Archive of Our Own

Hizashi’s soulmark had been with him since his birth, a sure sign that his soulmate was older than him. Of course, since he was the younger one, he couldn’t know how much older — but large age gaps were super uncommon! Usually they’d only be found in familial bonds, or the rare circumstance where a soulmate died really early in life and another bond formed later on. Hizashi was most certainly not dead, and he’d already checked his soulmark with all of his relatives, so it definitely wasn’t a familial bond either. Which meant it had to be pretty close in age, and Hizashi couldn’t imagine anyone he’d want as a soulmate more than Shōta.

“Wait, whaddya mean your birthday is in November?!”

Shōta looks at him oddly across the cafeteria table, a juice box half-forgotten in one hand. “I... mean that I was born in November?”

Hizashi gapes. “But I— Shōta, we’ve known each other for almost three years, why did it take this long for you to tell me?!”

“Why did it take you this long to figure out?”

“I thought—“ The realization sinks like lead in the pit of Hizashi’s stomach, and he suddenly doesn’t feel hungry anymore. November — that’s four months after Hizashi’s birthday. After, meaning that Shōta is younger than him. Meaning— “—I thought maybe you were my soulmate, y’know? But you’re not— I already had mine, so it can’t be—“

A flash of something crossed Shōta’s face and he sighed, heavy and tired. “No, sorry. I’m not.”

"Oh." Hizashi tries not to feel too disappointed. "Do you— do you know who yours is? I'm not— not asking because I'm jealous or anything! Just curious, I swear!"

"I don't, and I don't want to."

That something is back on Shōta’s face, and Hizashi doesn't get it. Why would you not want to know your soulmate? "How come?"

In lieu of an answer, Shōta glances around the cafeteria as though to make sure they aren't being observed, before leaning in and pulling his bangs out of his eyes. Hizashi's about to wonder why, but then he notices it — a pale, indistinct marking painted along Shōta’s right cheek, curling down beneath his eye and along his jaw, reaching up past his temple. It had been practically invisible when shadowed by hair, but in the bare light of the fluorescent lights it's undeniable. A soulmark. How did he never notice it before?

"This appeared during our first year."

Huh. "So they're what— two now?"

Shōta groans, letting his hair flop back into his eyes and taking a remorseful sip of his juice. "Yeah. And it's not familial — obviously, I don't have any kids, or nieces or nephews or anything else. Sure love how the universe apparently just decided to make me some gross old man without my consent."

Around a mouthful of rice (waste not, want not, and Mom's onigiri are really good), Hizashi considers that. "Hey, what if you end up teaching? It could be a student of yours!"

"That would be worse."

The mark darkens over the next few years, the shapes solidifying and expanding as Shōta’s mystery soulmate reaches three, four, five, and onward. Typically, marks won't solidify until around four years old — in the past, records show that marks could take until seven to properly manifest, but the emergence of Quirks seems to have tied them to the same genetic timeline. Shōta begins wearing mark cover-up at every waking (and sleeping) hour, only washing it off during showers.

Hizashi gets it, he really does. Underground heroics is no joke, and a facial mark is a bitch to deal with even for a civilian.

Still, he can't help but think about a lonely child somewhere, who's going to eventually start wondering why their other person doesn't want to find them. And sure, maybe he's projecting a little bit (a lot), but— well, it seems like an awful lot of disappointment to wish on some innocent kid. (And even more loneliness to heap on his best friend, who's already lost too much).

Nobody is sure why soulmarks appear as plants. They’ve been that way since the dawn of humanity’s memory, and most scientists and philosophers have simply abandoned exploration of the phenomena in favor of more interesting and cutting-edge concepts by now. Perhaps the plants played a role in early human civilization, indicating not only soulmates but also the tasks or professions a person was most suited towards. In the modern day, the most predominant belief is that the marks represent either a trait that both mates share, or a defining characteristic of the relationship as a whole. 

This of course makes for some biases and assumptions, despite the fact that mark-meanings are about as much of a science as Western astrology. Predatory groomers will always target children with cactus flowers first, tiger lily marks are often burdened by overwhelming expectations, and naturally anyone is envious of someone with a red rose blooming on their skin.

Not that any of those mean anything, in the end. Hanakotoba is so general, any flower or color can be interpreted in innumerable ways, so the assumptions almost always amount to nonsense.

That never stops kids from bragging on the playground, those with their marks bragging and those without conferring amongst themselves over what they hope for. Kacchan has always been especially loud, boasting how the red-lined peonies blooming over his right palm must mean he’s going to be a super strong hero with a super strong partner. Peonies are for bravery, after all — everyone knows that, since lots of pro heroes have peony marks. The stalks of lavender blooming between them, softer and almost golden in hue, rarely warrant further discussion. Having combinations of two or even three flower types in a mark is common, but there will usually be one that remains dominant. 

For what it’s worth, Izuku thinks the lavender is probably the nicest part of Kacchan’s mark. Sure, bravery is cool — he wants to be a hero too, so he understands. But faithfulness, having someone who’s always going to be there for you — that sounds like what a soulmate should be.

Izuku’s enough of a Heroics fan to know that being the soulmate of a pro hero can often mean a lot of really unhappy endings. Sometimes, he wonders if lots of heroes have peonies because their soulmates have to be really brave to cope with all of the stuff they go through. He’s done his research, he knows what PTSD is. Knows that the rates of casualties, fatal or otherwise, go up when heroes' soulmates are public knowledge — because a soulmate is a weakness, is an easy way to manipulate a hero, is a conflict of interest in the field and thus a way for villains to seed chaos further than before.

Sometimes, he finds himself running light fingers over the flowers blooming along his temples and down his cheekbones, and apologizing.

Even knowing the facts, he still wants to be a hero. Wants to save people, and maybe that'll mean saving his soulmates too. If they're ever in danger, because of him or because of something else — he wants to be a hero who can save them with a big smile and a bigger heart.

Nobody's ever believed him when he says that he has two. Even though Mom said he was born with half his flowers already stark and defined while the rest didn't begin to fade in until over half a year later, even though more than three kinds of flowers is really uncommon and even though there's proof that people can have more than one. Kacchan's always said it's just because he's a freak. Mom thinks maybe his soulmate had bad health, and maybe it just took a while for them to really settle. The doctors just look at the black circle on his medical records and say he's quirkless, so maybe that sort of thing is just what he gets. Don't worry, kid, just because you don't have a quirk doesn't mean your soulmate isn't there. It's just abnormal, that's all.

(Because you're broken in one way, why wouldn't you be broken in another?)

But Izuku knows. He knows there's two, that the morning glories belong to a different person than the chrysanthemum, knows that one of them is older than him and one is younger. Knows that he already loves them both, one way or another. Ruffly petals poke out from behind some of the flowers, but Izuku can't tell yet what they are — maybe those are the ones that represent him? The clovers must belong to one of the others (because surely, surely they wouldn't be his, Izuku's not lucky).

(In fact, he's the opposite).

(He hopes they'll still want him, once they know).

The Quirk Apprehension tests on his first day at U.A. are like an explosion of color.

Everywhere Izuku looks, there are brilliant splashes of ikebana painted on skin, so many soulmarks bared and open for the world to see. For a moment, he regrets the cover-up Mom taught him how to apply back when he was nine years old and tired of people staring at his face whenever they went outside. What must it be like, to wear your soulmarks with so much courage? It's incredible.

The girl with the brown hair and rosy cheeks who helped him during the exam — Uraraka — has a bouquet of violets on one bicep. Izuku sees the flash of color under her sleeve when she winds up for the ball throw, and wonders if there are any other flowers beneath the purple petals. There are hydrangeas blooming around the exhaust ports in Iida's calves, petals shaded an unusually deep blue at the tips. Kacchan's there, of course, with his vivid peonies and stalks of lavender that've crept around his wrist. Red flowers bloom on the inside of Ashido's right arm, large pink blossoms decorate the back of Shōji’s shoulder, and there are frilly petals visible under Yaoyorozu's jacket when she pulls the hem up to use her quirk.

As far as Izuku can tell, he's the only one with a facial mark in the class. The boy with the red-and-white hair, Todoroki, has what at first seems like a mark but turns out to be a painful-looking scar, covering his left eye and stretching along the side of his cheek. It's only a little horrifying, thinking about what could have caused such a scar to form.

Their teacher seems really strict too, plenty intimidating with just the black jumpsuit and dark hair nearly obscuring his eyes, and that's before his quirk flares up and Izuku realizes they're being taught by one of the most infamous underground pro heroes. Eraserhead makes for kind of a scary teacher, which totally corroborates with the reports Izuku's scrounged up from the villains he's arrested. No-nonsense, efficient and brutal, and doing it all effectively quirkless. In hindsight, there's a lot Izuku could have tried to learn from him, even without being in the guy's homeroom class.

Like how to lie with a straight face, as it turns out.

... Well, it's not as though that isn't a useful skill to have. Izuku knows quite well just how much of an open book he is, which — while not something he's ashamed of, for once — won't be very practical in the long run if he wants to succeed in heroics. It's fine to cry in front of All Might, or his mom, but crying in front of villains won't do him any good.

Plus, sometimes, reassuring civilians means putting on a big smile and hiding the truth, if that truth is 'I'm bleeding out' or 'I don't know if it'll be okay, actually' or 'I'm scared'. Isn't that how it goes?

There and then, watching Eraserhead — Aizawa-sensei — grin wide at the class's surprised expense, Izuku vows to learn as much from his new homeroom teacher as he learned from All Might. Maybe even a little bit more, because if he's being totally honest, All Might hasn't actually taught him much so far (which is still outweighed by everything he has done, of course).

Somehow, it just feels like the right choice to make.

Shōta can already feel a headache beginning to press behind his eyes as he lets the newest class go for the day. They're a solid group, chock-full of potential and energy, young and untrained and just waiting for the guidance they'll need to become yet another generation of heroes and saviors and soldiers and sacrifices. And yet, their problems have wasted no time waiting to express themselves.

Remind him why he took up Nemuri's offer, again?

Going by their files, Aoyama and Kaminari are the most in need of one-on-one quirk counseling and training, to mitigate the effects their abilities have on their bodies and minds. Perhaps Uraraka as well, though she at least seems marginally more aware of her limits and how to mind them. Kōda, Tokoyami, and Yaoyorozu, on the other hand, will need more confidence in their quirk use, each for completely different reasons. Not to mention the obvious behavioral... issues that he'll need to address with Mineta.

Granted, some of the students should be relatively straightforward to handle. Many of them are starting from a stable, malleable position, and for them Shōta figures the usual regimes of quirk training, physical training, and logistical work should be a good place to start. Understandably, most of the students in said group are mutation- or transformation-quirk users, who naturally will have more of a grounding and comfort in their quirk and how to use it than pure emitter quirks. Kirishima and Asui in particular have good levels of engagement and comfort with their abilities, so while Shōta will by no means ignore them, he can at least worry about their development a little less. For now.

And, of course, there are those students who need to be worried over right away. Shōta groans, pinching fingers against the bridge of his nose as he thinks over possibly the three most powerful students in his class.

Bakugō. Todoroki. Midoriya. Problem children, all of them.

Bakugō's issues, at least, are highly visible. The boy has an powerful ego and a powerful quirk that he exhibits total confidence in, which in and of itself is not a bad thing. However, it's clear that he has been allowed to grow and develop that confidence without even the most remote amount of restrictions or guidance, particularly from authority figures. He responds to the slightest provocation as though it is a personal attack, from peers and teachers alike, and has allowed himself to dismiss the apparent majority of the world as being 'beneath him'. Whether that particular issue is merely ego, or an expression of some deeper insecurity, Shōta can't tell so soon.

Regardless, he'll give Bakugō two weeks for observation, and if the boy's aggression doesn't resolve itself he'll have to assign mandatory anger counseling. A Pro Hero simply cannot be afforded the loose rein on anger that Bakugō currently displays, especially not when it is directed so indiscriminately.

Of course, as per Shōta's luck, Todoroki seems to have the opposite type of problem. He is every inch as powerful and prepared as Bakugō, both in quirk and physical fitness, but displays none of the comfort and confidence of his classmate. Endeavor's youngest son is closed-off and restrained to a degree that Shōta, from personal experience, would label as 'repressive'. Disconnected from his classmates, from the material being taught, and possibly from his own emotional state — clearly a recipe for disaster. And that's without mentioning the utter lack of the boy's pyrokinesis abilities, which — when taken in conjunction with his tightly-reined control of his ice — can't be anything but conscious and willful suppression.

Todoroki's case will likely be more difficult than Bakugō's, as Shōta has a sinking feeling that he, unlike Bakugō, is fully aware of the problems he's displayed thus far. Teaching awareness of issues is one thing, but convincing Todoroki to change behaviors that — if Shōta's suspicions are correct — serve as deeply-ingrained coping mechanisms... problem children, indeed.

And that's without even touching the last Problem Child, who Shōta just knows will earn the emphasized title sooner rather than later.

Midoriya Izuku is, by all accounts, an anomaly. Registered with a quirk listed as nothing more than 'Superpower' that appears, for all intents and purposes, to be a standard strength-enhancement power, and yet the boy couldn't more clearly have no control over his ability. Or rather, he has the level of control Shōta might expect of a kindergartner — first grader if he's in the mood for generosity (and he's not). Shōta would have expelled him on principle, if Midoriya hadn't demonstrated remarkably quick thinking, as well as a determined adaptability that Shōta is always pleasantly surprised to see in students.

Even putting aside the matter of his quirk, there is something... off, about Midoriya. After a single lesson, Shōta can already tell that they boy is exceedingly bright when it comes to problem-solving, situational analysis, and strategic planning, and he has a feeling Midoriya's other teachers will corroborate the point at the next scheduled staff meeting.

Yet, in spite of his clear intelligence and powerful (if horrendously untrained) quirk, Midoriya has some of the worst self-confidence Shōta has ever seen in a student. Over the course of the quirk apprehension tests, it was made clear to Shōta that Midoriya has little-to-no trust for those around him, for himself, or for his own power and capabilities. It's not a mistrust borne of suspicion, because Shōta's seen that too and knows the signs — no, Midoriya's mistrust is wide-eyed and perpetually waiting to be proven wrong, and Shōta — quite frankly — hasn't a clue how to approach fixing that issue.

God, save him from these problem children.

After the last bell for the day, Shōta slips into the staff restroom, downs an aspirin, and double-checks that none of his mark cover-up has gotten rubbed off. It's a near-daily ritual — the check, not the aspirin — and none of his co-workers look twice when he re-emerges. At this point, the only members of the U.A. staff who would know about his mark are Hizashi and Nemuri, though Shōta expects that Principal Nedzu likely knows everything about everyone under his employ, and secrets should be considered null and void where he's concerned.

It's extra important to keep it covered, now more than ever, because Shōta's soulmate should be fifteen this year. If there's even the slightest chance they're a student at U.A. — he absolutely cannot let them know. Not on pain of death.

Some people (ahem, Hizashi) might say it's cruel to intentionally deny a soulmate contact, but Shōta has very little energy left to care. Whoever is represented by the flowers on his face — peonies for bravery, clovers for luck, morning glories for promises — they clearly already have enough good in their life, so there's no reason they'd need Shōta. (Because none of those flowers can represent him — he's not brave, he's certainly not lucky. Promises are antithetical to his lifestyle, as someone who never says that which he cannot fulfill). And his life isn't a good one for connections — underground heroics have a higher mortality rate than daylighters, after all.

For his own sake, for the sake of whatever poor kid got saddled with a connection to his soul — it's better for both of them if they never, ever meet.