, effectively ruining the cake and, in his opinion, his entire birthday. He’d been scarred for months afterwards, never letting himself pick up a cake pan or help with cooking for almost an entire year just in case he fucked up again.

Yes, he was dramatic sometimes. Sue him. 

A sudden noise of muted catastrophe had Izuku shoving the pan into the oven and whipping around, only to find his mother frantically trying to retrieve all the tiny individual tea bags that had scattered when she’d opened the overcrowded tea cabinet.

“ Mum …” he admonished. Inko had a slight tea addiction, and whenever she discovered a new brand or flavour, she immediately bought a few dozen of the ‘new specimens’, as she liked to call them. This usually resulted in an overcrowded cupboard, which effectively spewed it’s contents whenever opened like a person who’d eaten just a bit too much.  

Izuku was inclined to make her pick everything up herself — you reaped what you sowed after all — but his mother’s panicked and watery-eyed expression had him squatting down beside her, gathering tea bags into his hands and dropping them into their respective boxes.

A sharp buzzing sound had Inko startling to her feet, dropping her teabags and undoing the progress she’d made so far on the mess. Izuku sat back on his haunches, sighing. 

This visit was only an honorary affair. He was only doing this for his mother’s peace of mind, nothing more. Being in All Might’s presence always managed to make his anger spike, made the hot rage simmering in his stomach bubble up, ready to overflow at a moments notice. It was a dangerous game, keeping his identity as a villain working against the hero society secret, and pretence of being a bright-eyed prospective hero from being realised as false.   

Izuku could only thank his lucky stars he was so good at pretending to be happy.

Inko began to hyperventilate, and Izuku still needed to clean the teabags up. Izuku directed his mum to the teapot and picked a random teabag up off the floor. Handing it to her, he quietly moved the rest of the scattered packets of tea underneath the cupboard with his foot, then walked out into the hallway, idly flicking the kettle switch on as he passed.

He opened the door with a bright smile, full of welcoming excitement. “Yagi-san!”

All Might was in his shrunken form, face gaunt and hair as stringy as ever. He was perched precariously on the doorstep, like a leaf about to be blown off it’s branch by the tiniest gust of wind. Waves of nervousness radiating off him. He was dressed in a suit, obviously as an attempt to impress Izuku’s mum, and his hair was somehow less dishevelled today, brushed back and less wild.

“Young Midoriya, it’s good to see you.” He smiled, but the edges were tinged with anxiety. “Is your mother here? Oh no, she’s not out, is she? Did I come at the right time, I’m sure I checked—” 

“Yagi-san.” Izuku butted in, aware of the anxious tirade about to spill forth from the hero. He was always less confident when in his smaller form. He wasn’t as headstrong and bold, and tended to be more skittish, embarrassed about his emaciated appearance. More the soft uncle who has a pure, sweet, ace relationship with a woman who bakes cookies and gives everyone big hugs, than the Number One Hero.

Izuku wondered, for a moment, if All Might was in a relationship with someone. He remembered when the news had made a whole big thing about All Might and Sir Nighteye once, but that had been ages ago, and they didn’t even work together anymore. From what he’d gathered, they’d had a falling out or something. 

Which was a pity really, because they had made a good team. 

“Yagi-san, it’s fine. You came right on time, and my mum’s just in the kitchen, making tea. Have you eaten?” 

“Um. Yes. Was I not supposed to?” 

“Hm? Oh, no no. Just checking. I’m baking muffins, but they probably won’t be ready in time…”

Izuku stepped back, letting All Might enter and take off his shoes. Izuku wasn’t sure they had any indoor slippers Yagi’s size, so just let the man shuffle his way to the kitchen in his mismatched grey and pink socks. To Izuku’s amusement, they had the words Make Love Not War on the sides in cutesy hiragana.

Izuku poked his head round the kitchen doorframe. “Yagi-san’s here.”

Inko turned, picking up the tray she’d set with a fancy teapot and cups she reserved for visitors (they didn’t have many — excluding Shinsou, who was here so often now he’d received his own mug, with the words Sleep Yeet Juice on it in black hiragana). There was a plate of sour plum onigiri nestled next to the teapot. 

Inko glanced up at Izuku. “Take him into the lounge room, I’ll be out in a moment.”

Izuku turned and guided All Might into the room adjacent, and almost had to physically force the man to sit down, as without any prompting he seemed as if he’d continue awkwardly standing by the door, fidgeting in a uniquely annoying way that made Izuku seriously consider committing kill earlier than originally planned. 

Izuku sighed. He felt like the only grown up sometimes, as adults around him always seemed to be so childish sometimes. But maybe that was just him reacting to his mother, who always seemed to be in a constant state of barely-controlled-mid-nervous-mental-breakdown, and cried much more than he ever did, even before he had trained himself out of the inconvenient behaviour.

Hoping to somehow stop the man from fidgeting so damn much, Izuku sat on an armchair beside the couch that Yagi had settled on, attempting to silently convey through his not-so-subtle actions that is was alright to sit down, and to stop fucking bouncing his leg.

Shortly after, Inko bustled in, a warm chocolate smell wafting in behind her. In her hands was a tray, and her face was bright with a warm, welcoming smile. After setting the tray on the table, she bowed politely, something Izuku belatedly realised he probably should’ve done — working with impolite villains seemed to be rubbing off on him, it seemed. He didn’t think he had ever seen Shigaraki say thank you, let alone bow. Yagi scrambled to his feet and returned the gesture. 

“Nice to meet you, Yagi-san.” Inko greeted. 

The hero smiled sheepishly, nodding. “And you must be Midoriya-san. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you from your son.” 

Inko’s face turned the same colour of a tomato, and she covered her face with her hands in an attempt to cover her embarrassment. “Oh, no, no, I’m not—!…” She floundered for a second before recovering, “And Izuku has told me about you too!” She gestured for Yagi to sit down again, a bit frantically Izuku thought, and she too took a seat across from their guest. 

She glanced down, and reached for the teapot. “Tea? Onigiri?” 

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Inko filled hers and Yagi’s cups before looking to him, a silent question if he wanted some too. He waved his hands, having already taken note of the pungent scent of another one of his mum’s more exotic teas. 

Inko picked up her cup delicately and listed it to her mouth, where she blew gently on the surface. “So you’ve begun training my son? I must admit I’m curious what inspired you to do so.” 

All Might shifted in his seat, fingertips tapping nervously on the side of his teacup. Izuku was briefly reminded of an ASMR video he’d watched once, but it had been the first and last one he’d ever watched, because frankly he couldn’t understand the appeal. 

“A few weeks ago, I was present when your son helped rescue his classmate from the sludge villain. I saw in him a spirit of a true hero, because, even unlike the nearby heroes, he jumped in and saved that boy without any regard for his own safety. When I realised he was quirkless, I decided I would do everything in my ability to help him along the road to becoming a hero. He has too much potential to go to waste.” 

Izuku noted with not much surprise that the hero had completely left out the incident on the rooftop a few years back. Probably didn’t want himself to look bad. Or, Izuku supposed, maybe the hero felt guilty, but that was unlikely. 

He scoffed quietly. 

Inko took a sip of tea, nose instantly wrinkling at the more than likely astringent flavour. She was most likely making a mental note never to buy that particular brand ever again. 

She nodded thoughtfully. “I have to say I’m quite pleased to hear this,” she sighed, lowering her teacup. “Izuku has always wanted to be a hero, but so far no one has believed in him, or encouraged his dream. I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t been as supportive of him as I should have been, either. But,” here she fixed Yagi with an unwavering stare full of motherly protectiveness. “Mostly because I don’t want him to get hurt. I worry that without some sort of superpower helping to protect him, the life of a hero will be too dangerous for my son.”

Izuku shrunk imperceptibly down in his seat. She was right, of course. You didn’t need a quirk to become a hero, but it definitely helped, and not having one was as good as a death wish, unless you had trained since an infant and were a giant hunk of rippling muscles. In some round about, messed up way, being a villain was somehow safer than being a hero. 

“I need you to promise me something, Yagi-san. Promise that you’ll do everything in your power to keep my Izuku from harm. You need to promise me that you will do everything you can to…” She sniffled, and Izuku turned away, face set in a determinedly neutral expression. He rarely, if ever, cried anymore, but for some reason reason the sight of his mum bursting into tears always seemed to tip him over the edge. 

All Might looked pained; even more so than usual. He was gazing at the floor, biting his lip as if he was searching for the right words to say. 

“I…” he began, “I…  cannot completely promise that, Midoriya-san, no matter how much I would dearly like to. The job of a hero is never easy or safe. It’s about saving those who cannot protect themselves, from people who wish to do harm. That means putting themselves into harms way so that other people are safe. The life of a hero is a noble one, but it comes at a high price. I can’t fully promise you that Young Midoriya will never be in harms way, but I can promise you this: I will do everything in my power to make sure, for as long as I can, that your son is kept as safe as he can be. One day he will be able to protect himself, to keep himself safe. And I will make sure he gets there.” 

Izuku’s mum nodded curtly, mouth a thin line as she tried desperately to keep a calm and straight face and not revert to her default of bursting into tears. 

“Thank you.” Was all she said. All Might nodded, a small relieved smile on his face, and took another sip of tea.

“Interesting tea…” He murmured. 

Inko quirked a smile. “It’s disgusting, I know. I’ll go brew us something better.” 

She stood up and leant down to remove the platter of onigiri from the tray, before gently listing it up. “Don’t worry,” she said, chuckling. “The food isn’t as bad as the tea.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku stepped into his apartment, shoes squelching and tracking mud in. There’d been a sudden torrential downpour that had caught him when he had been only halfway home.  Luckily, he’d escaped the worst of it by ducking under a bridge, coincidentally the same bridge that the sludge villain had jumped him in, and waiting till it blew over. The entire time, he’d had his eyes trained suspiciously on the grate in the far corner, in case a torrential downpour villain was planning to pop out. The rain hadn’t lasted too long, at least. It had just been a quick reminder from above that the clouds didn’t give a fuck about the fact that you hadn’t taken an umbrella that day. 

He hadn’t however, been able to avoid the huge puddle that had been formed in the dip of the road, and his boots were now sporting a rather strange, dark crimson colour, more akin to the colour of dried blood than the cheery red it had had previously. He could only hope it would come out in the wash.

Inko bustled out of the bathroom, towel in hand. She had no doubt heard the rain on their shitty metal roof, which amplified every drop of rain into the sound of a gunshot, and figured her son would arrive home a tad more damp than usual. She waited patiently whilst Izuku peeled off his shoes before viciously attacking him with the towel. 

Izuku made a half hearted whine of protest, but the immovable motherly force could not be assuaged. (And maybe he kind of liked the feeling of being rubbed down with a soft towel).

“Why didn’t you take an umbrella, Izuku?” she tutted, “You could catch a cold, and it’s only Monday!”

Izuku rolled his eyes and sighed. “Not even the weather forecast predicted that and you know it.” And I just have shit luck in general, but, y’know. 

Eventually the towel let up, allowing Izuku to see again, and step free. His hair was somehow even more wild than it had been previously. He groaned, fruitlessly raking his fingers through the green mop that say on his head like a large, untamed, pom-pom. 

Inko chuckled, turning and going to put the towel back, before heading across the hall and into the kitchen. Izuku sighed again, shoulders drooping in silent resignation at his pom-pom fate, and proceeded to follow her, after dumping his bag on the floor outside his room. 

His mum was in front of the fridge, tying her apron, fiddling with the string and unravelling the knot several times before Izuku stepped up to help tie it. She glanced over her shoulder at him, a grateful smile softening her face. She reached up to stroke his cheek in motherly affection, and Izuku leaned into it, eyes closing in comfort.

 “So I was thinking maybe udon or something, but if you want something else you’ll have to tell me before I start cooking.” 

Izuku straightened, opening his eyes again when Inko let her hand fall away, and bit his lip. “Uh, actually I’d already planned to go to Shinsou’s for dinner. I forgot to tell you, I guess.” 

Inko turned around fully to pout at him, her forehead crinkling and arms crossing in mock annoyance. “What? So you were planning on just leaving me to eat instant ramen in the dark living room all alone tonight? Sobbing in solitude, whilst watching cheesy black and white American romantic dramas, where everyone is sad and true love is merely a fragment of the imagination?!”

Izuku almost laughed. His mum had never seen any of those types of films, nor did he believe she ever wanted to. But she had bought one from an antique store that had been closing down, a few years back, and he was pretty sure it was just to use for playfully guilt tripping him. It was called I Love Lucy or something cheesy like that, and he was pretty sure his mother would rather sell her soul before actually watching it. 

Plus, it was a film reel and they didn’t even own anything to play it with. 

But anyway. 

“Don’t guilt trip me woman.” He grinned, “I’ll be back by nine or so, ‘kay? He invited me and I took my chance. Sorry for forgetting to tell you, it was kinda last minute.”

Izuku was glad he had a friend now, actually. It had been much harder to lie to his mother about meeting with friends when he didn’t actually have any. He’d had to make excuses like a ‘study group’ and such, which weren’t very believable even when it didn’t go until after ten pm. 

And Inko wasn’t an idiot. It was hard lying to her, period. She was able to call bullshit, and only because Izuku had gotten so good at lying, was he able to still get out of the house without her stopping and interrogating him. Of course, if he pulled the ‘study session’ or ‘dinner at Shinsou’s’ card too frequently, his mother would get suspicious. It was lucky that this was the first time he’d needed to use that particular excuse. 

Inko swatted at him playfully. “You know I don’t care if you see your friends.” Her voice got softer, for a moment, “heaven only knows you don’t have nearly enough. But! Just don’t stay out later than nine, okay?”

“Got it.”

Izuku walked to the station, newly acquired umbrella up and helping him stay sheltered from most of the drizzle that still hadn’t let up since the downpour that afternoon. It was dusk, and the multicoloured neon lights of Shizuoka Prefecture were beginning to turn on, streaking bright colours across the wet pavement and causing the air and people to glow almost ethereally.

He’d shoved the container of muffins in his yellow backpack, but the umbrella wasn’t quite wide enough to cover the bag and Izuku couldn’t shake the nagging worry that the food was going to get unpleasantly damp. 

Izuku sighed in relief as he stepped into the train station, moving out of the rain and letting down his umbrella, before moving over to the top up machines to put more money into his pasmo card. 

As he inserted a one thousand yen note into the machine, his ears caught the sudden sound of a commotion heading steadily towards him. He turned, body tensing for action, and was met with the sight of two men flat out brawling in the middle of the Shizuoka public train station. A dozen or so security guards were trying and failing to separate them, their quirks somehow not even phasing the two men. 

One of the men resembled a large green lizard, maybe a Jamaican giant anole, with a long scaled snout instead of a face, and a tail whipping around and smacking anyone dumb enough to get in it’s way. The other was a big, brawny man with pale pink skin and short devilish horns. Izuku vaguely recognised him as Daemon, a low level hero whose agency wasn’t very far from there. He liked to call himself “the friendly neighbourhood Daemon” which was a line Izuku was pretty sure he had stolen from an old pre-quirk American superhero movie or something. Izuku liked watching those movies to analyse the differences between real and imaginative heroes were. It was also good practice to figure out Captain America’s strengths and weaknesses, and more than a little bit fun. 

The lizard man was yelling something, possibly “ return it !”, but it was hard to make out in the general din.  Daemon was barely fending off the other man, grunting with effort and writhing manically. He was clearly out of his league, which was unusual since he was a professional hero, so he must’ve been cause unawares, and by the lag in his punches and sluggishness of his general movements, he was mostly tired after a long day and didn’t have the energy left to deal with this. He kept repeating something along the lines of, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I haven’t taken anything, damn it!”

Intrigued as to why a civilian was fighting and accusing a hero of possible theft, as anyone would be Izuku supposed, he slipped his phone out and discretely opening the photo app and tapping video. He stepped sideways into the crowd, which had accumulated into a wide ring around the two fighting men to watch, despite the danger. He didn’t want to be as noticeable, and besides he was fucking short and in order to see anything he’d need to be at the front of the crowd. 

Izuku squirmed his way to more or less the front of the crowd and pressed record, hoping that this fight may turn out more interesting than it seemed. Any footage was good footage after all. 

The brawl continued on for several more minutes, in which time a fern pot had been overturned and trampled thoroughly, before finally a man with what seemed to be an anti-magnetism quirk stepped in and separated the two. The lizard man wouldn’t stop struggling however, so a big and burly security guard with what seemed to be a minor gigantrifying mutation quirk had to rush forward and grab him. 

“What’s going on here?” One guard barked, clearly thinking that it was way too late for this bullshit. 

The lizard man’s eyes face was angry, but a hint of desperation was evident in the wild flare of his eyes. “Look! Just check his back pocket! It’s a wallet he stole, just check!” 

Izuku raised his eyebrows. All this fuss over a single wallet? Sure, loosing a wallet with all your money and cards in it was shit luck, but it wasn’t exactly The Most Impressive RobberyTM. But maybe he was too quick to judge. 

A security woman standing behind Daemon shrugged and bent over to check the hero’s pockets. Her slightly disbelieving face morphed into surprise, however, when she pulled out a diamond encrusted wallet that was obviously not Daemon’s. The little gemstones sparkled in the bright light of the overhead lights, and the crowd around Izuku all gasped in shock unanimously. The hero had to have thought he had really hit the jackpot with that one. 

The lizard man was released as the rest of the guards rushed forward to subdue the hero as he began thrashing and struggling in the security guards’ grip. 

“It was planted! He put it in there to frame me! Why would I have stolen a wallet? I’m a hero! I wouldn’t steal!” 

The woman who had found the wallet stepped around to face the man and waved the wallet with a small grin on her face. “You have the right to remain silent, Daemon-san. Whatever you say can and will be used against you in court.” 

The hero growled. 

Izuku watched in grim satisfaction as the hero was dragged off, the lizard man following behind unprompted, most likely to provide a statement, a satisfied smirk on his long scaly face. 

Izuku stopped the video as the people around him began murmuring, most likely confused as to what they’d just witnessed. Heroes were hardly ever arrested, and never for petty theft. Two women beside Izuku we’re making excuses for the hero, since it was strange that a hero would’ve done such a thing. Maybe he was hard on, or possibly bankrupt? 

Izuku sighed. When would people finally see how greedy and corrupt most heroes were?

He turned and headed towards the platform, swiping his pasmo and heading down the stairway. He pushed to the front of the crowd waiting for the train, and pulled out his phone again, looking down and replaying the footage of the fight on mute. Who had the lizard man been? He’d looked vaguely familiar. Or, more like, gave Izuku a strangely familiar  feeling. 

Izuku sighed and shrugged the feeling off, shutting off his phone and cramming it distractedly into his pocket as the train pulled in. The police would no doubt put the names of the two on the news, since the incident had involved a hero, so he’d check who the guy had been then. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku had been to and walked to and fro from the League’s Headquarters many times before, but he still always somehow managed to get lost. Even at the times Shigaraki had accompanied him, he’d still accidentally found a way to get them both hopelessly lost, despite the fact that the other villain knew the area like the back of his PlayStation remote. The deeper he got into the dank and narrow alleyways, the more disoriented he always got. Had he already looked around this way or not?

Probably. 

The bar was downtown, at the back of a rundown pub that was nestled between equally dilapidated apartments and shops that had been abandoned years ago, and now housed all sorts of runaways, outlaws, social outcasts, homeless people and the like. 

Some of the shops actually were still open, but only to certain customers. Though Izuku was mildly interested, he’d never gone to any because he didn’t fancy salmonella or some other kind of food poisoning. The shops also didn’t accept money, either. 

Izuku had asked Shigaraki once what one payed with instead. The other had been in a strange mood that day and had replied “The souls of the innocent.”, but he had said it with such sincerity that to that day Izuku still didn’t know whether he had been joking. 

You never knew, really, with villains. 

Izuku stepped dramatically into the room, flourishing his container of muffins and letting the rustic oak door slam shut behind him with nary a squeak of hinges. 

“I brought muffins!” He declared. From another room he heard a sudden high pitched squeal, and his grin widened. 

Shigaraki looked up in bafflement from where he’d been playing some disgustingly pixelated game on his hand held gaming device. 

“What the fuck?” He hissed, “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

Izuku shrugged and went to place the container on the bench beside his grumpy friend. 

“Yeah but I brought muffins.”

He opened the container for Shigaraki’s benefit (opening lids when he could only use eight fingers tended to be hard, apparently), as Toga came bounding in from the room adjacent. A slightly bemused Dabi, his hands shoved deep into his pants pockets, came trailing behind her. 

Izuku’s grin widened. 

“What flavour?” Shigaraki asked sullenly as he dipped four fingers into the container and brought out a muffin. He sniffed it suspiciously. 

“Mud chocolate.” 

Behind Tomura, Toga slumped. “But I’m lactose intolerant.” She pouted. 

Izuku smiled knowingly at her. “Don’t worry. It’s soy milk.” 

Dabi peered at Izuku suspiciously. “How did you know she was—?” 

Izuku shrugged. “I make it by business to know things.”

Shigaraki grunted around a mouthful of baked good. “True that. I never told him about Tora, but he still knew about him, somehow.” 

Toga glanced up from where she’d crawled onto the counter, and was meticulously selecting the perfect muffin. Her face was scrunched up in confusion. Dabi’s hand crept into the container when he saw she was momentarily distracted and snatched the muffin she’d been about to pick up. “Who’s Tora?” She asked. 

Izuku snorted, crossing his arms and leaning against the side of the counter. “Tomura’s unofficial pet cat.” He eyed Shigaraki condescendingly. The other squinted back, suspicious. “I don’t even know why you thought he was a secret. You very obviously go out to feed him every afternoon and come back covered in white cat fur.” 

Shigaraki frowned in what would have been a defensive, possibly intimidating expression if his face hadn’t been covered in chocolate crumbs. “You’re not even here most days. How could you see that?” 

Izuku raised an eyebrow, before turning away to find a seat at the bar, next to Toga. 

“If you really think I haven’t set up at least a few cameras around here, then you’ve been severely oblivious to me going around and very obviously bugging every room in the hideout.”

Shigaraki looked up in shock, his red eyes widening comically. “Every room? But there’s hundreds — at least .”

Izuku shrugged. “And I’m a nosy motherfucker with a bucketload of patience.” 

Shigaraki only grumbled around his second muffin in reply. Toga, who had been happily munching beside Izuku, suddenly turned as if on a split second whim and began scrutinising him. Izuku glanced sidelong at her, and instead of looking away in embarrassment, she grinned.

“Your hair’s so fluffy!”she cooed, taking the opportunity to reach out uninvited and run her hands through it. Izuku smacked her hand away. “You remind me of my middle school crush!”

Izuku furrowed his eyebrows, face scrunching up in incertitude. “Is that... a compliment?”

She nodded excitedly. “Yup! Saito was really cute! He was cuter with a bit of red on him though. I’d bet you’d be a lot cuter too with a bit of red. Want me to give you some red?”

Izuku had subconsciously slid slightly away from the girl, and he was glad for the space between them. “Uh. No thanks. I’m good.” 

Toga’s grin morphed into a pout, but almost as quickly brightened up into a grin again. Was she bipolar or something? Izuku didn’t know that much about the condition, but this seemed similar. 

“Can I play with your hair?”

“Uh. N—“

“Thanks!” She slid closer on her stool and pulled a comb and several pink clips out from nowhere. Izuku guessed, wryly, that she had been holding onto them for the exact opportunity. 

On Toga’s other side, Izuku saw Dabi glance over, amusement evident in the slight strain on the stapled scars near his mouth. He pleaded with his eyes for the other man to help him escape, but he merely grinned evilly and went back to his muffin, doing nothing to save Izuku from his imminent doom. 

Desperation increasing, Izuku looked to his right, where Shigaraki was gazing at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Please...?”

“Nope.”

“But—“

Instead of answering, Shigaraki leaned around Izuku and regarded Toga conspiratorially. “His hair’s too thick for that comb,” he pointed to the one Toga was brandishing like a knife, “it’ll break in an instant. Try this one I stole, it’s made for strength quirks.” 

He took out a heavy, silver coloured comb from who knows where and handed it to Toga, who took it delightedly. 

Izuku squawked indignantly. “Why?!”

“Because hair that fluffy must hold secrets,” Shigaraki said, face completely serious. “And I don’t trust you with that much confidential information.”

He had a point, but Izuku wasn’t going to just admit that. Instead, he spluttered, “I thought you were supposed to be plotting the demise of hero society. Not the demise of your colleague’s hair!”

The git smirked. “Who says I don’t do both?”

Izuku was about to protest again when he felt a tug on the back of his head. Not prepared for the sudden pulling motion, he fell ungratefully back onto Toga’s lap with a surprised yelp. He felt his face begin to burn and quickly scrambled upright again. He whipped around, indignant. 

“ Toga !”

“Oops!” She giggled, not at all sorry.

He had come that night to hopefully become closer to the two new League members, and though that seemed to be working, his initial idea hadn’t involved having Toga embarrass him in front of both Shigaraki and Dabi. Worse, they seemed to be enjoying his pain. 

Despite him protests, Toga began methodically brush and untangle his hair. Usually the industrial strength hairbrush seemed to be actually working, and Izuku could feel his hair being — actually — unknotted and tamed for the first time in years. 

Izuku glanced at Shigaraki. With Toga systematically yanking his hair out, he needed a distraction. 

“So... you planning on recruiting some more people?” He waved a vague hand towards Dabi. “I’ve been in the League for almost three years by now and you’ve never mentioned another member, let alone two.”

Shigaraki shrugged. “The opportunity came up. I’ve always wanted my own action squad, and out of curiosity asked Giran if he could scout out any potential members. No one really applied, or was good enough though.” His hands twitched towards his neck, but he forced them down when Izuku shot him a look. “Most villains are either already in groups, or are basic thugs.” He grumbled. 

“So if you could find some better villains, you’d recruit them?”

“Yeah.” Shigaraki’s hands flitted towards his neck once more, before settling on tapping the bar surface to the tune of Bad Romance . 

Dabi leaned forward to peer around Toga, a thoughtful expression on his scarred face.  “I know a few people that might be interested. There a villain; the Hero Killer Stain. He’d be good.”

In his peripheral, Izuku could see Toga nodding enthusiastically. He glanced at Shigaraki, who had a small furrow line on his forehead. Good, at least he wasn’t the only one here who hadn’t heard that name before. 

“Who is he?” He asked, because obviously Shigaraki wasn’t just about to admit he didn’t know something. 

Dabi sighed. “He’s not that we’ll know by the public, I think because the police and heroes involved in the case have been trying to keep it secret, or something. You usually get your news from the tv, right?” The villain was looking at him, and Izuku nodded in affirmation.  He couldn’t juggle trying to keep up a normal schoolboy facade and know all the juicy villain gossip at the same time. It annoyed him.

“Well, he has this ideal, or code.” Dabi continued. “He says that most heroes are corrupt—“

“Obviously.” Izuku butted in. 

“—And that they should be eliminated. He’s taken that duty onto himself, and uses his unique quirk quirk to paralyse his victims.” He chuckled, then said dryly, “He’s acquired quite a fan base, I must say.”

Izuku was quiet for a second, before saying, “So... basically what I’m planning to do, but with more blood involved. Huh.” He grinned. “Can’t say I fault the guy, I sometimes wish I’d just snapped and begun killing heroes.” 

Toga giggles. “Yup! He says all heroes are corrupt except All Might!”

Izuku and Shigaraki both somehow managed to choke on their saliva at the exact same moment. They looked up, incredulous. 

“ What ?” Shigaraki hissed. “No he’s fucking not!”

Izuku spluttered in indignation for a second before growling, “He’s the reason I became a villain in the first place!” 

Dabi and Toga looked like they’d both just got whiplash. Dabi’s expression of shock was something Izuku would have usually found amusing, in any other circumstance. Toga stilled, the brush dropping away from Izuku’s hair to land in her lap. 

“He’s the reason ...?” Toga said, her voice hushed and somehow scared. 

Izuku sighed, forcing himself to rein in his sudden flare of anger. Beside him, Shigaraki had given into the need to scratch his neck, and already the skin was raw and tinted red. 

He guessed they deserved to know, if they were to be working with them. The rest of the League knew, too. It wasn’t a secret, not here. Here, he didn’t need to hide his hate for the Number One Hero. But it was still hard to talk about. Of course it was. 

“Yeah.” Izuku conceded. He shifted slightly so he was sitting straighter, his demeanour changing and making him more in charge of the situation. “He’s the one single person I hate most in this world. If I could, I’d kill him.” His steely voice seemed to be putting the two newer members on edge. They’d obviously not expected this sort of reaction.

And this night had been going so well, too. 

Dabi looked grim. Probably because he knew how much pain Endeavour, the number two hero, had caused. He knew that no matter how high a hero’s rank was, it didn’t make them angels. 

“What did he do?”

“I used to be his biggest fan. No, like, really. I had everything they sold of him, though I’m glad to say I’ve managed to get rid of most of it by now. But anyways, the first time I met him,” He chuckled hollowly, “It was a few year back, and I was in a really bad place. Because of my quirklessness, I was constantly bullied. My only dream was to become a hero like All Might, but even that dream was beginning to fade. You can’t be a hero without a quirk, right? It’s physically impossible and admittedly very dangerous.” 

Izuku was very studiously looking everywhere but at his friends — friends? When had he started to think of them as such? — . His hands were fidgeting, fingers clenching and unclenching, but he wasn’t sure what they were wanting to hold. A knife, maybe? A squeeze toy? 

“I guess it’s true what they say, ‘never meet your heroes’. I was walking home from school and got caught up in a villain chase. I was knocked unconscious by a blast from one of All Might’s punches, and when I came to he was standing next to me, trying to see if I was okay. I... I grabbed onto his legs as he leapt away, and he had to land on a rooftop to extricate me. He was about to leave, and I got desperate. I thought that I’d never get to see him again. Not like that.

“I asked him if I could become a hero. Even if I was quirkless, even if no one, not even my own mother believed I could be.” Izuku clenched his fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. He never understood how pain could help centre someone, but it definitely helped release frustration or anger. “He said no. He said that no one could realistically be a hero without a quirk, and that I should give up on my dream. Of course, he was only reaffirming my belief that I was nothing, a useless nobody without even the most weak power to my name. But I guess something just... snapped . I made a vow that I would somehow take down this corrupt, power hungry hero society and change it for the better.” He turned, to stare directly at Toga, then Dabi, eyes hard and piercing. “Starting with the Number One Hero.”

Izuku turned around and hopped off the stool, ignoring the stunned silence behind him, and headed over to the tv in the corner of the room. There was an old worn down couch stationed before it, various sections of the fabric disintegrated and exposing the metal springs beneath. Izuku plopped onto it and leaned forward to switch the tv on. 

Usually the channel was set to the one that All For One, or Sensei, as Shigaraki called him, used to communicate through, but someone must’ve been watching the news recently, because when the tv switched on, it instantly cut to a reporter standing daintily in front of a disaster zone. The buildings behind her were tumbled down as if blasted from the inside out, and bricks and other debris littered the ground. She smiled prettily at the camera. 

“In downtown Tokyo, an unnamed villain attacked a bank and held the people inside hostage. Heroes entered the scene but the villain managed to escape by setting off a bomb on the third floor and fleeing in the resulting chaos. Luckily, no one was seriously injured.” She glanced to the side. “Kaneko? What are your thoughts on this incident?” 

The screen switched to a man sitting at a white desk in front of a fake window overlooking the city. He smiled at the screen and shrugged helplessly. “I think the people who were inside are very lucky, as that could have turned out much worse. It’s a good thing banks are built to withstand these types of villain attacks, as they’re usually the buildings most commonly targeted. But,” here he winked at the camera conspiratorially, “I think the heroes could have handed that situation a bit better, too. None of them even attempted to negotiate with the villain.”

The screen slid back to the woman, and she nodded seriously. “Yes, I can’t help but agree. But maybe ease up on the heroes a little! They were relatively new, and as far as accidents go, it could have been much worse.” 

Izuku made a derisive ch noise at that. Ease up? If something had gone wrong, they could have killed those people with their rashness. And new? Heroes were given more than enough field experience, so that was hardly an excuse. They only succeeded through sheer luck.

From behind him, he heard the distinctive sound of a stool sliding, and a few moments later Shigaraki collapsed onto he couch next to him. 

“Fucking indoctrinated reporters.” He grumbled.

The news moved onto some store robbery, which Izuku mainly ignored. Finally the screen switched to the news broadcasting room, where the man from earlier was sitting with another woman with long, elf-like ears. 

“Earlier this evening, a fight broke out in Shizuoka train station. A man by the name of Shouichi Iguchi attacked the pro hero Daemon, claiming the hero had stolen a wallet. As it turned out, this claim was correct, and the person the wallet belongs to is the daughter of an important and wealthy family in America. He is being taken to court, by request of the father, and the trial will be held a few weeks from now.” 

The woman sighed and glanced at the man. “I must say I’m surprised.” She said, “Daemon may not be a particularly strong hero, but he has kept Shizuoka safe for the past six years. I can’t see any reason why he would want to steal a wallet — isn’t it the exact thing he’s trying to discourage?”

The man shrugged. “Maybe he wasn’t doing so well? I hear pro heroes aren’t actually payed that much, they get most of their profit from the merchandise they sell, but Daemon isn’t especially popular amount the younger generation.” 

The woman nodded. “Yes, but that doesn’t excuse his actions.”

Izuku felt the couch dip under unknown weight, and looked up to see Dabi perched on the armrest next to him. From Shigaraki’s muffled squawk, Toga must have done the same on the other end. 

Izuku quirked an eyebrow at Dabi, and the man gazed right back, unrepentant. 

“I have to sit here unless you budge over.” He said matter-of-factly. 

“Nah.” 

“Exactly.” 

The man glanced away from Izuku to look up at the tv, and raised his eyebrows. “Wait? Shouichi Iguchi?” He looked back down at Izuku, then over to Shigaraki. “I know him. He’s also a follower of Stain.”

Izuku groaned. “Why is everyone suddenly a follower of that guy? Shigaraki, you’d better not text me tomorrow with news of your new Hero Killer infatuation or I’m unfriending you.” Then the information finally clicked into place. “Wait, you know him? I was there at the train station when the fight broke out.” He smirked. “He was pretty interesting, standing up for justice even when it convicted a hero.”

Dabi nodded. “Yeah. I met the guy at one of those most likely illegal, back alley villain merch stores. Actually, I think the guy was looking for a group or something to join. Something about being stronger together or some shit.” 

Izuku perked up, despite himself. He twisted in his chair to pace the scarred man before him. “Oh? And what’s his villain alias?”

“Spinner.”

“What? Does he spin things a lot?” Izuku muttered. Dabi snorted. 

Twisting his torso around, Izuku glanced at Shigaraki. The other man was also facing Dabi, a strangely contemplative look on his face. Izuku raised his eyebrows in a question. “You interested?”

Shigaraki chewed his grossly dry lips for a second. “Maybe. Is he strong?

Dabi waved his hand in a so-so gesture. “His quirk’s some sort of lizard mutant, but he’s also pretty good with swords, and is stupid strong, if what he told me was correct. I’d reckon he’d be atleast worth a shot.”

Izuku nodded. “Can’t hurt to interview him.” He agreed. 

Shigaraki muttered something in reply, but was drowned out by Toga eagerly saying, “Ooh! Ooh! You mean the big scaly guy with the super weird hair?”

“That’s the one.” Dabi replied dryly. 

Izuku pokes Shigaraki. “Want me to mention him to Giran, or do you wanna?”

“Why can’t Kurogiri do it?” He asked petulantly. 

“Because you have nothing better to do.”

“I hate it when you have a point.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Toga got off the armrest and slotted herself in between Izuku and Shigaraki, putting her arms over their shoulders and grinning. “Anyways! Izuku, you’re here! Let’s watch a movie or something! I still haven’t finished your hair, either.”

Izuku moaned. “Oh please, no.”

“How about Meet The Robinsons?”

“Shut up Tomura.”

“Can I put clips in your hair too?”

“You’re all idiots.” Dabi sighed, but he sounded more fond than annoyed. Izuku couldn’t help a small feeling of warmth in his chest at the knowledge he and Shigaraki had grown on Dabi. “And it’s Finding Nemo or nothing.”

“Fine, fine.”

Izuku doubted that the two new members would let him get away with just telling his story, and would most likely want him to answer some questions, but for now they seemed to realise that Izuku had come to spend a fun evening with them, and that they shouldn’t darken the mood. Well, no more than they already had, but Izuku was willing to ignore that little bump in his endeavour to have a nice bonding session with his fellow villains. 

And, to Shigaraki’s — downplayed — delight,  they did end up watching Meet The Robinsons after all, because as Shigaraki explained it, the villain wasn’t actually the villain and just needed saving. 

And couldn’t they all relate to that?

Chapter Text

Izuku: >picture sent<

Hitoshi: Izuku?? Why’re u on the train, it’s lunchtime on a school day!!

Hitoshi: What’re u getting yourself into now? (ノ_＜)

Izuku: Ye of little faith

Hitoshi: I z u k u w h y

Izuku: What’re u even doing on ur phone? Shouldn’t u be getting to class

Hitoshi: I,, uh,,,

Izuku: Stop acting like such a good student, Hitoshi. U’re probably not even at school, r u?

Hitoshi: >picture sent<

Izuku: Wow, u r? Damn, that’s a first.

Hitoshi: Stop calling me out (/T_T ) /

Izuku: ...

Izuku: nahhh

Hitoshi: ... b r u h

Izuku grinned down at his phone, savouring Hitoshi’s indignation. In his own personal opinion, Shinsou was much too much fun to tease. He lingered for a moment longer, secretly hoping that Shinsou would keep texting, but when no new messages came through, Izuku shoved down that strange feeling of rejection and swiped out of the messenger app and into contacts.

Ever since the interview, or whatever you’d call it, with Kakureta’s ambassador, Hagakure Shou, he’d been curious about the boss of the underground organisation. His name had sounded strangely familiar, and so today Izuku had decided to leave school early — much to the consternation of the teachers present — and take the train to go meet him. From an earlier conversation with Giran, he’d been able to procure the location of the company’s headquarters. Well, he hadn’t gotten the exact address — it was Giran after all. That man wouldn’t‘ve been able to give a straight answer even if held at gunpoint. Luckily, a quick call to the company’s boss, and he’d be set.

Except not here. Izuku grunted as he was jostled from all sides simultaneously, and squeezed the bar tighter in a desperate endeavour not to get pitched sideways into two elderly businessmen. For some reason, he’d expected the train to be less crowded in the middle of a weekday, but he’d forgotten to factor one thing into that assumption: it was goddamn Japan, in the city.

On his left, people pushed forward, getting ready to alight at the next station. Izuku bit back a squeak as this action crowded him forward and pressed him tight against the train doors. When the train doors opened, he’d spill forward, unable to stop himself from falling flat on his face. He was about to start cursing quietly to himself in frustration, when the overhead announcement cheerily stated that the next station was the one he was getting off at anyways.

As Izuku waited patiently to be thrown forcefully out of the train, he tried to think up a reasonable excuse to give his mother for his reason for leaving school, and disappearing for the rest of the day. Of course, if he got home at the time he usually did, his mother might not notice, but that would just be ignoring the fact that his homeroom teacher definitely would phone his mother about this. Not for the first time, Izuku wished teachers could mind their own business.

A few moments later, the train glided to a seamless stop and the doors slid open, the push of people trying to get out behind him causing Izuku to trip forward, barely managing to keep himself upright — just like he’d predicted, he thought morbidly.

As he tapped off his pasmo card, Izuku used his peripheral vision to scroll through his list of contacts till he reached the one named ‘Shinsou’s dad’. He didn’t know for sure if he was, in fact, Shinsou’s father, but he’d picked it mostly just because it was such a mundane name, something any teenager would have on their phone. Most kids had their friend’s parent’s numbers, right? Most likely. Izuku wasn’t the leading expert on normal teenagers with normal lives and friends, but he could safely say that that was more than likely pretty normal.

Anyway, he’d find out in a few minutes if he was Shinsou’s foster father or not, so he'd have the opportunity to change the contact if such a need arose.

Izuku tapped on the contact and selected the call option before bringing the device up to his ear and waiting patiently while it rung. After three or so rings, a man’s voice full of honest confusion answered.

“Hello? Yes? Who is this, I don’t recognise this number.”

Izuku grinned. “Satoru-san!” he chirped in exaggerated affability. He could never be too careful in case his phone was being tapped. He'd hijacked the signal so it could no longer be traced, but one could never be too careful. That’s why he usually just played up his innocent Izuku persona when taking calls. It frustrated the fuck out of Shigaraki too, which was always an added bonus. Today, Izuku was jut a normal boy ringing a normal man.

“Yes? Who is this?” Satoru replied. Izuku had to keep himself from bursting out laughing. He sounded more a disgruntled middle aged father than a crime syndicate leader, though, Izuku supposed, one could always be both. Maybe he sounded more impressive in person?

“Hi! It’s Midoriya Izuku. I hope you don’t mind me calling…”

There was a stunned silence at the other end of the telephone. Then, “How did you get my number?”

“My friend gave it to me!”

There was another, longer silence in which Satoru Sho, leader of Kakureta, was probably calculating his options. He knew who Izuku was, of course, so he wasn't worried about that. Izuku had given his real name to his ambassador after all, and Hagakure had without a doubt relayed any and all information from the interview her boss. Finally Satoru spoke, more kindly now. He had obviously picked up on Izuku’s act, and decided to play along.

“Ah, yes, of course. How can I help you, Midoriya-kun?”

Izuku’s grin grew. Perfect. “I’m, uh, trying to find your address.” He laughed, the sound full of fabricated embarrassment. “But I’ve seemed to have gotten a bit lost…”

“Oh no! You’re trying to find my work address?”

“Yeah… I had something I wanted to ask you…”

“Where are you now?”

“Uh…” Izuku looked around him, trying to pinpoint his location. “Near the shopping plaza, outside the train station.”

“Hm. Okay, um. Go left and keep walking until you get to a café covered in orange paint. It’s fairly hard to miss…” He chuckled. “Anyway, it’s the shop directly on it’s left. I’m the manager. If you tell the girl at the front desk who you are, she’ll take you into the Staff Only to talk to me.”

“Thanks a heap!”

“And make sure you remember to look both ways as you cross the street…” Satoru’s voice lectured feebly as Izuku hung up.

Izuku beamed as he shoved his phone into his pocket and turned to begin walking up the long main street. Thankfully it was the middle of the day, so less people were actively out and about as normal. He didn’t feel like he was walking against an unmovable tide, which was refreshing.

The orange café was, in fact, easy to see. Almost too much so. The paint was near luminescent, and more than likely glowed in the dark. Izuku quickly averted his eyes before he went blind.

The shop on it’s left was one of those stores that sold everything from quirk inhibitor bracelets to bento boxes. Izuku had to fight his way through unorganised piles of junk to get to the counter, and only getting a chopstick lodged in his hair for his troubles.

“Hello? How may I help you?” The girl behind the desk smiled cheerily at him. Izuku smiled winningly back. “Hey, I’m Midoriya Izuku. I was told you come to you?”

The girl’s mouth opened and closed in surprise, her eyes moving up and down his body in surprise as she appraised him.

“You’re younger than I thought you’d be…” She muttered.

Izuku chuckled. “I usually am.”

The girl quirked an eyebrow up, but instead of prying further, she gestured for Izuku to follow her. He slipped behind the desk and trailed after her as she pushed through a Staff Only door and descended a flight of stairs into a white washed storage room. The girl put her thumb pad against the wall, and Izuku jumped as the wall made a beep noise and slid open in opposite directions to reveal a hidden elevator.

“In you go, then.” She grinned at his stunned expression. Izuku blinked a few times before stepping inside and looking around. Kakureta must really be a successful company if it could afford this kind of high tech hidden entry. He hadn’t even seen a line where the two halves of the wall lined up. The girl lent into the elevator and spoke into a little speaker that was set into the side of the lift.

“Basement level eighty.” She told it, before stepping quickly out before the doors could close on her, and smiled at Izuku, waving cheekily. “Good luck Midoriya-kun.”

Izuku spluttered. “Good luck? What?? Basement level eighty?!”

The doors clicked shut, however, before he could receive any sort of explanation (even though Izuku suspected she wouldn't have supplied him with one even if given the chance), and the lift seemed to only take a few seconds before it was pleasantly tinging and the doors were sliding seamlessly open once again.

The room Izuku stepped into was something that appeared less real, and more something found in a Studio Ghibli film about witches and wizards, or a rich, flamboyant aristocrat. The floor was polished obsidian, as were the ceiling and walls, the latter of which stretched up higher than Izuku thought strictly necessary. The floor was covered by a thick, lavish velvet rug, and the only light illuminating the chamber came from carefully situated wall sconces, and a roaring fire from a humungous fireplace in the centre of the wall opposite the lift.

“Damn.” Izuku muttered reproachfully. “A little overboard on the ‘crime boss aesthetic’, don’t you think?”

The individual to his left laughed at the comment, and Izuku turned fully to finally see the infamous leader of Kakureta. The man was leaning against the side of a large mahogany desk, arms folded and face stretched into a welcoming smile. He was around middle age, and had on a black suit with a purple tie, his outfit scrupulously ironed to a fault. His hair was combed to the side, but had little rebellious strands defying the mould and standing up haphazardly, giving him a more casual, boyish feel. He waved at Izuku.

“I must admit I may have gone a bit overboard when decorating this place, but you must admit it’s quite cosy. Warm and safe. A good place to relax and get work done in.” He chuckled.

Izuku shrugged and strolled over to the man, lowering his head in a respectful bow. “Satoru-san.”

The man bowed back. “How nice it is to finally meet you in person, Midoriya-kun. I have to say you’re a tad younger than I had originally anticipated, even after Hagakure told me you were just a middle-schooler. What is someone your age doing as a representative of the up and coming League of Villains?”

Izuku dipped his head to hide a smile. He huffed a laugh. “My age detracts suspicion — don’t you think? And if I was caught, I could always just say I was forced to do all this against my will. After all, how could a mere quirkless boy be responsible for all this? It makes things a little easier.”

Satoru nodded. “But you didn’t come here to talk about the benefits of youth, I believe.”

“No. Not really. Honestly, after the meeting with your ambassador, all I've wanted to do since is meet you.”

Satoru looked genuinely surprised. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Izuku hummed softly. “Your full name’s Satoru Sho, correct?”

“Yes, though I’m not entirely sure how you came across that information; or indeed, my personal phone number. Hagakure-chan told me that she didn’t disclose either of those things to you.”

Izuku hummed, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels, letting a small secretive smile play at his lips. “Lets just say I have my sources. Anyway, your name seemed familiar, and I couldn’t figure out why, at least not until a few days ago.” Izuku took a breath. He was gambling more than he liked on the presumption he was about to make. There were probably thousands of ‘Satoru Shos’ in this district, let alone the whole of Japan, and if he was wrong it would at best be embarrassing and loose him a considerable amount of respect. He was supposed to be one of the best analysers the Underground had to offer, to get this wrong wasn’t an option.

“You’re Shinsou’s foster father, aren’t you?”

Satoru took in a sharp breath. He studied Izuku curiously. “So you know. You must be that friend he keeps talking ambiguously about. How coincidental that his father and best friend are allied in the Underground, hm?”

Izuku’s ears heated up pleasantly at that. There was something about being referred to as Shinsou’s best friend that made him feel strangely warm and fuzzy inside. He considered Shinsou his best friend, but he hadn’t been sure if the other thought the same.

“Very. He’s talked about you and your wife, too. I won’t disclose what, exactly, because I value our friendship and he trusted me with those secrets. But I am curious; did you foster Shinsou just because you wanted to, or was this part of some greater plan?”

Satoru raised an eyebrow in bemused curiosity. “And if I did, why would I tell you?”

“Because I could help. I have some requests I’d like to ask of you, and I’d like to offer my help in return. He trusts me. I could help, long as it doesn’t involve hurting him, of course.”

Satoru considered Izuku for a moment, then sighed. “You’re right.” He admitted. “Chishiki, my wife, found out she was incapable of having children a little bit after we married. We wanted a kid, but we also needed an heir. One I knew through and through, one we’d specifically trained, one I could rely on to keep this company functioning and successful…”

“So you fostered Shinsou.”

“Yes. His quirk is invaluable, and we didn’t want to see it go to waste. If his previous parents wouldn’t cherish him and his unique quirk, then we would.”

Izuku smirked. “But he wants to become a hero.”

Satoru ground his teeth together, his fingers scrabbling across the desktop and finding a ballpoint pen. He began popping the cap off and on again rhythmically in what was probably an effort to calm down. “Yes. I’ve tried ever since he began living with us to teach him the shortcomings of the hero society and how they weren’t all what they were chalked up to be, but somehow his admiration for them only became stronger.” He glanced at Izuku, eyes widening in realisation. “But he might listen to you.”

Izuku smiled. The idea of Shinsou as a badass crime syndicate leader wasn’t an entirely bad one, he had to admit. It was kind of hot, actually.

“What do you need?”

The man’s shoulder’s slumped slightly. “I’m not sure. Maybe just keep subtly bringing up how villains aren’t all bad, et cetera. He’s a stubborn mule if you try to have an argument with him about his beliefs, so try not to do that. But apart from that it’s really up to you.” He sighed again and carded his fingers through his hair tiredly.

“It’s fine.” Izuku assured the man. “I can do that. But what will you do if nothing I do works? What if he has his heart set on becoming a hero?”

Satoru massaged his temples and sighed wearily. “Honestly, kid, I’m not sure. There are a few good candidates in Kakureta, but ultimately Shinsou is equipped with the most useful quirk, he’s intelligent, resourceful, independent…”

Izuku found himself nodding in agreement. Then he shook himself. This was no time for envisioning what could be. “Yes, well… I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry. But that wasn’t the only reason I came today.”

The older man huffed a laugh. “I thought as much. What do you need?”

He pushed off from where he’d been leaning and walked around behind his desk, picking up a pair of slim black glasses and slipping them on. He regarded Izuku with a look of mild inquisitiveness.

Izuku stepped up to the front of the desk and lent forwards, hands splayed on the polished wood desktop. “Fake IDs, if you don’t mind, actually. That is my first priority, anyway. The members of the League have code names, but only in use. We don’t have any official IDs to back our claims up, and it’s been worrying me.”

“First priority?”

“Well, my second priority is to hire a tracker to spy on one of my colleagues, but I have a feeling that I need to go find someone else for that particular job.” Izuku smiled sweetly. “Am I right in that presumption, Satou-san?”

The man’s smile didn’t waver. On the contrary; it only widened. Satou nodded in affirmation as he reached under his desk and pulled out a few slips of paper and handed them to Izuku. When he glanced down at them, he saw that they were forms for fake IDs.

“Indeed. You’ll have to go see Hagakure-chan about the tracking business. She and her family specialise in that kind of undercover operations.” He chucked over a pen that Izuku caught without looking at from the documents he was examining. “Fill out as many as you need.”

Izuku glanced up from the papers. “I’ll need to give them a ring to confirm their names.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Go ahead.” The older man sat down on his high backed throne-of-an-office-chair, and laced his fingers, letting his hands rest comfortably on the desk in front of him.

Izuku nodded a quick thank you before fishing out his phone and dialling Shigaraki’s number.

“Come on you greasy sourpuss, pick up,” he muttered, tapping his foot as he waited for the man to deign to answer his phone. He did deign, in fact, and after only seven rings, no less. That had to be a record.

“What.” Came the disgruntled reply from the other end.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, young man.” Izuku snapped on impulse. Then, “Are our two newest there?”

Shigaraki grunted in affirmation. “Why?”

Izuku ignored him. “Can you put the phone on speaker?”

From the other end, Izuku could head Shigaraki pull the phone away from his ear and mutter angrily as he fumbled for the speaker button. There was a muffled clink as the man set down his phone on the bar countertop.

“Hello?” Izuku asked, still wary of saying the two newest recruit’s real names out loud over the phone. Or, at least, their villain persona names. He would be the first to admit that he was at least a tad paranoid. Better safe than sorry, though.

“Akatani!” Himiko’s elated voice rang out through the low quality speakers, a wide smile evident in her tone. “What do you need?”

“I’m filling out some forms for y’all. I forgot how to spell your names, though.” He hoped his connotations were understandable and that Dabi and Toga wouldn’t just rattle their names off over the phone. There were muffled talking from the other end, then,

“My name, Hishumi Akayo is spelled with the kanji ‘hishu’ for dagger, then the ‘mi’ in hiragana, and the kanji ‘aka’ for red, and ‘yo’ in hiragana as well.” Himiko told him, bubbly as all hell.

“Thanks.” Izuku quickly wrote the name down on the form. He sighed. Not suspicious at all, Toga, he thought sarcastically.

“Thanks.” Izuku quickly wrote the name down on the form. He sighed. Not suspicious at all, Toga, he thought sarcastically. “Next?”

“Yeah, okay. My name, Kasai Aoya is spelled with the kanji ‘kasai’ for fire, and the kanji ‘ao’ for blue, with the ‘ya’ in hiragana.” Dabi grunted from somewhere in the background, only loud enough for Izuku to faintly pick up his words.

“Yes, thank you…” Izuku scribbled the name down on the next document. Why were they both being so obvious? Then again, Kurogiri’s false name was kind of indicative to his quirk as well.

“Now, Kemuri-san, I don’t exactly know how to spell your first name.”

There was a pause, as Kurogiri most likely thought up a name on the spot. He probably hadn’t expected to get an ID as well, since he didn’t usually go out into the general public as much as the rest of them.

“You spell my first name, Hitoshou, with the kanji ‘hito’ for person, and the kanji ‘shou’ for disappear.”

Izuku hummed and nodded. “Yes. yes, thanks. Areta? I can spell your last name, Hayakaze, but not your first…”

“Kuzureo.” Shigaraki responded grudgingly after a second. “The kanji ‘kuzure' for collapse and the ‘o’ in hiragana.”

Izuku felt like slamming his head against the polished desktop. Why did they all have to pick names that were so indicative of their quirks? It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who ‘fire blue’ was. He could admit they were easier to remember, but if Izuku could pick a nondescript name, so could they. His meant simply, ‘red, valley, three, cloud’.

Though, he had to admit that having no quirk was quite useful in this kind of situation, unless he went as far as to name himself Muoku, which literally meant ‘nothing, gift’. That would be akin to holding a giant sign over his head with neon letters saying ‘Quirkless!!’ in flashing red and blue.

“Anything else?” Shigaraki grumbled into the phone, sounding more irritated than thankful. The audacity!

“Yes, yes…” He replied, distracted, his mind already moving on to the next thing and hanging up on the other man just as the villain was about to make another snide remark, and not show his gratitude for what Izuku was doing for him.

Izuku groaned. Why was speaking over the phone and trying not to sound like he was asking for people to come up with fake aliases to put on their fake ID cards so damn hard? He blamed Bakugou, once again. Of course it was his fault. Everything was his fault.

He finished filling out the various sections on the papers before glancing furtively up at Satoru. Seeing the man gazing at him expectantly, he grinned and passed the forms back to the man, tossing the pen back at the man as well. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The older man took the papers and peered fleetingly down at them over his glasses. “They’ll be done in a few days or so, I should think. I’ll have them sent directly to the League, unless you want them delivered someplace else?”

“No, the League should be adequate. Payments?”

Satoru shook his head at Izuku, waving a hand dismissively. “No, not this time. You’re helping me out, after all — with my son. If you’re successful, we’ll call it even, hm?”

Izuku nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds fair. Alrighty then — I’d better be going. Which floor is Hagakure-san on, again?”

“Basement level three. I’ll get you there.” He led Izuku to the elevator and pressed the button beside it. Without a noise, the two doors slid open, and Satoru ushered Izuku inside. He lent in, like the girl before had, and spoke to the little speaker in the side of the lift.

“Basement level three.” He instructed, before stepping back and smiling at Izuku as the doors began to close. “Nice meeting you, Midoriya-kun; you’re a very interesting young man. I hope we keep in contact… though, I suspect we will be.”

Izuku smiled pleasantly back, sustaining formalities. To his surprise, Satoru seemed more genuine than most villains he’d met so far. It was pleasant, knowing where you stood without having to constantly guess where the other was faking or not. “See you.”

The doors closed with a professional click, and there was a gentle wooshing sound the only indicator he was moving at all.

Izuku’s train of thought was cut short when the doors slid open once again to reveal a brightly lit hallway, the walls thick, reflective glass. Brightly lit; professional. It was nothing like what he’d expected a crime organisation to look like. But then again, he wasn’t quite sure why he’d expecting anything else. It wasn’t reasonable to expect villain headquarters to look exactly like every stereotypical dark crypt of a hideout portrayed in movies and books.

He stepped out, not allowing any of his body language to convey his hesitance as he glanced around for where Hagakure might be. There were several glass doors leading into desk-filled office areas, each with a small plaque on the wall next to it, indicating what or who was inside. It wasn’t an especially long hallways, so Izuku figured he’d just check each one until he found what he was looking for. It was rather awkward just wandering from door to door, though, since anyone could just look through the glass and see him roaming around like a damned lost puppy.

Izuku turned left, shoving his hands into his pockets and adopting a relaxed posture. He was meant to be here, and he wasn’t going to let some glass walls and potentially judgemental office workers to make him think otherwise.

He sidled up to the first door he came to, glancing nonchalantly at the plaque. ‘Forgery Department’ it read simply in bold, flowy script. The plaque on the door next the that read ‘Armour and Costume Department’. The company really did it all.

He was lucky at the third door when he read ‘Undercover and Infiltration Department’. Izuku pushed open the door and stepped inside, glancing around until his eyes landed on a man sitting at a reception desk, nerdy glassed balanced on his long, upturned nose. The man grinned.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” He greeted cheerily. He had pale purple skin and the sclera of this eyes were pitch black. His ears were slightly pointed.

Izuku smiled. “Is there anyone called Hagakure here?”

The man brightened even further. “Yes! Want me to go get her for you?”

Izuku nodded briefly. “Yes, I’d appreciate that.”

The man didn’t move, but instead shut his eyes for a moment before opening them again and grinning wider at Izuku. “She’ll be right out.”

Izuku nodded in acknowledgment, and let his mind occupy him whilst waiting. He decided to analyse the receptionist, with lack of a better thing to do. He was obviously some type of telepath. If he had to close his eyes whilst using his quirk, it must be a low level type, because having to close your eyes would be a huge disadvantage in any situation. How far did it reach, too? Annoyingly, he had no way to test it out it’s full potential, since Hagakure was probably close by. And was it restricted to one person at a time, or could he reach several people, or even more? Maybe he had to know the person first to communicate with them, or have their name. That would also be a huge disadvantage. But maybe it was a quirk with multiple facets instead? Maybe people could also talk back to him telepathically, or possibly he may be able to talk to animals too—

“Midoriya-kun, how nice to see you again.”

Izuku blinked. Then reality gave him a soft mental nudge, and he cast his eyes up at the woman standing before him. He smiled. “Hagakure-san.”

The other laced her fingers behind her back, cocking her head ever-so-slightly to the side in a non verbal query. “What did you need, then?” Her voice was soft and slightly melodic, something one could hypnotise someone with just by the lilt of it.

Izuku decided to skip straight to the point. “I need someone tracked. I heard you could help me with that.”

Hagakure’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “Of course! Who’s the target?”

“Our newest recruit, Dabi. There’s something… off about him. I need to know he’s not hiding anything that could jeopardise the League’s plans.”

Hagakure nodded, glancing at the receptionist meaningfully. The man grabbed a notebook and pen and started scribbling notes down. She then turned her attention back to Izuku. “Is there a particular time limit? Any other requirements?”

Izuku shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. “Not long. A week at most, or until anything of significance is discovered. If a week goes by and nothing is found, I’ll just keep an eye on him myself.”

The woman nodded again. “I can arrange that.”

Izuku bowed slightly. “Thank you. It’s been worrying me.”

Hagakure waved away his gratitude with one slim, graceful hand. Then she grinned. “But, I must tell you that I require payment beforehand. We have a reputation for keeping up our sides of any bargain, but we don’t usually trust strangers. Not to say you’re not trustworthy — it’s just our policy. Hope you understand.”

Izuku smirked, dipping his head in acceptance. “Completely. I’ll get the money transferred by tonight, by the latest.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Tsukauchi glanced dishearteningly into his empty coffee mug for what seemed like the fiftieth time in that many seconds. No matter how many times he kept checking, his mug didn’t get any fuller than the previous time he’d looked. Of course it wasn’t. But Taukauchi could dream, damn it.

He was sat at his desk — or, rather, slouched at it, body twisted into a position that was more than likely egregious for his back, but was giving him momentary relief because the appalling position allowed his body to not have to actually hold any of his weight.

It was only mid-afternoon, and the office was still pretty busy, the sounds of keyboards clacking and voices murmuring urgently to each other a constant aggravating background buzz. Somewhere nearby, a woman must have sprayed herself with some sort of overpoweringly pungent deodorant, and the smell of that dastardly act was still lingering in the air, lurking in wait for its next asphyxiation victim.

Dismally, Tsukauchi wished someone would notice his pathetic desire for more wakeful bean juice, and give him a much-needed refill. His eyelids were already beginning to droop, and he still had more than four hours left until the end of his shift.

“Detective Tsukauchi?”

He trailed his eyes up from his cup to the computer screen he was supposed to be looking at no with no small effort. It was some important email or something. The words were blurring at the edges, so he couldn’t be quite sure. When had he last slept again?

“Detective Tsukauchi!”

The detective jumped to attention, his body starting so violently that his hand jerked and knocked over his cup, giving him a brief heart attack before he remembered there was nothing left in it to spill.

“What? What is it?!” He peered blearily up at the man standing beside him. Ah. It was... what was his name again? Danwa-something from the telephone transmissions department downstairs.

Danwa waited while Tsukauchi yawned widely. He sighed. “When did you last get some rest?”

The detective flopped a hand in the air noncommittally. “Not sure.” He rubbed at his face in a futile effort to wake himself up a bit. Failing that, he resolved to at least look like he was paying attention, even if that meant crafting an expression of interest before falling asleep in a vaguely upright position. “What do you need?”

Danwa gazed at him skeptically for a while longer, clearly not believing that Tsukauchi was in any shape to be doing anything but sleep. Finally, he seemed to come to some sort of reluctant decision and picked up the detective’s cup. He turned and weaved his way over to the small kitchen area in the corner of the room, refilled Tsukauchi’s cup, and walked back, steps careful in case he spilled something on the floor and risk someone yelling at him. People in Tsukauchi’s department didn’t tolerate wasted coffee. The detective had once seen a man get down and straight up lap coffee right up off the floor simply because he couldn’t bare the thought of not drinking every last drop of the blessed energy juice he could.

Danwa set the cup decisively on the desk next to Tsukauchi, before gently coaxing the detective’s hand around it.

“Now;” He said, “drink that, but make sure that’s your last, okay? I’ll talk to your superior, get them to allow you to go home early. You need it.” The man massaged his temple in slight irritation. “When will you learn how to look after yourself, Tsukauchi-san? You need to know you limit.”

Tsukauchi chose to ignore Danwa for the time being, and instead took the mug grateful in both hands and drew it towards his mouth, gulping it down in one without even bothering to blow on it. Danwa winced, mouth burning in sympathy, but decided to move on now that the detective had been made momentarily cognisant.

“Anyway. I initially came to tell you something.”

Tsukauchi glanced up, slightly less brain dead than a minute previous. He straightened up slightly, and nodded at the other man to keep going. “Yes?”

“The monitor has been picking up several strange phone calls recently. They seem like... they just seem too normal to be anything less than someone trying to cover up a secret, or coded message.” Danwa shifted uncomfortably. “Of course, I could just be getting jumpy. It’s just that there’s been a sharp decline in unorganised, and petty crimes and an increase in clever, organised crimes. Of course you probably already know this, but villains, intelligent villains, who actually know what they’re doing, have been increasingly use phone calls masked behind mundane pleasantries to conduct business.” He cleared his throat. “I just thought I’d tell you. So you could keep an eye out for anything concerning them, or something.”

Tsukauchi raised an eyebrow. Of course he knew of the rise in organised crime activity. It was one of the things that was causing him to work overtime, in fact. But still, he was curious to know what Danwa had to say. Any leads were good leads, at this point.

“So, who is it?”

Danwa sighed. “Can’t trace the signal. It seems to have been hijacked, which could mean nothing and could mean everything. Whoever it is, they know what they’re doing.”

“And their name?”

“From what we can work out, it seems to be someone by the name of Akatani Mikumo. Possibly a code name of sorts.” Danwa seemed to consider for a moment. “Actually, no, something’s definitely up. No one would use a code name and make their signal untraceable for no good reason.”

Tsukauchi groaned and ran his hands through his hair in irritation. First heroes were being arrested for petty crimes, and now villains were using telephones to go about their heinous businesses. Well, at least he had a name now, no matter how fake. Maybe he’d finally be able to get somewhere, after so many months on an open-ended case with no end in sight. But that was a problem for later. He really needed a sleep.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku was alone in the apartment a few days after his visit to Kakureta, lying on his bed scrolling through nothing in particular, when he heard a light, deliberate tap on the front door. As people usually do when home alone and only wearing baggy sweatpants and a That’s the Tea Shirt Sis shirt on, Izuku briefly panicked. Then his common sense whacked him over the head and sent him, tail between legs, to answer the door. It was probably just his mother, who kept forgetting her keys so frequently that Izuku was almost considering changing the lock on the door from a simple keyhole to a face recognition screen. Explaining how he’d procured such an expensive piece of technology to his mum would be difficult, though.

He fumbled with unlatching the many locks he’d convinced his mother that they needed sometime at the beginning of that year, and finally pulled the door open.

Of all the things he’d been expecting — and the list was vast, and only getting vaster as Izuku’s anxiety heightened with each new year and new villain alliance — it wasn’t a girl around his age in casual jeans and a pastel pink hoodie. She grinned and bowed briefly at him, her eyes crinkling in a friendly, but also disconcertingly mischievous way.

“Hey!”

Izuku was thrown for a second. “Uh.” He looked her up and down. Had he met her before? He was sure he’d remember someone this... was that knee long fluorescent blue hair? Yeah, he’d definitely remember her. Why was she here? “Hi?”

“I’m Touru. And you must be Midoriya-kun!”

“Yes?” Izuku really had no idea who the hell she was. Was this a test of some kind? Someone sent by Kakureta to deem his professionalism? He sent a quiet prayer to any god that may be listening that it wasn’t the latter.

“I’m here for the job you wanted doing.” She continued, unfazed by his distinct confusion at just about everything that was happening at that moment. “By mother would’ve done it, but she’s busy, and I need experience. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Wait—“ Finally Izuku’s tired brain cogs decided to start turning and suddenly he realised what was going on. Oh lord, he was an idiot. “Oh. Oh, yes. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting someone so...”

“Young? Yeah, I get that a lot.” The girl — Hagakure? Touru — chuckled, covering her mouth with one graceful hand. Distantly, Izuku realised really-nice-fucking-hands must run in the family.

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I feel that. Anyway—“ he raised a quizzical eyebrow, “did you need something?”

“Ah. Yes, actually. Since this is on site practice for me, my mother has decided to keep most of the information for this job from me. Wants me to procure it myself.“ She shrugged helplessly. “And I was wondering if you could fill out some things for me?” She tugged a wad of carefully folded papers out from her back pocket and offered them to Izuku, who took them, his brain screeching at him when he accidentally bumped hands with her in the exchange.

Izuku shrugged, slugging his shirt down nervously, trying to hide the embarrassed blush that threatened to turn his whole face an unappealing shade of beet red. He’d never really worked with anyone his age before. It made him feel somehow even more self conscious than when he worked with adults. “Sure. Do you... want to come inside? I need to get a pen, anyway.”

“Thanks, I’d love to.” She giggled surreptitiously. “I wonder how a villain’s home looks like!”

Izuku snorted, glancing at the girl in askance. “Aren’t you a villain too?”

She waved a hand vaguely, before leaning down to slip off her shoes and stepping up into the hallway. “Oh, no, not really. Just... doing my job, I guess. I’m merely continuing the family trade.”

“Huh.” Izuku muttered. He led Touru into the kitchen, waving a hand at the barstools before moving over to rummage in the pen mug he and his mum kept on the counter for just such occasions. “I guess you’re right.”

Touru took a seat, hefting herself up and leaning her chin on one hand. She hummed, watching Izuku select a pen and smooth out the papers with bright, intelligent eyes, before letting her gaze drift around the room. “Seems pretty normal to me.” She remarked, almost sounding disappointed.

Izuku glanced up from where he was filling out information on Dabi; whereabouts, favourite spots to lurk, et cetera. He smirked. “Well, yes. My mum does like to keep it looking pretty... normal.”

She flicked him off, causing Izuku to laugh and botch up the kanji he was writing. Then there was a few minutes of silence before, “I heard you’re planning on going to UA.”

Izuku started, hands contracting in surprise and sending his pen trailing a line of ink down the page. He looked up at Touru, face guarded.

“What?”

Touru leaned forward over the counter towards him, grinning impishly. “I heard you’re planning on getting into UA.” She repeated.

“And?” Izuku wondered if she had other intentions for asking this, or if she was merely chatting. He doubted it was the latter, but then again you could never know. From what he could tell, Touru seemed to have a slightly fickle personality.

“And I was interested, because I’m going too!”

Izuku felt blindsided. “What?” He managed, dumbly. “Why?”

“It’s, like, undercover work. The ultimate test, to see if I can do my job properly.” The girl explained cheerily. “I’ll also be keeping my quirk activated for the entirety of the school years, but that’s just mainly a precaution so people don’t know what I look like.”

Izuku, despite himself, felt his instinctive fascination for all things Quirk spark to life inside of him. “What is your quirk?” He asked, flipping the piece of paper he was working on over.

“Invisibility!” Touru supplied, then disappeared. Izuku blinked. Her clothes were still there, but her entire physical body had completely vanished, fluorescent blue hair and all. He fought the overwhelming need to poke at the gap between her collar and hat, just to see if she was intangible as well. But then a thought stuck him,

“If you want no one to know what you look like, what about your—“

Touru snapped back into visibility, and waved him off. “Don’t worry, all my identification photos are invisible. As far as the Department of Quirk Affairs is concerned, my power is a physical mutation quirk that makes me invisible twenty-four-seven. Pretty convenient, huh?”

She grinned and slid off the barstool, coming around to where Izuku was gathering up the forms, and took them from him with a grateful bow. “Anyways, I’d better be going. Thanks a bunch!”

Izuku held up his hands, waving them in front of him. “No! No. It’s the least I could do, since you’re helping me in the first place.”

Touru chuckled and patted Izuku companionably on the shoulder. She turned to go, heading out the kitchen door, before pausing and turning to look back at Izuku.

“You seem like a good person, Izuku.” She said, smile somehow inexplicably earnest. “I’m going to look forward to going to school with you.” She waved, then disappeared, and Izuku could hear her footsteps heading down the hallway, and down into the gankan.

The door slammed shut before he could really process what had just happened. So, Hagakure had a daughter, who was also going to UA, but only for an undercover test of skill? That was... a strange thought: going to school with a fellow villain. Or, at least, someone who knew what he really was, and was also part of the underground.

Izuku sighed, and turned back to set his pen back in the mug. He wondered, vaguely, if there would be any more villains in his class. With how things were looking so far, he wouldn’t be very surprised if there happened to be a few more.

Izuku had a bad feeling that that year was going to be much more... exciting than he’d anticipated

Chapter Text

Izuku lay, crouched with hand over his mouth to suppress barely contained laughter, under the shrubbery near his apartment, biding his time till his unsuspecting victim walked by. 

A few minutes of sitting quietly — waiting, watching, later, the person in question slunk around the bend in the road, hunched into himself and completely oblivious to his doom — or, indeed, anything around him he was so intent on being as unnoticeable as possible. Despite being Izuku’s friend for months now, he was still as socially awkward as ever. 

Izuku chuckled softly, slowly counting backwards in his head until—

“BOO!” Izuku laughed himself out from behind the bushes, tackling Shinsou head on, causing the boy to shriek uncharacteristically — and very loudly — and fall sideways awkwardly onto the grass on the other side of the cement. 

Grinning devilishly, Izuku glanced down to find Shinsou completely frozen from surprise, and let out a burst of laughter at his friend’s shell-shocked expression. 

“Weren’t expecting that, hm?” He chuckled, pushing himself up and brushing himself off, acutely aware of the unimpressed, and slightly amused looks they were getting from passers-by. He bent down, proffering a hand to his friend, who blinked a few times, shook his head as if to reorientate himself, before remembering to glare up at Izuku, face deadpan. 

“No, I didn’t expect my friend to ambush me like a child on my way to his house.” He grumbled, and Izuku pouted indignantly. 

“You need to be more vigilant.” He muttered, suddenly worried that he’d taken things too far. Was this not what friends did? Maybe he’d read their situation all wrong and—

Shinsou sighed and took his hand, allowing Izuku to pull him up, brushing himself off and flicking Izuku on the forehead. “Whatever, calm down you worry-wort. I can hear you overthinking from over here and it’s making my head hurt.” 

Izuku relaxed, if only slightly. So Shinsou wasn’t mad with him? It was always so hard to read his slight changes in expression — was that a pleased frown or a frown frown?     

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Izuku mumbled, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck. Was it always so obvious when he began overthinking? He had to admit he had never perfected a poker face, despite Shigaraki trying in vain to teach him, but he had thought he was at least better at not letting show his bigger emotions of worry or fear.   

When he glanced back at Shinsou, the other boy was giving him a crooked grin, before shaking his head and turning away, beckoning for Izuku to follow. “Forget it. Let’s go.” 

“Uh. Right.” 

They were headed to Izuku’s local park, like they did most days, for training. They had used to do it back at Izuku’s, but had begun going to the park instead after Inko had banned them from practicing in the house when one of them had accidentally knocked over a vase and smashed it on the hard linoleum of the kitchen floor while they were sparring. A gross overreaction Izuku had said, but his mother had still chased them jovially out with a mop, telling them only to come back with a new vase or dinner. They had retrieved both, along with a long, heartfelt apology letter from Shinsou. It was all unneeded, of course — Inko had never truly minded when Izuku broke things, it was all part of having a kid after all, but the letter had given Shinsou a place in Inko’s heart forever, and she now referred to him as ‘son’, which Shinsou still didn’t know how to deal with, though Izuku could tell he liked it. 

The park was the one that he had frequented in his youth, full of kiddy play equipment and screaming toddlers, but there was a wide, grassy area behind the playground that they could use to practice sparring and basic moves, and they had to admit they had much more room to move and not worry about destroying stuff out there. 

The only real downside was the audience of reproachful parents and awed children, the former which never seemed to grow tired of shooting disapproving glances at them — probably because they were being ‘violent’ near their kids, as if they didn’t take their kids home to watching live hero fights every day — , and the latter of which tried to form a little group of reverent on-lookers, before being dispersed like a crowd of unwilling seagulls by their parents. Probably the only reason someone hadn’t come up to them and asked them to leave was that they looked like they were heroes in training. And in a way they were, if you ignored literally everything about their combined, and individual situations. 

Izuku sped down the sidewalk, walking the line between running and strolling with a well-practiced gait. Shinsou was keeping up fairly easily, though probably mostly due to his longer legs. He was being awfully chill about the jump scare, despite him hating surprises of any kind — Izuku had once asked if he had ever had a surprise birthday party, wondering if he should do that for his friend when the time came, but Shinsou had shuddered and recollected the time when his parents had thrown him a party without his knowledge and he’d been so overwhelmed and panicked he had cried for an hour, refusing to leave his room. Though, to be fair, he had been nine when that had happened, so maybe he would react more positively now? — , and Izuku was almost beginning to feel a bit bad about pranking his friend, though that scream had been priceless. 

With a smirk, Izuku retrieved his phone from his pocket and hit the stop button on the recording app. All he’d have to do now was crop the sound and he’d have a perfectly documented recording of Shinsou screeching like a little girl. Shinsou must have caught that desecrate action, however, because he made a sudden lunge for Izuku’s phone. Izuku squawked, jerking away and almost toppling sideways onto the road, only Shinsou reeling back and grabbing hold of his shirt at the last second saving him from a mushy demise. Inches from his face, Izuku saw a large cargo truck roar past, lending him the adrenaline to stumble back from the road himself. Disgruntled and more than a little jumpy from his near death experience, Izuku pocketed his phone and turned a reproving glare on his friend. 

“What was that for?” 

Shinsou pouted, but the action was more sarcastic than actually sulky. “You recorded that whole thing, didn’t you?” He grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and eyeing Izuku’s back pocket meaningfully. 

Izuku grinned, not at all ashamed — well, maybe a little, but Shinsou didn’t seem too angry so he was allowed to feel good about it — and nodded. “For research,” he supplied, innocently, like an innocent person. Shinsou narrowed his eyes, not at all fooled, but apparently decided not to protest further. Instead, he pulled out a hairband from somewhere and began bullying his hair into a small, wild pigtail at the base of his scalp. Izuku felt himself do a double take. 

“What—? What are you doing?” He spluttered, not quite sure if he was disappointed with the disappearance of the floof, or equally attracted to the new hairstyle. It... suited Shinsou, in a strange, annoyingly hot way. 

He must’ve been blushing, because Shinsou shot him a side glance full of knowing and smirked. “I’ve been growing my hair out, and it gets in the way so I just tie it back.” 

Izuku spluttered indignantly, hands coming up to gesticulate angrily in his friend’s direction. “But— but— your hair!” He bemoaned. “We were fluffy hair buddies!”

 Shinsou barked a laugh, caught off guard by the ridiculous proclamation. “Fluffy hair buddies?”

“Yes…” Izuku pouted, and turned away from his friend, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and doing his absolute best to give off disgruntled vibes. Shinsou, however, was still chuckling softly next to him, completely unaffected by Izuku’s embarrassment.

Luckily for Shinsou, Izuku might have escalated the sort-of tiff by pouncing on the other and tearing the hairband from his hair, if the park hadn’t presented itself just around the corner. 

Izuku observed this new occurrence with slight distain, annoyed that attacking his friend in front of young children probably wasn’t the best idea, especially with so many protective parents around, but nevertheless brushed himself off, straightened up and turned a challenging smirk on Shinsou, as if his misery had never even existed. The other boy, rest his soul, looked like he’d been given whiplash from how fast Izuku had changed emotions.

“I don’t get how you do that.” He muttered, eyes burrowing into Izuku’s head like he could open it up and figure out the reason behind Izuku’s stranger personality traits. 

“What are you talking about?” Izuku asked, wide eyed, carefully letting his smirk slip into a perfectly constructed look of authentic confusion. 

“Wha—“ Shinsou looked like he was genuinely about to start crying with confusion. “How— why—?”  

Izuku grinned, deciding to be lenient — this once. “Shh, I was just playing. Calm down.”

His friend kept eyeing him, miffed, and guessed he sort of deserved it, but to be fair he had only been paying the other boy back. 

Shinsou had to avert his eyes back to where he was going, though, when a huge gaggle of kids streaked past, causing both boys to strategically manoeuvre around the swarm as to not cause any casualties. Luckily their usual training ground was empty — usually they had to chase a few odd children off the wide open lawn — and they made their way over, glad for the bit of privacy that the forest, which walled the patch of grass in cosily, provided. 

They hadn’t bothered exploring the wood quite yet, mostly due to the fast that Izuku didn’t have very good memories of the place, and whenever Shinsou brought up the idea he’d provide some lame excuse and divert his friend’s attention. The weather was warming up, though, as summer grew closer, so Izuku figured he wouldn’t have much excuse not to do at least a bit of bush-bashing sooner or later.  

After a bit of warm up stretching and pained grunts — neither of them were very flexible, but at least they were much better than when they had started — they squared up, feet carefully shoulder width apart, eyeing each other, waiting for the other to make a move. Izuku advanced first, launching forward and aiming a strike at Shinsou’s stomach. The other boy leapt back, then came in again for a blow at Izuku’s shins, hoping to unsteady him. They proceeded like this, each attuned to the other in an intricate dance of precise footwork and timed strikes. As they both suffered from the lack of physically strong quirks, or, at least, in Izuku’s case, “didn’t know how to use it properly yet”, they’d settled on learning a karate style named Goju-ryu from an online course. The man who taught it, Shokkitana Kutsumo, had started the course specifically for people who had low level quirks, non-physical type quirks, or were merely quirkless. According to him, masters of Goju-ryu could hold a fight against even the strongest quirks, and the style was recommended for self defence or potential heroes. Each week they taught themselves a new move, and began to slowly integrate them into their routine, building up their repertoire and stamina.

Izuku had once suggested that they train Shinsou’s quirk too, maybe figure out some new ways of utilising it, but Shinsou had declined. Izuku had wisely decided not to push it, but still thought the boy was being overly self conscious — what was the use of trying to become a powerful hero — or villain — if one didn’t use the whole of their abilities? But Izuku merely left the subject alone —  Shinsou would tell him when he was ready, though half of him had a feeling that the more time went on, the less likely Shinsou would be willing to tell him. It was like a bandaid; Shinsou most likely regretted not telling Izuku straight off, because if Izuku was going to be his friend, it would have been better to gauge that at the very beginning, but now Shinsou had some sort of emotional attachment to Izuku, he didn’t want to tell Izuku now and risk loosing his best friend. He should have ripped the bandaid off fast, but now he was pulling it off inch by inch.

And it frustrated Izuku, not knowing what his friend’s quirk was. Not being trusted to know and to help. He wanted to explain that literally nothing Shinsou could tell him would drive him away. He could tell Izuku that his quirk involved eating live human flesh and Izuku wouldn’t even bat an eye — he wasn’t that type of person. Sure, he’d be a little grossed out, but just because Shinsou had that quirk didn’t mean he as a person was inherently evil. He wouldn’t just leave. One of the whole reasons he was a villain, and doing what he was doing was for people like Shinsou. He didn’t want people to feel afraid of telling people their quirk, to be scared that they would be villainised just because of something they were born with. It was so goddamn wrong, and every time Izuku thought about it, it made him want to scream. It was just history repeating itself over and over, first with people with darker skin, then with the issue people had with the LGBTQIA+ community, and now with people with mildly scary quirks. It was all people with an overactive amount of superstition and terror of the unknown and anything slightly different from their norm. Those people made him sick.

Izuku stopped, eventually, for a short break, and a short while after Shinsou joined him, panting heavily and skin slick with sweat. Izuku wrinkled his nose, making a note to force his friend to shower when they got back home. The shade was a pleasant shift from the sun that only amplified their own increased body temperature, but neither boy had thoughtful do the obvious and bring a water bottle with them, a fact that both admonished the other for profusely. In the end, they ended up trudging uncomfortably to the nearest convenience store for some Pocari sweat and vanilla coolish, the cashier pointedly not breathing whilst serving them.

Back at the park, Shinsou once again brought up the idea of going and exploring the woods a bit, obviously expecting to be turned down again, but Izuku was too tired from the work out to care much right then. 

“Sure, why not.” He shrugged, already turning and heading off in a well remembered direction, muscle memory guiding him along the long overgrown path that he and Bakugou’s ragtag group of scabby kneed, bright eyed friends had used to walk almost daily. Shinsou didn’t follow for a second, face betraying his surprise, before he composed himself again and hurried to catch up. 

Izuku didn’t have a specific destination in mind, only vaguely remembering a small patch of large rocks that overlooked the wooded valley, or something of the sort. That place was probably completely overgrown by then, though, and he wasn’t entirely sure where it was. The group had usually used the place as a sort of picnic spot, the cool shade and nice view offering an almost perfect spot to stop and eat their All Might shaped sandwiches, put with love by their parents with specially made hero cookie cutters. 

 When he’d been much younger, Izuku had used to fantasied about him and Bakugou sitting there, enjoying the sunset together one day. Looking back on it, Izuku couldn’t help but gag a little. He’d be the first to deny he’d ever had a preschool crush on his former friend, and just the knowledge of the fact made him want to fling himself out a window headfirst. Sure, his childhood friend had the looks part going for him, but that all went effectively out the window the moment he opened his mouth. 

“Where are we going, even?” 

Izuku was snapped out of his bitter reminiscence by his friend’s voice, and Izuku took a glance at the other boy, who was gazing at him skeptically. Izuku shrugged and grinned, chuckling quietly at the indignant splutter Shinsou gave at his vague reply. 

“You don’t know? What if we get lost?”

“Oh, calm down.” Izuku said, ignoring the hypocrisy. “We’re walking in basically a straight line, so all we have to do is turn around.”

Shinsou kept muttering, however, still obviously slightly dubious about gaily tromping off into the woods without a definite plan to get back, but he followed after Izuku nonetheless. Izuku couldn’t decide if he was touched the other boy trusted him, or was contempt at the show of blind naivety — it was only lucky the boy had chosen to trust someone who actually did have his best interests at heart, and not someone who was leading him to his death. Or something; Izuku wasn’t too sure how easy it would be for someone to kill Shinsou, considering that he didn’t give up his quirk’s details easily, and that since he himself was scared of his own power, it was safe to say the quirk was at least decently strong. 

For some reason, Izuku didn’t like where his train of thought was going. No matter the dangers, the thought of someone hurting his friend wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on — which surprised him: usually he could think about any situation calmly, but this particular idea was uniquely troubling. It was akin to when his mind wondered to the possibilities of his mother getting involved with villains — it was not impossible for some enemy he could have made to take his mother and use her against him, but beside making vague plans on how to deal with that possibility, Izuku never lingered too long on the thought. It was too painful to bare, and the idea that Shinsou could occupy a similar worry to his mother concerned Izuku. How attached was he getting to the boy? And what could that attachment do to him — or Shinsou — if it was used against them? 

“We’re getting near.” Izuku stated, hoping that speaking out loud might drown out the loud voices in his head, yelling about the dangers being friends with Shinsou — with anybody — could pose. “At least I think we are. It looks vaguely familiar.”

Shinsou glanced sidelong at his, brows furrowed slightly, and Izuku prayed that he couldn’t sense something was off. The boy opened his mouth, then shut it, as if reconsidering his words.

“You used to come here?” He asked, instead, making Izuku relax a little. He smiled, nodding. 

“Yeah. Back when I was in kindergarten. This place seemed huge, back then.” He remembered the trees, which stretched up higher than the small kid he’d used to be could fathom, the giant bushes and boulders, the streams which had seemed like gigantic, roaring rivers. Everything looked so small now, compared to his memories. 

“I bet.” Shinsou chuckled, lips lifting into a smirk. “When I was young, I was convinced I would be small forever, and planned my life around that fact. Looking back on that now, I can’t help being embarrassed for all the times I proudly stated I would represent dwarfism in the hero industry.” 

Izuku snorted, caught off guard by the admission. “You what?” He choked, trying to picture a tiny Shinsou planning to go into heroics at only two and a half feet tall. 

“Yeah…” His friend ruffled his hair awkwardly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Obviously I was gonna grow. Maybe I was just an idiot.” 

“You still are.” Izuku said, letting a bit of affectionate mirth slip into his voice, and he laughed when Shinsou cuffed him on the shoulder. 

Every step Izuku took nearer to his old friend group’s haunt, the more nostalgic be felt. It wasn’t an entirely bad feeling, either, which surprised him.  The crunch of pine needles underfoot, the rustle of leaves overhead and the whistling of wind through the treetops all reminded him of a simpler time, when quirks didn’t matter because none of them had any yet, and differences weren’t as large and isolating. They’d played Hero and Villain, chasing each other through the close-set trees, each secretly deciding to be the hero, despite them picking a hero and villain at the beginning of the game. There hadn’t been a single part of the wood that he and Bakugou hadn’t explored, and looking back at it Izuku was mildly impressed that they hadn’t gotten lost more often. It had been a good time, back then, and — with the exception of the days after the announcement of his quirkless state, and the years thereafter — the times before any of that mattered had been nice, even. Izuku almost wished he could go back to that. What he had as a child — the naivety, the freedom and carefreeness — were things he had always hoped to regain. 

Maybe he would, one day, and he and Shinsou could come out there and enjoy the forest without the burden of a poisoned society.  

To actually get to the lookout, they had to go bashing through more overgrown parts of the wood, Izuku pulling down vines and tree branches that intermingled in a complex labyrinth with little to no remorse, despite the possible affect on the nature around them. Shinsou was a tad bit more discrete, and simply wove his way around each new obstacle he came across. 

The lookout was smaller than Izuku remembered it, but that was to be expected. Instead of the giant boulders from his memories, there were instead just a few larger stones clumped together to create a series of larger, very disjointed rocks that could be considered boulders if one squinted hard enough. 

After a few minutes of mildly frustrated branch-hacking, the area around the rocks was relatively clear, and the two settled down, against a particularly thick tree, legs dangling over the side. They, not without a hint of irony, tapped their bottles of Pocari sweat together in a toast. A toast to what, Izuku wasn’t quite sure of, and Shinsou probably didn’t either. They sat there, for a while, staring into nothing, caught up in their own respective thoughts, before Izuku was jolted back to reality by his friend poking him none too gently in the side. Izuku batted him away half heartedly, too languid to retaliate with any real fervour. 

“What.”

“What does your mum do for work?”

Izuku frowned tiredly, waving his hand languorously in the air above him. “She doesn’t really talk about it much.” He admitted. He knew his mother worked extra hard to ensure she and her son lived comfortably, and that bothered Izuku, but he knew that at the very least his mother knew her limits and would never overwork herself without reason. “She has a few jobs, I think. Part time nurse, and a kindergarten assistant. She’s good with kids.” He smiled softly, before continuing with a shrug. “She might have one other as a cashier someplace, but I’m not sure.” 

He turned his head slightly to glance at Shinsou, brow furrowing as he thought of how to broach a potentially touchy subject. 

“And your parents?” He already knew, of course, but he was curious to know how much his friend had been told. Maybe he knew more than Izuku thought. 

The other boy shifted uncomfortably, sighing. “They work together in the same company. Dad’s the CEO, actually, and mum’s his 2ic, I think.” He chewed his lip, mouth twisting downwards. “They’ve never really told me the name of the company? They make and sell supplies for hero support items or something. I’ve... never really payed attention. Or cared, really.” He admitted.

Izuku raised an eyebrow, silently prompting his friend to continue. Shinsou did, but Izuku could sense his reluctance. He couldn’t ignore the small flutter in his stomach at the knowledge that Shinsou trusted him enough to confide in him. Izuku would be willing to bet a lot that the other had never told anyone this before, and he hoped he wouldn’t be forced to betray this trust one day. No — he’d make sure he wouldn’t. Admittedly he was working with Shinsou’s dad to convince him to succeed his father, but Izuku would only push it as far as Shinsou was comfortable with. He’d only make him do it if he wanted to do so.

“He… my father, that is, wants me to succeed him.” Shinsou said, nose wrinkling in disgust. “He wants me to go to business school and become his successor. But I don’t want to. I just want to become a hero. Prove to everyone that ever told me I could never be a hero, that I can be one. I don’t see why he can’t understand that. Or at the very least respect my wishes.”

Izuku nodded in silent agreement. He knew that feeling. For years that had been his rebellious, daringly hopeful mindset. But then he realised it wasn’t about proving he could, because those people didn’t matter. Proving himself to condescending, faceless people from his past didn’t matter. And after realising that, he’d been able to discover something that was worth his effort. That did matter. More than proving himself, actually helping people was so much more important. It was why he’d wanted to become a hero in the first place, right? He wasn’t just demolishing buildings to help a bunch of hostages, no matter how important that was — he was actively changing society so that people didn’t become villains or get hurt in the first place. He could only hope he could get Shinsou to understand this, though.

“Would he…” Izuku licked his lips, considering every word, “would your father be okay with you doing both? Could you be a hero and still inherit the company?”

Shinsou shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Every time I bring up the hero thing, he kind of just… closes off. He just doesn’t approve of me becoming a hero, and I’m not sure how to broach the subject without him becoming cold and distant.” He gnashed his teeth, tightening his grip on the bottle in his hand, the plastic crinkling loudly. Izuku discreetly took his bottle and replaced it with his own, carefully holding and smoothing out the partially destroyed bottle in a vain attempt to preserve it, and also as a way to stim and keep focus as he listened to his friend. Nothing made an emotional conversation worse than having nothing to do with your hands.

Izuku glanced back over to see Shinsou had mostly demolished his bottle as well, and gave a small sigh of defeat. “Do you want me to talk to him?” He offered, already planning to do so whether or not Shinsou said he could, but he preferred to have explicit permission to talk to his dad on his behalf. The other boy shrugged tiredly. 

“Have you even met him?” He asked, chuckling bitterly before his expression turned to one of sudden thought. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever introduced my parents to you yet.” He scrunched his nose, clearly perturbed by the realisation. “I should do that soon, huh.” 

Izuku brushed the concern off. “Only if you want to. But no, I haven’t met him — but I’d be willing to call him or something. I’d do that, if you needed it.” 

Shinsou huffed, clearly as a way to conceal the small smile that was tugging at the edges of his lips. It warmed Izuku to know that his willingness to help was appreciated. “Thanks, but it’s fine. You don’t have to do that.”

Izuku smirked and playfully whacked his friend on the arm, before jumping up and beckoning. He was tired of the emotional shit, and more than ready to just go home and binge watch movies after a bit more sparring. “Well, if you ever need me to punch sense into your dad, just tell me.” He chuckled. 

Shinsou seemed to share his thoughts, because he stood up without complaint and brushed himself off, matching Izuku’s smirk as he began following after him. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you know.”

They set off back to the park, both lost in their own respective thoughts. Izuku was still planning to go straight to the Kakureta Headquarters and backhand some goddamned sense into Satoru Sho — there was absolutely no reason that Shinsou couldn’t follow both his dream and his father’s. After all, loads of Pro Heroes were also CEOs of companies. Satoru was just being hardheaded. What did Satoru have to worry about, anyway? Both Izuku and his ambassador’s daughter Touru would also be attending, and neither would let him get into trouble. 

Izuku sighed, ruffling his hair distractedly. It would work out eventually — so he should stop worrying — ; he would make sure it worked.  

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku was lying upside down, legs splayed across the wall and his back tucked into a bed of pillows comfortably, eyes fixed on his phone, brows furrowed. It had been roughly a week since Hagakure Touru had began her mission, and Izuku was beginning to feel the uncomfortable beginning of restlessness at the back of his mind. He had to physically keep himself from checking for missed calls every few seconds, though it was ridiculous — he had everything on in case of an unannounced call like this.

To keep himself preoccupied, Izuku was reading up on any and all hero news. He had to flick through many superficial tabloids gossiping about possible ‘new relationships’, which Izuku couldn’t help but roll his eyes at. How basic would your life have to be to have a job that consisted of comparing Mt Lady and Ragdoll’s outfits, or loudly claiming that Sir Nighteye MUST have hooked up with Ms Joke because they glanced at each other once at an annual Pro Hero social event. 

It was all mostly the usual mindless spiel; accounts of newest hero fights, latest events and merchandise. Izuku mostly read it for information on the newest or up and coming heroes. If he looked in the right places, he could even find the rare tit bit of support hero info, though that was few and far between. It was ironic, considering that if support heroes didn’t exist the pro heroes couldn’t do what they did, or at least not as well. 

Izuku was about to give up and go and ask his mum if she needed any help with prepping dinner, when his phone screen changed to the call app and an obnoxious briinging began playing in Izuku’s earbuds. Cautiously, he tapped the accept button and felt himself grow tenser, inst

ead of relaxing as he’d expected himself to do once Touru finally called. To his surprise, Izuku found that he almost didn’t want to know what information Touru had found — what if Dabi was corresponding with anyone and relaying confidential information? Would he be forced to kick Dabi out, or worse? And what of the person on the other end? How many people had they told? Izuku felt himself get a bit sick from the thoughts whirling around in his head. Why hadn’t he done a more extensive background check on the two newest recruits before letting them join? What had his carelessness caused? What if— 

“You there?”

Izuku snapped back to the present and chuckled bashfully. “Oh. Yes. Sorry. Um— is this Hagakure?” 

“Yep — I’ve completed your little mission.” 

Izuku sucked in a deep breath, careful to keep it quiet. “So? What did you find out?”

On the other end, Touru hummed softly, and Izuku could hear the distant rustling of paper. “Well...” she began, “you know how he’s a Todoroki?”

Izuku’s blood ran cold, mis mind rushing through hundreds of different, terrible, scenarios. “Yes…?” He responded, dreading the answer. 

“Well, he seems to be in frequent correspondence with his brother. Shouto I think his name was. I wasn’t able to hear what he was exactly talking about, though. I trailed the brother a bit too, out of curiosity mostly, and he seems pretty… withdrawn? He definitely isn’t telling anyone else, though, if that’s what you’re worried about. Do you want me to go and try to see what they’re talking about?” 

Izuku could feel his body slowly relaxing, if minutely, with the knowledge that Dabi’s brother — Shouto — wasn’t leaking information to others, at least. Maybe this would be containable — manageable. He smiled, despite knowing Touru wouldn’t be able to see. “No, no… thank you. You’ve been very informative, but I think I can take it from here.” 

“Okay!” She chirped, “Just ring if you need anything else, kay?” 

Izuku grinned, “Yeah, sure. Will do.”

And she was gone. Izuku huffed, but if it was from her bubbly personality or sheer relief that he hadn’t made a huge fucking mistake, he wasn’t quite sure.  

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Izuku had been briefly tempted to leave his confrontation with Dabi for another week, tempted to just sit and enjoy his evening without the clenching feeling of anticipation distracting him. He had no real reason to be anxious; to his knowledge nothing that potentially endangered the security of the League, or indeed, the Plan had happened, but if he left it another week, hell, another few days, that could all change at the drop of the hat — or, more accurately, the sending of one small, innocent text message. Better to rip the bandaid off now, to stop Dabi leaking information before the idea had even crossed his mind. 

Then why was he feeling so stressed about it? Midoriya Izuku didn’t do stress. At least, not anymore. Could the two lives thing be finally getting to him? After all, he was still only fifteen, even though that fact was easy to forget, after everything that had happened over the past few years, after everything he’d had to say and do. Thinking this clinically wasn’t normal, was it? Not for someone still in middle school. It worried him that he was forced to compromise his childhood for the case at hand. Worrying, but ultimately necessary, in the end. 

Or did he blame himself for neglecting to completely scour their two recruits’ records? He had, after all, just sat back and let Giran do all the background checking himself. When had he let himself become so laid back? If he had just done his job— 

Izuku clenched his teeth, growling softly and burying his face into one of the sofa pillows, which, despite what most sources said, did not muffle any noise whatsoever.

Shinsou looked up from where he had been comfortably curled up on a pile of pillows on the floor, arms resting on the low coffee table in the middle of the room. He was surrounded by an explosion of scraps of paper and textbooks, tiny, scribbled handwriting covering most of the blank spaces available. 

“You good?” He asked, one brow raised in a strange mixture of amusement and genuine concern. Izuku pulled the pillow away from his face, shaking his head and sighing, running a hand over his face, massaging his temple. 

“Nothing, really.” He dismissed, waving his other hand in the air vaguely. “Just forgot about an appointment I agreed to a few weeks ago.” At Shinsou’s scrunched up confusion, he reluctantly elaborated. “Areta and some of his friends are meeting up for dinner. He invited me, and I accepted. Stupid, really — I’ll only know one of them there.” He smiled wanly, eyes studying a small stain on the carpet by his feet. 

Shinsou frowned, pushing himself around to stare at Izuku, face thoughtful. “That old school friend you occasionally text?” He said, not really a question but Izuku nodded nonetheless. 

“When is that?” 

“…Tonight…”

Shinsou stared at him, deadpan. Okay, so maybe Izuku should have mentioned this earlier. Like, way earlier. It was already five PM. 

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“And you were going to tell me, when?”

Izuku shrugged. That stain was really interesting. So interesting. 

At the sound of a defeated sigh, his eyes snapped up to his friend, where the other boy was card his fingers through his pulled back hair, causing little pieces to fall out and stick up ever which way. 

How was that so cute? 

Wait, focus. Where had that thought even come from? Actually, no. He wasn’t going to think too deeply about that, right now. 

“Want me to go with you?” 

That definitely distracted Izuku, his thoughts coming to a screeching halt at the completely unexpected offer. 

“What?” He asked dumbly, like the intellectual, criminal mastermind he was. The question was so unlike Shinsou, to offer to do something like that, that for a moment Izuku wondered if he’d misheard.

“Do you want me to go with you? Y’know, so there’s more people you know there.” He was looking away, cheeks a slight pink colour, fingers fidgeting awkwardly with one of the pillows on his lap. It was obviously hard for him to make such a suggestion, that for a crazy second Izuku almost wanted to take him up on his offer, merely because it was so unexpected and would probably never be offered again. It showed a degree of trust and willingness to help out even if he himself was left uncomfortable, that Izuku had to bite his lip to keep himself from grinning madly. The gesture had caused a weird, but strangely pleasant fluttery feeling inside him, and for a wild moment Izuku nearly lunged forward and hugged his damn, beautiful friend.   

It took a tremendous amount of effort to merely shake his head, smiling softly, if no less genuinely. It was weird how that happened around Shinsou. He had a way of bringing out the genuine emotions out of Izuku. Usually his smiles were carefully constructed, his laughter practiced to perfection — but not with Shinsou. Around him, Izuku felt like, at least mostly, he could relax and be himself without having to worry about not seeming strong or controlled enough. It was nice, even if Izuku still had to pretend about some things. Even if he couldn’t be completely honest.  

But, maybe one day he wouldn’t have to pretend about those things either.

“No, really, it’s fine. I don’t want you to feel like you have to come — I’ll relax once I get there, anyway. But thanks though — for asking.” He paused, “I really appreciate it.”  

The genuine gratitude in Izuku’s voice seemed to embarrass the other boy, however, and Shinsou turned away, face growing from pink to red. “Yeah, whatever.” He muttered, and Izuku felt himself grinning almost fondly at his friend’s antics.

“Anyway.” Izuku continued briskly, beginning to pack away the homework he hadn’t even began, “I should get going soon. If you were expecting to eat here, I’m sure mum won’t mind if you stay. Depends how much you want to spend some alone time with my mother.” He grinned evilly at the other boy, who winced.

“Yeah, maybe not…” He muttered, taking his queue from Izuku and sweeping his half-finished notes, diagrams and pencils into his bag. Izuku forced himself not to watch the decimation of the dozens of notes and books, as they were jumbled together haphazardly within the backpack. 

Izuku bit his lip. For someone who took pride in planning ahead meticulously, he tended to overlook the more mundane things such as warning his friend that he was going out for the night. “Does your parents know you’re going to be home for dinner? Do you need money to buy something?” He fretted, rummaging around in his pocket for his backup wad of money. 

Shinsou rolled his eyes, flicking Izuku’s leg and huffing good-naturedly. “Stop worrying, idiot. I’ll be fine, I have money.” 

Izuku pouted, face scrunching up in concern. “But I should have told you sooner. I can at least make up for that by paying for your meal.” 

Shinsou shrugged. “Yeah you should have, but it’s fine. You forgot — that happens sometimes.” 

Izuku eyed him distrustfully, but decided not to push his generosity too far onto his friend. He knew how overwhelming that could feel, even if he was only trying to be polite. 

Instead, he jumped up, beckoning his friend into his bedroom, where he began rummaging in his clothing drawer. When he turned back, he was brandishing two sweaters meaningfully. Shinsou, who was leaning against the doorframe, arched an eyebrow, face a slim mask over his bemusement.

“And what, pray tell, do you mean to do with those?” He drawled. Izuku chuckled, handing the dark maroon one to him, the other boy taking it and regarding the subtle pattern of jagged stripes in alternating lighter and darker maroon across the fabric. 

“You catch the train at Shizuoka station, right?” Izuku asked, already knowing the answer. Shinsou nodded, still gazing dubiously at the sweater in his hands. Izuku pulled the sweater he was still holding on, adjusting it slightly before grinning up at the other boy. 

“Well then, let’s go together. The more the merrier, right?” He bounced past his friend, clapping him on the shoulder as he went past. “And wear that sweater I gave you, it’s colder than Satan’s icy little heart out there.”

Shinsou met Izuku by the door, backpack slung over his shoulder and the sweater Izuku had given him sitting snugly over his school uniform. From the way he was shifting slightly, Izuku could tell that he felt, if not uncomfortable, then definitely strange wearing his clothes; maybe he wasn’t used to burrowing other’s things? But what Izuku found particularly peculiar  was the slight dusting of pink across his friend’s cheeks. Maybe the sweater was too warm? 

Whatever, they’d soon be out in the cold anyway. He finished pulling on his shoes and looked up, grinning fleetingly at his friend before pushing himself up and opening the door with a flourish. 

“Good sir,” He said, winking at Shinsou. The boy coughed, cheeks growing redder before he slapped Izuku and walked bristly past, muttering something about “what an idiot”. Izuku allowed himself a soft smile before he too stepped out into the cold evening and shut the door after him with a final click. 

The frigid air was like a slap to the face, and Izuku couldn’t hold back the hiss of shock as the icy air brushed his exposed skin. Over the rooftops, Izuku could just catch a glimpse of the last dredges of sunlight, dusky and red, filtering out over the city. The light was both too bright for street lamps, but dark enough to trip.

Izuku grunted, wrapping the extra coat he’d grabbed last minute around him more tightly, watching as his breath left him in smokey plumes. He hated this time of day. Everything took on one particular, innocuous colour of grey, camouflaging even the most obvious trip hazards. 

Beside him, Shinsou seemed to be on a similar thought track, as he was shivering and glowering out at the evening as if it had personally offended him. His teeth chattered audibly as a huge gust of icy wind hit them, sending their hair and coat ends fluttering wildly. 

“Remind why we thought it was a good idea to go outside.” He grumbled and Izuku chuckled sympathetically. 

“Once we get moving it’ll warm up.” He replied, voice bright to mask his rapidly numbing lips, “Lets get going.” 

The already precarious stairs down from the second story became neigh unscalable when the weather turned windy, and that day was definitely no exception. The flimsy metal stricture swayed and groaned as the two boys edged downwards, jolting them every time a gust of wind hit, prompting them to freeze on the spot and cling on for dear life every time that happened, which was pretty much constantly. By the time they were at the bottom, Izuku was quietly thanking Shigaraki for forcing him to learn basic everything, really, and Shinsou was a light shade of green. Izuku gave him a moment to suck in some breaths and realise he wasn’t dead. 

Once they set off again, Izuku wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders, steering him up the street, which was thankfully almost empty, save for a few unlucky people who were scurrying home, eyes trained on the ground in search for unseen tripping hazards. He did this only because he was cold. Yup, no other reason. 

“Quite an experience, huh?” Izuku asked cheerfully, quite used the near death experience that staircase offered almost daily. 

Shinsou scoffed, though it sounded a tad wobbly. “You can say that again. I’ve never felt motion sickness before now, and I never want to do so again.”  

“What can I say? I have my very own fairground ride; but alas it’s not for some.” Izuku sniggered. 

“Yeah, but that thing doesn’t have belts. I think I was nearly flung off at least five times.” The other boy grumbled, but his voice held no real animosity. Izuku grinned, mind drifting to the idea of putting belts on his stairs and charging people for rides on windy days. His mother would either never allow it, or find it too amusing not to try out.

“Oh god, when someone loves All Might, they really can’t not flaunt it, huh?”

Shinsou’s aghast voice snapped Izuku out of his thoughts. Blinking, Izuku caught the tail end of the person his friend was exclaiming over. In front of a restaurant across the street a woman stood, sporting some of the most garish All Might merchandise Izuku had ever had the horror of setting eyes on. Not only was she wearing a bright blue and yellow All Might hoodie, but somehow also thought it was socially acceptable to wear All Might high socks, an All Might beanie and last but not least an All Might scarf. Izuku’s whole body cringed, and he stepped back, his arm still wrapped around Shinsou’s shoulders, causing the other boy to stumble. 

“Good lord, is she colour blind or something?” He whispered fiercely, half in genuine horror and half incredulous amusement. Against his will, his brain reminded him that he too had been like that once, effectively quelling any entertainment he could have gained from her getup. The thought near sickened him.

Looking for particularly daring fans was one of their go to pastimes when they were out and about; Spot-a-fan, as Shinsou had so eloquently dubbed it. They would look for particularly avid fans of heroes, or merely just horrid fashion choices and quietly criticise the unlucky victims as a way to pass the time. With fans of heroes, it was similar to people who liked the colour purple: they were never content to merely appreciate the individual, but had to actively showcase it through uncomplimentary cosplay, merchandise, or, with the more shy ones, their entire bedroom covered in posters and action figures instead of actual clothes.

Shinsou nudged Izuku, pointing overtly to an older woman passing them on the sidewalk. “Those shoes? With that woollen jumper? Sweetie no.” He snickered, and Izuku gently slapped him. 

“Aren’t old women not counted?” He muttered, chuckling despite himself. “Old women automatically dress strangely, you know that.”

“Yes, but still. Who wears a pink wool jumper with bright green joggers? Is she planning to run laps around the bingo hall?”

Izuku slapped a hand to his mouth, muffling his laughter, awkwardly aware that the woman in question was still nearby.

Scanning for his own victim, Izuku Izuku jabbed a thumb in the direction of a teenage boy leaving a clothing store, wearing not only full cosplay of the pro hero Midnight, but also having the audacity to look hot in it. Beside him Shinsou choked, and Izuku patted him sympathetically on the back. 

“How—?” His friend spluttered, and Izuku shrugged sadly. 

“Some people just rock skin tight costumes, and that boy is one of them. Lets just hope it’s his quirk, and not some unfairly natural occurrence we missed out on, shall we?” 

Shinsou nodded — maybe too quickly — and they hurried on. They continued like this for a time, both lost in their own respective thoughts. 

All of a sudden, the other boy pulled up sharply, causing Izuku, who still, quite subconsciously, had his arm wrapped around Shinsou’s shoulders, to trip and stumble back, catching himself barely before he fell over. 

 “Izuku!” His friend hissed, enough mischievous glee in his voice for Izuku to glance at the other boy warily. “It’s your long lost dad!” 

Izuku looked to where Shinsou was pointing, and began spluttering indignantly, causing the other boy to crack up, a wide, evil grin on his face.

“A piece of squashed broccoli?” Izuku sibilated, turning to face his friend with an expression that probably looked both affronted, and slightly amused. “Are you insinuating that I, Midoriya Izuku, look like a stick of broccoli?” He couldn’t tell if he was angry or not, and annoyingly the unbridled mirth in Shinsou’s eyes wasn’t allowing his mood to darken.

“I mean,” the other boy sniggered, “kind of. What else did you think that big mop of green hair was going to make you seem like? A shrub?”

Izuku made a tch noise, turning away in mock indignation, his mop of broccoli-looking hair hiding his smile at the other boy’s antics. He couldn’t believe that his friend making fun of him was endearing, but here he was, almost hoping to spot another piece of stray broccoli that someone had dropped, just to see Shinsou smile and laugh like that again. 

What was happening? Oh well, now was not the time to psychoanalyse his newfound love for his friend’s devious smile and slightly husky laugh… and the way his eyes lit up when Izuku pointed out some terrible fashion sense, and the way his-

Shit. 

Not the time.

They both remained silent as they reached the station, scanning their cards and boarding the train. They had to push against the usual 6 o’clock rush, but eventually managed to fight their way into a position that was slightly less squished, both boys crammed shoulder to shoulder but with enough breathing room to keep them from feeling too claustrophobic. Izuku kept on trying to think up conversation starters, but for some reason his mind kept falling short, his thoughts meandering elsewhere, the sudden silence allowing other, darker thoughts to reemerge.

His brain kept letting the sharp, niggling feeling of anxiety crawl up his throat every time his mind wandered too far towards the confrontation. If worse came to worse, too, the man had a powerful fire quirk, and no matter Izuku’s skill in dodging, he wasn’t looking forward to the possible burns he could acquire if the meeting went sour. 

His blackening mood must have been growing visible on his face, because Shinsou nudged him, looking down with a furrowed brow.

“You all good there? You look like you’re anticipating biting a lemon in the near future.” He chuckled, his tone light and jovial, despite the hint of genuine concern in his eyes.

He wasn’t completely wrong. If you could compare a lemon to a highly dangerous villain. 

Izuku shook his head, moulding his face into a slightly bashful expression, and rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry, I just haven’t seen this friend in a while. I hope it isn’t too awkward!” He joked, laughing softly. 

The other boy nodded, and pointed to a woman standing next to the door, hand clenched firmly around the rail. “Time for a distraction, then? What do you think her quirk is?” 

Izuku glanced at the woman, eyes roaming her body — no, not like that — before flitting back to his friend. He shrugged. “Something to do with sound.” 

Shinsou blinked down at him, before turning to look back at the woman, most likely trying to find out where Izuku had drawn this conclusion from.

Finally, he turned back, brows furrowed in confusion. “How so?”

Izuku pointed subtly at her head, wagging his pointer in the direction of her ears.

“See behind her ears? There are little holes, possibly to enhance hearing, or maybe it’s some sort of echo-related quirk. Probably enhanced hearing though, since despite being in business attire she’s wearing flats, not high heels which create unnecessary high pitch noises. She is also not wearing earphones despite watching something on her phone, which suggests she can’t bare the feeling of loud noises near her extraordinarily sensitive ears. Though, of course, I could be wrong. Want me to ask her?”

Okay, so maybe he was showing off a tad, but the look Shinsou was giving him made it all worth it. His eyes held something akin to shock or admiration, and Izuku felt his eyes focus on his shoes, his ear tips burning in a strange mix of self-consciousness and pride.

“How could you do that? Do you have another quirk you never told me about??”

Izuku snorted, a small smile spreading across his face despite himself. “What? No. I’ve just had a lot of practice. It was a sort of… hobby? When I was younger.” 

His friend still looked stunned, but quickly shook himself out of it, his face splitting into a rare grin. “Wow. Dang, man, that’s — that’s crazy cool. Why didn’t I have that kind of hobby when I was a kid? All I did was daydream and try to wrap my mothers scarf around things and pull them around, like Erasure Head.” He sniggered. “The only skill that got me was how to tie really good nooses.”

Izuku elbowed him, rolling his eyes, but his widening smile betrayed him. “Well, you never know. That may come in handy one day.” 

Shinsou snorted, and gestured around the crowded carriage. “So… could you do another?” He asked, and Izuku grinned at his friend’s almost shy demeanour. 

“Guess so,” He shrugged, eyes scanning the people around them, before settling on a man sitting at the far corner of the seats, where the elderly seating usually was. His face was shadowed, most likely because the lights around him were all mysteriously blown. His foot was tapping fast and jerkily, as if he was trying to get a lifetime’s worth of anxiety out of him with the one crude movement. 

He poked Shinsou to get his attention before jerking his thumb in the man’s direction. “See that man over there?” 

The other boy nodded, waiting for Izuku to continue. It was a strangely gratifying feeling, having someone other than his mother, or a bunch of shifty villains, interested in his work.

His eyes searched the man, gaging him and his surroundings. As he’d already seen, the lights in his immediate vicinity were either burnt out or flickering weakly, and the woman beside him was frowning down at her phone, tapping at it in frustration. The man himself barely seemed to be holding in his energy, and he didn’t seem to have any sort of electrical device on him. Instead, he gripped a small book in his hand, eyes darting across the pages much faster than should have been possible for any normal human being. 

“The man seems to have some sort of electricity-sapping quirk.” Izuku began, slowly at first, then faster as his mind began working through all the different reasons behind his analysis. “See how all the electrical appliances around him have stopped working? For instance the lights — and that woman’s phone. But he doesn’t seem to be able to dispel it, the electrical… energy? Because he looks like he just sucked the entire Olympics of their energy, from the way his foot and eyes are moving. I would wager he can’t turn off his quirk, either, because otherwise he most likely would have turned it off in public — unless he finds the results of his quirk funny, I guess, almost like a secret practical joke on the people around him. 

“Probably a low level continual quirk. I wonder if he can channel the energy he derives from electrical appliances into other electrical appliances, or if he just soaks it up with no outlet.” He pondered for a second. “Though… wouldn’t that be harmful, in the long run? Surely there’d be a tipping point where his body is just too full of energy, and he keels over.” He sighed, turning away and smirking up at Shinsou. 

“Bet you would like some of that energy, hm?” He asked cheekily.

Shinsou elbowed him, but there was no real force behind the action. He was doing a terrible job as masking his admiration for Izuku’s analysis skills, and Izuku was shamelessly basking in that unadulterated awe, quietly glancing around for another victim to analyse, if only to keep Shinsou looking so starry eyed, so… unguarded. He couldn’t help but notice that that seemed to be a reoccurring theme in his life recently, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. How could something that made Shinsou happy be a bad thing?

Maybe it was from a feeling of needing to impress, or to continue to impress, that kept Izuku unsatisfied of the people around him, with their easily recognisable quirks and their low level abilities, and instead searching for the perfect candidate for his scrutinisation.

Finally, Izuku spotted a woman, barely older than them, standing hunched not so far off. At first, he had dismissed her, but looking again he could notice the fine, almost unnoticeable lines of unused, closed gills and the slight, soft bluish scales around her forehead and neck. He turned to Shinsou, mouth opening to begin, when the train slid to a seamless stop and the chirpy overhead voice announced the stop. Shinsou glanced up at the station name in resignation. 

“Well, this is my stop.” He sighed, turning back to Izuku, lips twitching upwards into a small, fleeting smile. “See ya tomorrow, then?”

Trying to quash the ugly, twisting feeling of disappointment rising up inside him, along with a weird taste of bitterness, Izuku smiled back. “You know it.”

Shinsou disembarked, soon swallowed by the mass of bodies and lost to sight. Izuku couldn’t help a small twinge of almost anger — though, he reasoned, it was probably just the disappointment talking. 

At least the train was emptier now; Izuku nabbed a seat beside an elderly woman in a bright floral dress and forced himself to relax. His friend had been a welcome distraction to the events ahead, but now that Izuku was alone his head had begun to fill, his anxiety creeping back up his throat, and his thoughts tapping innocently on his shoulder, reminding him of all the ways the next few hours could go wrong.

For want of a diversion from the apprehension that threatened to seep out and overwhelm him, Izuku scrabbled for his phone, turning it on and plugging in his earphones, turning a random song on and turning up the volume until is hurt his ears. But the pain helped distract, gave something to focus on. 

But then he turned the volume down again. Drowning out literally everything wouldn’t help anything. He needed to think about this logically; Dabi was capable of a civil conversation, and Izuku didn’t want to start a fight, so he’d make sure one didn’t start. It wouldn’t come to that. 

Ugh, he was overthinking again. Did his brain never shut off? Izuku clenched his teeth, focusing on letting his breath even out, clearing his mind of everything except a calm, black nothingness. 

He was startled out of his thoughts, however, when a hand laid itself gently on his leg. Izuku’s eyes snapped to the woman beside him, his previous attempt at calm forgotten, body freezing as he tensed up. She smiled at him, eyes almost lost in smile lines. Despite himself, Izuku felt his body slowly untense, as if the older lady was sending some sort of reassurance through her hand where it rested on him. 

“You seemed distressed.” She whispered, low enough for the other passengers not to overhear, and despite his confusion, Izuku felt strangely grateful. Her fingers gently squeezed him, but instead of the feeling of being trapped that Izuku expected, it was almost… protective. In some part of his mind, he wondered if it was her quirk doing this, or if he was just in need of reassurance in any form he could find. He almost preferred the former, as the latter opened up the possibility of an embarrassing vulnerability. A weakness that could get him into some dangerous situations if he wasn’t careful.

He shrugged, looking away. “I guess. Sorry, was it so obvious?”

She chuckled softly. “No, I’m just very sensitive.” Her smile softened, slightly. “And I can also tell you that whatever you’re worrying about — you needn’t. Everything will work out, I can feel it.”

Izuku blinked, turning to stare at the woman. “Is that your quirk, ma’am?” He asked, almost dreading the answer. He desperately wanted what she had said to be true, and if it was just benign intuition, he felt as if he might snap. 

But she only let go of his arm, patting it a few times before getting to her feet. “Well, I’d better be going, young man.” She said, picking up her handbag and turning back to give him one last smile. “You’ll be alright.” 

Izuku was left sitting there, brain going a mile a minute. 

The rest of the train ride went by all too quickly. 

Izuku was unable to keep his mind from the strange woman. He was loathe to admit it, but he almost found himself believing her. After all, Hagakure had said Dabi was only in contact with his brother, and that it was pretty unlikely the brother in question had told anyone else either. He had just been catastrophising the situation, like normal. All that would happen would be a quick exchange and a correction of presumptions.

Hopefully.

No, definitely. 

When Izuku finally got off the train, almost the entire work rush had ceased, leaving the station and streets alike strangely devoid of life. The only indication the place wasn’t completely abandoned were the lights shining from behind curtains and door panes, and the distant sound of traffic from the main road. The fact that he was also making his way further and further into the run down, uninhabited — at least not by anyone unsavoury — suburbs didn’t help the feeling of isolation, either, though, he supposed. 

The deeper he went, the more the sounds of civilisation were drowned out by an all-encompassing silence, only broken by the dull footfalls of Izuku’s trainers on the cracked cement, and a far off barking that was cut out almost as soon as it began.

It had been cold earlier, but now the temperature had dropped so far Izuku could actively feel his nose and cheeks growing numb, his ears aching as the wind picked up and began gusting through his jumper like it was a paper towel and not a damn woollen sweater meant to keep this exact cold out.

He was shaking; from cold or frustration at the cold he wasn’t quite sure. Almost subconsciously, he straightened up slightly, squaring his shoulders and lengthening his gait. He did not want to be considered a target simply because he was cold. Though, he supposed, no self respecting villain, no matter how petty, would be out in such horrid weather anyway.  

As Izuku got further into town, the streets steadily grew shorter and narrower, the wind picking up, and whistling though the confined spaces and causing the light drizzle smattering haphazardly down to become sharp, icy shards that bit and stung as they hit his face and hands.

Most of the buildings were boarded up, most likely intended for construction, then forgotten and abandoned when the place grew more and more derelict over time, the buildings emptying of couples and families, and filling up with villains and other, more unsavoury characters. Some of the shop windows flickered with light, dully flashing neon signs advertising mundane, everyday items; a thin veil for the stuff the stores most likely sold instead. 

If it had been a few years earlier, Izuku mused, or even just a few months ago, he probably would have been too cautious to walk these crime-ridden streets alone. However, something about the emptiness of the area, and the fact that he had done pretty much nothing but train in both strength and hand to hand combat somehow helped to increase one’s confidence. 

Finally, the familiar blinking sign and run down shop front of the League’s headquarters came into view. Shivering, Izuku pushed the door, which was disguised as just another part of the wall, open and stepped inside. Instantly, he was met with the lukewarm, slightly stale air of the bar, tinted with the distinct smell of alcohol and the faint smell of cheese. The front room wasn’t anything special — mostly filled with unused chairs and upturned tables. It was chilly, but compared to outside, Izuku could have stepped into an oven. 

Shutting the door carefully behind him, Izuku shook himself, his damp hair flying in all directions and eventually settling into a somehow even more mussed up state than before. It was only going to get colder, he knew, and he definitely wasn’t looking forward to the trip home. Maybe he could bribe Kurogiri to lend him a helping portal to get back. 

Light was spilling out from under one of the doors leading out of the room, and Izuku, after a quiet moment of attempting to pat his hair back down to no avail, stepped forward and nudged it open, eyes blinking from the sudden harsh light of the bar. Once his eyes got accustomed again, Izuku made out the familiar shapes of Shigaraki and Dabi, hunched over a game of cards at the counter. Toga was nowhere to be seen, and despite himself Izuku felt himself breath out a small huff of relief. She was an electric personality, someone he thought he’d hate to be around, but strangely didn’t, but he didn’t miss being ambushed — by a hyper, blood-addicted girl who would jump onto his back and casually wave her knives around — nevertheless. 

Izuku was sure the two villains hadn’t noticed him, but neither jumped when he made his way around the bar to stand in front of them, curiously leaning an elbow on the counter and staring down at the ensuing game — to his surprise, it was an, admittedly quite tense and potentially violent, uno game. 

“No kids behind the bar.” Shigaraki growled without looking up, slamming down three lots of the 5 card. 

“I technically shouldn’t be in here at all.” Izuku quipped, knowing full well no one gave a flying fuck that an underage boy was in the — admittedly not in use — bar. He took a peek at Dabi’s cards, and chuckled slightly when he caught sight of his poor hand. 

“Why are you here, anyway?” The blue haired villain grumbled, still not sparing Izuku even a glance as the game got more heated. Izuku squinted; was that a knife in Shigaraki’s sleeve? Yup, definitely a knife.   

Izuku shrugged languidly at the other’s question. “Oh, I just came to ask our friend Dabi, here, a few questions.” 

He didn’t look, but he could feel as those icy blue eyes snapped to him, and he smiled calmly. Placatingly. 

“What do you want?” The other man asked, furrowed brow pulling grotesquely at his facial scarring. Izuku sighed. It seemed Dabi didn’t know just where he stood with Izuku, yet. And that was fine, but it was something he’d be changing. Despite his childish looks, stature and tendency to be gone most of the time, Izuku was actually second in command right next to Kurogiri. Dabi and Toga, who were quite new, were merely ‘soldiers’, as Kurogiri put it, no matter how chummy they all acted or seemed.   

“To ask you a few questions.” Izuku repeated, this time slightly slower and all syllables meticulously sounded out. He beckoned for the other to follow. 

Grumbling, Dabi got up and stalked after him, no doubt disliking being ordered around by someone who hadn’t even begun senior high school, but most likely too curious to know what Izuku wanted to complain too much. 

Izuku led him down a flight of stairs next to the bar, that led into a short hallway. Opening a seemingly random door on the right, he continued into an even longer hallway. He grinned as he could almost feel the older villain behind him squint in confusion, trying to work out why there was a hallway here, behind such an innocuous door, and how, exactly, big the underground system of the League’s HQ was. Surely he hadn’t thought it was called the League’s ‘Headquarters’ for nothing? 

When they reached a silver, metal, mostly unassuming door, Izuku paused, turning and opening the door, the knob and hinges smooth despite the disuse of the room. He ushered Dabi inside before stepping into the large training room after him, eyes briefly scanning over the many dummies and shelves full of assorted wooden weapons and boxing gloves before snapping back to the focus of his thoughts who was currently looking around, rubbing the scars on his hands uncomfortably. 

Izuku shut the fireproof door behind him with an air of finality, before turning fully to face the confused villain before him. He leaned back casually against the door and raised his eyebrows appraisingly. 

“So, Touya…” 

He smiled lazily, fully expecting the sudden movement that Dabi made as he whipped around, hands glowing dangerously and face a mix of surprise and confused anger, mouth a twisted snarl of scar tissue. 

“How do you know that name?” He hissed, teeth clenched defiantly. 

Izuku sighed patiently. “People keep asking me how I know things.” He muttered. “But, honestly, it was almost too easy to obtain that — and other — information.” 

Dabi eyed him warily, put off by the fact Izuku didn’t look at all phased by the imminent threat of incineration. But, of course, he wouldn’t do any incinerating before he got answers, and Izuku fully intended to use that to his advantage.   

After a few tense seconds the older man seemed to loose patience. “What do you want?” He asked snappishly, and Izuku smiled wider in quiet victory before raising one hand in reassurance.  

“I don’t want this relationship to be built on distrust.” He admitted, “And I thought you of all people would know the consequences of relaying confidential information.” He paused. “I just want to make sure you haven’t done anything irrational. Is there anything you want to tell me? As one confidant to another, of course.”

He was goading Dabi, and the other man knew it. Izuku could just hope that he wasn’t dumb enough to think he could get away with killing his superior without also getting himself disintegrated by an irate Shigaraki. 

At long last the man sighed, quenching his flames and massaging his forehead tiredly, his skin moving strangely where the scars pulled it taught. “Fine, whatever. I’ll tell you.” 

Izuku stayed silent, nodding in an invitation for Dabi to continue. 

“I’ve been messaging my brother. Shouto.” He began, voice resigned. “I don’t know, it’s probably stupid; but he won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about. Our father, well… y’know. Shouto sees my — our — point of view, and if I thought he was divulging any information, I’d take care of it. But I trust him, okay? He wouldn’t do that.” He stopped, sighing again and running a blemished hand through his tousled hair. “He’s not telling anyone.” He repeated. 

Izuku nodded again, feeling his shoulders slump in relief. He was also strangely intrigued — who was this “Shouto”? And why was he the only one Dabi was keeping in contact with? Was he special, in some way? And if he saw things from their perspective, could he prove useful in the future? He wanted to ask more, but had a feeling Dabi wouldn’t be so open with his more private information. 

Izuku nodded once more, this time more decisively, and pushed himself away from the door, turning to unfasten it. 

“Alright. Thank you for being so open with me; that was all I needed.” He said, before turning to look the other in the eyes, just for a moment. “But if I find out you’ve lied to me, just know that will regret it.” 

Dabi held his gaze for a few long seconds, eyes blazing, before his shoulders slumped in defeat and he looked away. He nodded, sighing, an unidentifiable emotion flickering behind his eyes. Satisfied, Izuku turned and walked out, turning left and further into the hallway, leaving Dabi alone without a second glance, to return to his card game. 

Izuku felt as if all the energy had been sapped from his body. It had probably just been sheer adrenaline that had been keeping him going at this point, he thought wryly. Now that everything had been worked out and cleaned up, metaphorically speaking, his body was now finally allowing itself to relax fully after what felt like the first time in days. 

“You’d better be in your office Kurogiri, or so help me.” He muttered tiredly. He was in no condition to safely walk back to the train station, and the thought of staying the night and having to deal with the temperamental Shigaraki or, for that matter, a grouchy Dabi didn’t appeal to him in the least. 

So, for that exact reason, Izuku felt completely justified when he was overwhelmed with the urge to cry in relief when he knocked on the tall, burnished oak door, pushing it open and stepping into the surprisingly large room full of old fashioned, untraceable telephones and hard cover books from every country and every language stacked haphazardly on shelves, to find the smoky, impeccably dressed second in command sitting comfortably behind his desk.  

“Hey, Kurogiri. Can I ask for a favour?” 

Chapter Text

Shinsou had always known there was something strange about his friend. From the very beginning he had been weirdly secretive, which clashed distinctly with his open, friendly personality. He had quickly become a steadfast, unwaveringly supportive part of Shinsou’s life from the moment he had asked him, a virtual stranger, to join him in training to become a hero. But then why did he always feel as if there was a huge piece of the puzzle that was Izuku that was still unknown to him — or maybe even more? 

Maybe it was all the cleverly evaded questions, the calls and visits to people he never mentioned apart from when Shinsou himself brought them up, or maybe even the other boy’s ease in which he navigated life, strangely independent even for an only kid of a single mother, skipping school on a whim and unafraid to go off on his own at all hours of the night, as if he knew what he was doing and was completely assured that he would be safe whilst doing it — or could defend himself if anything happened. 

His home life seemed normal enough however; almost too normal. He lived with his mother in a small downtown apartment, went to a public junior high school, and had a perfectly normal dream to someday become a pro hero. If Shinsou hadn’t learned to trust his instincts so much, due to some unsavoury incidents at his previous school, he would just be tempted to shrug it all off. But he couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that there was something that his best friend wasn’t telling him. 

He sighed, adjusting his schoolbag shoulder straps as the automated voice in the train peppily announced the next stop. He wanted to confront Izuku, his usually carefully buried trust issues whisperings at him urgently at him to demand the truth. But if he did so, wouldn’t that make him the world’s biggest hypocrite? The other, more bitter voice inside of him sniggered, reminding him of all the things he still hadn’t told Izuku, either. Namely, his quirk. 

Oh, yes , he knew that he should have told Izuku at the beginning, when they’d first met, or, at least, after a few days, but he hadn’t , so now he was left with the consequences of the reluctance of his past self, constantly stalling on telling his friend about himself because the longer he left it, and the closer they grew, the harder it became to tell him — the more Shinsou couldn’t bare the thought of Izuku leaving because of how fucked up his quirk was. Who would want to willingly be friends with someone who could literally control you? What if he thought that all along Shinsou had been controlling him to be his friend? 

What if, what if … 

It was all what ifs. 

And then there was the added… problem. Yes, Izuku may be mysterious and maybe a little strange, but he was the first person since he’d discovered his quirk that had wanted to be around him, to be his friend. And he was also a genuinely kind, supportive person, if obnoxiously sarcastic and with a slightly mischievous sense of humour. But then again, so did Shinsou. 

Well, the point was, up until this point he had always thought of himself as incapable of love, in the romantic sense. He had never experienced it before, not even the fleeting aesthetic attraction to a fellow classmate or peer. There was a word for that, others that were like him, and he had eventually grown to accept that that was how he was, had even grown to enjoy it, in a way. Observing the romantic relations between his fellow students, love, he had deduced, was messy and unnecessary. 

But then, of course, Izuku had come along, and now Shinsou was beginning to suspect that maybe he had just never met Izuku .

He felt, distantly, that he should be feeling happy about this turn of events, but the only thing he could really think was that it was a total disaster. Quite a big one, actually. 

Stepping off the train, he ran a hand over his face, groaning. Beside him, an older woman shot him a concerned glance, and Shinsou returned the look with a sheepish one — he hadn’t meant to be so loud. 

How had be gotten himself into such a mess, though? Of course , as soon as he actually found a friend, he had to begin to develop feelings for him. His typical life, really; why had he thought he could just have a nice friendship for once, without any complications? He had heard enough stories of ruined friendships, even best friends falling apart because of feelings that weren’t returned or of relationships that didn’t work out or last. 

But feelings were stupid and complex and didn’t care about your, well, feelings. They just appeared out of the blue and if they left, made you pick up the broken pieces of its destruction in its wake. Uncontrollable, convoluted. 

He almost felt like crying, all hot and angry tears, and maybe a bit of property damage. Why couldn’t he have stayed like he had been, when things, as complicated as they had been, had still been simpler . A life devoid of drama and broken hearts. 

Stepping to the side, against the wall and out of the crowd, Shinsou forced himself to take a few deep breaths, all too aware of how fast his breathing and heart rate had become. There was no point panicking now, it would only result in social embarrassment and a well meaning old man asking what was wrong. And yes, he was speaking from experience, and he would like to never repeat such an experience again if he could help it. 

Once his beating heart had slowed to something of a normal rate, he stepped back into the swarm of people and let the flow of bodies pull him towards the exit and out into the cold, drizzling evening. 

Despite the dismal weather, he still wasted a few hundred yen to get himself a packet of coolish, the sharp, icy pain against his teeth calming — something to focus on, as he made his way home. 

Before he even entered the house, Shinsou heard the telltale sound of his cats yowling for him (or, more accurately, food), and he grinned despite himself. Fiddling with the lock and pushing the door open, he found himself smiling wider as he was physically barraged by a couple of bored, hungry cats, the combined weight of their furry masses almost knocking him backwards out the door. 

“Yeah, yeah, gimme a minute.” He muttered affectionately, kicking off his shoes and closing the door behind him. No one was home yet, which suited him just fine; if his mother had been in he had a 89% chance of getting pestered with mundane, annoyingly invasive questions about his day, which was 89% higher than he was anywhere comfortable with. Sixteen years and his parents still didn’t understand that he hated small talk. 

Shinsou padded over to the kitchen, socked feet thumping dully on the polished hardwood floor. Reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a packet of cat biscuits, he poured the food into his cat’s bowls, chuckling as Shibou and Genkina all but materialised by his side. He watched fondly as they picked delicately at their food, making a mental note to kick them outside once they were done. 

He trudged back to put the biscuits away, toying with the temptation of just going up to his room and sleeping. But then he’d wake up at some ungodly hour of the morning and be unable to go back to sleep. Nah, not worth it. 

He did have homework, quite a lot actually, but him and the rest of his school all knew he would never get around to it, just sit and stare blankly at the empty pages, mind off in some alternate reality where he didn’t have such a morally grey quirk, where his parents hadn’t given him up, where he— well, anyway. The point was he wouldn’t end up doing anything, and his teachers had given up years ago trying to get him to. 

Or he’d end up lying on his back on his bed, staring up at his ceiling that was still covered in those All Might shaped glow in the dark stickers that he’d never bothered to take down, feeling sorry for himself. 

It was a common occurrence nowadays — the self pity. He’d used to feel it before, of course, but it had increased with the realisation that his life wouldn’t magically get better, that it wasn’t some nightmare that his mother, his first mother (his real mother), would wake him from, and cradle him in her arms like she had used to, before her eyes had turned from soft and loving to hard with fear and hatred, with the onset of his quirk. 

It wasn’t like he was proud of all the moping he did — far from it — but at least worrying, being upset about his life, was more productive than just ignoring everything, and pretending his life was great. Which it wasn’t, so why bother to dissimulate? 

And now, lucky him, he had a brand new thing to stress over. Damn Izuku and his stupid fluffy hair and his stupid considerateness. 

Eventually he decided that a comfortable middle ground would be to cook dinner — no need to use his brain, not really, but still an efficient distraction from his notoriously noisy mind. He wasn’t the best cook, but he could at least follow a recipe and that was all that mattered, really. 

Shinsou brought up a simple fried rice how to website on his phone and set the device on the countertop, leaving to fish around the fridge for the necessary ingredients. Once he’d found them, he set the carton of eggs and packet of ham next to his phone and grabbed a bag of rice from a shelf, almost about to pour the dry uncooked rice straight into the fry pan, but a quick glance at the recipe had him self consciously scrabbling for a pot instead. He felt himself give out a self deprecating snort — had be really just been about to fry uncooked rice? 

Okay, so maybe he was a bit worse at cooking than he liked to admit. 

 Eventually everything got easier as he got into the swing of things, into the rhythmic motions of stirring and chopping. He even ventured to put some music on in the background, some band that he’d heard of at school, led by a woman named Hizashi Ryoto, whose quirk allowed her to manipulate her own voice, making her singing strange, but also fascinatingly beautiful, as she used her powers for maximum effect. 

As he was turning off the rice, the sudden sound of the front door slamming shut made him tense up, body freezing up instinctively, before self consciousness overtook him and he quickly moved to turn off the music before his mum walked in. He then slunk over to the entrance way, watching pensively from the archway as Chishiki leaned over and pulled off her shoes, back turned to him. When she eventually turned to face him, her expression relaxed into a gentle smile. 

“Sorry I’m home so late. Did you have a nice day at school?” 

Shinsou shrugged, gesturing back towards the kitchen. “I started making dinner.” He said, clearly evading her question. For a moment he was worried that she would push the topic, but instead his mother’s face lit up and she stepped up out of the genkan, ruffling his hair as she walked past. Shinsou didn’t bother re-taming  his hair, it hadn’t been tame in the first place. 

“Smells great.” Chishiki praised, making his cheeks flush awkwardly. “Can I help?” 

Shinsou shrugged. “If you want. I don’t really know what I’m doing, anyway.” 

Similar to how Shinsou had been before, they too settled into a steady pattern, Shinsou cutting up the remaining vegetables and his mother frying the ham and eggs. Well, similar but not quite as relaxing — he couldn’t deny that that he enjoyed the little pieces of time that he and his mum shared sometimes, they were peaceful and he could pretend they were just a normal family; but just because he liked familial activities, didn’t mean he was entirely comfortable doing them. It was an odd sort of dynamic, a tense sort of relaxation, a queer mixture of trust and distinct unease. 

“When will dad get home?” His words cut through the thickening silence uncomfortably. 

Chishiki paused, turning around to wipe her hands on the towel by the sink. She had that look on her face that she always had whenever she was about to say something she didn’t want to — she usually possessed that look when he’d done something and the responsibility of berating him had fallen onto her. Almost subconsciously, Shinsou felt himself tense up in apprehension. 

“He’ll be back late, tonight. He’s organising something at work. He—” She took a deep breath and lent back against the counter, folding her arms across her chest. It was her “we need to talk” pose, and with it came an irrational feeling of dread. It crept up on him, wrapping around his neck and causing his breathes to come out in short, constricted pants. 

“What happened?” He managed to get out, acutely aware he sounded anything but nonchalant. Why did he always overreact? Why did he always have to start panicking over the smallest thing? 

“I— I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.” Chishiki admitted, looking down guiltily. “And now I realise that maybe I left it too late.”

Shinsou worried his lower lip, all his effort put into controlling his breathing. His mind raced frantically over any and every little thing he’d done over the past few weeks that could have warranted this sudden confrontation. Was it his bad report card? No, it was always a lousy jumble of Bs and Cs, and teachers once again explaining how little he paid attention in class. Maybe it was about the time a few weeks ago when he’d been left at home alone for a weekend when his parents had gone on a business trip, and he’s emptied the entire sweets cupboard because he didn’t know how to cook and couldn’t be bothered to leave the house? Actually, that was probably it. No sane parent let their kid get away with such a thing, and he hadn’t exactly been very subtle about it. 

“Is this about the sweets—“ he blurted out, and his mother gave him a strange look. 

“No, honey.” She huffed out a laugh. “Though I have now installed a lock on the cupboard door.” 

“Oh.” Shinsou deflated a bit, both from being wrong and the fact that he now didn’t have free access to stress eat. Though… maybe that was a good thing. 

Chishiki leant forward to ruffle his hair, a warm smile flickering across her face before her tone turned serious once more. “Actually, your father and I… well, he’s very set on you inheriting the company, as you well know. But, personally, I don’t understand why you can’t do that, and go to a hero school as well. I know how set you are on becoming a hero, and I don’t think it’s right to deny you that; I just wish Sho shared my sentiment.” 

She sighed again, running a hand distractedly through her long, styled hair. Shinsou could only stand there dumbly, not entirely sure how to handle the situation. Did he thank his mum? Get angry at her for not telling him sooner? Truth be told, he just felt numb. Numb and tired, and far too over everything to really care at this point. He’d never realised that his mother had thought any differently than his dad on the subject, but now that he knew better, he just wished he could summon the energy to react better. 

“Why are you telling me now, then?” He asked eventually, once the silence had stretched on just a bit too long. If she had waited this long, why not wait even longer? 

“Because Sho’s finally decided to start training you.” Chishiki admitted, arms curling up even tighter around herself, as if she expected Shinsou to yell, or even lash out, maybe. 

He did feel something, then. A flash of surprise, a residual feeling of dread. Then it seeped away again to be lost in the ocean of sheer exhaustion. Why couldn’t he just have a nice, peaceful evening? He was beginning to suspect that there was some higher power somewhere smiling gleefully as it selected all the worst things it could and loaded them into the shit-show game that was his life. 

“Why now? Why—” He muttered tiredly, glaring numbly at the tiled floor. 

“Look, Shin.” His mother cut in, shifting her gaze from her feet to him, face set. “I will do everything I can to try and assure that you’re at least able to take the entrance exam for UA High. And if you manage to pass it, then maybe I’ll be able to convince your father to let you attend. But,” and here she levelled him with a deadly serious look, her steely grey eyes meeting his dark lavender ones. Sometimes he wished that he resembled his family, that he had their black hair and grey or black eyes too, so it would be easier to pretend they were a normal family — that he had a normal family. Now was not one of those times. 

“But you need to also, in return, cooperate with Sho. He just wants to know that the company is going to be left in good hands, honey. If you can promise me you’ll do that, I will also do everything I can to help you achieve your goal. Okay?” 

Shinsou sighed. When had his life turned into a negotiation? But she made sense, and he would be a fool to not accept the first bit of hope he’d had ever since the day his father told him he’d never be a hero. His head was spinning, mind blank from exhausted confusion. The only thing that was a coherent thought was the repeated question ‘why now’? ‘Why now ’? 

“Wha—” He shook his head, forcing his brain to regain articulacy. “Why is he deciding to do this now?” He tried again, this time getting the words out. 

His mother snorted, almost derisively — which surprised Shinsou, it was so out of character for her. His mum was many things, but derisive wasn’t one of them. 

“My husband thinks your ‘ little aspiration’ is getting out of hand. We’ve both noticed how you leave early to train, and are absent on the weekends.” She hesitated. “And, um, someone promised your father that they’d help him get you to see from his perspective. That also seemed to be the final nudge he needed.” 

Shinsou frowned. “What? Who ?” He hadn’t seen anyone, hadn’t been around anyone that fit that bill. Maybe it was one of his teachers? 

To his frustration, Chishiki merely waved a hand, dismissing his question. 

“Just an associate of ours. Anyway — you didn’t answer me. Will you cooperate, or will you just make this harder for yourself than it has to be?” 

Shinsou huffed, physically retraining his eyes not to roll. “Doesn’t really sound like I have a choice.”

His mother smiled thinly. “Take it or leave it. I’m willing to help you, despite it going against my husband, and most likely my best interests as well.”  

Shinsou groaned. He brought a hand up to run over his temple, hating the fact he didn’t have a choice, no matter how his mother phrased it. He was too tired for this. Too damn tired for this bullshit. Too tired for everything. 

Always too tired.

“Fine, yes. I’ll do it.” He grumbled. “Just— you’d better hold up your end.” 

Chishiki’s smile grew a little less forced. “Yes, of course I will. Now,” here, she turned abruptly, switching the stove back on — Shinsou blinked; he hadn’t even noticed her turning it off — and picked up the wooden stirring spoon, before proceeding to continue mixing the fried rice as if nothing had happened. 

“Keep cutting that carrot, will you?” She asked sweetly, and Shinsou couldn’t help but feel frown by the sudden change of topic. Instead of complaining, he merely shook his head tiredly and complied. 

He felt maybe that he should be feeling some sort of relief or excitement, now that he knew he has a much better chance of getting into UA now, since he wouldn’t have to sneak in and hand in his own documents anymore. But he didn’t, and he doubted he would anytime soon. After all, his future wasn’t secured yet, and this small victory came hand in hand with a no small defeat. 

He probably just needed to sleep. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Shinsou stepped off the train, glancing around a few times before his eyes landed on a figure leaning casually against the wall to his right. He breathed a sigh of relief, and weaved his way through the crowd over to his friend. 

When he’d asked Izuku to skip school that day and meet up with him instead, he’d been completely prepared to be rejected, for the other boy to turn him down in favour of his — admittedly not very clean — attendance record. Anyway, why would someone so scholarly agree to miss school just to hang out with his mess of a friend? But, either because of the waver in his voice, or his choice of words, Izuku had seemed to realise this was more than a simple impromptu whim, and had readily accepted. Shinsou was more than thankful — he didn’t know how much longer he could go without telling someone what had happened. He was in desperate need to vent, and considering Izuku was pretty much the only person he could talk to about, well, anything , he feared the repercussions if he instead went to school and buried his feelings under a layer of his usual apathy. He’d probably end up ranting at a random student and instantly regret it. 

He wasn’t very good on self control, in those kind of situations. 

Izuku raised a hand in a languid greeting, grinning lopsidedly at him as he approached. 

“Yo.” 

“Hey…” Izuku frowned at Shinsou’s nervous finger tapping, fast and jerky against his thigh. “You good?” 

Shinsou sighed, shaking his head, partly as an answer, partly to dismiss his friend’s question. “No here.” He muttered, all too aware of the hundreds of people around them. Rationally, he knew that none of them were paying them any mind, or could even hear them for that matter, but that didn’t stop the overwhelming feeling of being watched . Of being listened in on . After all, if he noticed other people, wouldn’t they notice him in turn? 

Izuku, however, seemed to understand his discomfort and merely nodded, pushing himself up off the wall and motioning for Shinsou to follow him.

“C’mon, lets go to the park. It’s a school day so no one will really be around.”

“Except for annoying two year olds.” Shinsou snarked, but ultimately complied, trailing after his friend, still feeling a niggling of guilt for asking the other boy to do this, despite the other obviously not minding. 

On the way, they stopped at a convenience store to get snacks, Izuku insisting on paying for everything despite Shinsou’s protests. 

“You wanted to meet up for a reason.” The other boy reminded him. “I just want to help.” 

And didn’t that just make the damn feeling of warmth he always got when around his friend grow until his ears and face felt inflamed and his chest was a fiery ball of butterflies. 

Stupid, caring Izuku and his stupid pretty eyes and nice smile and genuine thoughtfulness. And damn Shinsou’s dumb, hopeless fucking crush on said stupid, caring Izuku. 

The park was pleasantly empty when they arrived, save for a few kids and their mothers, — Shinsou shot a ‘i told you so’ look at Izuku, who valiantly ignored him — but the children were too young for school and thus too young for the swing set, which Shinsou promptly claimed, Izuku laughing at his childishness (even though he too had sprinted for the swings when it looked like a toddler had been heading that way, face alight with the unique sort of competitiveness one gets when your opponent is just a brainless baby, but a determined brainless baby nonetheless).

Shinsou set the grocery bag down and fell onto one of the swings with a tired groan. Despite how exhausted he had been last night, he’d slept awfully, recent matters keeping his brain buzzing with trepidation. In the end, he’d given up trying to force himself to sleep, and had pinged off a message asking if Izuku could meet him the next day. 

Or, he had thought sourly, looking at the clock on his desk, later that day.  

Izuku took the swing adjacent to him, his friend leaning back and kicking off with his feet so that the swing began arching back and forth lazily. He seemed to be content not to amp up the pace, and merely sat with his body lent back and face turned towards the sky, kept from falling only by his tight grip on the chains. After a moment, he turned a thoughtful gaze upon Shinsou, who frowned back. For a second it seemed as if the other boy was about to spout some serious, deep wisdom pertaining to Shinsou’s current external crisis — despite the fact that he hadn’t even told his friend what had happened yet, though he wouldn’t put it past Izuku to somehow just already know — but instead he just held out a hand and made a childish grabby motion towards the bag at Shinsou’s feet. 

“I’m not starting this until I have my melon bread.” He stated soberly, and Shinsou barked a laugh, chuckling at his friend’s endearing attitude. 

Once food was distributed, Izuku looked up, bread crumbs covering his face, — Shinsou pretended not to feel the fond squeeze in his stomach at the sight — and sighed.

“You asked me here for a reason.” It wasn’t a question. “You wouldn’t have asked me to skip school unless it was important. Or I guess I could be wrong, and you just enjoy my company so much that you couldn’t bear going a day without seeing me.” He added, a cheeky smile flitting across his face and a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Shinsou had to turn away and smother his quiet choking with a disgustingly transparent cough, his face burning. 

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” He huffed, earning a snigger from the other boy, who was not at all apologetic, the asshole. Adorable asshole. 

Fuck. 

Izuku’s expression softened, eyebrows tilted in a light frown. “But then again, you do seem more reserved than usual. So it must be the former.” 

Shinsou sighed, rolling his shoulders in a bit for strength. “Yeah. Uh. I’m…” Ugh, emotions were a pain. How did people communicate their feelings without feeling so damn uncomfortable?  

“I’m glad you agreed to come. Last night was kinda, uh, eventful I guess.” 

“Eventful how?” The prompt was too soft, too considerate, and Shinsou wanted to curl up and squirm at how vulnerable he felt. 

“I don’t know. Well, I do, but uh, I don’t know why it happened yesterday. My mum, she, um, she told me that my dad finally decided that it was time I began training with him. Like, soon. Like probably in a few days. And she wouldn’t explain what prompted his decision, except that he was being helped by an associate ? Which is crazy since I’ve been around pretty much no one except you recently. Maybe it’s a teacher? Fuck, I don’t even know at this point—“ 

He was cut off from his rant by a sharp, “ What ?” 

Shinsou, caught off guard by his friend’s outburst, flinched and nearly fell off the swing. He turned a dumbfounded look on Izuku, eyes blinking owlishly in confusion.

“What what?” 

The other boy seemed to be reining himself in, mouth twisted into a sullen grimace. “So soon?” He asked, instead, voice laced with a uncharacteristic undertone of menace. 

Shinsou could only nod and shrug helplessly, still thrown by Izuku’s strange reaction. Sure, he’d expected surprise, maybe, or confusion. But not anger. It was as if he had expected to be told of this, or felt as if he could have prevented this situation, but that was impossible. He was most likely just angry on Shinsou’s behalf. After all, he had expressed just how much he didn’t want to take over the company. 

Beside him, Izuku let out a strained-sounding sigh and leaned back again, raking his fingers roughly through his hair.  

“So… what’re you going to do?” 

Shinsou shrugged again, this time more tiredly. “Mum said that if I go along with my dad, she’d help me get into the UA entrance exam. I guess it’s a good thing, knowing she’ll try and help me, but I just wish I didn’t have to compromise. And taking the exam won’t even guarantee my getting into UA, will it? Even if I get first place, which will never happen but like for example—“

“Hey, hey, you might —“

“—Then my dad still might not let me attend.”

Izuku nodded, face scrunched up in that way he probably didn’t even know he did when he was thinking hard. It was just another thing in an increasingly long list that Shinsou found painfully endearing about him, especially since he seemed completely oblivious to it. 

“So I guess you don’t really have a choice.” Izuku stated. It wasn’t a question, but Shinsou nodded anyway. 

“Still fucking hate it, though.” He muttered.

“Why is your mum helping you?” Izuku asked, face still scrunched. “Don’t both your parents want you to inherit the company?” 

Shinsou made a noncommittal grunt and waved one hand in the air vaguely. “Even I don’t know anymore, to be honest. I thought that too, but it seems as if she doesn’t really mind. She said she doesn’t care if I become a hero so long as I take over the company when the time comes, too.” 

He turned to catch his friend smiling softly at him, and he raised an eyebrow. The other boy merely smiled wider and shrugged. “I mean, that’s a good thing, right? At least you have your mother on your side, and now you won’t have to sneak into the exam with me, and forge the documents. Which was a super reckless plan in the first place, might I add.” He grinned, and Shinsou couldn’t help but smile slightly in return.

“I’ve got you on my side, too.” Shinsou added, before he realised what he’d just said and slapped his hand over his burning face, quietly praying that now would be the time the earth finally decided to reclaim him. However, Izuku merely chuckled and turned away, ears oddly pink. 

“Yes, I guess you do.” 

Somehow, during the course of the day, they had migrated, almost subconsciously, away from the park and back to their spot in the woods. 

There had been a thunderstorm a few days ago, and the think cloud cover still lingered even now, causing the dreary-looking day to in actuality be quite humid, in a way that made clothes stick to one’s skin and made everything feel slightly too hard, limbs too lethargic to do much of anything.    

Shinsou wasn’t complaining, though, since he was usually quite cold-blooded, as his mum liked to put it, and the consistent cold weather over the last few weeks had been steadily seeping into his bones, creating an almost constant chill that he could never fully get rid of. 

Izuku had taken off his jacket and scarf, and was now leaning back against a tree, coat scrunched up behind his neck like a makeshift pillow. His eyes were closed contentedly, but the soft chewing of his bottom lip betrayed the fact that he was deep in thought. 

They had been sitting in relative silence, both more or less absorbed in their respective contemplation of anything and everything. However, Shinsou could feel a sort of tension seeping off the other boy, as if his friend was gearing up to say something, and was almost instantly rewarded for that suspicion when Izuku jerked upright, head turning to Shinsou, a thoughtful frown on his befreckled face. Shinsou couldn’t help but grin at the sight of such a babyish face sporting such a serious expression. 

“Y’know what I hate?” Izuku asked, obviously not expecting an answer. 

“The unnecessary amount of nitrogen in chip packets?” Shinsou quipped, anyway, and he sniggered when his friend was caught off guard, spluttering indignantly.

“Well, yes , but—“ He shot Shinsou a half-hearted glare. “What I was going to say, smartass, was why are so many people’s lives dictated by their parent’s? What does it matter what your temporary caregivers think in relation to you and your future? It’s ridiculous; only you should be the one to decide things about your life.” 

Shinsou’s smile fell away. So that’s where the conversation was heading. He side-eyed the other boy, silently wondering where this sudden topic had come from. Maybe the previous discussion about his parents had sparked it. 

“And I guess if you think about it, the parents can be considered a metaphor for the leaders or influencers of our society.” Izuku continued, eyes boring into the near distance with a fervent intensity, hand wildly gesticulating. “Our society dictates everything , from how we should dress, to good from bad. And this wouldn’t necessarily be harmful except the majority of people don’t see the problems in front of them, don’t recognise them as problems in the first place, and why would they? It doesn’t negatively affect them. But what about the minority? People who are impacted by the ablest, un -villainous-quirk centred way society functions. There’s too few people to go against the majority, but too many for this not to be considered an issue. 

“Did you know that fewer and fewer people are being labelled as just a ‘criminal’ these days? No matter how insignificant the crime, you’re considered a villain . And the word ‘villain’ carries a lot of weight — a lot of negative connotation. It makes people appear less of a ‘human being who did something bad, and had a reason for it’ to an ‘evil creature who can only do bad and only does bad because they like to do so’. It dehumanises and helps people feel more desensitised towards what they do to these alleged ‘villains’. 

“Did you also know that people labelled as villains aren’t even given a trial at court? Not even a consultation. Nothing. Just sent off to some godawful prison for the rest of their miserable lives without even being allowed a lawyer. And you’d think that would at least discourage people from becoming ‘villains’, and it has, to a degree, to the two percent of people who were genuinely doing crime because they enjoyed it. But the ninety-eight percent that had no choice? Most people become villains out of desperation. Out of need, or being labelled as a villain simply because their quirk is abnormal , shunned by their family and friends, by society itself, simply because of something they couldn’t control. It’s the fucking twenty-twenty BLM or LGBT movements all over again, except now it’s between people with literally too much power on their hands. And all for what? For some stupid, warped bid for heroism? We don’t need heroes , Hitoshi, or at least not ones like we have now. We need diplomacy, understanding .” 

Izuku broke off, panting after talking without barely stopping for breath, and glared dully at the ground in front of him. Shinsou sat beside him, silent, feeling honestly a little overwhelmed. While the other boy was most definitely right , it still didn’t explain why he’d branched off to the subject of villains. Maybe it had been weighing on him for some time. 

“I— uh—“ He cleared his throat, unsure how, exactly , to respond. “I guess I never really thought about it like that.” 

Izuku nodded. “Exactly. People don’t just think or stop to consider the why or how behind what villains do. I wish there was someway I could make them.”  

Shinsou paused for a few seconds, in case his friend decided to continue, but it seemed as if the sudden fire that had driven his sudden tirade had reached its limit. Though, Shinsou figured, perhaps it had always been there, bitter, angry embers that had been stacked up over years — over a lifetime — in this stupid world, and Shinsou had merely poked at it, however unconsciously, and offered it some metaphorical fuel. 

“What brought on this… uh, sudden…” He wasn’t entirely sure what to call whatever had just happened. A bout of anger? Resentfulness? 

Izuku shrugged dismissively. “Oh, it’s nothing really. I was just doing some research for a class and ended up in a political rabbit hole. I guess it worked me up more than I realised.” He chuckled, the noise sounding strained, but Shinsou decided not to point that out. 

Instead he raised an eyebrow, a dubious look on his already resting sarcastic face. “Sounded like it mattered.” He replied, and the other boy huffed, relenting. 

“Okay, yeah, maybe it does matter. A lot. But I’ve already gone off on you once today, and,” Here the other boy cast his eyes down, looking sheepish. “I was supposed to be helping you, not angrily ranting at you. I guess your— well, never mind. Let’s go get some lunch, then you can come back to mine.” He grinned. “I don’t know about you, but baking really helps me when I’m stressed.” 

Shinsou frowned, wanting badly to push the subject — he’d never seen his friend so worked up before, not about something serious. — Did melon bread brands count? — But Izuku was already standing up, leaning down with a proffered hand for him, and Shinsou decided to leave it for another time. And anyway, lunch sounded amazing. 

“Hey, uh…” 

Shinsou glanced up at his friend, one eyebrow arched in bemusement. “Yes?” 

Izuku cleared his throat awkwardly, pausing to heave Shinsou to his feet and step away, dusting his clothes off and wrapping his scarf back around his neck. “One last thing before we go — you ever heard of the youngest Todoroki kid? Shouto?” 

Shinsou blinked in confusion. “Is that what his name is? No, never really heard about him. Endeavour’s kinda a private guy, as you know, so I only ever really knew that he had kids, but not who they were or even how many. Why?” 

Izuku turned, waving his hand vaguely. “Doesn’t matter, I was just wondering. I merely heard it mentioned and you once had a brief Endeavour phase. Sometimes fans have the most niche information.” He grinned when Shinsou felt his face heat up, and he spluttered angrily. 

“I thought we agreed never to mention that!”

“Yeah, to other people.” Izuku smirked, that unapologetic bastard. 

“Yeah, yeah, smartass — we have a new rule now.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

They had decided that Shinsou would pick Izuku up from school on Saturday, as his friend needed to stay in longer to complete a test he’d missed on the day he’d skipped to spend with Shinsou. 

He’d initially felt guilty about making the other boy miss more of the half day than he had to, as if punishing his friend for goddamn caring . However, Izuku had almost instantly put a stop to his increasingly dark thoughts and effectively cheered him back up by suggesting they forego training that day and instead go to the movies instead. 

When he neared the front entrance of Aldera Junior High, Shinsou sent a quick text to his friend, to double check he really had found the right place, and wasn’t about to walk like a complete buffoon into a strange school’s grounds. Social anxiety was strong in this one. 

A moment later, Izuku replied in confirmation, devoid of the patronising subtext Shinsou usually received for his over-worrying. It was strangely sweet and he had to duck his head to hide the pleased blush that crept up his face from the various students milling around. 

Shinsou sighed and forced himself to walk up to the main doors, purposefully choosing to ignore the people steaming past him, feeling their curious glances like burns on the back on his neck. He could slowly feel himself curling in on himself, shoulders hunching against their looks at his obviously foreign uniform and blatant misplacement, as if that action alone could make him somehow invisible. It didn’t, however, of course, and he was just about ready to bolt when Izuku appeared to his right, causing him to flinch violently as his overactive fight or flight response decided to overreact at the other’s sudden appearance. He had to bite his tongue — which hurt , dammit — in an effort not to scream like a little kid. 

He whisked around indignantly, glaring at his friend’s nonchalant expression and languid wave. 

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Izuku said. Shinsou huffed. 

“You gave me a heart attack.” He grumbled, and the other boy laughed. 

“Don’t worry, Hitoshi, the average age to have heart attacks in males is around sixty-six years old. I doubt someone perfectly healthy like yourself will suffer one anytime sooner.” Izuku replied, like the absolute smartass he was, wide shit eating grin stretched across his smug face. 

Shinsou opened his mouth, but found he had no good rebuke. His jaw clicked shut with a dissatisfying clack . 

“Whatever.” He mumbled instead, and his friend only grinned wider, before stepping forward and tugging on Shinsou’s shirt.

“We should get going. He’ll be coming to find me if we don’t leave soon.” The other boy muttered, smile fading into a frown as he glanced around, still pulling Shinsou along behind him.

Shinsou also looked around, eyes scanning frantically for someone that could possibly make Izuku act this shifty. “He? Who’s He ?” 

“Lets just go before you have to find out.” Was the only, ominous, reply. Shinsou couldn’t help but gulp at his friend’s tone. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

They made it to nearly out of the gates. Shinsou could just about smell freedom, could see it even, in the form of the sidewalk outside the school grounds, when a loud, angry shout rang out from behind them. Beside him, Izuku tensed up, letting out a string of curses under his breath. 

Shinsou was about to leg it, actually, but his friend subtly shook his head and nudged him to turn around. They spun to face a boy that Shinsou was surprised to see looked comparatively normal, all quirks considered; a boy sporting wildly spiky blond hair and mean, squinty red eyes. Flanking the boy were two others, dull and bland looking, as if they’d been plucked out of two background manga roles and hadn’t quite learned that uniqueness was a thing yet. 

“What do you want, Bakugou?” Izuku asked tiredly. The boy — Bakugou, apparently — ignored him, choosing instead to fix his fiery gaze on Shinsou. 

“Who’s this zombie-ass-lookin’ motherfucker?” He asked eventually, tone weirdly conversational, and Shinsou bristled. He hated these types the most — arrogant, opinionated and too full of themselves to realise they’re not the main character of a shounen anime. 

Though he was, admittedly, surprised, in a general sense. He hadn’t realised that Izuku had bullies — he just didn’t really seem like the kind of person people would usually bully, to be honest. He was reserved, yes, but he held himself in a way that belayed a quiet power, almost, not some weak, nerdy kid with glasses you could knock off and grind beneath your shoe. Perhaps he hadn’t always been that way? 

“He’s my friend.” Izuku replied, even though this Bakugou character clearly hadn’t been asking him. His voice was weirdly flat, and when Shinsou glanced over in concern, his face had fallen into a blank mask that didn’t give away any emotion. Or perhaps that was his emotion. 

Shinsou hoped not. 

Bakugou huffed a mirthless laugh, swinging his head back in Izuku’s direction. “And when did you think you deserved to have friends, huh? No one in their right mind would want to be friends with you, anyway. Did you pay him to do it?” He chuckled again. “Or is he just as equally fuckin’ pathetic as you? You two bond over the power of uselessness or something?” He mocked. 

Izuku’s eyes widened. “He’s not—“ 

But Bakugou continued, face a contortion of anger and some fucked up version of amusement. “That would make sense, after all, wouldn’t it?” 

Why didn’t anyone come and stop this? Where were the teachers? Even the students just kept heading straight past them as if this was a usual — maybe even a daily — occurrence. The thought was enough to make Shinsou sick.  

He shouldn’t have come. This was because of him, wasn’t it? If he had stayed away Bakugou would have had much less reason to harass his friend. Heck, he’d only started this because of his presence in the first place. God, how did he still manage to fuck up even when he tried not to?

“It should be expected,” Was Bakugou still talking? Not done lording his superiority complex over them yet? “A stupid quirkless piece of shit like you could only ever manage to make friends with such an equally pitiful person.”  

Wait, what?

“Is he quirkless too, hm? Or can he just talk to refrigerators or something?” The boy cackled, a cruel gleam in his sharp red eyes. 

Beside him, Izuku seemed to finally snap, hands clenched and knuckles white. “Shut up! Shut up !” He yelled, voice tinged with a frightening undertone of desperation. His right hand spasmed at his waist, as if unconsciously reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Shinsou’s eyes widened as, in front of them, Bakugou’s whole demeanour shifted, like the flick of a switch, to one of coiled anger at Izuku’s words, hands popping and sparking with — oh god were those explosions ??

“You can’t tell me what to do!” He screeched, his previously amused face now thunderous. 

He looked as if to be about to lunge at Izuku, and Shinsou felt his mind go blank in panic. Why was this happening? Why was this happening? Why was this happening?  

Bakugou leapt forward, and before he could stop himself, or even think it through a little , Shinsou felt the familiar thrum of his quirk rise up within him, circling his mind and dancing at the tip of his tongue. 

“Why are you doing this?” He choked out, not expecting an answer, not expecting Bakugou to even hear, feeling as if he was already too late—

But then furious crimson eyes locked onto his probably wide, terrified ones, and he heard a derisive scoff. “You think a quirkless bastard like him can expect me to listen to him—?” 

And then the boy froze. His face went disconcertingly blank, and the explosions that had reached the size of at least a large dinner plate fizzled out into nothing. Before Shinsou could allow himself to regret what he’d just done, he pointed away, any way but where they were, and his voice was deceptively calm as he said, “Leave.” 

And Bakugou did, to the blatant surprise of his cronies, and the other people who had paused to watch this turn of events in the perfectly scripted fight that was Bakugou and Izuku’s relationship, leaving without a word of protest or even a sock in the jaw. Before anyone could react, however, Shinsou grabbed Izuku’s arm and rushed away, head down and mind a mess of static. 

Why had he done that? Well, he knew why, but. But, well. 

But Izuku knew now, didn’t he? And he had to find out in the worse way possible. 

Than again, didn’t he know something now, too? 

By some unspoken agreement, they skipped going to the movies and instead made their way back to Izuku’s place, an uncomfortable tension crackling between them all during the train ride and walk back to the apartment, neither boy daring to break the silence. Shinsou wasn’t exactly sure what he could have said, anyway. How did one go about addressing this sort of two-way revelation? 

Was revelation the right word? It didn’t quite feel like it fully described how both of their unspoken secrets had been forcefully exposed, wrenched into the open by a single uncaring asshole with a big mouth. 

Inko wasn’t home from work yet, which Shinsou was silently thankful for, but the echoey silence of the house as they padded their way to Izuku’s bedroom had him on edge even more than before, if that were possible. 

Izuku flopped down onto his duvet, sullen face pressed into the covers as if trying to block out the inevitable conversation. Shinsou almost wanted to just drop the subject and pull Izuku into the living room, to binge watch Netflix under a pile of blankets, but his chronic curiosity could only hold out so long. 

“You’re quirkless?” He blurted out, then immediately regretted it when his friend visibly flinched, turning his head away. But he nodded, albeit reluctantly, all the same. There’s a beat of awkward silence wherein Shinsou desperately tries to think up something to say — something, anything, to diffuse the strain between them. Something that would let his friend know he didn’t care , or, at least, not beyond the initial feeling of betrayal at the fact he hadn’t been told, hadn’t been trusted to know, despite the obvious hypocrisy in that. But Izuku beat him to it, turning his head back to level Shinsou with a carefully neutral, albeit sideways, since he was still lying down, expression. It would have seemed like a perfectly natural expression, but Shinsou knew the look all too well, because he too used it when at his most vulnerable. The fact that Izuku might feel like he did when he schooled his face like that hurt, but it made sense. He was feeling equally scared, equally, uncomfortably , exposed. 

“And your quirk is mind control?” 

And now it was Shinsou’s turn to flinch. “Yes…” He admitted, quietly wondering if it was genuinely possible for the floor to open up and swallow him before Izuku had time to tell him how fucked up that sort of quirk was, despite him knowing that quite well already, thank you. 

Instead, the other boy just sighed and pushed himself up until he was leaning back against the wall, patting the bed beside him in a silent indication for Shinsou to sit down. 

Confused, and more than a little apprehensive, he sat, settling down on the blanket beside his friend and raising a half hearted eyebrow. Izuku sighed again, running his fingers through his hair in a stressed habit that Shinsou absolutely didn’t find adorable. Nope, not even when the action caused the other boy’s hair to stick up even wilder than before, until eventually it was one big, fluffy pom pom. 

Maybe those sort of thoughts were inappropriate for this situation, but his fluttery stomach didn’t seem to agree. 

“Look. I was planning on telling you, but I guess the longer I waited, the harder it felt.” Izuku said. Shinsou nodded, knowing that feeling all too well. 

“And I wasn’t lying when I said I had a quirk, or, more like, I will have a quirk.” The other boy continued. 

Shinsou frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“Our trainer? Toshinori-san?” Izuku explained, “His quirk allows him to pass his ability on to someone else. It’s permanent, though, so he had been looking for a suitable candidate. He saw me rescue someone from a villain, and when he found out I was quirkless, he agreed to help me become a hero.” 

“Oh.” Shinsou blinked, processing the new, not… outlandish information. He’d heard of hereditary quirks before, and others that did the same but subconsciously. This wasn’t so different. “A lot of things make more sense now.” 

Izuku chuckled, nodding. “I’m just sorry you had to find out like… well, like that. I should have anticipated Bakugou would do that. I’m sorry.” 

Shinsou snorted. “Yeah, well, same for me. Wasn’t my best moment, I’ll admit. I know it looks freaky, I just wish I could have told you before you saw it.” 

His friend smiled then, small, but no less genuine. “His minions’ faces though.” He sniggered. “Their faces were priceless. Wouldn’t have missed that for the world. I can’t understand why you don’t like using your quirk — that was actually so cool.” 

He kept laughing, but Shinsou could only stare at him, mouth probably agape. Cool? Cool ? Had he heard him right? 

“What?” He asked, dumbly. 

“Like, have you ever even thought of all the ways you could use that ability?” Izuku continued, eyes sparkling like they did whenever Shinsou accidentally allowed him to start gushing about quirks. “It could be invaluable in hostage situations, and you could stop villains in seconds without any need for bloodshed — it’s the ultimate situation diffuser. Not to mention you might be able to make people tell the truth: admit to their crimes, or lack thereof, which would also be mad useful.” 

“But…” Shinsou couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what his friend was saying. “But my quirk — it’s manipulative, everyone says it’s villainous.” 

“Only if you use it on someone innocent.” Izuku reasoned, apparently not in the mood for Shinsou’s bullshit. 

“But—“ 

His friend sighed, turning to face him fully, face a mix of fond frustration. 

“Shut up, Hitoshi.” He told Shinsou, bluntly. “It’s a badass quirk, and don’t let anyone else ever tell you otherwise. Have you already forgotten what I said in the cafe? Hell, even a few days ago? Did you seriously think I’d care what your quirk was?”

“But it’s mind control .” Didn’t Izuku understand? Mind control wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Even his parents barely mentioned it. 

“Yeah, but I know you , Hitoshi. And you’re more than just a quirk. How many times do I need to beat that into your thick skull?” He chuckled, reaching over and ruffling Shinsou’s hair affectionately. He chose to pretend he didn’t feel the slight flutter in his chest at the action, and instead smiled thinly back at his friend, the teeth sunk in his bottom lip the only thing between him and a sappy, emotional breakdown. He wasn’t used to being so completely, and irrevocably accepted. He didn’t fully like how moved it made him feel.  

In a moment of recklessness, coupled with the need to hide his face, which was probably horribly red by now, he twisted around and wrapped his arms around his friend’s shoulders, burying his face into the crook of Izuku’s neck and ignoring the fact that he may or may not have been sniffling slightly. 

“Shit, you’re a good friend.” He mumbled, and he could feel as the other boy laughed, breath ghosting warm against his neck. After a moment, Izuku brought his arms up to wrap around Shinsou as well. 

“You’re not so bad, yourself.” He huffed, but it was soft and carried a bit too much affection in it. And god, Shinsou had such a huge crush on him. Yup. Just a crush — only a crush. 

But still, knowing that his friend didn’t care about what his quirk was, even thought it was cool , made him realise that he didn’t know what he’d do without Izuku. He didn’t think he could even imagine living without the other boy, now, and the thought of loosing someone who accepted him like that almost made him want to cry. 

“Just for the record,” Shinsou murmured, almost as an afterthought, “I couldn’t care less that you don’t have a quirk. Heck, it even makes you that much cooler, doing all this without a backup plan.” 

Izuku breathed out a soft laugh. Squeezed just a bit tighter. “Thanks, Hito. You don’t know how much that means to me.” 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

The front steps of Shinsou’s father’s company HQ are like the rest of the building: sleek, modern and leagues more impressive than what he’d been anticipating. Sure, he knew that his parents ran an important business, but he had never realised how important. 

As they entered the foyer, the receptionist nodded at them politely, Sho leading him inside and towards a set of elevators, before Shinsou could nod back. The elevators that lined one wall were sleek, shiny metal and had little microphones for voice activation instead of buttons beside them. 

 “How rich are we?” He couldn’t help mutter as his father voice activated the lift and the door pinged open almost instantly. Beside him, Sho laughed. “We, your mother and I, tried to keep it low key. Didn’t want it going to your head, you see.” 

   “Yeah but it might’ve given me some leverage at school.” Shinsou griped. If his bullies had known he was well off, they might have been less keen on pounding him down into the dust, literally and figuratively. Even fake friends there for your money were better than being beat up every day. 

    After what seemed like only seconds, and probably was, since the technology was obviously new and expensive, the elevator came to a seamless stop, and a cheery voice announced, “Sub-level nine.” 

   Shinsou gave his dad a weird look. “ Sub-level nine ? What, do you have a secret underground business hidden down here?” Instead of answering, Sho just ushered him out and leads him down the brightly lit hallway until they got to a set of double doors with frosted glass in them. Without hesitating, his father pushed them open and led him through. 

   Shinsou stepped inside, and almost instantly froze. In a half dazed stupor, his eyes took in the rows and rows of people working in the room, or more specifically, what they were working on. Shelves, boxes and counters were covered in a variety of weapons and armour, from sniper guns to scimitars, to skin tight suits to bulky, medieval-istic chainmail. 

   Head a blank pool of shock, and a numb feeling of horror buzzing in his stomach, he turned wide eyes on his father, who smiled almost apologetically at him. “I think me and your mother owe you an apology. We haven’t been entirely honest with you, you see…”

Chapter Text

Rain was beating down, drumming loudly on the thin, tin roof of the apartment. The sound had been comforting, maybe, for the first few days that it kept up, but now after over a few weeks of an almost constant downpour, the noise was more suffocating, a prison rather than something that soothed. Not to say that having a good excuse not to go outside wasn’t nice, but after a week or so of being almost constantly trapped inside, or dashing to the train station under three different raincoats, respectively, the inactivity was mind-numbing. Izuku’s body had begun to ache for a way to release some of the built-up tension in his limbs, and even his mother was getting slightly irritated by his near-constant jitteriness. 

Izuku sighed, leaning over his desk to draw a half-hearted smiley face in the condensation on the windowpane, then rubbed it out and drew a sad face instead. He leaned back and watched with a sort of detached disappointment as the rain hit the “eyes” of the face and made them run, mimicking tears, before the window fogged up once more. 

All the rain wouldn’t be all bad, really, if not for the new… problem. Usually he and Shinsou would just hang out, finishing homework or just watching movies, Izuku making it his personal mission to find all the weirdest movies the internet had to offer. Inko had occasionally joined them, but after she had walked in on them watching Mosquito Man, she’d been strangely absent. Though, Izuku usually preferred comedies — they made his friend’s face light up with laughter, lavender eyes widening every time something inappropriate was said, or someone did something ridiculous. Izuku would usually catch himself watching his friend more than the movie, when this happened, but he didn’t want to — couldn’t, maybe, even if admitting to such was embarrassing even to himself — stop. Izuku loved Shinsou's smile, if only because of how little it made a genuine appearance. It was something rare that was made to be treasured. 

And Izuku wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that familiar fluttery sensation inside him was, knew what the constant longing to be around the other meant, but he also knew how to ignore it. Why ruin such a rare thing as their friendship because of something so mundane as simple attraction? Well, maybe not mundane. But definitely something that didn’t, wouldn’t, get in the way of anything. 

But recently those smiles had been appearing less and less, taken over by an almost perpetual veil of well-concealed hurt and anger. At least, well-concealed if one didn’t know how to look, of course. 

And Izuku knew why this was happening, but that didn’t stop the aching feeling of utter helplessness over it, and didn't help the bitter taste of anger at Satoru Sho for doing this to his own son, no matter how justified he believed himself to be. Izuku wanted to help, wanted to somehow make Shinsou understand that he was someone the other boy could confide in about this. 

He also wanted to, however irrationally, march into Kakureta and punch the CEO right in the face for even thinking that this was the way to go about things. But he couldn’t, even if Shigaraki would probably be all for a random attack, a chance to “stretch his fingers” as he, disgustingly, said. So he tried to do the next best thing, and help out his friend. 

Except apparently he couldn’t do that either. It was infuriating — Izuku wasn’t used to being so powerless, and the knowledge that he was ate away at him until he was even a bigger jittery mess of pent up frustration. 

From what he’d been able to figure out, it was most likely that Shinsou, bless his big, dumbass heart, didn’t want to get Izuku involved, probably didn’t want Izuku to be sucked into the web of the underworld with him, even at the expense of his own emotional wellbeing. Which would have been really sweet — still was in some warped, irony coated way, but he didn’t need to. And from his reluctance to speak about it, it was most likely that Sho hadn’t mentioned Izuku’s involvement in this, which Izuku hadn’t expected him to do anyway. It was probably for the better, actually, since the information would probably be better received from him, anyway. 

If Izuku was going to help, he would need to admit to his, uh, association with Shinsou’s father, his involvement in ‘villainism’ in general, too, probably. But the question was: was it worth it? 

Izuku bit into the end of his pencil too hard, the sharp sound of a crack jarring him from his thoughts.The bitter taste of lead-filled his mouth, and he pulled the pencil away to blandly inspect the teeth-marked end, swallowing down the taste of lead, an action that would probably have caused his mother a heart attack if she’d known. The thought made him smile fondly, but it was only surface level. He stayed up most nights, now, worrying over his friend, and it left him feeling exhausted and emotionally numb. But still he somehow found energy to keep on stressing. 

Maybe that was his quirk. 

Perhaps if Sho had only waited a bit longer, then maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. It was comforting, thinking about the what-ifs. It let him imagine a world in which Shinsou wasn’t torn up about his parents moral-greyness, a world in which Satoru Sho had a brain . But in the end, what use was ruminating over alternative possibilities? It got him nowhere; a simple excuse to procrastinate.

Izuku glanced up from his unwritten notes when a soft tap sounded on the wood of his bedroom door, and his mother’s voice floated through, tentative even after years of stepping on eggshells around him. “Izuku? Shinsou-kun is here. Do you want me to tell him you’re in your room?” 

Izuku sighed and made what he hoped was an affirmative noise.

Whatever; he shouldn’t worry about it now. What’s done is done, or whatever that saying was, and now he just needed to focus on picking up the pieces. He could only hope that in trying to do so, he wouldn’t make things worse. 

*·゜ﾟ·*:.。..。.:*·''·*:.。. .。.:*·゜ﾟ·*

The store doors clicked shut behind Izuku, his shoes squeaking softly on the overly polished vinyl flooring. The person at the register looked up as he approached, and Izuku realised it was the same girl from his last visit. She smiled in recognition and stood up. 

“I wasn’t told you were coming.” She said, but beckoned him to follow her anyway, leading him once again back into the Staff Only area and down the flight of stairs to the elevator. 

Izuku shrugged. “No, I don’t believe I’m expected. If Satoru-san is busy I can come back, though?” 

The girl, who he hadn’t asked the name of last time — and now felt a bit too awkward to ask now — snorted. “That old man just sits in his office all day, twiddling his fingers and chatting up politicians, if he isn’t busy showing Shinsou-kun the ropes.” She muttered. Izuku felt his heart flutter slightly at his friend’s name; it felt so weird hearing about him in a place like this. Almost wrong. 

“That’s good?” He replied instead, slightly hesitant. 

“For you, I guess.” But she didn’t seem angry, and Izuku allowed himself to smile at her joking tone. 

The ride down to Sub Level Eighty was as smooth as he remembered, if claustrophobic, the knowledge he was steadily heading deeper underground in a tiny box unnerving, and the soft, jaunty tune echoing from the overhead speakers wasn’t helping. Finally, though, after what seemed like at least an hour but was probably merely a few seconds, the elevator came to a seamless stop and the doors slid open with a polite ting . 

As he stepped out Satoru stood up from where he’d been reclining at his desk, hands clasped in a most definitely suspicious twiddling-position, and moved to greet Izuku. He didn’t look the slightest bit surprised by Izuku’s arrival, though there had probably been cameras. 

“Midoriya-kun! How nice of you to visit.” He bowed slightly, before gesturing lazily to the chair opposite his, facing the desk. “Take a seat?” 

Now he was actually in the room with the man, Izuku found it much more difficult to contain his anger at him. The need to sock the other in the jaw and tell him to let Shinsou do what he wanted was simmering in the back of his mind, a tempting demon pouting at him from behind the bars of his self-restraint. But he merely smiled blandly, bowing too before taking the seat and relaxing back onto the hard, wooden back. Only months of forced training on his behalf to find the one comfortable position in those types of chairs kept him from pain. Even so, the knobs of carved wood on the seat and back of the chair dug into him, delicate fruits and vines making for an unpleasant experience. 

“Satoru-san.” Izuku returned, folding his hands in his lap to keep them from tapping erratically at his leg. “You do know why I’m here, don’t you?” 

“Why would I?” The other man threw his eyebrows up in mock innocence. “You came here without any preconceived appointment.”

Izuku just waited, and after a moment Satoru too leaned back, smiling beneficently. “I would presume this has something to do with my son, your... friend?” The way he said ‘friend’ rubbed at Izuku the wrong way, and he fought the urge to frown at the man. 

“Indeed. I was merely wondering how he’s… progressing. I had not expected you to begin training him so soon. How is he taking it?” 

A proud smirk flitted across the older man’s face, the sight slimy only in a way that self-satisfied businessmen can achieve.  “He is a natural. However...” His smile died a little, replaced by frustration that twisted his lips into a disappointed grimace. “He still seems reluctant.” 

Gee, wonder why.

“Everything he does, he’s good at. But I know he could be so much better, be doing so much better than he is. I think he resents me for choosing what’s best for him than what he thinks is best for him. I had hoped that he might have trusted his mother and I more in this, but it seems he let his love for heroes cloud his vision.” 

Izuku sighed. For a successful CEO, Satoru Sho was kind of an idiot.

“Perhaps he wasn’t ready?” He ventured, not entirely sure where he stood on the other’s list of confidants. “I had been getting somewhere with him, but he was nowhere near ready for that sort of reveal.” 

Satoru shrugged. “Perhaps not, but I was worrying that he was letting his hope of becoming a hero take over his life. He needed perspective, to see what he could, would have.” 

“Isn’t he going to UA anyway?” 

The man huffed, scratching at his ear irritably. “Yes, my wife did talk to me about that little deal they made. However I doubt he’ll even pass the entrance exam, so I’m not too worried.” 

Izuku wrinkled his nose at his words, but said nothing. Shinsou wouldn’t be failing anything if he had a say in it, but saying so wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Do you think you could help Hitoshi feel better about this?” Satoru suddenly asked, sounding almost meek , and Izuku glanced up at him in surprise. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you already helped enough that he didn’t try running away again, so you must have some sort of way with him.” The other man chuckled, and Izuku raised an eyebrow in amusement. 

“He tried doing that?”

Satoru laughed. “Yes, several times in fact. He’s such a drama queen. Never made it more than two blocks before he’d come slinking home.” 

Izuku sniggered, trying to imagine a small Shinsou stomping down the street with a backpack filled with clothes only to realise that maybe he didn’t know what he was doing after all, and returning home, humiliated. He guessed, in a way, that he was lucky — despite the fact his mother was overworked and their house had needed to be refurbished before it was even built, he’d never had any want or need of getting away from it all. 

He sighed, and nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, alright, I’ll see what I can do.”  

Satoru grinned down at him. “That’s another favour I owe you, now.” 

“You’d just better hold up your end when I actually decide to cash in those favours.” Izuku grinned, voice light but intention clear. 

“Oh, don’t worry. I never go back on a deal.”

“Can I come over to yours?” 

Shinsou paused, looking up from where he had been scribbling diligently in his science notebook. He frowned. “Why?” 

Izuku shrugged, rolling off the lounge and scooting on his butt over to the low table in the middle of the room, before stopping and settling down beside his friend. “I haven’t seen your cats yet.” He pointed out. 

The other boy sighed, though Izuku swore it sounded more fond than annoyed, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. Shinsou shook his head. “Yeah, I know. But things are pretty tense back at home, right now. Maybe later?” 

Izuku huffed, not at all surprised by the answer, but still vaguely pouty at not being able to meet the famed Shibou and Genkina yet. The way Shinsou talked about them, you’d think they were his children, though, Izuku guessed, that’s kind of what they were. However, he was used to Shinsou evasions his questions by now, dancing around him and rejecting most of his attempts to ask about his life and wellbeing. Was this how the other boy felt when talking to Izuku, sometimes? He hoped not, it was nigh unbearable. 

Instead of pushing then, Izuku merely shrugged and poked at his friend’s cheek, before quickly yanking his finger away when the other boy snapped his teeth at it. He chuckled, massaging the phantom pain out of his hand. 

“You finished yet?” He asked, moving the conversation back into safer waters. Shinsou scanned his notes, brow furrowed, before flipping the book shut with a conclusive snap . 

“Yeah, I guess.” He sighed. “Not like I even need to study, really, I’m practically guaranteed into any business school I wish, with Satoru Sho being my father and everything.” He did a good job keeping the bitterness out of his voice. “And besides, it’s not like I can concentrate when you’re right there distracting me.” 

Izuku grinned unapologetically. “Do you wanna make something? What about brownies? Hey — what if you brain-washed my mum into buying some chocolate icing?”

Shinsou snorted lightly, the sound more surprised than anything, as if he’d been caught off guard by Izuku’s casual mention of the quirk he’d despised for most of his life. He didn’t seem angry though, and Izuku felt a rush of triumph when his lips quirked up into a soft smile. “I don’t think she’d like that.” 

“Oh, cmon, y’know she wouldn’t really mind…”

His friend smiled softly over at him, reaching over and flicking him in the forehead affectionately, “No, Izuku.”

Izuku huffed, pouting. “Ok, ok…” He whined, but it was all in good humour. “Still — brownies?”

Shinsou pushed himself up with a soft grunt, wrapping a hand around Izuku’s arm and heaving him up with him. “Sounds good.” 

They ended up making chocolate chip brownies — with no icing, sadly, no matter how much Izuku tried to play devil’s advocate — after Izuku found a packet of the stuff stashed away at the back of a cupboard. Shinsou had crinkled his eyebrows at the use-by-date, but Izuku had waved away his concern with a “It’s only a month over.” 

“Yes, a month and two years, ” The other boy had grumbled. 

They had to start twice, actually, because the first time both he and Shinsou had ended up eating all the batter, like the responsible villain and villain-associate-CEO-in-training they were, both giggly messes covered in an ample amount of chocolate stains by the end of it. But in the end they managed, somehow, to make two rows of decently brownie-looking lumps and sprinkled amply with icing sugar to cover the flaws. 

“I never really cook at home.” Shinsou commented, after they had put the last tray of brownies in the oven, and were standing back up, stretching tired backs and dusting white power off clothes. He sounded as if he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying, but Izuku grabbed the opportunity, however meagre, that was presented to him. 

“Not even on holidays?” He replied, tone strictly casual. The other boy shrugged, wiping a bit of batter off his cheek and licking it. 

“I mean, me and mum sometimes cook together, but it’s pretty rare. She usually cooks when she gets home or brings take out. Both my parents work late, so we never really get time.” He sounded bitter, and Izuku wanted to inquire further, but he already had that cagey look in his eye when he gave out ‘too much information’. However, he still wanted to try. 

“Do you like cooking together?” 

His friend let out a humourless chuckle. “I don’t know. It was already kind of awkward, before— well, I don’t really want to, now. Even though mum’s tried to rope me into it a few times.” 

“After you started training.” Izuku said softly, not really meaning it as a question, but Shinsou snorted and waved his hand dismissively, already moving out, away and towards the hallway. 

“Yeah, I guess. Anyway, what should we do while they’re cooking?” 

Izuku sighed, but let himself trail Shinsou into his room. Mustering a smile, he glanced over and grinned at his friend. 

Shinsou frowned back. “You have that look you get when you’re planning something.” He muttered, and Izuku sniggered to rile the other boy up.

 “Since you’ve been growing your hair out,” he said, grabbing onto the other boy’s wrist and dragging him to sit on his desk chair. “I’ve been wanting to...” how did he phrase this in a way that didn’t sound overwhelmingly homosexual? “Can I plait it? Mum used to let me do her hair, when it was a bit longer, so I know how.” He added. 

Shinsou raised a skeptical eyebrow, before twisting in his seat, as if to look at his own hair. “Is it even long enough?” 

Izuku eyed his friend’s mess of purple curls that fell to just past his shoulders, now. He usually had it tied back in a careless ponytail, or just left it out. He wasn’t one for vanities, which probably meant he didn’t fully realise that even with his hair pulled back messily, it was still hot as fuck. It hadn’t been as noticeable when it was shorter, but Shinsou’s hair was actually really curly, wavy in a way that made Izuku fantasise about running his fingers through it and idly twirling strands around his fingertips. 

“Yes, it’s long enough.” He replied, instead, and Shinsou grunted noncommittally. 

“Hey, if you don’t want me to, it's fine—” Izuku started to say, but his friend swatted at his hand before he could finish. 

“I didn’t say no , dumbass.” 

Izuku chuckled, and, almost reverently, reached a hand forward to touch Shinsou’s hair. He ran his fingers through it a couple of times, in the excuse of removing stray knots, marvelling at how silky it felt. He’d never really done this before, despite wanting to for ages now, and he just wished he had the luxury of continuing to do so, without it seeming weird. Against his better judgment, he allowed himself a few more seconds of just brushing his fingers through the other boy’s hair, before he sighed and removed them, swearing he almost felt Shinsou shiver slightly when he withdrew his hands. 

Maybe he was cold? Izuku glanced at the heating vent in the corner of the room, making a note to turn up the temperature when he went back out into the living room.

Izuku reached a hand out over Shinsou’s shoulder and made a grabby motion. “Hair elastic?” 

Shinsou rummaged inside his pocket for a second before pulling out a red band and handing it over. Izuku took it, sliding it onto his wrist like a bracelet to keep his hands free. He reached back down to Shinsou’s hair and carded his fingers through it a few times, pulling it gently into three parts and slowly began twining it into a messy plait. 

“Listen,” he began, then paused, mulling the words over in his brain before he said them. “I understand that you don’t want to talk about your training.” Underneath him, he felt his friend grow tense, and he sighed. “I’m not going to push you to talk about it, but it is worrying me. I know something happened, and I want to help. Maybe you think you’re protecting me by saying nothing?”

“I—” Shinsou began, but Izuku cut in over him. 

“I don’t know what your reasoning is, but…  I just want to know if there’s something, anything , that I can do to help?” He was aware he sounded small, almost desperate, but at least his voice wasn’t trembling. “Please?” 

“Izuku, I...” It pained him how hesitant Shinsou sounded, how tired. “I don’t, there’s nothing you can do about this.”

Izuku nodded, unsurprised but no less hurt. “Okay. But my offer will keep standing, alright?” 

He tugged the elastic off his wrist and wound it at the end of the plait. He smiled softly at it, proud of how it looked, even after so many years without practice. 

“All done,” he announced, voice more cheery than he felt. “Do you want me to decorate it?” 

“I’m not five.” Shinsou grumbled, but he didn’t argue when Izuku fished out a few clips from his pockets — totally not put there for just such an occasion — and pushed them into his hair, clipping the wayward strands of hair that usually hung in his eyes off of his face. 

“Thanks.” Shinsou said, smiling at him, though it still looked strained. 

Izuku shrugged him off. “I wanted to.”

From outside in the hall, there was the telltale click of a door and then ensuing shuffling, before a thin, worried voice came drifting in from the hallway.

“Izuku honey? Why can I spell burning?” 

Their worries forgotten for a brief moment, Izuku and Shinsou exchanged a panicked glance, both their eyes growing wide in dawning horror. 

“ Shit, ” Izuku groaned, “the brownies .” 

*·゜ﾟ·*:.。..。.:*·''·*:.。. .。.:*·゜ﾟ·*

The bell chimed as Izuku pushed open the door into Kotsutouhin, tugging Shinsou in after him and letting the door swing back shut behind them with a soft click. The girl at the register looked up, face lighting up in recognition as she spotted them. 

“Usual room I presume? I’ll send someone right up.” 

“Thanks.” Izuku grinned over at her before dragging a blushing Shinsou with him into the elevator. 

Once they were safely inside, away from prying eyes, the other boy groaned, slumping down against the mirrored wall. “Why does she look at us like that?” He muttered. “Like she’s in on our secret relationship — that doesn’t exist .”

Izuku snorted, moving to lean against the opposite wall than his friend, albeit more gracefully. “I mean, I guess we do kind of act like a couple occasionally. Burden of being good friends and all.” His grin widened. “From an outsider’s it would make sense that we’re dating.”

This only served to make Shinsou’s blush darken, a fact Izuku may or may not have been going for in the first place. “Yeah, whatever…” His friend paused as the elevator doors slid open, but continued as soon as they were out and heading for their room. “Why did you bring me here anyway?” 

They stepped inside, Izuku looking around, catching the way Shinsou visibly relaxed at the calm atmosphere the entire place seemed to exude. With almost half a dozen cats just lying comfortably in the sun, it was hard not to feel at ease. 

“Hey, you know the rule.” Izuku tutted, turning away to collapse onto one of the sofas. He could almost feel Shinsou’s eyes roll from behind him. 

“No talking until food arrives. Yeah, I know.” His friend recited tiredly, but plopped down beside Izuku anyway, leaning down to scratch a calico cat lying at their feet behind the ears. The cat rolled over, exposing it’s belly for more pats and purred softly. Shinsou huffed affectionately. 

A knock sounded, and they glanced over at the door to see Jinko slide inside, a smirk sitting unabashedly on her face. 

“Sooo… anything I can getcha?”  

Shinsou twisted around to glare at her. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.” 

Her face morphed into one of feigned surprise. “What do you mean? There’s nothing in this brain, you know that. Just fluff and random Twilight quotes.” She said, batting her eyelashes. 

Izuku watched the two fondly, enjoying how comfortable Shinsou seemed in this place. It was one of their only places of true sanctuary, where his friend felt uncomfortable or even unsafe in most of the other places he frequented, even his own home. Izuku dearly hoped he wasn’t just about to ruin that for him. 

“Can I get a hot chocolate?” He asked, suddenly, both to distract himself as well as to divert the girl’s attention. It worked, Jinko agreeing cheerily before typing away at her pad, and Shinsou shot him a grateful look. Noticing the action, Jinko huffed. 

“You guys are so obvious.” She muttered, but luckily took their orders and left without any further comment, only stopping to shoot them both one last meaningful look before closing the door behind her. 

“Maybe we should find another place to go.” Shinsou grumbled. “The people here are too much into our business.”

Izuku only shrugged, mouth twisting in amusement as he tried to hold in a grin. He found the comments more amusing than irritating, to be honest, and the thought that they could be this close without it being weird brought a warm, fuzzy feeling into his chest. 

Beside him Shinsou busied himself with bending over, picking up the cat from before with a surprised puff of air when the animal in question was a tad heavier than expected. The cat came with a disgruntled mew, but nevertheless let itself be hoisted up into the other boy’s lap, cradled in his arms like some big, fluffy baby, and fingers running through its thick, mottled fur. 

“What’s that one’s name?” Izuku asked, reaching over to gently scratch it under its chin, smiling softly as it tilted its head up and its purring got deeper. 

“I nicknamed this cat Pepper.” The other boy explained, voice strangely mournful. “No one really names them, y’know, since they’re not exactly pets.”

Izuku turned his smile to his friend, feeling an odd rush of affection at the way he doted on these cats, even if he didn’t need to. It was endearing, but he tried not to think too deeply into why. The more you let yourself feel things, the easier it was to get over it. 

Or your feelings just got stronger. Just a great big game of spin the wheel of chance, except it was a very real wheel and it was spinning for everything you’d staked your heart on. How very ironic. 

“Have you named all the cats in here?” He wondered out loud. Shinsou shook his head. 

“No, just the ones in this room. I think Jinko is going to get them collars with name tags soon, actually. Apparently she finds the fact that I named them ‘adorable’.” He replied, scrunching his nose up at the word ‘adorable’ like it offended him. Izuku chuckled, hoping the sound would cover whatever that nasty little spark that had flitted through his stomach at the thought of Jinko, or anyone, calling Shinsou adorable was.  

“Well, it is kind of sweet that you know all of them well enough to remember them individually.” He agreed, his smile widening as the other boy huffed, but the other boy didn’t look as annoyed as before. 

They continued their conversation, lighthearted chatter to pass the time. Izuku had to occasionally make sure to steer the conversation away from touchy subjects, and almost sighed in relief when Jinko reentered the room, tray perched precariously in hand, drinks lurching, bright grin on her face. 

“Your sustenance, kind sirs,” she quipped, setting down the plates and cups onto the table before them. Izuku thanked her, poking Shinsou in the ribs when the other boy merely rolled his eyes. 

He poked back, harder. Izuku quietly filed the need for a carefully planned revenge later, when his friend least expected it. Maybe he could cash in some favours in the underground… 

But Jinko was already leaving the room, and it was time to finally start what he’d come here to do. Izuku sighed, mentally hyping himself up for the discussion ahead. 

In an act of petty procrastination, he picked up his mug and took a long drink, the heat from the hot chocolate a welcoming anchor to focus on, even while he was all too aware of the piercing, expectant gaze of his friend on him. 

Taking his time, and, maybe, to mess with Shinsou a bit, he took another lingering sip before slowly setting the cup back down, leaning back against the cushions, and laying his arm languorously across the top of the couch. 

“I was worried you weren’t going to come today.” He admitted, watching as Shinsou’s eyes snapped from the cat on his lap to him, eyebrows rising in surprise. 

“What?” He asked, dumbly, then added, “Why?” 

Now it was Izuku’s turn to raise his eyebrows; the answer was obvious. “You’ve been so closed off lately, I thought that maybe you would have misconstrued this as a way for me to finally get you to open up.” 

The other boy slumped down in his seat, shoulders drooping a bit. “Oh. Ok. Fair.” He muttered, before mustering a weak grin. “But that isn’t why you’ve brought me here, right?” 

Izuku snorted, waving his hand dismissively. “No. Well, not really.” He paused, sighing. “My mum always did say that everything was better if you were more honest. I realise that I haven’t exactly been the most forthcoming—”

“To put it lightly.” Shinsou muttered, and Izuku huffed in agreement. 

“—And I also realised that in order for you to be more comfortable talking to me about stuff,” he continued, “I should probably be more open as well.”

The other boy turned to him fully, swivelling on the spot and causing the cat still curled up in his lap to meow in complaint. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, voice more cautious than Izuku wanted it to be, but he supposed it was sort of fair. But this wasn’t… easy for him, either. He was, if he was being honest, about to tell his best and pretty much only friend something that could very well end with shinsou walking out of the door and never coming back — or, even worse, turning him into the authorities. It was a stupid gamble, one he never usually made without much more information to back up his decision, and he felt a bit as if he were about to step off a cliff that he hadn’t actually checked over the edge of to see if there were water or in fact a bunch of pikes waiting to skewer him. It wasn’t exhilarating, it was just terrifying and he knew if he thought about it too hard his hands would start to shake and his breathing would quicken and—

Oh, fuck it. 

“Shinsou, I need to tell you something, and I need you to just… listen, ok? If nothing else, just hear me out.” 

“Izuku…” There was a hint of genuine fear in the other boy’s eyes, a spark of uncertainty that izuku hated himself for putting there. He wished he could just shut up and wish that expression away, make sure it never came back, even if he had to hide this side of himself from his friend for the rest of his life. 

Instead, he rubbed his face, taking a shaky breath in, almost laughing at it’s almost zero effect in calming him down, and finally looked back up at his friend, face serious. 

“Let me… start at the beginning.” He murmured, deciding that maybe giving the reason first would make the reveal a little easier to take. “I, uh— I met All Might a few years ago. He was chasing down some random villain he’d bumped into on his way through the city, I think. The incident is probably on some news article. Anyway, he happened to land near me as I was walking to school. Stupid coincidence, I guess, but I saw as it as an opportunity to finally speak to him. I was such a fan, back then. You can imagine how much I looked up to him, a symbol of peace and hope that everyone, no matter who you are, can be a hero.” He laughed at the memory, the sound bitter on his tongue and disingenuous even to his own ears. He had been so in awe, just another innocent fan who wanted to be like their hero. 

“I was a quirkless nobody. It was my dream to become a hero, to prove that I was something. I just wanted someone, anyone to believe in me.” 

Shinsou’s brows had been steadily furrowing further and further down the longer than Izuku talked. It would have been funny, if not for the situation. It seemed as if he couldn’t tell where, exactly, this was going, but he didn’t like the implications. “What do you mean, was your dream?” He asked, voice low, but Izuku just shook his head and continued. 

“Anyway, I guess it’s true what they say, ‘never meet your idol’,” He said, ignoring the way the other boy obviously wanted to cut in and ask a question. Hopefully, everything’d be answered by the time he was finished. “When I asked him if I, a mere quirkless boy, could become a hero, he told me no. The one person I thought that would have believed in me told me that I could never become a hero.”

He looked up, back at his friend, eyes roaming over a face that seemed a mix of shock and dawning horror. Izuku reached up to scratch at his cheek, eyes widening when his hand pulled back, fingertips wet. He reached up and scrubbed at his face, mad at himself for letting himself still be affected by something that had happened so long ago. 

“Do you know what that does to someone, Hitoshi? To finally have the last of your hopes dashed? To know that you, a worthless piece of powerless trash , will never be a hero?” He spat, voice too watery to sound anywhere near angry. 

“Izuku you— what—” Shinsou’s own voice was nearly imperceptible, voice shaky as he stared over at him. Izuku gave him a wobbly smile, which probably just ended up looking more like a grimace. He wasn’t angry at his friend. 

“I was angry , Hito.” He admitted, surprised by how steady he still sounded, despite everything. “I was angry, and hurt. Maybe what I did was irrational, but I don’t regret it.” 

“What did you do , Izuku?” 

Izuku chuckled, shrugging helplessly. “I found the League.” 

*·゜ﾟ·*:.。..。.:*·''·*:.。. .。.:*·゜ﾟ·*

“What is the League?” 

Shinsou’s voice seemed almost devoid of emotion, but Izuku recognised the careful emptiness, the almost hopeful distance his friend wished to create between himself and what was happening. His face was oddly still, too, as if he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to react to this new information, and his muscles were politely waiting to find out how they were supposed to arrange themselves. Maybe he didn’t really want to find out, either. If so, Izuku could barely blame him — if he had been in the other boy’s position, he would have run away ages ago. The fact that he hadn’t been walked out on already was a testament to their friendship, and absolutely did not make him feel all warm and fluttery inside, despite the situation. 

Izuku took a sip from his drink, trying to buy himself a few more seconds to properly think up how to explain the League that wouldn’t immediately have Shinsou jumping to conclusions. 

“It’s a group of people like me,” He settled on. Keep it simple. “People who weren’t saved, or were cast out for things they couldn’t control. They weren’t given a chance, so they decided to change things so that wouldn’t happen to anyone else. Well,” He chuckled, thinking back to the days when Shigaraki was still not completely on board with his whole… pacifist angle of things. He had had to clean up more than one pile of ashes from the carpet, before he was able to redirect the other’s anger to more useful means. “Maybe they weren’t all going about it so sophisticatedly as they are now, but that’s beside the point. You remember the friend I keep texting? Areta?” At Shinsou’s dubious nod, Izuku continued. “Well, he’s the leader of our, uh, band of misfits. He hasn’t been very open about his childhood, but what I managed to gather from him and Kemuri, he, er, lost his family due to his quirk — disintegration — when he was four. He was left alone and waiting for a hero that never came to save him. Instead, a villain found him, and raised him like his own son.” 

Shinsou was gazing at him incredulously, eyes narrowed in disbelief. Izuku sniggered at the expression, which looked ridiculous on his unthreatening face, but the sound wasn’t as genuine as he would have liked. “Yes,” He agreed. “Ironic, isn’t it? A villain did what a hero could not. Or, maybe, would not.” 

His friend looked away and down at his hands, still toying with the cat’s fur in his lap, though probably now more as a fidget than a pleasure.  Izuku waited for a few, long, moments, and when his friend didn’t speak, he forged on. He wanted his friend to understand, to see things from their perspectives why what had happened, had happened. And if that meant divulging a slight bit of sensitive information, then so be it. This was never meant to be fun or easy. Every part of their pain was visceral, and would be exposed, a huge, gaping wound for the world to see soon enough anyway. The why of the matter wouldn’t be very useful to anyone trying to bring them down, at any rate, even if Shinsou did go to the police.  

No one generally seemed to care about why, anyway. 

“Kemuri and Areta aren’t the only ones.” Izuku went on, “there’s Hishumi — she and Kasai haven’t been with us long, but from what she’s rambled about on occasion, I think her family disowned her because of her quirk. Kasai, well. He chose to leave, but I don’t think it was really his decision in the end, he had too much reason to go.” Izuku found himself fiddling with the cup in his hand, the surface cold as the hot chocolate cooled. “You can—” He took a breath. Held it. Released. “You can barely see unscarred skin, Hito. And I’m pretty sure it was because his father pushed his quirk beyond its limits until it turned on his own body, burning it beyond repair.” 

A sharp intake of breath beside him had Izuku pausing. He glanced over at his friend, eyes narrowing as he gauged his reaction. He seemed not entirely sure how to react, his mouth open in horror, but he still seemed reluctant to really believe what was being said to him. Izuku waited patiently as he shut his mouth, then opened it again — repeating this a few times before he finally spoke. 

“But I have, uh, a villainous quirk too. And I haven’t turned to villainy.” He said softly. “Why didn’t they just become heroes like I’m planning to?” 

Izuku nodded, seeing where his friend was coming from. It seemed like the logical solution, didn’t it, to someone as unknowingly privileged as Shinsou. He huffed a laugh, lowering his head in a shake, even as he shrugged. 

“Yes, but I don’t think you fully realise how… lucky you are, Hito.” At his friend’s doubtful look, he continued, “ You have two parents who don’t care that your quirk is mind control. You have a mother who is willing to help you get into UA, and a father giving you an option to fall back on. You have a house , and a family .” Izuku let his voice rise slightly, let it grow more forceful as he tried to get his point across, even as the other boy looked over in skepticism. “They don’t. They didn’t have a choice .” He grinned over at his friend — a sharp, bitter thing. “But the other side of that is that you do have a choice. You have a chance to prove people wrong, and that’s a valuable thing. In a way, becoming a hero is one of the best things you could do to help our cause.” 

“And what about you? You have a house — a family, a future. Why did you join them?” 

“Because I had a plan to help better the world, and I couldn’t accomplish it on my own.” Izuku answered, hoping he sounded honest, that his face was open, that his friend would know that he wasn’t lying. 

Shinsou sighed, shoulders drooping. He suddenly seemed very tired, but he nodded. “And what is this cause? This… ‘plan’?” 

Izuku didn’t even have to think about his answer. He knew it, like the back of his hand, like the one thing he had been striving towards for years now. “We want to make a world where people aren’t judged for their quirks. Rid the world of all the bias and hatred towards people who never asked for this, who only ever wanted to live . It’s a slow process, for sure, but if my plan works, we’ll be able to kickstart it, get the change in motion. I want people to be seen for who they are, not what their quirk is. I want the toxic cycle of heroes and villains to finally be replaced by just people, and, ok, perhaps badder people. 

“There will always be criminals, I know this, but life was never meant to be so black and white, us or them. Look at it like... remember when America abolished the police? It’s similar to that. Too many people with too much power and little to no consequences. It’s a stupid power balance that just isn’t necessary.” He glanced over at Shinsou, raising one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “Is that so bad?” 

They were both silent for a few minutes, Izuku waiting for his friend, and Shinsou staring down at the cat, eyebrows furrowed and mouth scrunched up thoughtfully. Finally, however, Shinsou sighed, eyes flicking up to capture Izuku’s gaze for a moment, lingering for a few endless seconds, before his gaze skittered away once more. 

“Thank you for telling me.” He murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not going to stop being your friend, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He huffed a mirthless laugh, and Izuku felt his face heat up slightly. Had he really been that transparent? But the other boy wasn’t done. “I don’t think I could even if I tried. But…” Here he paused, again, fingers moving from the cat to fidget with the cloth of his pants. “Can you give me some time to think about all this? It’s, uh, a lot to take in.” 

To put it mildly, Izuku thought dryly. But, if he was being honest, he was more than happy with this reaction. It was leagues away from how he’d expected this to turn out, and even better than he could have hoped for. He smiled over at the other boy, nodding. “Yes, of course. Just… don’t tell anybody?” He ventured, even though he most likely didn’t need to. Shinsou’s reply only backed up that thought, 

 “Don’t worry, i’m not that stupid .” Then his wry smile melted into something more serious, and he hesitated. “But, um— I am sort of curious as to why you decided to tell me, especially now of all times.” 

“Oh, yes,” Izuku sat back, setting the now cold hot chocolate back on the table. He laughed awkwardly, one hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck in a subconscious twitch. “I wanted to explain to you that you could, in fact, tell me what’s happening with your father. I mean, you still don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. But it’s just, I got the feeling you were hiding the fact you were apprenticed to an underground weapons dealer, to put it simply, to protect me. Which is kind of funny, actually, since I’ve actually been working with him for a few months now.”

He gazed at Shinsou, who stared back, mind obviously loading before, “ What ?!” 

“No need to sound so horrified.” Izuku grumbled. “I’m not buying weapons, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Yeah, but my dad’s company ?” Shinsou replied, exasperated. “And what, you knew what was going to happen to me even before I did?” 

Izuku sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay one, your parents happen to own the top underground dealer in Japan, and I like my fake IDs professionally made, thank you. And two , what was I supposed to say? ‘Oh hey, Hito no context but your parents are actually criminals and I work with them so be warned’?” He couldn’t help but snort at the visual image that brought up. Beside him, he could see Shinsou smiling too, even if it still looked a tad reluctant. 

“Shut up.” He said, but there was no real fire behind his words. “I see your point, smartass, no need to grin like that.” 

Izuku just grinned wider, but quickly sobered when his friend kept speaking, 

“Just… this is still a bit too new for me.” Shinsou admitted, smile dimming and eyes everywhere but Izuku. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” At Izuku’s panicked expression, he hurried to add, “Really, I just need a bit of time to think, okay? Same time as usual, tomorrow?” 

Izuku felt himself slump in relief. For a brief second he had been sure that he was , in fact, being walked out on after all. The feeling that had brought on was gone, but still left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He dreaded what it would have been like if Shinsou actually had left. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, then again, almost as if he was trying to convince the other boy, or maybe he was just reassuring himself. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.” 

Shinsou shot him one last small, but gloriously genuine, smile, and was gone. 

*·゜ﾟ·*:.。..。.:*·''·*:.。. .。.:*·゜ﾟ·*

Izuku knew, logically, that nothing would truly return to normal after what he’d said, or that Shinsou would magically open up to him and be suddenly okay with everything Izuku had admitted to. It would take time, obviously , and he didn’t regret what he’d done; but there was something uniquely trying about your best friend acting as if nothing had changed, to the point of not even mentioning anything he’d heard that day, around a week earlier.  

And Izuku didn’t mind. Not really. He was just glad that he still had a friend at all. He didn’t fully know how to express that kind of gratefulness, and perhaps it would be a tad too cheesy to tell the other boy just how relieved he felt. But the worry that his friend would walk out anyway was a weight that lingered, slowly but surely alleviating itself every day that the other boy turned up on his doorstep, his usual sarcasm present and mischievous glint in his eye. 

But still — the not knowing of it all; the not knowing if the other boy was going to bring it up was a small bit of agony, a hot source of pain that he danced around in fear of driving his friend away for good. 

It was raining, again. The tin roof sang under the torrent, drowning out anything and anyone inside but the loudest of noises. Because of this, Izuku and Shinsou had given up trying to yell and resigned themselves to texting each other, as if they weren’t just a few feet apart, curled up on the same bed and propped against an unholy amount of pillows. 

Homework was strewn out all around them, books open and full of scribbled notes, papers crumpled up and thrown in the general direction of the trash bin, and Shinsou’s worrying assortment of coloured pens scattered dangerously over the doona cover, adding tasteful new additions to the dull plaid pattern already adorning the blanket. 

They were, technically, supposed to be doing said homework, but the lure of just zoning out and dozing off under the lull of the comforting blanket the heavy rain created was a tad too tempting. 

The thermostat had been turned up a bit too high, warm air filling the small apartment and causing condensation to seep over the window panes, blocking out most of the world outside except for a few bright smudges from cars and shop lights. Gazing out at them, Izuku felt his eyes steadily drifting closed, his mind for once a pleasant static of nothingness, instead of the clusterfuck of thoughts and emotions it usually had racing through it at any given time.  Beside him Shinsou shifted, curling up further and rolling onto his side facing away from Izuku. He almost thought his friend was properly asleep before a soft ping sounded from his phone, which had been discarded on the duvet beside him, half-buried under a stack of science textbooks. Blearily, he retrieved it and tapped on the notification. 

Hito: can i ask you something? 

Izuku frowned, his sluggish brain trying to work out if he’d said or done something wrong. Had he slipped up and not realised it? Almost subconsciously, he twisted around to glance at the other boy over his shoulder, but his face was hidden from view, and his turned back sadly didn’t hold any answers for Izuku. Sighing, he tapped out a reply.

Izuku: yes, what is it?

Almost instantly, a reply popped up, 

Hito: what

Hito: What is the league like? 

Izuku lay staring at the screen for a full ten seconds before his mind finally caught up, and he processed fully what the text said. When he did, he felt his heart leap into his throat. What did this mean? Did this mean that Shinsou was finally ready to start talking about what had happened? It was the first time he’d even indicated he’d heard what Izuku had told him, back in Kotsutouhin. Against his will, he found his hands starting to shake as he began worrying about messing up, just when his friend had finally decided to reach out. Better to get clarification. 

Izuku: wdym?

It felt weird texting like this, when they were only a few feet apart. He had to keep resisting the urge to roll over and talk to his friend properly, despite the deafening rainstorm overhead. 

A few seconds went by before another reply came through, and in those few moments Izuku had already managed to convince himself that he’d somehow fucked up and Shinsou wouldn’t keep talking. It was irrational, but that knowledge didn’t stop him from slumping in relief when he finally saw his friend’s new message. He felt as if he was walking a tightrope, and if he somehow messed up and said the wrong thing, finally made Shinsou decide to walk out, he would fall. It was ridiculous, really, how attached he’d become to the boy over just a few short months, but now even the thought of his friend leaving was enough to make him stress bake for hours, obsessively listening to upbeat music to forcefully tune out the dark thoughts. 

It was ridiculous, but it was what it was, and Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. 

Hito: i want to know what theyre like 

Hito: idk it's weird, knowing theyre actual villains. that youre a

Hito: but i just want to know why you stayed with them. im curious to know if villains can be human too, i guess 

Hito: ugh ignore everything i just said that was so cheesy oml 

Despite knowing what his friend was trying to say, Izuku still found himself reading the line “ I'm curious to know if villains can be human too ” with no small amount of bitterness. He had — they had all — been brought up to believe that villains were less than human, incapable of anything but hurting others and themselves, and enjoying it. No one had ever heard about a villain's story, how they became a villain, or even about who they had been before they turned to crime. They didn’t have families, didn’t have likes or interests, didn’t have friends or loved ones or hopes and dreams. 

But of course they did. And thus so did the League. 

Izuku: well uh i'm not entirely sure what you want to know

Izuku: but i guess.. well, every time i go over i try to take something i baked

Izuku: once hishumi ate the entire tub of cookies i brought, and was sick for a whole week

He chuckled at the memory, the image of a disgruntled Kurogiri standing over Toga and forcing medicine into her mouth, something he dearly wished he had taken a photo of. Ever since, the other man had kept a close eye on her sugar intake. It was strangely sweet, how he took care of them, despite not needing to. He cared, in his own, distant way. 

Izuku: kemuri is like a big mother hen

Izuku: he looks after us, even though it’s not at all a part of his job description 

Izuku: he’s also ridiculously germaphobic and keeps the whole place so clean you practically get sanitised just by being there

From behind him, Izuku thought he heard a soft snort after he sent the last text, and smiled softly to himself. Maybe this was all working? Wracking his brains, he tried to come up with something funny that each member did or had done, something that put just a little bit more humanity into each of the people within the league. 

Izuku: and then there's areta. he acts like such an edge lord, but everyone knows he secretly leaves out food for the stray cats that hang out in the alley beside the place

Izuku: he's even named a few, but kemuri wont let him bring any inside

Again, Izuku swore he heard a quiet huff, and knew instinctively that his friend was smiling. 

Hito: seems like my kinda guy

Izuku: oh i dont doubt it, youd both bond over being dramatic assholes and loving cats

Hito: oi i'm not the one who ostentatiously ran off to join a villain group

Izuku: ooh big word there though i dont think you fully know what it means

Izuku: plus i think areta prefers dogs

Hito: fuck off ik how to use big words i can sound photosynthesis too :( 

Izuku: …

Izuku: ANYWAY aretas also a big gamer. he's supposed to be the leader of us all, which is funny since he spends more time playing video games or watching lets plays than he does actually running the league 

Izuku chuckled again, remembering the many times he’d walked in on their, uh, dedicated leader excitedly watching Minecraft play-throughs.  

Izuku: he also has loads of merchandise even if he doesnt actually admit to it

Izuku: i'm pretty sure he sleeps under a Fallout 4 doona cover. What a neet.

There were a few seconds where Izuku lay, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to type next, before Shinsou messaged him again, prompting him to continue. 

Hito: and what about kasai? 

Izuku: well uh he's kind of a mysterious one lol

Izuku: or at least he thinks so

Izuku: Actually, I know more about him than I do the rest of the league. He prefers lemonade, and areta gives him hell for it, despite the fact that that child only ever drinks nonalcoholic apple cider so he has no ground to stand on.

Izuku: kasai also has a weird obsession with strawberry milk, the kind you get in the dank refrigerators of 24 hour train station shopping marts. I keep trying to tell him he’s going to get liver failure but he just keeps saying he’s here for a good time, not a long time. ⊂((·⊥·))⊃

Hito: … how dare villains be relatable

Izuku: ikr. 

Izuku: hishumi is also violently lactose intolerant, but apparently that isnt enough to stop her from consuming five milkshakes in an hour despite the fact it clogs her nose up to much she can hardly breathe 

He sighs, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation, even though Shinsou couldn't see him. It was a wonder that Toga was allowed responsibility with sharp objects, considering the fact she couldn’t even be trusted with her own wellbeing. Kurogiri had had to clear out all the milk from the fridge, which had led to Shigaraki having a temper tantrum and disintegrating several chairs when he’d come down for his late-night cheese stick foray, and had instead found lactose-free “imitations”.

Izuku: and the uno battles, hito!

He sends dramatically. 

Izuku: you have never truly played uno until an S ranked villain gets made to pick up twenty four cards and pulls a fucking knife out :D 

Behind him izuku can feel the bed shaking from shinsou’s silent laughter, and his lips curl up in satisfaction. Objective accomplished. Eventually, though, the laughter died down, and izuku looked down when another message popped up.

Hito: okay fine, i get it, theyre cool people. stop making me want to meet them :( 

Hito: but i am curious.. why them? why not join a group of people who wanted the same thing, but weren’t villains?

Izuku felt his mouth twist as he considered his answer carefully. He knew what his friend was saying, however convoluted the reality of the matter was. 

Izuku: because anyone who “goes against” heroes are seen as villains, hito. besides, they’re not even doing anything remotely villainous . at least not really, and definitely not anymore.

Izuku: haven’t you noticed the drop in overall crime? that was me . with the help of the league’s influence, unnecessary crime has decreased dramatically. it doesn’t really matter what our label is, as long as we know we’re doing the right thing. 

Hito: wait what? that was you ? that’s all the hero reporters have been talking about for months. (´-｀)

Izuku chuckled, nodding despite the fact that his friend couldn’t see him. It was thrilling, in a way, to have so much attention on his actions, even if the people talking about it didn’t know that it was him. It was powerful, too, and Izuku didn’t think he’d ever get over the feeling it gave him, as if he was finally doing something. It was perhaps similar to how a  cartoon villain felt, watching their plans unfold while stroking their cat in their high-backed chair. If the villain was secretly working toward peace and not further violence, that is. 

Izuku: yup 0:) 

Izuku: anyway my point still stands. they were who i found and they are the people i’m working with. even if i found another group, what we’re doing is illegal, despite our good intentions 

He sighed, rolling over to face Shinsou’s back, and prodded him with a finger until the other boy rolled around as well. Rain was still slamming on the roof overhead, but he didn’t need words to express what he was trying to say. Opposite him, shinsou stared back, eyebrows drawn and hair ruffled adorably from lying down. Izuku’s was probably no better. 

Izuku: that make sense? 

He watched as his friend’s eyes flickered down to his phone screen, then up to his again. He must see the sincerity in izuku’s expression because after a moment his shoulders slumped, a silent sigh escaping him and he nodded, a tight smile flashing over his face. 

Hito: yeah, okay

Hito: this is still so weird to me, but i

Hito: i trust you, you piece of shit. i’m probably an idiot for doing so but i do. but this is new for me. 

Hito: heck, my whole life’s practically been turned on it’s head, so just. give me time. 

Hito: more time. fuck. god this is weird. 

Izuku: yeah. i wish it hadn’t turned out like this. i’m still mad at your dad, for dropping this all on you. i told him you weren’t ready and he didn’t listen to me. i’m just glad you’re taking this as well as you are. 

Hito: taking this as well as i am? i shudder at how you thought i’d take it lmao

Izuku grimaced. 

Izuku: so do i 

*·゜ﾟ·*:.。..。.:*·''·*:.。. .。.:*·゜ﾟ·*

It was almost a month later before Shinsou finally came to Izuku about his father. If Izuku was being honest (and he was trying to be more so, lately, he really was), he had been beginning to to give up on ever getting his friend to talk to him. 

He’d gotten so wound up about it, in fact, that he’d ended up going to talk to Hanako about it — well, she’d called it complaining, but it was all relative — , ranting to her from on top of their usual dumpster, melted and long forgotten stick of coolish clutched in one gesticulating hand. However she had only whacked him upside the head and told him to wait for when Shinsou was ready to talk — which he had been doing anyway , but it helped to have someone else tell him, helped to just talk to someone, even if they only knew half the story, even if his real situation was much more complicated than one normal teenage boy upset with his equally normal teenage friend. 

So, he was at least a little understandably surprised when his best friend turned up at his front door unannounced — not in itself a strange occurrence — dripping wet from the rain (where was his umbrella?) and at no later then seven fucking PM, when he should have reasonably been at home, safe, sound and doing homework or something. He was also out of breath, as if he’d ran all the way from the train station, hair dishevelled and half fallen out of its already messy bun, and eyes suspiciously red. 

They stared at each other for a few, long seconds after he’d opened the door, before Izuku’s brain finally caught up and he stepped aside, ushering his friend inside. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his tone a bit sharper than he’d meant, if only because of the worry bubbling up inside of him, surprise mixed with a pit of concern for his friend. “It’s seven PM — and where’s your umbrella?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” 

Shins had dropped his bag on the ground, where it sat dejectedly, gathering a small puddle of water around it. His clothes were already drying, his white uniform shirt sticking to his skin in an uncomfortably revealing way. He turned tired eyes in Izuku’s direction, and yes, they were quite red, damp and puffy in a way that rain didn’t cause. “I can’t keep doing this.” He repeated, voice a bit stronger. 

Izuku was suddenly very glad that his mum had chosen this particular night to be off having dinner with some work colleagues. Despite the obvious awkwardness and invasive fussing, she would have also popped this strange bubble that existed around them, interrupted this tension between them; a crackling intensity of something about to happen, a cliff about to jumped, a hurdle reached. For the first time in months, Izuku let himself believe they were finally getting somewhere. 

“Okay, just—” He helped Shinsou toe off his shoes before gently leading him into his bedroom, only leaving his friend for a moment to grab a towel from the backroom. Tossing it at the other boy, he turned to rummage through his wardrobe, picking out a dry pair of clothes and handing them over as well. 

“Get dressed.” He said, not really a question, “I’ll only be a minute.” 

Izuku let himself out, gently closing his door behind him and padding over to the kitchen. Reaching into the overhead cupboard, he pulled out two mugs, making sure one of them was Shinsou’s favourite cup, the one with the man behind the coffee disappearance written on it with an arrow pointing upwards, that Izuku had bought him when the other boy began making his visits a regular thing. It had been a sort of victory cup, a signifier that he had finally made a friend, however cheesy that sentiment was. And it had also made Shinsou laugh, which had made the whole thing worth it. 

He waited for the kettle to boil, foot tapping impatiently, before spooning a generous helping of sugar and cocoa powder into each cup. Almost as an afterthought, Izuku added one more spoon of sugar to his friend’s cup. God knows that he needed a pepper up after the evening he’d probably had. 

After picking both mugs up carefully, making sure not to spill any on the beige hallway carpeting, he paused outside the door to his room, listening for a moment, but no sound could be heard from inside. Sighing, he knocked, only nudging the door open after a muffled affirmative came. The only thing that could make this night worse was walking in on his friend changing.  

Shinsou was sitting — well, more huddled up than anything — , on the bed, head bent over as he towered off his hair. He was dressed in the spare t-shirt and sweatpants he’d been given, his wet clothes discarded in a crumpled pile by the door. As Izuku approached, the other boy looked up. He already looked much better, though with the disappearance of the puff around his eyes, the dark shadows that had been underneath were now only all the more visible. 

“A wise man once said that chocolate always makes you feel better.” Izuku said sagely, setting Shinsou’s mug down beside him on the bedside table.

Shinsou huffed, a laugh however weak it was, and his smile was equally wobbly. But he rolled his eyes, and Izuku allowed himself to relax a bit. His friend was fine, or would be. 

“Sure, if you count Remus Lupin as a ‘wise man’.” 

Izuku nodded solemnly, but didn’t bother to try to fight the smile that was threatening to creep up onto his face, the familiar banter between them more reassuring than any promise of wellbeing. “Of course — the wisest of men.” 

There was a moment of silence then, but it didn’t hold any of the dread that he’d been feeling when Shinsou arrived, quietened down now that his friend was safe and dry and contentedly sipping on extra sugary hot chocolate beside him. Izuku took the moment to tug a blanket over both of their shoulders, more for the comfort than the need for warmth. 

Shinsou took another drink, hands gripping the mug still pink and trembling from the cold, and Izuku had to hold himself back from wrapping them in his. Instead, he watched as his friend took another short sip before stopping to gaze down into the mug, watching tiredly as the bubbles floated across the murky liquid. Shinsou sniffed, then chuckled. 

"God I’m a mess.” He mumbled wetly, eyes dangerously shiny again. Izuku could only shake his head, furrowing his eyebrows as he struggled to work out what to do with his hands, what to say. He felt so useless , and this time he didn’t know what he could do to stop it. He’d already said his part, and now it was up to Shinsou if they wanted to continue on like this. 

“No,” Was all he said, lamely. 

“Yeah I am. Damn, this friendship’s depressing.” Shinsou laughed, but there was no humour in it. “All we do is cry and talk about our problems.”

“I’m sorry.” 

The other boy snorted incredulously. “’s not your fault. It’s my dad—” He sniffled again, before growling, though it sounded directed at himself. “God, I’m sorry, you must hate me always getting so damn emotional all the time—” 

“And what?” Izuku cut in, levelling a glare at his friend. “You think I don’t get emotional too? Fuck, Hito, I can’t imagine how hard this is. If I was in your position, I’d probably be an unresponsive mess, if not worse . You’ve had your whole life turned upside down, and you’re apologising for— for being emotional ? Don’t you dare.”

He let that hang in the air, unrelenting as Shinsou stared at him, eyes wide and wet, as if he couldn’t quite believe his ears, maybe didn’t want to believe. After a moment, however, he looked away again, biting his lip, eyes downcast and face crumpled. 

“You’re just saying that.” But he didn’t sound convinced, and Izuku only had to raise an eyebrow at him before his shoulders were slumping in defeat. 

“Well, I still feel bad.” He muttered. “When was the last time we really hung out without all this looming over our heads?” 

Izuku huffed, shrugging tiredly. “Yeah, okay, but as you said: this is on your dad. And me, too, I guess—”

To his surprise, Shinsou reached over and flicked him, none too gently, on the forehead, interrupting him. “No.”

Izuku blinked, reaching up to rub his brow, before chuckling softly, conceding. “Okay, if you say so. But my point still stands — this isn’t your fault, so if you even think about apologising for something that you haven’t done, I’ll beat your ass.” 

His words had the desired effect, and Izuku grinned as Shinsou let out a burst of startled laughter, the sound refreshingly genuine.

“Yeah, whatever.” He smiled, but it was real and beautiful, and Izuku couldn’t help feel grateful that the worst was over; at least in this conversation. 

Izuku lifted his cup, taking a long drink, before setting it on the floor beside his feet, quietly praying to his future self he didn’t knock it over. 

“But you came here for more than just hot chocolate, I gather?” He asked, letting a hint of playful accusation enter his tone. “Or are you really just using me for my excellent drink making skills?”

His friend sniggered, and nodded, playing along. “Yes, you’ve caught me. I orchestrated this entire thing just to get hot chocolate.” 

Izuku shrugged. “I wouldn’t blame you, even my mum admits this stuff is better than anything she’s ever bought.” 

Shinsou scoffed. “That’s what mothers are supposed to say.”

“Rude.” 

His friend sighed, smile slipping back into a grimace. “But, yeah. I did. I don’t think— I don’t want to keep doing this.” 

“What do you mean?”

The other boy shrugged, hands twitching like he wanted to fidget, but didn’t want to spill the drink, which Izuku was thankful for — though it wouldn’t have made much of a difference, anyway, he supposed. The majority of his carpet’s pattern was mostly just different drink stains, evidence of years of clumsiness and late night coffee-drinking. 

“It all feels… wrong. Everything he’s teaching me, it feels as if the more I learn, the longer I’m there, the more, I don’t know, further away from heroism I become.” He winced. “That sounded cheesy didn’t it?” 

Izuku shook his head. “Nah, I get what you mean. You feel like the more you know about Kakureta, the less you’ll be able to become a hero, is that it?”

Shinsou huffed, shrugging irritatedly. “It sounds stupid, but I hate it anyway.” 

He shook his head again, more firmly this time, fingers lacing together to stop from twiddling. “No, it’s not stupid. I can’t say I, uh, understand where you’re coming from, not entirely, but you’re being forced to do something you don’t want to by someone who doesn’t want you to achieve your dreams. You weren’t prepared, weren’t given an option, and it’s for a company that, at least partially, works on the opposite… ‘side’ as heroes do.”

The other boy nodded, brow crinkled. He turned to Izuku, frown deepening. “Wait, you talk to my father, right? What does he say?” 

Izuku’s mouth twisted in memory of the man who’d almost ruined his son’s life for his own goals, but he nodded in confirmation. Lying wouldn’t be of any benefit, especially when his friend probably just wanted confirmation on what he already suspected. 

Besides, he didn’t like the idea of lying to Shinsou anymore. The thought left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth and reminded him of how fucking lucky he was that he was sitting here now, all secrets revealed yet still with his friend beside him and confiding in him . 

“Yes. He, well, he asks me to keep an eye on you. I think he considers me someone he can rely on to make everything he’s doing okay. I hate it, but I feel if I decline him, he’ll try to get close to you by some other means, and I don’t know about you,” He chuckled, the sound uncomfortably forced, “but I trust myself more than anyone he does.” 

“So, what?” Shinsou grumbled. “You’re my babysitter?” 

Izuku coughed, caught off guard, but he couldn’t deny the claim, not really. “Well, I guess Satoru-san considers me that, but please don’t think I’m… monitoring you. I’m just your friend, and at the most, I’m just trying to look out for you, especially since this is a world you’re still new to.” 

The other boy snorted humourlessly. “‘World I’m still new to’, no kidding. I still can’t believe my parents expect me to just take over a semi-illegal company without a fuss.” 

“I’m pretty sure your dad has no brain.” Izuku agreed, and his friend choked on a laugh. 

“No shit.” He wheezed.

“But seriously,” Izuku continued, “it’ll be your company. Once you’re in charge you can do anything with it, you know that right? I know you hate what Kakureta is now, but as soon as it’s yours you can change it. You could just sell it. Or, maybe, you could change it so it isn’t dealing in anything, uh, illegal anymore.”

Shinsou had a contemplative expression on his face, eyebrows drawn and mouth scrunched up (adorably). “I guess.” 

“And in the meantime,” Izuku said, nudging his friend, “you can just learn how to run the company, we get into UA together, and we can just be, okay?” 

His friend turned his face towards Izuku’s, all hesitant distrust and a glimmer of hope, under all those layers of exhaustion and hurt. “Okay.” 

“Now.” Izuku said, rubbing his hands together decisively. “You’re staying here tonight.” 

Shinsou’s eyes grew wide, his eyes darting to the clock on the bedside table before his shoulders slumped. “I don’t have to — I can go home.” 

Now it was Izuku’s turn to flick his friend on the forehead. “Shut up, Hito, you’re not going anywhere.” 

The other boy’s shoulders relaxed. He must have been hoping to stay, then. Izuku couldn’t imagine why he’d thought he’d just send his friend home after this, though. 

“Thank you.” 

Izuku rolled his eyes, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Now, you must be starving.”

He stood up, turning to help his friend up, when he felt the familiar feeling of his foot contacting porcelain, then a wet warmth spilling over his toes and the floor. 

“Fuck.” 

Chapter Text

listen i… i really tried my best not to be here, saying what i am now.

truth be told, uploading the first chapter before i’d finished the fic was an accident, and i never wanted to be one of Those bnha writers who discontinues their super long fic, and i fought tooth and nail to finish it, i really did. but it’s like pulling teeth, i’m not even really in the fandom anymore, if i’m gonna be honest, and i know how shitty it is when someone discontinues a fic out of nowhere but i just

i just can’t anymore yk. it’s getting in the way of so much i want to be doing and im honestly sick of it.

if it makes it any better! i did write a few more chapters, so i’ll skim through them for errors and post those. honestly, the whole concept was good but made years ago when i still had no idea how to write a consistent plot. after i post the chapters, i’ll post a summary of how the story would have gone. i genuinely had it all planned out, but i have zero motivation for it anymore. if you want, you can pick up where i left off or take the concept and run with it with a simple idea credit.

i’m super super sorry i hate it when other people discontinue but like if you can’t you can’t. thank you all who stuck with me, it meant a huge huge lot :)

Chapter Text

   The days passed methodically, time flying past in a blur of training and school. Now spring had rolled around, the horrid rain had left with the cold, training less of an arduous task now the air was warmer — the morning runs refreshing as the cool air, rid of the rigid freeze the winter wind usually bore, blew past him. Blossoms had also begun poking their heads out, the trees surrounding the park they spent their Sundays in a pleasing mixture of fresh green and pink. 

After those few hectic weeks a few months ago, life had surprisingly slowed down, settling into a rhythmic pace of day-to-day life. Izuku, if he was being honest, wasn’t unhappy about this turn of events; now that he and Shinsou had fallen back into their usual pattern, he could feel himself steadily but surely allowing himself to settle into this new normal — a normal he’d almost never let himself think of let alone actually believe in, even just a few months earlier. Shinsou knew, and he didn’t care, and now they were just two friends again, but without all the annoying secrets held between them, taking up space where there was now a layer of trust and acceptance — however cheesy that sounded to put into words — and if they wished, they could talk freely, and they both knew that the other would never judge them for it. 

Shinsou, along with his new tired acceptance of his role as the heir to Kakureta, had been “progressing marvellously” as his father loved to say at any given chance. And now that he wasn’t fighting his father constantly, his home life too had calmed considerably, even if Shinsou found the happiness his parents felt at his recent willingness tasteless, and the motions of playing along akin to a sick parody (Izuku told him he was perhaps being a bit dramatic when he said that). Shinsou had, however, admitted that seeing the intricacies of an underground company like Kakureta was quite interesting, if only to get a peek into Izuku’s world. Izuku had counted this as a resounding success, as had Satoru, who had called him up personally to thank him for whatever he’d done to convince Shinsou to finally become compliant. Izuku had merely smiled and reminded the man of his unpaid favours. 

And as for Izuku, he’d found himself once more in the usual maddening loop that had conducted most of his middle school years: desperately wanting to make more progress with the “plan” but distinctly unable to unless a moment of luck arose. Only the knowledge that he would be attending UA in just several short months calmed the bubbling inferno inside him that was only ever soothed whenever progress was made. 

Well, that was until he arrived at the beach, just a couple of short weeks until the entrance exam, to find the place completely empty. 

Izuku stopped, pausing on the footpath above the slope down to the sand. Glancing down, he frowned, eyes scanning the clear expanse of the beach in confusion. He hadn’t exactly been keeping up on how much more cleaning up he and Shinsou still had left, but he was sure they hadn’t been this close to finishing. A little way up the street he could see the truck that Yagi had hired to tote all the rubbish to landfill, bed only partly full. Beside it, he could see two familiar shapes, sitting with their backs against the side of the vehicle. Izuku jogged over, studiously ignoring the sour taste that always rose up his throat whenever he was around All Might. 

“I didn’t think I was that late.” He huffed as he neared them, slowing down before slumping down beside Shinsou and grabbing his water bottle, ignoring his friend’s indignant squawk as he gulped the last few mouthfuls. 

“You weren’t, I just woke up early.” Shinsou said, gazing mournfully at the now-empty plastic bottle. “That was the last of my water.” He added, unnecessarily. 

“I’ll buy you some more.” Izuku dismissed, before frowning over at his friend, concerned despite the regularity of the other boy’s sleeplessness. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”

Shinsou shifted uncomfortably, then sighed. Shrugged. “No.”

Izuku gave him his we’re discussing this later look, but elected to move the conversation on, since All Might was right there. “So what happened? I could swear we still had at least a few more days worth of trash to clean up.” 

Yagi grinned over at them, pride that twisted Izuku’s stomach evident in his overly-expressive eyes. “It would seem that two of you working together completed the work faster than just one of you could ever achieve!” He congratulated. “And isn’t that a life lesson right there? You can never achieve on your own what you can…” 

Izuku tuned him out as the hero started launching into what he probably considered an inspiring speech, and instead turned his face back towards the beach, taking in the now clear sand and unmarred view. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but admire what had been hidden for so many years, a piece of nature that had been lost to human carelessness. And to think, it had only taken two kids to do this — why had no heroes stepped in? Izuku wished he could rub their faces in that, out-preformed by two middle schoolers, doing what heroes should be doing in the first place. Izuku’s stomach roiled, bitterness overtaking the elation of success, and he had to turn away. 

“…Izuku privately, if you don’t mind, Young Shinsou.” 

Izuku tuned back in at the sound of his name, and blinked stupidly. “Huh?” 

Shinsou gave him a knowing smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Yagi-san wants to speak with you privately. I’ll go get us breakfast.” He said, before pushing himself up and walking off, leaving Izuku alone with the Number One Hero. 

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Izuku asked, trying not to flinch away as the hero shifted over so he was now sitting beside him, where Shinsou had just been. 

“You’ve finished cleaning the beach,” Yagi said, “and ahead of schedule as well. I thought it only natural that I give you my power now, so you still have some time to work out how to control it before the entrance exam!” 

Izuku gawped. “Wait, what? Like- like right now?” 

The man nodded, grinning as he reached up and tugged a hair from his head. “No time like the present, Young Midoriya. Now, eat this!” He proffered the hair to Izuku, and suddenly the younger boy was wondering if this had all been a big, elaborate joke, and suddenly a bunch of heroes were going to jump out of hiding saying “Surprise! You thought you could get a quirk? You fucking idiot!” 

Izuku leant back, face calm despite the rising bile clawing up his throat, the livid twisting of his stomach. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.” 

All Might paused, seeming to recognise the anger for what it was and his face shifted, growing serious. “I am by no means joking, Midoriya-kun. I understand how this might sound, but in order to inherit my quirk, you need to ingest some of my DNA. This is the easiest way I can think of to do so.” 

Still wary, but not doubting the other man’s sincerity — if anything was true about the hero, it was his brutal honesty, and he lacked the skill to successfully hide his emotions, even if he wanted to — Izuku took the hair, crumpled it into a ball and popped it in his mouth. It was as unpleasant as accidentally swallowing a hair always was, and he scrunched up his nose as he swallowed several times until it was finally down. 

“I hope that was worth it.” He muttered. 

Yagi chuckled. “It is, don’t worry. I had much the same thoughts when my own mentor had me inherit the power from her, but it turned out fine, I like to think.” 

“So… when does it take effect?” Izuku asked, peering down at his hands suspiciously, like they might suddenly explode. “I don’t feel any different.” 

“Not for a good couple of hours, at the least.” All Might said, contemplatively. “And I recommend not using it without me there, just in case something happens.” 

Izuku lifted his gaze from his hands to direct a sceptical stare at the man, who had the decency to look abashed. “What do you mean, ‘in case something happens’?” 

“Well, er, the power could still be too much for you to control…” All Might muttered. “Nothing ever happened to me, but my mentor told me that when she first tried to use One For All, her entire arm broke from the strain.” 

“Oh, well, thanks for the warning.” Izuku deadpanned. Completely unrelated to what he’d just learned, but having quirk didn’t sound quite as exciting as it had just a few minutes ago. 

“No problem!” Yagi grinned. Apparently he’d lived almost fifty years and not at any point learnt what sarcasm was. Izuku sighed. 

Luckily, he was saved from more banal conversation by the rearrival of Shinsou. Izuku slid pointedly to the side, and his friend sat compliantly between him and the older man, turning to hand the hero a can of decaf coffee before twisting around to face Izuku again, dumping a plastic bag of groceries onto his lap. 

“They didn’t have any melon bread, so I got tuna onigiri.” He said, instead of voicing his obvious curiosity. Izuku nodded his thanks. “I’ll tell you later.” He muttered, soft enough so Yagi couldn’t hear. The hero was still operating under the presumption that Shinsou didn’t know anything, and Izuku wasn’t about to change that. 

He’d finally told his friend about their teacher’s identity, no longer seeing any reason not to after already telling his friend he was a villain. They had both taken no small amount of pleasure at the man’s confusion when the other boy had suddenly begun to act noticeably more chilly towards him. 

Beside them, Izuku saw All Might slowly clamber to his feet, the movement painful to watch, before turning and smiling down at them. “I’ll go now, take this truck to the dump. See you tomorrow, Young Midoriya?” 

Izuku nodded, smile slightly strained at the thought of the day to come. Oh boy, broken limbs. “Yup. See you then.” 

*****

The next day dawned with a delightfully pleasant Southeast breeze, not a cloud in the sky, birds chirping playfully in the lush pink cheery-blossom trees, and Izuku felt like shit. 

When he finally dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen, his mother turned to greet him, only to jump a foot into the air. 

“Goodness!” She laughed, pressing a hand to her chest. “You gave me quite the fright there, for a second I thought you were Hitoshi-kun. Your eyeshadows almost match his, today.” 

“Yes, very funny.” Izuku griped, reaching tiredly into the fridge for the milk carton, before grabbing a cup and collapsing onto one of the bar stools, pouring himself a straight glass of milk and chugging it just to feel something. 

Inko chuckled, but rounded the counter anyway, reaching up to place a cool palm against his forehead. “You don’t feel hot. You sure you’re alright?” 

Izuku shook his head, turning his head slightly to smile reassuringly at her. “I’m fine mum, just didn’t sleep very well.” That was an understatement. He hadn’t slept at all, the mix of built-up anticipation and dread of the inevitable future pain a perfect recipe for sleeplessness. 

“If you say so…” Inko worried, but she was already running late for her first shift, so she merely left him with the instructions not to push himself too hard that day — oh the irony — and to remind her to pick up some melatonin for him from the chemist before coming home that night. 

Izuku was running late too, actually, so despite feeling like a slowly rotting corpse he packed his bag, pulled on his running clothes and made his way out of the house. 

Yagi was standing at the top of the stairs that led down to the beach when he arrived, out of breath for the first time in over a month, and with a throbbing headache. The older man took him in, probably looking like he’d crawled out of his grave to come there that day, and frowned in concern. “Are you alright, Midoriya-kun? You don’t look so well.” 

“Had a late-night studying. Exams, and all that.” Izuku lied, scratching his neck in faux abashment and looking down at his shoes. 

“You really must learn how to manage your time better.” The hero chided, “but no matter! Are you ready to finally use your new powers?” 

No. “I suppose.” 

“Then follow me!” 

All Might led Izuku down the stairs onto the sand, and over to the right where he’d apparently set up a practice dummy. He gestured to it, then to Izuku. “You’ll use this today, since I’m in no shape to use myself as your sparring partner. Stand in front of it, and try to feel your quirk.” 

Izuku did as he was told, and positioned himself in front of the dummy, feeling slightly stupid. “How do I feel it?” 

“You’ll know.” Came the cryptic response, and if Izuku hadn’t been used to this from his few conversations with All For One, he might have punched the sickly man despite his probability to be killed by even just a large sneeze. 

Sighing pointedly, Izuku closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. The headache was proving successfully distracting, but luckily Izuku had good practice in ignoring his problems, so he tiredly blocked it out and tried to call the power he’d felt lurking deep in his gut ever since lunch the previous day. 

He tried to pull it up gently, narrow the stream so it would surface in a controlled funnel, but at soon as he lifted the lid on it, it was like a pipe had blown, knocking him back as the power surged out, erupting with a burst over his body until he was trembling with the effort to stop it from exploding. It was electrifying and horrifying all at once, and felt like if he didn’t release at least some of the energy, he’d combust — and considering Yagi’s very first explanation of what would happen to his body if he took it, it was a dangerously possible outcome. 

“All… Might…” Izuku forced out between gritted teeth, vision blurring when tears sprung to his eyes. If he hadn’t been so intent on control, he might have been embarrassed. “What do I… do…?” 

“Channel it into your arm, my boy.” Came the wavering reply, and Izuku, despite the pain, was still caught off guard by how worried the other man sounded. “Force it into your arm and punch the dummy.” 

Using what little control he had left, Izuku focussed on directing the energy into his right arm, until it felt red hot, jittery with electricity. He lurched forward, swinging blindly at the object in front of him. 

The impact was swallowed by the relief of the pent up power leaving his body in an electrifying rush, and he must have blacked out for a second there because the next thing he knew he was blinking awake, in a crater of sand several yards from where he’d been standing just before. He sat up, the world still spinning as he gazed forward to where the dummy should have been. Through the haze, and building pain in his right arm, he noticed dully that the dummy was in fact now several dummies. Or, at least, several torn up pieces of dummy, all scattered around the sand, fluttering pitifully in the wind. 

“Shit.” Was all Izuku could think to say, before realising that he was, in fact, in quite a lot of pain, and passing out once again. 

*****

Izuku awoke again to the sound of soft jazz music and the low murmuring of voices. Glancing around, he took in the almost clinical white sheets of the bed he was lying in, though the furniture was more something you’d see in a bedroom than a hospital room. The walls were also painted an inviting pastel yellow, and there was a vase of flowers and a digital clock on the nightstand, beside the usual hospital equipment. The windows were hung with a slightly old fashioned floral curtain. 

Where the hell…? Izuku wondered, before he remembered what had happened last, and his eyes snapped down to his arm. It didn’t hurt, quite the opposite, it was completely numb — probably painkillers — and was covered in white gauze bandages. For some reason, it wasn’t in a sling. Maybe it hadn’t actually broken? No, he remembered the pain; it had definitely been broken. 

Just as he was about to try and get up, there came a soft click and the door swung gently inwards, admitting a short, homely looking old woman with grey hair pulled back into a bun, and dark grey shawl pulled over an ankle-length soft pink dress. When she saw that he was awake, she smiled, pushing the door shut behind her and coming up to the bedside. 

“So you’re Midoriya-kun?” She asked, though it seemed rhetorical. “Toshinori-kun’s told me a lot about you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. “I don’t think I know you.” 

The old woman chuckled. “No, not without my uniform on, I bet.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a packet of gummy bears. “I’m Shouzenji Chiyo, but you’d know me as Recovery Girl!” She handed him the packet of gummies. “Here, eat these. You’ll need all the energy you can get after mending a whole broken arm.” 

Izuku nodded slowly, taking the food and pulling it open with his teeth. So this was Recovery Girl… she was a bit shorter than he’d imagined. But this still didn’t explain what he was doing there. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” He greeted politely. “But I’m confused. What am I doing here?” 

The woman raised an eyebrow, probably expecting more of a reaction to her hero status, but nodded. “Toshinori-kun brought you here, called in a favour. He’s just in the kitchen, if you need him, though I suggest you rest a bit longer before trying to get up. You’ve been unconscious for several hours, and almost all your bones in your arm were at the very least fractured. I don’t know what that fool of a hero had you doing that caused this, but if you do it even just a couple more times, I don’t know how many times it can be healed before the damage becomes irreversible.” 

Izuku swallowed down the sudden bile, and forced himself to smile. He’d been out for hours? Good thing he’d told Shinsou he wouldn’t be available that day, or he would have never heard the end of it. “Thank you for doing this for me.” 

Shouzenji snorted. “Toshinori-kun didn’t really give me a lot of choice.” 

Izuku nodded, the rye tone the older hero used when talking about Yagi turning his smile more genuine. 

“I can imagine.” 

He rested for a few more hours, the pleasant breeze drifting in through the window and the background jazz radio lulling him to a restless doze. The next time he awoke, it was to Yagi sitting beside the bed, forehead creased in concern. He seemed to be deep in thought, but when he noticed Izuku watching him, he leant forward, lacing his fingers on his lap. “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired.” Izuku replied truthfully. He felt as if he’d woken up from a daytime nap, which he had, he supposed. His limbs felt heavy, but his mind was racing. “What time is it?” 

“Just after lunchtime.” The hero supplied. “I thought maybe I could take you out to get food, then drop you back home.” 

“You don’t need to--” 

“No, but I want to. Think of it as an apology for today. I should have been more prepared for that sort of outcome, and I’m sorry.”   

Good, I could have been seriously hurt. Izuku’s thought train paused, then amended, more seriously hurt. “Really, it’s fine. I don’t feel that bad, honest.” 

“Still, I’d like to get you lunch. Shouzenji-san offered to make us something, but I can tell I’ve already intruded enough for one day.” The older man laughed, and stood up to fetch Izuku’s shirt and jacket that had been folded on the dresser. He set them down on the chair, and turned towards the door. “Here, put these on and we can go.” 

Once he’d left, Izuku slipped out of bed, turning to arrange the sheets again before slipping on his shirt and hoodie, the fabric tight around the bandages on his arm. The rest of the house was similar to the room he’d been in, with warm tones and old fashioned upholstery. The door to the bedroom led out into a small hallway that led to an open-plan living room and kitchen area, where Recovery Girl and All Might were waiting for him. 

“Thank you again, Shouzenji-san.” Izuku said, bowing politely. She waved him off, but she was smiling. “Just be more careful next time,” She fixed Yagi with a pointed stare. “If there has to be a next time.” 

It was amusing, seeing the tall man cower before the woman less than half his size. The energy she exuded was powerful enough to make anyone in their right mind agree with her, and it was refreshing to see someone with common sense have any type of influence over the older man. 

They left with another final pointed look in All Might’s general direction, and an instruction to take the bandage off before his next shower, then reapply it at least once more, or until most of the bruising had faded. 

It was still strange, being in the Number One Hero’s car. When he wasn’t blasting himself over large distances or speeding around in his skilfully named “All-mobile”, the pro hero usually drove a plain, silver Subaru. It was so painfully normal, with its radio set to Present Mic’s station Put Your Hands Up, two furry dice hanging from the rearview vision mirror, and the perpetual smell of old man and the faintest hints of copper. 

The trip was short, All Might chattering inanely about this or that from the driver’s seat, and Izuku allowing himself to slip into autopilot as he nodded and ‘mhm’ed along while he let his mind drift, left arm up and leaning against the chill glass of the window. 

Yagi turned them down into an underground car park, before leading Izuku back up into the mall above, and down to a small, out-of-the-way restaurant tucked into the back near the restrooms and an empty hairdressers. Kamabyuki, was the name in dull neon lights above the open door. At Izuku’s raised eyebrow, the hero smiled and explained, “It might be small, but it’s private and the yakitori here is amazing.” 

They took a booth at the back, presumably for privacy, though they needn’t have bothered, as they were the only other people in the place, save for the owners, and an elderly couple up near the front. Izuku sat, unable to shake the feeling something was off. The usually open and unguarded man wouldn’t have chosen this table by accident, and Izuku had to clamp down on the urge to reach for his backpack, where his scissors rested snugly in the front pocket. 

All Might waited until they’d ordered before speaking again. Izuku hadn’t ordered anything substantial, his stomach twisted in too many knots to feel hungry. 

“I admit… I haven’t exactly told you everything.” Yagi began, shifting in his seat and lacing his fingers in front of him. He was clearly uncomfortable, which was slightly infuriating, since if he looked at how tense Izuku was he might realise that the boy in front of him wasn’t the actual problem here. 

“The quirk I passed on to you, it was made for a purpose. The man who had it, the first Holder, was originally quirkless.” 

As the meaning of the man’s words finally registered, Izuku felt himself instantly relax, the tension draining out of him in a relieving rush of amusement. So this is what he wanted to talk about? Though, Izuku supposed, this subject might actually be a big deal to literally anyone but him. It was ironic, —laughably ironic — how he of all people had ended up in this exact spot, sitting here and getting told this; that out of all the people on the damn earth, the Number One Hero had chosen him to be his successor. 

“They were among the first people born into the new age of quirks.” All Might continued sombrely, oblivious to Izuku’s bright hilarity, which he wasn’t even doing very much to hide. “His brother was born with a… unique quirk, that allowed him to take and accumulate other people’s quirks for himself. Since he lacked a quirk of his own, All For One, as he is called, gave him a quirk in hopes that he would join his side, despite his brother being opposed to his villainous ways. Little did he know, however, was that the first Holder actually did have a quirk, and the combination of both formed the one you have today, One For All.

“Though the brother was later killed in battle with All For One, he had managed to pass it on to the second Holder beforehand. They did, and me, and soon you, fight to end this man’s rein of terror once and for all. My mentor came close, and I got this injury from my battle with him five years ago. It is my hope that you can succeed where we all failed.” 

Distantly, Izuku realised that perhaps he should be having a slightly different reaction to this information. Drawing himself up, he blinked a few times, then cast wide eyes on the man across from him. “You think I can kill a hundreds of years old villain?” He asked, voice wavering just right. 

“As the quirk gets passed along, it also grows in strength! By now, it should be extremely powerful, and I have all confidence that you have what it takes within you, Young Midoriya. There is a fire inside you, and I don’t think even the fiercest of storms could put it out.” 

This time, Izuku blinked in genuine surprise, a bit taken aback by this. Maybe All Might wasn’t as imperceptive as he’d given him credit for? Just… mistaking that drive; finding purity in place of something he didn’t know to look for. 

The food came, smelling delicious now that Izuku was no longer uneasy. The waitress smiled indulgently when he ordered another dish, flashing his brightest, most boyish smile at her. 

Picking up his chopsticks, Izuku made a show of sighing, though if he was being honest perhaps it wasn’t so much a show — his arm was beginning to ache dully as the painkillers began to wear off, and he had to hold his cutlery in his left hand, making eating clumsy and difficult. 

“But I can’t even control this quirk.” He griped. “How am I supposed to get into UA, let alone fight, if I keep getting broken bones?” 

Yagi chuckled from around his chicken skewer. “Yes, I have been thinking about how best to help you with that. But I hope you know, failure isn’t failure unless you fail to learn from experience. I expect you to use every single broken bone as a lesson on how to improve, Midoriya-kun.” 

Izuku very thinly bit back a snarky remark. “I will.” Was all he said, instead. 

“Picture a glass of water. The more you train a vessel, or in this case a cup, the more you’ll be able to move the power — water — freely, without it spilling over the edge. Now that you’ve used it, it should be easy! You’ve already grasped the feeling — what was it like?” 

Izuku paused, puzzled by the question, and miffed at how casual Yagi seemed to be about the use of the quirk that literally broke his arm only hours before, before figuring that the hero probably meant literally, not metaphorically. He thought back to the feeling, the powerful mix of exhilaration and overwhelming pain. He shuddered. 

“Like an uncontrollable eruption, a volcano overflowing without any way to control it.” 

“Try to picture it in a more controlled environment?” All Might suggested, setting down his bowl of rice and reaching into the middle of the table for the napkins. “Perhaps turn the volcano into a trashcan and clamp down the lid, or an egg in a microwave.” 

Izuku closed his eyes, deciding maybe indulging his mentor would probably be the best idea for now. He imagined a little ball of power inside a microwave. “Then what?”

“Try lowering the wattage, or shortening the cooking time. Anything’s fine, just focus on the image of the egg not exploding.” He reached up to tap a finger against his forehead.

Izuku opened his eyes, the small, petty side of him annoyed at how logical that sounded. “That makes sense.” He admitted. 

The older man chuckled. “No need to sound so astonished, even I can have my moments.”  

Izuku laughed. “I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t.” He said. “No offence.”

“None taken.” 

Izuku looked up from his food to see the hero staring over at him with what might almost have been fondness, the soft lines by his eyes wrinkled, and smile warm in a way that made Izuku distinctly uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine any reality where All Might might feel caring towards him, even if that seemed to be exactly what was happening. Had Izuku unwittingly become someone special in the man’s life, despite the hero being only a blight on his own? Even with all his pent up hatred towards the man, the thought of one day being the one to end him, in one way all other, felt almost… rude. The contrast of such emotions no matter how karmic almost too much to bear. 

He smiled back, but it was a thin, strained little thing. “This food is really good,” was all he said. 

Yagi’s smile brightened. “I’ll have to bring you back sometime!” 

*****

Izuku had to wait a few days for the last of the bruising to fade before his mum let him out of her worried clutches and allowed him to go back to Dagobah beach. His arm still wasn’t fully healed, even Recovery Girl’s quirk unable to help the bruising that had appeared after the initial damage was repaired, but he could now safely use his right arm without gritting his teeth. 

It was earlier in the morning than he usually came, wanting to get in at least some training before Shinsou turned up and inevitably used logic and deductive reasoning to explain why constantly using a quirk that had the ability to really fuck up his body was, perhaps, a bad idea. 

A theory had been swimming around his head for the last few days he’d been cooped up inside (there was little reason going to school if he couldn’t even take notes) that he wanted to test, and hopefully he’d have enough time to patch himself up afterwards if things went sideways. 

Izuku toed off his shoes and ascended the stairs to the night-chilled sand below. A lump in his peripheral had him peering around the railing to see that the dummy, still pitifully shredded and missing its head, lent up against the wall. All Might must have left it in case he wanted to do more training, which was perhaps an oversight on his behalf: allowing Izuku to use his quirk without decent supervision. 

Hissing at the cold burn of the frigid sand beneath his bare soles, Izuku lifted the dummy and propped it upright, its back against the stretch of sand to his right, in case it decided to catapult like last time. He stepped back, then, and closed his eyes, breathing deep in some attempt at calming. The egg in the microwave image came to mind, and Izuku focussed on it, picturing his new powers as a spinning egg-shaped ball inside the appliance. Carefully, almost unsure if it would work, he reached out an imaginary hand and slowly began dialling up the heat. 

At first it seemed to be working, a small bubble of warmth welling up in his gut, and lazily snaking its way out and up his veins. Emboldened, Izuku turned it up a notch. Without warning, the bubble became a geyser, the metaphorical egg broken, and the rush of hot power was so overwhelming Izuku could only clench his jaw and shudder, the last of his willpower focussed solely on keeping upright. His mind was a blank static, a chaotic jumble of endorphins and searing pain. 

The pressure kept building, every new layer of warmth only making it harder to think, the power poison through his veins. Dimly, he could feel himself being shaken, eyes screwed shut and ears ringing too loud to hear anything but a dull roar. 

Channel… he had to channel something. Direct… something? It didn’t seem very important, whatever it was. The heat overtaking him was, however; a welcomed end to the pain in every part of his body. 

“-uku? Izuku!” 

Who was that? The voice seemed familiar, but he didn’t really care about placing it. It would shut up soon, anyway. 

“-me on, wake up! Don’t you fucking dare do this to me, you moro—”

Shinsou? What was he doing here? And why did he sound so… upset? 

Distantly, like it was someone else instead of him in his own body, Izuku could feel himself hit the ground, though the impact hadn’t been as hard as he’d been expecting. Phantom hands were all over him, pulling and wrapping around him, gripping him close. 

“You piece of shit, Izuku! I won’t let the first person I’ve ever fallen for die in front of me, that’s not fair. Don’t even think about it.” 

What? 

“C’mon, release the power, you idiot!” 

Oh… that’s right. He had to… let the power out. How had he forgotten? 

Sluggishly, Izuku raised his arm, body too numb to tell what he was doing but just knowing that he had to let it out. He could feel himself begin to fall, mind dipping dangerously into unconsciousness. With the last of his meagre willpower, Izuku pushed all of the heat up and out through his arm, uncaring of what he hit, if anything. 

The last thing he heard was a low boom. 

Consciousness was a slow and excruciating thing. He resisted as long as he could, but eventually the pull of the conscious world overpowered him. The first thing he felt was pain. Loud, unavoidable pain; his head throbbed, and he was tiredly resigned to the inevitability of a few chipped, possibly cracked teeth, probably from how hard he’d clenched his jaw. His whole body ached, tender in a way that only bruises and burns could manage, every minute movement excruciating. He… politely ignored his arm. Luckily, it was allowing him, the whole limb suspiciously numb. 

The next thing he felt were… arms around him? Good god, he hoped he hadn’t somehow found himself cradled in All Might’s lap — he might just end it right then and there, if so. He chose not to think about it too hard, which was surprisingly easy with how tired he still felt. 

Eventually, sound began filtering in. People were talking, or, more accurately, one person was talking and the other was mumbling affirmations every few minutes, clearly not listening. Izuku was content to just lie there, listening to the muffled voices and drift. Inevitably, though, he knew he had to get up. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that he probably needed to go to hospital. A small, vindictive side of him hoped that All Might would have to shoulder the bills. 

He breathed in, gathering the energy to quip, “I’m not in Yagi’s lap, am I?” Which in hindsight had been a mistake, because immediately the body beneath him jolted, arms unwrapping to hold him upright. Izuku hissed in pain. 

“Fuck, shit, sorry, oh god—” Came Shinsou’s panicky voice. Immediately, to Izuku’s embarrassment, his entire body relaxed. He didn’t want to think too deeply into exactly why the knowledge that his best friend was holding him made him feel suddenly secure. 

No longer worried about opening his eyes to All Might’s crusty face, though, he finally allowed his eyes to crack open, hissing again when the bright noonday light pierced his retinas. When the white specs cleared, Izuku was met with a blotchy, red-faced Shinsou, face scrunched up in thinly-veiled concern. 

“Hey,” Izuku croaked. 

Suddenly, the other boy’s face contorted in anger. “Hey? Hey? Do you know how reckless that was? You nearly died, you imbecile, and you’re saying ‘hey’?” 

Oops. Okay, so maybe Izuku wasn’t really used to having to worry if other people cared about what he did. His mother cared, of course, but this was different. Despite Shinsou’s anger, Izuku could feel himself smiling, a warm, fluttery feeling in his stomach momentarily cancelling out his multiple aches and pains. 

“Sorry.” Was all he said, but he was smiling, and he was pretty sure that his voice was a bit too happy for a proper apology. He couldn’t be bothered to care. 

There was a crunching noise behind him, and then All Might was kneeling next to Shinsou, face drawn and worried. “I’m glad to see you’re alright.” He said. Izuku snorted, then grunted as the jolt flared the phantom burns again. Shinsou glared at him. 

“He’s clearly not alright.” He spat. Izuku raised his eyebrows. Wow, okay, apparently livid, angry Shinsou was hot. 

“Yes.” The hero agreed. “The ambulance is on their way, though. There's not much I can do.” He turned to face Shinsou fully, eyebrows crinkling in a fake imitation of concern (or maybe Izuku was just bitter). “Again, I’m sorry you had to see that. You should never have had to be the one to find Young Midoriya like that.” 

“I'm glad I did,” the other boy retorted, “since you clearly wouldn’t have. Tell me, why on earth did you think it was a good idea for him to train his quirk without supervision? You know he can’t make responsible decisions like that for himself.” 

Izuku gave a weak grunt of protest, but his friend just shot him a you know I’m right look. Which, well. He wasn’t wrong but he didn’t need to say it out loud. 

The dull groan of sirens was drawing nearer, and Izuku allowed himself a moment to pray to whatever god was out there that his mother didn’t hear about this. The last time he’d been rushed to hospital, when he’d tripped and fallen down the stairs to their apartment, she’d nearly had a stroke. 

“I didn’t realise the toll his quirk would have on his untrained body.” Yagi admitted. “He’s never used it before, so—”

“Oh, quit the crap.” Shinsou snapped. “I know he just got it, so stop pretending otherwise. It’s your quirk, and you seriously didn’t see this coming?” 

All Might seemed momentarily stunned, before shaking himself and turning his inscrutable gaze on Izuku instead. Izuku roiled beneath it. 

“Young Midoriya must trust you more than I realised.” The hero murmured, almost to himself, before turning back to Shinsou. “Yes, it is my quirk, but you must realise it never effected me in this way — my mentor briefly mentioned how it had strained her in her first years of having it, but never spoke of it again after we realised it had little to no negative effects on me.” 

Shinsou huffed, but turned away from the older man, clearly done with the conversation. “Whatever. Just never fucking make the same mistake again, you hear me? If Izuku dies, you’ll have my father to deal with.” 

And wasn’t that sexy as fuck? Yagi looked confused, unable to understand the full implications of that threat, but that almost made it better. Izuku could feel his smile widening, and he closed his eyes, blocking out the two people crouched over him. Nearby, he could hear voices and slamming doors, then the sounds of several feet hurrying over sand. 

“Let him go, son, we’ll take care of him.”

“Wait, I’ll help—”

Izuku was lifted, jerkily but with care, onto a stretcher. He opened his eyes again, glancing down to where his friend still sat, looking a little lost now that Izuku was out of his hands. He glanced up at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern, but Izuku just flashed him a grin. He was gratified when the other boy’s shoulders slumped a bit in relief. 

The stairs were the tricky part, Izuku trying his best, in all his crippled glory, not to slip off the stretcher. He let his head loll, eyes widening when he noticed the pair of spilled take-away drinks dropped dejectedly on the ground by the pavement. The guilt he’d been trying to smother surged up in full force — the picture of his friend turning up with drinks (coffee for himself, hot chocolate for Izuku) only to find him basically having a seizure on the beach below, dropping the drinks in his panic and rushing down to him, made a big, uncomfortable lump appear in his throat. God, he had been a dick, hadn’t he? What sort of horrible person did that to their friend? 

Being inside an ambulance was always surreal, no matter how many times he managed to do it. The white walls and hushed voices encased him, a little box of his own, cut off from the rest of the world. 

Too soon however, he was unloaded and rushed through the ER. Izuku squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding lights, his nose wrinkling at the familiar but horrid smell of sanitiser and bleach. 

“Quirk overload—” Someone was saying. “Arm needs emergency surgery—” Another said. Izuku blocked them out, nothing to focus on but the steady throb of every bone in his body, desperately aching for someone who couldn’t be there. 

Eventually, a surgical room; the smell of bleach was stronger here, burning his nose. The light was directly above him, and no amount of squeezing his eyes could stop the feeling of his eyeballs being seared away. Distantly, he felt gentle, gloved hands on him, placing a mask over his face and telling him to count backwards from ten. He didn’t make it to three. 

*****

Izuku awoke, for the third time that day, in a crisp hospital bed. His mind was sluggish, and he was pretty sure he was on pain medication, because he felt pleasantly light, the pain from earlier dull and ignorable. 

He allowed himself to blink stupidly up at the ceiling for a few minutes, before the door to his room was rudely slammed open. 

“Izuku? Izuku, baby!” 

Ah. Fuck.

“Hey mum.” He muttered, not wanting to glance over to where she inevitably stood, jittery and red-eyed from crying, by his bed. 

“Izuku— what happened? The hospital called to say you were here! They said,” she let out a sob, “they said you needed emergency surgery?” 

Izuku sighed, allowing his brain to slowly filter through everything that had happened ever since he’d decided that apparently it would be a good idea if he tried using his quirk, that he’d only used once before with disastrous effects, by himself on a deserted beach. 

“Yeah.” He agreed. “I broke my arm pretty bad.” 

“And they said you had almost fatal quirk overuse?!”

“Yeah.” Izuku said, again. “I was stupid, tried to use it by myself without Yagi-san there.” 

There was no noise for a few seconds, before suddenly the sharp sting of his mother’s hand on his cheek had him flinching, eyes wide as he stared at his mother, who hardly ever raised her hand against him, and only then for good reason. She was trembling again, violently, and her eyes were streaming steadily as she stared, stony-faced at him. 

“Don’t you ever do something like that again.” She said, and Izuku was suddenly struck with the realisation that his mother could be scary. “I could have lost you, Izuku.” 

Izuku turned his face away, eyes scrunching up against the sight of his mother standing there, so fragile but so… disappointed.

“Don’t worry mum, you’re not the first person to have said that to me today.” 

“Shinsou found you,” Inko observed, voice suddenly gentle. It felt like whiplash, and somehow made him feel inconceivably worse. 

“Yeah. I don’t really remember what he said, I was pretty out of it.” God — he’d have to deal with Shinsou soon, wouldn’t he? He didn’t think he could deal with two people he loved disappointed in him. 

“I’m not surprised.” Came the curt reply, then, softer, “I’m glad he found you. I hate to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t been there.” 

Izuku sighed. “Sorry.” He meant it, this time. And he would, again, when he said it to Shinsou next time he saw him. 

He heard a sigh, then his mum was sitting down on his left side, eyes soft as she gazed down at him. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” She said. “But please, you hurt more than just yourself when you do things like this.” 

Izuku nodded. “I know, mum.” 

She smiled, leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead. “You better.” 

Izuku was being kept in hospital for another night, only being let home so soon because his doctor was a friend of his mother, from when they worked together in the EC unit a few years back. He trusted her to not let Izuku leave bed until he could return to school, which Izuku bemoaned: he’d only just gotten better, and now here he was, back on sick-leave. Just another testament to how much of a screw up he was, obviously. He was missing even more school, and no doubt Bakugou would have some… questions about his absence when he returned. 

“Your teachers understand your situation,” Inko had assured him, when he’d asked about homework. “They won’t grade you on things you missed, and won’t put it on your record. Don’t worry.”

Izuku had a suspicious feeling that they had, in fact, been planning to let him fall behind, but had quickly bent under the weight that was his mum’s sheer willpower and motherly retribution. 

The morning of the day he was allowed to leave the hospital, there was a soft knock on the curtain that separated him from the rest of the ward. Izuku blinked his eyes open, heart dropping in a rare breed of nervousness he hadn’t felt in years when he recognised the outline of the person beyond. 

“I’m awake.” He said, though, instead of pretending otherwise, because he was many things but a coward wasn’t one of them. 

The curtain slid aside and his friend stepped inside, pulling the curtain back closed behind him before making his way over to the seat beside the bed. He dropped down into it, letting his bag sag down to the floor at his feet. 

“Hey,” He said, and Izuku knew his small smirk was him feeling some sort of petty revenge for the other day. 

“You came?” Izuku asked, not liking the hesitance in his voice. 

The other boy rolled his eyes. “Of course I came.” 

Izuku shrugged. “I thought you were angry.” 

Beside him, Shinsou huffed a laugh. “Oh, I am. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to come.” He smiled up at Izuku, hands stimming nervously with the cloth of his pants. “I wanted to ask, uh, how much you remembered from the other day?” 

“Bits and pieces. I was pretty out of it. I’m sorry you had to find me like that.” 

Shinsou sighed. “Yeah, well. Just don’t do it again and I’ll think about forgiving you.” 

What a strange thing it was, having someone angry at you because they cared about you. What a privilege Izuku had, to be forgiven. To be forgiven by someone who was only mad at him in the first place because he didn’t want to lose him. 

Caring hurt, didn’t it? 

“I won’t.” He promised, and perhaps this time he meant it. 

“So… you really don’t remember much?” The other boy hedged, clearly still worried.   

“Not all of it.” Izuku frowned. “Why, what happened?” 

He watched as his friend's shoulders sagged, though whether it was in relief or disappointment, he couldn’t tell. It left him feeling oddly upset — what had he forgotten? What had happened that was so important that Shinsou couldn’t tell him again?

“Well,” Shinsou said, smiling returning with the change of subject. “You’ll never guess what happened in class yesterday…”

*****

Izuku was discharged later that day, arm in a sling and bag full of prescription pain medication in case his arm stopped feeling numb (apparently splintered bones carefully pieced back together hurt like a bitch for several weeks afterwards, who would have thought).  

His mum came to pick him up, fussing over him to keep his arm still as he got in the car.

The ride back home was suitably awkward, despite the radio blaring some nonsense about the latest hero charity event or some such. His mum kept her gaze on the road, resolutely away from her son’s arm, and Izuku gazed out the window at nothing in particular, kind of wishing he was in his room already, away from tired, worried eyes. 

They pulled up outside the house in silence, and ascended the stairs in silence. Once Izuku was inside, Inko only had a few seconds to yell, “You’ll be helping me with dinner, injured or not young man,” before he scurried off and disappeared behind his door, heaving a breath of relief once the slab of wood was between him and his mother.