Chapter Text
It was raining outside.
Steady, thrumming sound of droplets hitting the roof seemed to go on forever.
He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, waiting. It was not the time to get up yet, but he wasn’t going back to sleep. The only other sound coming from around him was the clock ticking on the wall, making a tiny sound each time the hand moved a second forward. Then another, and another, a steady rhythm almost like a slow heartbeat.
Pale fingers reach out towards the nightstand, carefully picking up the phone and bringing it to his field of vision, checking the time. The clock on the wall was too far away, it was too dark to see. It was only 5.30, he had at least hour before he needed to get up and go downstairs. Lowering the phone and it’s glaring light away from his face, the pale figure breathes in and out slowly. Red eyes slide shut as he listens to the sound of rain, and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.
There were noises, whispers in his head.
They were always there in varying volume, he was used to them by now.
Sitting up, he rolls his shoulders lightly, noting his neck felt stuck; he’d slept in a bad position again, huh? Slowly, he slips out of bed with his bare feet touching the cool floor, making the pale young man grimace slightly. It was always cold in the morning, even putting down rugs didn’t help. In a way he didn’t care; the cold reminded him that he was still alive, that he was in control.
Pacing across the empty space of his small apartment he called home, the pale figure reaches the bathroom door, opening it. The hinges let out a soft squeak and he slips in, not bothering to turn on the light.
He could see perfectly in the dark, like a cat stalking its prey in the dark of the night. Walking to the sink, he turns the faucet, watching water run down the drain in a steady stream as he waits for it to cool a little more. Hands resting on the cold porcelain surface, he kept some fingers lifted, even if he no longer had to. It was an ages old habit, something he would probably never shake. Eventually he bends his head down, washing his face to get rid of last bits of sleep from his eyes. The young man stays there for a moment with his head hanging low, pale white strands of hair brushing against the sink, somehow looking whiter than the porcelain sink itself.
He knew what he’d see once he’d look up, to the mirror.
He could feel it already.
There were whispers in his head, quiet, distant voices he didn’t recognize.
All but one.
One voice stood above all, drowning out everything else when it spoke, leaving him alone in silence with it.
A voice so familiar yet alien the same time, something he’d heard so many times, yet not realized it. A voice in the back of his mind he hadn't known wasn't his for the longest time.
”It’s early.”
The echo reaches his ears and he lifts his head finally, still leaning against the sink as red eyes focus on the mirror. A familiar, pale face greets him, with the blood red eyes, the scars, the never-ending frown of his brow that refused to leave. The bitter venom dripping from his gaze, bleeding into his snarling voice as he addresses the figure sitting at the edge of his bathtub. A figure only he could see.
”No shit. Tell ’em to pipe down.”
”I can’t. You’re in charge, remember?”
The figure smirks at him amused, a smile that hadn’t changed even after the figure had reached adulthood. Only grown more devious and malignant in time. This spirit was younger in shape and mind, mostly free of that devilishness, but the similarity was undeniable.
”I don’t know how.”
”I don’t know either. He never bothered to learn.”
The pale figure snorts and closes his eyes for a moment, before opening them again and stepping back from the sink, reaching for the equally reflective doorknob in the mirror to open the cabinet. Brushing teeth was something he still struggled to do, after so many years of not caring for his hygiene. He tried, though. If nothing then out of spite.
”Kurogiri is not even awake yet. He awakens precisely the same time everyday.”
”I know. He’s....predictable like that.”
Tomura muses out as he starts brushing his teeth, kind of hating the strong mint flavor coating his mouth. All the other flavors he’d tried were worse, however. The figure remains still in the mirror, watching him from behind the messy white hair. A scoundrel of a kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen; one would’ve mistaken him for any other rebellious teen hanging late out in the streets had they seen him. Only Tomura knew who he actually was, who this kid became.
”You should try the sleeping pills, if the echoes bother you so much. It helps.”
It was a suggestion made in kind, but it was hard for him to take it that way.
It would always be.
He spits the excessive toothpaste out of his mouth, eventually putting everything away and walking out of the bathroom quietly.
The rain was still hitting the window hard, and red eyes watch the droplets slide down its surface, eventually whisked away by the wind.
The clock still ticked on the wall, counting seconds to the next minute, the next hour. He stood there in silence, tempted to just go back to bed. Tomura knew he wouldn’t fall asleep however, it would be a waste of time to try. Instead, he opens the door to the living room and kitchen space, walking to the counter and bringing out supplies for coffee. The room door for Kurogiri’s chambers were still closed. Going there was pointless; he would not wake up until 6 AM. Only emergencies could stir him from his slumber, and him having another insomniac episode was not one of them. Pouring himself a cup, Tomura turns, able to see the boy’s wispy form now sitting atop a drawer in the corner, hands slipped in his hoodie pockets.
One could’ve mistaken them for siblings, maybe, but the truth was far more complicated and sinister.
”I know you don’t like listening to me - for a good reason - but really. You need rest, you’ve slept poorly for the past days.”
Tomura just sips his coffee, checking his phone he’d picked up earlier from the nightstand. The news were always the same, nothing but hero nonsense of varying levels, both positive and negative in tone. The positive was often about the same hero, that one person whose public trust hadn't waned even in these turbulent times. A hero he didn’t even know how to feel about anymore.
It was all so...empty. So exhausting.
”Since you’re awake, I suppose you could go prepare for the opening for today. Exams are coming, so plenty of students will likely visit.”
”I’m aware.”
He hums and drinks his coffee some more, admittedly eager to go downstairs. The space below felt like a safe haven almost, where he was able to just not care about the outside world, surrounded by nothing but tales, both fictional and fact. Words printed on thousands and thousands of pages, worlds to get lost in, so he did not have to care about the real one. Of course, he did have to deal with people coming into his space, but that was fine. He did not like people much, but he liked to observe them.
From nervous and stressed students, to older people just coming there in search of peace and quiet, like him.
It seemed like another library, similar to many with its books, reading corners, computer section and everything, but it was special. People did not understand why, though. All they knew was that one did not dare to disturb anybody in it. As soon as they stepped in, the visitors would just know. The bookkeeper of this quiet place did not like nosy customers.
After all, being noisy in a library was a sin.
”There may be some of those students as well; this might be the only public place they don’t get hassled in nowadays. Granted, most tend to not wear their uniforms if they can help it.”
Tomura snorts, drinking his coffee some more; what did it matter? He did not care who stepped in the library, be it a hero, a hero student, a villain, a criminal. As long as they followed the house rules, they’d be left in peace.
”Ahh. I suppose you don’t care. The outside world doesn’t matter anymore, does it? All that chaos you inadvertently caused, it’s nothing. Just sand running down between your fingertips.”
The pale apparition chuckles at him, making Tomura lower his cup, red gaze zeroing in on the boy.
”You made me like this. You orchestrated it.”
”I didn’t. He did. We were both trapped in a way, remember?”
Tomura didn’t feel like arguing this point; it was far too complicated to be dealing with so early in the morning. Instead, he swiftly picks up a knife from the kitchen rack, throwing it at the figure without warning. It passes through the ghost harmlessly and sticks against the wall behind him. The action does make his form fade a little though, an amused smile dancing on the teen’s pale features.
"Rude.”
With that, the ghostly teen was gone, at least for now.
He’d appear back, he always did, but for now Tomura’s head was quiet. Kurogiri would complain about the knife again, they had a lot of holes in the walls and furniture. He just drinks down rest of his coffee and goes back to his bedroom in order to dress up and head downstairs, leaving the sharp weapon sticking out of the wall.
The library would open its doors to visitors soon.
7 AM on the clock, he unlocks the library doors, watching the rain outside hit the pavement for a while. Most of the time the first visitors wouldn’t show up until 8 AM; mostly old people, sometimes students. He had an hour to kill, wandering back into the depths of the shelf labyrinth, just checking through everything. Kurogiri was in the tech section, checking through everything to make sure they were in working order. Computers, printers, scanners, some people would be surprised how libraries held so many more things than just books. The only thing this place didn’t have was a cafeteria, for he had no interest in providing one. There was a section where one could bring their own lunch.
Anyone using it knew to clean after themselves, lest they wanted to feel his glare at the back of their heads, haunting their nightmares for the next few days.
Literally.
Making noise in a library was a sin.
Dirtying places up with your food was also inexcusable.
They were all unsaid rules, but majority of the visitors in this quiet place knew the follow them. They didn’t know what compelled them to do so, shucking it to the shoulders of social pressure. Perhaps that had an effect, but in truth it was something far more terrifying, something only their subconscious understood.
If you did not behave in this library, you would never get out.
Or so people felt like, feeling him lurking around the shelves, keeping an eye on you while you visited. Despite this strange unease people felt, they still came, for this library held things no other place did. Stories and materials not available in other libraries, old articles from newspapers eons past, things no longer being printed or published. It was a very special collection in a way, and entirely unsurprising to him. This place had been created and filled with things by a very 'special' man after all.
As he steps back out to the main lounge area, checking over the couches to see if any visitor from yesterday forgot anything, the door creaks open, making him look up towards the sound. Visitors this early was rare, so he tended to take a note of it. Rare visitors like this, they usually were of shadier kind. Those who knew the kind of secrets this place had stored in it, old materials that were buried from the eyes of the public, even the eyes of their leaders sometimes.
He was selective of whom he handed these things for.
Tomura had no interest in this game anymore, the politics of it all, the constant anger and fury it created within him.
He was tired, he just wanted to be left in peace.
The visitor was new, sharp eyes peering around the place, their blue hue so vibrant it almost looked like his eyes were glowing. It wasn’t exactly impressive sight to him, however; his eyes were often the first thing people saw in the dark when he slipped towards them. The stranger glances at him, scarf mostly hiding his face from view. Tomura could spot scars and stitches, the young man’s face was like a patchwork of burnt and healthy skin. Definitely one of the darker side, a street rat or maybe something more. He snorts and turns his back to the visitor, heading towards the counter. If this scoundrel wanted something special, he’d come find him. They always did.
The figure watches him go before disappearing into the corridors between the shelves, seemingly heading for the history section. Red eyes watch him disappear from sight, before turning to look back at Kurogiri who’d returned to the counter. The mist figure doesn’t bring up the knife sticking from the wall he’d likely found when waking up, having had this conversation far too many times to not realize it was pointless.
”An early visitor? My, we haven’t had one since last month.”
”Looks like an underworld street rat or something. Didn’t approach me yet.”
”Could just be a youth with unusual fashion sense. There are a lot of those nowadays. What are they called? Goblins?”
”Goths. Goth and Emo subcultures have existed for a while, Kurogiri.”
Tomura points out even as he checks through the computer, for any upcoming or late returns. The list for late ones was always short, people didn’t dare to gain his ire by returning something late. His glare was probably far more upsetting than having to pay a late fee.
If only they knew.
They were better off not knowing.
”Ah, fair. I wonder how many students will show up today? Don’t they have exams soon?”
Tomura hums as he reads through the listing; there were couple of things due today from some hero students. Making a note of those brats was an old habit, completely irrelevant information to this new life he’d build. Old habits died hard as one said.
"Perhaps...we'll even see some hero students. Not that they'd expose their identity that easily nowadays."
”Some may show up, the first years at least. They have theoretical exams ahead of 'em.”
”.....Have you looked into what kind we’re talking about this time around?”
”Why should I? They’re all the same. Arrogant, loud, blinded by their hero worship, going to that damned school when the world around them is crumbling to pieces. Even the doubt of citizenry did nothing to lessen it.”
It was a lie, of course he’d taken a peek.
Like said, old habits died hard.
There wasn’t much anything of interest in that new list of students, same old with flashy powers, brats from influential families, all spoiled little children who had no idea of the rotting foundation their feet stood on, or rather, refusing to see it rot in front of their eyes. Even with the public rising their doubts, voicing their unease and mistrust, it didn’t do much. It was almost like the ’heroes’ were too scared to face what they had themselves created.
It was none of his business, not anymore.
He was tired.
”Are you not curious?”
There he was again, sitting atop the counter next to him. He was back sooner than Tomura had expected, not that he cared honestly. Kurogiri had wandered off somewhere, perhaps to keep an eye on their new visitor. He was alone with the ghost now, refusing to look at him.
”About what?”
”About that new face. Usually a new face means something.”
Tomura snorts, pushing back in his chair and getting up, checking through the cart for returned books he hadn’t put back in place yesterday yet. The ghost’s eyes watch his every step, they always did, following him as he brings some of the books back to the nearby shelves. Turning back, Tomura watches the ghost for a moment, sitting there with his back turned to him.
His red gaze fixates briefly on the image at the back of his hoodie once again; a blood red pattern, it looked almost embroidered into the canvas, except it was glowing. Glowing and cracking slowly from the bottom, unraveling and distorting the bizarre mechanical skull-like shape bit by bit everyday. If he was lucky, it’d eventually be gone completely.
This ghost would be gone for good as well, no need to listen to his comments anymore.
They pissed him off, they were so conflicting.
This damned ghost was so conflicting.
”I wonder. He has a fire quirk. You likely noticed already?”
”Naturally.”
Tomura walks back and checks through the books again, noting some were from the history section. It was far from the counter, but the ghost’s words had irritably piqued his interest; what was this patchwork man doing here? Tomura picks up the books and slips between the rows of bookshelves, heading to where he knew that strange young man was. He passes by Kurogiri who was rearranging some books somewhere, probably to put them back in order after some students had hastily put them back.
Entering to another more circular area with seats and tables for reading, the stranger sat in one of them, blue gaze focused on a book now.
Nothing unusual as of yet; he was being quiet, following the unsaid rules.
Tomura watches the young man read for a while, before heading to the shelves the books he had were from. Kurogiri could be right, it could just be a strange fashion sense. His gut instinct told him that wasn’t it however, and his gut was rarely wrong.
”He’s watching you. I can tell.”
Tomura doesn’t respond, just continues slipping the books back into their correct spots, dragging his finger over their backs to make sure everything was in order. He was very meticulous about these things; after so much chaos, so little say over his life, he wanted to be the one in control.
”I wonder what he’s reading?”
”Why don’t you take a look?”
Tomura mutters out under his breath, glancing at the stranger who’d lowered his gaze quickly back to his book again, confirming what his ghost had observed.
”Ahh, you know that is not how this works. I can only see and sense what you do, be it conscious or subconscious. I can’t read the words unless you read his mind.”
The ghost reminds him amused, making Tomura roll his eyes. He of course knew this, his companion was a peculiar entity, but had his limits.
Red eyes glance at their visitor once more, before heading back to the counter, where Kurogiri had returned to. He was now also picking up returned books, to bring them to their rightful places. He was humming a tune, a song Tomura recalled from his childhood. The song was one arguably good memory of that past, giving him a shred of comfort even when he hadn’t realized it.
”I can finish the rest of this young Tomura; you should go upstairs and eat the breakfast I made before coming down here.”
”....Fine. Let me know if our visitor acts funny.”
”Of course.”
Hidden in the shadows of some shelves, blue eyes watch the figure disappear through a door with words ’staff only’ written on it, having followed him as he headed back to the front. The misty figure remains behind, still humming that same tune as he continues arranging returned books and bringing them to their rightful places. He’d caught it only briefly, whispered mutters somewhere behind him where one couldn’t discern the words, but that was enough.
He’d found what he was looking for; the rumors had led him to the right place.
Watching the misty figure disappear behind the shelves, the lonesome visitor paces back to his seat, the book still splayed open, the text on them mostly gone unread. He was not here for the books, what he as searching for was something more...lively and dead the same time. It had been difficult to discern fact from fiction of all those stories, but it did seem the general description from those rumors matched. Eyes made of blood, silvery white strands. Muses to himself when no one is looking, as if possessed by spirits or just pure insanity.
Dabi had to admit, he had expected the 'Calamity of Deika' to be someone larger, more intimidating at first glance.
Yet, he could sense it in his bones; that pale young man, clad in baggy black clothing held immense power in his fingertips, hidden away from the world’s eyes.
The world was too blind, too ignorant to know where to look, but he did.
The stitched figure smirks lightly, turning the pages as he pretends to read, feeling the mist man glance at him. Watching him. He’d found what he was looking for, but getting what he wanted out of his discovery would take time. One could not expect to just show up and ask such forces to do their bidding, no; he needed time.
Luckily, Dabi was a patient man.
Glancing after the misty figure walking away from the area, his scarred face twists into a bigger smirk. He knew what he was up to was dangerous, he knew he could just end up killed eventually, like many fools before him probably had. He didn’t care at this point, he had a goal to complete, an ultimate dream that he needed this power for to reach. He just needed to be patient, and observe, find a way to get there, even if it took him a long time. Blue eyes glance back towards the counter he could see from between the shelves, the door the pale looming figure had disappeared through of.
”Let’s see if I can figure out what makes ’im tick.”
Stepping through the large glass and wood doors, green eyes look around hesitant; he’d never been in this place, but he’d been told this library held things most others did not have, things you couldn’t find from anywhere else. It wasn’t like what he was looking into was that important, he just....he was curious. He’d had time today, because their theoretical exams were coming up. It meant they had no afternoon classes, a decision by the teachers to give them more time to read and prepare. The boy made sure to go change clothes before coming here; the U.A outfit caused distrust right now, he was better off in civilian clothing. He still had his ID of course, needing it to get back to the dorms later.
The boy wanders deeper into the building, looking around at the rows and rows of shelves, staircases leading to different sections. This half of the building was well-lit due to the thick glass wall at the front. Further back, it was dimmer with warm toned ceiling lamps littering the roof. Behind a glass door and short corridor on the right seemed to be a technology section; he could see bunch of computers and even something big at the back that was maybe a printer? He’d never seen one that big before.
Izuku could see other people around, wandering the shelves or having taken seats in the reading sections. It was quiet, with just people’s footsteps echoing in the air, both kind of eerie but also weirdly magical. At least, Yao-momo who’d visited here before with her family would describe it as so. The boy wasn’t sure where to start, so he wanders to the map of the building attached to one of the central lounge pillars. Clutching his back bag, Izuku’s eyes wander over the names of different parts of the building, admittedly drawn to the history section, namely the one dedicated to heroics.
Izuku shakes his head, mentally chastising himself; he was not here for that.
....Maybe later.
”Where should I start then, though?”
”Can I help you young man?”
A voice nearby makes Izuku jump, and he turns to face a man - at least he assumed the person was male, his face was covered in mist - who chuckles a little, apologizing for spooking him.
”A-ah, it’s alright, I was just...um....I’ve never been here before so...”
Izuku rubs his head awkwardly, feeling kind of strange, having those glowing yellow eyes examine him. He’d met plenty of unusual and interesting looking people and quirks during his first months at U.A, but this was new even for him.
”Maybe I can guide you, what are you looking for?”
”U-uhm...”
Izuku hesitates for a breath or two, still uncertain if he wanted to do this or not.
No, he’d gone too far to back down, he’d look into this.
”I....actually wanted to look into the more recent history of the city? As in...d-different companies and organizations and such.”
”Oh? Are you a business student perhaps?”
The mist figure looks surprised by that, and admittedly he probably didn’t look like a business student with his scarred hands and a bandaged cheek. Izuku shakes his head, quickly making up a lie that he was helping one with their project.
”My, how kind of you. You can find things relating to this topic in the east side wing, above the audiobooks room.”
The man gestures towards a staircase with his hand - Izuku could barely see the outline of it, indicating he did indeed have hands beneath all that mist - and the teen nods, bowing to the man with a thank you.
”Why of course, that is why we’re here. Find me if you need more help, I should be fairly easy to spot.”
The man gestures at his misty head with what Izuku assumed was a smile based on the way his eyes creased. Apparently the man was aware of his unusual look even among the quirk-riddled world. Izuku smiles awkwardly and heads up the stairs, hoping to find....something. It was a long shot, but it was the only clue he’d managed to get from his mum, before she seemed to once again forget what they were talking about. Izuku sighs and looks around, trying to find the right alphabetical section. Seeing how many rows of shelves there were, and how many books, the boy couldn’t help but feel intimidated.
”This will take a while, won’t it?”
Lurking in the shadows of the bookshelves, observing their visitors, his attention is soon drawn to something; that stitched man was still here. It had been hours, he’d been through quite a few books already. Not unusual by itself, but he did not seem like the kind to stick around. If he was here to try and speak to him, like many of his kind did, he’d waited oddly long for an opportunity.
”Take a peek. You’re curious, aren’t you?”
Tomura glances at the figure standing beside him now, hands in hoodie pockets. Partially merged in shadows, he probably would look see through under the lights even for him.
”None of my business. If he’s too much of a coward to talk to me, it’s on him.”
”Of course, it could be you are just jumping to conclusions.”
”Maybe, maybe not.”
Tomura muses out, examining the strange visitor a while longer, before a sound catches his attention. It was as if someone was arguing, their voice starting to grow annoyingly loud. He turns around swiftly and creeps towards the noise, finding some young man chastising a teen, who was trying to hide behind the book in his hand awkwardly.
”...got the nerve to show your face here, U.A brat!”
Ah.
The kid was a hero student?
P oor brat had hidden his identity poorly. Tomura spots something on the angry man’s hand, it looked like a student ID card. The fool, they should not be carrying those around visibly right now. Not with how much public distrusted them.
”I...”
Tomura slips there, his steps not making a sound as he taps the man on the shoulder, making him turn towards him. The noise coming out of his mouth finally dies down, as he’s faced by his sharp, annoyed red eyes, burning a hole into his very soul.
”Quiet.”
”S-sorry Sir, I was just—”
”Kid’s here to study. This is a public space. He has the right. If you can’t follow the rules, get out.”
Each word is spoken quietly, calmly, but with weight and sharp venom dripping through each syllable, making it clear just how much he disapproved of this behavior. The man swallows down hard, dropping the ID card he’d picked up. Tomura watches him slowly leave the scene, wisely understanding his presence wasn’t wanted right now.
”T-thank you. I...they tell us to keep these hidden and all right now...I...I dropped it.”
The boy reaches to pick up his ID, but pale fingers were faster, snatching it up and examining the piece of plastic with a stoic expression for a moment. The photo was of the kid - naturally - the same green bushy hair and bright wide green eyes. ' Izuku Midoriya’ was the name. He couldn’t recall what the boy’s quirk was in the registry, not that he cared. Tomura offers the ID back, with the boy reaching out for it nervously. As his fingers close around the piece of plastic, there was a brief moment of static, something that makes the teen quickly pull back surprised, before chuckling awkwardly.
”Ah. I guess I’m wearing kind of static-y stuff right now. S-sorry about that.”
Tomura just snorts and throws the card at him, turning to skulk back in between the large shelves to continue his observations. As he passes past the ghost, he notes the figure’s eyes were strangely fixated on the green haired boy. Glancing back at the child, he notes the boy was now looking at the book he’d had in his hand, as if contemplating on something. Eventually, he heads for the counter that Kurogiri was on currently, probably to borrow it. Turning his gaze away, the pale young man slips into the depths of the library again, his ghost eventually following him as his eyes leave the boy.
As Tomura reaches the reading area, he notes the scarred man was gone; the coat and bag he’d dropped next to him on the seat were gone. He’d also left his books behind and scattered around. Tomura snorts annoyed and wanders there, taking a quick peek on whatever the strange visitor had been reading. Most of it were of fiction, mystery and criminal novels, though he does also spot a biography book about one of the famed - or should he say infamous - top heroes. Tomura picks the book up, the urge to decay it right then and there hitting him instantly. Nothing to do with the hero in question per say, but the worshiping way these things were written.
This was an unofficial one, written by a fanatic follower of the flame hero, the kind you’d imagine only existed in the villain circles.
Then again, two sides of the same coin.
Villains only existed because heroes did.
Too bad the public still hadn't realized it, despite everything.
As he gathers up the books to bring them back, Tomura spots something left behind on the seat; a phone with dead battery. He picks it up, examining the object closely for a moment.
”My. People don’t often forget their phones like that.”
”It does happen. He’ll come back for it once he notices.”
”I wonder....”
The ghost doesn’t finish his sentence, not does he have to; they both were thinking alike in this case. They thought alike far more often than Tomura wanted to admit. Perhaps he’d forgotten it on purpose, as an excuse to come and talk to him later.
”We’ll see.”
He pockets the phone, picking up the books to bring them back to their rightful places.
Returning to the dorms, Izuku heads to his room to look through the things he’d borrowed. He also digs out his notebook, looking through the couple of things he had written down. It wasn’t much, a name, a company, that was it. He hadn’t been able to find anything online, but maybe...maybe these older books could give him some clues. After all, they hadn't been changed in years, unlike online pages that could be edited and deleted within blink of an eye.
Izuku breathes out a deep sigh, sitting down at his desk, hoping to find at least something.
His mind drifts back to the pale young man he'd met at that library, likely the other person Yao-Momo had said worked there.
She'd been right, he was kind of scary.
Also, who was that teen with him? He'd looked kind of strange......