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Chapter Text

When Izuku got his official Yuuei acceptance letter, it was like his whole world shifted. He felt like his life— everything he’d known— his whole world even, had been tugged out from under him, like a rug he’d been standing on pulled straight out from under his feet.

In a good way, of course.

The best way, because he did it.

He finally did.

He’d been dreaming of attending Yuuei High School from the moment he could really talk— from that first time he’d seen All Might on the news years ago, grinning widely, a promise to everyone watching, as he carted injured and unconscious civilians out of a collapsed building.

Izuku had known from that exact second, that he wanted to be just like All Might when he grew up.

But his dreams had never seemed achievable, not to anyone but him.

He'd always known that.

From the very moment he'd been diagnosed Quirkless, the x-rays his pediatrician had shown his mother and him when he was just five-years-old, showing that little, life defining joint that would forever make him an outcast in a Quirked society. The diagnosis people treated as if it was some deadly ailment, instead of just a lack of Quirk.

He'd known since he was first diagnosed that he'd never be like everyone else, that he'd never have it easy like everyone else.

But he'd tried not to let it stop him.

Tried being the key word there.

It was easier said than done in a world dominated by Quirked individuals.

One by one he’d had to pluck out what few dreams he had when they didn’t seem viable, or when people told him he’d never be able to do them as a Quirkless child.

But the one dream he could never seem to shake, the one he held the closest to his chest, was to become a hero like All Might. To be the hero who smiled no matter what, the one people looked up to, the one who people looked to for guidance and support in trying times.

It's all he'd ever wanted for himself, all he'd ever wanted to be in the world since he was tiny.

It didn't matter who told him it was useless to try, it didn't matter who said he'd never be able to do it, Izuku could never let go of it.

It was his dream.

All he'd ever wanted in life.

So he wasn't going to give up, no matter who was telling him to.

He believed in himself, even if no one else did.

And he'd worked so hard to get to this point.

He'd worked hard in junior high, knowing he didn't have a cool Quirk (or any Quirk) to fall back on or boost his chances of getting accepted into the school. He'd studied hard, and managed to get grades good enough to get him a seat in the written entrance exam for Yuuei High School, the very school where so many amazing Pro Heroes, All Might amongst them, had graduated.

The school that trained the best of the best, and he'd somehow managed to scrape his way into their test taker pool.

He'd been waiting for this since he was a child.

Izuku had never worked so hard for anything in his life— spending so many hours studying, striving as a Quirkless child to get the best grades in the class, to know the most knowledge, to impress the right people so they'd give him a chance. And training his ass off when he wasn't hunched over school notes, working until his limbs felt like jelly and he could hardly stand with the muscle fatigue, only to keep going, to force himself on, because he couldn't give up. Spending hours upon hours at Dagobah beach with All Might, hoping and praying that he'd be able to prove he was good enough to inherit the man's super cool transferable Quirk, the very thing that would change his life.

The very thing that would make him normal, level the playing field so he wasn't so far behind everyone else anymore.

And he'd done it.

He'd actually managed to pull it off.

Izuku clutches the straps of his yellow backpack tighter, trying not to feel small as he stares up at the Yuuei High School gates. He'd never felt giddier, more accomplished as he'd squared his shoulders and fell into step with the other students hurrying into the school.

He feels like he fits in, for the first time in his life.

They're all wearing the school's famous uniform; a pair of navy coloured slacks, or a skirt, respectively, a white button-up, the gray school jacket, and a bright red tie, which, incidentally, matched his own well-loved red sneakers. He looks just like them, he's one of them! He, Midoriya Izuku, is wearing the Yuuei school uniform. This is truly a dream!

Izuku bows his head as he grins dumbly to himself.

He’d made it.

Only a handful of teens made it here. Only one in three-hundred students were accepted into Yuuei, not even mentioning the forty out of thousands of eager Entrance Exam participants who managed to claim a spot in the elite Hero Class programs. Twenty students per each Hero Class. Only two— class 1-A and 1-B.

And he was one of those select few.

And not even that, but he'd made it into class 1-A— how incredible was that?

A Quirkless Deku falling into step with all these amazing students. The best of the best. Powerful, strong, clever. People who were going to make a name for themselves, whether as Heroes, support, business or even gen ed. People who are already good enough to be students at such an elite Hero school.

Izuku still can't believe he's here.

A Quirkless... actually, is that even true anymore?

He's not technically a Quirkless Deku anymore, not now that he has One for All coursing through his veins.

But still, the sentiment hung steady because no matter who, or what, Izuku is now with this inherited Quirk, he'd always been Quirkless.

Izuku heaves a nervous breath to calm himself down, finally lifting his head. There's an air of excitement circulating the crowd he's following into the building, other excited first year students ready to start their schooling at such a school, or the returning students ready to continue their journey towards graduation and being full-fledged Heroes.

When they're finally in the school, Izuku manages to branch off from the crowd, trying to remember the directions towards his homeroom classroom (class 1-A!! He is never going to get tired of saying that!), that he'd been given when he got his class schedule. He knows not many kids will be going the same direction he is, when the Hero classes make up such a small percentage of the school's student body. Actually, Izuku is the only student heading in this direction.

The halls are long, the ceilings high. Classrooms are sparsely placed, probably pretty big inside too. The classroom doors themselves are huge, Izuku notes as his hands tighten on the straps of his backpack anxiously. Izuku knows he needs to pick up the pace as the time before the bell trickles down as he searches for his class. He hurries along in fear of being late on his first day. He can not be late. Not here. Not at Yuuei.

Finally, after what felt like miles of panicked running down the hall, he's located his new classroom.

The door, like all the others he's passed, stretches high up to the ceiling, nearly touching it. Izuku himself had never felt shorter in his life. He’d always been short, always smaller than his peers, and Kacchan, but he’d never felt it like this.

Still, a tall door wasn’t going to stop him from achieving his dreams, so with deep breath, he slides the door open.

The room is loud when he peeks in, bustling with activity from the other students accepted into the Heroics program. Despite the bell having not rung yet, he still feels a little late. Nearly all the seats are taken, or crowded around. He's not late, is he? He hadn't heard the bell, and he doesn't see the teacher...

Izuku looks a little closer at his new classmates.

He's not at all surprised to see Kacchan in one of the desks, his feel kicked up on the desktop carelessly. Izuku's cheeks puff out with a huffy sigh as he shakes his head. That's just like Kacchan, he's not sure what he expected anything else, honestly. A change of scenery, not even that scenery change being Yuuei High School, isn't going to change how Kacchan acts.

Kacchan is blatantly ignoring another student trying to lecture him— Izuku thinks he remembers the kid. From the entrance exam.

Neither of them notice him.

Not yet, at least.

Izuku doesn't get the luxury of another moment to calm himself, as the boy with glasses catches sight of him, pausing mid-sentence as he turns from Kacchan at look at Izuku.

The boy pushes his glasses up his nose, nose scrunching up faintly, "it's him."

Izuku freezes, shifting his feet awkwardly as everyone turns to look at him, Kacchan included. Izuku tries hard not to make eye contact with anyone, but he can feel them all looking at him. The feeling of all these student's eyes snapping towards him makes him want to crumble to the floor in a strange kind of embarrassment he can’t seem to place. He isn't sure what's so special about him, but clearly something, if everyone is looking. Awkward...

Izuku isn't used to attention.

He doesn't like attention being on him.

Panic instantly rises in his chest as the seconds drag on without anyone saying anything. He knows his cheeks have flushed lightly at having so much attention on him.

Growing up, attention was never a good thing.

If you didn’t have something beyond exciting to show and share, some cool, or powerful, or amazing Quirk that people deemed useful, attention meant nothing good. He'd learned that early on. His classmates had made sure he knew that, and it's a lesson he'd always held onto.

Izuku can hear himself sputtering nonsense; it's what he does when he's nervous, not matter how hard he tried to keep his mouth shut. It's a habit he's had since he was young, and he can't seem to break it. He has half a mind to turn on his heels and leave the room, to avoid the embarrassment of this, but he's worked too hard and come too far to even entertain the thought.

This was where he belonged, whether he fit in around here or not.

All Might believed in him now.

All Might entrusted his Quirk to him.

Izuku would do everything in his power to show the Hero he made the right call.

Izuku squares his shoulders, prepared for the worst, but yet, to his genuine surprise, the tall, glasses-clad teenager beelines towards him, arching into a formal bow, "good morning," the teenager says tightly, yet pleasantly, "my name is Iida Tenya from the—"

“Y-yeah— I-I know,” Izuku interrupts on instinct, waving his hands in a placating gesture. "I saw you at the entrance exam..."

Izuku remembers seeing this guy in the auditorium before the exam. And he'd just heard Iida introducing himself to Kacchan the exact same way moments earlier. And, now that he's heard the name, he remembers hearing it at the entrance exam too, even if he hadn't thought to remember it then. He was just another voice in a packed auditorium. How was Izuku supposed to know they'd become classmates— he didn't even think he'd make it into any of the classes.

"My name is Midoriya Izuku," Izuku introduces in turn, after clearing the nerves from his throat, “s-super nice to meet you.”

He hears the uncertain wobble in his tone, but knows it's definitely just his nerves still.

Iida talks a bit more with Izuku, having more luck with him then he had with Kacchan, who was still glaring daggers at Izuku from his desk. Iida does most of the talking, but Izuku is content to listen more then he speaks. He's still nervous, and he's starting to feel a little overwhelmed and he feels Kacchan glaring, which isn't a good thing.

Iida seems to think Izuku knows more than your average student, for some reason, which is a little ridiculous, because Izuku feels like he knows even less than everyone else considering he he hadn't even had a Quirk until a couple weeks ago, and he's honestly still kinda reeling from that.

Iida doesn't seem to really believe him when Izuku tells him that he hadn't figured much more out than Iida had that day.

He doesn't know why Iida is so hung up on this— Izuku simply couldn't find it in himself to leave another student like that. Not when they could've gotten hurt. After all, wasn't the whole point of this class to help people? It didn't seem very heroic to him to turn his back on someone in need, even if the zero-pointer wouldn't help him rake up points. He'd simply been doing the right thing. Helping someone, especially someone who'd been so kind to him too. It didn't feel right to leave them to fend for themselves when he could help.

Iida seems to consider his explanation thoroughly, and the intensity of it honestly makes Izuku feels a little weird.

Was it really so odd of a reaction?

He knows no one else had tried to help, but he truly believed it was the right response.

Izuku startles when he feels a presence behind him, body stiffening up as a voice, a girl's voice, interrupts them.

Izuku swirls around to face the new addition, cheeks flushing once again at the kind smile on the girl's face.

"Oh, hey," her grin widens as she scans Izuku's face, "I remember that messed up hair! Falling boy!"

Falling boy?

Oh. Oh! Right! This is the girl who'd stopped him from crashing to the ground when he'd tripped before the exam. She also happens to be the one he'd, in turn, saved after she got caught in the rubble created from the zero-pointer emerging from the ground. She was very kind, he's glad she also made it into the Heroics class.

The girl keeps talking on, but Izuku can't seem to keep up with her. Maybe it's nerves, or the fact that this is all pretty new for him. People wanting to talk to him, people showing interest in him. You don't get a lot of that when people know you're Quirkless. It's an odd change of pace for him. He's not sure he really knows how to process it.

She seems happy enough— all bright eyed and wide grins as she bounces on her heels and talks enthusiastically.

He likes her, he decides.

Or, maybe it's the fact that he feels like he owes this, his place in this program, to this girl. He'd seen what she said, how she'd offered up her own point for him after the exam when he had no combat points of his own. No one had ever gone out of their way for him like that. He's not sure if he would've even made it into the school without her vouching for him like that, so he's very grateful to her.

Izuku makes sure to thank her diligently when the thought crosses his mind, head bowing respectfully as his cheeks heat up.

If he's honest, after that point, he doesn't really remember much of their conversation. They're mostly just rambling back and forth, with Iida listening in behind Izuku. Truth be told, Izuku's not even sure they're having the same conversation, but it flows easily enough that the rambling takes away some of his lingering nerves. He's pretty overwhelmed by all this, and he can tell she's excited. He's excited too.

It's nice to just talk with someone, to have someone match his energy so it's not weird.

This girl actually seems like a very nice person so... maybe they could be friends?

If she wants to, at least!

She’s still talking excitedly about orientation, and meeting their classmates and teachers when a new voice, an older voice that sounds like it's been worn down over the years cuts her off sharply, “if you’re just here to make friends, then you can pack up your stuff now.”

Izuku gapes, leaning slight to peer around the girl and into the hallway, where a yellow log of fabric is laying along the floor. There’s a blank face peeking out, and the features, devoid of emotion and exhausted looking, match up with the voice— tired and worn. The log of fabric looks like it doesn’t really want to be there, but is out of obligation. Izuku is stunned into silence.

There’s a moment’s pause, Izuku, Iida and the girl all frozen in place, and then, in a quick movement, the girl is jumping away from the figure, her back bumping against Izuku chest as the three of them stare down at the figure in the hall. Izuku can feel Iida's unnerving gaze over his shoulder, moderately surprised, but not as surprised as Izuku thinks he should be given the situation.

There is a man in a bright yellow sleeping bag on the floor outside their classroom, supposedly their new teacher.

That's a little weird.

The yellow sleeping bag crinkles a little as the figure inside moves.

Then the man inside lets out a heavy sounding sigh before he speaks again, “welcome to Yuuei’s Hero Course.”

The sleeping bag unzips just enough for the man’s hand to lift something to his mouth— a pouch of some sort— before he finally pushes himself to his feet, unzipping the sleeping bag all the way as he stands, letting the yellow fabric pool around his feet. They watch him uneasily, but the man doesn’t seem phased by it in the slightest.

“It took eight seconds before you all to shut up. That’s not gonna work.”

Izuku can do nothing more than stare at the man talks, voice low and monotonous.

He steps out of his sleeping bag and collects it from the ground as he continues, “time is precious. Rational students would understand that.”

The man surveys the three of them with tired eyes before his gaze shifts to the rest of the class in the room.

“Hello,” even that sounded bland and exhausted, “I’m Aizawa Shōta. Your teacher.”

And that... well, that’s not quite what Izuku was expecting. Weren't all the teachers at Yuuei Heroes?

Izuku isn't sure he knows this guy.

And if the collective gasp from the rest of the class is anything to go off, he’s not alone. Still, the man is undeterred by their surprise. Maybe he’s always like this, so he’s used to these kinds of reactions from people— but Izuku still feels a bit bad. He hadn't meant to be rude. This is their sensei, after all. They should be respecting him.

“Right, let’s get to it,” the man huffs tiredly, digging through his sleeping bag before pulling out a uniform. It’s the physical education uniform, Izuku notes in awe. He only knows this from watching the Yuuei Sports Festival on TV for the past couple years in anticipation for his own chance at the festival, and as a way to analyze student's Quirks. “Put these on and head outside.”

It's at that moment Izuku finally notices the figure stood behind Aizawa-sensei in the hallway.

He doesn't know how he hadn't noticed the late-comer before— maybe it was the shock of their new Hero course teacher inching into the classroom like some oversized caterpillar, or maybe just Izuku's overall distraction as he tries to make sense of all of this. He doesn't know what he was expecting their first day to be like, but it's certainly nothing like this.

The new guy is tall, broad in the shoulders in a way Izuku isn't. He's definitely a student though; he's young then the man in front of him, a teenager, so he's not a teacher. And he's also wearing the Yuuei school uniform. There's no way this kid isn't a student, probably another new classmates who's unfortunate enough to be arriving late to class.

Yet... instead of trying to sneak in past their new teacher, clearly a teacher you don't want to mess around with, to to avoid first day trouble, the teenager stands completely still behind Aizawa-sensei. He's just... standing there. Looking almost bored.

His arms are crossed over his chest in a way that screams indifference, and his lips pucker like he's chewing on the inside of his cheek. The look on his face strikes Izuku as odd. No student who'd been given a position in Yuuei's elite 1-A roster, any student hand selected as one of the few to be accepted into such a small class would ever look like that. Bored. Unimpressed.

Who would be bored at a school like Yuuei anyways?

Izuku's brow furrows at he takes the kid in.

He's got light, pastel blue coloured hair that looks almost fiery— actually, no, that’s not right. Kacchan has fiery hair, and that’s not what this guy has. But he also doesn’t have curls like Izuku. The blue tufts of hair float almost weightlessly above the guy’s head. It looks natural, so Izuku wonders if he's using any products to achieve such a look, but it also looks too soft to be held up with hairspray or gel. Izuku wonders if it has something to do with his Quirk.

His eyes are bright blue too, but they're a lot darker than his hair.

Another defining feature on the teenager is a bandage running across the bridge of his nose.

Bright blue eyes level Aizawa-sensei a fond look before turning into the room and looking over all the students with an impressed look. His hand settles on the frame of the door as he peers into the room to look at them. He's scanning the students more intently than their new teacher had. Izuku's eyes are stuck on the teen.

Now that Izuku has gotten a good luck at this guy, he seems older than them; how he holds himself, the confident air he has. It's very unlike all of Izuku's new classmates (minus the unshakeable Kacchan, of course). Maybe he’s not a first year after all. Izuku would guess maybe seventeen or eighteen, because he certainly didn’t look fourteen or fifteen.

So is he perhaps a third-year or something?

Why would he be here at 1-A then?

Izuku's gaze follows the blue-haired teenager as he swiftly steps passed Aizawa-sensei, then squeezes carelessly passed Izuku, Iida and the girl as well. He doesn't feel the faint woosh of air that usually comes with motion, and Aizawa-sensei, nor any of the other students seem to acknowledge this guy in the slightest.

Izuku blinks owlishly.

Is this... some sort of test? No one says anything on the matter— not about the teenager currently doing laps around the room sizing them up, or the fact he'd come in so late without their new teacher making an example out of him like he had with Izuku and his new peers. Sensei doesn't even acknowledge his companion that had clearly come with him.

No one so much as bats an eye at the new student now perched at the back of the room watching them.

Seriously. This has to be a test.

What else could it be?

Who is this guy?

No one even glances in the blue-haired boy’s direction as P.E. uniforms are handed out. Aizawa-Sensei watches over his nose, making sure they all grab the uniforms that have already been fitted with the measurements they’d handed in before the school year, and turns on his heels, leaving the room without a word after everyone has one.

The students pour out of the room after him, all heading towards the locker rooms to change.

Izuku watches them go, letting the confusion win over. Before he knows it, he's the last one remaining in the classroom, just lingering by the door his peers had left through. If he lingers to long he'll be late. He knows that. But he also can't just leave. The late-comer is still in the room, back leaned against the wall at the back of the room, unbothered. Like he isn't also supposed to be rushing to change his clothes in an attempt to appease their new sensei.

Izuku knows what it's like to be the kid who gets ignored.

It sucks.

So he can't, in good conscious, do the same thing to someone else.

Izuku turns fully to face the room before he can think better of it, sucking in a hesitant breath before blowing it out. The new student hadn't gotten a P.E. uniform. Not even with Aizawa-sensei so obviously making sure everyone got theirs. He's still stood at the back of the room, attention raised to the ceiling as if trying to pass time. Izuku can’t place the look on this boy’s face, but it’s not a particularly nice one.

It’s a bit rude that no one so much as looked at the other boy, he couldn’t even imagine being that ignored on the first day of a new class.

“Hey... uh, are you alright?” Izuku’s speaking before he can stop himself.

For a long second, the boy at the back of the room ignores him. Irritation flurries in Izuku's stomach, he's trying to be kind, and this guy is ignoring him? When he still doesn't look over after another second, Izuku forcefully clears his throat. Maybe the guy just hadn't heard him? He's clearly lost in his own head. If he ignores people and doesn't follow instructions, he's bound to get kicked out of school, especially a school like this.

The flicker of irritation melts away almost as fast as it had settled when the blue-haired teenager startles abruptly, attention shooting to Izuku. He looks completely surprised for another long second, eyes staring intently at Izuku as his face twists up in confusion and his eyebrow is arching in disbelief.

Izuku bites his lip, clearing his throat once again now that he has the other's attention, "you... uh, you didn't get your P.E. uniform. I'm sure Aizawa-sensei didn't mean to forget you, or anything. I think he's just... uhm, a little tired? I think even teachers get overwhelmed on the first day, you know?"

Izuku's words hang in the air for a second. The kid doesn't say anything. He tears his gaze away from Izuku, looks curiously around the room before his eyes land back on Izuku.

He looks baffled.

Izuku doesn't understand.

Finally, the other teenager opens his mouth to respond, but freezes before his jaw snaps shut.

He hesitates, then points to himself awkwardly. He blinks once, then twice before he clears his throat, "are... you talking to me?"

“Who else would I be talking to?” Izuku snorts in amusement. He lets his arms cross over his chest as he nods slowly, his own gaze trailing over the room just to assure himself, despite the fact he already knows, that it's just the two of them left. There’s no one else in the room, so obviously he’s talking to this kid. “It’s just us in here now, isn’t it?”

The other student’s jaw drops before a smile slowly starts to creep along his face until it’s a wide grin that makes Izuku want to grin in return, “you can really see me? Like, seriously see me? I mean, you are talking to me, but you can see me too?”

“Uhm,” Izuku cocks his faintly head in confusion, “yeah? Blue fluffy hair, blue eyes? You’re wearing the school uniform? Am I... not supposed to see you? Is it a Quirk? Wait, are you supposed to be invisible, because that would be so cool!”

“Nope, not a Quirk!” the other teen chirps, and he steps towards Izuku, smiling broadening (if it were even possible). His eyes are lit up with so much excitement, and his gaze is laser focused on Izuku as if he's the greatest thing since sliced bread. “I can’t believe this! It’s been so long since— wow!”

Izuku forces a nervous laugh as he rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly.

He returns the grin instinctually, because it’s hard not to return so much enthusiasm.

Izuku steps towards the other teen, holding his hand out to shake in a polite greeting, “I’m Midoriya Izuku by the way. We haven’t officially met yet, right? I don’t remember seeing you at the entrance exam?”

The blue-haired boy pauses sharply, gaze dropping down to Izuku's extended hand.

He studies it just long enough for the awkwardness to hit Izuku full force once again, before the other finally settles on shrugging.

The other boy's hand swings to hit Izuku's in a handshake, accompanied by a cheerful introduction of, "Shirakumo Oboro," except... instead of the blue-haired teen's hand clasping into his own when their hands come together, the other boy's hand phases right through Izuku’s.

Shirakumo doesn’t seem surprised by it, but Izuku whips his hand back when the intense chill climbs up his arm.

Oh.

Midoriya Izuku could see ghosts.

Okay. Well... despite how dramatic it sounded, it wasn't really that big of a deal.

It wasn't as scary as it seemed, not to Izuku, at least.

He'd been able to see things other people couldn't for as long as he could remember. Maybe that's why he'd never thought it was scary.

It was just... how it was. It was normal to him.

Sure, it was odd, and strange, not usually something he'd tell others about himself, since it wasn't something people generally took well, or even accepted, but that didn't make the fact that he could see them any less real. What others chose to believe really had nothing to do with Izuku, even if it made him feel different.

He could see, hear and communicate with the dead.

To Izuku, ghosts weren't really much different from living, breathing people.

Looking back now, he's really not sure how many of the figures and friends from his childhood were ghosts, and how many were living people. Not that it really matters anyways, it doesn't change anything about it, it's just something he thinks about sometimes, because he genuinely can't tell. He'd never been particularly good at distinguishing between alive and dead, not simply by looking.

There were ways to tell, of course, but none that didn't make him look insane to everyone else who couldn't see ghosts.

Even to this day, after nearly sixteen years of having such a perplexing ability, he still struggles with telling the difference between living people and the deceased. They just look so much like living people— you'd think they'd maybe look gory or ghostly after death, but truthfully, besides a faint translucence that he can't even really notice from afar, they look like regular, normal people.

To Izuku, at least.

It's hard to wrap his brain around the fact that not everyone he sees in day to day life is a living person, that he can't always tell.

He's always struggled with it.

Being able to tell who was alive, and who wasn't. It made him feel like an outcast. Seeing things others couldn't, the strange looks when he's say something to someone no one else could see, or acknowledge a ghost no one believed existed. People weren't always kind when they didn't understand, and no one understands what he can do.

His mother says he'd always been different.

She'd said it with a smile when he was little, patting his head fondly as she'd mutter the words, but it was only as he started to get older that he realized her smile never reached her eyes when she'd talk about it. He remembers how she'd always fondly recall his quirks when he was a baby, barely old enough to hold his own head up.

Her tone was always fond, but there was a distance to it too.

Izuku had always thought the distant tone was more telling than the fond one.

She'd tell him, and others, how Izuku had always had attention issues.

Even when he was newly born, just starting to recognize the world around him. How he'd never really focus on any one thing, attention always lulling away from whoever was holding him— his mother, or father, usually, and how his focus would stray, wide owlish eyes peering into the corners of their apartment as if watching something else, watching someone else.

She'd always laughed when she recalled those memory to him, her hand always rubbing at the back of her neck nervously.

They never did know what had him so enthralled in the living room, since neither could see what he saw, and he was definitely not old enough to recount it, doesn't even remember such a thing happening, though he doesn't doubt it. They’d moved out of that apartment just before Izuku turned one, so no matter how hard he tries to remember, he can’t.

That was just how it went for Izuku though.

Over the years the odd quirk of the green-haired child didn’t go away, as much as his mother prayed it was just a phase he'd outgrow. She spoke about the worry that had crept up along her spine whenever her baby would babble at the empty couch, or crawl to sit in a corner, making grabby hands in a silent question to be picked up by no one she could see.

He babbled aimlessly through his toddler years to empty rooms and in directions where no one was sitting.

His mother says he was always focused on something else.

Something not really there.

He chattered, and cooed, and giggled to himself alone in his room, or the living room, or even sometimes in the bath in the evening— which, looking back now is a little weird.

No matter how hard people tried to keep his attention, his eyes would always stray from living people: his parents, family members, ogling adults trying to coo at him in grocery store checkout lanes— even the children his own age in playgroups and daycare could barely keep his attention.

His gaze would drift away; up over their shoulders, or sometimes he’d even lean around them to look behind them like he barely even noticed they were there, nothing but a distraction to what he really wanted to see. He’d stare at corners of rooms, and empty spaces and smile— wave his little hand like something, someone, was waving at him.

He knew his ability drove a wedge between himself and his parents.

His father had left when Izuku was little— just after the revelation that whatever weird ability he had was definitely not a Quirk, because he had an extra joint in his pinky toe. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. His father had departed to America in the following weeks, and honestly, Izuku hasn’t seen him since. Izuku know why he'd left. Not only was his kid Quirkless, he was the weird kid too. Even in infancy.

Izuku honestly doesn't even remember his father.

His mother tried— she really did— but he knew she really didn’t accept what he could do as well as she tried to appear too.

He knows she hadn't really accepted it at all. Never deep down.

He knew it scared her.

That he could see things she couldn’t.

For the first few years of his life, he saw many doctors about it.

Medical doctors, child psychologists.

Anyone under the sun who had the faintest clue what could be happening.

A few diagnosed him with schizophrenia before he could even talk, but by the time he could speak, that diagnosis was wiped off the table. He wasn't schizophrenic. Even he knew that. Other people might not be able to see them, but they were real.

Others promised his mother that it was just imaginary friends— some children had them, and it was perfectly normal for Izuku to have some as well.

As endearing as that notion was, there was just no way.

It was the last therapist that he went to that his mother finally broke down. He’d had a session, and now he was waiting in the hallway while his mother talked about the session with the therapist. He heard her cry through the shut door— how he wasn’t normal. How none of this was normal. How she was scared, terrified.

And the therapist just kept promising her that he’d grow out of it eventually. That they'd just have to wait it out, and some day, Izuku would be normal.

Izuku remembers considering that.

Normal.

He wasn't normal.

Izuku remembers quirking his head faintly to the side, spotting an older man sitting beside him. Izuku was quite sure the man wasn't alive, but that didn't mean he wasn't real. Izuku knows if he'd asked questions, the man would probably answer. He cocked his head at the man, who returned the gesture in surprise, before the child was looking back down at his crayon drawing and dragging the red crayon along the paper.

His mother’s cries filled his ears, as the therapist quietly consoled her.

That’s the moment Izuku decided that he was no longer going to see ghosts.

Well, aloud at least.

He was sure they wouldn’t leave him alone even if he asked super nicely.

That’s just when he stopped telling her about the ghosts he saw and started shouldering everything himself.

And honestly, from that point on, things got better.

Though it hadn’t fixed the crumbling relationship with his mother, she hadn’t left him like his father had. Izuku had feared she'd leave him too, but she hadn't. She, of course, hadn't entirely believe he was better, and he knew it. Things were still strange between them— the older Izuku got, the less he saw his mother.

She worked long hours to provide for them, and he was thankful, but he couldn’t help but miss her.

Just because he wasn’t acknowledging his ability aloud to his mother, didn’t mean it stopped.

He was known in school as the mumbling Quirkless kid.

Mumbling because it felt rude to ignore anyone talking to him, and when he was little, he had trouble trying not to respond to the ghosts, couldn't even always tell either until others pointed it out.

Kids were cruel about anything that made someone different, and talking to something that wasn't there was definitely something to be cruel about.

He's actually glad they think he's just mumbling to himself instead of having actual conversations with the ghosts he comes in contact with.

It's easier to swallow than: Deku sees dead people! Weirdo!

So, instead, he was known as the oddball who’d muttered to himself, and would stare off into space. It wasn’t worth the fight to try any tell anyone, and he really didn’t need to add fuel to the fire that was being Quirkless— why not make him a weirdo who claims to see ghosts as well?

Everything changed the day he met All Might.

The day he’d had his dreams crushed in the afternoon, when his favorite Hero told him he couldn’t be a Pro Hero without a Quirk, but by the evening that same day, he was training to inherit his favorite hero’s Quirk— which in and of itself was a wild concept, but if it means getting a Quirk after suffering being Quirkless Deku for more than half of his life, he would believe anything All Might told him.

He trained hard. Kept his lips sealed about his run in with the Number One Hero when he came in contact with his mother. Not that she really asked him questions anymore, even when he started looking like he was working out and completely changed his diet to fit All Might's meal plan.

He would get into Yuuei High School, and he would be a hero.

And he had.

It had taken two legs and an arm (not his finest display of skills, but to be fair, he had just inherited One for All that morning), and a visit to a very annoyed Recovery Girl, but by some insane chances, he’d actually made it into the Hero Course. 1-A. He was officially a 1-A student, and he’d done it all himself.

The information that they were having a Quirk apprehension test had thrown Izuku for a loop.

Like he could hardly think straight.

For a second there, his brain had short circuited as he stood in line with the rest of his peers, all clad in their matching physical education uniforms. They're all ready and waiting for whatever their odd new teacher decides to toss their way, and yet Izuku is dumbfounded by the assessment test they're about to compete in.

He should be in orientation right now— they all should. That was how high school went. They were shown around the school. They got acquainted with their peers, the people they'd be sharing a class with for the next three years, and then seeing and meeting the other classes, and meeting their new teachers.

But they weren’t.

Instead, they were having a test.

A test on the first day.

An assessment test on a Quirk Izuku can barely control. Just perfect.

A jolt of chills crawled up Izuku’s spine as his gaze strayed away from his teacher to the blue-haired boy, Shirakumo, stood casually at the man’s side. He wasn't close to Izuku, but his presence was still chilling. Because c'mon. A ghost. In Izuku's new class. What are the odds?

Of course the first change he has at starting fresh, at not being the weird muttering kid who thinks he can see dead people, there's a literal ghost in his class.

Of course.

The ghost's hands were tucked loosely in his pockets, and his head was quirked as he studied the lineup of students with the same scrutiny Aizawa-sensei showcased. The man's eyes were narrowed, calculating and judging, whereas the teenager at his side was glancing down the line carelessly.

Sensei's gaze was actually pretty terrifying...

When spotting Izuku, the ghost waves enthusiastically.

Izuku looks away quickly.

Izuku had left the classroom pretty quickly after realizing he'd stuck behind to talk to a ghost.

The ghost had been right on his heels, following him all the way to the changing rooms after he'd fled. The ghost had tried to talk to him, but Izuku had ignored the attempts shamefully. He feels bad, he does, but he can't. The ghost hadn't seemed bothered, in fact, the ghost hadn't even taken the hint that Izuku didn’t want to, couldn’t, talk to him.

Thankfully, Shirakumo didn’t stick around long with all of Izuku’s new classmates stripping down to change into their P.E. attire— he at least had some level of etiquette and decency to not watch the living students change that chased him from the room. Izuku had blown out a quiet sigh of relief as he'd stripped out of his own clothes without a ghost watching.

But, to Izuku’s dismay, he hadn’t left.

He’d just joined Aizawa-sensei outside.

He should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

His eyes lit up again when he made eye contact with Izuku, but the green-haired boy ducked his gaze before anyone else could see him staring off into space like an idiot. The ghost's lips had puckered, but he still didn't seem deterred. And he still hadn't taken the hint. This is going to be a long test.

“But orientation! We’re gonna miss it!”

Izuku manages to pull his gaze away from the ghost who’d shot him a grin and a thumbs up when they happened to catch gazes again. He looks briefly to Uraraka, who'd voiced the concern, before he forces his attention back on his new homeroom teacher.

Unlike Shirakumo, Aizawa-sensei is not facing them anymore. There's a disinterest in how their teacher regards them when he looks back over his shoulder at the girl who'd questioned him.

He doesn't appear to like them very much, nor does he seem to want to be here.

Izuku stares at the man’s back as he finally replies, “if you really want to make the big leagues you can’t waste time on pointless ceremonies.”

The man doesn't speak for a second, like he's letting his words sink in.

Around him, Izuku's classmates wait on bated breath for the man to continue. Some shuffle their feet uncertainly, while other draw in anxious breaths as they wait.

Izuku himself can't look away from the ghost at the man's side.

He knows he shouldn't— he should be focused on sensei, but he can't look away from Shirakumo.

The ghost is watching the man, he rolls his eyes fondly.

Shirakumo lets out a light laugh at the man's antics, maybe it's familiar to him— how long has the ghost been hanging around the teacher?— and gives a tiny, amused shake of his head as he angles his head to watch the teacher more closely.

“Here at Yuuei, we’re not tethered to tradition,” Aizawa-sensei continues bluntly without so much as glancing back at them. After no more than a second, the man turns the slightest bit, “that means that I get to run my class however I see fit.”

It feels like a threat.

It's probably not, but it feels like one.

A murmur can be heard from the gaggle of students, but the man once again doesn’t seem phased.

“You’ve been taking standardized tests most of your lives, but you never got to use your Quirks in practical exams before.” He pauses once again, but continues on before anyone else can get a word in, not that anyone’s stupid enough to even try, “the country’s still trying to pretend that we’re all created equal by not letting those with the most power excel. It’s not rational. One day the ministry of education will learn.”

Aizawa-sensei's gaze scans over them before his attention settles off to Izuku’s left, “Bakugou, you scored the most points in the entrance exam. What was your farthest distance thrown with a softball when you were in Junior High?”

Izuku peers around Iida, who’s beside him, to watch Kacchan in interest.

The blonde regards their new teacher with a glare, “sixty-seven metres, I think.”

Izuku remembers that. He himself had never been particularly good in sports classes, but Kacchan had aways been strong and determined. He excelled in most of his classes, but his poor temper often lost him points, even when students and teachers alike praised the ground he walked on for his Quirk. Still, he had a wicked good arm even without the added power of his Quirk.

The green-haired boy shakes himself from his thoughts, leaning back into place.

“Right,” Aizawa-sensei nods, Izuku can't tell if he's impressed or not, gaze never straying from Kacchan. “Try doing it with your Quirk.”

For a second, Kacchan hesitates. Barely a second, but Izuku sees it— and he only sees it because he’s known Kacchan since they were tiny. His eyes scan up their new teacher to determine if he should take the man seriously before he's taking the proffered softball into his hand and walking confidently to the outlined pitching circle.

It’s only when he makes it into the circle that Aizawa-sensei continues on with the rules, “anything goes, just stay in the circle. Go on. You’re wasting our time.”

Izuku’s not sure if their teacher means to rile Kacchan up, but he certainly does. The blonde scoffs in annoyance as he stretches his arms out, before shaking the limbs to prepare for motion. Izuku's seen him do this loads of times, Kacchan is loosening his muscles to give this throw his all. The blonde wants to show off, or... maybe prove their new teacher wrong somehow.

“Alright, man, you asked for it,” the ashen-haired teenager sneers.

Kacchan arches his arm back like he usually does when pitching a softball, eyes shining with what can only be arrogant excitement as he finally let’s go of the ball.

Izuku knows his jaw drops.

Unlike every other throw he’s seen from Kacchan, ones that hit their target straight on and travel the allotted sixty-plus metres, this one doesn’t. There’s so much power in it that Izuku wants to burst into cheers like he had back when Kacchan was still leaning his Quirk, back when they were friends and he didn't view Izuku as a useless extra.

Everyone watches in silence as the ball is launch into the sky, leaving a streak of flames and black smoke in its wake.

Aizawa-sensei still doesn’t really look impressed, but Izuku has a feeling it’s about as close as they’re going to see from the straight-faced teacher. Beside him though, Shirakumo is staring up in awe, fingers knotted in his own hair as he gapes, “woah— Shō, you’re totally impressed. I’m impressed. That was so cool!”

Shō?

Izuku gapes too, but for a completely different reason than the feat Kacchan just exhibited.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on either the softball slowly descending from the tips of the atmosphere or Shirakumo calling their teacher Shō, before Aizawa-sensei is talking again.

“All of you need to know your maximum capabilities,” he tells them, glancing down at the device in his hand before turning towards them again, “it’s the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a Pro Hero.”

Izuku swears his eyes bulge out of his head when Aizawa-sensei holds the device out so they can see the screen.

Seven-hundred-and-five metres.

Kacchan threw the softball seven-hundred-and-five metres.

“Hey, nice!” Shirakumo yelps from beside sensei, leaning around to look at the results. It blocks Izuku’s view of the screen, but he’s the only one. Besides, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to tear his gaze off of it without the help. "That was a good start! Something tells me this class is going to be fun~!"

Izuku swallows nervously as he ignores the ghost's attention, hands suddenly feeling sweaty. He can't do that.

Is that the standard sensei is expecting from them?

Around him, his classmates sputter to life— all wanting a turn to be in the spotlight and show off what they’re capable of. Izuku doesn’t share the same sentiment, still gaping at that throw, silently wondering how he'll ever compare to Kacchan. How could anyone beat that? Kacchan was so cool, but he's so screwed.

The chatter steadily grows louder as Izuku's classmates get more hyped up, until Aizawa-Sensei speaks again; voice low but instantly silencing them all, “so, this looks fun, huh?”

Sero, the boy with tape dispensers on his elbow’s, snaps his jaw shut when Aizawa-Sensei looks directly at him.

The silence is suffocating, and it feel like you could cut the tension surrounding them at those five words their teacher had muttered with a knife. Nobody moves. No one even makes a sound as they all stare at their teacher. Shirakumo lets out a low whistle at what must be a pitiful sight of the entire class scared into silence.

It doesn't make Izuku feel any better in the slightest.

“You have three years here to become a hero,” Sensei tells them, voice loud but not booming. Still, no one dares look away, “you think it’s all gonna be games and playtime?”

There’s a beat, they’re all too stunned by the cruel smile curling onto Aizawa-sensei's lips as he glances down the line of them. There’s amusement in his voice as he mutters the next word, just barely loud enough for them to hear it, “idiots.”

Beside the man, Shirakumo lets out a hearty laugh.

"Man, you are such a sadist," the ghost teases in an overly fond way, "you're having way too much fun scaring the shit outta these kids."

And just like the whistle from before, a sense of dread climbs along Izuku's spine at the ghost laughing like that. Also... sadist is not what you want to hear about the teacher you'll have for the next three years. Izuku is actually a little fearful of how this year will turn out.

When he's done laughing, the ghost turns to Izuku, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of their teacher, "scary, ain't he?"

Although he knows he shouldn’t, Izuku’s head bows in the slightest of nods, eyes jerking to meet Shirakumo’s before darting away.

It makes Shirakumo grin widely.

Why does the ghost suddenly look like he's won the lottery or something? That can't be a good sign.

Izuku can worry about that later though.

The two of them both look back towards Aizawa-sensei when the man speaks again, voice still low and terrifying, “today you’ll compete in eight physical tests to gauge your potential. Whoever comes in last has none and will be expelled immediately.”

Izuku thinks he might faint.

Drop right then and there as his teacher’s scary grin widens.

Izuku can hear his own heart pounding in his ears, fear coursing through his veins.

This is not how he expected his first day to go.

His first, potentially his last, depending on how good he manages to use a Quirk he just got.

The man looks greatly pleased with their reception to his threat, happy with the reactions he's seeing from them.

He’s serious, Izuku realizes with a start.

One of them will be expelled by the end of the class.

Oh dear lord, he might get expelled today...

What the hell is he supposed to tell All Might if this is how he loses his place at Yuuei??

Shirakumo is shaking his head when Izuku’s eyes dart in his direction. Izuku doesn't know what he's looking for when he looks towards the ghost, but he knows he finds it. And it's not good. The ghost's arms are crossed over his chest once more, and he’s regarding the man with exasperation.

Exasperation, but there’s still a fondness in his gaze as well.

He turns to Izuku next, head cocking to the side, “yeah... he’s serious,” he shrugs halfheartedly, “good luck, Midoriya.”

And that just makes him feel sick to his stomach.

He’s not sure if Shirakumo is trying to lighten his mood, or freak him out more. Either way, it is not helping.

A bit more sympathy would be nice, Izuku thinks begrudgingly as he grits his teeth.

It feels like Aizawa-sensei's eyes are boring into him as he stands before them with a blank expression, body slouched and one hand tucked in his pocket. Izuku doesn't dare look over in fear of accidentally meeting the teacher's eyes. Beside the man, Shirakumo is the opposite, standing tall, and grinning at the gathering of students expectantly.

At least someone is excited about this turn of events.

Izuku’s sure fear is showing on his face, and for some reason, he thinks that was their teacher’s goal. To scare them. Terrify them. And an automatic expulsion will certainly do that to a group of kids who fought tooth and nail to get where they are. Izuku swears his heart hasn't stopped pounding since the man started speaking. He is, indeed, thoroughly spooked.

The odds are not in his favor, he knows.

That's enough to scare anyone.

He can only use One for All at one-hundred percent, which breaks his body, or at zero percent, which is right back to square one of Quirklessness. Everyone around him has been growing with their Quirks for over ten years. They've had Quirk counselling to control it and work with it, and have nurtured their unique powers. They know their Quirks.

Izuku has only had One for All since the morning of the entrance exam, that's only a few weeks, that is not enough time, and truthfully, he and All Might hadn’t had much time to practice it in the days leading up to school so... essentially, he’s screwed. Plain and simple.

“You look like you’re gonna vomit,” Izuku’s head jerks to his side where Shirakumo suddenly is. He doesn’t remember seeing the teen move, but here he is. Izuku doesn't have it in him to be upset, too busy mourning his embarrassingly short high school career. The blue-haired boy’s head is quirked in confusion, lip bitten between his teeth in concern as if sensing Izuku's genuine distress, “it won’t be that bad, right? I mean, you’re powerful enough to get here, yeah? Show ‘em what you’re made of!”

Izuku gives the blue-haired boy a bit of a pity nod, knowing full well he just managed to slip in through the cracks. Had Uraraka not spoken up for him, he’s not sure he’d be here right now. He had zero points— the only robot he’d taken out was the one that was literally called the ‘Zero-Pointer’. What does that say about him?

“Like I said, I get to decide how this class runs,” Izuku forces his gaze back onto his teacher, swallowing down the sheer dread that only bubbles up more at the deranged look in Aizawa-sensei's eyes when he regards them all with a terrifying smile. “Understand? If that’s a problem then you can head home right now.”

“He’s really going all out today,” Shirakumo huffs out, glancing to his side at Izuku. The ghost offers a toothy smile, rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger, “he’s gotten scarier, y’know. I think it’s the stubble. Terrifying.”

“U-uh huh,” Izuku wheezes out in reply, just under his breath.

He tries to listen in to the conversation going on around him. He hears Uraraka’s voice again, and Aizawa-sensei's retort. Their teacher talks of unfairness of villains and natural disasters, as well as a Hero’s duty. And usually, Izuku would be all over that, but he’s still drowning in his own head, and there’s a distinct chill at his side that gives no comfort.

From the bits he manages to hear, it sounds like a pretty motivating speech, under any other circumstance, he probably would've loved the encouragement, but Izuku just can’t seem to wrap his brain around understanding it. Words are going in one ear and out the other as he tries to steady himself. It feels like he's seconds away from falling over. Is the ground moving, or is it just him...?

He only forces his eyes to clear away the blurring haze when he sees their teacher scan down the class, eyes pausing briefly on Izuku before continuing. Had he looked at Izuku longer than the others? Why? Should he be even more scared? The man's finger bends in a ‘come here’ motion, an invitation, as he speaks, words loud and clear, and a bit lighter than before, “so go beyond,” he tells them, and it’s the nicest he’s sounded yet. “Plus Ultra style. Show me it’s no mistake that you’re here.”

And it doesn’t sound like a threat, but that’s all Izuku hears.

He can only hear the two words.

Expulsion.

Immediate.

He can't fail now; he’d come so far.

Worked so hard.

He couldn’t fail All Might.

“Now then," the man squints challengingly at them, "we’re just wasting time by talking. Let the games begin.”

The games go about as well as Izuku predicts them too.

He’s gotten better since training with All Might, he's a bit more athletic than he had been in junior high, but he’s still miles behind his peers. It's very clear too. He’s not confident enough to use his Quirk, so he does everything Quirkless. He’s not overly fast, or strong, and honestly that’s with all the training with All Might. He knows he’s not placing well, and he feels Aizawa-sensei's gaze on him whenever he’s not looking.

Shirakumo is supportive— or, as supportive as a ghost he’s known for no longer than an hour can be.

He hypes Izuku up, and smiles awkwardly when Izuku doesn’t do so well.

Izuku is getting a lot of awkward, encouraging smiles.

Still, it helps.

One by one, the tests pass by.

He tries his hardest, but he really stands no chance against these Heroes-in-training. Not without One for All, but he can’t break himself yet. He needs to be able to compete in all the games. He has to prove himself to Aizawa-sensei. He’s going to show his teacher that it isn’t a mistake that he’s here, so he’s not going to bench himself before he has a chance to prove himself. Not until he has too.

By the time he’s up for the pitching test, his limbs feel numb in fear.

He’s already tired from the running, and the grip tests. From jumping. From failing, and watching his classmate pass him in each test. His exhaustion is there, but he won’t let it determine his fate. He’s fought harsher conditions, run on less fumes than he is now, so he’s not going to stop.

He stands in the pitching circle, a softball ringed with a distance tracker clutched in his hand.

Off to the side, standing just on the inside of the white line is Shirakumo, who’s watching in interest.

His class is standing a few paces back, all watching and waiting for him to take his turn, and a couple steps behind them, Aizawa-sensei is also watching him with a hawk’s eye. Having his teacher's attention solely on him is a lot more terrifying than Izuku had expected it to be. It feels like any wrong move he makes will be the tipping point to his expulsion.

“You got it,” the pastel-haired boy grins, shooting him two enthusiastic thumbs up.

“I don’t know if I do,” Izuku whispers back, gaze locked on the ball in his hand.

Izuku sees as the other jerks in surprise at being spoken to after Izuku not responding to him all morning, from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t mention it.

The only reason he’s responding now is because everyone’s far enough away that they won’t hear him, or see his lips moving. He's alone in the circle, besides the ghost's company.

He has nothing against talking with ghosts, he just won’t do it somewhere he’ll be judged and labelled as a freak.

“He’s really not as scary as he seems,” Shirakumo offers kindly, dragging his fingers up through his hair, “I promise, he’s way more bark than he is bite. He’s a softie at his core... Like a kitten. That’s what makes him a good teacher.”

Izuku wants to question if this ghost teen was a student of Aizawa-sensei's, but he thinks better of it.

How he knows the teacher isn’t important right now.

What’s important is passing this test so he doesn’t get expelled. And that means using One for All. He can’t fail all of these tests. He can't fail everything, can't be last in each event. He can’t. He needs at least one good score if he wants even a chance at not being in last place by the end of this.

Still he lets his head tilt in Shirakumo’s direction slightly, frowning lightly, “sorry, but I find that hard to believe.”

Shirakumo shrugs, but flashes an understanding smile anyways.

Izuku lets his gaze linger on Shirakumo for a moment before he blows out a breath.

He plants his feet, draws his arm back, focuses hard on activating One for All at one-hundred percent and finally throws the ball and—

“Forty-six metres!” the distance tracker chirps cheerfully.

Dread pools in his stomach like a brick.

“That, uh, that wasn’t as cool as I thought it would be...” Izuku doesn’t even have the strength to look over at Shirakumo.

What... what just happened?

He was channeling One for All.

He felt it coursing through his veins— why hadn’t it worked?

“W-what gives?” Izuku breathes out, eyes dropping to his shaking hand, “I... I was trying to use it just now.”

“I erased your Quirk,” Aizawa-sensei's voice rumbles from behind him, and when Izuku spins to face his teacher, he’s a lot closer than before. His hair floats wildly above his head, and his eyes are a menacing red. The scarf around his neck is no longer around his neck, and instead hovering around him like a cobra ready to strike.

Izuku feels himself stumble back in shock, his body moving on autopilot. Maybe a fight or flight instinct where he knows he's beat. He stares wide-eyed at his teacher who’d just gotten a thousand-times scarier than before, and that was an accomplishment.

“The judges for that exam were not rational enough.” His tone is different from everything else he’s said that morning. He sounds scary. Izuku’s almost afraid of his teacher right now. Behind him, Shirakumo’s breath hitches, and that’s really not a good sign. “Someone like you should never be allowed to enroll at this school.”

“Wait— you did what to my—” Izuku jerks back as if the man had physically hit him, but this time it’s all his own doing. Izuku finally takes notice of the bright yellow goggles hanging around his teacher’s neck. They’d been hidden away in his scarf— and now everything’s starting to make sense.

This wasn’t just any teacher.

Not just any Pro Hero.

This was Eraserhead. Quirk: Erasure.

He had the ability to look at someone and cancel out their powers.

“Eraserhead,” Izuku breathes out, but he thinks it might be louder than intended when his classmates huddle up to talk. Izuku pays them not mind, focus locked on the Pro. Eraserhead’s not a well-known Pro, since he mostly works as an underground hero, but Izuku still has a couple pages on him in his notebooks. He'd never really seen the Pro, despite hearing of his name and briefly of his Quirk. Eraserhead was elusive, his existance nothing more than word of mouth unless you were unfortunate enough to go up against him.

“You’re not ready,” Aizawa-sensei tells him. His voice has levelled, and his face doesn’t look as annoyed. It even softens slightly, but he’s still cancelling Izuku’s Quirk. He still doesn't believe in him, still isn't willing to give him a chance. “You don’t have control over your power. Were you planning to break your bones again? Counting on someone else to save your useless body—”

“No!” Izuku gapes breathlessly, all he can muster in defense, “that’s not what I was trying to—”

Aizawa-sensei's scarf wraps around him before Izuku can mutter another word, tugging him close.

He’s silenced in surprise, nervous at being so close to his teacher. He’s nearly pressed up against the Pro, eyes wide as Aizawa-sensei leans towards him to glare sharply.

The scarf gives some leave, just barely, but Izuku still finds the give to take a step back. It stops him there, and the distance doesn't really help when sensei just leans in to close the distance between them once again, eyes still glowing and gaze unblinking, “no matter what your intentions are, you would be nothing more than a liability in battle.”

“Shō!” Izuku hears Shirakumo squawk from somewhere behind him, “that’s so harsh!”

“You have the same reckless passion as another overzealous Hero I know. One who saved a thousand people by himself and became a legend. But even with that drive, you’re worthless if you can only throw a single punch before breaking down,” he pauses, eyes softening a fraction before they’re harden again. “Sorry, Midoriya. With your power, there’s no way you’ll become a Pro.”

The words drop over his head like an anvil.

It’s hard to breath for a second, but he manages to push through it.

There’s truth in his teacher’s words— he knows there is. Truth he's been shoving down, pretending not to see. He knows there's truth to it, of course there's truth to it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make his heart clench. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt for someone to actually say it out loud to him.

Izuku manages to push the emotion clouding up in his chest over the edge towards anger instead of fear and sadness. He’s not going to cry. Not now.

Instead, he straightens his mouth into a scowl and glares up at his teacher defiantly.

The scarf unravels from around him, dropping back over his teacher’s shoulders as his hair drops in a similar fashion.

He blinks his eyes shut for a long second, then, “I’ve returned your impractical Quirk. Take your final throw.”

And then he walks away.

Izuku can barely hear his teacher’s “hurry, get it over with.” over the ringing in his own ears.

He’s used to people not believing in him, but this is a new level. What is with Heroes trying to hurt his feelings? First that incident with All Might on the rooftop in junior high, and now this, with his homeroom teacher. Will he ever catch a break?

Izuku’s head is ducked, unable to look at the man.

He feels a chill presence beside him, but unlike earlier that day, it’s welcome.

“I am so sorry,” Shirakumo mumbles sympathetically, hands twisting together in front of him like he wants to reach out and touch Izuku, but knows he can’t, “that was brutal, Midoriya. I swear he’s usually not like that. Okay, so, uhm, maybe there’s some bite in there, but I stand by what I said— he’s really not like this most of the time. Now, what kinda Quirk do you have that he hates it so much? That's not really in character for him...”

Izuku lifts one shoulder into a shrug, turning on his heels to return to the pitcher’s circle. He doesn't know what he'd done to piss the teacher off. Why the man considered his Quirk to be so awful. Shirakumo is right by his side, hanging close by him instead of off to the side like he’d tended to stay most of the day. Though his companionship is chilling, Izuku is grateful he’s there.

The green-haired boy picks up another softball, fingers tensing around it as he stares down at it.

This is his last chance.

It's clear Aizawa-sensei is gunning for him.

If he doesn't make this throw a good one, he can kiss his position in 1-A goodbye.

“If it’s any consolation,” Shirakumo starts off slowly, and Izuku angles his head subtly to see the pastel-haired boy rubbing at the back of his neck, “I believe in you. Shō’s a bit brash sometimes, but he means well. I know you can show him you’re meant to be here, huh? You wouldn't be here is nobody believed in you, right?”

Izuku hadn’t expected that to mean as much as it did.

How it lifts his spirits even the slightest amount.

He knows he needs to prove Aizawa-sensei wrong if he wants to go stay here. He does belong here. The ghost is right, people believe in him. All Might believes in him. He's got to believe in himself. If he wants to learn under this amazing Pro Hero and become a Hero himself, he needs to show this guy he's got what it takes to keep up in his class.

He also knows it’s not feasible to use his Quirk to the point it breaks his arm. His teacher was right, he would be a liability if he can only throw a single punch. He needs to be able to continue and compete in the three remaining tests. He won’t be able to do that if he breaks his arm— even if he tried continuing with the injury, he knows Aizawa-sensei will likely send him off to see Recovery Girl, and then he’d miss the rest of the tests.

He knows he can’t not use his Quirk, but he also knows he can’t go one-hundred percent like he has been every other time he's used the Quirk.

He doesn’t bother looking back at his peers, or the man who’d told him both what he needed to hear, and never needed to hear.

It was solid advice if it weren’t so cruel.

He blows out a steady breath, arches his arm back as he glances over at Shirakumo’s blinding grin, then he throws.

The softball leaves his hand, shooting up into the sky. A whoosh of energy hit’s Izuku’s face as the ball flies away from him. It plows through the clouds, rising higher and further than anything he’s ever thrown ever. He feels giddy as he watches it go, but the feeling is short lived.

His finger shatters the second the ball leaves the pad of his finger— the bones splintering apart and it’s instantly a solid patch of bruising up to his knuckle. Izuku's opposite hand clasps around his wrist in an attempt to stem off the pain pounding along with his heartbeat. It was too much power for such a small space, but at least his arm is okay.

He winces, grimaces behind a curtain of his own curls as he cradles his hand to his chest to keep himself from crying out. It actually hurts a lot, even though he'd prepared himself for this outcome. He'd expected it, knowing what he does of One for All.

Still, he forces a smile through the pain when he looks up to meet his teacher’s eyes, unsurprised to find the man watching with a squinted, almost dumbfounded expression.

He’s never felt more like All Might than he does in that second.

He’s proud of himself.

He used his Quirk, and he can still compete in the rest of the tests.

The best of both worlds, and in the kindest regards, he hopes Aizawa-sensei eats his own words.

“Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku forces himself to say, hoping the pain doesn't come through in his voice. He's biting hard at his bottom lip as he clenches down to keep himself for letting out any sound of pain. He forces his broken finger straight, then into a fist to prove his point, eyes shining in determination, “you see...? I’m still standing.”

“Holy shit!” He hears beside him, and it takes everything in his power not to spin around and look at Shirakumo head on, “you’re that kid! The one who broke both legs and an arm taking out the Zero-Pointer during the exam! You’re like a legend, Midoriya, they’ve been talking non-stop about you! That like, explains a whole lot. Wow, talk about a missing puzzle piece, eh?”

Shirakumo sucks in a desperate breath after the rambling, then he grins big and wide, launching right back into it, “look at him! Hah! You showed him, Midoriya! That’s the look of disbelieving pride! He totally didn't think you had it in you! Man, I wish I saw that face more, too bad the bastard’s usually right.”

“Really?” Izuku whispers, ducking his head so no one can see, “looks like annoyance to me.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely! He’s totally annoyed too! What, you think most kids actually end up proving him wrong? Nope.” Shirakumo laughs loudly, and it would be contagious, if he weren’t in so much pain. Izuku knows if he shows too much, there’s the chance Aizawa-sensei will send him to Recovery Girl anyways, so he makes sure he keep his body loose despite the tight grip he has on his wrist. “He hates being proved wrong, but he’ll get over it! I don’t think anyone can be mad at that killer throw!”

Izuku raises an eyebrow, cocking his head as he opens his mouth to reply, but instead a scarily familiar voice rips through the air instead, “HEY! DEKU, YOU BASTARD!”

Well... someone can be mad.

Izuku turns to face Kacchan, only to find him sprinting in his direction. The green-haired boy is quick to cower back on instinct when he notices his childhood friend charging straight at him, palm crackling in preparation to explode Izuku when he’s close enough, “TELL ME HOW YOU DID THAT, OR YOU’RE DEAD!”

Izuku ducks his head and puts his arms up as some form of protection for his face and waits for impact.

Waits to feel Kacchan’s Quirk against his skin like he always does, but it doesn’t come.

When he cracks his eyes open, Kacchan’s hand is reaching out, but he’s... stuck in place? What?

The green-haired boy feels the chill of Shirakumo settling behind him, but his attention is on Kacchan.

The blonde boy is wrapped up in Aizawa-sensei's scarf like Izuku had been earlier, but it's tighter then it had been on Izuku. He’s restrained, completely, palm free of crackling explosions and sparks. He’s fighting the scarf, body trembling against the strength of it, “what?" Kacchan wheezes out angrily, "w-why the hell is your damn scarf so strong?”

Izuku’s gaze travels up the scarf to his teacher, where he sees the man glaring at Kacchan.

His eyes are red, staring hard at the teenager with a fiery look.

The man honestly looks the scariest he has all morning, but there’s something different in this look. How he’s looking at Kacchan.

The look is different from the one the class got that morning, and it's even different from the one Izuku himself got.

There’s no lenience in this one. Nothing soft about it. It’s a hard look. Hard and filled with contained anger.

Izuku wonders if this is the man the villains see when they're apprehended by Eraserhead.

But why would the man be looking at Kacchan like he's a villain?

“Because it’s a capture weapon made out of carbon fiber and a special metal alloy,” the teacher snaps, his lips curling downwards in a sort of snarl. His tone is equally as hard as his gaze when he speaks again, “stand down.”

Izuku manages to glance at his peers, fear still thrumming in his veins.

They all look as nervous as he feels, so he knows he’s not the only one scared of the look on their Sensei’s face.

“It would be wise to avoid making me use my Quirk so much," the man grouches in irritation, "It gives me serious dry eye.”

When Aizawa-sensei looks up, his eyes are glowing red and his hair is hovering overhead. Izuku assumes that’s why there’s no crackling of fire in Kacchan’s palms. Aizawa-sensei had saved him from Kacchan. Izuku knows that Kacchan could throw an explosion his way if he wanted— he was so good at using his Quirk, but Sensei seems to have already figured him out.

The moment is gone as fast as it appeared.

The Quirk drops, and Kacchan is let loose.

He doesn’t move besides his fist clenching at his side, so maybe Kacchan has some fear of their new teacher too.

“You’re wasting my time now,” their teacher huffs, as he walks away, unbothered. “Whoever’s next can step up.”

“That guy sure is a piece of work,” Izuku stiffens at the hiss of the words from his side. Shirakumo is glaring daggers at Kacchan, arms crossed tightly against his chest and nose wrinkled in a snarl. Izuku glances quickly to his side at the ghost teen before his attention is back on Kacchan like he might try a second time. He wouldn’t put it past him, but then again, Aizawa-sensei is terrifying.

When Kacchan makes no move to charge again, Izuku sidesteps away from him quickly.

He doesn’t want to get too close— not when Kacchan is already fired up.

He accidently steps through Shirakumo who lets out a gaspy cry of: “Hey!” as a tremble runs through Izuku’s body at the coldness of the entity passing through him.

“Boundaries, Midoriya! That felt so weird!” Shirakumo is making an odd face, and it makes Izuku crack a light smile as he bows his head apologetically. “Now my insides feel like goo. Groooss!”

Izuku shakes his head fondly as he joins his peers, listening intently to both Uraraka asking him if he was okay, and Shirakumo going off on a tangent about how it was rude to walk through someone. All the blonde does is watch with a snide look, before he too steps away.

By the time the class is almost over, Izuku is antsy.

He’s sure he hasn’t done much better in anything else. The only thing he’d really shined in was the softball pitch, and even then, he’d proved Aizawa-Sensei right in the sense he had broken a bone. It was just his finger, but it was still him damaging his body when using his Quirk. Still, it was the only saving grace he had, his last hope.

He was praying he’d squeezed by somehow. That someone— anyone— had done maybe just a tiny bit worse than himself.

And yet, despite all his effort, it feels like someone tore out his heart and stomped on it when his name flashes up in last place.

Twentieth place.

He’d lost.

He was expelled.

Beside him, Shirakumo sucks in a breath of sympathy when he reads the same thing Izuku had. He feels the ghost’s cold energy connect with his shoulder despite the lengthy lecture Izuku had gotten earlier about phasing through things feeling not good. He appreciates it. It helps a bit, but the sinking feeling of failure is still spreading through his chest.

Izuku feels his peer's eyes on him.

The sympathy, and pity.

Kacchan is grinning, and he knows it without even needing to look over.

He didn’t want Izuku at Yuuei with him to begin with, so he’s bound to be happy about his immediate expulsion now.

He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for Aizawa-sensei to tell him to leave— cringes under the cover of his hair as his whole world crumbles apart where he stands. How was he supposed to explain this to All Might? What now? He can already hear the words echoing in his head, he feels the shame of being expelled on the first day crawling onto his cheeks and—

“And I was lying. No one’s going home.”

Shirakumo blows out the breath he sucked in frantically, “I don’t even need to breathe, but I thought I was gonna pass out for a second there! That was horrible, this teaching power has gotten to his head! Damn, Shōta! You had even me going, you ass!”

Izuku too feels like he’s going to pass out from lack of breathing, but thankfully the chill of Shirakumo’s hand phasing through his stomach when the spirit notices his predicament makes a surprised breath stutter out of his lungs. He coughs abruptly at how the air seems to grate at his already exhausted lungs, sending the ghost a thankful look before angling his head to pacify those around him who glance his direction in concern.

Aizawa-sensei levels him his own look, but Izuku can’t decipher that one for the life of him.

Then, an out of place looking grin curls onto the man’s face, “that was just a rational deception to make sure you all gave it your all!”

Izuku manages to calm his own breathing as the class erupts into betrayed chatter, but Izuku can barely hear it over his heart beating anxiously against his ribcage. He bows his head, sucking in another breath that feels so good on his lungs as their teacher tells them that they’re finished for the day, and that they should grab a syllabus in the classroom and read it by the following morning.

How he can go from threatening to a generic teacher so fast is beyond Izuku.

The green-haired boy stares down at his red shoes in an attempt to calm his racing heart until a second pair are stood in front of him. A pair of boots. A paper is waved under his face, and Izuku’s attention jerks up to look at his teacher.

“Midoriya," Sensei says callously, "take this and have the old woman fix you up. Things are gonna be tougher when your actual training begins. Make sure you’re prepared.”

Aizawa-sensei walks past him once Izuku has taken the paper between numb fingers, not bothering to add anything else or even really look at him, but that’s fine.

He’s survived his first class, he’s not expelled, and he’s able to check in with Recovery Girl and get his finger fixed up. That’s a win.

“See, I told you he was a softie. Look at that— that's belief in his eyes. You totally proved yourself, and look,” Shirakumo’s hand phases through the paper, blowing it lightly like it caught a breeze, “he likes you enough to give you a note to go see RG too! And,” he drawls with a charming grin, “it’s only the first day! That’s super-fast for Shōcchan to jump ship on someone’s potential, you’re real lucky, Midoriya.”

Izuku clutches the note in his hand, watching Shirakumo from the corner of his eye. He’s smiling so widely that his eyes are squinted, and the bandage across his nose wrinkles lightly. The green-haired boy shakes his head with a huff in disagreement, but that just makes the ghost chuckle fondly.

“To each their own, I guess. But just know you’ve proved yourself to him, now it’s his turn to do the same, and trust me, he definitely will!” Shirakumo’s hands are tucked in his pockets, and he’s grinning that wide-squinty smile again. “Anyways, it’s been fun, but I’m gonna catch up with Shō, ‘kay?”

Izuku waves him off subtle, or, what he'd hoped was subtle, which ended up with him reaching up to rub the back of his neck when Uraraka glances over at him and asks what he's doing.

“O-oh," Izuku stutters, flashing a sheepish smile, " there was, an, uh, a bug! It was buzzing around me, but, i-it's gone now!”

“I suppose I’ve been called worse,” Shirakumo snorts a laugh, taking pity on the younger boy. “I’ll catch up with you later sometime, cool?”

Izuku nods hurriedly, but squeaks out another excuse when Uraraka cocks her head questioningly at him.

Despite how funny that is, the ghost disappears with a wave of his hand, and a wide grin that has Izuku smiling in return.

“That’s a nice smile,” Uraraka grins back, bumping her shoulder against his good-naturedly, “you must be happy that Aizawa-sensei was just kidding about the immediate expulsion, huh? I was worried for a second there! It would've been awful if he really expelled someone like that! It wouldn't have been fair!”

“Definitely,” Izuku nods, smile widening. It’s not why he’s smiling, but it’s a decent excuse. “I don't know what I would've done if I really got expelled. I guess his rational deception really worked, huh? But on that note, I'm going to head over to Recovery Girl's office before I head home. My finger kinda hurts, so... I'll see you later?”

Chapter Text

After school that day, Izuku had returned home to his quiet apartment after making a quick stop at a convenience store nearby to grab himself some instant ramen for dinner.

With his mother gone most of the time, there wasn’t usually a lot of food in the house— but that didn’t matter because Izuku didn’t really need breakfast.

He’d always settled for a school lunch at the cafeteria, since it was offered and convenient, and when taking that option, he usually had a few hundred yen to spare to buy something for dinner, whether it be instant ramen, a bag of chips, or even just a cheap chocolate bar he picks up with what limited pocket change he has.

As long as he had one decent meal during the day, he was usually good to go.

Overall, it had been a good first day of school, Izuku decided as he stared down at the small carton of steaming water and noodles. He’s sat at the dining room table, fidgeting with small packet of powdered broth and seasoning as he waits for the ramen noodles to cook.

Sure, he’d literally almost been expelled, he’d broken a finger the process of trying not to get expelled and he was a bit afraid of his new sensei, but it had also been good too! Or, it hadn't ended as awfully as it could've— he was still a Yuuei student even after all of that, right? That's good. That's all he can really ask for.

Plus, he'd come out of this with two new friends, which is more friends then he'd thought he'd make, especially on the first day— Iida and Uraraka, who’d been friendly enough to meet up with him after school when Izuku was released from Recovery Girl's office, so that the three of them could walk to the train station together! He can't remember the last time he'd walked home with friends.

And, not to mention the ghost he'd met too!

Shirakumo.

He was a friendly guy, despite the whole ghost thing. Izuku's not entirely sure if the guy really qualified as a new friend or not, he didn't typically befriend ghosts, so this was uncharted territory for Izuku, but Shirakumo was definitely nice, and Izuku thinks he'd like to have him as a friend. Either way, he was there too, ghost or not. Izuku was glad for the company of the ghost, so he’s sure he counted as a new friend as well.

So, he’d made three— two and a half, perhaps?— new friends on the first day.

Seriously, how lucky was he?

He hadn't really expected to make any friends, let alone friends who were so nice!

And he hadn’t gotten expelled on the first day either, even if it hadn’t looked good for a second there!

He'll definitely consider it a successful first day.

Honestly, what more could he ask for after how that morning’s class had gone? It was a miracle he'd survived today, that he'd managed to scrape his way passed that apprehension test without getting expelled despite how much Izuku thinks his new teacher had every intention of expelling the student in last place. He'd said it was a rational deception, but he'd looked pretty serious about it. Something about how the teacher had cornered him after erasing his Quirk told him the man didn't exactly jest like he'd insisted.

Izuku doesn't know what changed, why the teacher took pity on him at the last minute, but he's grateful for it. He's grateful for a chance.

Then, of course, there was the fact that a teacher had stopped Kacchan from pummeling him with crackling palms and burning explosions. That was pretty good. Teachers didn’t do that, and never so soon, on the first day even, but Aizawa-sensei had.

Izuku didn’t know what to think about that.

Aizawa-sensei had honestly scared the crap outta him with his crazy cool Quirk, scary words and capture weapon, but then he’d protected him from Kacchan when he could’ve turned a blind eye like everyone else always did. Izuku really doesn't know what to think about that.

And, on top of all that stuff, he’d even managed to make some improvements with One for All when he was desperate.

He could compartmentalize where he wanted to use it, and minimize damage to his body because of it.

Sure, it wasn’t bounds and leaps into understanding his new Quirk, but it was baby steps in the right direction. He doesn't exactly have ample time, or space to practice a new Quirk, and he doesn't always have a teacher at his disposal either with All Might always so busy with his Hero career, so anything he can figure out on his own is a step in the right direction.

Anything is better than nothing, right?

He hopes All Might will be proud of his progress in just a day of classes— he really can't wait to tell the number one Hero what he'd achieved!

When the noodles were finally soft enough to be edible, Izuku dumped in the packet of soup base and dried vegetables that he'd been fiddling with thoughtlessly and mixed it with his chopsticks. While he waited an additional second for the vegetables to rehydrate, he tugged the class syllabus out of his backpack to read over like Aizawa-sensei had suggested when they'd parted after class.

There wasn’t anything particularly thrilling in it.

He’d been waiting for this for years— he knew the basics of what this class would entail. Despite this being a Yuuei class, it's really not much different than any other syllabus he'd read. It mostly has to do with their core classes and class schedule, so it's not very exciting. Izuku's still excited to see who their teachers will be— he can only imagine the number of Pro Heroes he'll get to meet, just attending such an amazing school!

He finished off his dinner as he read before retreating to his bedroom.

It was the only room in the apartment that had any personality. And the only real personality it did have was... well, All Might. Izuku liked to surround himself with inspiration, and what better inspiration was there than the Number One Pro Hero? And, okay, fine, maybe he was a bit of a fanboy. Izuku doesn't know how people could not be fans of All Might. He was one of the greatest Heroes in history. He was strong, smart, cool and obviously heroic! If that wasn't inspiring, he didn't know what was.

The teen makes his way over to his desk, pulling out one of his notebooks from his schoolbag as he drops it to the floor by his bed. He drops ungracefully into his desk chair, flipping the notebook open as he selected a pencil from a cup on his desk. The book was already full, but there was still some space to add more information on specific Pros he'd already analyzed.

Like, for example, Eraserhead.

He didn't have much on the underground Hero, there wasn't even much about him online. Izuku had scoured the internet when he'd stumbled upon Eraserhead's hero name on a Hero forum he frequented. Izuku thinks the man must be doing something right if he's so illusive, even online. Seriously, there are barely any videos of the guy out there— Izuku would know, he'd spent hours searching for anything on Eraserhead, and of what Izuku had managed to dig up, you couldn't even get a good look at the quick-footed Hero, and the footage was always grainy at best.

But now Izuku had met Eraserhead. He'd met the man first-hand, and he'd seen his Quirk in action. Izuku had assumed Eraserhead's Quirk might have something to do with erasing, given the Hero name, but he'd never imagined a Quirk powerful enough to strip away someone else's Quirk. Something strong enough to erase One for All, All Might's Quirk. That's crazy strong. Though, Izuku supposes at the end of the day, One for All is an emitter type, which is vulnerable to sensei's Quirk.

Izuku hums to himself, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his lips as he thinks.

What are Eraserhead's limitations? Can he erase mutation type Quirks, or just emitters like One for All and Explosion? How long would he be able to cancel a Quirk? He'd mentioned dry eye, but how much does that really affect him? Izuku wonders if his teacher would even answer such questions if he'd asked, but decides that he will not be asking any invasive questions. It's probably not wise to ask someone like who works in the shadows, like Eraserhead, questions like that anyways.

Plus, he'd only just met his new teacher, it's probably too soon to be bothering him about his Quirk.

And, not just his Quirk, but his amazing support gear too! The capture weapon! Izuku had never seen anything like it, so the gear is probably unique to Eraserhead. That was super awesome!

It's no wonder he was such a great Hero, even without a flashy or physically strong Quirk.

Izuku hunches down over the notebook, scribbling down everything new he'd learned about the Pro. It's always satisfying watching the blank lines slowly fill with information— and Eraserhead's analysis had been relatively empty for way too long. No matter how hard he'd tried to dig up information, he'd always come up short, but he's always been interested in a Pro who could reportedly temporarily erase Quirks. Who wouldn't find that cool?

When he was finished recording his data, Izuku slid the older journal back into his backpack with the others before digging out his newest notebook. This one only has a couple pages filled in, so he plans to use it to analyze his new classmates, and new teacher's Quirks if he hasn't already. He's super excited to see what everyone's truly capable of, he can tell they're all strong and powerful just from watching them problem solve with their Quirks during the apprehension test that morning.

He has no doubt that most of his new classmates will make great Pros when they graduate.

He only hopes he's right there with them in the end.

Izuku shakes his head fondly at the thought, flipping to the next available page in the notebook.

Shirakumo Oboro

Quirk: ??

Hero Name: ??

Usually, he’d add more information he observed: like strengths and weaknesses, details of their Quirk (sometimes chosen Quirk names are misleading— Superpower, the cover name he'd chosen for his own Quirk is definitely a little misleading, Izuku thinks, but it's better than any other alternative) attack strategies, support gear and maybe a drawing of the person’s Hero costume if he'd got the time, but he didn’t know much about Shirakumo. He only really knew the ghost’s name.

But still, if he looks at this logically, it's safe to assume Shirakumo does, in fact, have a Quirk if he's wearing the school uniform. Thought Hero schools do accept Quirkless applicants now, that's a pretty new development. Izuku doesn't know how old Shirakumo is, or when he'd passed away, but he doesn't remember seeing of any death of a Yuuei student in the last couple couple years since the bill was passed. Izuku isn't even sure there has been a Quirkless student, despite the fact Quirkless kids can apply.

So... he'd have to have some kind of super cool, amazing Quirk, right?

Izuku taps the tip of his pencil against the page, frowning down at the blank lines. Then, he shut the book with a sigh and leans back against the backrest of his desk chair with a groan. He's getting ahead of himself. Shirakumo is a ghost. The boy sighs again as he slips the book into his backpack with the others.

He doesn't even know if he'll ever see the ghost again, so recording an analysis of him is dumb.

Still, Izuku can't help but hope he does see the ghost again, despite how he'd always made an effort to keep away from the afterlife.

There's just something about Shirakumo that makes Izuku want to be his friend. Maybe it's how the ghost had reacted when he'd realized Izuku could see him, or just how kind he was during class. Izuku's not sure he would've made it out of that class with his dignity intact if it weren't for the ghost's encouragement.

Maybe the ghost will become a permanent in his school life? Perhaps he'll see the ghost tomorrow? He did hang around Aizawa-sensei, right? He'd definitely be seeing his homeroom teacher tomorrow, so there's a good chance he'll see the ghost as well. He hopes, at least.

Izuku does see Shirakumo the next morning, except, instead of in Aizawa-sensei’s class, the blue-haired boy is perched on the front desk in Yamada-sensei's class.

English was his first class of the day, and would be followed by all the other core classes.

After lunch was when the fun really started, when they had Heroics training, so the morning was more or less just regular school.

Izuku is one of the first kids in the classroom, so when he enters the room, the ghost's head quirks in his direction before he beams in excitement.

“I thought I might find you here!” Shirakumo chirped, slipping off the teacher's desk before falling into step with Izuku as the teen makes his way to his own desk, plopping down in his chair. “I took a peek at your schedule, and saw you have English with Hizashi first thing. I’m usually hanging around with him in the mornings anyways, since Shō’s usually asleep until he starts teaching. That dude won't actually wake up until he has to, you know?”

Izuku ducked his head in a subtle nod, shuffling the books he'll need for this class out of his backpack.

He still hadn’t really met Present Mic-sensei, since the whole first day had been dedicated to Aizawa-sensei's quirk apprehension test, but he'd still seen the blonde-haired teacher around the school and knew he taught here. Izuku had passed him in the hallway on his way out the school yesterday, and he was ecstatic to have the Present Mic as his teacher. Izuku has a good couple pages of analysis on the Voice-Quirked Hero, but he hadn't actually met him yet.

Izuku watched out of the corner of his eye as he organized himself as the ghost slid up onto his desk carelessly. The ghost took up a bit of space, well, not technically, since he was a ghost and Izuku could phase right through him if need be, but Izuku still had every intention of respecting the entity. He didn't mind the ghost sitting there if Izuku could still use his desktop for school work too.

As much as it didn't bother Izuku, it was still a little surprising just how comfortable the ghost was with him already.

They'd only just met yesterday.

Izuku simply huffs a snort of laughter to himself as he lets a smile slip onto his face.

He rolls one of his pencils towards the ghost, watching silently as it rolls right through him, prompting a yelp of surprise from the apparition. Izuku had simply meant it as a warning, not a serious one, but simply a warning that the desk might not be an ideal place to sit if he doesn't want to be accidentally phased through.

Izuku subtly glances around the room, making sure no one's watching before he quirks his head faintly in the pouting ghost's direction so if anyone else is looking, they can't see him whispering to himself, “not that I mind you sitting on my desk, I just might accidentally go through you if we're sharing the space. Just as a warning. I'll try to be careful.”

“Ah, no biggie,” Shirakumo replied easily, sporting his wide grin as he leans back on his hands, “just don’t touch my butt, cool? Or, you know what? Do. It’s been ages since I’ve had any action. I’ll go to second base with you, Midoriya-kun, so touch my butt if you want!”

“I don’t want!” Izuku sputters, just barely managing to keep his voice down through the mortification.

He must not be quiet enough because Present Mic, who'd entered the room at some point while Izuku had been distracted, glances over at him with an arched eyebrow.

Izuku feels a dark flush of embarrassment crawling up his cheeks as he bows his head dismissively in the teacher's direction and hopes the man simply ignores him being weird. Izuku has half a mind to bang his head on the desktop, Shirakumo's cackle of laughter at his expense not helping in the slightest.

He honestly wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed of what the ghost boy had said, or the fact that his reaction had caught the teacher’s attention.

“Okay over there, Lil' Listener?” Mic asked from the front of the class, clearly not receiving the silent plead Izuku had been sending his way, or, maybe the man was just too kind to ignore a student acting like a idiot in his classroom. Izuku has listened to Present Mic's radio show, Put Your Hands Up radio, for as long as he can remember, so he can tell the man is genuinely kind.

“I-I'm fine!” Izuku chirps promptly, back straightening to regard the teacher with what he hopes is a disarming smile. Any confidence Izuku had had is gone when the Pro blinks slowly at his antics and Izuku thinks, ah, too much. Izuku gives a nervous laugh as he rubs at the back of his neck anxiously.

Thankfully, the man seems to take pity on Izuku, offering a smile of his own as he turns back to the chalk board he'd been writing on and continues writing out English sentences. Izuku squints at the board, just barely able to read the 'Welcome to English, Class 1-A!' the man jots out in white chalk.

As excited Izuku is to have Present Mic as an English teacher, he's also slightly dreading it.

English is his worst subject.

Izuku chances a quick look around the room, finding that some of his new classmates, a few who're in the room early, like he is, had glanced in his direction at the disturbance. Despite how his cheeks flush once again, he knows if anyone else had caught their teacher's attention before class even starts, he'd be looking over too. It's natural to be curious about someone making a fool of themself, he knows that.

Izuku still drops his face into his hands and silently wills their gazes away from him.

When he lifts his head, glancing subtly to the side, he finds that his classmates have given up on watching him, all busy either chatting in small groups, or preparing themselves for their classes. Izuku huffs out a sigh of relief, finally quirking his head back to the ghost, a light scowl on his face when he meets the ghost's charming smile.

“Why do I get a distinct feeling you're going to get me into trouble one of these days?” Izuku blows out under his breath.

The ghost at his side only seems to snicker in amusement, his grin widening a little, as if that were even possible, "y'know, you are sooo not the first person to theorize that, and, if the past is anything to go off, you're completely correct."

“Oh, goodie,” Izuku sighs dramatically, making sure to shoot the ghost a playful smile so he knows Izuku doesn't actually mean it.

The ghost doesn't really get a chance to respond, as the bell rings to signal classes starting soon and the rest of Izuku's new classmates flood into the room and hurry to take their seats. Izuku turns away from the ghost, facing forwards as every seat is quickly filled. No one wants a repeat of yesterday morning with Aizawa-sensei, so everyone is ready to start the exact moment the bell rings.

"Goooood morning, class 1-A!" Present Mic turns to them with a grin, voice loud, with all the enthusiasm of a radio host, "welcome to your very first class of the day! The best class of the day, if I do say so! English, yo! If you don't know me, my name is Yamada Hizashi, or, Present Mic, if you'd like! Glad to see you're all still standing, which means Eraser wasn't too hard on ya yesterday! Enough about him though, we're gonna have a lot of fun in here, ya'dig?!"

Present Mic had been kind enough to do a sort of informal orientation for them since they'd missed it yesterday at Aizawa-sensei's insistence, but he didn't stay on the topic long, clearly eager to get into his own class. He seemed to want to jump right into lessons when they had a basic understanding of the school and his specific class, clearly very enthusiastic about English.

It was kind of him to take some of his class time to catch them up when he probably didn't have to.

Beside him, Shirakumo had snorted out some amused comment about Present Mic always having to clean up after Aizawa-sensei, and honestly, the green-haired teenager could see that.

It's actually pretty amusing to think about Mic-sensei doing damage control after Aizawa-sensei's class, Izuku can't help but smile at the thought.

Izuku can't help but wonder if the two teachers are friends— Present Mic obviously knows Aizawa-sensei pretty well if he knows to do some damage control and debrief the students on the ceremony they missed because of the apprehension test. They could, of course, have just had classes one after the other for years, getting to know each other in that sense as to not screw the students over completely leaving them to flounder, but Izuku doesn't think it's just that.

And if they are friends, how exactly does Shirakumo play into that?

How does he know so much about their teachers?

Were they his teachers at one point too?

English class passes by quickly enough, Izuku's glad it's not one of those classes that just drags on and on.

Present Mic is a pretty good teacher, if not a bit loud sometimes like he forgets it's first thing in the morning. He's enthusiastic about what he teaches, and in turn, they're all excited to learn— well, as excited as they can be stuck in an English class learning English grammar and other confusing stuff. It's boring too, don't get him wrong, but that's expected of a core class that isn't Heroics training.

Present Mic at least teaches in a fun way, so it's not like any other English class Izuku had been stuck in.

Maybe he'll even pick the language up faster if it's not mind-numbingly boring.

They get assigned an English book that they'll be reading as a class, which seems interesting enough judging by the synopsis Mic-sensei translates for them. It might even be something he'd read in his spare time, if it weren't in a language he barely speaks, but he just adds it to his collection of notebooks he already totes around in his backpack. What's one more, right?

During the lesson, Izuku halfheartedly keeps an eye on the ghost out of the corner of his eye. Shirakumo seemed relatively comfortable in Present Mic's class, just like he had in Aizawa-sensei's. The ghost has no qualms about slipping off of Izuku's desk and settling on top of the teacher's desk at the front of the room, or standing right beside Present Mic as the teacher writes on the chalkboard.

Izuku tries really hard not to let the ghost distract him, but he knows he's slipping up.

C'mon, how is he not supposed to let his eyes follow a ghost pacing back and forth, in front of the teacher, at the front of the room? That's distracting.

Izuku tries to at least be subtle about it, forcing his attention back onto Present Mic when he realizes he'd let his attention waver, but he still feels his teacher's gaze on him every so often. Izuku even makes the mistake of looking up at Present Mic, only to find the teacher literally looking at him with a furrowed brow, despite how the man doesn't stop teaching.

Izuku averts his gaze quickly, eyes trained down on the notebook in front of him, and when he looks back up, the man is looking back at the book in his hands, still teaching. At least he hadn't drawn any attention to Izuku. He thinks he might actually die if a teacher were to call him out again on just the second day of classes.

It's bad enough Aizawa-sensei had singled him out yesterday over his Quirk.

Talk about making him an outcast.

As the lesson carries on, Shirakumo seems to forget about Izuku for the most part, clearly comfortable going about his business as if this is second nature to him. Izuku wonders how long he's just been hanging around these two men for, if he can act like this with them. The ghost hovers close, doesn't seem bothered in the least as he side-steps gracefully around Present Mic as if he knows exactly where the teacher will go as he speaks.

At one point, Shirakumo even leans in far too close to Present Mic when he attempts to read over his shoulder, to which the man lets out a hiss through his teeth and jumps to the side at what Izuku knows to be an intense chill settling in his body. The man's shoulders tremble with a shiver, before he laughs awkwardly and flashes the startled class a grin.

"I should give you Listeners a heads up now," the man rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, "the AC unit in the school acts up sometimes, so if you get chills easily, it's best to keep a sweater handy, yo! This room in particular can be super chilly, if you catch my drift!"

Izuku lets his eyes lull in Shirakumo's direction, the pouting ghost cutting off his own apology that went unheard to the Pro who'd swiftly returned to his lesson.

The pout on the ghost's face swiftly curls into a light glare directed at the teacher, "AC, huh? I'll show you chilly."

This can't be good, Izuku bows his head, biting back a sigh.

Then, without another word, the ghost steps right through Present Mic, prompting a yelp of surprise from the teacher. A look of unease clouds Shirakumo's face, but Izuku has absolutely no sympathy for a ghost who gave himself the sick feeling by being petty. Mic-sensei even loses control of his Quirk for a second, a bit of his voice Quirk leaking into the surprised sound he makes.

Izuku's ears ring as he shoots the ghost an unimpressed look, which has Shirakumo offering a sheepish, guilty grin.

Mic-sensei apologies for the accident promptly, glancing at the spot he'd sprung away from as he laughs at himself. After a quick check in with the students to make sure no one's ears were hurting too much, the ringing in Izuku's ears dying down along with the rest of the class, the man continues on with his lesson, mostly unphased.

Something about the reaction tells Izuku that this is probably not a first for the Voice Hero.

"Don't give me that look, that was not my fault," Shirakumo clearly feels the need to defend himself when Izuku glances over at him once again, "I mean, you heard what he called me! An AC! Do I look like an AC? No! He hurt my feelings. And that was totally his fault, he's the one who tried to deafen you guys. I'm innocent, he's the bully!"

Izuku can't help the laugh he lets out, just barely managing to hide it behind his fist and a well-timed cough.

Still, Izuku feels his teacher's gaze flick in his direction at the disruption, but he's too busy trying to hide his smile in his fist and forcing his attention onto the book in front of him to dare looking up and meeting the teacher's gaze. In addition to Present Mic watching him, he feels Shirakumo's eyes on him too, though his look seems fond.

Izuku pretends not to notice the stupidly proud look on Shirakumo's face when his eyes briefly lift to the ghost's face.

Izuku has a bad feeling he'd just enabled Shirakumo in some way.

Yeah... it's going to be a long year.

The rest of class thankfully passes by with little other distractions.

Shirakumo, who looked scolded by Izuku's glare when he obstructed Izuku's view of the chalkboard when he was trying to copy down notes before Present Mic moved on, ended up back on Izuku's desk, perched on the edge of it, out of Izuku's direct line of sight. The ghost slouched pathetically with a pout, but Izuku paid him no mind.

"Y'know," the ghost drawled cheekily towards the end of class, Izuku scribbling down an answer to a question on a worksheet Present Mic had handed out. "You could just use me as a cheat sheet, right? I mean, I've been in this class for... jeez, I don't know, ever? I'm sure I could read that book cover to cover in perfect English at this point by the number of times I've read along over 'zashi's shoulder in class. That worksheet is nothin' to me, so? Want help?"

"You are aware that would be cheating, right?" Izuku scoffs under his breath, not even looking at the ghost.

The worksheet in question was simply to gauge where they stood with English so Mic-sensei knew what he needed to focus on teaching to get everyone in the same boat, or, so he'd said. He'd spent most of class going over the basics, adjectives, nouns, verbs. Basic punctuation. English was hard.

Izuku already knows he's going to struggle with punctuation, he hardly knows where to put the commas on the worksheet.

"Ah, ah," Shirakumo waggles a finger matter-o-factly, "it's only really cheating if you get caught! And I seriously doubt anyone will be able to catch you getting answers from a ghost they can't see, hear, or even so much as sense unless I happen to get to close to them. You could get away with it easily. Say the word and I'll help!"

"I'm starting to doubt that you were actually a student at this school," Izuku remarks under his breath, angling his head to look at the ghost. Thankfully, his seat is beside the window, so it doesn't look overly weird for him to be staring to the side. It would look weirder if he was staring at the wall, or another student. Right now it just looks like he's distracted by the outside world. "I gotta say, your morals are questionable for a Heroics student."

“I definitely was,” Shirakumo snaps back with a laugh. He doesn’t appear angry, or sad, his tone taking a teasing edge that makes Izuku smile. It's way too easy to banter with the ghost, this'll definitely get him into trouble at some point. “I mean, the uniform doesn’t lie, my friend. We match. And my morals are perfectly fine, thank you very much! I still just don’t understand the usefulness of knowing the English language— well, unless you planned on touring America like All Might, or somethin’, but if you’re gonna be Japan based, what’s the point?”

“Sounds like English is your favorite subject,” Izuku’s not sure where his quiet, sarcastic drawl comes from.

The corner of his lip curls into a tiny smile when the ghost responds though.

“There’s just so many rules!” the ghost cried out, “dumb rules— how can words be said the exact same way, but spelled differently? There, their, they’re, Midoriya, what’s up with that? And don’t even get me started on read and read! It’s literally the same word, but you pronounce it differently depending on when you’re saying it! And all the weird sounds you have to make or you're saying it wrong! Ugh! English has no right to be so hard!”

Izuku blows out a breathy chuckle, gaze flicking to the front of the room where Mic-sensei was now writing something on the chalk board before looking back at the ghost when he knows the coast is clear to do so. He doesn’t respond to the ghost because as he opens his mouth to do so, he just ends up snapping his jaw shut when Present Mic spins around to address them.

Shirakumo lets out a snort of bright laugh as Izuku’s teeth click together as he shuts his mouth.

He shoots the ghost a glance of annoyance, but he knows he probably looks amused.

Classes with Shirakumo at his side might actually be a bit harder than Izuku first thought.

Thankfully, his new ghost friend doesn’t follow him to every class.

After they're dismissed from English class, he doesn't really see the ghost again after the spirit follows him just a couple steps out of the classroom. He sees Shirakumo wave out of the corner of his eyes as they part ways, Izuku's fingers twitching at his side in an attempt to return the gesture without looking like a complete idiot waving at nothing.

Izuku's a little bummed he didn't get to verbally say goodbye to his friend, since Iida and Uraraka had managed to drag him into a conversation as they walked as a group to their next class, which happened to be Math class.

He almost misses the icy chill of the entity beside him, but he's also content to have a chance to focus on his living friends as well.

Iida isn't as scary as Izuku had first thought, despite his stern and serious nature, he's actually a really nice guy. He's just very serious about his school career, which Izuku understands. He wants to do well too.

Uraraka is just as bubbly as she'd been yesterday, asking him if his finger was any better after his visit to Recovery Girl and telling them about her morning where she'd accidentally used her Quirk on her shoe when she'd picked it up and almost lost it, because she'd been half asleep getting ready that morning. She laughs at herself, even as her cheeks flush faintly in embarrassment, so Izuku laughs along with her. The girl is friendly in a way people haven’t been to him since before his friends started getting Quirks, and it’s refreshing.

He likes the two of them.

Not to mention he needs a good influence on him after hanging out with Shirakumo, who wasn’t... well, the greatest influence. At least from what Izuku's seen thus far. He supposed ghosts didn’t really have consequences to their actions, nor did people really noticed them. Not like Izuku, who could face detention, or even expulsion if he were caught cheating in anyway.

Plus, he really needs some living friends too, and if these two are offering to be his friends, he's more than happy to accept. It's been a long time since he's actually had friends.

As he listens to Iida and Uraraka argue halfheartedly about something, Izuku can't help but think about Shirakumo. He wondered if the ghost was like how he is now when he actually attended Yuuei as a living student. He can't imagine any student getting by cheating, like he'd so easily suggested Izuku do, so perhaps the carefree nature had come after he'd passed on. Like he'd thought earlier, it's not like a ghost would have any repercussions, right?

He adds the thought to his ever-growing list of questions he’s dying to ask the ghost.

Morning classes finish off faster that Izuku thought they were going to, surprising, which is great because it means they'll be onto Heroics training soon. He can't wait! He's been giddy about their first official Heroics lesson since yesterday. You can't be a Yuuei student, a 1-A student specifically, and not been ecstatic to have Heroics classes at such an exemplary school! He can't wait to see what it's like, having dreamed about this for so long.

Izuku finds himself caught in the mass of students heading for the lunch room with Iida, Uraraka and a couple other classmates.

The lunch room is huge; tables scarcely placed to accommodate everyone, but it's still chaotic and busy with students coming and going. There are students milling around, others in line to get cafeteria lunch. There's a lot of chatter, a lot of the tables filled with students already enjoying their lunch.

The lunch line is long, but it moves surprisingly fast.

The food is a bit more expensive than Izuku’s used to a school lunch being, but no other school lunch he's ever had had been made by Pro Hero: Lunch Rush.

So, it’s totally worth the extra couple-hundred yen, because it’s delicious.

And really, it’s cheap by all standards considering just what they're getting for the price, not that he expected anything less from a school as renowned as Yuuei, but to Izuku, whose income hadn’t changed since his mother started spending less time at home, leaving him nothing more than a few bills of currency on the table to get himself by with, it’s a bit on the pricy side.

Still, it’s cheap for the quality and amount you get, and it’s the only option he’s got if he wants enough sustenance to get through the school day.

He’s used to school food that tastes like cardboard but fills him up.

The cheapest stuff the school can get its hands on, so they can sell it for dirt cheap too— what Lunch Rush makes leaves him full and satisfied. It even tastes homemade, which isn't something Izuku is very familiar with these days. It’s totally worth spending the majority of his evening money on.

When he gets his food, he ends up eating with Uraraka, Iida and some of their other classmates who sit at their table with them, and at tables near by. It's funny that even when they don't have to, the class still tends to gravitate towards each other in the mess hall. The school is huge, and there are a lot of other students. They might not be very familiar with each other yet, but they are still the most familiar in this setting.

Izuku finds himself looking back over his shoulder every so often in an attempt to spot Shirakumo, but he doesn't. He tries not to frown, wondering where the ghost is and what he's gotten up to without Izuku around, but instead of worrying too hard about the ghost, manages to force his attention on his other new friends.

He actually doesn't see the ghost for the rest of the school day, which is odd when the ghost had hovered during his first class.

Actually, they don't see Aizawa-sensei either... but, that's okay!

Because All Might is the one leading them through their first Heroics class!

Izuku can't wait to see what battle trials are all about.

Oboro is tucked away in a far corner of the teacher's offices.

His knees are drawn up to his chest, arms hugging around them with his chin perched on the dip in between his knees. He's sitting on a printer that doesn't see any use around this time of the day, so if the printer's tiny menu screen keeps flashing an ‘Error’ message at his chilling energy, no one’ll notice. And it's not like he weighs anything as he is currently, so there's no risk of any real damage.

He's been sitting here for years, since it's out of the way and he's less likely to get in anyone's way back here. It's the only place he's found that he's not disturbed either, unless someone needs the printer for whatever reason, which it's easy enough to get out of the way when anyone comes close, clearly intending to use the printer. He's learned over the years.

He doesn't usually have any incidents at this time though, the teacher's offices are surprisingly quiet. It's towards the end of the student's lunch period, so the teachers have mostly all left to be ready for their afternoon classes. The teachers here manage their time well, so most are heading back to their classrooms before the kid's lunch period ends.

Oboro knows most of their schedules simply by watching over the years. They don't really change from year to year, and most of the staff have been teaching here for a good number of years, the only new addition being All Might, which is surprising in it's own way, but Oboro hadn't really seen much of him despite the chatter of the Number One Hero teaching here.

Shōta tends to avoid him unless he has to interact with him, and Hizashi doesn't really cross paths with the man.

And speaking of Shōta and Hizashi, they're the only two left in the room at this point since All Might is having his turn with the 1-A students to get a feel of their Quirks like Shōta had yesterday, and Hizashi has a free period after lunch that he usually uses to mark student's work.

Oboro lets his head cock faintly, his cheek resting on his knee as he watches the two of them.

He’s beyond glad they’re still close, that they didn’t let life tear them apart after they graduated— after they lost him in their second year of school. He'd been worried for a while after he'd died, as the two of them mourned him, but they'd turned to each other instead of away from each other, and Oboro is grateful for that. It would've broken his heart if they'd gone their separate ways.

They needed each other— anyone could see that, but sometimes they were both too dense to see that.

He’s just glad those two oblivious idiots seemed to realize it as well.

The two of them are lounged on the couch in the teacher's office like they usually are when they have a moment to themselves.

Shōta is wrapped in his hideous yellow sleeping bag taking up nearly the entire couch. It's where you can usually find him during breaks or during his own free periods, and the staff is well aware of it. There's a running joke among the teachers that the couch in the office is 'Aizawa's couch', and though it's a joke, everyone makes a effort to leave it open for him when he's around.

Shōta would always just grunt and bury himself deeper in his sleeping bag when anyone commented on it, but Oboro knows he's secretly content with the thought.

Shōta likes not having to fight anyone for the spot, though the dark-haired man wasn't above sprawling across the floor or curling up in a corner if it happened to be occupied.

Hizashi sits on the other end of the couch, with Shōta's head cushioned on his thigh.

The blonde's mouth is moving as he reads over and marks the worksheets he'd given all his classes that morning, currently working on 1-A's worksheets, as far as Oboro can tell.

Oboro knew the worksheet well, had seen it every year for as long as Hizashi had been teaching. It was a way for Hizashi to gauge where each student was when it came to starting English again after a break, so he knew what to focus on and where the students would need the most help going forwards. He liked to see who'd need a little extra help along the line too, so he was prepared to assist.

Hizashi had always been a thoughtful teacher— he had, after all, been the one to suggest that the two of them start teaching, even taking the initiative first to get his teaching degree after Kayama-senpai had suggested they look into becoming teachers as well. Shōta had followed along right after, starting just a semester behind Hizashi.

Oboro had tried to help Midoriya with his worksheet, but the green-hared teen had been adamantly against accepting any form of help. He was so determined to do it himself that Oboro couldn't help but he proud of the kid. There weren't a lot of kids like Midoriya out there in the world, and the notion made him smile.

He'd been kidding about being Midoriya's cheat sheet, well, for the most part, at least.

Besides, an answer slipped to him here and there wasn't the end of the world, right?

Maybe not to anyone else, but Oboro thinks it might be the end of the world to Midoriya.

What a funny kid.

Oboro likes him, and not just because the kid can see him.

The teacher's office is pretty quiet with just Shō and 'zashi around. They're not really talking, though they do exchange a word every so often. It's expected, Shōta is trying to catch up on his sleep so he's rested for his patrol tonight, eyes closed as he dozes, and Hizashi is busy marking his assignments.

It had always been himself and Hizashi who'd talk to fill the silence, so if Hizashi's not speaking when it's just the two of them, no one is.

Shōta had never been one for talking just for the hell of it.

So he too sits in the silence of the room.

He'd long since given up on trying to convince them he was there with them. It was a futile effort. He had so little power over the living world, and no amount of trying changed that. The most he could do was walk through them, unpleasant on both sides, and flicker lights, but none of that was really telling to living idiots. None of that was proof, and Oboro knows how logical of a person Shōta is, even if Hizashi does get spooked every so often by it, not that he'd ever put two and two together.

So it wasn't worth the energy drain for something so pointless.

Oboro lets his head settle back against the wall behind him, eyes fluttering shut.

“Midoriya...” Hizashi's thoughtful hum stirs Oboro from his thoughts.

The ghost lets his eyes sliver open, angling his head back towards his friends at the mention of his ghost-seeing new friend.

What about Midoriya?

Hizashi’s eyes are the paper he’s currently scanning, but Oboro sees Shōta's eyes crack open the faintest bit to look up at him. Oboro's eyes flick to the paper in Hizashi's hand, just barely able to spot Midoriya's tiny yet formal scrawl over the top of the paper. He’d watched the teen write it, knew all of his answers.

He also knew what was right, and what was wrong, because he’d been watching Hizashi mark that exact paper for years.

“Hn, what about ‘im?” Shōta asks gruffly, eyes shutting again and he melts further into his sleeping bag. Hizashi’s spare hand, the one loosely holding his marking pen, brush some hair from Shōta’s face without even looking down at him. It stays there for a second on his forehead before he’s lifting it to check off a grammatically correct sentence.

“Nothing really,” the blonde mutters as he marks off an ‘x’ on the paper. “He just caught my eye, is all.”

“Hm,” Shōta hums indifferently, but they all know it’s a ‘do tell’ hum.

The thought brings a smile to his face.

It’s been thirteen years, and neither of them have really changed besides maturing and growing a bit older. They’re still the same Shō and ‘Zashi he’d sat in the cafeteria with, joking around and laughing. Well, he and ‘zashi joked around with a shared goal of trying to get Shōta to crack a smile. And that was not an easy feat in the slightest.

“It was weird,” Hizashi tells the dark-haired man, gaze not straying from the paper he's reading. “I just think I need to look into his files. I'm not sure, but I think he might be dealing with some sort of developmental disability or something. Maybe ADHD, or something along those lines. I... well, I just noticed a few things during class today that I'm going to keep an eye on. And if he does have a developmental disability, then I wanna be able to help him along, y'know?”

“I see," Shōta's eyes finally open, head leaning back in Hizashi's lap to study the man curiously, "I looked through my classes records when I got my roster this year, but I didn't see anything concerning when I looked through Midoriya's. No report of any learning disabilities. What did you notice?”

“Well, a lack of attention for starters,” the blonde snorts a laugh, looking down at Shōta with a fond smile, “besides that, he just kept looking around. I’d be talking, but he’d be staring out the window or off to the side. It's like I was fighting for his attention or something. And he did quite a bit of muttering to himself too, though he was quiet about it. I doubt anyone else in class noticed. Oh, and, at one point, his gaze was even dragging across the room like he was watching someone pace. I get English is kinda boring if you’re not interested in it, I mean, you hated English class, but he wasn’t acting particularly bored— not like the other students— he was just... distracted, you know?”

Oboro feels his cheeks heat up. Oh.

Izuku had been right, he was going to get him in trouble at some point.

It was only the second day and he’d already been distracting him that Hizashi had taken notice of it.

Oboro feels bad, of course, but it's really hard not to be a distraction.

He hardly even notices he's doing it. Someone sees him for the first time in years. Someone hears him, speaks to him. He’s been isolated for so long, devoid of human contact since he'd died, and now someone is there he can interact with. He can't help it. He really can't help it.

It's just so easy to forget that Midoriya’s not supposed to see him, that the boy can see him, and therefore Oboro is a distraction to him in a way he's never been before.

Still, he doesn’t want to be the reason Midoriya fails a class.

He has high hopes that Midoriya will become a great Hero in the upcoming years.

He hasn’t seen much from him, not exactly, but Oboro knows if anyone has the potential to be one of the best Heroes of this day and age, it's Midoriya. The kid's got a heart of gold, and a fighting spirit that you just don't see anymore. Oboro will be damned if Midoriya doesn't turn out to be one of the greatest at this point.

He doesn't even know the kid well, but he believes in him. There's just something about the kid.

Especially after the apprehension test yesterday.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Hizashi continues after a second, and some of the fear drains from Oboro's chest as leans towards them to listen, lips pressed in a straight line where he’s still tucked away in the corner of the room, “I don't think it'll be a huge problem or anything. He seems to catch himself doing it, kept forcing his attention back onto me when he got sidetracked. And his grade on this paper is fairly good too, considering they probably haven’t touched anything English since Junior High. I’m just a bit worried.”

“I actually noticed that too,” Shōta lets out a deep sigh. The dark-haired man squeezes a hand out of the opening of the sleeping bag to rub at his eyes. “The muttering. And his lack of attention. During the apprehension test yesterday. He kept glancing away; I just assumed it was nerves, but it could definitely be something else too. I didn’t even think of that since it wasn’t in his file...”

“Huh,” Hizashi sets the paper down on the armrest of the couch with the other graded papers, finally looking down at Shōta, “well, you know things like this get overlooked all the time. I guess we can see what the other teachers think after a few classes with him and watch over him for the next couple weeks. If he hasn’t already been diagnosed, maybe we could suggest looking into it... but then again, I could just be looking too far into this, it’s only my first day with him after all. Maybe he’s just an odd kid— it's not like you weren’t.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Shōta huffs out lowly.

Oboro can’t see it, but he knows his friend is rolling his eyes at Hizashi.

“I don’t remember you being overly normal either, Hizashi.”

“Hey!” Hizashi laughs, as if he hadn’t fired the first shot, “I was more normal than you, Mr. Grumpypants. Our classmates spoke to me, at least.”

“Out of obligation, it’s hard to ignore that voice of yours,” Shōta retorts. “Besides, they were mostly idiots anyways, I didn’t want to speak to them. You're lucky I talked to you, Tensei and Oboro. Not that you three were much better than the others. And don’t even get me started on Nemuri. Being friends with you lot was irrational.”

“Awh, Shō~” Hizashi cooed, patting the man’s forehead softly, “but you loved us, and you can't convince me otherwise. I mean, why else would you stick around during lunch and after school with us if we were so irrational?”

Shōta gives an indifferent hum, but Oboro hears the fondness in the sound.

His heart feels warm in the same way it does whenever the talk about him.

It’s nice to know they still remember him, not that he thinks they’ll ever forget. The acknowledgement is nice; reminds him that he's still important to them.

They’ve only just recently come to a place where they can say his name without getting all gloomy and mournful.

It’s nice to see, he’s glad he’s not as big of a sore topic anymore.

He’d hated the looks on their faces. The pain. The heartbreak. How the room fell silent whenever he was mentioned, because the thought of losing him had hurt them. They still have bad days— usually his birthday and the anniversary of that fateful day, but he’s glad they have good days of reminiscence now too. They can say his name, and think back and smile.

He feels a smile curl onto his own face as the two of them continue talking.

They’ve carried on from talking about Midoriya, which is good, the kid doesn't need anymore attention on him, and are now focused on another of the green-haired boy’s classmates. He hasn’t gotten around to memorizing all their names yet, and he can barely picture their faces, but in his defense, he’s had something else to be focused on this time.

Something way more interesting than a bunch of kids who don't know he's even there with them.

Slowly the conversation fades off to the usual silence they settle into when there's nothing to discuss.

Shōta's breathing evens out in the way it does when he's finally fallen asleep, and Hizashi's pen scratches along the assignments as he marks them silently.

Oboro lets his own eyes drift shut once again, even if sleep is foreign concept to him now.

Midoriya is feeling worse for the wear as he walks home that day.

The battle training trials that All Might had them doing had been brutal— especially on the first day of actual training. Izuku hadn't expected something so intensive during their first official Heroics class, but maybe he should've? He doesn't know what to expect at a school like Yuuei.

All Might really hadn’t gone easy on them, not that Izuku expected him to.

Still, it was a lot for their first lesson.

Izuku's not sure he's ever felt as drained as he does right now.

Aizawa-sensei had been right when he'd said Izuku needed to be prepared for todays lessons, Izuku just hadn't thought to take it quite so literally. He doesn't think anything could've really prepared him for today's lessons, but he really would've appreciated a bit of a heads up so he didn't feel quite so overwhelmed during those trials.

Izuku's body aches with each step he takes.

He probably should've held back a little, especially not really knowing how to really use his Quirk, but he also couldn't let his teammate down and he did truly want to win and impress All Might on their first official Heroics assignment. Plus, he was against Kacchan, who'd be beyond pissed off if Izuku didn't give it his all like Katsuki always did. Kacchan didn't like it when Izuku beat him at all, but he also hated it when Izuku didn't give it his all too. Sometimes it felt like he could never win when it came to Kacchan.

And Iida was a worthy competitor too, so Izuku didn't want to let him down either.

They all needed to do their best, especially with All Might watching them.

Honestly, he's surprised that he and Uraraka won in the end.

If he didn't know Kacchan as well as he does, having grown up alongside Kacchan and having had the chance to study the explosive teen throughout their childhoods, he's not sure the would've stood a chance against him at all. Izuku believes that any other student would've lost going up against Kacchan, just because he's as clever as he is powerful. Kacchan is strong— both mentally and physically, which is an advantage in something like Heroics where you need to think and act quickly.

If Izuku hadn't of been able to predict Kacchan's attacks, he probably wouldn't be standing here at all.

So, yeah, they'd won in the end, but that didn't mean they came out of those battle trials unscathed.

Well, Izuku in particular hadn't come out of today's assignment unscathed, though he did have a victory under his belt all the same.

Their first victory with their Quirks— his first victory using his One for All, and that was something to be proud of.

And he was proud of himself, even if he'd spent the remainder of class in Recovery Girl's office, and he was now beyond tired and still had to make the journey home before he could actually rest. Recovery Girl had used up nearly all of his stamina, which didn't exactly feel great. He kinda wants to just keel over right where he stands, but he resists the urge.

He's still surprisingly sore, since Recovery Girl hadn't managed to do much for him. The trials had left him with limited stamina, but she'd still given him first-aid treatment and had given him an IV drip to replenish his fluids before he went home and passed out for a good few hours. She'd given him some chalky tasting nutrient gummies as well, which weren't actually as bad as they sounded.

The school nurse hadn't wanted to let Izuku leave, but she'd ended up caving when he promised to go straight home and sleep until the following morning, which he honestly has every intention to do. He wonders what that says about him— having the school nurse already on him. He doesn't really care if he gets to go home and sleep.

It's fairly late in the afternoon when he's finally granted permission to leave the infirmary, and that's only after he promises once again to go straight him and return to the nurse's office the following morning after resting and recharging his stamina so he's strong enough for her to heal him up the rest of the way before classes.

It'll be decided at that point whether he's fit enough to go to his classes, or whether he needs to rest up with her until he's got the stamina to fix up his injuries.

He really, really hopes it's the former of the two, since he's got a bad feeling that Aizawa-sensei will be none too pleased with him if he misses class two days in a row.

Izuku ends up getting ambushed by his new classmates when he stops by the classroom to pick up his backpack. He hadn't really met most of his new peers, but a lot of them now make the effort to introduce themselves to him. They kindly tell him how the rest of the trials that he'd missed went, and congratulate him on his and Uraraka's win.

Izuku wishes he had've been around to see them, they sounded cool. Probably would've been a good time to do some analyzing too, if he hadn't been stuck in Recovery Girl's office.

He catches Kacchan outside the school and tries to talk with his childhood friend after their intense battle, but the other boy doesn't seem very interested in making amends, or even so much as hearing Izuku out after everything. Not a lot is said between them, but Izuku does manage to blurt out his piece, to explain at least a little to his childhood friend, so that's a weight off his shoulder.

It feels like he owes his oldest friend an explanation about the the situation they've found themselves in— no doubt Kacchan is pissed off and confused when he'd known Izuku as long as Izuku's known him. Kacchan knew who Izuku was before he'd gotten One for All. Kacchan knows him, even if he refuses to admit it.

Kacchan is the only one who truly knows where Izuku came from, who he was before he'd been accepted into this amazing school as well.

Kacchan is... well, he's Kacchan in how he reacts.

There’s a lot of yelling, and it’s not a nice conversation in the slightest, but it’s a needed one nonetheless.

It actually ends on relatively good terms considering Izuku doesn’t end up on the receiving end of a palmful of explosive glycerin sweat.

Kacchan leaves without another word to Izuku. The green-haired teen watches him go before he backtracks into the school to grab his stuff and say goodbye to the rest of his classmates, who'd kindly waited for him. He feels a bit bad about how he'd fled the classroom when he'd seen Kacchan leaving through out the window.

And then finally, a lot later than Izuku wishes it were, he finally leaves the school for the day.

Uraraka and Iida have stuck around to help everyone else tidy up the classroom, after everyone had collectively sent Izuku home to rest up and recover, so he walks alone for the first time.

He leaves the school with a temporary cast and sling on the arm he'd broken using One for All, and his other entire forearm wrapped delicately in bandages, covering and protecting the remnants of the burns Kacchan's Quirk had left on him. He truthfully doesn't feel completely awful, all things considered, but he definitely looks worse for the wear. It had been a long day.

Izuku really just wants to sleep.

"Holy shit, Midoriya!" Izuku glances back over his shoulder, unsurprised to find a beside-himself looking ghost. "What the hell happened to you? I left you alone for one afternoon! One! Why the hell do you look like you just went three rounds in the ring with the Incredible Hulk?!"

Izuku's not surprised by Shirakumo's presence— honestly, he'd felt the ghost trailing closer long before he'd spoken.

Shirakumo falls into step with Izuku easily enough, leaning forwards slightly ahead of Izuku to scan him head to toe as he keeps pace. The ghost's expression is tight with worry, and his bottom lip is caught tightly between his teeth, where he gnaws anxiously on it.

Despite the obvious worry in the ghost's statement, Izuku can't help but let his attention focus first on the Hulk comment.

It brings a smile to his face, as he lulls his attention in the ghost's direction.

“Woah, talk about a classic film. I didn't think anyone watched those movies anymore,” Izuku huffs a tired laugh as he reaches his burnt arm up to rub at his stiff shoulder. “And actually, that guess isn’t too far off from the truth. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he slammed me around too.”

“Oh, wow, I didn't think you'd know what I was talking about,” a light smile slips onto Shirakumo’s face, and for a second, the worry is replaced with intrigue, “I’m surprised you understood the reference since not many people do. ’zashi’s a sucker for American movies— likes the old ones most. And you can’t go wrong with superheroes. I’ve seen most of those old Marvel films.”

It takes just a second for the ghost to sober up again, a deep frown tugging back onto his lips as he scowls at Izuku, "don't try to distract me with your cool old superhero movie knowledge! That didn't answer my question, Dude. What happened?”

“We did some battle training today,” Izuku explains tiredly, keeping his head ducked so no one sees him talking to himself. Luckily the majority of the students have already left, and his classmates were still finishing up tidying the classroom and going over their battles when he’d left, so there’s only a few people around. “I won my match, but it still somehow feels like I lost.”

“Battle training? On the first official day?” Shirakumo’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “No kidding. I didn’t stick around for all the details on how you got hurt, but Shōta definitely wasn’t aware of that from RG's report.”

Izuku’s shoulders lift in a pained shrug, “yeah, well, All Might was teaching us. You mean Aizawa-sensei didn’t plan this? Yesterday he told me to be prepared for class today... You’re usually with Aizawa-sensei, aren’t you? Why didn't he show up to class?”

"He wasn't supposed to show up to class today," Shirakumo's nose wrinkles, "you know how yesterday Shōta did the apprehension test to get a feel for your guys' Quirks? Well, today was supposed to be All Might's turn to do the same thing, y'know, since they're both teaching the fundamentals. And it's a solid no on the sensei awareness thing, Shōta definitely didn't know anything about the battle trial plans, or he would've shut that down instantly. He'd never allow battle trial so soon— not when he's still learning your guys' Quirks too. It's just not safe when you're all wildcards. Clearly."

"Clearly," Izuku snorts back, his arm aching in the cast.

"Something tells me Yagi is definitely going to be in the doghouse when it comes to Shōta," the ghost snickers good-naturedly, "you know, those two are not on the best of terms. I doubt they'll ever really see eye to eye on anything involving teaching. Shō's never been much of an All Might fan, simply a difference of opinions. Drastically different opinions."

"Yeah," Izuku clicks his tongue with a light smile, eyes flicking towards Shirakumo before dropping back to his shoes as he walks, "I kinda picked up on the whole sensei and All Might rift on my own. It wasn't exactly subtle when Aizawa-sensei was talking about an overzealous Hero yesterday."

“Yeahhh... subtlety isn’t his strong suit,” Shirakumo snorts in agreement.

They're both quiet for a couple steps before Shirakumo seems to deflate a bit beside Izuku, almost guiltily, "I was with Shōta today, but I promise he had no idea what All Might was planning. Nezu was the one who decided that All Might would be teaching the class, but I don't think anyone expected him to go so hard on the first lesson. Trust me, Shō's gonna be pissed when he gets the full story. We were in the teacher's office, and he was preparing for you guys to come back after what was supposed to be individual exercises to get ya using your Quirks in a controlled environment so All Might could get a feel for your Quirks like Shō did, not battle simulations!"

The older teen pauses, chewing on his lip before he continues, “Shōta was pretty surprised when you didn't show up to class. The only thing your classmates told him was that you were with Recovery Girl after an incident. I wanted to check on you, but thought you might want some privacy. Shōta was worried about ya’, y’know, but he couldn’t just leave his class unattended, and you were taken care of, so he had to wait. It was only after school was over that he’d stormed into the office to talk with Nezu about why a student was with the nurse, and then he went to check on you, but by the time he made it RG, you were already gone. That's about the point that I bailed to come find you, and... last I heard Shōta was going for a meeting with Nezu and All Might, and that's all I know.”

"Sounds like sensei's been busy," Izuku mutters. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the admission that Shirakumo had come to find him when he heard he’d been injured, that he'd been worried about him, “thank you, that means a lot that you came to find me. I’m okay now.”

Shirakumo didn’t look convinced by the statement, Izuku probably wouldn't have been if it were anyone else saying the same thing, but the ghost let it go for the time being, shoe scuffing against the pavement as they walked. He’d gone to kick a pebble, but had just phased through it, only to keep walking indifferently. Shirakumo's probably used to phasing right through things.

They walk a couple more steps in silence until the ghost breaks it again, "you didn’t miss much in Shō’s class, if you’re worried about that. He mostly wanted to go over the syllabus with you guys and pick apart your costume ideas before sending them off to the support department for adjustments— worried about functionality and all that. That’s what he does every year.”

“Oh,” Izuku hums out, nodding his head. It makes sense. “I wish I'd been there for that. I mean, I like my costume idea, but it probably needs some adjustments too. It was in shambles by the time this exercise was over. Probably not great for actual field work, you know?”

“Well, to be fair, I don't think we can blame for costume for this one. You did get blasted. It's not like it just fell apart,” Shirakumo reminds with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah," Izuku supposes he has a point, "but villains will be a lot crueler than Kacchan was.”

Shirakumo gives a heavy shrug of his shoulder. He couldn’t refute that, and Izuku knows it. It's the truth.

The older looked away for a second before clearing his throat, “anyways, I’m sorry I missed your battle, if I'd have known that's what you guys were getting up to, I would've been there to watch! I bet you kicked ass huh? You did win! That’s still an accomplishment! Even if, uh, y’know, you broke yourself to the max.”

“I’m starting to get used to that,” Izuku huffed a light laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck with his burnt hand, “it’s only the second day and I’m already a regular patient in the infirmary. And I already have an appointment tomorrow with Recovery Girl too, so that’ll be three days in a row, in three days of school.”

“That’s gotta be like a record or something,” Shirakumo lets out a hearty laugh.

It fades off naturally as they walk, but when Izuku looks over after a second of silence, his friend is now staring at him with an unreadable expression.

Shirakumo continues before he can mutter a word though, “seriously, though, all jokes aside... you good?”

“Mhm,” Izuku gives the other a smile that doesn’t completely reach his eyes, “I’m a bit sore, but that’s to be expected. I just wanna go home and sleep, really. Recovery Girl drained most of my stamina, but on the bright side, I look a lot better than I did.”

“Don’t tell me that!” Shirakumo squawks with a heavy frown. His foot scuffs against the ground as they stroll towards the train station side by side, the ghost's lip jutted out in a pout, “you look awful now, I don’t wanna imagine you looking worse!”

“Gee, thanks,” Izuku snorts a laugh. “Really though, I’ll be okay. After some sleep and another visit to Recovery Girl tomorrow, at least.”

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk home alone?” Shirakumo can’t help but ask. They’ve reached the train station, and are waiting for Izuku’s train to arrive. “I can walk you home— I mean, I’m not much good if you collapse or anything, but I’ll panic for ya, if you do?”

“My hero,” Izuku shakes his head with a tired sounding laugh, “I’m good though. Besides, shouldn’t you with Aizawa-sensei, or Present Mic? I was under the impression that’s where you tended to spend your time when you weren't following me around.”

“They’re both busy,” Shirakumo sighs, attention dropping to his feet. “Shō’ll be asleep by now because he’s got night patrol, that is... if he's finished with that meeting with Nezu and the Number One which'll probably have him fuming, and ‘zashi’s got his radio thing tonight, so he's no fun. All he does is sit in a booth and talk. Bo-ring!”

“Right... Put Your Hands Up radio, yeah?" Izuku cocks his head faintly to the side, before smiling, "I listen to that sometimes, it’s good. You know, I used to be obsessed with it when I was younger, too bad it was always on pretty late. Now he's got a better time slot, but I just don't have time to listen anymore.”

“Yep, that’s the one,” Shirakumo sighs heavily. “He’s only live on Fridays, but he spends a lot of time there preparing everything and making his setlist of songs he wants to play. He spends so much time at the station, it's not even funny. It’s super boring— worse than Yuuei classes are, because there aren’t even students for me to root for. Just ‘zashi and his team of radio people.”

“Sounds it,” Izuku hums as the train finally arrives, slowing to a stop in front of them.

He hesitates a second after the door opens, glancing to his side. Izuku bites at his bottom lip, bandaged arm hugging around the arm in his sling as he slowly suggests, “you’re welcome to come home with me— I probably won’t be much more entertaining that Aizawa-sensei or Mic-sensei though. I’m under strict instructions from Recovery Girl.”

Izuku shuffles his feet, still hesitating slightly, “but... I can turn the TV on for you or something? Not sure what you like to do in your spare time, but I can help you get set up before I head to bed? TV, or music, or a YouTube rabbit hole or something? It’ll pass the time while you wait.”

“Really?” Shirakumo perks up, “you’d do that?”

“Yeah, sure,” Izuku grins widely in return, “I mean, you can do anything you’d like while I’m asleep. I don't mind.”

There’s a warning that the train doors are going to close, so Midoriya steps in before they do, pausing there and turning to look at the ghost, “so you comin’?”

“Sure!” Shirakumo barely takes a second to decide. The decision is nearly instant. How could he say no when the offer was so awesome? Midoriya would leave the TV on for him— he'd be able to choose the channel and everything. It’s been so long since he’s watched something he wanted to watch, “just until Shō’s patrol though, so I can keep an eye on him while he’s out.”

“Yeah, alright,” Izuku smiles, but he looks so tired.

He wouldn’t look quite as bad if he weren’t subconsciously slouching over in exhaustion.

Shirakumo’s not sure this kid should be walking and riding the train home alone— surely a parent should’ve come picked up from school, right?

The blue-haired teen wants to set a hand on Midoriya’s arm in an attempt to help keep him upright, but he knows better than to try. It’s a familiar movement he’d done to Shōta loads during their days at school— when his grouchy-faced friend would overwork himself or stay up too long without sleep. He wants to reach out, but thinks better of it.

He’s just something cold right now, and that’s not what Izuku needs.

Shirakumo takes a second to scan the teenager, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “Recovery Girl really did a number on you, Midoriya.”

“I’ll say,” the boy huffs, flapping his slinged arm sightly as if he's waving Shirakumo's concern off, his other bandaged arm coming up to rub at tired eyes as he waves the ghost off. The exhaustion is really starting to hit him. “You can call me Izuku by the way. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

Izuku pauses sharply for a second before seeming to register what he’s said, then he's jerking upright with wild eyes, “I mean, if you want and- and I didn’t mean to insinuate that we’re- that you want to- I-I- just... you’re coming over to my place, and you’re staying the night... w-well, I mean, technically you’ll be leaving late in the night, I guess but—”

“If you’re Izuku, then call me Oboro, cool?” Shirakumo cuts him off with what Izuku’s starting to realize is his signature smile, “that’s what friends do, right? First name basis?”

“Y-yeah,” Izuku swallows, feeling a weight off his shoulders at the acceptance, “that’s what friends do.”

Izuku’s apartment isn’t quite what Oboro expects.

It’s nice, don’t get him wrong.

It’s clean, and furnished. Wide and spacious. It’s a nice living space just... it’s not very lived in?

The apartment doesn’t have much personality. There’re no framed photos, or art or décor at all hung along the walls. The colours are bland and neutral like that out of a home décor magazine you’d find in a doctor’s office waiting room. It’s quiet— which isn’t supposed to be odd, but there’s just something weird about how eerily quiet the place is.

It’s clear that Izuku lives here, from his backpack dumped on the couch to an empty carton of ramen on the counter by the sink. There’re loose school papers and a book on the dining table, along with the syllabus Shōta had requested the kids picked up. And the boy had slipped into a pair of All Might themed slippers at the door when they'd entered the apartment.

Izuku looks completely at home as he shuffles along through the apartment in his All Might slippers, turning on any lights he needs as he makes his way further into the apartment.

It’s late in the evening now, but it’s still a few hours until Shōta heads out on patrol.

“When are your parents coming home?” Oboro asks with a tilt of his head.

Izuku’s movements have gotten sloppy, feet dragging as he plops down on the couch and grabs the TV remote.

He’s not sure he really wants to leave Izuku alone in his state, but he also doesn’t want to miss out on patrol with Shōta.

It’s been routine for him since Shōta started his patrols as an underground hero.

He went with Hizashi on his too.

It was arranged perfectly; as soon as Shōta was back in the morning, Hizashi would be leaving for his own early morning patrol so Oboro could just fall into step with him instead while Shōta passed out— then he’d follow them to school after Hizashi was finished his patrol, and there was always something to do at a school like Yuuei, even if neither Shōta or Hizashi were doing anything interesting. Oboro liked to have something to do, and it was perfect that his friends had alternating schedules so he usually always had something to keep him busy.

“My mom won’t be home,” the boy tells him shortly, rubbing at his eyes again.

It takes a second for Oboro to remember his question, but when he does, his glance shifts uncertainly to Izuku.

The boy yawns, “she works a lot; I don’t see her very often.”

Oboro bites his lip, interlocking his hands together in front of himself as he moves to join Izuku. He doesn’t sit yet, instead watching over the back of the couch. The boy looks even more tired now that he’s actually sitting. His eyes are slipping shut, but they flutter open when he catches himself dozing off.

“And your dad?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Izuku shrugs as he fiddles with the remote. Izuku leans back against the couch cushions, yawning again, “he’s out of the picture. Last I heard he was living his best life in America, or something. I never really knew him, so it doesn't matter.”

Okayy, wow. Oboro wasn't expecting that...

“Was there anything specific you wanted to watch?" Izuku asks, and only then does Oboro glance back at him. "You can use my laptop if you wanna watch some YouTube, but if you do that, you’ll be at the mercy of auto play. TV’s the same way, but we can at least check the guide to see what’ll be on— what time does Aizawa-sensei leave for patrol?”

“Midnight,” Oboro answers without much thought. “And TV’s fine. I'm not picky. But, uhm, don’t you think you should eat something before you go to sleep? Recovery Girl always force-fed us those weird gummies she has, but eating something would do the same thing. Nutrients, y’know.”

“No,” Izuku shakes his head tiredly, “I’m not hungry. Just tired. And she gave me some of those gummies, so I should be fine for the night.”

He knows he should argue that— how does Izuku plan to refresh his stamina without nutrients? Even if he did have some of Recovery Girl's gummies, that wasn't a replacement for actual food. Hell, even one of Shōta’s stupid jelly pouches would be better than nothing. But it’s not his place to push— not here, or now while he’s a guest in Izuku’s apartment.

He'd literally only met the kid yesterday, he doesn't want to piss him off yet.

“Got a channel in mind?” Izuku breaks the moment of silence, head lulling back against the couch to glance up at Oboro.

“Hero documentaries?” Oboro suggest with a shrug.

He’s really not versed on what they show on TV nowadays.

He has to wrack his brain for something suitable.

Neither Shōta or Hizashi watch much TV, and when they do, it’s usually films. American films at that.

Shōta’s more of a book person, and Hizashi will choose music over a TV show any day.

It hasn’t changed since their teen years.

He remembers liking hero documentaries though— forcing his friends over to his house and making them watch them with him. He’d be vibrating in his seat, with Hizashi’s wide eyes staring at the TV too. Shōta beside them looked bored, but there was a twinkle of interest in his eyes as he watched the TV too.

"That’ll be us someday!” he remembers chirping out with a wide grin, pointing to a trio of lesser-known heroes on the large television screen in his living room.

He doesn’t even remember their names now, or where they even are in life anymore— whether they’re still heroes, or retied, or even... well, dead. That doesn’t matter though, because they’d been a staple in his adolescent years, and he’ll never forget that.

“Of course it will, yo! We’ll be the best heroes!” Hizashi had chirped right back, grinning brightly as he glances over, looking at first Oboro, and then down a little bit to Shōta on the other end of the couch. “The three of us’ll be some of the greatest! Like All Might!”

“If you say so,” Shōta had shrugged, but his eyes glowed with interest.

“’course, we say so,” Oboro remembers laughing, tossing an arm over each Hizashi and Shōta’s shoulders and pulling them in close, “we’ll start our own Hero Agency, and it’ll be awesome! You, me, an’ 'zashi! Just imagine it, guys!”

“Hey, you okay?” Oboro pulls himself from his thoughts to see Izuku watching him. The younger boy's eyes are lidded in exhaustion, but the worry is prominent when he regards Oboro, “you just kinda... left for a second there?”

“Oh,” Oboro breathed out quietly, shaking himself from the thought, “oh, yeah. No, I’m good. Fine. Perfectly fine, just... It- it doesn’t really matter. Anyways, you should be resting. You’ve got school tomorrow, and you’re already going to be playing catch-up in Shō’s class so... get some rest!”

“Okay, dad,” Izuku snorts, and Oboro doesn’t have the heart to tell him that if he were alive, he’d be old enough that he could actually be his father.

Well, if he’d had him at fifteen, anyways.

“Yeah, yeah,” he offers softly instead, rounding the couch to settle down beside the green-haired kid. The TV lights up the room playing old hero documentaries that Oboro can almost remember watching if he digs into the depths of his brain, but besides that, the rest of the apartment is blanketed in darkness.

It’s nice.

Beside him, Izuku’s breath evens out remarkably fast. His lack of stamina must be hitting him hard. The kid’s face is pressed into the couch at Oboro’s side, hand curled around the remote. He looks oddly peaceful despite the injuries and the fact he’d passed out in the presence of a ghost he’d known for two days.

Oboro had thought the teen would’ve retreated to his own bedroom when the TV was on, since the lights and sounds could be distracting, but he hadn’t.

The boy had drifted to sleep easily, so he must’ve been pretty damn tired to be able to do so.

He actually likes the company though, even if Izuku’s not even awake.

It takes everything in him, literally all his effort and energy, to tug the blanket that’s draped over the back of the couch down over his friend.

Oboro takes a second to admire his handy work, the still partially folded blanket covering only a bit of the curled up teenager, but it's still the most he'd interacted with the physical world in ages. Oboro is proud of his work. When he's satisfied with the blanket, the ghost slips down onto the floor and scooches himself forwards until his legs are under the coffee table and there's no risk of Izuku accidentally touching him and jolting awake at the chill.

He enjoys every second of the documentaries and evened out breaths behind him.

He doesn’t feel quite so lonely.

Chapter Text

Izuku stirs awake the following morning to the loud, insistent blaring of his phone alarm.

He reaches blindly for the device beside him, rubbing hard at tired eyes as he fumbles the electronic between his fingers. He just faintly remembers haphazardly setting the alarm on his phone the evening prior, before he'd promptly passed out.

He turns the alarm off with a swipe of his finger, then focuses blurry eyes on the time, blinking owlishly as he processes what he's seeing.

It's early.

Way earlier than he usually wakes up.

He's not sure whether it's because he was so tired when he set the alarm that he accidentally pressed the wrong numbers, or if nighttime Izuku had a plan that morning Izuku doesn't recall.

For a second, he’s confused.

Why... why is he in the living room?

Had he been so tired when he got home that he'd just passed out on the first plush surface he'd come into contact with? Why hadn't he forced himself to take a couple more steps so he could've sprawled out in his bed instead? He'd slept fine, though he still feels exhausted, but he probably would've slept better in an actual bed.

He doesn't tend to sleep in the living room, especially when there's a chance his mother could come home at any point. She used to always get upset whenever she found him asleep in the living room, instead of in his own room. Honestly, Izuku, why did I even buy you a bed if you never use it? And that was about the last time he'd stopped having impromptu sleepover in front of the television in the living room.

The next thing Izuku hazily notices is that he's hugging the television remote to his chest as if it's a plush toy.

His cheek had been pressed into the top half of the bottoms as he'd slept, so he's sure he has button indentations.

Izuku slowly brings his hand up to thumb at his cheek, the pad of his thumb dipping in and out of little indents pressed into his face, just like he'd feared.

How embarrassing.

Hopefully they're gone before he gets to school, because he's not sure how he'd explain cuddling with a television remote.

Izuku leans forwards to set the remote on the coffee table, only to pause when he notices the next odd thing.

The TV is still on, volume so quiet that he can barely hear it.

Is he watching... the hero documentary channel?

It's been a while since he watched this channel despite his adoration for Heroes and interest in analysis. A lot of the documentaries are old and outdated now, and it's way easier getting information online. It's still his favorite TV channel, even if he doesn't actually watch TV all that often anymore.

Izuku's head angles towards the flashing lights in confusion, a frown settling on his lips.

He hadn't meant to leave it on all night— what a waste of power. His mother would've been livid if she'd seen this, but thankfully, she must be working another late shift. Izuku turns the television off before setting the remote on the table, distantly wondering when his mother would grace him with her presence again.

The boy settles back into the backrest of the couch, reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Except, when he moves, there's a sharp pain in his arm.

Izuku's attention drops down to the sting, staring wide-eyed at the state of himself before everything comes back to him all at once.

Right...

The battle trials All Might had them doing during class.

Kacchan's powerful attacks burning into his arm and up to his hand when he'd lifted the limb to shield his face.

Using One for All on the building, completely shattering his arm in the process.

Izuku thinks he remembers those last fleeting moments before he'd finally passed out from pain and overexertion, just after they'd managed to complete their simulation trial.

They'd won in the end, hadn't they? Him and Uraraka.

That sounds about right.

Izuku tries to think back to what happened after that, but he doesn't really remember much. The next thing he really recalls is Shirakumo— no, Oboro, because they were officially friends now— falling into step with him as he'd stumbled his way home, running on nothing but fumes by that point.

And then...

Oh right, he'd invited the ghost in so he could watch some television and... it's hazy after that.

But it does explain why he's on the couch, and why the TV was on all night.

Makes sense.

"Oboro?" Izuku calls out languidly, a confused frown settling on his lips as he picks up the edge of a blanket pooled in his lap. It's the throw blanket that usually sits unused on the back of the couch, one of his mother's favorites. Izuku doesn't remember pulling it down over himself and... why hadn't he unfolded it if he was going to use it? Ah, well, it doesn't really matter. He wasn't cold, so that's all he can really ask for.

Izuku gets no response from the ghost as he shoves the blanket off his lap and pushes himself into straighter position—

Ah, that's right.

The ghost was gone.

Oboro wasn't staying the night with him; he was just here to kill time, wasn't he? He'd been waiting until Aizawa-sensei's night patrol. Still, Izuku hopes the ghost at least had a good time in the apartment, even if Izuku had conked out just minutes after turning the TV on for him. Hopefully Oboro wasn't too bored with Izuku being a less than decent host.

Izuku wishes the ghost had woken him to say bye before leaving, but, then again, if the television being on all night hadn't woken or disturbed him throughout the night, then he's sure nothing short of a good shake to his shoulders would've done the job and that's... well, it's not quite in Oboro's wheelhouse anymore.

Izuku takes a second to collect his thoughts, his burnt hand coming up to dry wash his face in hopes of waking him from the lingering clutches of sleep. He still feels drowsy, wonders if he'd gotten enough rest to satisfy Recovery Girl when he sees her later this morning. The cotton of the bandages on his arm irritates his eyelids, but it wakes him more then it bothers him.

He honestly can't wait for the bandages, cast and sling to come off.

He misses having full use of his arms.

Izuku's arm drops back into his lap, a sigh leaving his lungs as he glances down at the state he's in.

He'd really just passed out, hadn't he?

He's still in his school uniform, the fabric beyond wrinkled from not only sleeping in it, but sleeping in it on the couch. Izuku can tell his hair's a bit mussed by how it falls into his face, and he can feel that it's a little greasy from the sweat of the battle trial. Izuku has half a mind to try showering before school, but it's probably not the best idea with his arms still bandaged and casted.

And lifting his arms any higher than his chest actually hurts, so he decides to forego the shower today.

Besides, he's got other things to be worried about.

Like trying to be on time for classes after having to squeeze in a visit to Recovery Girl's office.

Izuku heads into his room to change into his second school uniform because showing up in this uniform again, when it looks like this, is a very bad idea. He doesn't want to give his teacher any other reason to expel him and Izuku wants to look nice too. A uniform he's slept in isn't up to his own standards, or the school's. Probably.

It's as Izuku's tugging his school jacket on, gritting his teeth in pain as the fabric drags across his arms, that Izuku realizes what nighttime Izuku had planned when setting his alarm for so early. He should just head to school earlier, so he doesn't have to miss any classes while he's with Recovery Girl. That's logical, right? Then sensei won't have anything to be mad about— unless, of course, Recovery Girl deems him unfit to attend classes, which he really has no say in.

Aizawa-sensei couldn't be mad at him over that...

...could he?

Izuku forces himself to brush away the thought as he hurries to find his school bag (he finds it on the couch), then leaves the apartment after locking the door behind himself.

The boy just barely manages to make it on time for the earlier train than his usual one, the doors shutting the second after he steps in.

Izuku heaves out a sigh of relief as he collapses back into one of the seats.

The train is quieter this early in the morning. The only other people on the train are a few men dressed in business suits, no doubt on their way to their nine-to-five jobs, spread sparely through the train car, and a tiny old lady towards the far end of the car, who is just gazing out the window as the world passes them by.

It's peaceful.

The old lady glances over at Izuku half way through the ride, and he offers her a kind smile.

Izuku's stop comes first, so, with a respectful bow of his head in the old woman's direction, Izuku stands. It's only then, as he heads to the door with a glance at the others in the train car, that he finally notices how uncomfortable and confused the business men look as they watch him, which is when Izuku realizes the lady on the train must be a ghost. He bowed to a ghost. He really must be out of it.

Izuku had hurried off the train after that, jogging away from that situation quickly after the realization dawned on him.

The school is quiet when Izuku steps into the building, but, to be fair, it was only just after six-thirty in the morning, and classes didn't start until eight. The doors are unlocked, and Izuku spots a couple other students who've arrived early too, but it doesn't look like there's many teachers here yet. He passes maybe two students in the cafeteria, and a third sitting in the hallway, engrossed in a book.

Izuku makes his way to Recovery Girl's office, heart dropping into his stomach when he finally arrives.

And... the door is locked.

There's not even a light on in the room.

The Youthful Heroine clearly isn't even at the school yet, and Izuku doesn't even know when she'd be arriving, which sucks.

Clearly his plan wasn't as thought out as he'd thought it was.

Izuku lingers outside the door for a second, debating his next move.

He could sit outside the infirmary and wait for her, but he's really not sure if he'd be able to push himself up when she did get here without making a fool of himself. And his arms are already aching just standing there, so he doesn't want to do anything that would put him in more pain than he's already in, or strain or injure his arms further. He wants to get back to class as soon as he can.

Also, he's pretty sure that whatever the old woman had given him yesterday for the pain had worn off at some point in the night.

He's really starting to feel the broken arm and forearm-long burn.

Which leaves him with the option of heading to his homeroom classroom to wait for a more reasonable time to show up outside the infirmary.

It makes the most sense.

He'll be able to sit in an actual chair in the classroom, which sounds far more appealing than sinking to the floor here, so that's where he heads.

1-A's classroom door is unlocked, but not open. Izuku slides the door open, struggling a little with his injuries, before peeking into the dark room prior to flicking the lights on. The room is neat and tidy, meaning his classmates really had cleaned up before heading home themselves. Izuku feels a little bad he hadn't helped.

Izuku slips into the room, barely making it to his chair when a voice startles him.

"Midoriya?"

The teen whips around to face the door as if he'd been caught doing something wrong, cheeks flushing as he smiles sheepishly at Aizawa-sensei.

The man stood peering into the room from the hallway looks tired— but that’s no different than any other time he’s seen the man.

What is different though, is the hint of surprise in the teacher’s eyes.

The man's attention drops down to lazily scan over Izuku's frame, instantly singling in on his arms, wrapped in bandages and a cast respectively. The sling is probably an attention drawing eyesore, keeping his broken arm nestled safely to his chest. The man's mouth presses in a straight before his eyes flick back up to Izuku's face.

And as odd as that, in and of itself, is, the stranger part of this situation is the fact the Present Mic's head peeks into the room from the doorway, managing to peer in from the tiny gap between Aizawa-sensei and the doorframe. They're arriving at the exact same time, like the two of them had walked into the school together, and that the one word from Aizawa-sensei, the surprised mutter of Izuku's surname, had the other Pro backtracking to investigate.

"Ah, good morning, Lil' Listener!" Present Mic grins widely, with far more enthusiasm than his counterpart still taking up space in the doorway. The Voice Hero leans into the room a little further before freezing abruptly when he, too, spots the injuries, "sheesh, kiddo, looks like you've been through the wringer."

Izuku can't help the snort of laughter he lets out.

How could he not when his teacher had just blurted something like that out.

Izuku knows he probably looks the part, but its funny that Present Mic would point it out in such an unprofessional way.

Clearly, Aizawa-sensei must share the same sentiment as he shoots a dark look in the other Pro's direction.

It only makes Izuku struggle harder to muffle the rest of his laughter in his bandaged arm.

"Yeah, yeah," Present Mic huffs, flapping a dismissive hand in Aizawa-sensei's direction as the two of them briefly catch gazes. The blonde-haired man glances back at Izuku quickly, a worried frown settling on his lips before he straightens up from his lean into the room. "I get it. I'm goin', I'm goin'. Chill-ax, won't ya? I'll see you in first period, Lil’ Listener— well, hopefully at least! If Recovery Girl doesn’t keep ya to herself this morning!”

Present Mic leaves with a fleeting wave before Izuku can offer so much as a greeting, or a goodbye, leaving him alone with sensei.

And Oboro.

Izuku spots the ghost lingering in the hallway, eyebrow arched in silent question. He must've been stood behind the two Pros who'd been blocking the door, just observing.

Oboro looks between Aizawa-sensei, Izuku and down the hall, most likely at Present Mic's receding back, like he's trying to decide where to be.

Izuku silently hopes the ghost chooses to come to him, but unfortunately, the ghost seems to want to stick to routine. He shoots Izuku an awkward wave and a half-sympathetic smile before he's disappearing from sight in the direction Present Mic had left in. Izuku's gaze lingers on the doorframe, unsure if he's upset Oboro left him alone with Aizawa-sensei, or relieved that his friend won't be around to watch Izuku get his ass chewed out for missing classes yesterday.

“Something interesting in the hallway, Midoriya?”

Izuku stiffens at the sound of his teacher's voice, attention snapping from where they'd been lingering, to focus on his teacher instead.

He wasn't even sure how long he'd just been staring off into space, probably looking like a fool.

Izuku barely manages to bite by a cringe, but to his surprise, his teacher doesn't look angry, or upset, he just looks tired. Maybe even confused.

Realizing belatedly that he'd been asked a question, Izuku frantically shakes his head.

The man eyes Izuku again, a sharp, calculating glint in his gaze as he looks from the student, to the door the boy had been staring out. Maybe it's an attempt to see what Izuku had seen despite Izuku's insistence that he hadn't been looking at anything. As expected, the man clearly sees nothing of interest, his attention flicking back to Izuku after a moment.

Aizawa-sensei lets out a heavy sounding sigh, seeming to let it go.

Izuku watches his teacher step fully into the room, shoulders slouching as he makes his way to his desk at the front of the room. His steps are slow and sluggish, and Izuku can only assume the man is exhausted from an over night patrol, like Oboro had told him. He has a newfound respect for the man, it must be tough being an overnight Hero and still coming to school and teaching during the day.

The man plops into his chair the moment he reaches it, eyes finding Izuku once again when he's seated, “you’re here awfully early, Midoriya.”

"O-oh, um, yes, sir," Izuku nods slowly as he carefully lowers himself into his seat, "I... I thought that if I came early, then Recovery Girl could heal my injuries before classes so I wouldn't have to miss anymore lessons, but..." Izuku bites his lip, head bowing, "but she's not here yet."

Izuku's shoulders lift in a defeated shrug, pain spiking down his arms as he does so.

It's not overbearing, but the dull pain isn't pleasant either.

"Recovery Girl usually doesn't get in until after seven-thirty," the man explains plainly, not looking up from the papers he's looking through at his desk.

"Oh," the word comes out as nothing more than an exhale as Izuku wilts faintly.

If the man hears the defeated exhale, he doesn't let it show; he simply continues flipping through his papers.

So much for that plan then.

Izuku’s not sure what to add at that point, so he stays silent.

He feels a little humiliated, even if he literally couldn't have known what time Recovery Girl got to school in the mornings.

Still, he feels silly even thinking that Recovery Girl would be here so early, as if waiting for him to arrive, like it's the only thing she does in life— it's not like any of the teachers live here.

They’ve got lives and arrive in just as the students do.

Izuku wants to let his head fall forwards until it hits the desktop, but he doubts Recovery Girl would appreciate a concussion on top of everything else.

"That said," the man continues after a short while, Izuku's gaze finally flicking up to find the man still not looking at him, "it was a rational idea. Arriving early in hopes of getting fixed up before classes was logical. Had you informed Recovery Girl of your plan, I'm sure she wouldn't have minded coming in early to help. I suppose you probably weren't thinking very clearly after spending the afternoon with her yesterday though."

Izuku thinks the man might be paying him a compliment. Maybe.

There's a hint of understanding in his words, so he clearly thinks Izuku had been on the right track, maybe it hadn't worked out, exactly, but the idea was still there. He was still here early. That had to count for something, right? And if he analysis sensei's tone, he thinks he might almost sound the faintest bit impressed behind the usual dullness Izuku associates with his teacher's tone.

"It was a very long day yesterday," Izuku admits quietly, there's really nothing else to say. It was a long day. "Recovery Girl used up what little stamina I had left, so I was pretty tired. It... it must've slipped my mind. I'm sorry for missing classes, Aizawa-sensei, I won't let it happen again!"

"You definitely will," the man corrects with a sigh, attention finally lifting as he sets the papers down, "but this incident wasn't your fault, so don't apologize. I'd planned on stopping by the infirmary to check on you yesterday, but my meeting ran late and I ended up missing you. You got home alright, yes? Recovery Girl said she tried to get in contact with your mother, but she didn't pick up. Did you walk home alone?"

"Oh, no," Izuku forces a crooked smile, "a... um, a friend walked me home. My mother works long hours, so I wouldn't be too worried about her not picking up. Sometimes she's hard to reach... And besides, I'm okay. My friend even stayed with me for a while and made sure I got some rest, so it was fine."

Sensei is watching Izuku pretty intently, his brow furrowed with an odd expression. Izuku doesn't really know what to make of the look on his teacher's face— he doesn't look particularly happy with Izuku's answer for some reason, but he doesn't say anything on the matter.

Finally, the man ducks his head in a faint nod, leaning back in his chair as his eyes fixate on Izuku's slouching form.

There’s a beat of silence.

“I see you broke your arm again," the man redirects expertly, "using your Quirk?”

"Only the one this time!" Izuku defends before he can really think better of it, like that would make any difference at all. Izuku's jaw snaps shut at his own outburst, his bandaged arm flattening almost protectively over the arm nestled in the sling, "the, ah, the burns were defensive wounds. Kacchan wasn't very... well, he didn't hold back, I suppose. Not that he should've, o-or that I was expecting a classmate to! Just... I promise I didn't use my Quirk to attack anyone, Sensei. I don't... I mean, like you said, I can't really control it, but... but it was the only way I could've seen us winning."

Izuku swallows roughly, averting his gaze from sensei's scrutinizing eyes, "I needed to distract Kacchan, while Uraraka went for the missile, so using my Quirk was the best option. I swear, I only used it to defend! I didn't know how else to counter Kacchan. It just... maybe we were a little rough? But Uraraka needed something to use her Quirk on, so... so that was really what won us the battle..."

Izuku let his voice peter off, wincing.

Was he talking too much?

It feels like he's talking too much.

“I watched the video recordings,” Aizawa-sensei says after a lingering of silence. “Bakugou... I assume he's the Kacchan you're speaking of from the context. That's a cutesy nickname. You two knew each other before school, is that right? You both came from Aldera Junior High, and you're obviously familiar with each other from the recordings I watched. Are you friends?”

"W-well, uh," Izuku bites hard at his bottom lip, "I wouldn't exactly say we're friends... we're just- he doesn't- I mean— we used to be friends?"

Aizawa-sensei lets out a hum of acknowledgment, clearly prompting Izuku to continue.

The man wants him to explain it to him, so Izuku does.

"We grew up in the same neighborhood, is all," Izuku explains slowly, not looking at the man, "and we were friends when we were little. We've always been in the same class, so we're familiar with each other. Just... we sorta drifted apart when he got his Quirk... I mean... he was just so powerful and I... I wasn't."

It takes him looking at the teacher's surprised expression to realize what he'd just said.

He's talking like a kid who never got a Quirk. He has a Quirk now.

Oh no.

Izuku's body stiffens up as he hurries to backtrack, "he was just better with his Quirk, you know? We were on different levels and Kacchan is... Kacchan's very proud, so he didn't like that. He didn't like me. Anyways... uhm, he wasn't very nice to me after that. It carried on through elementary and junior high. I was never really... liked? I guess? But it wasn't that bad."

“So he’s bullied you before this incident?”

"I-I wouldn't exactly put it like that," Izuku shakes his head sheepishly, "it's just... that's who he is, Sensei. He's always been like that. So it's fine. Really, I don't mind! We grew up together, so if anyone knows Kacchan, it's... ah, it's me."

"You really expect me to just brush this off?" Sensei challenged, tone clearly distasteful and disagreeing. "He burned your arm in an attack that was far too personal for the simulation battle trials you were doing. His intention was to hurt you, just like when he tried to attack you during the apprehension test. It was reckless, Midoriya. That was behavior that should not be tolerated."

There's a subtle anger in sensei's voice, but it's different from the anger he'd expressed on the first day of the school, or the annoyance. This is a simmering kind of anger. Like, he was trying to understand, or, perhaps he was trying to make Izuku understand what was wrong with this situation. Maybe he couldn't understand why Izuku didn't understand.

"Sure," Izuku tries to diffuse, shrugging his least injured shoulder as he fiddles with the edge of his sling, "maybe it was a bit personal, but that wasn't all on Kacchan. I was a part of it too. And... we were all a bit reckless yesterday, I think. It was our first time doing anything like that. Kacchan was just playing to his strengths, that's just who he is. That's what he knows. He's a bit aggressive, but he's always been like that. He'll make a good Hero— he'll be the best, like All Might! I know it, Sensei."

"That was never the question," sensei says stiffly, shooting Izuku a skeptical look. "My concern right now isn't whether or not Bakugou will make a good Hero, it's whether or not a student in my class is safe. Bullying is a serious offense, Midoriya, and Bakugou's Quirk is dangerous when used improperly. He had no regard for your safety. Plain and simple. If he was that careless with his Quirk when fighting a classmate, history or not, then that's a red flag in my books. Something needs to be done about that, for your safety, as well as the rest of my class'."

The man is quiet for a long second, like he's stewing on his words, and then, "those burns on your arm are serious, and I can't overlook that. I can't overlook his negligence towards his peers, his improper Quirk usage, or his overpowered attack on a classmate in a pretend battle exercise. No one should've gotten hurt, and no one else got hurt like you did."

“It wasn’t negligence!” Izuku assured loudly, desperately. He could already imagine himself after Kacchan was through with him should the ash-blonde be expelled from Yuuei because of him, “really, I’m okay! I don't hold anything against him, honest. Kacchan didn’t do anything too bad, Sensei. It-it barely even hurt! Please don’t... like, expel him or anything. He worked hard to get here; he deserves to be here! I don't want to be the reason he gets expelled.”

“No one’s getting expelled. Not yet, at least,” Aizawa-sensei breaths out through his nose, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “There is potential in your class. You all have potential, Bakugou included. That much is obvious. If I didn't think you had potential, none of you would be here right now. But, that said, I can’t just ignore Bakugou’s actions either. That’s twice, Midoriya. Twice in three days of school where he’s tried and succeeded in harming another student. You specifically. That won't fly in my class.”

“But I don’t mind,” Izuku’s sure his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Well, I do,” Aizawa-sensei levels him with a knowing look that makes Izuku want to shrink in on himself. “Look, I won’t do anything permanent, alright? He’ll be getting detention for using his Quirk inappropriately as some sort of personal vendetta against you during a training exercise. That’s nothing more than school policy for misuse of a Quirk. He went too far, I'm sure even you can agree to that. No one’s getting expelled, but I can’t have a student behaving like that. Not a future Hero at this school.”

Aizawa-sensei looks away for just a second before his gaze is back on Izuku.

The man's head tilts just the slightest bit, as if he's trying to observe Izuku from another angle.

Izuku’s not sure what his teacher finds as he lets out a sigh before continuing, “Bakugou has a strong Quirk, I can acknowledge that, but because he has a strong Quirk, I can't let him carry on like he has been. That would be negligent on my part. I don’t doubt he has a bright future here, but that means nothing if he can’t treat his classmates with common decency. I'm not going to send a loose-cannon Hero out into the world.”

It makes sense, but still, Izuku’s floored his teacher is actually trying to resolve their problems.

For the first time ever, he's not getting brushed off. His teacher isn't just looking in the other direction and expecting it to resolve itself, or ignoring it until it goes away, until Izuku goes away. Aizawa-sensei had brought this up, not Izuku. A teacher was bringing this up and trying to problem-solve. Izuku seriously can't believe it.

The green-haired boy feels himself nod slowly, but it’s a automatic motion more then anything.

Seemingly content with the gesture of agreement, sensei continues on sternly, but with a certain edge of softness that Izuku would never associate with his exhausted teacher, "now, I'll be looking into a more intensive Quirk counselling program for Bakugou, and perhaps sessions with our school guidance counselor Hound Dog. I'd also like you to consider seeing him too. There's obviously some unresolved tension between the two of you, and stuff like that is dangerous to have in this profession."

"You don't have to like everyone you work with, that's not what this is about and it would be illogical to believe the world is ever that simple, but you have to be able to put that aside and be able to work together despite it, or you'll end up a casualty," Aizawa-sensei's tone softens the faintest bit, yet it's still authoritative, "you've got to be able to rely on your fellow Heroes, and I don't trust either of you to have each other's backs yet. That's a problem."

Izuku's head bobs in a scolded nod.

As much as he'd like to believe Kacchan would save him if he were ever truly in danger, he honestly doesn't know if he would.

There's a beat of silence where Izuku doesn't speak.

The man looks like he's mulling over his own words, a deep thoughtfulness in his expression.

Finally, the man lets out a heavy sigh, suddenly sounding more exhausted than he had before, "for now though, until that's all sorted out, I won't be pairing you two together, or having you face off against one another. I want to limit your interactions with Bakugou, especially in a training setting. This will be the case until I see for myself that Bakugou can handle himself, until I no longer have to question if he'll keep his hand off of you. I don’t want to risk another incident like yesterday if we can help it, alright?”

“Yes, Sensei,” Izuku chews on his bottom lip, burnt arm suddenly throbbing at the reminder.

There’s a weird feeling in his chest that this man— a teacher— is putting this much effort into protecting him. Into keeping Izuku away from Kacchan. None of his teachers had ever really cared— Bakugou was strong and powerful, the one who actually had a legit shot at become a Pro Hero, and Izuku was... the Quirkless kid.

They came from different worlds despite only living a couple streets apart.

“I also," Sensei's voice breaks Izuku from his thoughts, "while I've got you here, would like to formally apologize."

Izuku freezes, head snapping up as wide eyes catch Aizawa-sensei's waiting ones.

Hang on...

Aizawa-sensei was apologizing...

...to him?

When the man's certain he has Izuku's attention, he continues, "yesterday should not have happened. All Might let that battle exercise go too far, and because of that, you spent the afternoon with Recovery Girl and missed your classes. I apologize for not being there to step in, and I apologize on behalf of All Might for his carelessness as your teacher. He should have protected you from harm, that's what we're supposed to do as the adults guiding you. I assure you that we will learn from this mishap.”

In addition to the words, Aizawa-sensei bows his head forwards formally.

Izuku has never felt more mortified.

"I-it's alright," he gasps out hurriedly, "really, Sensei, it's okay! I mean, ours was the only battle that really got out of hand, and that was because of Kacchan and I, so... so please don't apologize to me! I feel like I learned a lot from it, anyways! A-and if anyone should be sorry, it's me, so, um, I'm sorry for causing so much trouble and wasting so much or your, All Might's, a-and Recovery Girl's time!"

Sensei opens his mouth, probably to reply, but nothing comes out.

The man's teeth click audibly as his jaw snaps shut, before he leans back against his chair and lets out a tired sounding sigh as his thumb and index finger come raise to message at his eyes. After a second, the man's hand lowers to press against his mouth, regarding Izuku in exasperation, "you really are gonna be a problem child, aren't you?"

“I... I’m not sure I understand, Sensei?”

"Forget it," the man flaps a dismissive hand.

Izuku gets a feeling the words had been spoken more to himself, than to Izuku.

He still doesn't know what it means though...

"Recovery Girl should be getting in soon, so it would be wise to make your way down to her office," Sensei suggests as he tugs his sleeping bag out from under his desk, "I doubt your plan will work at this point, but give it a try. I have a feeling she's not going to let you go willingly. Come see me after class if you get held back with her this morning, and I will help you catch up on everything you've missed due to this incident. This is a one-time offer, because this injury isn’t entirely your fault, so don't make me regret it. We'll have ourselves a problem if you make this a habit."

That's a kind offer, Izuku can't help but think. Maybe this guy isn't really as scary as Izuku thought...

"Thank you, Sensei," Izuku bows his head as he stands.

Izuku gets a gruff hum as the man steps into the sleeping bag and starts to tug it up. Izuku suspects him being in the classroom when the man got to school this morning had inconvenienced and distracted the man from a before-school nap. Oboro had mentioned the man slept every chance he got, hadn't he?

Izuku can't help but crack a smile as he steps towards the door, "tired after your patrol last night, Aizawa-sensei?"

“Ye—” the man’s jaw snapped shut mid word, head jerking around to look at Midoriya, who was stood like a deer caught in the headlights of a car at the man's surprising reaction, “how did you know I went on patrol last night?”

“O-oh, I, um, I, I just, uh, I ASSUMED?” Midoriya's voice raises anxiously, backing away towards the door. “Sorry! Sorry, Sensei, I, uh, I just, well, you’re an underground Hero, right? And underground Heroes... um tend to patrol at night, because... because that’s when the most activity is, and... um, y-you know what? I’m just gonna... I’mgonnagoseeifRecoveryGirl’sinyet!”

The kid’s gone before Shōta can even begin unravel the sentence he’d blurted out before fleeing the classroom.

The man stares at the door for a long second, blinks once, then twice, before finally drawing his gaze away. The dark-haired man tugs his sleeping bag up over his head until just his face is peeking out, then sinks to the ground for a quick nap before classes start and he has to be awake and responsible and actually teach. How tiresome.

Still, as he lets himself doze, he can't help but think that was weird.

“I don’t see the problem here?”

Izuku turns slowly to face his ghost friend, unsure what the ghost doesn't get about this, only to meet a furrowed brow and confused blue eyes.

It's lunch hour now, and Izuku had only just been released from the old lady's grasp. He'd spent the entire morning in the infirmary at Recovery Girl's insistence, had had two separate healing sessions to clear up the splintered mess of bones from his use of One for All, as well as the deep burns covering his forearm, but sadly, not even she could kiss away all of the damage done by Kacchan's Quirk.

It was still a little tender, and there would be some scaring, but Izuku was getting used to that at this point.

Recovery Girl was good, her Quirk amazing, but at the end of the day, she was no miracle worker.

And burns were tricky, as she'd kept telling him.

Honestly, they looked a lot better than they had, so Izuku's happy with the results.

Despite it just now being lunch time, Izuku hadn't really felt hungry when he's left the infirmary.

Recovery Girl had force fed him enough nutrient gummies to satisfy a small army, so he felt full.

And a little sick, honestly.

Oboro had found Izuku in the halls when he'd been on his way to meet up with Uraraka and Iida, since he didn't really know where the ghost was during the school day, or what he got up to when he wasn't by Izuku's side. The ghost had managed to talk Izuku into finding somewhere secluded for them to hang out, which was perfect because Izuku really wasn't in the mood for the noise and liveliness of the cafeteria. And he didn't want anyone on his case about not eating, which he's sure Iida and Uraraka would both be worried about, as much as he loved his new friends.

He'd actually been looking forward to having a conversation with the ghost.

He needed someone to rant to— someone who he was sure wouldn't tell anyone what he said (because, well, Oboro was a ghost who only Izuku could see and talk to).

Which led the two of them to the outskirts of campus, blocked in by trees and where no one could see them.

They settle facing away from the school, backs pressed up against a thick tree trunk that hid them pretty well from the view of the school. Izuku likes the seclusion of it, likes the thought that he can talk openly to the ghost and not have to worry about being caught, or facing any repercussions of looking like a weirdo.

"How can you not see a problem?" Izuku demands, as if Oboro hadn't understood the words themselves, "he's getting detention! Because of me! Aizawa-sensei is giving Kacchan detention. And! And, he's looking into more intense Quirk counselling and guidance counselling, which Kacchan is going to hate. You seriously don't see a problem? It's Kacchan we're talking about!"

"Isn't that... y'know, a good thing?" the ghost looks very unsure, "he targeted you. He was aiming to hurt you. He did hurt you—" Oboro gestures to Izuku's forearm where Recovery Girl had wrapped up the lingering burn with fresh bandages, "—why are you so upset he's getting consequences for that? He should. He's behaving like a bully, he's being a bully. Heroes aren't supposed to use their Quirks like that."

"He was playing a Villain," Izuku defends, squinting at the ghost.

It's the wrong thing to say, Izuku realizes just a second too late.

The ghost's face screws up in disbelief, eyes narrowing sharply on Izuku.

"Yeah, playing a Villain, not being one."

The ghost blows out a breath, like he's trying to calm himself, then frowns at Izuku, "look, even if he was supposed to play the part of a Villain, he still took it too far. It was an exercise, Izuku, it's was pretend, and you got hurt. I mean, Glasses was a Villain too, and he didn't actively try to harm the Hero team. And, once again, to reiterate, it was a training exercise. No one should've gotten hurt at all."

"His name is Iida," Izuku corrects with a sigh, "not Glasses—"

"Wait, no way! That was Iida? Really?" Oboro cuts the younger boy off, eyes shining with excitement, "like, Ingenium's little brother?"

"I think so?" Izuku shrugs, shooting the ghost a confused look, "why?"

"What a small world! I know his older brother!" the ghost beams for a second before the look melts away to a slightly defeated frown as he leans back against the tree trunk, "or... I used to, I guess? Man though, he's gotten so tall. I haven't seen him in ages, I forgot the kid was old enough to start at Yuuei, what a surprise. I definitely should've put two and two together. Anyways, that's beside the point. Continue. Try to prove that asshole's case to me, Izu-chan."

"Well..." Izuku's brow furrows, trying to remember where his train of thought had been going before Oboro derailed it, "they just... they have completely different personalities. Like, Iida cares too much, about a lot of stuff that most people don't, you know? And Kacchan... Kacchan doesn't, well, care enough, I guess? B-but! That's not to say he doesn't care at all, I mean, he's got his own agenda, and, okay, fine, he doesn't always do things the... ah, the right way, I guess, but he'll still be a good Hero! And Iida will too! Just... they're different people. They learn different ways, and process situations differently. They do different things—"

“One’s a bully, and one’s not, you mean?”

"No!" Izuku seriously wants to tug at his own hair. "Okay, fine, I'll admit it. Kacchan hadn't always been the nicest to me. I know that. But it's okay. Seriously. He's always been like that, since we were little kids! Even before he got his Quirk. It's how he was raised, honestly, he's just like Auntie, just with a bit more..."

"Burning rage?" Oboro suggests offhandedly, one leg crossing over the other, "hate, bad attitude? Inability to be a decent human being?"

"No," Izuku snaps with a sigh, "pride was the word I was going for. Kacchan is proud. That's who he is."

Oboro rolls his eyes, shaking his head, "okay, fine. But I still don't get why you're defending him to hard— the guy needs to face consequences for his actions. You've admitted what he did was wrong, in a roundabout way, and if he'd done it to literally anyone else, I doubt you'd be acting like this. So why are you so defensive over this? I mean, I told you Shōta would prove himself to you, and he's trying. He's trying to do the right thing for you. For Bakugou. He's trying to keep you safe, isn't he? Why is that a problem?"

"That's another thing!" Izuku points an accusatory finger at Oboro, even if it's not really meant for the ghost. Izuku needs to vent, because he doesn't understand. Oboro doesn't seem to take his tone as any actual threat, judging by how the ghost waggishly arches an eyebrow. "What is his angle here? Why is he doing it?"

"Doing what?" Oboro asks in exasperation, finally trying to swat Izuku's finger away from his chest. As they'd both expected, the ghost phases right through Izuku's hand, but the living teenager gets the message nonetheless, letting his hand fall into his lap. "He doesn't have an angle, dude."

"Then why is he being nice?" Izuku squints accusingly, "why is he acting like he cares? What does it matter what Kacchan does to me? No one cares. But he... he stopped it. He stopped Kacchan during the apprehension test, and he apologized for not being there to stop the fight yesterday. I just... why?"

"What do you mean why?” Oboro stares at him in disbelief for a long second. "Of course he cares what happens to you, you're his student. You're literally his responsibility. And, even if you weren't, he'd still care that someone was bullying you. Anyone who's seen you and Bakugou in a room together, like, even for just a second, will be able to see that whatever you two have going on isn't healthy. He's an asshole to you. Shōta definitely noticed."

The ghost's head settles back against the base of the tree, no longer looking at Izuku, "I told you he's secretly a softie, remember? He'll never admit it, but he's already got a soft spot for you guys. He doesn't want to see you kids get hurt, any of you. You included, dude."

"But why?" Izuku tried to keep his voice stern and demanding, but he thinks it comes out more like a pitiful whine. “I don’t get it.”

“Why is this so hard for you to comprehend?” Oboro asks quietly, and it’s not accusing, or mean— he just sounds confused. “He's a good teacher, and he's been teaching for years. He knows bullying when he sees it. He gets you; what you're going through. He wants to keep you safe. What’s wrong with that?”

“Teachers just don’t do that,” Izuku’s voice comes out quieter than he'd expected it as he admits it. “Not to people like me.”

“Not to...” Oboro swallows, head angling towards Izuku, “I don’t know what that means, Izuku.”

“I’m not worth it,” the younger tells him simply, glaring down at his shoes.

His red shoes.

The only shoes that properly fit his stupid feet.

“I was never worth it," Izuku continues before the ghost can soo much as open his mouth. "No one wanted to stand up for me. No one even cared enough to stand up for me. No one thought to help. No one wanted to be friends with... with someone like me. My classmates avoided me, or picked on me. They made going to school hell. And teachers just looked the other way, because that’s what they do— they pretend they don’t see it. It's easier for them that way. I didn't matter when they could take the easy way out. No one wants to deal with the Quirkless kid.”

There's a beat of suffocating silence, which Oboro breaks with a deep, shaky breath.

"Wait, wait," the ghost wheezes the words out, his tone coloured with... Izuku isn't even sure. Too many emotions for Izuku to pick apart.

Oboro's hand comes up to phase through Izuku's wrist, like the ghost had thoughtlessly gone to grab his arm, forgetting that physically couldn't touch a living person. There's a silent demand for Izuku to actually look at him in the action, but for a moment, all Izuku really does is look over at his friend, ready to snap at the other boy for ghosting though him.

The ghost had said countless times that he hates the feeling of passing through a living being.

Except, before Izuku can force out the scolding, he catches the look on his friend's face and stops himself.

Oboro looks so serious.

There's a mix of disbelief, uncertainty, anxiousness and utter confusion in the ghost's expression.

Izuku's never seen Oboro look like this— he's not sure he'd seen anyone's expression twist up like this.

Izuku's lips press into a straight line as he racks his brain for what he possibly could've said to warrant such a reaction from his friend, but he doesn't have to dwell on it long as Oboro treks on shakily, voice thick like he's trying to swallow something bitter, "back... back up for a sec. You... you were Quirkless? What does that even mean? How is that even possible?"

Oh.

Oh no.

Had he really said that?

Had he seriously outed himself to Oboro right then and there?

He hadn't even thought about what he was saying, too overwhelmed by bottled-up emotions and concerns. It had all just slipped out, like an avalanche of feelings. Izuku's not used to being able to talk so freely, he never gets to talk to openly without fearing he'll mess up somehow. That there's be consequences. He hadn't meant to let such a sensitive secret slip past. God, he's such a idiot.

"But..." Oboro's voice quivers, like he can't comprehend this. Izuku knows it's a lot. "You have a Quirk. I... I saw you use your Quirk. You busted your finger throwing the softball on the first day of school— you took out the zero-pointer during the exam! You blew out, like, four floors of a building during your battle trials! I saw! I watched the footage! How can you be Quirkless with a Quirk like that? You have so much power!"

This is a very sensitive situation.

He'd said too much, had gotten carried away with his emotions and had forgotten that it wasn't common knowledge that he grew up Quirkless.

All the talk about Kacchan had lulled him into a false sense of security, because Kacchan knew. Kacchan knew Izuku when he was little, Kacchan was there when Izuku never manifested a Quirk. It was a guarded secret he kept close to his chest, and even if the one person who did know the truth about him, Kacchan himself, ever tried to tell others (which he kinda had?), no one would truly believe him because Izuku does have a Quirk.

Now, at least.

He's quiet for a second too long, distracted by his thoughts until something cold passes through his wrist. Izuku jolts at the chill, looking down to watch Oboro's hand phases through his wrist in a way that Izuku thinks it might've been a persistent 'tap, tap, tap' had the ghost had any physical mass.

"Seriously," Oboro finally seems to find his voice, "what the hell do you mean, Izuku?"

"I was born Quirkless."

Izuku doesn't so much as look over at the ghost, doesn't want to see the look on his friend's face.

He supposes he owes the ghost that much, an explanation after eveything, and honestly, who is the ghost going to tell? It's not like he even has the ability to blab Izuku's secret if he wanted to, not that Izuku thinks the kind ghost ever would. The worst thing that could come from this would be his new friend dumping him like every other person he's ever told after being medically diagnosed Quirkless (which would definitely hurt, of course, but still).

"I didn't get a Quirk when I was little. I... was diagnosed Quirkless, actually. I've got the pinky toe joint and everything," Izuku's gaze is on his lap, words quiet. "I've been Quirkless my whole life. Nothing but... but a Quirkless Deku. That's what they called me in school. That's why we stopped being friends; Kacchan and I. He was powerful, a star destined for a bright future and I was a weak Deku."

"If you were... then how did...? Where'd... what?" The ghost must be very disoriented, considering he can barely form sentences.

It might've even been funny if Izuku's heart wasn't racing with nerves.

Was he really about to tell the ghost all of this...?

"Would you believe me if I told you it was possible to pass on a Quirk?" Izuku bites hard at his bottom lip, refusing to meet the ghost's gaze, despite the feeling of eyes on him. "That... that there was a Quirk out there that you could inherit directly from someone else?"

Oboro looks away from Izuku, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before he's looking back at the green-haired teenager with nervous anticipation.

The silence drags on for a second, the ghost staring thoughtfully, processing, before the blue-haired boy blows out a slow, self-soothing breath, “under normal circumstances? No. Definitely not. But... as a ghost who you’re currently talking to as a living, breathing, alive person? ...I could be persuaded.”

The ghost mutters not a single word as Izuku tells him the story of inheriting One for All.

It strikes Izuku as odd, considering Oboro is usually pretty quick to add his two-cents in any given situation, so to have the ghost lulled into silence, listening without interrupting, is strange. The ghost doesn't offer any jokes, nor any sarcastic comments like Izuku's come to expect from the other. In fact, Izuku's not even entirely sure the ghost is even breathing— which would be a concern if ghosts actually needed to breathe.

Izuku just takes the ghost's silence as a sign to continue, pouring it all out to the ghost.

The first person he's every truly breathed the words to.

Besides, well, Kacchan, who he'd tried to tell yesterday after school, but he doesn't count, because he didn't actually believe Izuku.

It actually comes pretty second nature, despite how confidential this secret truly is. It's relieving to get this off his chest, he hadn't known how much keeping it all to himself, keeping it all bottled up, had truly been affecting him. All Might expected complete secrecy regarding the Quirk, but surely there's nothing wrong with a ghost knowing, right?

Izuku likes the fact that someone else knows now.

He likes the fact that there's someone he can talk to who isn't All Might himself.

The boy lets himself talk without bothering to filter his words, without that background worry of oversharing or messing things up, and it's freeing.

He tells the ghost of his surprise first meeting with All Might, the shock of being rescued from the Sludge Villain by the Pro.

The fear, and relief, he'd felt between almost dying and his rescue.

The ghost's head tilts in interest as he silently listens.

There's a curl of recognition in the other's expression, so there's a chance he'd heard of said Villain at some point. He'd probably seen it on the news, or something— the Sludge guy was pretty memorable, pretty unique. Pretty gross. Not easy to forget. Plus, the story had blown up on the news and other media outlets, specifically after Kacchan had been attacked and held hostage.

Izuku and All Might are the only ones who know that he'd been attacked first, so it's nice to have someone else who knows.

The boy raves on excitedly about the autograph he's gotten from All Might, the signature scrawled in the paged of an old waterlogged and charred notebook, but still one of his prized possessions despite it. It was All Might's signature, after all. A signature form the man he'd looked up to since he was a child, his literal Hero. That was special.

He mentions Kacchan, briefly, not wanting to add anymore fuel to that raging fire, but it is a rather crucial detail too. Kacchan played a big role in the events that day. Izuku makes sure to leave out the grisly details, doesn't exactly paint his childhood friend as a good guy, or as a bad guy. Izuku tries to keep Kacchan impartial, even in the story, but he's not sure he succeeds.

It might've worked when talking to anyone else, but Oboro has met Kacchan. Doesn't particularly like him.

The ghost isn't an idiot.

Izuku really tries to keep Kacchan's involvement brief, but even he knows that no matter how he spins this, Oboro will be able to read between the lines.

And the ghost does exactly that, if the sad, sympathetic curl to his brow is any indication. Izuku can tell his friend has a general idea of how that incident had gone for the Quirkless kid, even without Izuku going into any detail.

Maybe there's more emotion in his voice than Izuku thought as he thinks about that day; everything Kacchan had said, everything Kacchan had done.

The tightness in his chest as those words had registered in his brain, suffocating him.

Izuku doesn't like to remember the malicious snarl in Kacchan's voice.

He also gives very little detail about his time up on the roof top of that building with All Might, forcing as much indifference into his voice as he could as he tells the ghost about how All Might had left him up there after telling him he couldn't be a Hero if he didn't have a Quirk. His voice breaks, he knows it, but the man had literally stomped Izuku's dream of becoming a Hero under the heel of his shoe. It had been tough, even now, it makes his chest feels heavy.

After skirting around All Might and Kacchan both, Izuku tells the ghost exactly how he'd finally caught the Number One Pro Hero's attention.

He spares no detail when he tells Oboro of stumbling upon Kacchan being attacked by the same Sludge Villain who'd tried to take him hostage earlier that day. Hearing the commotion of another attack when he'd been walking home after talking with All Might and having to think on his feet, because no one else was doing anything to help.

How Pro Heroes had stood by and watched a teenager suffocate at the hands of a Villain, how Izuku had been the only one to do anything.

The ghost lets out a weird squawking sound when he tells him that he'd been the idiot kid who'd rushed head first into danger, wielding nothing but his backpack in an attempt to rescue his childhood friend. The ghost sputters, but Izuku bulldozes on, not giving the other teen a chance to get a word in about how dangerous that had been, because Izuku knows.

He'd gotten that lecture from the Pros on scene.

Izuku talks of meeting his childhood Hero for the second time that fateful day, talks of being offered a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Izuku tells the ghost how hard he'd worked for the chance to inherit something like One for All from someone like All Might.

How he'd worked himself to the bone, spending hours upon hours at Dagobah beach clearing away the refuse and litter in an attempt to prove himself, to get himself to a point where he could accept the Quirk without losing his limbs. How hard he'd fought to keep up with his studies while still training enough to keep the Number One Hero satisfied with his progress, how he struggled to keep himself afloat— managing a rigorous training routine, keeping his grades up, getting enough sleep and still finding the time to follow a meal plan.

And lastly, he talks of finally, finally getting that Quirk.

All his hard work paying off on the day of the entrance exam.

Using One for All for the first time, feeling sheer power ripping through his body like a wildfire.

By the time he's finished, Izuku thinks he's talked more than since before he'd gotten his Quirkless diagnosis.

It feels good.

It's like a weight had lifted off his shoulders, like he can finally breathe again for the first time since he'd met All Might all those months ago.

Someone else knew.

He wasn't completely isolated with this mind-blowing, potentially dangerous, extremely confidential secret any longer.

Someone knows.

Izuku can't help but think it's a little ridiculous that he only now has someone he can talk to— and not even that, but the someone he's finally pouring his heart out to is a ghost he'd met three days ago. He'd been handling it all alone. He didn't have anyone to talk to. Trust doesn't come easy to someone like Izuku, but for some reason... Izuku really trusts Oboro.

Maybe it's the fact the ghost can't tell anyone else, yet he's still entirely real.

He counts as someone, even if it's only to Izuku now.

They're both quiet when Izuku's narrative comes to an end, silence bleeding between them.

Izuku's said all he's going to, all he's willing to— just enough so Oboro understands where he's coming from. He's explained himself. That's all he'd planned to do, so hopefully the ghost will understand why this is hard for Izuku, why he can't just trust that someone has good intentions like the ghost expects. He needs the ghost to acknowledge why Izuku is distrustful of authority figures, of teachers, and why he takes kindness offered to him with a grain of salt and suspicion.

He hadn't explicitly told the ghost anything, but he seems clever.

Izuku's sure he'll put two and two together on his own.

Oboro knows the whole story; knows far more than anyone else Izuku knows, so hopefully the ghost will understand.

Izuku finally lets his head cock in the other's direction, a little surprised he's still quiet.

The ghost isn't looking at him, his own gaze fixed on something off in the distance. It's a thoughtful look. Oboro's knees are tugged up, arms hugging them to his chest with his chin settled on his kneecap. The small of his back is slack against the tree, but the upper part of his body caves in over his legs. He doesn't move.

Izuku glances a look back over his shoulder towards the school, seeing the few students who'd come outside over the break heading back inside. That must mean lunch period is almost over. He should definitely be getting back to classes. He's pretty sure Aizawa-sensei will maim him if he finds out Izuku's skipping classes and not with Recovery Girl.

It already feels like he's already walking a thin line with his teacher, having caused so many issues in just three days of classes.

Being late now would just be the icing on the cake.

Still, it feels wrong to just leave the ghost while he's obviously trying to process everything. Izuku sympathizes for him, honestly, he'd struggled to comprehend all this too, and it had happened to him. Learning about the ability to inherit a Quirk in such an impossible way truly sounds like something of dreams. It's really shift your views on the world they live in.

Just when you think you know what you're up against, you come to find out there's a Quirk like One for All out there.

Izuku hesitates at the ghost's side for a couple more minutes, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as time passes.

"Oboro?" Izuku breaks the silence. The ghost doesn't really stir. Izuku thinks, briefly, after reaching over to touch the ghost, but he doesn't want to make him uncomfortable or cause discomfort, so he keeps his hands to himself. Even though the ghost doesn't look over, his brow does furrow faintly, so Izuku hopes he'd heard him at least. "Hey, I've gotta head back in now. I can't miss anymore of Aizawa-sensei's classes, okay?"

The ghost turns to regard him as he processes the words, though he remains quiet.

Oboro's head cocks faintly to the side, studying Izuku.

Izuku tries not to squirm as the ghost watches him. He's never felt quite as observed as he does right now, and he'd been the centerpiece of many doctor's focus. It's different this time, but it's no less comfortable. Oboro knows far more about him now than any other human being, which makes his gaze feel more intense.

Izuku tries not to let it bother him.

The boy stands, stretching out his legs.

He turns to the school, takes a single step forwards before looking back at his friend.

The ghost makes no move to follow.

Izuku hesitates, "you coming, or...?"

Oboro blinks up at him owlishly, then waves a dismissive hand in his direction.

Izuku frowns as the ghost's gaze drops to his own shoes.

He wishes he had the time to stay here with the ghost, to pick the other boy apart like he wants to, or, maybe he even wishes he could tug the ghost up and along like he would with any of his living friends, but he can neither of those things. And if he stays here any longer, he's going to be late. It's not like he can run to class with his injuries, exhaustion and low stamina.

Izuku bites hard at his lip, looking between Oboro and the school behind him, "alright... well, you know where to find me, right? I've gotta go."

A faint duck of the ghost's head is all the response Izuku get, but it's also all he really needs. At least he'd gotten some sort of answer, doesn't feel as bad leaving Oboro now. He clearly just want a moment to himself to process, so Izuku will let him have that. Izuku gives the ghost one last look before he finally leaves towards the school.

He just barely manages to make it to his desk before the bell rings.

And yet he can't really focus on the lesson as his thoughts keep straying to the ghost.

He hopes Oboro is okay out there.

He’d feel bad if he fried his new friend’s brain so early into their friendship.

"All Might left you on the rooftop of a building after tearing your hopes and dreams of being a Quirkless Hero to shreds in front of you."

Izuku startles at the sudden voice behind him, fumbling his phone in an attempt to not throw it in surprise.

He lets his attention lull back, blinking slowly at the ghost starting down at him with a blank expression. "...what?"

"You could've jumped off that building right then... you could've... you..."

Izuku gives himself half a second to process that, the sudden presence behind him when he was just alone in the apartment a second ago, and the ghost's complete lack of manners. What, no hello before scaring the shit out of him? Fine, that's cool.

Izuku tries not to let the surprise of suddenly having company show on his face as he regards the ghost blankly.

Frankly, his parting words of 'you know where to find me' from that afternoon could've also been viewed as an invite to find Izuku whenever he fancied, even if Izuku had only meant the offer during school hours, where he typically saw the ghost. But Oboro hadn't shown up at the school for the rest of the afternoon. He hadn't seen the ghost since he'd left him in the school yard at lunch. The ghost hadn't come to Aizawa-sensei's classes, or to the after school help his homeroom teacher had been kind enough to offer. He hadn’t even seen Oboro when he’d detoured to the edges of campus where they’d talked when he'd left the school, almost missing his train because of it.

Izuku assumed he just needed time to process, so he hadn't expected to see the ghost again until tomorrow at the earliest.

He's rightfully surprised now.

He supposes he shouldn't be too surprised though, it's not like the ghost had stalked him or something, showing up in a spooky or mysterious way that would creep him out.

Izuku had literally brought the ghost home just yesterday, so it's not that weird he'd been able to find his way here alone now. That one's on him, honestly, if you don't want ghosts around, you typically don't show them where you live. He's never brought a ghost home, and they've never just followed. It's a good thing he likes Oboro.

The green-haired teen decides to just accept this as normal, even if it's very far from normal.

Nothing about his life is normal.

"Yeah," Izuku gives an affirming nod, seeing no reason to lie to the ghost at this point.

It's true.

There's weight to Oboro's words because it's an actual valid worry for the ghost to have after knowing everything.

Izuku would be a liar if he said he hadn't thought about it, even if just for a split second.

The thought had already been in his head from Kacchan, and All Might telling him no, as nice and probably true as it had been, had shattered what little hope he had left. There’s not many responses to your hero crushing everything you’ve ever wanted in life to smithereens before your very eyes.

"But I didn't."

The words seem to fall on deaf ears.

Izuku arches an eyebrow in question as the ghost finally steps into the room, phasing right through the couch Izuku sits on as he goes.

For a long second, Izuku just watches the ghost pace. A quick-paced line, back and forth, in front of the couch. Izuku's not sure if he's really paying attention to where he's strutting, considering each line takes him directly through the coffee table in his path. The ghost doesn't seem to mind, or even acknowledge it, so Izuku doesn't bring it up.

Izuku lets himself watch until a wave of motion sickness dizziness crashes over him.

Izuku bites hard at the inside of his cheek to settle the churn of his stomach, shaking his head. He pins his attention across the room, only seeing the ghost moving in his peripheral vision, as he slowly adds, "and then he also gave me One for All right after, so I think they kinda cancel each other out, you know?"

The ghost freezes, directly in the coffee table, where he shoots Izuku an appalled look, "...after you almost died, like multiple times. After they all, all those Pro Heroes just stood by and watched a kid suffer at the hands of a Villain. You, a junior high student, who'd just had his world shatter before you by the person you looked up to the most, were the only one to try and help... No offense, by the way, just... I can't wrap my head around that. Wow."

"All Might helped," Izuku shrugs, setting his phone on the couch cushion beside him as he straightens up.

This seems like a serious conversation, so he'll treat it as such for Oboro's sake.

"Honestly, if he hadn't stepped in, Kacchan and I would've both probably died that day."

"Don't defend him," Oboro snaps, glaring daggers, "and don't make excuses for him. He's a grown-ass man, a Hero, it's his job to step in."

Izuku blinks at the malice in Oboro's tone, but he doesn't take it to heart— not when the ghost turns on his heels to continue his anxious pacing. Izuku's eyes follow the ghost through another line or two, Oboro's jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. Izuku quirks his head faintly, scans the ghost's face. And there, under the anger, is fear. Terror.

Izuku frowns to himself.

"None of them helped— they stood around like useless tools while two kids almost died," Oboro continues, voice a low disbelieving snarl, "they stood back and watched; waited for someone bigger, or better, or stronger to step in and do their job. What a joke. All they cared about was themselves. There was a crowd of Heroes there, and not one of them tried to help. You— you were the only one who tried. They stood by idly, as two kids almost died."

"But we didn't die," Izuku reminds softly, unsure where all this hate is really coming from. He's never seen Oboro like this before, but, then again, he has only known him for three days. The ghost is very passionate about this, very upset for Izuku's sake over something that happened nearly an entire year ago. "All Might did show up. He stepped in. He rescued us, and then he found me and offered me One for All. He made my dreams come true—"

"Only after he took a sledgehammer to them!" the ghost retorts fiercely.

Izuku can't help but feel like this is a bit of a one-sided argument at this point, like nothing he says will do anything to deter the ghost's frame of mind. Oboro had made up his own mind after stewing on everything he knew. He'd clearly been thinking long and hard about this since Izuku had told him that afternoon.

Izuku's jaw snaps shut as his gaze follows the ghost.

"I just..." Oboro's steps finally slow to a stop, tone softening too as if he's realized there's nothing he can do about this, "I can't believe this. I can't believe him; All Might. There was literally no thought behind this— I mean, you could've died, Izuku! What if that Quirk really hadda been too powerful for your body? What it it really had blown off your limbs? Or, what if you'd accidentally used it on someone else, and they got hurt? Not even to mention the fact that every time you've used it, it destroys your body! He put you in danger."

Defensiveness claws at Izuku's stomach, "I'm learning, Oboro."

It feels like the ghost is trying to talk him out of something that's already happened.

It's a lost cause, One for All had literally already melded with his DNA.

He's not going to give it back just because a ghost doesn't like it.

"I know," the ghost's jaw snaps shut, apologetic eyes flicking to Izuku as he turns to face him, "that's not what I meant. I'm not blaming you, I mean, I don't think it was wise to take a Quirk like that, of course, but I get why you did. I probably would've too. And you're doing spectacular with the Quirk, all things considered. Really. You're a marvel, dude. You're learning what's taken most people years to pick up in just weeks. I'm just—" the ghost groans petulantly to himself, "I'm mad, okay? I'm mad at All Might for how he went about this. Shō's always said the guy has one braincell, and I'm finally starting to see where he's coming from."

"That's a bit harsh—"

"That's completely reasonable," Oboro corrects before Izuku can even get the words out. Despite the words, there's a lightness in his tone. Maybe he's finally starting to come down from his cloud of anger. "Seriously though, he went about this all wrong. And the fact he's just let you... I don't know, let you flounder with it alone for the most part... I hate it. He's let it break you, and done next to nothing to really help. You've practically been learning to have a Quirk on your own— no Quirk counselling, no real training, no extra help. It's bullshit."

Izuku opens his mouth to interject, but Oboro shoots him a dark look, "and no, Izuku," the ghost shuts him down, as if he'd read Izuku's mind, before he can so much as get a word in, "a friendly word of advice from All Might here and there does not count as help."

Izuku narrows his eyes on the ghost.

“I’ve been learning it just fine,” Izuku sighs, already tired of the conversation. “I can compartmentalize it now, so it doesn’t shatter my arm, or legs—”

"But it does still hurt you, wherever you compartmentalize it."

“That—” Izuku sputters, trying to find a defense, but coming up short. He's right. The boy shoots the ghost a sideways glare anyways, “that’s beside the point. I can still compartmentalize. I couldn't before. That's an improvement. Sensei gave me that ultimatum, and I managed to throw the softball without major injury. I was still able to compete, even hurt. I knew nothing before, Oboro. You don't get it. All Might... he’s still learning how to teach, but he's helping me. He does help.”

"Maybe so," the ghost relents, beelining through the coffee table to plop down on the couch beside Izuku, "but it's not enough. Sure, he's trying. I'll give him that, but he's not really helping you. You should've been placed in Quirk counselling as soon as you got that power. Just like when a child's Quirk finally comes in, that's always the first step. You didn't have a Quirk before— you had no idea what was going on, or what to do with it, and All Might didn't help. He should've been the adult. He should've ensured you had what you needed before sending you into the exam. Maybe you wouldn't have broken three limbs then."

"It's a secret," is Izuku's last defense.

“That’s a weak excuse,” Oboro looks away from Izuku. "Actually, it's a pretty dick move on All Might's part. Giving a kid who had no prior experience with a Quirk an extremely powerful one, then offering minimal assistance in learning it and telling the kid he can't go to anyone else for help because it's a secret. He isolated you from everything— from help, and the potential to actually learn how to use the Quirk without hurting yourself to the lengths you have been in the process."

Izuku wants to refute, to defend— he truly does.

All Might had graciously offered him a gift he'd only ever dreamed of having. He'd been given a Quirk, a once in a lifetime chance and Izuku had jumped on the offer without a second thought, but... he can't say he never felt isolated because of it.

He'd been walking on eggshells, because he's this Quirkless kid who suddenly had a Quirk.

He'd gone from the bottom of the social pyramid, to the very top in a matter of seconds. He'd made it into one of the most well-known and praised schools in all of Japan, into one of the hardest classes to be accepted into, and that's because of everything All Might had done for him.

But he hadn't been able to tell anyone, he'd been forced to sit on the secret.

And he'd thought about what would've happened if he'd gotten this Quirk in childhood like everyone else. There's no question that he would've instantly been placed in Quirk counselling, probably intense counselling at that. They would've showed him how to control it, how to use it without shattering his bones. One for All is strong, it's powerful, but it's definitely not the first Quirk to harm the holder. There are people out there who've been in Izuku's place to come capacity, people who can teach him from their own experience.

All Might simply hadn't inherited the Quirk in the same way Izuku had.

He'd said as much.

Izuku remembers Kacchan talking about his own Quirk counselling when they'd been children, how all their classmates had in turn raved about their own counselling and all they'd learned too. It helped. It truly did, but Izuku hadn’t had the option. He'd never personally experienced it. There was no need for Quirk counselling for a Quirkless kid, and now, he’d look pretty dumb in a counselling session about harnessing powers that’s usually taught to grade-schoolers when their Quirks first come in.

The need to defend drains out of Izuku almost as fast as it had simmered up in the first place.

He's tired.

Izuku lets his body flop back against the couch, regarding the ghost with an unimpressed look, "well, it's already done. What do you expect me to do about it? What even is there to do about it at this point?"

“Tell Shōta.”

The response comes easily, as if it's the most natural thing. As if that, in and of itself, is easy. Tell someone who’s not a ghost, what he'd told the ghost. Tell someone who can actually help in his journey towards understand his damaging Quirk. It sounds right, it sounds easy enough, but for some reason, a shot of fear climbs up his spine.

“It’s not my secret to tell,” Izuku huffs abruptly, masking the fear settling in his chest. “I won’t betray All Might by telling my sensei.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard, Izu!” Oboro returned harshly— but it was more annoyance than any real heat, “it became your secret when he handed over a Quirk that he knew was going to hurt you! It was wrong of him to make you keep it a secret for his sake in the first place— I mean look at you, you’ve had it for, what a month- two?”

Izuku's brow furrows, "just over two weeks."

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” Oboro wheezes in surprise, mouth gaping open, “that’s even worse!”

The annoyance is back as Izuku's arms cross tightly over his chest in exasperation, "was there a point to this?”

Oboro opens his mouth to respond, bites his lip thoughtfully before nodding, “—yes. There was. Sorry, distracted. You’ve had this Quirk for just over two weeks, and you’ve already broken at least seventy-percent of your body on multiple occasions. That’s not good, Izuku. There’re people who can help with that. They may not know One for All, but they do know Quirks.”

“And sensei’s one of them?”

“Uh, yeah?” Oboro looks unimpressed as he matched Izuku's defensiveness, “of course he is. He’s been a teacher for a long time now. He’s worked with difficult Quirks, I mean, his own Quirk isn’t a walk in the park to master, and look at how well he uses that. There is a reason he’s teaching 1-A. Shōta’s the kinda person not afraid to do what’s gotta be done, even if it’s hard. If he knew you’d only had your Quirk for so many weeks leading up, he would’ve taken that into account. He's not some monster, dude.”

Izuku simply shoots the ghost a disbelieving look.

The older boy huffs out a heavy sigh, "I keep telling you he’s a good guy, but you never believe it. And I get it, you don’t have a good track record with teachers, but the Yuuei staff are different. Shōta’s different. He’s rough around the edges, I'll admit that, but you’ll never meet a person who cares as much as he does. He’s already in your corner, and you’ve only known him for three days.”

“Maybe he was good to you, but he threatened to expel me— almost did expel me.”

“Yeah, maybe, but he didn’t know,” Oboro stresses the word, as if he really believes it would make a difference. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, he was going to expel the person in last place. He does the same thing every year. His intention on that first day, was to pick out the weakest link and send them packing as a reality check. But he didn’t. He saw potential in you. He told you what he thought before you even used your Quirk, and I’ll admit, he could’ve been a bit nicer, but you proved him wrong.”

Izuku can only stare at the ghost, chest heavy with both relief as well as a nauseating wave of anxiety at the thought that he really could’ve been expelled.

Aizawa-sensei had said he was being deceptive, but he truly was going to expel the student with the least potential, according to Oboro. Izuku had had his suspicions, but it made him sick to the stomach to have those suspicions confirmed. He really could've lost everything that day. Holy shit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Oboro’s frowning when Izuku’s gaze drags towards him, “I’m only telling you this so you understand, okay? If he was going to expel you, he would’ve. If he was going to expel the class, he would’ve. This is the first time in... I don’t know— since he started at Yuuei?— that he hasn’t expelled anyone. And that’s because you showed him you were destined to be a Hero, even if you didn’t fully have a grasp on your Quirk.”

Izuku can't force himself to say anything, can't even figure out what to say to something like that. Actually, he's not even sure he really remember how to move his mouth, or make his vocal cords work as he tried to shove down the dread in his chest.

He wants to say things.

He wants to tell Oboro he's wrong, and defend All Might.

He wants to remind the ghost that no teacher has ever cared about him.

There's a lot he wants to say, but nothing comes out, even when he tried.

“Look,” Oboro says instead, voice coming out as a defeated sigh. There’d been a minute or so of contemplative silence as Izuku tried to remember how to speak, the ghost clearly waiting for him to say something too. He looks Izuku in the eyes, his own softening with understanding and a silent plea, “just don’t write all teachers off, alright? You gotta give them a chance to be a good teacher. Just... trust me, ‘kay?”

Just trust me, okay?

How many times had he heard that before?

It’s not the first time someone’s asked that of him. It’s not the first time he had placed his trust in someone, only for it to be an ill-advised move on his part. Trust is hard when you’ve grown up like Izuku has. Any trust he’s placed in anyone had been broken. At some point, he’ll have to stop being so trusting, stop being so naïve.

He’ll have to stop trusting people, but for now, all he does is nod.

“Alright.”

It’s soft, almost tasting bitter on his tongue, because it feels like the wrong move even if he does trust this ghost.

His throat feels tight, and his eyes refuse to even glance to his side at the ghost, “I will.”

"You'll tell Shō?" Oboro's eyes sparkle with anticipation.

He's grinning— it's the stupidly wide one, the one where his eyes are squinting shut as he flashes pearly white teeth.

“...I’ll think about it,” Izuku reasons unsurely. “But I do trust you, I think. I’ll... I’ll give them a chance. The teachers at Yuuei. I mean... Aizawa-sensei gave me a chance, right? He decided not to expel me when he was going to. So... so I’ll return the favor.”

“That’s all I ask, Izuku," Oboro assures, smile softening, "I promise he will prove himself. They all will. I trust them.”

They settle into a companionable silence after that.

Izuku’s still exhausted from spending the morning with Recovery Girl, the old woman using all his stamina twice before satisfied with his healed injuries. Then he's had a busy afternoon of playing catch-up with Aizawa-sensei, before dumping all of his feelings and emotions out all over the floor like an overturned handbag.

Izuku can't help but let himself think about how much all of this is. It's harrowing; letting himself be so vulnerable around someone he barely knows. Yet, at the same time, he doesn't think he'd let himself do such a thing around anyone else. There's just something about Oboro— how fiercely attentive he is and, as much as Izuku hates it, how persuasive he is. He's noble in a way a lot of people aren't, and boldly righteous. He will tell you what he thinks, and why he thinks that way.

In just three days of knowing the ghost, he'd already managed to wear Izuku down to the point he's seriously considering actually telling his new teacher.

And it sounds nice.

He'd like to have someone else in his corner, he'd like to have someone who knows he's not useless, who sees that he's trying— he really, really is— and that he's not leagues behind everyone else because he hadn't neglected his Quirk all his life, but because he'd just gotten it and didn't know what he was doing. And fine, Aizawa-sensei definitely isn't the first person he'd pick to fill that role considering their rocky start to it, but if he is going to trust anyone, it’ll be the teacher Oboro seems to trust wholeheartedly.

He's not sure he'll be able to truly trust anyone else, not with something like this.

He's not sure he'd be able to handle his trust being broken again, but he's willing to try for Oboro.

Who knows, maybe the ghost is right, and his new teachers are worth it.

Maybe they’ll actually help him? Wouldn't that be surprising.

"So..." Oboro's voice finally breaks the silence, Izuku cocking his head sideways to glance at him in question, "uh, Hizashi's pretty busy down at the radio station tonight so... um, I was wondering if you'd be down to maybe... I don't know, make something to eat and watch something on TV until he's finished?"

Izuku snorts a laugh, "can you even eat?"

Izuku's silently thankful that whatever spat they'd just had is easily forgotten. He's not sure what he would've done if it had left things awkward between them, but if Oboro's letting it go now, he'll gladly do the same for the sake of settling into whatever weird normalcy he can get when hanging out with a ghost.

"I can't!" the ghost whines pathetically, "but I can smell it, and look at it, and be extremely jealous and envious that other people are eating it!"

"That sounds horrible," Izuku comments, a small smile lifting to his face, "doesn't it suck?"

"Oh yeah, big time," the ghost bemoans playfully, shoulder shrugging as he stands from the couch; stretching out his limbs. He walks around the coffee table now, pausing on the other end of the couch closest to the kitchen, where he grins widely, “I’ll just live vicariously through you. So, whatcha got to eat? Something good, I hope!”

"Because that's not odd at all," Izuku teases as he moves to follow the other teen. He knows there’s not a lot in the kitchen anymore— he's more a 'pick something quick up for dinner on your way home' kinda guy, but he’ll probably be able to find something to eat. He is kinda hungry now. “How about instant curry noodles?”

“Instant?” Oboro frowns dramatically, but the flicker of a bright smile on his face lets Izuku know he’s just jesting. “I guess that’ll do.”

Izuku lets out a hearty laugh at that, stepping past his friend and into the kitchen.

He rummages through the barren cabinets, searching for the last instant curry noodles he remembers purchasing in a two for one sale a while back. He knows it’s hidden somewhere.

Unbeknownst to him, the ghost is eyeing each cabinet he opens in search of the noodles. The ghost worries his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes dimming uneasily at how unsettlingly empty his kitchen is. The most the ghost sees, the sicker he feels— just what had Izuku been living off if his cupboards were this bare?

"Ah, here it is," Izuku finally turns back to the other teenager, blissfully unaware of the deep frown on the ghost's face that had instantly transformed into a wide, yet faintly grim, grin, hiding away the ghost's worries of his new friend's living situation. The green-haired boy flashes a grin, holding up a small cup of instant curry noodles as proof that they exist. "I knew I had one somewhere around here. I'll have to pick up more, this is my last one."

"Ooh, looks good," the ghost nods his head to appease, smile only wavering when Izuku turns back to the counter to set about filling and turning on the kettle.

Oboro wants to say something about his observations, but even he knows that saying anything right now will definitely not be well received by the younger teen. He’d already cornered Izuku about his Quirkless childhood and maybe pushed a bit too hard about his distrust for members of, any and all, authority, even if it really is for his sake.

Not everyone in the world is out to get him, and Oboro’ll be damned if he lets Izuku continue living that way.

So he knows that Izuku's already on edge, Oboro can not stir the pot again at this point.

They'd just come to neutral territory, Oboro can't disrupt that.

So... one problem at a time.

Chapter Text

Over the next couple days, Izuku tries to make good on his promise to Oboro.

He tries to trust the teachers.

Some, like Present Mic-sensei, make it easier than others, not to name any names (Aizawa-sensei).

It's hard not to trust someone like Present Mic; the man's got such a charismatic personality and he's always so cheerful and enthusiastic whenever he's teaching.

It's only been a couple days, but it really feels like the man knows them, that he has a vague grip on each other their personalities— who to call on in class and when to do it, who's struggling a bit more than others, how he's able to explain things without making you feel stupid for not understanding right away.

He's kind, and he teaches in such an upbeat way that it makes Izuku not hate English class entirely.

Izuku's even noticed that the Voice Hero seems to be keeping a closer eye on him, and, by extension, Kacchan as well.

There haven't been any other incidents since Izuku had talked to Aizawa-sensei, and Kacchan had mellowed out into an angered silence after he'd been called to stay behind after class by their homeroom teacher. Izuku really wonders what had been said, but he's definitely not going to be asking Kacchan, not will he risk sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and bothering Sensei.

That had happened the day after sensei had spoken to Izuku in the morning, but the green-haired boy has a sneaking suspicion that sensei would've done it that very same day had Izuku not stayed back to play catch-up with the man. Maybe Aizawa-sensei just didn't want them crossing paths so soon, or, maybe he'd needed to plan out what he'd planned to tell Kacchan.

Sensei had gone the length to brief Izuku on what he'd planned on telling Kacchan, how he planned to go about it without pinning the blame on Izuku for saying anything (though he knows Kacchan is clever enough to put two and two together, given the timing of how this is all falling into place). Izuku's a little nervous of how Kacchan'll react when he actually has the chance to.

Izuku suspects it won't be long until he finds himself in a one-on-one meeting with sensei about possible Quirk counselling and guidance counselling for himself as well.

He's not looking forward to that.

Either way, Izuku's glad it had all seemed to work out.

Izuku's noticed both their English teacher and their homeroom teacher keeping a close eye on Izuku and Kacchan, but he hasn't really noticed any of the other teachers doing it. It seems to be something only the two of them are really watching. Present Mic had even gone as far as to arrange any partner activities in the classroom with Izuku and Kacchan in different groups, on either side of the classroom.

It was a little odd.

Izuku can't help but wonder, once again, just how close Aizawa-sensei and Present Mic actually are.

It's pretty obvious the Voice Hero has been kept in the loop of Izuku and Kacchan's problems, but none of the other teachers really seem to know. It doesn't make much sense. Izuku doesn't think it's really necessary to inform the entire staff about a problem that really only persists in a specific setting, which would be Heroics classes.

Honestly, if any teacher was going to be told about it, Izuku had expected it to be All Might let in on the information.

He was the other teacher in charge of 1-A's fundamental Heroics training, so wouldn't it make more sense for All Might to know, rather then Present Mic? The Number One Hero hadn't brought it up to Izuku, he also didn't really appear to be worried about any rivalry among his successor and another student. Izuku really doesn't think All Might knows, but he doesn't really mind anyways. He hadn't wanted to bring attention to it in the first place, so it's fine if just Aizawa-sensei and Present Mic know.

Well, and maybe even principal Nezu.

The rodent-like creature kinda gives him the impression that he knows far more then he lets on, which would make sense considering his intelligence Quirk: High Specs. At least, Izuku thinks as much, considering he hasn't actually met the creature yet, just knows from his analysis and observations.

He only gets the chance to ask about that lingering thought a couple days later, towards the end of their first week of classes.

Izuku holds his phone to his ear, a deceitful attempt at making it look like he's not actually talking to himself in the middle of a busy walkway, keeping his attention forward despite the ghostly presence at his side, "are Present Mic and Aizawa-sensei friends?"

The ghost had taken to walking home with Izuku after the ghost had chased him down in the evening, bursting into the boy's apartment without manners. Izuku really doesn't mind the company, actually, he likes having someone around in the evenings until the ghost takes off to follow after Present Mic or sensei.

Izuku thinks the ghost likes routine, and Izuku can't argue that he hadn't taken to the routine pretty easily too.

At his side, the ghost seems to stumble over his own feet, a sputter of unintelligible words of surprised confusion leaving the ghost's mouth as he tries to keep himself upright, "what?"

"Are they friends?" Izuku repeats, eyes flicking to watch the ghost.

Izuku's not even sure the ghost hears him through his own boisterous laughter, the ghost's body bending in half as he loops his arms around his stomach like he's laughing to the point it hurts. He laughs until he’s struggling to pull in breaths, bending over to force in wheezed gasps of oxygen.

Izuku shoots a sideways glare at the cackling ghost, brows furrowing slightly in concern.

Izuku is pretty sure ghosts don't actually need to be able to breathe— he doesn't even have lungs— but it's still common curtesy to slow to a stop beside the ghost, waiting for this little annoying episode to cease. Izuku doesn't know what's so funny about his question. He feels a bit like an idiot stood off to the side of the foot traffic so he's not in the way, a ghost wheezing for breath at his side. If the ghost were alive, Izuku would've reached over the pat the other on the back, but he'd look even more ridiculous standing there petting air, and of course, his hand will just phase right through Oboro.

Oboro's even got tears in his eyes, that he wipes away with the last of his giggles.

The longer Izuku waits at the ghost's side for him to stop laughing, the more annoyed Izuku gets.

It was a simple question— a yes or no kinda thing, so what's with the theatrics?

Finally, Izuku gets tired of standing there, shoulders wilting inwards faintly as he frowns, "are you just gonna laugh at me, or answer me? I thought you said you were going to be my chest sheet?"

"I'm not laughing at you," the ghost insists seriously between breathy laughs, finally appearing to be getting ahold of himself. It's about time. "I just... I meant the whole cheat sheet thing for your classes, not for your teachers. Wow. That's actually hilarious. What gave you the idea that they're friends anyways? I mean, they're not friendly with each other, are they? And I don't think Shōta likes anyone, you know?"

“They arrive to school together most of the time,” Izuku mutters factually, even though he’d only really seen that once, “and they seem close. I mean, Present Mic acts like he knows about Kacchan and I, even though only All Might and Aizawa-sensei should... none of the other teachers seem to be aware. Plus, you said it yourself, Present Mic-sensei did damage control after Aizawa-sensei's first class, and you hang around the both of them all the time— so they’ve gotta be close, at least a bit, right?”

Oboro listens intently, a grin curving onto his lips as he nods along, “all good points, all good points. But, have you... considered the alternatives?”

"Alternatives?" Izuku's head quirks a little, watching the ghost out of the corner of his eyes, "like what?"

Izuku starts to walk, slowly, as the ghost hurries to fall into step with him again.

He's calmed down now, no longer laughing, though his face does have a bit more colour after the fit.

"Sure," Oboro shrugs, toothy grin never wavering, "like, for example, the fact that carpool is a thing. It's cheaper, and it saves the environment. They're both going to the same place, y'know? Or, the other alternative that your teachers are just big ol' gossips about their students? It's hardly a secret if he's noticed it too. Honestly, you'd be surprised how much teachers actually talk about their students. And I'm pretty sure any teacher after Shōta would know to do some damage control— 'zashi's just the poor unlucky soul tasked with it, simply by how the day pans out. Probably for the best though, he is pretty good at cleaning up after Shōta's gruffness. And lastly, I appreciate you lumping me into the same category as them, but I'm just along for the right, y'know?"

Izuku pouts, shifting his hold on his face when it starts to slip a bit, "well, sure, but that still doesn't answer my question. They can do all that and still be friends. So, are they close? Sensei looks at Present Mic like he's always annoyed, but is still feels different. And Mic seems very comfortable with Aizawa-sensei, more so than most of the teachers..."

"Who knows?" the ghost lifts his hands in an 'I don't know' gesture, offering Izuku one of his squinty-eyed grins that is honestly very telling that the ghost does, in fact, know. Oboro sounds amused, like he's jerking Izuku along for the hell of it. "Though... I suppose you could say they're close, yeah."

The jocular way the ghost brushes him off and the bordering on devious smile that curls onto his lips has Izuku rethinking even asking the question in the first place.

For some reason, the ghost has decided to draw the line at this, for whatever reason. And it's not like Izuku can do anything about that, Oboro is clearly good at keeping secrets and skirting around what he wants to; the perks of being a ghost, Izuku supposes.

Who knows, maybe Aizawa-sensei and Present Mic have some dark history, or big secret, or something?

Izuku blows out a quiet breath, angling his head to shoot the ghost a halfheartedly annoyed frown before the expression lifts to a small half-smile. It's more defeat than anything else, but he doesn't take it to heart. It's not like he would've even had a chance at answers if Oboro didn't hang around his teachers in the first place, this had just been an attempt. A failed attempt, but an attempt no less.

Oboro doesn't try to add anything else, and Izuku doesn't bother pushing.

He'd clearly gotten all he was going to be getting out of the ghost.

The boy bites at the inside of his cheek, accepting his defeat with a click of his tongue in hopes of conveying that lingering edge of annoyance when he catches sight of the idiot grinning like a, well, an idiot at his side. Oboro looks so pleased with himself, Izuku chooses to ignore it. The green-haired boy huffs a sigh, picking up his pace for a couple quick steps, just enough to leave Oboro behind for a second or two, but slow enough that the ghost can match his speed easily if he tries.

All Oboro does is chuckle, eyes locked on Izuku, and filled with nothing but mirth.

The green-haired boy rolls his eyes, but he knows there’s a grin curling onto his lips, “y'know, you’re kinda awful.”

“I’m fun!” The ghost corrects cheerfully, skipping to join Izuku at his side again. He sways closer, and for a moment, Izuku thinks Oboro might throw an arm around his shoulders and tug him into his side. It feels right— he hasn’t known the other long, but it feels like something he’d do. Oboro's got a cheerful personality, one that Izuku adores. He wishes he'd known this guy when he was alive, Izuku thinks he would've been a great friend to have, without all the draw backs of befriending a ghost.

The ghost doesn’t— can’t— but Izuku can almost feel his intentions, even as he blows out a breath and pulls away with a sad, lopsided smile.

In truth, he comes out of that conversation just as confused as he'd gone into it.

Oboro speaking in riddles like that was annoying, but he supposes the ghost likes having some sort of... air of mystery surrounding him or something.

Or, maybe he just likes being an evasive dork sometimes.

He really doesn't know a lot about the ghost.

Oboro knows far more about Izuku than Izuku knows about him, but Izuku's kind of in a position where he doesn't want to push the ghost, doesn't want to risk pushing the ghost away by being too prying. He's hopeful that at some point the ghost will want to tell him stuff, will feel comfortable doing so, and not just because Izuku asked, or he feels like he has to.

Either way, Izuku doesn't get a real answer from the ghost, and he doesn't push for one either.

Izuku doesn't think he'll end up getting anywhere anyways, because for some reason (probably the devious smile on the ghost’s face), he’s fairly sure his friend is just leading him along on the topic at this point, so he’s still left to wonder.

He just assumes Present Mic and Aizawa-sensei are, in deed, friends. Or, maybe they're teaching buddies, or close acquaintances, or something along those lines. They're polar opposites, Izuku's not even sure how the two of them would've become close, how a relationship would've sparked between the two of them, but he's sure there's no way they're just colleagues.

He ends up thinking about that for the rest of the evening, but by the following morning, his thoughts have shifted to other things.

Like his classwork, classes and that innocent request from his ghost friend to talk to his teacher, which honestly feels like a weight shackled to his heart.

He's trying to trust, honestly, he he, but it's not that simple. Oboro doesn't understand, as good as his intentions are. It's clear the ghost wasn't Quirkless when he was alive, Izuku can tell just by how he presents himself, and that's where the issue really lies. It might seem like an easy, simple request to make, but it's harder for someone like Izuku.

Still, he's trying to give them a chance.

Some of his new teachers seem like they could be allies, maybe, but others fill Izuku with a sense of dread when he speaks to them.

And it's rather unfortunate that one of those teachers just so happens to be the one Oboro has decided is the person Izuku needs to place all his trust into.

The thing is, Izuku wants to be able to trust his teacher. He wants to be able to rely on Aizawa-sensei; the man seems trustworthy, and for his part, he's been a good teacher thus far— caring and attentive in his own standoffish way. And yet... on the other hand, Izuku had always been a firm believer of 'first impressions', and the truth was that Izuku's first memorable impression of the man was him telling him he that he was as good as useless, even with the new Quirk he'd worked his ass off to get. His first impression of the man was of his new teacher threatening to expel him right off the bat.

Sure, he'd come to Izuku's defense when it came to Kacchan, and he'd been putting in the effort to keep the school a safe learning environment for Izuku as well as his new classmates. He was doing more than any other teacher Izuku had ever had. He'd even kept good on his promise— since that day they'd talked, Izuku hadn't been paired with, or fought against Kacchan once in training.

Not to mention the man had apologized to him, which was still beyond odd to Izuku, but it was also very kind.

Aizawa-sensei really does seem like a genuine guy, but that doesn't change the fact they'd gotten off on the wrong foot and Izuku was a little scarred from that interaction.

Maybe his homeroom teacher really is a softie under all that stern exhaustion, but it's not really something Izuku can just believe. He hopes the ghost is right, that his new teacher will prove, in some way, that he's on his side. Wouldn't that be a nice change of pace.

And he really had no reason to not trust Oboro, but it was still hard.

The longer Izuku seems to be putting off broaching the topic of telling his, frankly kinda scary, homeroom sensei of his newly acquired Quirk, the more antsy Oboro seems to get.

It had only really been a little over one week of school since he'd even met these people, so Izuku really hadn't been putting it off that long.

...right?

The ghost hadn't really brought it up for the most part— he'd let Izuku settle into his new classes and get to know his peers and new teachers. Izuku supposes he should be thankful that the ghost had given him this much leeway so he could settle into the school year when the ghost is obviously intently waiting for Izuku to make good on his not-quite promise.

Izuku found he actually liked having Oboro around.

He was a positive addition to his life; bright and cheerful, yet sarcastic and sometimes infuriating. He was just like every other teenager Izuku had met and known— but there was also something older and wiser about him sometimes too. Izuku had honestly never met anyone like Oboro, dead or alive.

The ghost just had such a distinct personality— joking, playful and teasing, yet he was also heartwarmingly kind and sensitive too. There weren't a lot of people in the world you could completely be yourself around, much less someone like Izuku who'd always had to be mindful, to have such an unbiased person in his life, someone who'd chosen the same path of life and knew exactly what Izuku up against was refreshing.

All that said, the ghost was also audacious. The ghost wasn't one to be quieted unless it was on his terms, and he wasn't quiet about his own opinions in the slightest. If he had something to say, you were going to hear about it. He'd never so much as tried to censor himself when it came to talking about Kacchan or All Might, who Izuku respected greatly (the ghost kindly disagreed most of the time.

Izuku can't help but think it's a bit of a glimpse of the person Oboro had been before he'd passed away.

And still, for the first time in his life, since he'd gotten his Quirkless diagnosis, it feels like he has an actual, legit friend.

A friend who he even sometimes forgets is a ghost by how real Oboro often feels.

They'd just clicked, and Izuku really isn't sure if it's because they were destined to meet each other— destined to be friends, dead or alive— or whether they both just needed something, someone, out of this unlikely friendship. Neither were really in the position to be passing up a chance of making a friend, but Izuku still likes to believe it's definitely the former.

He can acknowledge there's some truth in the latter too, though.

Still, it's nice to see Oboro's true personality starting to shine through the more comfortable with Izuku he gets.

He's a great guy, but damn can he be annoying.

Like now, midway through his second week of school.

For the most part, Oboro had kept to himself quiet while classes were in session.

He was around still; in homeroom, English and Heroics training, but he he didn't speak much.

It had been a little odd for Izuku, who'd come to know Oboro for his sarcastic quips and endless teasing, but his presence had been a more or less 'seen not heard' sort of thing during classes. Izuku didn't mind his friend not chattering away the entire time like he had been on the first and second days of school.

Actually, he really appreciated the ghost not distracting him, especially in English, where he'll be lost the second he loses his train of thought.

Izuku had gotten used to having a mostly silent companion by his side.

Unfortunately, that seems to have worn off.

He'd been getting a bit more annoying each day from the second school had started that Monday morning of their second week.

And it had been little things at first— Oboro watching over his shoulder as he worked, adding his own input that Izuku would've preferred take the time to figure out himself. He'd started trying to help more, with Izuku's classwork and stuff. And when he'd noticed, he hadn't really mentioned it. It was little things. Easily ignored, or deterred by a stern stare from Izuku.

But.... there's something different about it today.

"That answer is wrong."

The ghost is leaning over Izuku's shoulder, arms crossed over the back of the chair as he leans on it. Izuku feels the icy chill behind him, and he knows, if the ghost could, he would've hooked his chin over Izuku's shoulder to get just that more closer. Izuku's glad he's gotten used to having a ghost in such close proximity, so he really only has a reaction to the intensity of Oboro's chill when the ghost purposely phases through him, or when they accidentally manage to brush through one another.

Izuku's fingers tighten around his pencil in annoyance, afraid for just a second that he'll accidentally activate One for All and shatter the wood in his grasp.

"Don't help me," Izuku grits out between his teeth, making sure to keep his gaze locked on his paper as he studies the answer he'd gotten. He finds his mistake after just a second, nose wrinkling as his flips his pencil to furiously erase his mistake. Izuku glares down at his paper as he finally answers the question, hopefully correctly this time.

"But you're doing it wrong," the ghost insists with out a care that he was literally feeding Izuku answers to a pop quiz. Oboro's head lulls down to catch Izuku's side-ways glare, offering a guilty grin, "like you did in question three. That's not the right there, Izuku."

Izuku's gaze drops to the third question, frowning at the 'pick the one that makes sense in this particular question': there, they're and their question.

Izuku finds his mistake there too, fixing that but not without shooting a dark look over his shoulder.

"This is cheating," Izuku mutters, now second questioning all of his answers, "stop trying to help me."

"It's only cheating if you get caught," Oboro shrugs, leaning even closer over Izuku's shoulder, a hand even snaking up over Izuku's shoulder to point down onto the paper, "also, the punctuation in the sixth questions is wrong too, by the way. Simple mistake."

"Knock it off," Izuku snarls under his breath, shoving down the urge to throw a hand back through Oboro's face in an attempt to shoo him away. He honestly would've done just that too, if he wasn't aware of how uncomfortable phasing through someone made Oboro feel, especially when he wasn't prepared for it. As annoyed as Izuku is, he doesn't want to harm the ghost. "Seriously, I can do it on my own. Really, I insist I do this alone. Thanks for the help, but no thanks."

"Well, yeah," the ghost says matter-of-factly. "You could, but you've gotta accept help in your life somewhere, you know? If you're not gonna let Shōta help you with your new super Quirk, I'll at least help you keep your English grades up. Whether you want that or not."

"I don't need help," Izuku snaps softly, attention flicking up to first Present Mic at the front of the room, who's still focused on whatever he's writing in front of him, before looking subtle to the side where all his classmates are focused on their own quizzes. They've been given all of class to finish the quiz, and Present Mic was trusting enough in them that he's only occasionally looking up to check for raised hands looking for help. Izuku can't help but feel like he's betraying his teacher's trust, stomach churning at the thought. "This is a quiz, please stop."

"Whether you want it or not," the ghost shakes his head, voice firm and final. "I'm sorry, Izu, but I can't just sit back and watch you work yourself into the ground trying to do everything alone. You're not alone, y'know? Not anymore. And if you won't accept help for yourself, I'll give it to you— even if it's not from where you really need it. I wish I could do more, but this is about it for me."

“So, you’re blackmailing me,” Izuku narrows his eyes, attention cocking back to look at the ghost. “That’s real heroic.”

“Well, I wouldn't exactly call it that,” Oboro grins sheepishly.

“Threatening, then.”

“That’s a bit closer,” the ghost concedes.

He’s got a smile on his face, but it falls when he looks over at Izuku's sharp glare.

Oboro hesitates, looking away with a sigh, “I know you don’t want this. I get it. You don’t trust teachers. But you’re going to run yourself into the ground if you keep shouldering everything alone. I went to school here too. I know the workload. I know what you're up against; what you will be up against the longer you attend school here. It's tough, Izuku. Not just classes, but training too. You can’t do this alone, Izu. I’m just trying to help...”

“I don’t need help with English,” the boy mutters, just loud enough for the ghost to hear him as he lets his head drop down onto his desk.

Izuku shifts faintly until he forehead is resting on the edge of his desktop, gaze dropped down to his lap. He feel movement beside, the cold movement of a ghost, and then he sees Oboro's body sinking to the floor, shoulder leaning against the leg of Izuku's desk. He turns his head slightly, catching the ghost's gaze.

“That’s debatable,” Oboro retorts, not unkindly.

Izuku opens his mouth to argue, but... considering how he's clearly struggling with this quiz, the ghost's assessment isn't too far off.

Still, Izuku's mouth presses into a straight line, "the point's to learn, not to know it all already."

Oboro's mouth opens like he wants to argue now, but instead, his mouth falls shut as he slump sideways against the desk leg.

"I know, I know," the ghost mumbles, looking away defeated. "I just... I don't wanna see you struggle because you won't accept any help. I know there are people who'll want to help, if they know, but you're still... and I can't really... ugh. You're leaning your Quirk, I know you are, but you're in class 1-A, man, you've gotta be the best of the best to keep up. And I know you can do it, that's not the question here, you've got the power and drive to be a good Hero, but you can't do it all alone. Heroics was never meant to be a single-person operation, you know? It just... it sucks that I can't help you in any other way."

The defeat he's feeling seems to overwhelm the ghost for a long second.

He draws his legs up to his chest, gaze drifting sides ways to Izuku's peers. It's like the ghost is searching for what to say, how to continue.

Izuku wants to comfort him, but it's really not the time or the place to do so, considering his whole class is spread around the room working on their own quizzes, Mic-sensei is still up front and Izuku only has a limited amount of time to complete this quiz.

"But..." Izuku eyes flick back to the ghost, green meeting blue, "but I know Shōta can help you. He's been hard on you, sure, but that's because he's under the impression you've had your Quirk for the last decade like everyone else. But you haven't, and he doesn't know that. I know he hasn't been a star teacher so far, but... but you haven't provided him with everything he needs to know to be able to teach you right, you know?"

Izuku chews at his bottom lip as he studies the ghost.

Oboro actually looks worried about this, about Izuku. He hadn't expected anyone else to know about the Quirk, least of all someone who'd badger him into seeking help. Truthfully, Izuku had never considered this from another perspective. He'd started this school year knowing he could rely on All Might. That was it. So having someone so intent on him talking to another teacher... it makes his chest feel tight.

Izuku worries his bottom lip as he thinks, only letting his lip go when he tastes a burst of metallic on his tongue.

"...you're already at a disadvantage here," Oboro continues after a second, voice quiet. "You're making it harder on yourself, when you don't have to. I've seen students burn out in programs like this. I've seen them run themselves right into the ground. I watched one of my best friends..." Oboro swallows, eyes fluttering shut reminiscently for a moment before his attention is back on Izuku, expression hard, "I won't let it happen to another friend. You'll make a great Hero, Izuku, you just... you've gotta let people help you do that. It doesn't have to be you against the world, y'know?"

Izuku isn't sure what to say now.

He hadn't expected Oboro to have such valid worries, to actually have reason to why he was being such an obnoxious little shit.

He feels guilty.

The churn of annoyance in his stomach from earlier swiftly melts into something more bitter, like a brick weighing heavily in his stomach.

And even though he wants to, feels like he needs to say something to the ghost, he doesn't get a chance as a hand settles softly on his shoulder blade, startling Izuku up. His back goes ramrod straight as wild eyes flick sideways, where he finds Present Mic crouched beside him on the other side of the desk to where Oboro's still sitting.

"You doin' alright, Lil' Listener?" the teacher's voice is smooth, quiet, as to not disturb the other quiz takers around him. "You've had your head down for a bit, are you finished, or... maybe... is there anything I could help you with? There's not shame in asking for a hand here and there, ya'dig?"

Izuku glances down at the ghost, against his better judgment, seeing the genuine pleading look on the ghost's face. He wants Izuku to accept the help being offered on a silver platter. Present Mic had taken the first step, all Izuku needs to do is admit he needs it.

Izuku's nose scrunches up faintly, and when he catches Oboro's gaze again, the ghost's face crumples up in panic-- and it's only then that Izuku realizes his emotions have gotten the better of him again and that his eyes have filled with unshed tears. He's always been such a crybaby. Izuku offers the ghost a tiny, crooked smile before turning his attention back to his teacher.

"I, um," Izuku clears his throat, subtly reaching a hand up to wipe away the tears, "I... I guess I'm kind of stuck? I don't think I'm doing it right, English has always been hard for me. I'm just... I'm a bit frustrated, Sensei. I'm struggling."

Izuku's eyes are locked on his paper, only raising when the man's hand pats the top of his head gently.

"That's alright," Present Mic smiles softly, as he flattens his palms on the edge of Izuku's desk and rises from his crouch a bit to scan Izuku's quiz answers calculatingly. He looks back at Izuku after a second, offering a toothy grin, "we all get a lil' frustrated sometimes, yeah? I'll help you understand what you're struggling with, and then you can take another shot at it. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," Izuku ducks his head in a thankful nod that doubles as a chance to catch the ghost's gaze under the desk.

His smile is small, but it's honest. There's something prideful in the expression as well, which, in turn, makes Izuku's lips curl into a tiny smile too.

He knows it's not exactly what Oboro had in mind, but it is a step in the right direction. Izuku is trusting a teacher with something to do with classes, maybe it's not Aizawa-sensei, or to do with his Quirk, but it's more than Izuku was willing to do just that morning. He could've brushed his teacher off, or claimed he was fine, and he knows Present Mic would've nodded, stood and left him be to finish the quiz alone. But he hadn't. Baby steps.

“Good,” Present Mic grins widely, completely oblivious to the interaction between Izuku and his ghostly friend, “let’s see here... Oh, yeah, I see what you’re doing wrong with these, Listener. You’re totally on the right track though! Let’s just~”

Present Mic explains the questions in a way that makes Izuku understand, without the answers being fed to him. Izuku hadn't realized it could be this easy to have someone talk him through it so he's not confused and overwhelmed. And if Izuku’s foot freezes as the ghost’s hand phases through his shoe in a knowing gesture, he can’t find it in himself to care, attention on his paper, focus on his sensei, and a small smile settling onto his lips at the gesture from the ghost.

It was Friday now— Izuku had survived the first two weeks of school.

English class on Wednesday, where he'd gotten help from Present Mic, had really given Izuku a lot to think about. He'd been in a near constant state of internal debate over whether or not he should follow Oboro's advice and take a chance on Aizawa-sense, potentially find another ally, or whether he should just let it go to protect himself.

It doesn't feel like there's a right answer no matter how hard to looks at it.

He's still scared.

He's scared of the thought of asking for help. There's still that inkling of fear in his chest when he thinks about talking to the teacher who was actually going to expel Izuku on that first day of school, but that subconscious thought has slowly been easing the more time he spends with his teacher in class. The man truly was genuine in how he taught them, even if he was stern and terrifying. Izuku does think he wants what's best for them just... it's hard not to let the negative interaction overtake the positive ones.

Oboro still hadn't let up on his badgering to get Izuku to talk to Sensei about his new Quirk, but the ghost had, thankfully, stepped back from injecting himself into Izuku's classwork. It was a compromise for the time being that Izuku didn't mind, even if Oboro could be exceptionally annoying to be around when every second word out of his mouth was something about trusting and talking to Aizawa-sensei. It's still better than having the ghost cheat for him.

He knew his friend was just trying to help, understood that better after the English class incident days prior, but that didn't mean Oboro was going about it the right way either. Oboro had made good points, and he'd been right about Present Mic being a good guy. Oboro had nothing but good things to say about Aizawa-sensei too, but Izuku still found it hard to believe.

Present Mic he'd at least always thought was a genuine guy, from his radio show persona to all the fundraising he did with his fame for good causes— even a Quirkless scholarship program that Izuku had been ecstatic to hear even existed when he'd been just ten-years-old. Present Mic had proved to be exactly what Oboro had insisted he was, exactly what Izuku believed him to be, even in a school setting. He'd even stayed after school on Wednesday after the test to give Izuku a little bit of extra help with the English concepts they were learning.

Izuku was already more confident in his ability, and Present Mic promised they could arrange additional after school or over lunch extra-help sessions should Izuku ever feel as overwhelmed as he had during the test. "All you gotta do is speak up, Listener!" Present Mic had assured. And it was probably the nicest a teacher had ever been to him. Like, ever.

And it helped. Izuku can admit that.

He'd always been good at actual school work— he'd had top grades with Kacchan at their junior high, but even he knows he’s already falling behind in his Hero courses.

And that won’t do.

Oboro had been right.

It was easy to get overwhelmed with so much going on around you.

An entire morning or core classes followed by rigorous Heroics training was a lot.

Aizawa-sensei had made it clear that he was not afraid to expel those who didn't meet his expectations, and Izuku's terrified that one of these days his grades will get a little too low, or he'll not perform to his teacher's standards in Heroics class and the man will just drop him from his class. It keeps him up at night sometimes.

Oboro had assured him that the man wouldn't be so callous, that he sees potential in Izuku, but he's still so scared.

They don't spend ever day working with their Quirks— it's a one on, one off kind of deal. Aizawa-sensei had told them it was just as important to know the fundamentals as it was to actually work with their Quirks during training, but Izuku thinks the man is actually just letting them have a bit of a break between intense Quirk usage and physically tiring battle exercises.

Izuku had appreciated that approach as his burnt arm continued to heal up. It had been a rather slow process, honestly. By the end of the first week, he’d been allowed to take the bandages off for it to breathe, but that didn’t mean it didn’t look bad. And it felt bad sometimes too; when he was sweating or when his costume rubbed on it. Sensei always looked at the mark distastefully when it was visible, so Izuku tried to keep it covered.

He hadn't really gotten hurt again, not like he had during that first exercise, at least. But, to be fair, they hadn't really had an opportunity to really injure himself again. He hadn't been forced to use his Quirk like he had during those battle simulations.

Truthfully, they spent a lot of time in the classroom.

More time then Izuku thought they were going to in a Heroics class.

They'd selected a class representative, Iida, and a vice representative, Yaoyorozu.

Well, to be fair, Izuku had originally been elected for for class representative (and boy, had Oboro laughed at that, to the point it just made the embarrassment he already felt all the more worse. He'd flush brighter and barely stuttered through his words). Thankfully, it was decided that Iida was better suited for the role. Izuku wholeheartedly agreed.

But besides all that, they worked mostly on assignments— like, writing about their own Quirks; the strengths and weaknesses of their Quirks, their limits, theories of what they could potentially accomplish when given proper Quirk training and letting themselves surpass the limit that had been placed on them in previous grades.

That's not to say they don't do anything with their Quirks. They did. Aizawa-sensei was still trying to gauge what they could do, so they did some sparring in pairs (Izuku and Kacchan on either sides of the gym with their appointed partners), and additionally individual work where they could put their Quirks in the spotlight.

Izuku tried hard not to use One for All too much, because he really didn't want to accidentally hurt anyone. He could see that Aizawa-sensei had taken notice of his hesitance, but the man hadn't said anything about Izuku keep his distance from the other students, or trying to blend in with the shadows when they were showcasing their Quirks to their teacher. The man hadn't brought it up yet, but Izuku could feel the man's observing gaze on him.

Izuku knows he's miles behind his peers when it comes to Quirk work. He was afraid of his new Quirk; afraid to harm someone else, or hurt himself bad enough that he needed to see Recovery Girl again. Afraid he'd do something that would make Aizawa-sensei cut him off, deem him unteachable and a liability.

Oboro promises that Aizawa-sensei would never do that, but Izuku’s still terrified.

The ghost is still on Izuku's case about telling his teacher about how recently he'd gotten his Quirk, promising that it would make all the difference in the world.

But Izuku had been putting it off; slipping out of school the moment classes are over, before Oboro has a chance to pressure him into finding Aizawa-sensei after hours. Oboro is wise to his tricks, following a step behind Izuku as he flees out the doors with his arms crossed tightly over his chest disapprovingly, but there's really not much a ghost can do about it.

Izuku is afraid.

But he knows he has to.

He either needs to give Aizawa-sensei some information that'll help him understand Izuku's position— let himself be helped— or he's going to fall behind and risk getting booted out of the class like every other student who doesn't meet Aizawa's expectations. He knows there are thousands of kids who'd kill for a spot in class 1-A, so he'll be damned if he lets this slip between his fingers, because his of own fear, or pride.

That said... he still doesn't know exactly how he's supposed to go about this.

Even now, as he stands outside his homeroom classroom after classes have finished for the day.

He knows what he has to do if he wants to survive this school year, knows what's right.

He just needs to... well, work up the courage to face Aizawa-sensei.

They'd been working with their Quirks during training that afternoon, so Izuku's pretty tired from that. It had been individual work; pushing their Quirks as hard as they could under sensei's orders. The man had stood back with All Might, observing them from his spot. His attention lulled from student to student, which included Izuku practicing activating One for All and then forcing it off.

And he knows it hadn't been impressive in the slightest, but if he can't master something as simple as that, then what's the point?

His peers had all bee quick to disappear after they'd all finished changing when classes were finally let out for the day. Uraraka had been waiting for him outside the boy's changing room, offering for them to walk to the train station together, but Izuku had waved her off with a smile. It would be too easy to forget his intentions and just leave with his friend, but he's well aware that's just self-sabotage at this point. He'd seen the look on Aizawa-sensei's face during training, when he'd been watching Izuku. He's running out of time.

So Izuku had smiled kindly at Uraraka and had taken off towards the classrooms while she'd simply shrugged and caught up with Asui to walk out together.

The halls are surprisingly quiet for so soon after classes have finished.

Izuku had slowed his pace, a small part of him hoping that the longer he takes to get to the classroom, the better chance he'll have that Aizawa-sensei would've already left for the day and he could avoid this all together and have it not be his fault because he'd tried, right? That would shut the ghost up.

He doesn't really want to let his teacher in, doesn't want to put himself in a position like this, but he knows he has to.

His peers are quickly pulling ahead of him as they get better and better with their Quirks each lesson, and it feels like they're starting to leave him in the dust. If he doesn't change that now, he'll forever be stuck at the bottom, even with One for All. And he can't let that happen, he can't be a useless Deku any more, not when he finally has what it takes to match his classmates, to be someone better, someone stronger. He needs to make All Might proud.

And if he can't do that, then maybe Aizawa-sensei was right about him that first day.

He really would be nothing more than a waste of a Quirk, a liability.

Izuku's hands tighten into fists at his sides at that thought, lingering outside his homeroom classroom. He lifts a fist to knock, but hesitates. He's not sure why he can't seem to force his knuckles down on the door to alert Aizawa-sensei (if he's even in the classroom) that there's someone there.

His chest feels tight and his hand trembles where it hovers by the door, poised to knock. His throat feels dry, even when he swallows nervously in an attempt to wet it. He wonders if he'll even have a voice to speak with at this point, stomach churning the longer he stands there like an idiot.

Finally, Izuku squeezes his eyes shut as he works up the courage to lower his knuckles onto the door, but when he goes to knock, the hinges on the door wheeze out as they're slid open instead. Izuku freezes, hand pausing in the air for a long second before dropping quickly to his side as he takes a quick step back and away.

He's acting like he just got caught doing something bad, like a child getting caught stealing a cookie after they've been told no, when he knows there's nothing wrong with seeking a teacher out after class. Or... at least he's pretty sure there's nothing wrong with this... is there?

Izuku's eyes snap open when he realizes they're still closed, and only then does he see Aizawa-sensei hesitating in the doorway.

The man looks about as surprised as he ever has, one eyebrow cocked in question and eyes widened slightly, but it just fills Izuku with a sense of dread.

"O-oh, um, Sensei," Izuku stumbles out, head bowing. He hopes his voice didn't come out as a squeak like he fears it had, but it probably did, considering Aizawa-sensei's eyebrows bunch together in subtle confusion, lips curling downward in a slight frown.

"Midoriya," the man greets slowly in return, eyeing the student from head to toe as if gauging whether or not he needs to escort him to Recovery Girl for some injury he'd gotten between classes ending minutes earlier and this point. It's actually a fair assumption considering Izuku's growing track record in just two weeks of classes, but at the same time, it's got a flush of embarrassment burning onto his cheeks at the insinuation. Ouch. "Was there something you needed, or do you hover outside all of your classes after school?"

"I-I—" Izuku's heart hammers against his ribcage anxiously. He's pretty sure his blood pressure has gone through the roof. "I, uhm, I was wondering if I could... if you, I mean, if you'd be willing to meet with me. Like, um, now? I'd like to talk to you about... about my, um, y'know, about my Quirk...? If that's okay with you! O-or if you're busy now, that's fine too just— just... ah, I'm afraid I'm getting left behind?"

Sensei, for his part, waits patiently for Izuku to finish his train wreck of a request.

Only when the teen has gone quiet does the man seem to shift his stance, eyes flicking down to Izuku's arm that had been in a sling those first few days of school, but his gaze drifts back up to his face before Izuku can self-consciously tuck his arm out of sight behind his back.

There's a thoughtful second between them before Sensei gives a faint nod, "I've got some time."

Izuku nods his head gratefully, taking another step back so Aizawa-sensei has room to step out of the classroom too, except his teacher seems to pause before doing so. The man looks thoughtfully back into the classroom before glancing back down at Izuku, "would you prefer to talk in the classroom, or one of the conference rooms in the teacher's office? I doubt anyone else will come looking for me now, but the conference rooms are soundproof."

"Oh, um, the conference room? Please?" Izuku requests meekly.

Izuku's actually relieved Sensei suggested the privacy of the conference rooms.

Izuku's not supposed to be telling anyone about One for All, but here he is. The least he can do is assure that Aizawa-sensei is the only one who hears about it, and the conference room is the best way to ensure that. Anyone could walk into the classroom, but he's sure people will think twice about interrupting an official meeting in a conference room.

"Alright," the man nods, "come with me."

There’s a nauseating mix of sinking guilt and hopefulness swirling around in his stomach as he follows his teacher through the halls.

He hasn’t even said anything yet, but he still feels like he’s betraying All Might, but on the other hand, he can’t be the only (living) person who knows about this. He doesn’t want to carry this alone anymore, or have it wedge further between his own inching growth of being able to handle One for All, and how his peers are flourishing with their Quirks— thriving under Aizawa-sensei's teachings. Izuku just wants to be like them. He wants his teachers to know he belongs in this class with his peers.

He wishes he'd gotten a chance to run it by All Might, but since the Pro has been busy with teaching classes and using what little of his strength he's got left to parade around town as the Symbol of Peace, Izuku hadn't found a chance to talk to him. And... honestly, he doesn't want All Might to tell him no.

It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?

Izuku hands wring together as he follows the man through the hallways.

His knees feel weak as he matches his teacher's pace, careful to stay just a step or two behind him.

He'd never been in the teacher's office, nor had he been in the conference rooms.

Neither of them speak as Aizawa-sensei brings him into the teacher's office, holding the door and ushering Izuku in when the boy hesitates outside the room, before leading him deeper into the office. Sensei knows exactly where he's going as they bypass rows of desks, leading Izuku into one of three doorways spaced along the wall, all three of which Izuku suspects to be soundproof conference rooms.

Izuku spots a couple of teachers in the office as they hurry passed— he sees Present Mic, and the R-Rated Hero: Midnight, who teaches them Modern Hero Art History sat at two desks beside each other. He thinks he sees Snipe and Thirteen too, but he hasn't really met them yet since they don't teach any of his classes.

And he's a little too busy trying not to throw up due to nerves to seriously be identifying everyone in the room, as much as he'd love to fanboy.

Honestly, he's just trying to keep himself upright, lest he fall over in front of all these Pro Heroes.

He might actually have to drop out of school if he embarrassed himself that badly.

Finally, having some mercy on Izuku's poor pounding heart, Aizawa-sensei slides one of the conference room door open and gestures Izuku inside, before he steps in after him and closes the door behind them for privacy. Some of the unease melts away, but Izuku's still pretty nervous to be alone in here with Aizawa-sensei.

There are two couches on either side of a coffee table settled between them.

Aizawa-sensei slinks to one, plopping down, as Izuku follows his lead and settles awkwardly on the couch across from the man. Izuku's holding himself stiffly as the Pro all but melts into the couch. Izuku wonders how the man can be so calm, but then again, it's not Aizawa-sensei who's about to spill a confidential secret, is it?

...is this a bad idea?

Either way, it's too late to back out now.

The silence in the room rings in Izuku's ears, and it takes an embarrassingly long moment for Izuku to realize that Aizawa-sensei is leaving this meeting in Izuku's hands completely. He's letting Izuku guide this meeting— Izuku had asked to speak about his own Quirk, so it makes sense that the man would draw back. After all, why would Aizawa-sensei lead a meeting that Izuku requested?

What had he gotten himself into?

The boy takes another second to collect his thoughts, trying to organize what he's going to say without spilling too much and actually betraying the Number One Hero. He'd already had that problem— first with Kacchan, and then with Oboro too. He wants his teacher to understand, but not at the risk of destroying the trust All Might has in him.

"I'm..." Izuku breaks the silence, voice carefully devoid of emotion. He can't help but hesitate nervously when he realizes how intently his teacher is studying him, "I'm not that good at using my Quirk. It... well, as you've seen in classes and during the entrance exam and other tests, it hurts my body. It's just... it's so powerful."

Aizawa-sensei's gaze is focused on Izuku, but it's not prying, like Izuku expected. Sensei is watching him like he's trying to understand what Izuku's saying, probably trying to figure out where this conversation is heading and why they're even having this meeting in the first place.

"Okay," the man finally lets out when Izuku makes no move to add anything more, the man's voice low. "I know all of this already, Midoriya. I've seen what your Quirk does to you, and I know it's powerful simply by what it does do to your body when you use it."

The teen shuts his eyes, forcing out a slow breath that he hopes might calm his nerves a little (it doesn’t) as his hand tightens into a fist to the point his knuckles blanch to a pasty white, “there... there’s something about my Quirk that I should tell you...”

His teacher is silent across from him, letting him wade through the conversation however he can.

Izuku silently wishes his teacher would have mercy on him and take the reins, but he’s starting to realize that’s not how Aizawa-sensei rolls.

"I know it doesn't really seem like I've been putting in as much effort as my peers during training," Izuku admits, finally forcing his eyes open, but refusing to look up at his teacher. Instead, Izuku keeps his eyes locked on his fist in his lap, slowly unclenching his muscles. “Everyone has been working so hard, pushing themselves to the limits with their Quirks... and I see that they're making progress in a way I'm not. But I am trying Sensei, honest. I'm working hard too, just... it's different for me, Sensei."

"Different how?"

Izuku looks up in surprise, finding his teacher's gaze focused on him, alert and cautious.

He must've already acknowledged that there's something different about Izuku's Quirk too.

Had... he just been waiting for Izuku to make the first move?

The answer to his question though, is not a simple one.

There's a lot that makes this different. One for All, for one. How he'd gotten his Quirk after growing up Quirkless all his life. How recently he'd gotten said Quirk. The power he's unused to that had been thrust into his hands before he really knew what to do with it. How it feels like he's learning One for All by taking one step forwards, followed by three steps backwards. How afraid he is of all this power, how terrified he is that he'll never live up to All Might's legacy no matter how hard he tries.

“I’m afraid,” Izuku admits, whispering the words just slightly above his own breath. He can feel his heart pounding at the quiet admission. It's beating so hard he can hear the thumps in his own ears.

Aizawa-Sensei leans forwards, eyes narrowing in on him.

“You’re afraid,” the teacher repeats uncertainly. “Of?”

“My Quirk,” Izuku’s gaze is back down on his hand, fingers clenching in a fist before flattening out repeatedly. A repetition that almost calms him down. “I don’t know how to use it, Sensei. I’m afraid I’ll hurt someone, or... or myself worse than I already have. I’ve been trying to understand it, but... I don’t know how. I don’t get it.”

His sensei is thoughtfully quiet, unwavering gaze on Izuku's face.

When his gaze does move, it’s just down to where Izuku is still tensing and relaxing his fist and his gaze only lingers for a second. He watches the motion repeat itself, eyes narrowing faintly, before his gaze drifts back up to Izuku's face. Izuku would give anything in this moment to know what his teacher was thinking.

“They didn’t teach you how to control this in Quirk counselling?" the man finally speaks, sounding as confused as he looks. "Or in Quirk training? It’s been a few years since I went to school, but I’m sure that’s still something they do. Especially for someone with such a powerful Quirk. Being afraid of your Quirk is dangerous, you'll never reach your true potential if you're scared of yourself.”

The teen winces, wringing his hands together instead.

He sucks in a breath, shaking his head nervously, “I... never went, Sensei.”

“Never?” staggered confusion curls his tone as he breathes the word out. It’s enough to have the boy looking up quickly, surprised to see the blatant shock on his teacher’s face. The emotion’s gone as fast as it appeared, but Izuku’s still reeling from seeing it. The man's voice is tight when he speaks again, “you didn’t do any? None?”

“No, Sensei,” the boy whispers guiltily.

“Why didn’t you go?” his teacher’s voice is stern, the annoyance from the first day back, just it's sharper now.

Izuku recoils slightly at his teacher's sharp demand, catching himself doing it before he can really react. He forces himself to keep still, even if he's got half a mind to curl into himself shamefully. He has a feeling that won't do anything but annoy his teacher though, so he doesn't move.

“It... it wasn’t offered,” the teen swallows hard, nervous eyes flicking to look at his teacher before jumping away just as fast, “n-not to me, Sensei. They... um, Quirkless kids don’t need Quirk training or counselling. It's rather redundant. Everyone thought it was a waste of time and funds for someone like me to see the counsellor, so they... I, um, I wasn’t allowed.”

“You’re not Quirkless,” his teacher retorts with an unamused look.

Despite the expression, his words are suddenly uncertain.

“...tell me you’re joking, Midoriya.”

"I really wish I could, Sensei," Izuku whispers nervously, shaking his head. "I never got my Quirk growing up."

He doesn’t bother mentioning the fact he was diagnosed medically Quirkless at age four— he's not sure how he’d cover that up. The toe joint doesn’t lie, right? He thinks Aizawa-sensei would look into that if Izuku did bring it up, and he doesn't want that. How would he explain having a Quirk when it's biologically impossible for him to have one?

"When?"

The sternness in the question surprises Izuku a little. Izuku's shoulders square up, wide-eyes jerking to look at his teacher, but he can't read anything in the man's expression. His words had been hard, but not necessarily angry. Demanding, sure, but there's not irritation, annoyance or anything else Izuku is used to seeing on the man's face.

His lips are simply pressed in a straight line, eyes boring into Izuku's own as the man waits expectantly for an answer.

When? he'd asked.

But what did he mean?

When what?

“S-Sensei—”

“When?” he repeats, voice unchanging, “when did you get your Quirk, Midoriya?”

The teenager hesitates, fiddling with his own fingers.

Aizawa-Sensei doesn’t demand again, but he doesn’t offer anything else either.

It’s clear this isn’t something Izuku can step around, his teacher is waiting for an answer— demanding one.

“Does it matter, Sensei?”

“It does,” the man levels a stern look. “Of course, it matters. When did your Quirk manifest, Midoriya?”

“The day of the entrance exam.”

His teacher sucks in a breath like Izuku had sucker punched him in the stomach. His eyes widen, but unlike Izuku when he’s surprise, his gaze doesn’t stray from Izuku’s face.

Neither say anything for a second, Izuku feels so out of his depth at the complete three-sixty this meeting has taken, while Aizawa-sensei looks completely shellshocked.

It takes a second for his teacher to finally move again.

The shock drains from his face, and then he’s back to that expressionless neutral he wears in class.

If it weren’t for the glint of sudden understanding in the man’s eyes, Izuku would think the past conversation hadn’t even happened.

“So, let me get this straight,” the teacher’s tone is blank.

Izuku’s not sure whether to be terrified of the tone, or thankful it’s not blatant anger.

“You got your Quirk on the morning of the entrance exam, I assume, used it for, I’m going to guess, the first time taking out the zero-pointer, which broke both your legs, and your arm," the man glances at Izuku as if to verify he's on the right track before continuing. "You then proceeded to change your Quirk status before school started, so the fact you were Quirkless before that point wouldn't show up on your record unless someone dug for it, then showed up to my class after, what, two weeks of having your Quirk? No counselling. No coached training. Nothing?”

“Y-yes, Sensei,” Izuku wheezes out in confirmation, suddenly feeling like this is a horrible idea.

Why had he let Oboro talk him into this?

Where the hell even was Oboro?

He’s expecting his teacher to stand up then and there, expel him on the spot and escort him out of the building with a threat to never return.

He’s expecting yelling. Anger— no, rage.

He’s expecting a lot of things, but what he’s not expecting is for his teacher to all but melt back into the couch with a snort of laughter. It's nothing but an amused exhale, really, which is followed by a deep and heavy sounding sigh. The man drags a palm down his face, rubbing hard at his eye as he pushes himself back up, tired eye back on Izuku.

“I knew there was something wrong," the man admits, shoulders slumping inward tiredly. "Right from the second you punched that robot, rendering yourself useless. You and that Quirk. I knew there something off about it, that there was something off about you, Midoriya. I just didn’t expect it was something like this. You’ve only had your Quirk for a month. Four weeks.”

His teacher clicks his tongue distastefully, “frankly, Midoriya—” and here it comes— you're expelled— “I’m impressed.”

Izuku jolts upright, gaze instantly finding his teacher's waiting grey eyes.

Hang on, what now?

He’s not sure, but he thinks he might mumble a starstruck: “w-what...?”

“Don't get me wrong," the man sighs, rubbing at his eyes again, "I’m obviously not happy, of course. I should’ve been made aware of this from day one for your safety, and your classmate's safety as well— it would’ve drastically changed my lesson plan for you, and I could’ve arranged proper counselling sessions for you as well. This course, my lessons, are geared towards students who already have a general handle on their capabilities, but... I am impressed nonetheless. It’s honestly surprising you’ve managed to keep up with my class as well as you have been, considering how recently you got your Quirk and how little practice you’ve had controlling it.”

Impressed.

Aizawa-sensei was impressed.

Izuku had impressed his sensei.

“That said,” the man’s tone changes, sterner, but calm at the same time. It almost matches the one from that first day, but it’s also completely different. Izuku’s not afraid anymore. “Not telling me, your homeroom and Hero Studies teacher, was reckless and illogical, Midoriya. I understand this is a sensitive situation, a Quirk coming in so late is rare, but you should’ve been put right into Quirk training and counselling— which you will be now. You’ve done well thus far, but there’s a large margin for improvement.”

Izuku bobs his head in an agreeing nod.

That's honestly really fair. And he's already aware that those things should've already happened— Oboro had made that quite clear. And he'd already known as much anyways, before the ghost had started interfering. He knows counselling and training are the first steps taken when a child first manifests their Quirk, he'd seen all his classmates in elementary school go to their counselling, and he'd seen how much those lessons had truly aided their development.

He knew it helped just... he wasn't really in the position to ask for it.

"So..." Izuku clears his throat, "I won't be expelled then?"

There had been a lull in the conversations; Izuku knows it's not finished yet, but this is a question he'd been stressing over since the words 'I'm afraid' had left his mouth. He refuses to let himself be blindsided, to think everything was good only for his sensei to expel him despite his words.

Izuku wants confirmation.

“No,” Sensei huffs, eyes flicking to meet Izuku's. “I saw potential in you, Midoriya. It would be illogical to lie about that. I saw potential in a Quirk that I thought you had the barest of control over, which I come to find out is completely true. You have a lot of work to do, you’ll need to catch up to your peers, but I do see potential. It's a start.”

A wave of determination rushes through his chest, “I’m ready to do whatever it takes to become a Hero, Sensei.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the man shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “Now, about that training and counselling. I’ll personally be handling your Quirk training. Neither of us know what you’re capable of, so it’s best that I’m there to erase your Quirk if it gets out of hand, or I think you’re in danger. I've done Quirk training in the past, so I'm capable of it. And as your counselling, that'll be done with the school's guidance counsellor, Hound Dog. He'll be briefed on need-to-know information, which is really just how recently you manifested your Quirk. He'll also take some time to chat with you in a more casual setting, like I mentioned last week. I think you'll benefit from talking to someone."

Izuku mulls that over, “but I won’t get expelled?”

“No, Problem Child,” comes the tired response, “you won’t be getting expelled. Not for this. I won't punish you for something that can't be helped, I'm just glad you told me before I did something stupid. There won't be any repercussion, though this will change some aspects of class for you, don’t expect me to go easy on you either. You’re training to be a Hero; I’m still going to treat you as such. I’m not going to treat you any differently than any of my other students— so if you’re slacking off, or wasting my time, you’ll be dealt with accordingly.”

“Thank you, Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku can’t help but mumble gratefully.

He bows his upper body and ducks his head down respectfully.

He hadn't wanted any special treatment to come out of this, he'd actually been worried it might've changed something. He just... he needed some help. And he didn't know where else to find some. He needed someone who knows Quirks, someone who actually has the time to help him learn.

He's beyond grateful for everything All Might had done for him, everything the man had been trying to do since he'd given Izuku One for All— he appreciates their quick check-ins, those passing moments where the Number One Hero bestows nuggets of wisdom onto him, and appreciates the insight he's being offered. He knows All Might is trying, but he's got an image to uphold, and fans to think about, and his teaching had to be prioritized now and he's got a bunch of other responsibilities on his plate too. He can't do everything all at once.

Izuku knows he comes second to all of that.

“Don’t thank me, Problem Child,” Sensei snorts, waving him off with a tired flap of his hand. “I expect great things from you, so don’t let me down, got it? Now that I know what's up with your Quirk, I expect to see a lot of progress in the upcoming weeks.”

“I won’t,” Izuku perks up confidently, “I promise, Sensei, I won’t let you down. I'll work hard, and prove that I belong in your class!”

Izuku blinks owlishly as his eyes find his teacher's face, and he thinks, for a second, that his eyes are playing tricks on him because if he’s not mistaken, that’s... that’s a smile on his sensei’s face. It’s tiny, hardly even there, but he’s sure the corners of his lips have curled the slightest bit upwards.

He’s never seen his Sensei smile before; he doesn’t even think his sensei is the type to actually smile.

Overwhelmed by the sight of it, Izuku throws himself into another bow, feeling his eyes water traitorously, “thank you, Sensei. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, and listening to me. I'm not sure what I would've done if you hadn't.”

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me," the man counters, and when Izuku looks up, the smile is gone from his teacher's face. Maybe... he hadn't seen it after all? "Though... I do wish you would've told me sooner. And I am curious to know what compelled you to tell me now, all of the sudden. You looked like you were on a mission standing outside my classroom.

“Ah,” Izuku rubs the back of his neck anxiously, lips twitching into a smile as he thinks to the persistent ghost who was going to be over the moon at his victory, “a friend convinced me, actually. He was very concerned when he found out, which I guess was valid. He was just really persistent that I tell someone— you specifically. I guess he made the right call.”

“Oh?” the man cocks his head in interest. He looks like he wants to ask more questions, but instead he looks away from the teenager, bangs falling into his face as he moves, “your friend’s smart then. Why me specifically?”

For that one, all Izuku can do is shrug apologetically, because he really doesn’t know.

Oboro hadn’t told him why he was so insistent that it was Aizawa-sensei who was the chosen one to be told this secret, besides the fact that he was hellbent on convincing Izuku that his new sensei was a good teacher and person. He doesn’t want to tell his sensei that though— especially when Aizawa-sensei was clever and observant.

Don't bring something up that you can answer any questions about, it's an expression he all but lived by at this point.

“I’m not sure, Sensei,” Izuku offers instead.

The man lets out a hum, quiet for another moment. He seems a little lost in thought, but Izuku doesn't dare disturb him. After a second, the man looks towards Izuku, studies his face, then looks away again. He really looks like he wants to ask more questions, but seems to think better of it. Or, maybe he's just decided that Izuku probably won't answer much else today.

His expression is a mixture of confusion and interest, but he doesn’t ask anything.

“It’s late,” the man finally says, huffing the words out as he stands from the couch. The dark-haired man stretches his back out when he's stood, doing so in a way that Izuku can't help but think resembles a cat. “I’m sure your mother must be wondering where you are by now, so you should head home, Problem Child.”

“R-right!” Izuku forces himself up too, shuffling his feet nervously as he follows his sensei to the door. He knows his mother isn’t wondering where he is— he doubts she’s even home, that she has any awareness whatsoever that he's not in the apartment already. He really doesn't think she even cares what he gets up to anymore. Still, he bows his head, “thank you again, Aizawa-Sensei.”

His teacher gives a grunt of acknowledgment before pushing the door open for them, finally glancing down at Izuku over his nose, “we’ll sort out everything else on Monday. I only have so much time before my patrol, and I don't want to spend it scheduling. Either in the morning, or after school. Whichever you prefer, I’ll be here.”

“Okay.”

Another ‘thank you’ sits on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back.

His teacher is already giving him a look of growing annoyance, Izuku doesn't think he'd appreciate being overly thanked, as thankful as Izuku truly is.

Do thank you's start to lose meaning if you over-do it? He's not sure.

“I’ll... come earlier on Monday, if that’s... if it’s alright?" Izuku offers the man a crooked smile, "h-have a good weekend, Sensei.”

“Yeah, that's fine,” Aizawa-sensei huffs out tiredly, “you too, Problem Child. Now, off you go. Shoo.”

The teacher's office has cleared out, Izuku realizes when he peeks his head out. The room is mostly bare, beside Present Mic, and, of course, Oboro, who he finds sitting on the floor across from the doorway Izuku now hesitates in.

"Y'know," the ghost jerks upright when the door opens, tone a knowing tease as he pushes himself to his feet. He's ginning, widely. Obnoxiously wide, and Izuku knows exactly where the ghost is leading without him needing to say it. The ghost's grin just widens when he catches Izuku's blank look. "I definitely don't want to be that person, but... I totally told you so.”

“Uh huh,” Izuku manages to drawl out under his breath, shooting the ghost an eyeroll even though he has a small, thankful smile on his lips too.

Izuku feels his teacher brush against him as he slips out the door, and it’s just then that Izuku realizes he’d stopped in the doorway at spotting Oboro.

“S-sorry, Sensei!” Izuku yelps hurriedly, bowing apologetically.

His teacher flaps a tired hand at him, dismissing his rudeness easily, moving into the teacher’s office where he bends down by one of the desks and grabs his yellow sleeping bag that he's always using in class, but never during training, from under it. That must be his desk. It's right beside Present Mic's, or the desk Present Mic had been sitting in earlier.

It hits Izuku all at once, how out of place he must look standing in the middle of the teacher's offices.

He clears his throat, embarrassment lifting to his cheeks when the action draws in both teacher's attention. Izuku flashes them both a nervous smile, "thank you once again, Sensei. And... um, and have a good weekend Mic-sensei! Oh, uh, you too, Aizawa-sensei, but I already told you that. In... um, in the conference room. Uhm."

Present Mic offers a good-natured laugh, grinning widely at Izuku, and even Aizawa-sensei doesn't appear annoyed anymore, maybe just a bit exasperated. But, in, like the fond way. Still, it's a step up from how his teacher usually looks at him, so Izuku counts it as a win. The two teachers exchange a quick look before they're both looking back at Izuku.

“Thank you, Lil’ Listener!” Mic-Sensei cheers brightly, “you have a good weekend as well! Eraser here kept you far too long, best get home now before your folks get worried, y’hear?”

“Technically,” Sensei drawled before Izuku could respond, “he kept me far too long.”

The dark-haired teacher flicks Mic-sensei on his leather jacket covered shoulder as he walks past with his sleeping bag hooked over his arm.

“I didn’t force him here, he asked.”

“Don’t blame our innocent lil’ student, Eraser. Midoriya’s a dear.”

“He's a problem child.”

“He’s a dear!”

“Problem. Child.”

Izuku subtly angles his head to catch Oboro's attention, the ghost looking away from the bantering teachers as if sensing Izuku's gaze on him. The ghost looks both amused and annoyed at the display, but he smiles nonetheless. He almost looks done with the two teacher's antics, but at the same time, he looks greatly entertained by it too.

At least Izuku's not the only one who finds this odd.

“Thank you,” Izuku smiles softly when the half-hearted bickering between the two dies down, as he moves towards the door now, Oboro on his heel, no doubt waiting to talk— and probably boast more about being right again. “For the well wishes, Mic-sensei. And I will, but I doubt my mother will be worried.”

The two teachers share a look that Izuku doesn’t catch as he turns to open the door.

Oboro shoots a hopeful look at the two teachers, praying they’ll hear the same truth in the words as he does, that they'll figure it out, even if Izuku hadn’t intentionally meant to give anything away of his living situation. Oboro knows the kid doesn't consider his home life unhealthy, but it is. And hopefully his friends will hear the same worrying sentiment in Izuku's words that he does.

He deflates when Shōta opens his mouth though, “have a good night, Problem Child. Don’t forget about Monday.”

“I won’t!” Izuku chirps back, waving at the two with a smile.

Hizashi returns the wave with just as much enthusiasm, but Shōta merely cocks an eyebrow as he steps into his sleeping bag on the side side of the room by the couch.

Izuku bows his head politely, offering a cheerful: “bye, Senseis!” and then the kid’s gone through the door.

“You two are so unbelievably dense! I can't even with you idiots. Ugh, I guess some things never really change,” Oboro stews for just a second, groaning to himself. He lingers for another long second, shooting an unnoticed glare of exasperation between his two friends before he hurries through the shut door after his new friend, "hey! ‘zuku, wait up!”

There’s a moment of silence in the teacher's office as Shōta pulls up his sleeping bag, zipping it up to his chin before tugging the hood up until he's nothing more then a face and stray black hairs.

“I don’t like this, ‘zashi,” Shōta breaks the silence, shaking his head as he collapses on the couch.

Hizashi trails after him, settling down on the couch as well.

“Don’t like what?” Hizashi looks down at him, leaning back against the couch for a bit of relaxation before leaving for the radio station. They always took the first little while after school to chill, before Hizashi would leave, and Shōta would catch all the sleep he could until his patrol. The teachers tended to clear out pretty fast unless there was a meeting or something, so they could count on the office being quiet.

“There’s something different about that kid. I just... I can’t put my finger on what.” The man shook his head as he inched towards his husband. Hizashi’s hand settled on top of his sleeping bag covered head, just resting it there. “I don’t think he’s got the best homelife either, but that’s not what’s off about him, that’s just what I’ve noticed. I just... I don't know.”

“Well," Hizashi hums thoughtfully, "what makes ya say that?”

Shōta frowns deeply, “his mother didn’t come in after the battle exercises. The kid broke his arm, had his other arm burnt to a crisp, and he lost consciousness. Shūzenji couldn't even reach the kid’s mother. If it were my kid, I damn well would’ve shown up for him. He walked home with those injuries, ‘zashi.”

“And he mentioned her not being worried just now,” Hizashi frowns. The Voice Hero chews on his bottom lip, lost in his thoughts, “we can’t start prying into his life until we have reason to. Midoriya shows up and he performs well in his classes, even if he is a little space-y at times. He’s friendly, and put together. There’s nothing to be overly concerned about yet; nothing that would prompt an emergency parent-teacher meeting, or a wellness check. You know that, it wouldn't be logical.”

“Doesn’t feel right,” the darker-haired snapped tiredly, letting his eyes slip shut.

“No,” Hizashi agrees with a shake of his head, “but our hands are tied. None of the other teachers have brought it up. He hasn’t brought it up. We can’t overstep, even if I trust your gut feeling more than anything. I see what you mean, but we’ve got a unique perspective. You could just be projecting onto Midoriya— shush, I know you’re not, but Nezu might think so. He knew you when we attended school here.”

Shōta had opened his mouth the refute the ‘projecting’ statement, but it promptly snapped shut when Hizashi all but read his mind, quieting him before he could even speak.

He'd been a lot like Midoriya when he attended classes here, went though his own bout of family drama that hindered his studies. He'd kept quiet too, hadn't wanted anyone else in his business. His problems were his problems, until the point where everything had come to light despite his attempts at keeping it quiet.

He grimaced at the thought, but didn’t saying anything, letting Hizashi finish his thoughts, “if we’re going to do anything, we’re going to do it on his terms. Keep an eye on him. I will too. And if—”

“When,” Shōta scoffs, cutting his husband off with a more realistic word choice.

“Alright,” the blonde huffs fondly, patting Shōta's head placatingly, “and when something comes up, we’ll intervene then. If someone had of started stepping on your toes back then, you would’ve recoiled instantly. Let’s not chase Midoriya away before we even have the chance to help him. If you see a resemblance, don't make the mistakes others made when it came to you. Kids can be skittish, you were.”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Shōta huffs, turning slightly in his sleeping bag.

He’s not happy with the outcome, but he understands it.

Hizashi is right— even down to the presumption of how Shōta knows he would’ve reacted had one of his own teachers pressed him about his homelife growing up. It was bad enough trying to keep Oboro and Hizashi quiet about it, he didn’t need a teacher sticking their nose in his business.

“But at the first sign of trouble," Shōta snuffs, "I’ll be getting involved.”

“And you won’t be alone,” Hizashi snorts, patting his partner on the head again. “Now, you rest for patrol tonight, I’ve gotta head on over to the radio station to get ready for my show now. I'll be a great one, so listen if you get a chance! I’ll see you after your patrol tonight. Love ya, Shō.”

“Love you,” Shōta grunts out, squeezing his eyes shut.

He knows his cheeks flare at the soft exchange, and that’s only made worse by how Hizashi giggles at his misery.

Shōta forces his eyes open again to glare up at his shifting husband, “I hate you.”

“If that’s true, you’ve got a funny way of showin’ it, Shō,” the blonde grins, leaning over to peck him on the lips before standing up, “stay safe tonight, y'hear.”

“You too.”

And then the blonde is gone, leaving Shōta to try and get some rest.

Which is hard, considering how his thoughts keep lingering on a certain student who, he now has to defeatedly admit is, his newest Problem Child.

Chapter Text

Monday morning Izuku arrived at school early like he’s told his sensei he was going to.

Aizawa was already tucked away in the classroom, seated behind at his desk when Izuku slowly rolled the door open. He wasn't as early as he'd been the day he'd come looking for Recovery Girl, but it was still nearly an hour until classes were due to start. 

Aizawa-sensei turns to look at him when the door squeaks, announcing his arrival.

Izuku breathes out a quiet sigh of relief at seeing his teacher ready and waiting for him, just like the man had said he would be.

Izuku wasn't really used to people keeping their promises.

The boy scurries over to the seat across from the man's desk when he pointedly glances at.

Aizawa-sensei barely waits for Izuku to settle before he's speaking.

"Extra help will be Monday and Friday mornings," he says with an edge of finality, lidded eyes watching Izuku intently, "as well as Wednesday afternoons. You're behind. That won't do, not in my class. You need to catch up, and you need to do it quickly. I'm also willing to work with you Saturday or Sunday morning as well, if that's something you're interested in. Weekend training is optional. Resting is important, don't think otherwise, and it is very easy to overwork yourself in this line of work. I'm willing to blur that line a little in hopes of catching you up to your peers in a timely manner. I'm putting this in your hands, Midoriya, so don't be an idiot about it. Quirk exhaustion sucks. Keep that in mind."

Izuku nods slowly to himself as he processes the schedule, "I would like to train on the weekend as well, if it's an option. I don't like being so far behind and I think... the longer I am behind, the more I'll struggle to catch up. My classmates are all so powerful and I... I can hardly even activate my own Quirk without hurting myself. I need to get better at controling my Quirk before I hurt myself, or someone else."

"Very well," Sensei nods back, not looking surprised. "I assumed that would be your choice. I think it is a wise decision if you're confident in your ability to endure. It would be illogical to let you flounder in my classes when we could both put in a little bit of extra effort to catch you up to your classmates' level. Still, the decision is yours. If it every feels like too much, say something and we will revisit this."

"Yes, Sensei," Izuku bows his head slightly.

Sensei considers him for a long second, then leans back in his chair, "I've picked the times and dates for your weekday training, so you get to decide whether you'd prefer to train on Saturday or Sunday. Weekends are your time for rest, so I'll rework my schedule around you."

"Oh," Izuku blinks, a little stunned at getting a decision, "um, Saturday?"

"Saturday works," Sensei nods, jotting down the date on the paper he'd written the rest of the times and dates down on. "Training will take place at the school. It's the safest place for me to monitor you, and you're already familiar with the area. Typically, students aren't allowed at the school on the weekends unless there's an event taking place, but I'll get Nezu to adjust your student ID to allow you on campus for your training."

"Y-yes, Sensei," Izuku gives a steady nod. 

Sensei nods back, "and now, with that sorted, onto the warnings that come with this. We will do no more than four additional training sessions a week. And if it looks like four is too many for you, I can, and I will, cut it back to three if I think you're overworking yourself. I will not budge on that. Truthfully, this is already more training than I'm comfortable offering— you'll still be training in your regular Fundamental Heroics class with All Might and myself, so this will be a lot for you. I acknowledge that. If you weren't so far behind, I would not be offering any of this. But you are, and I know how kids like you think. I've had students like you before, and I know you idiots won't just not practice just because you've been asked not to. At least this way I'm here to supervise, so I'll feel better about letting it happen in this first place knowing that I'm here to put an end to it should I see you overworking yourself or practicing to the point I deem it dangerous. Seriously, I'm not going to watch you run yourself into the ground, Midoriya, behind, or not."  

And that seemed pretty fair. 

Truth be told, if Izuku had somewhere relatively safe where he could be practicing One for All without fear of harming someone, somthing, or even himself, he would be. One for All was powerful, and it was not going to be easy to master. The sooner he got a handle on it, the easier his life would be. But that's going to take some serious trial and error considering he's going into this mostly blind, and it's not like he can just practice a Quirk like One for All anywhere. 

If Aizawa-sensei hadn't offered these additional training sessions, Izuku probably would've had to find somewhere to practice, because he really would never catch up without working harder. Surely there was some condemned building or secluded location he could train at. Maybe even Dagobah beach, if it was quiet. Izuku had been seeing more and more people there since he'd cleaned the place up.

Izuku bobs his head in a nod, knocking curls into his eyes, "I understand, Sensei."

"Additionally," Aizawa-sensei continues, as if Izuku hadn't spoken, "I've talked to Hound Dog, and he agrees that you're in desperate need of some counselling. Quirk counselling for sure, but he'd also like to offer you some guidance counselling. He's agreed to meeting with you for morning or after school counselling alternating your schedule with me. We're in agreement that two sessions a week would be in your best interest, but if you can't make that work, one will suffice. Hero work is harrowing, it'll be tough, especially with all this additional training. Keep your mental health in mind, Midoriya."

Izuku swallows, a little unsure about that, but he nods anyway, "of course."

"Keep in mind, we don't typically allow visits to Hound Dog outside of school hours, but since this is going to be a biweekly thing and that would be a lot of time taken from your classes if we did it the traditional route, Hound Dog has agreed to coming in early, or staying a little later for your sessions," Sensei tells him easily. "In that regard, Hound Dog's schedule is relatively open for you to pick and choose when you'd like to spill your guts to him. You're a bit of a special case, so he's a bit worried about what's going on with your Quirk and your mental state. A Quirk manifestatioin this late is pretty odd, so it's no surprise he's concerned about your wellbeing." 

Izuku can't resist a soft snort of amusemant at his teacher's use of 'spill you guts' in regards to counselling, but he sobers immediately after, reality crashing back over him.

He angles his head in thought, thumb and forefinger cradling his chin thoughtfully, "so... I'll be doing morning training with you on Monday and Tuesday, and afterschool training on Wednesday... could I do the counselling in the morning on Tuesdays and Thursdays? Or... did you mean alternating like if I work with you in the morning, I have the option of seeing Hound Dog afterschool on that same day?"

"Whatever works best for you," Aizawa-sensei shrugs. "Are you prepared to be coming to school early every day of the week besides Wednesday? That's a lot. Counselling will be roughly an hour long session, and training will be at least an hour, depending on your endurance, stamina and control. I don't want you spreading yourself too thin. Think about your classes and homelife, too. It's only the third week of school."

"I can handle it," Izuku furrows his brow. "I'm already up pretty early, so this will give me something to do in the mornings. And there's even an earlier train I can swap to in the morning, so it all works out perfectly. I promise, I'm prepared to give this my all, Sensei!"

The man sighs, deep in his chest and exhausted, "yeah, that's what I thought. Okay. Fine. If you're sure. You mother won't mind all this extra training, will she?"

"Um, no... she won't mind," Izuku says slowly, forcing a grin that he thinks might look a bit too... forced to be natural.

Aizawa-sensei scans his face, eyes narrowing slightly, but the man does not call him on it.

"Alright, if you're sure," the man drawls. 

"I am!" Izuku squeaks, belatedly realizing that that may have been a bit too much. He lets his forced smile waver to something a little softer, honestly softening his quick defense. "She... um, works early. She won't mind. I promise."

Way to play it cool, Izuku.

Aizawa-sensei watches him for a moment longer, then brings a hand up to card his fingers back through his hair.

"If you're sure," he says again, mildly. "I'll run this by Hound Dog, and if all goes well, I'll introduce you two tomorrow for your first session. We'll start your training Wednesday after school. Come find me tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Sensei," Izuku grins, smile honest and true. "Thank you again, Sensei. I hope to meet your expectations; I'll work hard to earn my place in 1-A."

"I'm sure you will," the man drawls gruffly, but Izuku can't help but think he, maybe, hears something like fondness in the man's tone. Izuku's smile widens a little, head quirking the faintest bit in amusement. The man seems to catch himself, clearing his throat and glancing away. "Problem Child."

Izuku's smile widens as he bite back a laugh. 

"Now," Aizawa-sensei clears his throat again, this time more warning, "get lost. Go find a friend to bother, or something. I've got stuff to do. We have a busy day today, so be prepared for that. Don't be late."

"Yes, Sensei," Izuku repeats, smiling so hard his vision blurs a little bit as his eyes squint. He wonders how Oboro can handle the loss of vision every time he grins so widely. He's always smiling— and it's his trademark smile. He probably has lots of practice. 

Izuku rises from the chair, bowing at the waist to show his sensei his genuine gratitude for everything the man was doing for him. Sensei acknowledges him with a nod of his head, and then Izuku is hurrying to the door to leave his teacher to whatever he needs to get done. He's at the door when Sensei's voice stops him.

"I'm aware I'm asking a lot of you," the man says slowly, tone sounding genuinely apologetic, like he doesn't like that this is what needs to be done to get Izuku caught up to his peers, "but considering your situation, we can't be cutting corners. Not with your best interest in mind, at least. If you're going to succeed at this school, in my class, you need to work hard."

"I understand." Izuku does not turn back around. "I will give it my all, Sensei."

Sensei doesn't reply, but he does hum in acknowledgement.

Izuku takes that as a dismissal, leaving the room without another word. He knows he'll be seeing Sensei again in the next little while, when classes start. He's excited for whatever activity Sensei has planned for them, a slight bounce in his step as he steps out of the room and rolls the door shut behind him. 

He can't wait for classes!

Izuku’s excited for rescue training. He’s almost vibrating on the bus as they travel to wherever the training will be held. Aizawa-Sensei doesn’t seem to mind them chattering, his eyes closed, but Izuku’s almost positive he’s not asleep.

The group takes the travel time, where there’s nothing of importance to be doing, in stride, getting to know each other just a little more. Izuku doesn’t really focus on what’s being said around him—besides the fact that Kacchan is on the receiving end of teasing, and Izuku’s being left alone. The imbalance of it makes Izuku’s insides feel mushy and uncertain, but he’s also thankful the sole attention isn’t on him.

Oboro had tagged along, but was standing by Aizawa-Sensei instead of tucked in beside Izuku. He was sitting almost shoulder to shoulder with his classmates, after all. Oboro doesn’t actively try to phase through living people, unless the living beings are Izuku, Aizawa-Sensei and probably most often, Present Mic.

Izuku has come to realize that when Oboro’s not annoying him, he’s probably annoying Present Mic-Sensei. He very rarely does anything more than stand beside Aizawa-Sensei though.

When they finally arrive, Aizawa-Sensei leads them off the bus, entirely giving up on keeping them organized as the pool outside and stare up in awe at the building. It’s only then that Izuku’s struck with awe at noticing Pro Hero: Thirteen waiting for them. He knows, rationally, he’d seen her in the teachers' lounge on Friday, but in his defense, he’s been trying not to throw up.

Now he can be excited though—he's sure his face is lax with a dumb starstruck expression.

Oboro snickers behind him, and the thing that snaps him out of his awe is a finger phasing through his cheek. He jolts away from the chill, momentary disgust on his face because Oboro’s finger had been in his mouth, before subtly glaring daggers at the grinning ghost.

“’was afraid you’d start drooling, Izu,” was Oboro’s only response, shoulder arching in a playful shrug. The green-haired boy could only roll his eyes to convey his annoyance, attention landing back on Thirteen.

She’d been talking, he realizes—she and his classmates. And he’s missed some of it. But at least no one had seemed to notice him being weird as he’s playfully bullied by a dead Yuuei student, who also happens to be one of his closest friends now.

Thirteen leads them into the building, and Izuku’s jaw gapes open in awe once again. It’s so cool. He’d thought the gym at school was amazing, but this—this was incredible.

Around him, excited chatter fills the air, and Thirteen pridefully introduces all the terrain replicas enclosed in the building. And Kirishima’s right, this place really does look like an amusement park! His excitement only seems to bubble up even more as he stands there listening; a ship wreck, a landslide—natural disasters! It’s just all so cool!

This USJ might even be cooler than Universal Studios Japan!

Izuku barely even notices as Aizawa-Sensei steps to speak with Thirteen away from them. He looks around for All Might, who Sensei had told them would be teaching along today too—Izuku's under the impression that All Might is being kept on a light leash under supervision from his own Pro teacher peers after the battle training mishap.

He doesn’t see the bulking man anywhere, but he’s only sad about it for a second before he’s once again reminded that he’s going to be training here today! So awesome!

Izuku pays avid attention as Thirteen explains what they’re doing. She talks of Aizawa-Sensei's Quirk Apprehension test, and even All Might’s battle simulations. Izuku knows One for All could be deadly—he's still learning to not harm himself when using it, but after her pep talk, he’s more fired up than ever.

He wants to help people.

He wants to rescue.

He’ll work hard to learn his Quirk so he can be the hero he’s desperate to become. So, he can use it for good like All Might has been for so long.

Around him, all his classmates seemed to be fueled up in similar ways. Thirteen has a way with words!

“Right,” Aizawa-Sensei calls after Thirteen has finished her upbeat and motivating lecture. He’d stood silently off to the side and out of the way, letting the other Pro take charge. “Now that that’s over--”

Aizawa-Sensei's jaw snaps shut as the lights around them flicker. Izuku whips around to face Oboro, who stares back like a deer caught in the headlights of a vehicle. Izuku’s not even sure his ghost friend could so something like that—but he’s got no other ideas of what could’ve gone wrong. Especially when the teachers share a glance of confusion.

“That’s not me!” the ghost yelps, hands raised in surrender. And he’s right, he’d been tucked away in the middle of the crowd of students. Nowhere near the light fixtures running along the dome of the building. Oboro doesn’t have that kind of power—he can barely interact with the living world besides his chilling presence. Izuku’s only ever seen him flicker the lamp in his bedroom once, and that had taken all his effort.

The fountain fizzles out too, the spurts of water stopping entirely as the excess drips down. It starts back up, water spitting everywhere before slowing again. A vicious cycle that Izuku can’t tear his gaze off of it. Something’s happening.

“Also not me,” Oboro swallows thickly, weaving around students to stand at Izuku’s side. The chill is welcome as Izuku chances a glance at him as the lights dim drastically. Thankfully the sun streams in from the dome windows above, or they’d be in pitch black.

There’s a panicked murmur from the students filling the air, but Izuku’s not sure he could open his mouth if he wanted to say anything. It’s eerie and silent even with the mumbles.

“What the hell?” Izuku looks away from where he’d been doing a subconscious count of everyone to make sure they were all still here, gaze locking on Oboro’s shocked one before following the ghost’s own gaze.

The fountain... what even was that? It was swirls of black and purples. It looked pixelated, or perhaps like granules of sand. It swirled with movement, churning from the edges inward. Izuku could do nothing more than stare at it from where they were tucked away by the entrance. There was a dry, bitter taste in his mouth, that he distantly realizes as fear.

Aizawa-Sensei seems to have noticed the fountain doing whatever it was it was doing as well. Izuku sees the man’s sharp movements as he turns, the looks towards him as his body faces the fountain too. His attention snaps back to the swirling mess of purple and black as he expands like a fire spreading through a dry forest and then—a hand. There’s a hand coming out of the center of whatever that thing is.

A portal, his mind supplies numbly. That’s a portal. There’s nothing else it could be.

Izuku’s never seen a Quirk like that—never even heard of something like that existing. He’s struck with a new sense of fear as he looks towards his teacher for guidance.

“Stay together, and don’t move!” Sensei barks out. It’s unlike anything Izuku’s heard from him thus far. It’s an order. A serious order. He’s scared. That’s fear souring his tone. “Thirteen, protect the students!”

Thirteen corrals them all together jumping into action at the urgency in Sensei’s voice. The students are herded together easily enough, shock and fear making them pliable. It’s only their third week of school, and no one’s heard Aizawa-Sensei sound like that before.

“W-woah, what is that thing?” Kirishima’s voice breaks Izuku from his thoughts, and his eyes dart back to what had once been the fountain, which is now a solid sheet of menacing black and purple portal.

There’s a figure stepping out, too far for Izuku to make out any details. And following him is a lot of others. Figure after figure steps through the portal, making Izuku’s skin prickle with uncertainty. The students crowd together at the edge of the entry platform, gazes locked on the commotion.

“Wait, has training started already?” Kirishima’s speaking once again, confusion in his voice. Izuku doesn’t look at him this time, just keeps his eyes on the people spewing in from the portal. “I thought we were rescuing people?”

Izuku takes a step forward, intending to get a better look. Oboro’s pressed so close into him, he’s sure their shoulders are overlapping. It’s so cold his shoulder has almost gone numb, but the cold is keeping him alert.

“Stay back!” Sensei snaps, throwing them a vicious glare that’s more fear than anything else. Still, the students freeze like the words had been a Quirk of some sort. The man lifts his goggles onto his face, and looks back towards the portal. His gaze doesn’t waver from the fight when he continues, voice forcing the severity of the situation onto them. “This is real. Those are villains.”

Izuku knows there’s talking going on around him, but he’s more focused on the fact that the portal just morphed into a person. Sensei is speaking, but Izuku can’t register any of the words. Beside him, Oboro had frozen in place, eyes watching the group of villains and jaw agape. His eyes look troubled, and his body wobbles like he’s having a hard time staying upright.

Izuku wants to ask if he’s okay—he doubts anyone will notice him talking to thin air with all the commotion going on, but when he tried, his mouth feels like cotton. No one’s okay, the teen realizes with a start. None of them are, so he shouldn’t expect Oboro to be.

“Where is he?” A raspy voice calls, “I went through the trouble of bringing so many friends who’re here to meet him. They want All Might, the great Symbol of Peace. I can’t believe he’s not here...”

Izuku’s attention snaps to a man at the center of the masses. He’d been the first one through—the boss, perhaps? There’s a creature like thing behind him, and the Void-portal making villain as well.

“Maybe if I kill a few kids he’ll come out to play...” the raspy voice sneers indifferently.

Thirteen had put herself between them. Aizawa-Sensei and the villains on one side, and the herd of frighten Hero Course students on the other. Izuku watches as Aizawa-Sensei’s scarf strikes off his shoulders, hovering threateningly around him in coils.

Izuku listens silently as his peers and Thirteen talk. The alarms aren’t going off, and the teachers don’t know why. It’s an organized attack—and they’re left in the dark about whether they’re the targets, or if the whole school is under attack.

Izuku listens halfheartedly to as Todoroki talks about the villains—how they’re getting in, and how they’d managed to cut the lights and communications. Using the media as a distraction was clever, but incredibly stupid all the same. The icy-hot student had been right about that. They really must have a plan if they’re taking the chance to attack a school filled with Heroes in training and dozens of Pros.

“Thirteen, get them out of here. And alert the main campus.” Sensei tells the other Pro fiercely, and anyone would be stupid to refute Aizawa-Sensei's chilling tone. “...Actually, if they’ve got the ability to block our sensors, then they might be jamming out regular communications too...”

Sensei’s quiet for just a second before he’s addressing Kaminari. “Kaminari, try using your Quirk to contact the school.”

“Yessir,” Kaminari ducks his head in a nod, instantly doing as their Sensei asked.

“No... Oh no,” Izuku looks back towards the ghost, noting the loss of chilling presence on his shoulder. Oboro’s hands are gripping his hair, pulling nervously. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and his face is so pale had he not been a ghost, Izuku was sure he’d have passed out already. Oboro’s panicking instantly sets Izuku on edge. “He’s going to fight,” the ghost wheezes out, “Sho’s going to fight them. All of them. Alone. God, he’s... he can’t—there’s too many, he’ll, he’ll—”

Izuku whips his attention to where his teacher looks seconds away from launching into battle. He sucks in a stuttered breath, Oh God, Oboro was right—he really was going to— “What are you going to do, Sensei?” Izuku begs, for Oboro’s and his own’s sake, “you can’t fight them on your own!”

There are dozens of villains. Dozens. At least. Eraserhead is good, but no one’s that good. Not even All Might could do it, he’s not even sure All Might in his prime could take on all these villains alone. There’re too many for one Hero—one person to handle.

Sensei looks over at him, glaring over his nose, but Izuku pushes on, “there’s too many of them! Even if you can nullify their Quirks, your fighting style’s not suited for this!” Izuku’s shoulders shake, and he’s not sure whether it’s nerves, fear, or Oboro hovering over his shoulder. “Your power works best in stealth and one-on-one fights. It's not gonna help with a group...”

His teacher regards him carefully behind his goggles. Really, he doesn’t do more than angle his head in Izuku’s direction, but the teen can feel his teacher’s prying eyes on him, even hidden behind the yellow goggles.

Izuku knows he probably knows far too much about his teacher’s fighting style, especially since he’s an underground Hero who relies on the element of surprise, but to be fair he knows a lot about ever Pro he’s ever gotten a glimpse at. There’s honestly a good few pages on Eraserhead that he’d had before knowing the man, and even after studying him up close in his Analysis Journals, so he knows. He knows this is a losing fight. It’s a losing fight to any hero, but someone who relies on stealth and close contact? Worse odds.

“You can’t be a Pro if you only have one trick.”

Izuku’s gaze snaps up to his teacher’s face as the words sink in. He can do nothing more than stare as his Sensei turns away again, glancing towards the other Pro briefly before continuing, “I’ll leave it to you, Thirteen.”

And then he’s gone. He jumps down the stairs that lead to the platform where they’re stranded, slowly being cornered in my criminals and villains. Right now, they’re nothing more than sitting ducks. And their only defense is Aizawa-Sensei and Thirteen.

Aizawa-Sensei is at a small trio of villains before Izuku can even blink. He’s quick. Quick and agile like an alley cat. He’s almost too quick to keep his gaze on, and Izuku might’ve even lost him had it not been with his capture weapon flying around him.

If it were any other situation, Izuku would be frothing at the mouth. This so cool— he’d never seen Eraserhead really fight. The dull, grainy CCTV videos he’d managed to dig up on YouTube didn’t do how cool Eraserhead really was any justice. The trio of villains are easily captured in the coils of scarf, Quirks all wiped away by Aizawa-Sensei's own. Izuku can only gape as his teacher effortlessly takes all three out by slamming them into one another.

He doesn’t stop there, instead moving onto the next round of villains stalking in on him.

“I can’t let him go alone,” Oboro’s voice sounds wrecked. It’s hoarse, and scared. He’s afraid. “I can’t, Izu, I can’t leave him alone like that. I... I gotta be there. I can’t just... what if he...?”

When Izuku turns back to the ghost, he looks torn. Like he wants to keep an eye on the students, but desperately wants to tag along with Aizawa-Sensei too. The teen already knows the ghost has an attachment to his teacher, so he’s not surprised by it.

He’s glad that someone’s going with his Sensei—even if it’s just a ghost who Sensei doesn’t know is there. Izuku doesn’t even really know if Sensei actually knows Oboro, but either way, he could use a guardian angel standing over his shoulder.

“Go,” he tells him under his breath, “we’ll be okay... Aizawa-Sensei shouldn’t be alone down there. We have each other, you... you go to him.”

The brief glance of thankful relief is short lived as Oboro gives a serious nod. He blinks out of existence, and for a second, Izuku panics before he spots the head of pale blue hair down with his Sensei. The ghost is doing nothing more than running through villains in close proximity to Aizawa-Sensei, momentary jolts and shivers distracting the villains enough to actually aid Aizawa-Sensei.

Maybe he’s not as outnumbered as Izuku thought? Not with Oboro on his side. The odds certainly aren’t fair, but they’re not entirely hopeless either.

Izuku stands watching, feeling useless as they fight down below. He wonders how long Oboro will manage to keep going. Oboro can only interact with the human world for so long before he loses his energy. It takes less to interact with a human by means of passing through them than it does to play around with lights, or grab a physical object, but he gets tired. It wears him down all the same, just slower. And he’s mentioned that it’s not a particularly pleasant feeling to phase through someone.

“This is no time to be analyzing!” Izuku’s pulled from his thoughts by Iida’s urgent voice. When he glances back, his classmates are all running towards the doors with Thirteen. He hadn’t even noticed them moving. “We have to go!”

With one last look at his Sensei and friend working as an unlikely team only one of them is aware of, the green-haired teen turns on his heels and follows behind Iida.

They don’t get far when the void-portal villain appears in their path, “there’s no escape.”

The voice is menacing. Deeper than the voice of the person who’d stepped through the portal first. Slowly, the villain loses his human form, void expanding outwards and upwards threateningly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the void greets calmly. It’s terrifying. He’s terrifying. “We’re the League of Villains. I know it’s impolite, but we decided to invite ourselves into this haven of justice to say hello. And besides, isn’t this a fitting place for All Might, Symbol of Peace, to take his last breath?”

Izuku feels his blood run cold at the words. All Might. They’re really here for All Might. The teen can only assume that the Number One Hero isn’t here because he’d already worked himself to exhaustion. He couldn’t keep up the All Might form long, and certainly not without rests in between.

What would’ve happened if he’d been here too?

“I believe he was supposed to be here today,” the villain continues, indifference in his tone. He sounds bored, not annoyed or anything. It’s... an odd tone. Still, at the mention of the Number One Hero, Izuku and his classmates straighten up, geared for a fight. These villains know too much. They know All Might was supposed to be teaching with Sensei and Thirteen today. “And yet... I see no sign of him. There must’ve been some sort of change in plans we could not have foreseen...”

The students don’t move a muscle as the void speaks. Thirteen keeps herself between them, equally as frozen. There’s not a lot for them to do, not when face against someone so powerful. Not on their third week of classes.

“Ah, well, in the end I suppose it doesn’t matter. I still have a role to play.”

The portal stretches up further, the top of his head flickering like a purple flame as it stretches.

Izuku can barely see Thirteen’s slow movements out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t want to blatantly look in fear the villain will see her moving too, but he also can’t not watch what’s happening. Thirteen fiddles subtly with the finger tips on her costume until a flap opens with a barely audible ‘click’.

She has a plan. Thank God—

A growl sounds before Thirteen can do as she planned—she'd barely managed to lift her finger, ready to activate her Quirk. And it’s a growl Izuku knows incredibly well. Kacchan. That was Kacchan. Oh no.

The freckled teen’s attention jerks up in time to see both Kacchan and Kirishima launching at the portal-void villain. It’s heroic, but oh God is it stupid.

A familiar explosion echos over the area, the air pooling with thick smoke. Izuku can’t see either of them—he can barely see the classmates a step or so in front of him.

He can hear Kirishima’s voice, cocky in a way it really shouldn’t be given the situation. He hears his classmate’s voice, but his attention is elsewhere. The portal granules waver through the smoke, drawing Izuku’s eyes to it. It’s slowly regrouping, collecting like it hadn’t just been hit with Kacchan at full force, and Izuku knows Kacchan’s full force attack is no walk in the park.

It doesn’t look damaged in the slightest. No injuries. No pain. His voice doesn’t even change.

“You live up to your school’s reputation,” the dark voice calls through the clouds of smoke. The void-like portals wave angrily around the man, and it’s the only tell that this villain is annoyed. “But you should be more careful, Children.”

The beady yellow eyes on whatever this thing is narrow in annoyance on them. His voice turns hard, tipping from the neutral it has been to a deep, contained anger, “otherwise, someone might get hurt.”

“You two!” Thirteen’s finger is still arched to use her Quirk. “Get out of the way right now!”

That seems to just anger the villain more, “I’ll scatter you across this facility to meet my comrades and your deaths!”

The void-like portal shoots out around them, enveloping around them before creeping in and rushing them like a sandstorm. The control this villain harnesses would be astounding if it weren’t for the fact that suddenly the only thing Izuku can see is pockets of purple in a black emptiness. He feels weird as it hits him; his stomach churns and a wave of dizzying lightheadedness has him arching forwards and protecting his face from stray granules of whatever Quirk this guy has with his arms.

There are shouts of surprise, and screams of terror from his classmates as the void-portal engulfs them. He wants to call out the them, but before he can, he’s falling. His face is assaulted, and when he manages to pry his eyes open, he’s plummeting into a large body of water—the ship-wreck simulation zone, his mind supplies unhelpfully.

He’d been warped. It was a warping Quirk.

Thankfully he’s not alone. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if it hadn’t been for Tsuyu in that water. And... Well, Mineta’s there too.

By the time Izuku reaches the edge of the water with Tsuyu and Mineta, his fingers had thankfully gone numb. The adrenaline from launching himself into the water with a half-thought plan had been steadily declining, but thankfully, there was enough general adrenaline to keep his attention off his shattered fingers and on the prize—which just so happened to be Aizawa-Sensei and Oboro.

He’s glad Mineta and Tsuyu came along with him to check in, but he knows he would’ve gone alone too. He’s beyond glad to see them both standing still—exhausted and harrowed. Oboro looks seconds away from collapsing, and there’s a translucentness to him that Izuku’s never seen before. There’s no doubt in Izuku’s mind that the ghost had given it his all—gone Plus Ultra.

Similarly, Aizawa-Sensei's breaths are haggard. He’s still standing. He’s still fighting. His scarf flies wildly against the villains, trapping and taking them out one at a time when they get too close, or test their luck against him. He’s tired, Izuku can see it in the way his body subconsciously slouches whenever there’s a second or so without a villain stepping forward to try and take him out. He bounces right back into the fight easily, but he’s definitely wearing out.

They watch for a second, hidden away behind the little ledge separating the water from the pavement where Aizawa-Sensei is fighting.

Izuku sees the man with hands covering his arms, sides, back, head and face charging for their teacher, and a small part of him wants to shout a warning at Aizawa-Sensei, but the man is too good at being a Pro. He whips around to the hand covered man, scarf flicking out in attempts to capture him.

They’re talking, Izuku can see lips moving. Almost hear voices, but he can’t make anything out.

He watches as the villain grabs fistfuls of Aizawa-Sensei's scarf, predicting his attacks. Izuku’s heart hammers in his chest as he watches the villain get too close—Oboro is forcing himself into action, charging at the villain when his hand settles on his teacher’s elbow.

“Shit!” The ghost gasps, freezing at Aizawa-Sensei's side like he doesn’t know what to do—how to help. “Oh shit, no, that’s not good. Sho, that’s not good! Get away! Get off him!”

Izuku can’t see what’s been done to Aizawa-Sensei, but he knows it's nothing good.

The ghost lets out a growl of anger as he dives through the villain still holding their Sensei in place... but there’s no effect on him. He doesn’t shiver, or shake, or anything. The only one who ends up trembling is Oboro. He wobbles on his feet, seeming to barely manage keeping himself up. The ghost lets out a cry of frustration, and... wait, is Oboro crying?

“Shit!” The ghost screams, and Izuku’s not sure whether its agony, or fear, or just sheer frustration at his lack of usefulness in helping Aizawa-Sensei. The ghost forces himself up straight, though Izuku can see his body shaking, hands dragging down his face stressfully. “Shit, shit, shit! No, this isn’t happening. It’s not ending like this!”

Almost as if Sensei heard the ghost’s calls, he manages to pry away from the villain and jump away gracefully, now clutching at his clearly injured elbow. His costume sleeve had been ripped away, leaving his elbow exposed. It’s red, and broken; almost looking like shattered shards of class, but it’s not bleeding. It’s the work of a Quirk, but not a Quirk Izuku’s ever seen before.

He’s still managing to dodge everything, even as his arm dangles uselessly at his side. More villains had appeared, all circling around him. Oboro inches back, stood shoulder to shoulder with Aizawa-Sensei. He sucks in unsteady breaths, they both do, but they’re still going.

The villain is talking, it sounds distant to Izuku’s ears—almost like he’s speaking softly so only Sensei can hear him. He wonders what’s being said, but if the look on Oboro’s face is anything to go off, it’s not pleasant.

Even injured his Sensei continues to fight. He doesn’t back down. Villains close in on him, but he just keeps going, flinging his capture weapon with his good hand, and using his agile close contact attacks with his legs. He’s starting to get sloppy, but who wouldn’t? He’s been at this for however long, and he’s just taken serious damage to his elbow, making his arm virtually useless.

“Look at you!” The villain covered in hands says, excited in a dull, uninterested kind of way, voice just loud enough that Izuku can hear it too. “You’re still standing! You really are so cool!”

There’s a pause, Oboro taking sloppy steps to stand beside Aizawa-Sensei.

“Oh, and by the way, Hero,” the villain teases. Oboro jolts at Aizawa-Sensei's side, whirling around to face the huge, towering creature that had swiftly settled behind them unnoticed. Izuku gasps at the same time Oboro takes a shocked step back, finally losing his balance and falling onto his arse. “I am not the final boss.”

Izuku can’t tear his attention away as the creature’s bulky hand rises, catching on Aizawa-Sensei's head. He can’t tear his attention away, but the only thing he hears is Oboro’s hoarse screams as he scrambles to his feet, launching another futile attempt at stalling the enemy.

The screams turn to cries as the creature grabs Aizawa-Sensei's head, squeezing as if it were nothing more than a stress ball. It’s almost effortless, that creature’s strength is unmatched by anyone there right now. The sheer force of it has Aizawa-Sensei's goggles cracking—flying off his head in pieces, blood dripping from it.

Oboro screams out again. Cries. Crawls towards Aizawa-Sensei. Oh God. Sensei...

The creature slams his teacher around as if he weighs nothing more than a ragdoll, smashing his head against the ground repeatedly, all the while Oboro tries desperately to help. Clawing, kicking, slapping, all of which phase right through the creature. The attempts are futile, nothing deters the creature in the slightest.

Izuku feels like he can’t breathe...

The three of them, students who have only been training for two weeks, can do nothing more than watch as their Sensei is tortured before their eyes. They’re frozen in fear, if these guys took out Aizawa-Sensei so easily, then three uneducated students have no shot at winning.

It would be walking into their own graves. Even with One for All.

Izuku recoils with a wince as the creature snaps Sensei’s arm like a twig. He’s not sure if Aizawa’s yells of pain are worse, or Oboro’s screams of desperation are. They both make his stomach churn.

The creature is holding Sensei down, sitting on him to keep him down while his hands work at breaking their teacher’s bones. The villain covered in hands watches from a distance, and he’s talking. Izuku can’t hear what he’s saying over his own pounding heart, but he’s watching Oboro’s expression grow angrier and angrier. His lip curls, body vibrating with something different than overexertion as his hands clench into trembling fists at his sides.

“No, no,” Mineta whimpers at Izuku’s side, but he barley even hears that, “I can’t watch this anymore... We should be getting out of here super-fast, shouldn’t we...?”

Izuku knows that’s what they should do. They should leave. Aizawa-Sensei would want them to go, he wanted them safe—wouldn't have sent them away with Thirteen if he hadn’t. Oboro had wanted him to go with his class. He couldn’t control One for All, he’s no help to anyone if he hurts himself to the point he’s sitting prey to the villains.

But it feels so wrong.

Aizawa-Sensei had been trying to help him since that first day. They’re conversation from just that morning, how attentive and uncharacteristically soft as they talked about additional Quirk training and counselling. It wasn’t right to leave now—to leave his teacher in that state. Without hope.

But he just can’t force himself to move. Not to help, or not to leave. He’s just... frozen.

Izuku watches with wide, unblinking eyes as the warping villain returns at the hand villain’s side. He can’t see either of their mouths, but he’s almost sure they’re talking. The creature doesn’t move off of Aizawa-Sensei, hand still forcing his teacher’s face into the cracked ground below.

He’s not moving—Sensei hasn’t so much as twitched. Izuku thinks the worst for a second, only to remember that if Aizawa-Sensei was dead, Oboro would probably not be as unexpressive as he is. He should only panic when Oboro panics... right?

“Izuku!” the green-haired boy jerks his attention up at the desperate call of his name. He must’ve been lost in his thoughts because when he tries to glance at Oboro, who’d called him, his gaze instead snaps to the hand villain who’s launching at them, fingers spread and ready to grasp. “Damnit! Watch out!”

He’s heading right for Tsuyu, he’s so close to her. Izuku can vision his friend crumbling to dust like Aizawa-Sensei's elbow had. He’s still locked frozen in fear. He tries to prompt his muscles on—to unlock his knees and joints, but nothing works. All he can do is follow the villain’s hand as his fingers touch onto Tsuyu’s face and—

Nothing.

“Oh, thank God,” Izuku hears, the voice sounding far away and almost foreign despite Oboro’s voice being so close now, like he’d sprinted behind the villain when he caught on to what he was planning. Izuku wants to look over at the ghost, but is unable to turn away from Tsuyu and the villain. “That was too close,” the ghost wheezes out.

The villain seems surprised for just a second, before he’s turning to look back at Aizawa-Sensei. And it’s just then Izuku connects the dots that Aizawa-Sensei had cancelled out the villain’s Quirk before he could touch Tsuyu. “You really are so cool,” the hand-covered man tuts, “Eraserhead.”

“Damn right he is!” Oboro snarls, shooting a pained look back at where Aizawa-Sensei is barely managing to keep himself conscious, eyelid flickering in exhaustion and pain, but remaining open like his life depends on it—well, maybe not his life, but someone’s life.

Izuku winces as the creature slams Sensei’s head down again, cutting off his eye contact and no doubt forcing his eyes shut again.

He takes that moment of opening to launch into a punch. There’s not going to be a better opportunity, he’s not going to get many openings. He needs to do something. He can’t just watch anymore. Not while his classmates are facing death, and his Sensei is smooshed into the ground like a wad of chewing gum.

He’s prepared to break himself if it means rescuing those around him. He’ll gladly take the lose if it means everyone else wins. No one’s dying. It’s not happening. He won’t let it happen.

Izuku’s beyond surprised when he lands his punch, but his arm doesn’t shatter. There’s no pain, nothing. Maybe what little practice he’d had in training had actually helped? But then the smoke of the punch clears and he takes a stuttered breath when he realizes he’d punched the creature, not the villain.

And it did nothing to him. Izuku’s attack on the creature was just as futile as Oboro’s and it didn’t make sense. How? How had it done nothing? He knows it worked—he had used One for All. He’d felt it in his veins; had seen how the force of it whipped any villains in the vicinity away, rippled the water around him and distantly shattered any lights close to him. But there was no damage on the creature.

“You’re pretty powerful,” the villain calls from behind the creature. “This smash of yours... are you one of All Might’s disciples...? Doesn’t matter. I’m done with you now.”

The creature’s eyes had been angled to the side, like he was trying to glance at the villain behind him, but when the words left the hand-villain's mouth, its eyes flickered back to Izuku.

The creature grabbed him before he could move, fist tightening around Izuku’s arm like a vice.

“Izuku!” Oboro shrieked in panic. He’d paused at the edge of the water when Sensei had erased the villain’s Quirk, but now he was throwing himself into the water with urgency, the currents not moving at all with his steps. “No!”

All Izuku could see was the creature’s second hand coming towards him. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the villains hand aiming for both Tsuyu and Mineta. It feels like time had slowed down, he could do nothing by cower as the hand pushed closer. Oboro was still calling out to him, pleading, and begging.

Izuku forced his eyes shut when the hand was just inches away from his face. He didn’t want to see it when it finally came. The same fate as Aizawa-Sensei.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, gripping hard—desperately. He wondered briefly who’d gotten to him, who would see his demise from just behind him—

“What the hell is this?” Izuku forced his eyes open at the call. The villain’s voice was curled with frustrated confusion. The teen gaped as his eyes located the source of the confusion. Smoke. Where had all this smoke come from? It pooled in around them like it had suddenly appeared, and before Izuku knows it, he can’t see anything through it.

Wait, that’s not smoke. It’s white and almost fluffy—filling in around them quickly and separating everyone. It’s thick, but not suffocating. He can breathe just fine despite being encased in this. What... what was this?

“Which one of these brats has a Quirk like this?” the villain snapped in annoyance. “Nomu! Kurogiri! Where are you two?!”

The creature, Nomu, Izuku thinks, had paused in confusion. The teenager can’t see its hand coming at him anymore—can't even see its bulking body, but he’s still gripping his arm like a vice. Izuku takes its moment of confusion to tear his arm away, activating One for All just enough so he can break the grip it has on him. The fingers clutching his forearm give away in surprise, and a jolt of pain climbs up his arm, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because he’s suddenly being tugged backwards. He’s pulled away from the creature away, stumbling over his own feet.

There’s still a grip on his shoulder, but now there’s a second grip on his wrist, tight, but protective instead of threatening. The hand on his wrist leads him away, but the hand on his shoulder doesn’t falter—just squeezes tighter.

Izuku still has no idea what’s going on—what had just happened. One second he’s looking death in the eye, and the next he’s enveloped in a fluffy cloud-like—well, he’s not even sure what this is.

“W-what?” the teen breaths out, the hand not being gripped reaching out to wave through the strange texture surrounding them. It’s just then he realizes someone’s grabbing him. He’s being clutched. Whoever’s behind him lets out a stuttered breath.

Izuku whips his head around to look at whoever’s holding onto him, ready to throw down with some villain, but the fight promptly drains out of him when his eyes catch Oboro’s own wide eyes. “O-Oboro?” Izuku gasps in surprise, “w-what—I mean, why—how...? What is this?”

“I don’t know,” the ghost whines out, “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening! I can, I mean, I feel you. I’m touching you. But I’m not supposed to... This... this is, I haven’t—”

“Oboro what is this?"

“My Quirk,” the ghost croaks out, grip tightening on Izuku, “Cloud. It’s my Quirk. But I don’t... how is this happening? I’m... I mean, I can’t be... I panicked, Izu, but this isn’t... it’s impossible!”

This was... this is Oboro’s Quirk? Oboro, the ghost who he’d managed to befriend, had just used his Quirk in the real world? The living world? Izuku could see it. The villains could see it. This truly wasn’t possible.

“My friends,” Izuku gasps out, brushing aside the fact that this smoke, these clouds, came from Oboro. He could analyze that later, but for now, he needs to make sure his classmates and teacher are okay, “they were in trouble, and, and Sensei, God, what about Sensei?”

“They’re safe,” Oboro bows his head, before he’s angling his chin upwards. He doesn’t look like he wants to take his hands away to point upwards yet now that they’re solid against Izuku, “your friends. They’re up there.”

Izuku angles his head up where he sees two sturdy clouds supporting both Mineta and Tsuyu. Mineta is cowering, but Tsuyu’s face is peeking over the edge of the cloud. He can hardly see them, but he’s sure they can’t see him through the dense clouds. He can only gape up at them for a second before he realizes they’re also on a cloud. Izuku throws his spare hand back, suddenly feeling unsteady. It slaps against Oboro’s hip and they both jolt in surprise.

“How are we...”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay...” Izuku blows out a steadying breath, “okay, and Sensei?”

Oboro bites his lip, “less okay, and in need of some serious medical attention, but he’s hidden. There’s a thick cloud surrounding him, and it’ll only part for your classmates, or the Pro teachers. Even if the villains try to get to him, they’ll barely be able to see their hand in front of their own faces.”

“Wow, okay,” Izuku forces another breath, because he’s sure he keeps forgetting to breathe. “You make clouds.”

“I make clouds,” the ghost snorts in agreement.

“That’s pretty cool.” Izuku eyes his friend without moving away, or pulling back at all. Oboro doesn’t feel cold, nor does he feel warm. He feels solid though, and it’s... well, it’s nice. It’s nice to be able to touch him for once, even if he’s got no idea what’s going on, or why it’s happening. “You’re not wearing your Yuuei uniform.”

“Huh?” Oboro looks down at himself, surprised to see the clothes he’s wearing. They’re blue, like martial arts robes. Atop of that, is a brown bomber flight jacket with a fuzzy collar. He’s wearing an aviator hat, but still has his fluffy cloud-like hair showing, and he’s got goggles like Aizawa-Sensei's, just instead of yellow, they’re grey with yellow indentations. “I... haven’t seen this in so long,” the boy whispers in awe, “it’s my hero costume...”

Izuku cocks an eyebrow in surprise, studying the costume closer. He’d only ever seen Oboro in the same Yuuei uniform. It’s both incredibly strange, yet endearing at the same time to see him in something else. “Suits you,” the green-haired boy shrugs with a smile.

“Thanks, Izu,” Oboro snorts a laugh, “wish I could say the same to you, but I don’t dig the All Might inspired ears on your bunny costume. Green is your colour though.”

“Hey!" Izuku tries to be offended, but ends up laughing. “How do you know they’re All Might inspired?”

“How do people not know?” Oboro fires back with a grin.

“Alright, I yield,” Izuku shakes his head, having no further argument. “So, uh, how do we get Mineta and Tsuyu down? And, uhm, how do we get down?”

“Good question,” Oboro bites his lip, “we could drop the purple one to the floor? He’s kinda a pervert. But, uhm, I dunno. It feels weird this time. I mean, I haven’t used my Quirk in so long, but it’s like I don’t have full control. I can lower them down, but I don’t know how well I’ll be able to guide the clouds with no physical form.”

“You can’t drop my classmate onto the floor from that high up, that’s basically assault.” Izuku huffs out in answer to Oboro’s first proposal. He’s not a fan of Mineta, but he is still a classmate. “Try lowering them away from the villains, and take us down right here. I wanna hang by Aizawa-Sensei, and I know you do too.”

The cloud-haired boy gives a steady nod, looking up at the two clouds holding his classmates above the chaos. They move slowly, descending away from where they’d last seen the villains.

Simultaneously, Izuku’s own cloud starts dropping slowly as well.

Oboro is incredibly focused, hand clutching Izuku’s wrist still holding him tight, while the other on his shoulder has move as if he’s directing the clouds with it. Honestly, this Quick is insane, and Izuku can’t even begin to imagine what Oboro could’ve possibly done with it when he was alive.

They’re almost on the ground when there's a smash like a door had been blown in, in the direction of the entry way—where they’d all gotten separated. Help. Thank God, help had arrived. The Pros were finally here.

Izuku winces at the noise of the explosion, and Oboro staggers back in surprise.

Izuku feels the ghost’s hand leave his wrist, and suddenly he’s falling. It’s not far, but it’s enough that he’ll be sore later. When he opens his eyes, the clouds are gone. All of them are. It’s like they hadn’t even existed in the first place. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, could see Tsuyu and Mineta pulling themselves up off the ground at a safe distance away, he wouldn’t have believed it.

He has a view of the villains again; the decay-Quirk one, the warping one and the one they’d called Nomu. “Finally,” the one covered in hands drawled with a sigh after a glance in Izuku’s direction, “that’s over with. Looks like just one of you brats stuck around.”

Aizawa-Sensei is left defenseless now too without the clouds for cloaking and protection. But thankfully the attention is on Izuku and not him. He hadn’t moved, but he’s still breathing. Those odds were as good as any when it came to the damage he’d received. Still, he needed help. And fast.

Oboro was looking worse for the wear, but still kneeling beside Aizawa-Sensei, talking to him so softly Izuku couldn’t pick up what he was saying. Sensei remained lifeless at the ghost’s side, but Oboro wasn’t freaking out, so he wasn’t dead. Izuku hoped.

He’d be worried but— “Have no fear, Students.” All Might’s voice projects from the entrance of the USJ, “I am here.”

The decay-Quirked villain grins, swiveling around to stare up at All Might, Izuku and his Sensei forgotten now that a bigger target arrived, “after all this waiting, the heroic piece of trash shows up...”

All Might moves like a flash, taking out all villains in his path as he makes his way to Aizawa-Sensei. He kneels down, Oboro shuffling out of the way with a thankful, yet uncertain expression, as All Might lifts Aizawa-Sensei into his arms.

Izuku can barely blink as All Might grabs him too, even going as far as to grab Tsuyu and Mineta too, who were a bit further away before launching back and setting the both of them down. Oboro had popped up beside Aizawa-Sensei as well.

“Everyone back to the entrance,” All Might demands, “and bring Aizawa with you. He doesn’t have much time.”

Shota tastes blood after the third or... maybe fourth time the creature slams his head against the concrete. His body aches; the pain is unimaginable. He can hardly breath as the creator grounds his face into the ground. His arms are useless now, his head is thrumming with pain, and his eyes have long since gone blurry.

But he pushes through.

The second he sees that decay-Quirked villain, the leader, running at his kids, he knows he can’t just lie there and wait for the worst. He forces his attention up, using all his strength to activate his own Quirk just as the villain touches all five fingers around Tsuyu’s face.

His face gets jammed further into the crumbles of concrete and it hurts to the point everything’s gone numb. He can hear the altercation of the fight between his students and the villains over the sound of his own lulling heartbeat.

He’s so, so tired, but the moment he feels the creature’s hand off his head, its whole presence gone, he manages to barely lift his head. Just in time to see the creature reaching for Midoriya. He’s got a hold on him, and the other hand is going for his head. Shota wants to get up. He wants to help. But he can’t force himself up. He can barely keep his eyes open, and can barely keep his gaze steady on the fight.

His heart jumps into his throat when someone suddenly appears behind Midoriya—a villain, is his first thought. Oh God, Midoriya was going to die—first that creature aiming to do to Midoriya what it had already done to himself, and then this unknown villain taking the opportunity to attack as well.

But that’s not right. The longer he stares, the clearer it gets. The haze in his eyes clears momentarily and that... no, it’s impossible. It can’t be true. He must’ve died at some point because that’s... it’s Oboro.

Looking young as the day he’d died. Just as Shota forces himself to remember his friend.

He’s there, and he’s touching Midoriya.

He’s there... but he’s not. Even at this distance the man can see the translucence of the teenager he’d once known. He’s seeing things. He must really be dying. Or he really is already dead. You don't just randomly start seeing the ghost of your best friend. It's impossible. Illogical. Insane, even.

Shota blinks his eyes for a long second to see if the ghost of his school friend was just an optical illusion. His tired eyes and dying brain playing tricks on him. He’s a man of logic, and that, seeing his long dead high school best friend is certainly not logic.

He’s so tired.

The figure, Oboro, is still standing behind his student when he opens his eyes again.

All logic has gone out the window. He’s so tired, and confused, and he’s almost certain he’s not really seeing Oboro. This has to be in his head. There’s literally no way Oboro can really be there.

The last thing Shota sees before he loses his battle with consciousness is a heavy cloud enveloping around him. It’s so familiar it hurts, but so incredibly foreign to him that he wants to cry.

Chapter Text

Shota rouses from his hazy, dreamless sleep to an annoying beeping. He keeps his eyes shut, head lulling in the direction the noise is coming from. He has hopes of going back to sleep, like he usually does, praying Hizashi will turn the annoying alarm off, but he doesn’t.

He still feels hazy, like his brain isn’t completely functioning.

The tired man lulls his head back so he’s staring up at the ceiling before finally prying his eyes open. They burn, like he’d gone far too long without resting his Quirk. His eyelid grate against his dry eyes like sandpaper, but what’s most surprising, is the fact that his eyes are open, but he’s still in the dark.

Well, not quite in the dark. He can faintly see lights bleeding in, but... his vision is white. Like there’s something covering his eyes. And it’s not just his eyes, but his whole face. If he wasn’t so tired, he’s sure he’d be panicking, but for now, it is what it is.

He tries in vain to reach up to pull whatever is on his face off, only to frown drowsily when his arms refuse to move. Neither budge, no matter how hard he focuses, or how much of his strength and energy his forces into lifting them up. They’re heavy and numb. There might even be an inkling of pain hidden somewhere too, but it’s overwhelmed by a floaty feeling.

It takes far longer than Shota would like for him to lay out all the information he’d gathered thus far, trying to make sense of it all.

The answer hits him like a brick.

He was in the hospital.

The beeping wasn’t a stupid, insistent alarm that Hizashi forgot to turn off before getting up; it was a heart monitor steadily beeping on. The covering on his face, he assumes, at least, is a bandage of some sort, and his arms refusing to move, in addition to the strange, numb floaty feeling must mean he’d been injured pretty badly.

Now that he thinks about it, it’s all there. The sterile scent. The blinding white lights. The rough blankets on the bed, and the pillows drawing a fine line between cardboard textured and uncomfortably overstuffed. The smell he now notices is that of medical gauze and cotton bandages wrapped around his face.

He’s not a stranger to hospitals—no Pro Hero is—but it has been a while since he’d been this beat up.

It takes a few more contemplative moments for him to remember how exactly he’d ended up here.

And if the knowledge that he was in the hospital at all hit him like a brick, then reason as to why he’s here plows into him like a freight truck.

The USJ.

The villain attack.

His students, oh God, his students.

It all floods back like a tsunami washing over him; leaving his students in the capable hands of Thirteen, rushing the crowds of villains in an attempt to keep them away from his kids. He remembers the leader villain, the one with the powerful— was it a decaying Quirk?— that he’d used on Shota’s elbow, and the one with the warp Quirk standing loyally at the leader’s side. And... and that creature, the one with the insane strength. Whatever that thing was. He remembers being tossed around like a weightless doll, and having his head ground into the concrete—the explanation for the bandages on his face.

He remembers the pain of his arms snapping under the creatures slow, steady movements. How so little effort from it had him screaming out in agony. The pain of his face grinding against splintered concrete, and the metallic taste of his own blood as it both pools in his mouth, and runs down his face only to catch on his lips.

He has half a mind to lick at his lips now, hazy brain supplying phantoms feelings of blood cascading down his face, but thinks better of it with the cotton bandages wrapped so snugly. Last thing he needs right now it to choke on cotton specs.

Shota forces his attention back onto what he remembers of the villain attack—being stomped down whenever he tried to fight back, or even so much as move. The thought of it makes pain flare throughout his body, but it’s swiftly washed away by whatever pain killer they have him on. They’re strong, thankfully.

Everything gets a bit hazier after that.

He remembers seeing Midoriya, Tsuyu and Minoru in the water by where he and the villains had been fighting. A huff of frustration struggles out of his lungs. That Problem Child no doubt brought the two other students along with him. He’d told them to stay away—to stay with Thirteen, but he’s honestly not surprised. He briefly wonders how much his kids saw, eyes fluttering shut as he realized they’d probably seen a lot.

His eyelids jolt open when the next piece of the attacks clears in his mind.

The decaying Quirked villain had been running at his kids. He’d tried to turn his students into dust. Were they okay? Had he managed to stop the Quirk in time? Had he gotten to Tsuyu before he could erase his Quirk?

It’s staticky, but he thinks he had managed to activate his Quirk in time. He faintly remembers the villain talking to him, a sick mixture of impressed and annoyed, but after that it gets a bit fuzzy again.

He wonders if it was because he was drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, but can’t be sure. Maybe he’d just been blacking out, or simply didn’t remember the exchange.

He tries to remember what else happens before he ultimately loses his consciousness battle. He wracks his brain for anything of importance in those final moments of awareness—

Hit brain comes to an abrupt halt.

Oboro.

He’d seen Oboro.

Oboro... with Midoriya. His friend who’d died at the young age of seventeen, thirteen years ago had been standing behind his current student. Logically, he knows he couldn’t have been there. Even in his hazy memories, he remembers the translucentness of the boy who’d been one of his best friends throughout school.

He’s trying hard to come up with a logical excuse for it.

Oboro was dead.

There was no way he could’ve been there. There was no way. It was illogical. Dead people don’t come back; when you die... you die. So how had he seen his school friend?

Shota’s about to let the whole thing go. He’d been hanging by an inch of his own life. He’d been so close to death—seconds away from passing out from a cocktail of pain and exhaustion. There’s no way he’d really seen Oboro. It was just his brain playing tricks on him— a ghost from the past. Someone he hadn’t been able to save there to stir up all the guilt he’d been walling off for years.

It was silly. A ghost. He’d seen the ghost of his dead friend, looking exactly as Shota remembers him—or, chooses to remember him at least. The Oboro that he struggles to remember when he thinks of his friend. The smiling, exuberant Oboro he’d seen every day at school, as opposed to the Oboro he’d last seen that last day after...

Shota swallows hard, mouth dry.

Ghosts didn’t exist. It was illogical. He’d just been seeing things. It was impossible.

But that didn’t explain the clouds, his traitorous brain reminded in a whisper at the back of his mind.

The clouds. Oh God, there had been clouds. Clouds like that were not as easily brushed off as seeing a potential ghost. Clouds don’t just appear—and certainly not in contained spaces like the USJ. Not even to mention the fact that those clouds were so real, nothing manmade could’ve created them.

He’d been pretty out of it at that point, but he remembers the clouds. He remembers feeling them envelope him just like they’d used to during his school days when Oboro used to practice different cloud types and consistencies, often using himself and Hizashi as test subjects when it came to density control and strength for escorting people around other than himself. He remembers the softness in Oboro’s care when handling them, the density that had filled in around him at the blink of an eye.

Someone, or something had used the Quirk: Cloud.

And the only person to ever have such Quirk (as far as Shota knows), with as much pointed precision and control over it like he’d seen at the USJ before passing out, had died years ago. Taking that incredible Quirk along with one of the kindest people Shota had ever known.

“Shota?” Shota jumps at the call of the soft voice. The bed shifts a little, and it’s just then Shota realizes that someone, Hizashi, his brain adds, must’ve been sleeping on the edge of his mattress. “Sweetheart, are you awake and panicking, or do I need to call for a nurse?”

It’s only after the startled, tired words from his husband that Shota realizes his heart monitor is beeping wildly in warning, and he can feel his heart thumping anxiously in his chest. He can almost picture Hizashi’s worried expression at being startled awake by it—bottom lip caught between his teeth, being worried nervously as a small frown tugs at the corners of his lips.

“No nurse,” Shota manages to croak out, wincing at how hoarse he sounds, “I... I’m awake.”

Shota tries in vain to calm him raging heart, but his thoughts are still clouding his brain. He’s so confused. He’d seen Oboro, and he’d seen the cloud Quirk. He’d seen both, when logically, he shouldn’t have seen either. Oboro was dead. The Quirk had died along with him.

Shota feels Hizashi’s fingers fan out along his hip, thumb stroking slow, comforting lines across his blanket covered skin. It does wonders to calm his heart, not enough that he’s calmed completely, but enough that the machine isn’t beeping fast, or loud enough to draw in unwanted attention from medical staff.

“Do you know where you are, Sho?”

The dark-haired man ducks his head in a painful nod, grunting out his location for no other reason than to appease his husband, “hospital.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Villains,” Shota forces out bluntly, voice dry and cracking.

His thoughts are still running rampant in his head. He knows he should be asking about his students. About the well-being of Tsuyu, Midoriya and Minoru, as well as all of his students who he hadn’t seen since sending them off with Thirteen.

He can only hope they followed instructions better than Midoriya and the other two.

He knows he should ask about them though; make them his first concern as their teacher, but his lagging brain is still stuck on one thing. On one person, and the question slips out past his pain medication-stalled brain-to-mouth filter, “where’s Oboro?”

“Where’s O-Oboro?” Hizashi’s fingers still against his hip, tensing just the slightest bit before his husband forces them back into motion. It’s not as smooth now, an anxious shake to his hands that Hizashi is trying to hide. “Baby... Oboro is... well, w-what’s the last thing you remember, Sweetheart?”

At this, Shota scoffs under the bandages.

“I don’t have brain damage, or memory loss, ‘zashi. I... I know that he’s...” Shota sucks in a breath that tastes faintly of sterile cotton, feeling stupid for even mentioning Oboro. Of course, it had been an illusion. Oboro is dead. He’d simply been seeing things with his body and mind in such a weak, exhausted state. “It’s been thirteen years since that villain attack. I was at the USJ with my 1-A students and Thirteen. We were supposed to be doing rescue training, but instead we were attacked by villains. It’s hazy, but I remember it.”

“That’s a relief, Sho,” Hizashi mutters, fingers losing the tension and trailing up towards his stomach before drawing back and repeating the motion. Hizashi is a touchy-feely kinda person, and he’s the only one Shota will allow to touch him like this. It calms them both simultaneously. “I was warned you might’ve woken up confused, or even with loss of memory due to the head injury, for a second there, I thought it was true... I had no idea how I would’ve eased ya into thirteen years worth of memory loss.”

“No,” Shota replies tiredly, trying (and failing) to lift a hand to touch his husband. He gives up trying to move, but faintly feels the soft pressure of Hizashi’s other hand settling over his bandage covered wrist. “I remember it all... and then some, I suppose. I guess I wasn’t in my right mind towards the end... Is everyone alright? The students? Thirteen?”

Hizashi blows out a slow breath, and Shota tenses up at the reaction.

“Everyone’s alive,” the blonde-haired man allows softly, the fingers on Shota’s hip slowing thoughtfully. “You and Thirteen took the worst of the damage. You’ve been out for two days, and Thirteen has been here too due one of those villains using her own Quirk against her. The students are all okay; minor injuries mostly, nothing more than scrapes and bruises. Midoriya had a couple broken fingers, and uh, well, he broke his legs using his Quirk again. There was some bad bruising on his arm, but Recovery Girl took care of him.”

Shota’s quiet for a second, just enjoying the way Hizashi’s fingers trail against his side, “and what’s the damage?”

“You broke both your arms, in multiple places. Chiyo came by after dealing with the students to speed up the process, but she only managed to mend the worst of the breaks. You were pretty exhausted by that point. You had a nasty concussion as well, hence the memory loss warning...” Hizashi pauses for a second, and Shota feels his husband shifting subconsciously like he wants to add something more.

“What?” Shota tilts his head to the side that the hands are located, squeezing his eyes shut as he refrains from wincing at the sharp pain his movements prompt. Hizashi, too wise for his own good, spots the action easily, hand lifting off of Shota’s wrist to gently cup his cheek.

“Try not to move around so much, Babe, you’re gonna be doing a lot of au naturel healing until your stamina builds up.” The words are accompanied by his thumb carefully stroking Shota’s gauze covered cheek before he pulls away with a tired sigh.

The hand on his hip is retracted as well, but there’s a weight on the bed that signifies Hizashi crossing his arms on the mattress and leaning forwards. “There was some damage to your eyes too. They’re not sure if the damage will last, or if it’s even impacted your vision at all, but it’s a possibility.”

“Okay,” the breath feels like it’s knocked out of Shota’s lungs as he lets Hizashi’s words sink in. He’d known some of those hits had been too close to his eyes for comfort. He knows there’d been pain, stinging in his eyes from concrete debris and impact. But he also knows he saw Oboro and Midoriya just fine after all that had taken place. Maybe it was a bit fuzzy, but he could see. “Anything else?”

“Besides some sexy, badass scars? Not really. Your elbow took a hit that stumped the doctors and Chiyo. She couldn’t really do much to help with it, and there’s a fairly deep wound below your eye that will also scar. And, of course, none of that stuff scratches the surface of the mental trauma that’ll certainly leave a scar.”

“There is no mental trauma,” Shota scoffs, though he’s almost sure Hizashi will already be booking him a therapist appointment for after he’s discharged from the hospital. And he’ll dutifully go, despite his protests because the both of them preach mental health to their students when they need it, and he’s not a hypocrite.

“I beg to differ, Babe.”

Shota stiffly shakes his head, which prompts a screech of concern from Hizashi: “ShotaaAA! Quit movin’ around so much! You’ll hurt yourself!”

Shota relaxes into the pillows, silently wishing he could use his Quirk on his loudly protective husband. “Loud.” The raven mutters helplessly as he angles his chin upwards, and if his eyes were open and uncovered, he’d be staring at the ceiling as he mulls over Hizashi’s comment on his elbow, “it was a Quirk.”

“Awh, I’m sorry, Sho. I bet your head’s still a bit sore, huh? I’ll try’n keep it down, but I’m used to you shutting me up when I forget...” Hizashi’s sheepish voice quiets for a moment after that, before he speaks again, slow and almost confused, “what was?”

“My elbow,” Shota feels tired again, like the conversation had drained what little energy he’d woken up with. “The villain, the leader of the League of Villains, has a decaying Quirk of some sort. I don’t know how it works, but I think it has something to do with his fingers. It was only when he put all five fingers on my elbow that his Quirk activated. He’s clever, ‘zashi, he figured out my Quirk through observing me fighting the other villains he brought in. He figured out my hair was the tell that my Quirk was active...”

“The League of Villains?” Hizashi’s voice took a careful edge to it, and Shota could see the frown on his husband’s face. “I haven’t heard of them before...”

Shota hadn’t either, so he raises his shoulders in a pained shrug. “They’re the real deal—they broke into Yuuei during the confusion of the media getting in, they’re the ones who let the media in as a distraction. They targeted us when most of the Pros would be busy sorting out that mess. They managed to get passed our security measures... that’s no easy feat. They’re smart. A serious threat.”

“What did they want?” Hizashi asks slowly, “I mean, you don’t just break into a such a highly secure school for shits and giggles unless you either want something, or you’re trying to prove something. Nezu was pretty tightlipped about it, and to be frank, I didn’t stick around long to chat with the students after making sure they were all alright, not when you were in the state you were in.”

“All Might,” Shota breathes out a stuttered breath. “They were looking for All Might, the students were just easy targets and bait. They knew he was supposed to be there with Thirteen and I... He was going to kill them, ‘zashi. He was going to use his decay Quirk on Tsuyu, Midoriya and Minoru while I was—”

“They’re okay, Sho.” Hizashi’s voice is soft and delicate; as is the way he shifts slightly, before all his weight disappears from the bed.

There’s a second where Shota panics, but it’s abruptly quelled by the fact the pressure returns, only now, Hizashi’s weight is at his side; a hip pressing against Shota’s own as the voice hero settles gently beside him. He feels Hizashi’s arm curling around his shoulder, carefully pulling him against his side in an attempt not to irritate his injuries. Shota allows himself to be man-handled, melting back into his husband’s shoulder.

He resists the urge to curl completely into his husband, just for the sake of his aching arms and face, letting Hizashi’s soothing voice calm him instead, “you kept them safe. Tsuyu told me you did. You kept them all safe. You and Thirteen.”

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Shota croaks out, his heart monitor gives a panicked string of beeps before evening out again as Shota forces himself to calm down. “They’ve only been at Yuuei for two weeks, and they’ve already encountered dozens of villains. That’s too soon. They’re too young, Zashi. Too inexperienced right now...”

“I know,” Shota feels Hizashi’s cheek press against his temple, holding him close. “You can’t control villain attacks, Sho. They’re bound to happen in this society, the best we can do is keep them safe, and teach them how to keep themselves and others safe in the process. And you did. They’re all just fine.”

Shota doesn’t say anything, just angles his head to tuck under Hizashi’s chin. His husband lets out a fond huff as he tightens his grip perfectly so Shota feels secure, but also so his injuries aren’t being aggravated. “Anyways, the kids are all fine, so do me a favor, yeah? Worry about you. You look like a mummy wrapped up like that. Also... I’m a lil’disappointed only one of us is concerned about your well-being, and it’s not you.”

Shota lets out a gruff huff; halfheartedly straightening up to bump the top of his head against Hizashi’s chin in retaliation. It’s entirely worth the sharp jolt of pain at his movements.

“Hey!” the blonde yelps, but it’s quickly overpowered by soft snorts of amused laughter at Shota’s expense. He feels, just faintly, Hizashi rubbing at his chin with the hand not wrapped around him, before it drops to pat Shota’s head. “You’ve got one thick head, Babe.”

“You have a bony chin, ‘zashi.”

“Hey!” Hizashi squawks a second time. Hizashi’s feigned annoyance doesn’t carry on long—it's just seconds later that the blonde-haired man his turning his own head so his cheek settles on the top of Shota’s head. His arm has curled around entirely, hand resting against Shota’s sternum, where his finger draws lazy shapes.

They settle into a comfortable silence that’s only disturbed by the repetitive, soft beeps of the heart monitor. It’s long since steadied out, and Shota knows that’s entirely Hizashi’s presence and the fact he’s tucked in close to him.

“Hey, Sho...” Hizashi’s voice breaks the silence.

The dark-haired man gives a hum of acknowledgement, but doesn’t move a muscle.

“You were... Earlier, when you first woke up, w-what brought up Oboro? Why... why did you think he was here?”

“It’s stupid,” the man shakes his head now, letting out a sigh. “I thought that I... I thought I saw him there... With Midoriya. But that’s impossible, because he’s dead.”

“Sho...” Hizashi sucks in a sharp breath.

“I know,” Shota lets out a second, deeper sigh.

He knows what Hizashi’s thinking.

The last time he’d been hellbent on seeing Oboro had been just after that villain attack that had taken Oboro’s life. He’d been so sure he’d heard Oboro’s voice in the comms. He’d heard his friend promising he was okay, and telling him to keep going and that he could do it—so he had.

And it was only after everyone was safe, and the villain apprehended that reality crashed down on him. Where he’d come to realize Oboro’s comm had been busted; where he’d begged and pleaded to see Oboro, who he’d been certain was still alive.

“This isn’t like that,” Shota squeezes his eyes tighter shut. “It was just an illogical illusion. Maybe it was guilt—not being able to save my kids like I wasn’t able to save him, or maybe it was just my brain placing someone there with them who I know would protect them even if I was unable...”

“You were exhausted and in pain,” Hizashi’s breath floods across Shota’s shoulder. “That’s alright, Sho. Even if it was illogical, I’m glad it’s him you saw. He’d protect those kids to his last breath...” the again was left unsaid, but heard loud and clear by Shota.

“Y’know,” Hizashi hums softly after a second’s pause, “I think he would’ve taken a shine to Midoriya. They kinda got the same smile, ya’dig? Florescent personalities... wild determination...”

Shota lets out a soft laugh that comes out more like a snort, “I think you’re right.”

Shota leans back more, now angling himself so the back of his head is supported on Hizashi’s shoulder. He doesn’t feel the stiffness of Hizashi’s leather hero costume, so he assumes his husband is in his civilian clothes.

The fatigue is catching up to him now, and by the hum his husband gives, he’s sure that a new round of pain medication is being administered via IV drip. That floaty feeling is coming back.

“I’m glad I got to see him again...” Shota mumbles drowsily, “even if just for a second. He looked so... normal. Like he hadn’t aged a day. Still so bright.”

“I wish I could’ve seen,” Hizashi whispers in reply, letting his own head lean against Shota, cheek settling against the raven’s temple. “Feelin’ tired, Sweetheart? You should rest up so Chiyo can use her Quirk to help your healing along. I hate seeing you like this...”

Shota gives a languid hum, subconsciously curling in closer. “I miss him.”

“Me too,” Hizashi sighs, reaching up to rub at his face with the hand not around Shota.

“I just...”

“Just what, Sho?”

“He wasn’t there... he couldn’t have been. But... I saw him and... I saw the clouds too... I can make excuses for seeing him; there’s plenty, but I can’t find a logical explanation for those clouds...”

Shota’s already so far gone in the medication he doesn’t feel Hizashi tense behind him. He doesn’t feel his husband turn to look at him—to stare at his bandage covered face, jaw dropping at the words.

Hizashi’s mouth feels dry, eyes widened as he regards his husband carefully.

“Shh, just... you just rest now, okay? We’ll talk more later, alright?”

Another barely audible hum from Shota, followed by both his breaths and heart monitor slowly evening out.

Hizashi had arrived at The USJ with the rest of the teachers.

All classes had been put on lockdown at the news that the USJ was infested with villains, but the only thought to cross Hizashi’s mind was that that was where Shota and 1-A had been training. Dozens of villains against two Pro Heros and twenty first year students who barely had two weeks of classes under their belts.

There’s a rush of all available Pros, Iida from Shota’s class tagging along with them.

All Might had apparently already arrived at the USJ, and Hizashi could only hope that there were no casualties; students or teachers.

Iida had reported dozens of criminals—speaking fast and desperately, which was different to how the young man usually talked so formally. It must be bad if it had Iida Tenya so flustered.

When they’d arrived, just a couple minutes after All Might, but a lot can happen in just a couple minutes when it comes to villain fights, so everyone got to work. Snipe took out the bigger threats with his precision shots, while Hizashi himself cleared the stairs leading to the exit with his Quirk, easily overpowering the horde of the villains who were slowly trekking up to get to the students.

He’d seen Shota out of the corner of his eye, draped over Shoji’s back and shoulders and hanging lifelessly. The panic of seeing him like that had his heart pounding in his chest, but he knew he had to keep himself together.

Not only did the students not know the two of them were married, but he’d also like to not show any sort of affection that could negatively affect either his own, or Shota’s hero work, when there was so many villains around.

Besides, the students would be more panicked if his husband was dead. He was just badly hurt. That’s what he kept telling himself, at least. Still, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to forget how still, and bloody Shota is on Shoji’s back. It’s something out of his own personal nightmares.

He was badly injured—that's all Hizashi could see every time he snuck a glance over his shoulder, or let his eyes linger too long. He wanted nothing more than to sprint to Shota’s side, and take him into his arms.

But he can’t yet. He has to make sure the students are alright. He has to help with the clean up here. Shota was alive. He was alive, and currently in an ambulance on the way to the hospital for help—and if anything did happen to Shota, he’d be called, considering he was Shota’s healthcare proxy.

So, until he got that call, he’d do damage control with the other teachers until he could manage to slip away to be with his husband.

It doesn’t take long to neutralize all the villains. All Might had appeared to be in a heated battle with one of the main villains when they’d arrived, and Hizashi had only had a second where his heart had dropped into his stomach at seeing Midoriya, Bakugou, Kirishima and Todoroki right there in the fight with him.

He had to trust All Might not to let any of the kids be harmed.

The villain All Might is facing off against gets shot by Snipe a couple times before he can get his hands on any of the kids (he’d been trying to reach Midoriya, but thankfully was rerouted by the shot). Thirteen, injured, but still fighting, tries to capture the two villains in her Quirk, but they manage to warp out of the USJ before either can be apprehended, or caught in the blackhole Quirk.

Hizashi has a sneaking suspicion that that’s how all these villains got in in the first place.

After securing the place, Detective Naomasa and his officers arrive in, and the students are escorted out of the building. And, now that the threat’s gone too, Thirteen is loaded into an ambulance and sent to the hospital.

Hizashi doesn’t see Midoriya, or All Might after the event. He’d just barely seen Cementoss wall off the number-one hero and the student he’d taken a liking too. He’d definitely overdone it, no doubt in his weak form after all that. Hizashi’s just glad he’d managed to keep it up for the whole fight.

The blonde watches halfheartedly as a huge creature thing is collected and cuffed. Securely cuffed, and loaded into a secure Quirk cancelling SWAT truck. It doesn’t speak, or do anything other than move as directed.

Hizashi shuffles his cellphone from his pocket to see if he’s got a call from the hospital, but there’s nothing yet.

So, he’ll check in with some of the students.

Bakugou, Kirishima and Todoroki are all stood together, frowns on their faces.

“Okay, Listeners?” Hizashi cocks his head. “No injuries, you three are all okay?”

“We’re okay,” Todoroki answers with a light frown.

“We’re good,” Kirishima agrees before biting his lip, “I dunno about Midoriya though. I went to see if he was okay, but Cementoss wouldn’t let me.”

“Midoriya’s fine,” Hizashi promises, because he hadn’t heard anything about any students with severe injuries. “He’s with All Might, I think they’re going to Recovery Girl, so I’m sure you three can see him after the Detective’s finished with everyone’s statements.”

“I don’t wanna see that stupid Deku.” Bakugou hisses, turning his back to the group, but not moving away. Hizashi just arches an eyebrow at his back before looking between Todoroki and Kirishima.

“Well,” the voice hero clears his throat, giving the other two a small smile, “if you boys did, that’s where he’d be. Give him a bit of a breather first though, ya’dig?”

“Totally,” Kirishima grins.

Pleased with that, Hizashi makes his rounds through the 1-A class. He makes a mental list of kids he’s going to recommend to HoundDog to check in on throughout the next couple weeks. In a perfect world they’d all go see him, but for now, he’s pinpointing the ones who look the most shaken from the incident.

The last two students left to check in with are Tsuyu and Mineta, who’ve been talking with a detective for a while. He’d passed by them twice already, but they just no seem to be finishing up their statements, so the voice hero makes a beeline for them.

“Listeners! I’ve been waiting to check in with you two, have you been giving your statements this whole time?”

“We have. Ribbit.” Tsuyu nods solemnly.

“That was so crazy!” Mineta exclaims, looking up at him in awe. “We almost died.”

And that... well, that’s not something anyone wants to hear from a teenager’s mouth. Hizashi forces his expression to stay neutral, schooling his features.

He tries to think of a way to respond to that—I'm sorry? No. That’s... that’s cool? Definitely no. Instead, he blinks in surprise before forcing out his words, “I understand this was very traumatic incident. HoundDog, our school guidance counsellor, will be checkin’ in on you guys over the next few days, but please, if you have concerns or need to talk seek him out, do. Or even another teacher or guardian.”

“It was scary, ribbit,” Tsuyu tells him with a frown.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Listener,” Hizashi tells her honestly.

“Scary?” Mineta whines, “that was terrifying! We’d be toast if it weren’t for Sensei and Midoriya!”

“You were with Midoriya and Eraserhead?” Hizashi tried hard to school his surprise.

Tsuyu nods, “they saved me. A villain tried to use his Quirk on me, but Sensei erased his Quirk before he could—”

“And then Midoriya turns around and tried to punch ‘im!” Mineta continues loudly.

Tsuyu regards the short boy before looking back at Hizashi, “he did, ribbit. But he ended up punching that monster thing the police found, but it didn’t really work. It was strong.”

“I thought we were goners,” Mineta’s face drops into and expression of sheer fear. “It grabbed Midoriya, and went to squash him like it did to Sensei, but then these... these clouds just up and appeared out of nowhere!”

Clouds? Out of nowhere? In a closed in building?

“Clouds?” Hizashi prompts after a second of thought.

Hizashi looks back towards the USJ as if he’d suddenly notice these clouds the students were talking about. He’d been in there earlier, and hadn’t seen any clouds.

“Weird, right? They filled in so fast, we couldn’t even see each other! And then they were lifting us up, and carrying us away. Just us two though, I dunno what happened to Midoriya. There was even a cloud hiding Sensei from the villains!”

“Ribbit,” Tsuyu nodded. “It’s true. But they disappeared suddenly and we fell a little bit. All the clouds disappeared at once. We... we think it was a villain who’d rescued us.”

“A villain?” Hizashi turns to look at them with raised eyebrows. "A villain... rescue you guys?"

The two students shrugged.

"We know everyone in our classes' Quirks..." Tsuyu reminds with a frown, "so it wasn't any of us. And it wasn't Sensei, or Thirteen... that just leaves the villains."

As true as that was, Hizashi just couldn't see it. A villain going against the plan and saving hero course students? The chances of that happening are in the negatives. There's not a lot of suitable explanations for the clouds, but a villain going rouge in the middle of an attack? Nearly impossible.

Plus, a Quirk like that would've been documented.

"And you two told the Detective all of this?"

"Sure did!" Mineta grins. "Too cool not to share. Those clouds were so cool, and how they just disappeared too! It almost makes up for the fact we almost died. Almost. That still sucked."

Hizashi eyes the kid for a second, only to jolt as his phone buzzes in his pocket. His heart hammers in his chest as he's reminded of his husband's condition. The blonde-haired man forces a smile at the two teens before taking a step back and sliding his phone out of his pocket, "excuse me, Listeners, I gotta take this, yo."

With a wave thrown over his shoulder, he answers the call and makes his way towards the school, where he'll pick up the car and make his way to the hospital after stopping at home to change into his civilian clothes. Last thing he needs it to be hassled by Present Mic fans when all he wants to do is be with his injured husband.

Hizashi spends the whole drive home, and to the hospital with his thoughts teetering between Shota, and the mysterious clouds the students had witnessed.

Chapter Text

Izuku hadn’t seen Oboro since he’d sent him away with Aizawa-Sensei after All Might had arrived in. The ghost had been hesitant, looking between Izuku and Sensei, who was draped over Shoji’s back.

Izuku had blatantly told the ghost to go with Sensei—even if Oboro had put up a halfhearted fight that he should stay. The fight wasn’t over just because All Might had arrived in—there were still villains milling about, and students scattered across the USJ arena. Izuku knew that Oboro wanted to be with him, that he wanted to help out, but he also knew he desperately wanted to be with Aizawa-Sensei too.

So, Izuku had made the decision for his friend, head lulling in the Oboro’s general direction, taking effort not to focus his gaze on the ghost directly as he forces out a stern “Go.” that Oboro would be stupid to refute. And he follows that up with a half-smile shot in the ghost’s direction, “Sensei needs someone with him... For my sake, stay with him, and...and come find me if anything changes for the worst, alright?”

And just like that, Oboro had a mission. Hitting two birds with one stone; tagging along with Aizawa-Sensei, while also being Izuku’s personal message boy should it come down to that (the green-haired boy prays it doesn’t, but he’s glad to know that he’ll know directly if something does happen, instead of how teachers tend to skirt around the truth to spare their feelings).

So, the ghost had left, following behind Shoji and Aizawa-Sensei, almost afraid to get to close. He hovers, but from a distance, shooting uncertain looks back at Izuku until they’re out of sight.

It’s not too long after they’re gone that the rest of the Pro teachers arrive—he hears Present Mic before he sees him, the echoing effect of his Quirk making Izuku’s ears ring the faintest bit. He almost feels sorry for the villains in close range, because Present Mic was actually aiming his voice at them, Izuku was just getting the second-hand waves.

Still, Izuku stays by All Might’s side, because he knows something the others don’t. All Might isn’t doing so well. He knows that All Might’s power usage quota was getting smaller and smaller the more he exerted himself, and he’s almost sure that’s why he hadn’t been with Sensei and Thirteen that morning.

Not even to mention the fact that this creature, the Nomu, can withstand the power of Izuku’s One for All punch, so in turn, it gives All Might a run for his money too.

The boy is exhaustingly glad when Kirishima, Kacchan and Todoroki join them in the battle. He’s not sure how much longer he and All Might could’ve lasted alone. Kacchan just barely manages to save Izuku’s face from crumbling apart like Aizawa-Sensei's elbow had when the decaying-Quirked villain’s arm shoots out through the warping portal, heading straight for Izuku’s face.

Everything comes to an abrupt end when the decay-Quirked villain gets shot—once and then a couple more times for good measure. He doesn’t need to look to see Pro Hero: Snipe at the entrance of the USJ, the last place he’d seen the rest of his classmates.

The villain and his sidekick, the warping villain, are gone before Izuku can so much as glance in their direction. They’ve warped away in the confusion of the Pros arriving in with their Quirks, All Might launching their attack Nomu out of the building, and Thirteen (who Izuku peers at in genuine surprise because holy heck she’s injured), who’s trying to capture them in her Blackhole Quirk.

As upsetting as that is, the two most dangerous villains of all who’d arrived in for the ambush had gotten away, he was also incredibly relieved. Everyone was safe now—the biggest threats gone, and the Pros were quickly rounding up those remaining villains for the police, who were no doubt on the way. His classmates were all being found and brought back, and as far as he could see, no one was injured too badly.

Izuku can see the steam coming off of All Might, and he knows that he wouldn’t have been able to handle staying in his form for much longer. Even now, he’s struggling.

They’re saved just in the nick of time as Cementoss erects a cement wall between Izuku and All Might, and Kacchan, Kirishima and Todoroki. It just as his friends leave his view that All Might’s bulky hero form collapses into the weak state Izuku had first seen on top of that building that first day of meeting the Hero.

It’s a blur after that.

The two of them are whisked away by Pros, hidden away from students being escorted out to safety and the police flooding in to contain and arrest the villains that remain.

All Might promises that Izuku is fine to be with him, despite his state, and then promptly uses Izuku’s injuries to grant him a ticket to Recovery Girl along with him. It’s surprising, in a way it shouldn’t be, that most of the Pro Hero teachers know of All Might’s weakened state. Izuku wonders briefly how many actually know of One for All, but determines that very few must because All Might is so hesitant about it.

He’d been upset when Izuku had told Kacchan, and he still needed to break the news that he’s maybe, kinda mentioned it to Sensei, even if he hadn’t given out any vital details.

Still, they know enough to be worried about Izuku seeing his weak form. Cementoss actually apologizes for not being able to wall Izuku off like he had the others, but All Might just laughs at it, as he awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck, promising that it’s fine and that he doesn’t mind a student seeing as opposed to four students seeing.

Izuku doesn’t remember a lot of his time with Recover Girl. He remembers her pressing a kiss to his forehead and he remembers the pain of his shattered fingers easing as they healed. He thinks he remembers Recovery Girl hitting All Might, a growl of words shot at him, but he doesn’t remember what she’d said.

And then she’d stepped out. Possibly to check on the other students outside the USJ now that Izuku and All Might were taken care of. Maybe even to go to Aizawa-Sensei and Thirteen, who were in serious need of a good healer like her.

For a moment, Izuku thinks the worst. What is Sensei wasn’t okay? He’d be okay, right? He’d been... he’d looked bad slumped over Shoji’s shoulders. He was severely injured, but he’d be okay... Right?

Izuku puts an abrupt stop to those worrying thoughts when he remembers that Oboro is with him, and he’s sure he’d have a side of sobbing ghost had anything happened to his Sensei. Oboro had promised to report back, and he trusted the ghost to keep him in the loop.

All Might had been silent at Izuku’s side. The teen was drowsily settled on the bed, staring down at his bandaged fingers. The bones were mending, and he could see the edges of the dark bruising not covered by bandages lightening. It hurt still, but nowhere near what it had been.

“Are your injuries still sore, Young Midoriya?”

Izuku snaps his attention to his mentor, shaking his head. “No, not... not really. A bit sore, I guess, but I can handle it. I was... I was thinking.”

“What about?”

“Sensei,” Izuku almost winces as he says the name. Izuku brain stalls on the fact that All Might is technically also his Sensei. He’s sure All Might got the gist of it, Aizawa was their main Sensei, still, he feels the need to correct himself, so he slowly repeats himself to clear up any confusion, “I mean... Aizawa-Sensei. He... well, you saw him.”

“I did,” the man winces a nod, leaning back in his chair beside Izuku’s bed, “I’m sure he’ll be alright, My Boy. Aizawa is a strong, persistent man. It’ll take more than that to get rid of him.”

“Yeah,” Izuku mutters absently. He can’t help but think of the worst. He’d seen Sensei have his face pressed into the concrete. He’d seen how Oboro, who’d had a front seat view, had wailed in frustration. And then had bad Sensei had looked as he was carried out... Izuku was sure he’d have nightmares. “I hope so.”

There’s a lingering of silence. Izuku stares blankly at the wall, but he can feel All Might’s eyes on him. He’s studying him, watching him carefully. But Izuku trust All Might. They’ve gotten close since that first encounter.

“Is there something else on your mind, My Boy?”

Izuku lets his attention drift back to his mentor, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. He knows he’s gotta tell All Might. The hero deserves to know that someone else knows about the Quirk, well, kinda.

He hadn’t spilled the beans about One for All, thankfully, but he had mentioned his new Quirk. And to someone as observant as Aizawa, he’s not sure how long it’ll be before his Sensei starts noticing things and piecing it all together.

He doesn’t want to keep secrets from All Might, and he knows that the Number One hero might start getting suspicious of the extra training sessions he has with Sensei. And it’s best he tell him now, instead of down the road after All Might has been mauled by Aizawa-Sensei for giving Izuku a Quirk as powerful as One for All as hazardously as he had. So... yeah, he should probably give Toshinori a bit of a heads up.

Aizawa-Sensei was already upset enough that Izuku hadn’t told him at the beginning of the year that he’d just recently gotten his Quirk, he’d hate to think about what Sensei would do to the Number One Hero, who he already has a dislike of, when he finds out All Might had explicitly told Izuku not to tell anyone.

“There’s... something I have to tell you.”

“Oh?” Toshinori prompts with a tilt of his head, “you can tell me anything.”

“Sensei, uhm, he kinda knows about my Quirk.”

All Might freezes abruptly, gaze searching Izuku for any sign he was joking. The man draws in a steadying breath before his gaze locks back on the boy, “knows... what?”

“Not about One for All!” Izuku hurries to say, heart thrumming with panic, “I promise! Just... just that I got it recently. I uhm I told him that I got it on the day of the Entrance Exam, but he thinks I’m just... a late bloomer. I just, I couldn’t... it’s not fair to do it alone, All Might. I know that you... you did, but I can’t and I’m falling behind in class, and this is my dream—I-I I want to be a hero, but I can’t do it alone--”

“I didn’t do it alone,” All Might frowns, gaze surveying over the teen softly. “I had a mentor too.”

“You did?” a breath rushes out of Izuku’s lungs.

“Yes, I did.” The man gives a light laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I... I apologize, young Midoriya. I’m not... I’m not a good mentor. Not like my mentor was. I know it’s not fair, I do. I know I haven’t been great at this; you’ve been making more progress alone than you have been with me. You’ve had to shoulder a lot of this alone, and that isn’t fair either. I’ve been... completely unfair. I suppose I got ahead of myself. We’re different people, and I... I had a really good teacher when it came to learning One for All.”

“You’re not angry?” Izuku frowns. He shifts antsily on the bed, wincing as his broken fingers tense anxiously. All Might hadn’t been angry when Izuku had told Kacchan, but he hadn’t been pleased either. He’d seen the unease in the man’s eyes, but there was none of that now.

“At myself? Yes.” Toshinori sighs, hunching forwards, “at you? No. To tell you the truth, I’m a little relieved Aizawa knows. He’s a good teacher and I know he’ll aid you, and your process of mastering One for All far better than I. I regret not being there when you needed me, and I regret not being able to give you the help you deserve. I’ve been a subpar mentor for you, but I hope you’ll still come to me with any question about One for All that you might have.”

“Of course!” Izuku nods vigorously, “I definitely will, All Might. I know you’ve been trying. I do, I just... I need help sometimes and you’re not always available. I’m sorry I told Sensei without asking.”

“No need for that, my Boy,” Toshinori smiles, “you didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing wrong with getting help with it, you just can’t... I have to remind you that you can’t tell him any of the secrets of One for All. I trust Aizawa, but it’s dangerous for too many people to know... I do hate to put that burden on you, but it sadly comes along with the Quirk.”

“I understand,” Izuku swallows, playing with his own fingers. There’s a lot he doesn’t know about his new Quirk, but he does trust All Might to tell him what he needs to know.

The pro smiles at him, almost sadly. Izuku returns a lighter one, and then they settle into a quiet conversation about how Izuku’s classes have been going, and stories about All Might’s Hero work.

Izuku leaves Recovery Girl’s office feeling lighter than he had in months. Sensei knew. All Might knew that Sensei knew, and wasn’t mad. And Izuku would finally be getting help with his Quirk—well, when Sensei was better...

“We need to talk.”

Izuku jerks up from where he’s slouched over his journal at his bedroom desk, cocking his head at the ghost in his bedroom. He hadn’t seen him since sending him away to be with Aizawa-Sensei, but his sudden presence and the stern words had a chill of fear crawling up his spine.

It’s pretty late—Izuku had been thinking about heading to bed after working on the last few details he was adding to his book. He was exhausted from his visit with Recovery Girl, and the afterschool nap he’d taken in the infirmary hadn’t really helped recharge his stamina. A good night’s rest is what the old woman had cooed before sending him on his way with his fingers wrapped and his bruised forearm an interesting flourish of healing yellow-ish brown.

"W-we do?” Izuku swallows heavily, shutting his journal as he turns in the chair to give Oboro his full attention. “Is... is Sensei alright? He’s not...” dead, Izuku can’t force out, mouth drying at just the thought, “is he?”

“What?” Oboro looks confused for a second before his eyes widen and he shakes his head furiously, “no—I mean, yes, he’s fine. Well, not fine, but he’s... he’s getting there? He’s... he’s still unconscious and... they’re not sure when he’ll wake up. He’s been seen by a lot of doctors with healing Quirks, and RG stopped in a bit ago too... Sho’s okay, don’t worry. He’ll.... He’ll survive.”

“Thank God,” Izuku blows out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in. “You can’t just scare me like that! I thought you were popping in here to tell me he’d died!”

Guilt clouds the ghost’s face as he shrugs sheepishly, “sorry, Izu. He’s really okay.”

Izuku takes another couple seconds to swallow down the panic that had bubbled up, as well as to try and get his breathing under control before finally looking back up at the ghost.

He regards Oboro carefully, unsure, “if it’s not about Sensei, then, then... what is it?”

That seemed to be all Oboro needed for the sheepish guilt to freeze back into the sternness from when Oboro had first appeared. “What the hell was that today?”

“W-what...?” Izuku blinks at the ghost. Oboro’s back in his school uniform. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and a look of glaring uncertainty on his face. “What the hell was what? The villain attack? Why would I know anything about that?”

“Are you kidding me?” Oboro squawks, arms flapping in a way that matches the noise he’d made. Like a surprised bird. “No, not the villain attack! That whole thing with the clouds? That thing where my clouds were in the real world? That thing where I touched you like—like physically touched you? Do you know how long it’s been?? You were there for that—I know you were. I just—w-we—What the hell was it?”

“That all...” Izuku’s throat feels tight, “that really happened?”

“Yes!” Oboro snaps, eyes wide with disbelief, “I literally floated your classmates away on a cloud. I’ve never made so many clouds at once, Izuku—I mean, there was the one we were on, the ones your friends were on, the one hiding Sho, and the one keeping the villains trapped... I’ve never... it’s... it’s impossible, Izuku. I’m dead. You’re alive. My Quirk shouldn’t... I shouldn’t be able to... and, and— I’ve tried for years to touch people and I did—I touched you, I felt you!”

Oboro is almost in hysterics now, and Izuku can’t help but feel the same. There’s a sickening panic swirling in his stomach. He really had thought that he’d imagined it—or that he’s at some point taken a hit to the head. It was impossible.

“You used your clouds to rescue Tsuyu and Mineta...”

“That’s the part you focused on?” Oboro snorts, shooting a soft glare at the green-haired boy, “I did,” he furrows his eyebrows, “but I don’t know how I did!”

Izuku’s not sure what the ghost wants him to say.

“Okay, so... how’d you... why did... how’d it happen?”

“I. Don’t. Know. Do you even hear what I’m saying? I just told you I have no idea what the hell happened!” the ghost snarls, but there's no real heat in it. In fact, Oboro looks scared. Uncertain in the way he marches to Izuku’s bed and drops like deadweight onto the mattress. “What did you do?”

“Me?” Izuku swirls in his desk chair to meet the ghost’s stern eyes, “what did I do? It was your Quirk! I can’t make clouds! I don’t even have a Quirk, Oboro! What do you mean what did I do? What did you do??”

“Ghosts can’t use their Quirk! I hardly even exist outside of you!” Oboro snapped, “don’t you think that if I could’ve, I would’ve already? I don’t have a physical form, I’m just... I don’t even know! I’m a soul, or a spirit, or whatever the hell ghosts actually are! You know, the first thing I tried to do when I realized I didn’t make it out alive was try to use my Quirk. And guess what? Didn’t work!”

“Okay!” Izuku forces out, straightening his back before he stands. He doesn’t even notice he’s pacing anxiously. “Okay. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’m just... what the hell is happening? I don’t even... one second I was about to die, and the next you’re there, and you’re touching me, and there’s clouds everywhere and I thought I imagined that and—and—”

“Hey, hey, wait a sec,” Oboro jumps up, anger from before melting into genuine concern.

Izuku’s hazy mind takes a second too long to realize he hadn’t been breathing, and it’s only when the ghost is at his side and has brushed a hand through his wrist that he draws in a sharp, stuttered breath, “take a breath, okay? Calm down, Izu, it’s okay.”

The lightheadedness alerts him that he’d slipped into a panic attack, but the cool chill of Oboro’s presence cools him down relatively fast. It’s obvious to the both of them that he hadn’t had a second to really think about the USJ, let alone decompress from it. He sucks in a couple deep breaths under Oboro’s careful instructions. He wishes he could hug Oboro. He wishes he could feel him again, just so he didn’t feel so alone.

They stand side by side for a moment. The ghost doesn’t make a move to try and touch him again, and out of the corner of his eye, Izuku can see him gnawing on his bottom lip. Oboro wants to reach out and touch him, but he hadn’t gotten the same results as he had in the USJ when he’d tried.

Izuku’s so confused. This is confusing. Everything is a mess, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Are you alright now?” Oboro’s voice is so quiet Izuku almost doesn’t hear him. He turns his head to see the ghost watching him, frowning at him. His hand is outstretched, frozen in place like he’d been reaching to set a comforting hand on him again, only to stop abruptly when he remembered he couldn’t.

Izuku sucks in another breath before giving a shallow nod. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Oboro’s head ducks guiltily, slinking away from Izuku to collapse on the bed again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to... to cause an attack. I’m just so confused. For years... I’ve been alone. I haven’t been able to touch anyone, and barely able to touch material objects... to touch anything. My Quirk was as good as gone... and then suddenly, with you, I can, and it’s there and I panicked because how—how is it possible? It’s not, but it happened anyways.”

“Let’s... let’s think about this rationally,” Izuku tells him, shuffling towards his bed to sit against the headboard. Oboro is stretched out along the foot of his bed. Izuku pulls his knees up to his chest and lets his arms wrap snugly around them.

Oboro’s head lulls in his direction, and Izuku frowns at the fond smile on his face, “you sounded so much Sho right there. That Mister-Always-Rational attitude.”

“I did not,” Izuku pouts, turning his head to the side in an attempt to hide his expression, “and it’s true. There’s no point in us talking over each other, we won’t figure anything out that way. Let’s just... lay it all out on the table. Maybe then we can figure something about this out.”

“Okay,” Oboro agrees.

“Tell me about your Quirk?” Izuku cocks his head, gaze now back on the ghost. Oboro is staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest and legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

The ghost’s head turns back towards Izuku, and then he sits up, pulling his legs up to sit crisscross on the bed. He’s quiet for another second, thoughtful like he’s trying to figure out how to explain it.

It’s probably been a while since he’d even thought about his Quirk, especially if he hadn’t been able to use it.

“It’s called Cloud, but I already told you that. I can create them, and manipulate them at will. They can be dense enough to shield people from danger, and to withstand the weight of people and things on them, like us and your classmates, but they can also be used as distractions, like with the villains. I can alter the type of cloud and the density to suit whatever I need it for, but...” Oboro bites his bottom lip thoughtfully, “but I can’t usually make more than one or two, and it gets harder to control the more there are. I was... well, I was learning how to create a second cloud after the first when I... y’know.”

Izuku gives a slow knowing nod.

“One or two?” Izuku frowns, “but--”

“I know,” Oboro groans. “I know there were more than two at the USJ. That’s... I’ve never been able to do that. I told you, I panicked. You were like so close to having your face smashed in, in that villain with the decay Quirk was reaching for those two students, and Sho—he was... I panicked, okay? I told you I wasn’t sure I’d be able to manipulate and guide the clouds like I wanted, because I’d only been able have one-hundred percent control of a single cloud.”

Izuku’s head bows in another nod. That makes sense. But still, there had been five clouds total, all doing different jobs, of different densities, and he’d had to physically control three of them while keeping the other two completely steady—the one he and Oboro had been on going down, and the ones Mineta and Tsuyu had been on going sideways and down, all without disturbing Aizawa-Sensei's shield cloud, and the cloud keeping the villains confused and contained like a heavy fog.

“So, what’s different then?” Izuku mumbles into his knee, “what’s there now that wasn’t before?”

Oboro shoots him a dumbfounded look, “you, Izuku. You’re what’s changed.”

“Me?” Izuku blinks owlishly as the thought tries to make sense before he shakes his head, recoiling into himself more in disapproval. The boy squishes his mouth and nose into the gap between his knees before continuing, voice muffled, “there’s nothing special about me, Oboro. I don’t know what’s going on, but I doubt I have anything to do with it...”

“You see ghosts, Izuku,” the other teen stressed the word. “You see ghosts. You can see, and hear, and talk to us. I—I touched you, Izuku. I’ve never... I haven’t in so long, but I was desperate to get to you because... because I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I was just reaching to reassure you that I was there, and I... I wasn’t really thinking. And then my hand settled on your shoulder and... and it didn’t phase through like it always does and I guess my Quirk activated?”

“You did touch me,” Izuku agrees, head cocking to the side. “I remember that. You touched my shoulder and then my wrist. You pulled me back, right?” Those bits are a little hazy for Izuku. He remembers feeling the contact of it, but he didn’t even register it until Oboro had tugged him away—after they were part way up on a cloud.

“Yeah, I...” Oboro bows his head, “I don’t know. I just knew I had to get you away from that thing.”

“You saved me,” Izuku hums distantly. “You saved us all... thank you for... for saving my friends, and my Sensei and... and me.”

Izuku’s not sure how, but the ghost’s face lights up in a faint blush. He ducks his head to hide his cheeks, clearing his throat, “no biggie, I’d’ve done it for anyone. I’m just... I’m glad you’re all okay.”

It’s almost a funny thought that even in the afterlife, some heroes try to keep helping.

Oboro was a ghost, and he’d been the first one to follow Aizawa-Sensei into the fight, even though, technically, he wasn’t much help without a physical form or a Quirk. He’d run himself into the ground using up all his energy to distract the villains, only to keep fighting—more intensely if that were even possible—when Izuku and his classmates showed up. He had one goal, and that was keeping them all safe. It was to be a hero.

“You’re a hero,” Izuku tells him softly, finally lifting his face from his knees to smile at his friend, “thank you.”

“What kind of a Hero Course student would I be if I didn’t go Plus Ultra?” The ghost teases, but there’s a defeated sadness hidden in the way the smile twitches at the edges. He’s clearly trying to hide it, so Izuku doesn’t mention it.

The snort of laughter at the ‘Plus Ultra’ is completely involuntary from the green-haired teen, “y’know, if the uniform wasn’t a complete give away that you were a Yuuei student, that definitely would’ve been.”

“What can I say?” Oboro grins, and that sour curl of defeat had been wiped away from his expression, “Yuuei is practically in my blood at this point.”

Izuku lets out a good-natured laugh, letting his chin settle on his knee as he smiles. The mirth drains away, and the serious face of thoughtfulness is back at he mutters to himself. Oboro thinks briefly about tuning in and trying to decipher it, but Izuku’s speaking in what sounds like tongues that only he seems to be able to process.

“How were you able to touch me?” Izuku asks softly, but when Oboro’s glance settles back on the younger boy, ready to snap in annoyance once again that he didn’t know, he notices the green-haired boy’s gaze locked on the bedroom door across from him. Oboro’s jaw snaps shut. A rhetorical question.

It’s not even half a second later that Izuku’s turning towards him, eyes dark with determination, “touch me.”

“W-what?” Oboro swears his brain short circuits.

Izuku’s hand reaches out between them, palm upwards like he’s asking from a down-low high five. The hand is unwavering between them as Oboro hesitates. He’d drawn his hands up to his chest at the demand from Izuku, eyes flicking between Izuku’s face, and the hand outstretched to him.

“I’ll go through,” Oboro whispers hoarsely. He’s not sure why he’d afraid now. Phasing through Izuku hadn’t bothered him before, but now it does. Now there’d been a time where he hadn’t phased through him.

“You didn’t at the USJ,” Izuku reminds with a frown.

“I did when I tried to grab your wrist earlier,” the ghost refutes with a heavy frown.

He’d been hoping that maybe... well, he didn’t actually know what he’d really been hoping for. Maybe it was for whatever had happened in the USJ to have been permanent. That he’d be able to touch Izuku now—but that hopeful thought had been torn away when he’d almost stumbled to the ground after his hand fell right through Izuku’s panic shaken form.

Izuku’s lips move with silent mumbles for a moment before he’s looking back up, determination still bright in his green gaze, “try again.”

Oboro doesn’t move, he feels frozen in place. His hands are interlocked together and pressed to his chest like Izuku’s own hand will somehow burn through him if he touches him. Ironically, the opposite will happen he knows: it’ll be cold, and Izuku will get the chill, not him. Still, he can’t deny when Izuku’s face softens and a gentle, almost inaudible, “please?” slips from the boy’s mouth.

He lets his tense hands relax, untangling his fingers before inching closer. His hand hovers above Izuku’s, a frown on his lips. He almost smiles despite himself as Izuku wiggles his fingers lightly, as if trying to prompt Oboro towards him.

The ghost blows out a breath before slowly dropping his hand.

It goes through.

Izuku doesn’t so much as shiver at the chill Oboro knows is crawling up his arm, hand still outstretched and unwavering. It’s Oboro who withdraws like the chill had shot up his arm instead of the uncomfortable tingle that was actually there. “I told you—”

“Again,” Izuku’s biting his lip, eyes narrowed down at his outstretched hand, “think about it, Oboro. Want it. We’ve touched before, and we can again. Think about... think about the USJ. What was different there? Why’d it happen then?”

The USJ?

He hadn’t wanted it at the USJ; he’d desperately needed it. Shota, one of his best friends, was tipping between unconsciousness—walking the fine, fine line between surviving and death. The students were all in danger—that frog girl and the purple one. The villain was too close to them for comfort, would’ve used his Quirk on the girl is Shota hadn’t of activated his Quirk.

And Izuku—God, Izuku. He’d been running towards him before he’d even realized he was. He’d needed to get to the boy who was caught in that monster’s grasp. He couldn’t leave him alone—desperately needed to be by his side, even if it was just to be with him as he’d... the ghost didn’t even want to finish the thought.

They’d only known each other for a couple weeks, but it felt like they were brothers. Izuku was the only thing he had left, the only thing he’d had after so many years of isolation—

The green-haired boy gasped, the sound of it yanked Oboro away from his own thoughts. His attention shot up to Izuku briefly before it was flying around the room, searching wildly for whatever caused the sound to bubble up from the boy’s mouth. When he didn’t notice anything out of a place, no sign of a threat, the ghost let his gaze settle completely on Izuku.

Izuku’s gaze was downcast. Eyes wide and locked on something.

“Wha—” Oboro followed the teen’s attention down, where he expected to see a bug or something on the mattress; something out of place that would warrant that intense look and the gasp of...

Shock.

Izuku’s hand was... on his wrist. Izuku was holding his wrist. He couldn’t really feel it—but he could see it. Nimble, scarred fingers tightening around something that wasn’t even really there.

Oboro glares down at their hands—at Izuku’s hand on him. Touching him.

He knows his jaw drops, eyes wide with the matching shock, and surprise and genuine excitement to Izuku’s. They stare down for a while, both afraid to move.

“I’m touching you,” Oboro whispers out brokenly. He could cry. He was touching Izuku—he couldn’t feel it, but it was happening. It was happening before his eyes—they were touching. A living, breathing person was touching him, a ghost.

“Technically, I’m touching you,” Izuku mutters in awe. “This is... it’s...”

“Insane,” Oboro breathes out. “I can’t... I don’t feel it. I did earlier at the USJ, but now—”

Almost as if provoked by Oboro’s words, Izuku’s hand falls through his own wrist, the boy’s smaller body falling along with it and he barely catches himself on the mattress before toppling unsteadily off the bed. Oboro wants to cry now.

"I’m sorry,” the ghost forces out, chest feeling heavy with sadness and... and something familiar that Oboro can’t place.

“No, it’s okay. You’re tired,” Izuku shakes his head, sending him a light smile. He’s still in the position he’d landed in, and if Oboro had’ve been a solid form, he’d have a lapful of Izuku. He doesn’t feel Izuku phasing through him, nor does Izuku seem to feel the chill from literally being in the ghost’s lap.

“I’m... tired?” Oboro repeated, cocking his head like the concept was foreign—and it was, he was a ghost. The last time he’d slept was thirteen years ago. Ghosts didn’t sleep, he didn’t have a body to recharge. Nothing about him needed rest, and when he’d tried, he’d just ended up sitting, or laying there with his eyes closed like an idiot. A long, thirteen-year battle with constant insomnia.

Izuku gave an affirming hum, “at the USJ, you used all your energy when you were helping Aizawa-Sensei with the villains. I noticed it. It stopping being effective past a certain point—like when you tried to stop the decay-Quirked villain from touching Sensei. He didn’t even notice you—I doubt he even felt it, because I don’t feel anything right now.”

Oboro faintly remembers that. He’d been too desperate to really focus on the fact it wasn’t effective, he just needed to be helping however he could—and that meant throwing himself through anything that got too close.

“But we just touched,” Oboro mutters dumbly.

“And you were exhausted at the USJ when... when you used your Quirk.” The boy adds as he bites his lip thoughtfully, worrying it between his teeth so hard that Oboro fears he’ll split it open. “I’m not sure why it worked. Desperation, maybe? I was desperate to... uhm, well, to not die? And you were desperate to get to me... and to save everyone. It happened without either of us trying—we didn’t even know it could happen...”

The younger teen shifted in his spot as he stared unseeingly passed Oboro; shoulders hunched as he mouthed words to himself. He didn’t get carried away this time, and soon he was rejoining the conversation, “the USJ happened hours ago. Maybe you... I don’t know. I don’t want to use the word ‘recharged’ because you’re not a cellphone, but maybe you did? Like... not enough to do it again, but enough to start up—y'know?”

“You’re comparing me to a cellphone?” Oboro muses flatly.

“I’m bad at metaphors!” Izuku whines. “But it makes sense though! I mean, have you ever noticed how a smart phone will grasp at that last one-percent of its battery life? That’s what you did at the USJ. You used the remainder of your power, your, uhm, power-saving mode, to activate your Quirk. And then you’ve been, for lack of better words, and to go with the metaphor, charging since then. It must... it must take a lot of time to recuperate, for you to get your energy back...”

“You really are comparing me to a smartphone,” Oboro snorts.

“Shush!” Izuku shoots him a soft glare, continuing on as if Oboro hadn’t said anything at all, “we just used the rest of your energy— what little you regained from then, up until now. That’s why we touched for a couple seconds but couldn’t keep it going. Like... At the USJ, when you let go of me, everything disappeared. It was you ghost energy—your Quirk. When you physically weren’t there anymore, neither was your Quirk affects.”

“How do you know all this?” Oboro demands hesitantly, raising an eyebrow and blinking uncertainly at Izuku as he now starts to regain his composure and pull himself back up to a sitting position.

“I don’t,” Izuku snorts a laugh, “I’m theorizing. And analyzing. There’s no way too know any of this. This is... I’m pretty sure this a pretty unique situation.”

Neither say anything for a second before Izuku shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling in thought, “now the only question is, how’d you manage to manifest like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” the living teen jerks his gaze back down to Oboro, where he sees the ghost giving him a look that’s scarily similar to Sensei’s tired glare. It makes Izuku want to shrink in on himself, but he also knows this is Oboro and not his kinda-scary Sensei. “You did it, Izuku. It was you.”

“It couldn’t have been!” Izuku protests, “I don’t... how could I do that, Oboro?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, this whole seeing ghosts thing could be a Quirk? I mean, look at what happened today! I used my Quirk through you. It didn’t happen until I touched you, and don’t even get me started on the fact I touched you! Twice!”

“No,” Izuku frowns, “it hasn’t. It’s impossible. I’m Quirkless. Plus, I was born being able to see ghosts. It didn’t just randomly start when I was four, or five—and, not to mention the fact I have an extra toe-joint, and am medically diagnosed Quirkless.”

“You do realize mutation Quirks exist... righttt?”

Izuku’s thoughts stutter to a complete stop. A mutation Quirk? Him? That could explain the fact that he’d been seeing them as long as he could remember. Maybe it didn’t suddenly manifest when he was child because... because maybe it was already there. Could that really...

“I have an extra toe-joint,” Izuku’s protest comes out weak. “It was diagnosed... I saw the x-rays myself.”

“So, some medical Quack made a mistake.” Oboro tells him softly, but seriously, “misdiagnoses happen, Izu. He could’ve read ‘em wrong, or there could’ve been something faulty in the x-rays. Or maybe your Quirk, if it is a mutated one, could’ve messed with your toes. So little is known about mutation Quirks, it wouldn’t surprise me if you got misdiagnosed because of it; I don’t know—point is, normal people don’t see ghosts.”

“Normal people?” Izuku frowns. “Rude coming from the literal ghost.”

“The literal ghost only you can see,” Oboro teases, not even trying to look sheepish. “It’s the truth. You’ve had your Quirk this whole time and the USJ attack must’ve been an awakening of sorts. You’ve had the Quirk—it's seeing those who’re dead, but now we’ve seen that you can actually interact and use them. Use their Quirks!”

“I don’t want to use you,” Izuku pouts, “that makes me feel weird. Using someone. I don’t want to use someone...”

“Wrong choice of words,” Oboro tilts his head to shoot Izuku a light smile, “borrow then. You can borrow Quirks. And, well, technically I used you, I think? I mean, nothing happened until I touched you...”

“But did I prompt it? Like, did it happen because you touched me, or because I... I don’t know, because I wanted it to happen? Maybe the Quirk was active without me knowing... and, it’s gone both ways; you touched me at the USJ, but I touched you here.”

Oboro gapes like a fish, “uhm, I don’t... I don’t know?”

Izuku lets out a groan, “I have so many questions... and there’re so many tests we gotta run, well, after you’ve rested for a while, and, woah, I gotta like, record all this. I have a Quirk! You used my Quirk to use yours! Or... maybe I used my Quirk to use yours by using you as well...?”

“Stoppp! You’re making my brain hurt,” Oboro whined, tangling his fingers in his own gravity-defying locks and massaging at his head. Izuku lets out an honest laugh at the reaction, which prompts a glare from Oboro. “Thanks, ‘zuku, I ‘preciated the sympathy.”

“You don’t even really have a head,” Izuku teases, head cocking as he shoots what he knows is a shit-eating grin at his friend. “You’ve literally got no mass, Oboro.”

“I have a head!” Oboro squawks, tapping the top of his head smugly as if to prove his point. “See? Solid!”

“That doesn’t count, you don’t have a hand either!” Izuku’s full on cackling now, “a hand that doesn’t exist’ll be able to touch a head that doesn’t exist. They’re in the same dimension, or... something like that? I don’t know ghosts very well.”

“You’re mean,” Oboro pouts, but is silently pleased to see Izuku laughing. The ghost pouts for just a second before his expression turns smug, “don’t forget you can touch me too, Izu.”

The boy sputters, which prompts a laugh from the ghost, “forgot about that part huh? Guess I must exist!”

Izuku laughs again, but it’s softer and fond, “yeah, yeah. I’m sure you exist somewhere. Just... not usually here.”

“Unless you’re around,” Oboro shrugs, hands falling in his lap as he tilts his head to the side and shoots Izuku his squinty-grin.

“Unless I’m around,” the boy agrees with a fond half-smile. “For whatever reason.”

Izuku stared down at his Hero Analysis for the Future notebook, volume 13, where he’d been steadily making his way through his classmates interesting Quirks.

The page was turned to one of the first few analysis entries.

Shirakumo Oboro

Quirk: Cloud.

Hero Name: ??

Abilities: Able to generate and manipulate clouds. Can control density of the clouds, and the cloud type. Clouds can be used as shields, transportation, and as a distraction/ trap depending on the density. Clouds can withstand human weight amongst other things such as debris. Unsure of the weight limit. Cloud quantity is undetermined. Additional information to be added.

Off to the side of the page was a detailed drawing of Oboro in the costume from the USJ. He’d added as much detail as he could remember, wracking his brain for those little, easily missed things. It looks good, he thinks. He’s sure he’s missed something, because he’d only actually looked at the hero costume for a couple seconds between the panic of everything, but it looks decent.

Izuku lulls back in his chair, gaze settling on Oboro, who was hunched over his laptop on the bed, completely engrossed in a YouTube rabbit hole, where he’d somehow ended up on baking videos. Izuku was a bit afraid of what his homepage was going to look like after this. Especially since Oboro will watch anything that comes up, instead of skimming the suggested videos on the side.

His gaze lingers on Oboro, eyes taking in the details of his face. He turns back to his hero costume sketch, erasing his hair and redrawing it so it was more... cloud like. He added a couple more details before nodding to himself.

The green-haired teen paused for a second before turning to the next available page.

Midoriya Izuku

Quirk: Ghost? To be determined.

Hero Name: Deku.

Abilities: To be determined.

“Hey, no!” Oboro grumbled behind him, “the button’s back! Izu, come click it. It was—no! Thirty seconds?! There’s two ads??”

“It’ll go away after the ads are finished,” Izuku snorts, like he hadn’t already told Oboro that multiple times—whenever an ad comes up at least. He feels his chest vibrate as he laughs fondly at the ghost. Despite the laugh, and promise that it would go away on its own, the teen pushes away from the desk with a light smile.

“But the cupcakes...!”

Izuku is really not expecting Aizawa-Sensei to stroll stiffly into the classroom on Thursday morning. It had only been two days since the USJ attack, and as far as Izuku heard, from Oboro, Aizawa-Sensei had only just woken up in the hospital yesterday evening.

The ghost had been completely ecstatic when he’d appeared behind Izuku in the kitchen. Over the past two days since the USJ attack, Oboro had been hanging around more. He’d periodically disappear to the hospital for a couple hours before returning.

“He’s awake!” He’d grinned, smiling wider than he usually did. Izuku couldn’t help but wonder if it hurt to smile that big. “He’s finally up!”

“Were you there when he woke up?” Izuku turned to face the ghost, smiling widely, but it wasn't even close to Oboro’s.

“Nope,” the ghost deflated slightly, before perking up again, “but that’s okay, because he wasn’t alone. All that matters is that he’s awake, and he’s doing well! Still looks like shit, but he’s alive!”

“I’m glad he’s alright,” Izuku smiled softly, pleased to see Oboro so excited. He was glad his teacher was okay. Izuku still didn’t completely trust him, and he was still a bit afraid of him, but he’d hated the fact Sensei had been injured so seriously. The thought of it had made his stomach queasy, so he was relieved to hear he’d woken up.

Oboro had left again right after sharing the good news—but Izuku was just glad his friend had kept good on his word of being his messenger.

After the USJ attack, the school had given all the students a day off to recuperate, and Izuku’s class had been given an additional day to decompress from the incident so early in their schooling. Thursday morning brought Izuku excited to return. It had been too quiet at the apartment over the two-day break. He hadn’t seen his mother, and Oboro had been bouncing between the hospital and the apartment.

It comes as a shock when the door slides open, and Izuku’s attention lifts from his notebook only to see Sensei stumbling in. His steps are slow, and his arms and face are wrapped almost completely in bandages.

“S-Sensei?” Izuku jerks up, but hovers beside his desk uncertainly. He wants to go help him, but he has a feeling Sensei would snap at him if he tried. “A-are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” the bandages wrinkle as he speaks. He sounds relatively the same; maybe just a little more tired than usual. Honestly, if you weren’t looking at him, couldn’t see the bandages, he’d sound perfectly fine.

Behind Sensei, Izuku spots Oboro who looks incredibly annoyed. He’s glaring daggers at Sensei’s back, arms crossed over his chest as he steps after the man.

“Should you...” Izuku bites his lip, knowing he shouldn’t question his Sensei. The question of ‘Should you be back so soon?’ dies on his lips.

“No,” Oboro snaps after regarding Izuku for a slow second, like he’d just realized he was there too at the half question, “no certainly he should not be here! Stupid idiot never listens. Thinks he’s Goddamn invincible or somethin’! You had your brains bashed in just two days ago, you woke up yesterday— take a me day, Shota!”

Izuku blinks in the raging ghost’s direction before he looks towards his teacher again. He can almost see Sensei’s eyes peeking out from behind the bandages, and it feels like he’s... watching Izuku. Studying him behind the cover of his bandages. He’s not sure if he actually is, of if Izuku’s just being irrational.

Still, if Sensei can see him, he’s probably wondering why Izuku’s staring at the side of his desk instead of looking at him.

“Should I what, Problem Child?”

“Nothing!” Izuku squeaks, ducking his head in a quick bow that he lingers in, “I uhm, it’s really nothing, Sensei. Just... I’m really glad you’re okay. I was... I was wondering if you were, but no one said anything, and then I, well, we all had the last two days off because it was a bit stressful so soon in the year, but... you, uhm, you really didn’t look too good, and we were worried and—”

“Problem Child?” Sensei’s low, but calm voice promptly cuts off Izuku’s ramblings.

He draws in a nervous breath, finally lifting his head from the bow and letting his attention shift to his teacher, “y-yes, Sensei?”

“Slow down.” It’s a quiet demand. Soft, even. Sensei leans back against the edge of his desk, body angled towards Izuku. He has to be able to see, right? “Breathe a second. I’m okay. I’m sorry no one told you students that Thirteen and I were alright, I imagine that was suspenseful.”

Izuku swallows, ducking his head in a hesitant nod. “I was worried, Sensei.”

“I’m okay,” the man repeats offhandedly, but there’s some underlying softness. “How are you doing, Midoriya?”

“I’m okay!” The teen promises, “I uhm, I kinda hurt myself a little but it’s all better now. Recover Girl took care of it.” He knows better than to lie to Aizawa-Sensei. For all he knows, Sensei had already talked to Recovery Girl, and knows exactly what Izuku had visited her regarding injuries. “There’s some bruising still, but it’s... it’s healing well!”

“Will the bruising deter our training session tomorrow morning?”

“O-our... Sensei, you’re hurt! We—we shouldn’t—that’s—”

“I can still use my Quirk,” the man tuts, “if you think we’re going to be starting with combat, you’re sorely mistaken, Problem Child. Your Quirk is new— not just to me, but to you as well. We both need to get a feel of it, and I can do that even with these bandages. So, are you alright to train tomorrow, or not?”

“Of course!” Izuku gives a firm nod, ignoring the way Oboro seethes at Aizawa-Sensei's side. He’s muttering to himself, but Izuku’s too far to understand what he’s saying.

“Good,” Sensei hums. “Now, let’s go.”

“G-go?” Izuku frowns, quirking his head as he grabs his journal and backpack to follow his teacher, who’d turned swiftly and marched towards the door like he wasn’t more bandage than skin.

“It’s Thursday. You’re going to meet HoundDog, and you’re going to have your first session before classes start. It’s non-negotiable, considering the USJ attack and everything I know you saw.”

“B-but—” Izuku shoots Oboro a pleading look. The blue-haired teen shrugs with a frown, gesturing Izuku to follow Aizawa-Sensei down the hall as he turns to make his way to Mic-Sensei's class. He’s still radiating annoyance at the teacher as he turns to leave, but Izuku hopes he’ll calm down a bit after some time apart from Sensei. Hopefully.

“Non-negotiable,” Sensei interrupts calmly as he leads a trailing Izuku along. “Relax, Midoriya, it’s not just you. The entire class will be having a check-in throughout the next few days. You just have the luxury of going first since HoundDog’s already cleared his morning schedule on the days you asked for.”

Izuku’s silent as he follows. He’s defeated. He doesn’t really want to talk about it yet, but he will if Sensei wants him too. And maybe it won’t be awful to talk with someone he doesn’t have to worry about judging him. Counsellors don’t judge, do they?

“It’s for your best interest, Kid,” Sensei mutters softly as they walk, “no shame in needing a bit of help sorting yourself out. We all do sometimes, especially after something traumatic. You students have the option of guided help, and HoundDog is one of the best counsellors around. I urge you, like I will to your peers as well, to take advantage of it.”

“Do you see a counsellor, Sensei?” Izuku asks meekly, clutching his notebook to his chest. He’s caught up to Sensei’s significantly slowed steps, falling into step beside him.

The man regards him cautiously for a second before he looks forwards again, “I do, Kid.”

Well... if Sensei does, then Izuku will try as well.

Chapter Text

Seeing HoundDog wasn’t as bad as Izuku was expecting it to be.

As promised, Sensei had introduced the two of them after walking Izuku down to the counselling office. He hadn’t exactly been soft as he’d gestured to the man with one of his bandaged arms, the one on the side Izuku wasn’t standing by, with nothing more than a tired hum of: “HoundDog,” as an introduction. He’d then proceeded to look towards Izuku, nodding in his direction before lulling his head back towards HoundDog, “Midoriya Izuku.”

The introductions could’ve used some work. Izuku was still nervous, but his Sensei had done as promised. Thankfully, Izuku was sure the man would get more practice as he’d be doing introductions with HoundDog at least eighteen more times as he managed to corner and persuade his classmates like he’d done to Izuku.

“Good morning, Midoriya,” HoundDog had greeted with a light smile, “you’re welcome to call me HoundDog, or Ryo-Sensei if you’d prefer. Do you have a preference of what you’d like me to call you?”

“Midoriya is fine,” Izuku shrugs nervously at Sensei’s side, “or... or Izuku, I don’t mind.”

“Midoriya it is then,” the man gave a nod, “I’ve already been briefed on your newly manifested Quirk by Eraserhead. We’ll talk more of that amongst other things this session, but I’d really just like to focus on getting to know you today, unless, of course, you’ve got an agenda for us, which is fine too.” HoundDog flashes a grin behind his muzzle, before glancing at Aizawa-Sensei. They share a brief second of eye contact and then HoundDog is gesturing Izuku into the room invitingly, “I’ll take it from here, Eraser. Why don’t you come on in, Midoriya. Have a seat wherever you’d like.”

Without meaning too, Izuku shots a cautious, uncertain look to the side at his homeroom teacher, almost shrinking in on himself when he barely catches his teacher’s eyes on him. They’re hidden away behind the bandages, hardly seen in the slit of missing bandages to give him his eyesight back, but Izuku catches a glimpse of them.

He’s not entirely sure why he’d done it—why he’d looked over for support from the man, but he had. He just knows his cheeks are slowly starting to glow with embarrassment, so he’s ducking into the room just seconds after realizing what he’d done.

Izuku throws an awkward wave in his teacher’s direction, eyes still locked on the floor in embarrassment, so he doesn’t see his Sensei’s face or eyes. He doesn’t see a reaction, if there even is one at all.

“Thank you for walking me down, Sensei,” Izuku mumbles out before turning swiftly and fully entering the room.

HoundDog lingers outside the doorway a second long, no doubt talking to Sensei—probably about him—but Izuku just pretends they’re not. He just sits stiffly on the loveseat couch across from the armchair and waits.

Since Izuku didn’t have an agenda coming into the session, hadn’t really wanted to come to begin with, HoundDog leads it. He gets to know Izuku, as much as the boy’s willing to share.

The first talk about his new Quirk. Izuku tells HoundDog the basics of it without revealing too much of the secret. They draw up a rough draft together of what his Quirk counselling will look like, and decide that Tuesdays will focus on his Quirk, while Thursdays was a more general check-in. But the man still makes sure to stress that Izuku can come to him with any problems at any time, and the gesture is appreciated.

He knows he won’t, but it’s nice to have the option.

After the Quirk talk, they swiftly transition into homelife talk.

The teen talks a bit about his family, at HoundDog’s suggestion, knowing he can’t be too honest or else he’ll have more problems to deal with. Besides he doesn’t want to bother his mother with this, so he keeps his answers clipped and to the point. He hopes he keeps his voice natural, but he’s not sure how observant HoundDog truly is.

Izuku explains how his mother works long hours to provide, and how his father is in America. How he hadn’t seen him in over ten years because he hadn’t gotten a Quirk (he doesn’t share that part though), but ‘it really doesn’t bother me, HoundDog-Sensei! My mom and I are doing just fine on our own!’, and maybe he’d stretched the truth a bit, but in the end, what does it really matter?

He doesn’t let them linger on the topic for long, silently afraid he’ll let something unsavory slip, instead swiftly turning the conversation onto the friends he’d made thus far. Now them, he’s happy to talk about them.

He talks of Iida, and Ochako who he’d met on that first day, as well as all the other classmates he’d actually talked too and considered to be his friends; like Kirishima, Kaminari and Asui to name a couple. He talks about his other classmates too, because he’s got nothing against them, just hasn’t really gotten a chance to really meet them yet.

It’s HoundDog who brings up Kacchan, the one classmate Izuku hadn’t mentioned. The teen has a feeling that HoundDog knows more than he’s letting on, probably from Sensei, or maybe even Kacchan who’d already had a couple sessions with HoundDog; Izuku knows that’s entirely Sensei’s doing, just like Izuku’s own counsellor visit right now. It’s nice to know that Sensei had kept his word.

HoundDog doesn’t object when Izuku tiptoes around the topic of Kacchan like he had talking about his family, and the teen’s silently grateful the Pro is leaving him to slowly hazard his way through this session at his own will. They don’t talk about anything Izuku doesn’t want too, and it’s honestly a weight off his chest.

He doesn’t feel forced into anything, and the look on HoundDog’s face makes him feel comfortable to not talk about things yet, so he doesn’t force himself too.

Instead, Izuku offers up another topic.

Oboro. His best friend outside of school.

HoundDog doesn’t bat an eye at his deflection when it comes to talking about Kacchan, and just follows Izuku into the next topic of conversation.

HoundDog seems interested in Izuku’s friend, though the teen refuses to give a name or any personal details about the ghost—though he doesn’t honestly know much. Still, Oboro was a student here. He doesn’t know when, but he knows he definitely was, and he’s not sure if HoundDog would know him. So, he keeps it broad.

The student speaks highly of Oboro, sharing what few stories they have after just under three weeks of even knowing each other. He tells the Pro how funny the ghost is, and how well they get along. How Oboro is always coming over to his place, and how he often walks home with Izuku—well, he tells him they meet at the train station because Oboro isn’t technically a student here, and it might raise red flags if the counsellor starts looking into the fact someone who isn’t a student is leaving campus with him.

“I’m glad to hear you have such a close friend, Midoriya,” the Pro gives a light smile when Izuku finishes rambling about the ghost. The teen gives an enthusiastic nod, grinning widely as he thinks of his friend.

They talk a little bit of the USJ incident too, and it’s the one topic HoundDog doesn’t seem to budge on. Up until that point, he hadn’t minded Izuku skirting around things he didn’t want to talk about yet, but the counsellor isn’t as willing to let Izuku brush the USJ off.

Again, he doesn’t force anything, but he does keep returning to it when Izuku trails off.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it—he does, he’s just now sure how to talk about it without really talking about it. He and his ghost friend had touched, and together they’d used Izuku’s newest (oldest?) Quirk in order to use Oboro’s own Cloud Quirk in the real world which was very, very impossible.

There is one thing Izuku doesn’t mind talking about though, “I thought he was going to die... He just... that thing, the monster, it didn’t let up on him, and w-we saw it hurting him, but we couldn’t... there wasn’t anything we could do. He’d told us to leave before... but it felt—it felt wrong.”

“You students did the right thing staying back,” HoundDog tells him softly, “there wasn’t a lot anyone could’ve done. Aizawa did what he had to do to ensure your, and your classmates, safety. We all would’ve done the same had we been in his shoes. He doesn’t regret it, Midoriya. We’d all go the extra mile if it meant keeping you students safe. I’m sure Aizawa would do it all over again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you all safe.”

“Does he really like us that much?” Izuku’s nose scrunches up. He’s never seemed overly fond of them. Glaring from the front of the room, and calling them idiots. Lecturing them and being generally done with them before class has even really started.

Izuku knows he’d seen Sensei putting his life on the line for them. He’d watched just out of sight as it happened, but he’s still the same man who’d threatened to expel him on the first day of classes. He’d been planning on actually expelling him too, if what Oboro had said was true.

“Aizawa is a kind man,” HoundDog explains slowly after a second of thought. “He’s rough around the edges, a bit blunt at times and a little... harsh, but he’s a good teacher. He’s a good man, and a good Hero. He’ll do everything in his power to help you lot thrive in his class, even if that means working you to the bone. He cares... just in his own way. I won’t put words into his mouth and say he likes you guys, but I will day he doesn’t dislike his class.”

There’s another pause, hardly a second before HoundDog shakes his head with a nervous laugh, “you didn’t hear any of that from me though. He likes his reputation of being a heartless and unrelenting man, and he’s pretty scary still, even if he’s got a good heart. This stays between us, yeah?”

Izuku can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his lungs and he nods.

“I cannot believe him!”

Izuku has to keep his eyes locked down on the paper before him. It’s getting harder and harder to not look up.

“Stupid idiot; gets his face pounded into the ground, wakes up from a stupid two-day coma and comes into school the next frickin’ day!” Oboro is quite obviously annoyed, having not budged from the position he’d been in when Izuku had arrived that morning after his counselling session. “I mean, substitutes exist for a reason!”

The ghost’s arms had been crossed tautly across his chest with his hands pinned in his armpits. His face had been curled in a scowl that much resembled Sensei’s own. It’s a surprising look on Oboro’s face, considering that Izuku’s used to seeing wide smiles and teasing smirks. He knows Oboro’s annoyance hadn’t subsided at all as class started.

“Alright!” Present Mic’s voice calls in Izuku’s attention, “compound words, yo. Ya take two words, put ‘em together and you get a new word with a new meaning. There are three different kinds of compound words, ya’dig?

“The first is a closed Compound word. These words are written as a single word, like haircut and newspaper.

“The second is open Compounds. These ones are written as separate words. High school. Living room.

“And the last is hyphenated Compounds. These are words that use a hyphen in between two words, like well-known and second-rate.”

Present Mic pauses, and the only sound to be heard is the student scribbling what he’s said down (and Oboro snarling softly in annoyance that only Izuku can hear). It’ll no doubt be on the exam in the year.

“Alllright, Listeners. I’ve written two words on the board, anyone wanna take a shot at making a compound word?”

Izuku’s gaze settled on the board where the two words ‘up’ and ‘make’ had been written. He cocks his head at them, putting the two together first as ‘upmake’, in the order they’d been written, before shaking his head and trying ‘makeup’.

No one raised their hands, but Mic-Sensei didn’t seem deterred. He just smiled lightly, “no prob, Listeners. I’ll tell ya what? Let’s take a closer look at these two words first, before we start pushin’ ‘em together, ya’dig? Up. Who knows what up means?”

This time, a couple hands raised.

“Kaminiari!” Mic-Sensei called on him.

“Uhm, up, like, up in the sky? Looking up?” The blonde-haired boy furrowed his brow, looked up for a second before pointing up towards the ceiling uncertainly. It prompted some giggles from the class, but Mic-Sensei looked pleased.

“Yep!” he praised, “right-o. Up like up in the sky. The direction. Good job. Now, what about make? Any guesses?”

“I mean, seriously, one day off won’t kill him. For a guy who likes sleep to the point he carries around a stupid sleeping bag and will sleep wherever he can, why the hell does he avoid actual rest so much? Why make sucha big fuss about it??” Izuku can’t help but let his attention drift back towards Oboro. He’s sat at Mic-Sensei's desk, feet kicked up on the desktop, leaned back with the same scowl from early still etched on his face. He’s not looking at Izuku, instead looking at Mic-Sensei, who’s still up in front of the chalk board teaching them.

“Bakugou!” Mic-Sensei called out, and Izuku forced his attention back to the board.

“Make somethin’,” Kacchan huffed, holding his own hand up where his Quirk fizzled through his palm, “I make explosions, that Extra—” Kacchan gestures vaguely in Yaoyorozu’s direction, “—makes a buncha different shit. Creating something.”

“Correct, but please watch your language in class, ya’dig, Listener?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Kacchan huffs, and it’s about as scolded as Izuku’s sure the teen has ever sounded. There’s hardly any fight in his voice.

Mic flashes him a smile, pleased with the response, even if it’s not the kind he’s used to getting when reprimanding students. They all know that’s about as nice as Kacchan gets, so he’ll take it as it is, “so we know that up means something above. Something overhead, that you need to look up at. And make means something you create with other things. Now, anyone wanna try the compound word made with the two of them?”

“I can’t believe no one stopped him—I mean, c’mon, ‘zashi, you saw him! The guy looks like death incarnate. Someone should’ve told him he couldn’t come in. He’s scary, but he’s not that scary. Grow some balls and tell ‘im to go home! Take his Yuuei ID card so he can’t come in. This’ll be a Shota free zone until he’s had at least one day of rest! Why’m I the only one concerned?!”

“Makeup?” Jirou’s voice drags Izuku from his thoughts, he shoots his attention away from where Oboro is still mumbling angrily to the teacher who doesn’t even know he’s there.

“Right!” Mic grins from the board, turning swiftly to write the compound word beneath the two separated words. When he’s done, he turns back to the class, “anyone wanna take a stab at what it means?”

“I can’t believe Nezu let him come in looking like that, I mean, he looks like he walked out of an Egyptian tomb. He’s more bandage than man! Nezu should’ve—” A pause, as Oboro’s face pinches in thought, “wait a second, that stupid rat probably made him come in!”

And Izuku chokes on a snort of laughter that he tried to contain. He’d just called principal Nezu a stupid rat. “Sorry!” Izuku yelps, hands coming up to cover his mouth as embarrassment floods his face.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Izu. I uh, I forgot you could, uhm, hear me?” Oboro looks apologetic, leaning towards the student with a frown.

Izuku wants to wave him off, it was an honest mistake after all, but he really can’t with everyone’s attention suddenly on him.

“S-sorry, Mic-Sensei, I uhm...” I didn’t mean to laugh aloud; the ghost just called our school principal a stupid rat. No, not a good excuse. That one’s about as believable as ‘the dog ate my homework’.

“Don’t worry about it, Listener!” Mic tilts his head softly, “while you’re talking though, any idea what our new compound word means?”

Izuku lets his eyes flick from Present Mic, to the board, then back to his teacher. He bites his lip, “uhm, makeup, like... to make something up? Like, uhm, for example, a make-up test? ‘I missed our test, so I came in after school for a make-up?’”

“Almost, Listener,” Mic gives him a light smile, “though you are right, and that is proper use of make-up, with a hyphen, which is a compound word, the compound word we’re looking at right now is a makeup without a space or hyphen. You’ve got your compound types a bit mixed up, so you’re skipping ahead of us, Listener! Wanna try again?”

Izuku shakes his head to the point his bangs fall over his eyes. Present Mic doesn’t seem bothered, just turns back towards the class with a loud prompt of: “Anyone else wanna take a shot at it?”

“Uh, what about makeup, like, what you put on your face?” Kirishima suggests with a shrug. “The lipstick and the... uh, the powder stuff? That black eye pencil?”

“Yes!” Mic cheers, “perfect. And what kinda compound is that?”

There's a dull murmur as everyone answers at once, a few people are wrong, but the majority respond with: “Closed Compound.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Mic grins, “and what kind of compound was Midoriya’s example?”

“Hyphenated?” there’s more caution in that round of guesses, and the whole class does not answer. But enough of them do that Mic’s happy.

“Perfect!” He turns back to the board not to write out both Izuku’s and Kirishima’s examples, followed by the type of compound they are. “You Lil’ Listeners are so smart! I’m so proud! Now we’ve covered two of three compound types, anyone wanna attempt the last?”

It’s Yaoyorozu who raises her hand, but instead of calling on her, Mic-Sensei just points enthusiastically in her direction, “make up, like, ‘do you want Chamomile tea or Earl Grey? Make up your mind.’ It’s an open Compound.”

“Right you are,” Mic laughs, turning to add Yaoyorozu's addition to the board. “Now you have a basic understanding, yo. I’ve got a handout for you kiddos to work on for the rest of this class. It’ll be homework if you don’t finish it, due at the start of class tomorrow. Lemme know if you need any help! Now, Class Rep, Deputy Rep, help me hand these out?”

Iida and Yaoyorozu stand to collect the papers from the podium to pass out, while Mic-Sensei makes his way to his desk. Oboro lets out a yelp, just barely managing to get out of the chair before Mic-Sensei sits on him. Izuku keeps that snort of laughter to himself as he quietly thanks Iida, who’d set a paper on his desk.

Oboro stalks towards Izuku with a frown, pulling himself up to sit on the side of Izuku’s desk. “I’m sorry again, Izu. I think I have a ranting problem, but usually no one cares, because no one ever hears... I’m just so upset, I mean, why is he even back? Can no one talk that idiot into some simple self-care?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Izuku hums softly, hoping his words are hidden away by the scratches of his pencil. "I’m surprised he’s back too, but he seems... alright, I mean, not physically yet, of course, but, uhm, mentally...”

“That stubborn asshole,” Oboro huffs. “Anyways, need any help with that?”

“No.” Izuku shoots the sheepish ghost a quick glare.

“Worth a shot,” Oboro grins as he leans back. His palms press into the back edge of Izuku’s desk as he kicks his feet up onto the back of Izuku’s chair. The student just lets out a light huff of annoyance through his nose as the ghost shoots him a grin.

“Just... hold your hand out,” Izuku prompts with a sigh. His own hand is held out too, hand raised like he’s expecting a high-five. His palm is facing Oboro, who is glaring down at his own hand.

They’d been trying to touch again since school had ended.

“It’s not a skill if we both have to be emotional messes for it to work,” Izuku had huffed out as he unlocked the apartment door, “I can’t rely on being overcome by emotions to use this Quirk. You can’t either. That’s how people get hurt. I need to be able to conjure this Quirk— you— without having my judgment clouded by emotions.”

“But we’ve only used it when we were emotional,” Oboro reminds as he plops down on the couch. “I could only do it when I was scared. Back at the USJ, and again in your room when I was thinking of the USJ. Both times I barely even know what was happening.”

“I know,” Izuku hums, “but we do know what’s happening now. And that’s what practice is for. We have to try to expand on this. Right now, it’s emotion related or... or so we believe. But if we practice—if we get to know it, and use it when we’re not desperate... I don’t know, maybe we’ll be able to broaden the limitations.”

“Do you really think that’ll work?” Oboro quirks an eyebrow, “I mean, I’d love to be able to use my Quirk without feeling like I’m dying all over again due to panic and desperation.”

Izuku ignores the twinge of regret for his friend as he nods slowly, “it’s worth a shot.”

And that how they ended up here. Sitting facing each other on the couch in the living room. They’ve tried four times, thus far, to touch. And each time, Oboro’s hand had slipped right through Izuku’s.

They’re starting easy— with hands. Well, fingers really, but they’ll take whatever they can get. The theory behind it was that if they were both trying, using the same body part, palms, then maybe they’d be able to make it work.

They hadn’t had much success when randomly touching, like at school, when Oboro’s finger had phased through Izuku’s head when he attempted to flick his forehead, or when Izuku had accidentally elbowed through Oboro when he’d been working on math homework at lunch.

“Why am I getting the feeling that this isn’t gonna work,” Oboro frowned, hand hovering just an inch or so away from Izuku’s, hand in the same open palm position.

“Fifth times the charm,” Izuku lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

“I thought the third and fourth times were the charm,” Oboro snarked back, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. Just defeat.

Izuku shot the ghost a look of annoyance. Oboro rolled his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh before extending his arm the rest of the way so his palm lined up with Izuku’s own. He hesitated just a half second before finally going the last bit of distance.

Where his hand went through Izuku’s hand.

“See?” Oboro frowned, “we’re definitely missing something.”

“I don’t know what,” Izuku shook his head, frown heavy with both defeat and annoyance, “you’ve had Quirk training and counselling, what’re we missing?”

“That was years ago!” Oboro squawked.

“Yeah, well,” Izuku snorted a laugh, “you’re better off knowing than I am, I didn’t have either. What do you remember?”

“Right,” the ghost sucks in a breath, puckering his lips as he tries to think back to those first couple Quirk counselling sessions he’d had when his Quirk manifested. A cheerful little four-year-old Oboro with a small, fluttery cloud trailing after him like a pet on a leash.

That was a good twenty-six years ago at this point.

“To be honest, most of us had the problem of using our Quirk right off the bat. The counselling was to help us control it, not to help access it—well, I mean we did that too, but the first major milestone was being able to cap your Quirk. We’re all just so excited and it’s just... it’s like second nature to use it? They teach us to keep it contained, to have control over when and when not to use it. I’m not... I don’t know what to do when the Quirk won’t work. It’s the opposite...”

“Second nature,” the seems to be the part Izuku singled in on. He hums the word thoughtfully to himself, thumb catching under his chin while his pointer finger rubs along the dip of his chin thoughtfully. Then, he’s muttering. Oboro has gotten used to this since befriending the teen, but it still makes him snicker every time he sees it happen.

How does someone get so far into their own head that they lose sight of literally everything.

It was better to just let Izuku run his brain instead of interrupt him. Especially when he was so focused on their current problem.

“My Quirk already is second nature,” Izuku finally blinks out of the trance, “it’s always been there. I’ve always seen you guys. I’ve spent most of my life ignoring this, my Quirk, since it’s not... well, generally acceptable? I’ve never stopped seeing ghosts, knew I never would, but maybe... maybe all this time I’ve been capping the true potential. I didn’t want something else that would make me different so I... walled it off.”

“You’ve been capping it all this time?” Oboro worried his bottom lip between his teeth, “so how’d you use it at the USJ?”

“I... and, this is just a guess, I don’t think I was in the right state of might to keep it up,” Izuku shook his head, “I mean, I did almost die. And Sensei was badly injured, and that villain was going for Asui and Minoru. I think that... the second that wall crumbled, you had access to the Quirk. And a part of you, subconscious or instinctual, I don’t know, something in you took the opportunity to use my Quirk to your advantage.”

“If that’s the case, it’s a good thing you’ve kept it capped,” Oboro’s eyes widened in horror, “I don’t even know how I did it, I was moving before I knew what was happening... but I had full control of my Quirk and it was... more powerful than it’s ever been... what if it had’ve been a villain to harness the power of your Quirk instead of me?”

Izuku bites his lip. The thought had crossed his mind just seconds ago as well. If it opened a link to Oboro, who’s to say it didn’t open a link to any other ghosts milling around. He hadn’t seen any, but then again, he can hardly differentiate living people from dead people. Any of those villains could’ve been a ghost.

He’s quick to relax his jaw when he faintly tastes metal on his tongue, “I don’t think that would happen,” he offers slowly, frowning thoughtfully as his gaze lulls towards Oboro, “I can’t be sure, of course, but I know I’ve been emotional around ghosts before, and nothing’s ever... used me. Used my Quirk. I think I have some control over it, I just... didn’t know it?”

“So, how’d I use it then?”

Izuku wrinkles his nose, “I trust you, dummy. I think there was... a level of consent that neither of us noticed. Like... subconsciously. You reacted before you knew what you were doing, and I... I didn’t know what was happening until after the fact, but I trusted you so... maybe that’s how you were able to access my Quirk?”

“That, uh, that kinda makes sense, I guess?” Oboro’s cocks his head to the side as he attempts to understand, before his mouth drops open and he blows out a small little exhale of ‘oh’, followed by an enthusiastically fond, “I trust you too, ‘zuku!”

The shorter of the two shakes his head with a roll of his eyes. “Now I just have to figure out how I managed to open the connection... if I’m right, my Quirk is always restricted subconsciously. But how... how do I open it when I want and or need too?”

“Well,” Oboro sucked his teeth, “why’d you need it in the first place?”

Izuku’s mind instantly settled on mom. He’d decided when he was little that he wasn’t going to burden anyone else with his power. She hadn’t liked it. It scared her. It’s what had drove a wedge between his parent’s marriage first, and then drove another between him and his father before finishing off with a third between him and his mother.

The Quirkless thing had played a part in it too, but they all knew what really destroyed their bonds.

Things that people didn’t understand scared them—he'd scared them.

So, he’d stopped bringing it up. Stopped talking about it, and acknowledging it when he wasn’t inclined too. Izuku thinks that’s when he really built up the wall. Cornering the piece of himself that people didn’t like—that he’d been taught to be scared of.

“I don’t know,” he whispers out despite his thoughts. Despite the way the lie rolls off his tongue, Izuku’s lost in his thoughts. If that’s when he started bottling the parts of his Quirk that made weren’t constant up, that’s where he needed to put himself to open it. “Let’s... let’s try again. I wanna try something.”

“Are you okay?”

When Izuku looks towards his friend, Oboro’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern, and his lips are curled in a light frown. He’s studying Izuku, and the green-haired teen isn’t sure what Oboro sees in his expression that would make him look like that.

“’course,” Izuku forces a laugh that wavers towards the end. He clears his throat, swallowing down the wince before holding his hand out, “you said you trust me, right? So, trust me.”

Oboro eyes him for just a second before blowing out a breath and reaching his own hand out. It stalls right in front of Izuku’s, and it takes a few long seconds for Izuku to realize the ghost is giving him all his faith—which includes being the one to close the distance between their hands.

Izuku digs deep into himself as he heaves a breath. He struggles to locate that childhood fear that had been instilled in his head by his mother and father. Conversations in passing he shouldn’t have heard, and things that had been said in the heat of the moment. Supposedly innocent things that had struck right through Izuku’s heart. Things he’d held onto, tools he’s used to lock away what no one had liked about him.

‘Normal children don’t see ghosts, Inko.’

‘It’s a faze! He’ll grow out of it!’

‘Maybe... maybe don’t talk about your imaginary friends, alright, sweetheart? You know how people talk...’

‘They’re not real, Izuku! You need to let this go now! I’m so tired of this! Grow up!’

‘It’s weird! He’s weird! He’ll never be a normal child, Inko! Now the brat doesn’t even have a Quirk either! He’s a lost cause!’

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut. You’re okay. You’re okay. This is okay. They’re okay. There’s nothing wrong with you. Don’t be afraid. You’re okay. Let it go. It’s okay. He’s not sure when he closes the gap between their hands—he hadn’t even registered moving.

But he feels Oboro’s hand against his suddenly. Flat against his palm, pressing back just as hard as Izuku is. He feels him. It worked. He’d really accessed it...

The green-haired teen forces his eyes open, letting out a surprised breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in. Oboro is staring down at their hands in awe, fingers trembling as they each lift cautiously from Izuku’s fingers only to press back like he’s trying to tap them.

“You did it,” Oboro’s voice is watery, “you... wow. Izuku, you’re incredible!”

“Make a cloud,” Izuku doesn’t tear his gaze from their fingers. In fact, he drops his fingers into the gap between Oboro’s own fingers just to make sure they don’t jump apart like they had at the USJ. They’d worked too hard for it all to be lost by nothing more than any slight shift that could separate their hands.

Oboro follows suit, fingers slowly dropping over Izuku’s and it’s only then that Izuku lifts his gaze from their hands.

When Izuku looks back up at his friend’s face, all he can do is follow his gaze upwards.

There, settled just below the ceiling in Izuku’s apartment, is a small, fluffy white cloud.

“It worked...”

“Yeah, Izu,” Oboro laughs softly, staring up at his cloud before looking back at the teen with a wide, toothy grin, “it totally did.”

“Look around you,” Aizawa-Sensei's monotone voice directed.

Izuku did as told, blinking around at the gym they’d arrived in. He hadn’t known what he’d been expecting for their first private lesson, but it certainly wasn’t this. The room was large and spacious, but filling it, was dozens of pillars of what looked like concrete. They stood tall, some thicker than others, but all sturdy and well-constructed.

“This is Gym Gamma,” Sensei told him sharply. “I asked Cementoss to build this training ground for you. I don’t know what you’re capable of right now; your Quirk is new and powerful, and frankly not something I’m comfortable having you test to your full potential around your peers just yet. There are far too many unknowns about it, and it’s just not a risk I’m will to take quite yet when neither of us know what you're capable of.”

Izuku swallows thickly, nodding slowly. His gaze flickers over the pillars once more, frowning in thought.

“There’s only one goal for you today. You’re going to use your Quirk to destroy each and every one of these pillars. You’re free to do it however you see fit. Destroy them. Knock them down. Crumble them. Go Plus Ultra. Whatever gets the job done.”

Aizawa-Sensei's gaze scans up Izuku calculatingly before he’s looking back out over the course, “you have half an hour, which is generous, to knock them all over. Anything goes. Now, should you fail to complete the task in the allotted time, you’ll be doing twenty suicide drills at the start of our Sunday training session.”

Izuku narrowed his eyes at his teacher in surprise, eyebrows furrowing. He could do whatever he wanted to destroy them? Anything? He knows One for All is completely capable of doing so—if it could take out multiple floors in the battle simulations then it could certainl—

“However,” Sensei drawls, and Izuku’s attention whips back to him, “there’s a catch. I don’t want to see any major injuries. No broken arms, no broken legs. We’re done as soon as I deem you injured. In addition, that be an automatic disqualification since you won’t be finishing.”

Izuku’s mouth opened to refute that because he’d hardly been able to use his Quirk without some kind of injury, but his teacher holds out a silencing hand before he can, “I know. Though I’d love to see you come out of this unscathed, I know you’re unable to use your Quirk without taking damage as of now, so in consideration to that, I’ll overlook broken fingers.”

Izuku knows he’s gaping. Sensei is giving him permission to...

Sensei paused in his words, eyeing Izuku sharply through the gap in his bandages, almost as if reading his mind, “obviously don’t injure yourself if you can help it, but I’m well away setting a strict restriction will give you a disadvantage with your Quirk. That would be illogical. Use it how you know how. Today is about gaging your potential. Seeing what you can do; your strengths, weaknesses and limitations.”

Izuku nods slowly, blinking at his teacher owlishly.

He can almost see the annoyed scowl he’s sure is on his Sensei’s face as the man continues with a distraught sigh, “I’ve seen you perform with broken fingers, and as much as I hate the thought, it’s only fair to let you do this exercise as you have been thus far. You get five fingers to do with as you please; hit six and you’re finished.”

There’s another pause that drags on for far too long in Izuku’s opinion before his teacher is speaking again, “the bottom-line is, you get half an hour to destroy each and every concrete pillar in this gym. I can and will stop training should I deem it necessary. This training session will end if you break an arm, leg or if you break more than five fingers. Major injuries are an automatic disqualification, and you will be doing suicide drills as a consequence for it, just like if you fail to complete the task. Ready?”

“Damn,” Oboro let out a low whistle, “good luck, Izu.”

Izuku glances briefly at his ghost friend who’s sitting against the wall by the door they’d just come in through, “I promise I won’t get in your way. I’ll just be here cheering you on.”

Izuku frowns at him before looking back at his teacher, “yes, Sensei.”

“Good,” the man hums out gruffly. “I’ll be watching. Your time starts now, Problem Child. Go.”

Izuku heaved a breath before launching himself out towards the center of the gym. He feels One for All coursing through his veins as he leaps against pillars speedily to get a layout of the gym. There’s about... fifty pillars. All spread across the expanse of the huge training gym.

They’re too spread out for Izuku to rely on a Smash to complete the exercise. Not that he could, since a Smash would render him useless—injured, which was an automatic disqualification. It didn’t matter if the Smash knocked them all down in one hit, he’d still fail if he hurt himself.

Izuku lands on one of the centermost pillars, surveying over his surroundings. He sees both Sensei and Oboro just as he’d left them; can almost feel Sensei’s gaze burning into his back. It’s different having his teacher’s attention solely on him; usually his gaze is nothing more than a glance before carrying on to study his classmates. He tries not to feel nervous under Sensei’s observation.

Izuku’s first course of action is to use his flick attack.

It had worked well during the USJ attack, and he knew it was powerful enough to do some damage here, but he also knew it would hardly do half as much damage as it had. Concrete didn’t work like water. Water was easily manipulated, whereas concrete could absorb his force.

Sure, it would crumble, but unlike water, the more concrete his attack passes through, the less effective it gets for residing or distant pillars.

Still, it’s his best attack, and the one he’s sure will do the most damage to the course considering his guidelines.

Izuku launches off of the pillar he’d been standing on, aiming his flick like he’s looking through a rifle scope. He aims for one towards the center, close, but far enough away that he won’t get caught in the rubble.

The teen supports his wrist with his non-dominant hand to ensure he doesn’t accidentally break his wrist before finally flicking. When he’d done it back at the USJ, the added support of his second hand had made for a stiff pain in his wrist instead of a solid break, so he hopes it holds up again.

The power courses over the pillars as it’s released from his finger.

They rumble as they fall, crumbling down to nothing. Dust collects as Izuku lands gracefully just out of reach of the settling debris.

The pillars towards the back, furthest away, are cracked and breaking apart in big chunks, unlike the ones that were hit first, which are nothing more than rubble. He can faintly see the cement wall of the gym cracked, but still intact. It was nothing more than surface damage though.

His pointer finger aches, and his thumb isn’t much better. The bruising is already an irritated purple colour. It hurts, but all he can do is squeeze his wrist in an attempt to numb the pain and keep going. The pain of broken fingers is almost familiar at this point, as sad as that sounds.

Izuku is pleased after his second survey of the fallen pillars; his attack had knocked out a decent ¼ of them. But it also took two of Izuku’s limited five fingers. It was a good strategy—a good start, but he couldn’t do it again. He can’t aim without his thumb, and now that he has the damage, he’s not sure he wants to bust anymore of his fingers.

He needs to think of an alternative.

Izuku wonders if this was what Sensei had planned with the activity. He wouldn’t put it passed the man. It was clever really, teaching Izuku in a way he has to almost teach himself. Sensei had offered nothing more that guidelines and rules—a motivating punishment. It’s almost a game.

A game Izuku desperately doesn’t want to fail. He needs to adapt if he wants to avoid suicide sprints. They were hell. And... well, there’s a small part of him that wants to finish Sensei’s game for no means other than to impress his standoffish teacher. Sensei sees potential in him, one of the few adults in his life to do so, so he’s going to make damn sure he lives up to the man’s expectations.

Izuku climbs back up onto one of the center pillars, squeezing his injured fingers into a fist as he rubs at his wrist. The adrenaline of using his Quirk has almost entirely cancelled out the pain, but he knows it’s there.

He’s honestly not sure what to do nest. The flick had been his big move—or the biggest move he could do without being disqualified.

The teen relaxes his fingers, fanning them out to glance over the damage. That had been 100% of One for All. Using 100% would not get him out of this. He couldn’t just give one good hit and have it all be done like with the Zero-Pointer, and what he’d attempted to do with the Nomu.

Maybe... he needs to use some of his Quirk. Some of it.

What had All Might meant when they talked on the beach?

The egg in the microwave. He needed to cook the egg, but not explode it.

He’d been trying to use 5% of One for All. And it still hurt, but it didn’t completely harm him like using full cowling would. It was close, and he’s sure if he used it excessively, he’d end up hurt and Sensei would call this off but...

What if he used 1%?

Just enough power so he’s not a fifteen-year-old scrawny kid punching a cement pillar. The question is, would 1% be enough? He could just as easily break his knuckles on the cement as an ordinary teen. He’d never been one to punch things prior to his Quirk, but he’d seen people fracture their hands punching walls and faces—Quirks nowhere to be seen.

Honestly, it could go either way. He could either find a compromise, or take himself out of the running without even really using One for All.

But he knows he can’t just stand around. Not when Sensei is studying him from afar, no doubt nitpicking everything he’s done. He’s too far for Izuku to make out his expression—especially with the bandages covering his features, but he’d felt his teacher’s stern glance on him this whole time.

Izuku looks out at the sea of cement, shaking himself from his thoughts as he looks down at the pillar he’s stood on. He spreads his feet, clenching his hand into a fist, where he activates his Quirk. It’s hard to harness just 1% of something that could be so powerful, but he thinks he manages.

He blows out a breath, blinks his eyes shut for just a second before forcing his eyes open to glare down at the pillow. He narrows his eyes before dropping a punch to the top of the pillar.

Pain blooms in his knuckles, but it’s definitely not a break. It’s impact irritation. He’s quick to flex his fingers again, before wobbling and jumping to the side off the crumbling pillar.

It worked.

The pillar isn’t as destroyed as the ones from the flick attack, but it’s slowly crumbling.

And he’s not hurt.

Izuku doesn’t have much time to be happy he’d managed to use some of his Quirk without harming himself, because time is ticking down still. A half an hour isn’t really a long time when you think about it.

He makes quick work of running through the gym, punching the bases of the pillars. The air is more concrete dust than anything, and he’s been tripping over destroyed pieces of pillar as he moves, but he’d been steadily making progress.

Not nearly as fast as he had with the flick, but progress was progress.

He made it through a good half of what was left before he felt the pain of his knuckles pulsing through the adrenaline. They weren’t broken still, but they were bleeding. He’d broken the skin, and he knows that a couple more hits will break him. This is his body warning him. Stop before you’re stopped.

He forces in a ragged breath, wiping the blood coating his knuckles onto the pants of his gym uniform. He’s so glad he has a spare in his locker, because he’s not sure what his friends would think if he showed up in bloody clothes.

“Midoriya,” Sensei calls from the door. He hadn’t moved still, but Izuku could see him. “Status?”

“Nothing’s broken!” Izuku winced at the way his voice rose higher, “just... some blood. But I’m okay!”

There’s a lingering of contemplative silence. Izuku fears that Sensei will deem him injured and he’ll have to accept defeat, but his Sensei really does like surprising him, doesn’t he?

“You have ten minutes left.”

“Woohoo!” Oboro cheers from behind Sensei’s stiff form, “you got this! C’mon, Izuku! Stick it to the man! Show him what you can do!”

It is a very good thing Sensei can’t see Izuku rolling his eyes at Oboro’s antics. He’d hate to have to explain why he was rolling his eyes when it was technically just the two of them in the gym. He’d die if Sensei thought he was rolling them at him.

Izuku forces his thoughts back onto his task.

He can’t use his hands anymore in fear they’ll break. He could, of course, try to use his non-dominant hand, which is currently damage free, but that’s iffy. If he moves wrong, it could all be over. He’s not ambidextrous, but he knows he could use his opposite hand in a pinch.

This isn’t a pinch. It’s not worth the risk of breaking his arm because he’s unused to fighting with it.

He should stick to what he knows. What he’s seen. His fists. Like he’s watched All Might do for years. Like he’d ben stumbling his way through like a fawn learning to stand. He fights with his fists.

But... he can’t.

He can’t risk putting any more pressure onto his dominant hand either.

What does that leave?

…

His feet.

He’d never really thought of using his feet in the heat of training, or battles. All Might had always used his fists. Punching was easy; kicking was less so. He didn’t have spectacular balance. And he’d never tried to direct One for All down.

But he should.

His feet were unharmed right now. He could kick well enough.

Plus, it was his only option right now.

Use his feet or face defeat.

So, he does.

He’s not agile—nothing like Aizawa-Sensei. He’d seen the man glide gracefully through the air, taking out villains and landing with perfect ease. It was beyond impressive. Maybe he can practice some hand-to-hand combat with the man during another session. Or start studying some kind of martial arts...

Izuku launches into a wobbly kick. He forces One for All through his body and down to his foot. One for All is tipping between 1% and 2% and he just prays this turns out like he wants instead of breaking his foot.

He feels his foot make contact with the pillar. He feels the burst of his Quirk as it shoots through his foot as it consumes the pillar. He doesn’t hear a crack of bones snapping, or feel that blossoming pain.

It’s crumbling when he forces his attention put from his seemingly unharmed foot. It’s crumbling and falling, and it worked! He’d used his foot! He could kick with One for All!

Cheers fill the room, but Izuku instantly knows it’s not Sensei.

Izuku glances back at the cheering where he sees Oboro stood straight up. He’s got that squinty-eyed grin on his face, arms stretched over his head. His arms bend over his shoulders and his fist are hidden behind his head, “you’re doing amazing, Sweetie!”

Izuku regrets ever letting Oboro watch old meme compilations.

He huffs out a laugh before getting back to his task.

He’s almost done.

The pillar numbers are slowly dwindling down. He makes quick work of kicking the base of the pillars. Each pillar cracks at his impact and slowly caves over. He’s really doing it.

By the time he kicks the last pillar standing, the one in the center he’d used as his vantage point, he’s tired. One for All flickers before he manages to power it down. The exhaustion from training hits him like a bus.

He’s sore.

His fingers ache as the adrenaline of finishing his task wears off, and his knuckles throb. His hand is covered in dried blood, but he doesn’t care because he’d done it. He’d played Sensei’s game, and he’d won!

He takes another second to assess himself before he kneels and palms at his foot. The top of it aches from smacking into concrete, but besides that and his hand and fingers, he’s uninjured.

“You managed it.”

Izuku jumps in surprise at the voice, attention shooting up to where Sensei is standing over his shoulder, assessing him for injuries. His gaze lingers on the broken fingers and knuckle wounds before his eyes drop to where Izuku’s still pressing against the top of his shoe to alleviate the impact pains.

“Anything broken?”

“Two fingers,” Izuku tells him proudly, and wait—is that a flicker of a smile behind Sensei’s bandages? It’s gone so fast he thinks it was just his brain playing tricks on him. “Everything is just impact irritation.”

“Show me,” Sensei hums out, though Izuku can’t help but think he almost looks impressed.

He does, fanning his fingers out so his teacher can actually assess his injuries. Sensei’s eyes trail up his arms, lingering on old scars and injuries that he’d gotten both from junior high, as well as trying to learn One for All by himself.

“And your foot?”

Izuku blinks before taking off his shoe and sock. The top of his foot is bruised like you wouldn’t believe, but he wiggles toes, and rotates his ankle before bending his foot to prove it’s not actually broken.

Sensei seems content with it, giving a faint nod.

“So, did you learn anything?”

“I can kick!” Izuku chirps as he slips his sock and shoe back on before standing up. “I’d never thought of it before—but it worked really well! It still hurts, but I think I just need a support item like steel-toe shoes or something else padded; then I’d be able to alternate between my fists and my feet.”

“You did well, Problem Child. You exceeded my expectations.” Sensei tells him as they walk back towards the door side by side. Oboro is still grinning like an idiot stood by the door. “You made good progress today, far better than I’ve seen you make in class. You were able to alter your strategy as the activity progressed. It’s promising. Are you still afraid?”

“Yes,” Izuku answers honestly because he is. It’s powerful, and he’s just now learning the tip of the iceberg. There’s so much more to this Quirk. “But I’m getting more confident with it. Thank you, Sensei.”

“Don’t thank me,” his teacher huffs out. “We’ll keep working until you feel confident in your Quirk. It’s a logical fear to have given how late your Quirk manifested and how little supported practice you have, but it’s not going to help you. Don’t let fear control you.”

Don’t let fear control you.

Izuku sucks in a breath as he thinks back to the evening prior. He’d realized that yesterday, when he’d sat facing his ghost friend. He’d forced himself to relax, taking shots in the dark of how to open up a connection he hadn’t even known he was pushing down.

He’d realized it yesterday on his own but... it was different hearing it from Sensei. It was different coming from someone else; someone he was slowly starting to trust. It sounded like good advice now, instead of a desperate attempt to make something happen.

“Don’t let fear control me...” Izuku repeated under his breath. “Alright.”

He knows his Sensei hears him mutter to himself by how he shifts slightly as they walk, but he doesn’t mention it. They arrive at the door, pausing as Izuku grabs his school bag and hesitates while his ghost friend falls into step beside him, a wide smirk on the ghost’s lips.

A smirk he desperately wants to question.

Instead, Izuku looks on at the mess of fallen concrete. He silently feels back for making such a mess, but Sensei doesn’t seem fazed.

“I did it.” It just hits him now as he looks out. He’d done it. He’d finished Sensei’s game. They were all knocked over. Some crumbled to bits, and other laying in chunks. Nothing is left standing but him.

“You did it,” Sensei gives a nod that could almost be pride, “congratulations, Problem Child. You managed to knock all the pillars down without taking substantial damage to your body. In just over thirty-two minutes.”

Yes! He’d done it. No damage taken (or... no more than allowed at least). No pillar left standing. And he’d done it all in just over thirty-tw—

“Thirty-two minutes?!” Izuku sputters. “I failed?”

Oboro is chortling behind him, bent in half as he laughs. He had half a mind to swing around and backhand him. Would he be able to channel his Quirk through his irritation? Was that a strong enough emotion to let lose like at the USJ?

Izuku think he even hears Sensei muffle a chuckle into the bandages covering his face, and his capture scarf too, but he’s not completely sure through his defeated misery. He’d failed.

“Cheer up, Problem Child,” his teacher hums out, tone almost teasing, “it’s only twenty suicide sprints.”

Izuku just groans as the ghost at his side starts cackling.

“Now, off you go. Recovery Girl is expecting you. Don’t expect her to fix you up completely, just the broken fingers, got it? No more relying on the old lady to heal every self-inflicted injury.”

“Yes, Sensei,” Izuku sighs, looking up at his teacher with a light smile.

Chapter Text

Izuku shows up to English class that morning with his thumb and pointer finger wrapped in bandages and splinted. Recover Girl had healed the shattered bones, but had insisted on adding that last little bit of support while his body continued to mend together. She hadn’t done anything more than tut at the bruises and knuckles wounds she insisted he show her, leaving them to heal naturally like Sensei had insisted.

Then, she’d urged him to take a power nap before classes started and dropped a handful of nutrient gummies into his still sleep drowsy hand before ushering him out ten minutes before the bell that alerted them of class starting.

Izuku wonders if that’s why his training session had only lasted a little under forty-five minutes between being informed of the rules, and actually completing the task. Sensei had said Quirk training sessions would be an hour at least when they’d sat down to arrange the schedule, but today it hadn’t.

Had his intention been to send him to Recovery Girl to be taken care of?

Was it just Sensei’s way of ensuring he had ample time to recover and be ready for classes despite the injuries he was sure Izuku would leave Gym Gamma with?

Had he really planned that far ahead?

Had he really been that mindful, and cautious? Giving Izuku a time limit for his Quirk training activity that would make sure he had the time he needed to be ready for the day? Izuku assumed his teacher didn’t want him missing class time, but it still felt odd that he’d put so much thought and preparation into the training session. Seeing it from all angles, and predicting outcomes and planning appropriately for each different outcome.

He doesn’t let himself think about it too long, because before he knows it, he’s already sitting in English, and Mic-Sensei is spinning away from the chalk board with a wide grin, the new concept they’ll be learning scrawled in white chalk behind him.

Oboro had been late coming to class, probably staying behind with Sensei who’d been in Gym Gamma the last time Izuku had seen him. Oboro hadn’t followed him down to the infirmary. Izuku wonders how the mess of concrete was going to be cleaned up, but he assumes it’ll be taken care of the same way it was built, using Cementoss’ Quirk.

The ghost shoots him a smile in greeting but settles at Mic-Sensei's desk instead of perching on the edge of Izuku’s. That’s not weird in itself, but the fact that Oboro is near silent definitely is.

Oboro seems to just watch as Sensei teaches. He’s not really listening, just... studying the man. He probably knows this lesson already; he’s said before that he’s come to a lot of Present Mic and Aizawa-Sensei's classes.

Why does he keep coming if he already knows what’s being taught? Why spend his time here? Izuku knows that Oboro is connected to their teachers, he’s made it clear, but why keep coming to school. Why keep repeating the same thing day after day? Maybe even year after year?

Izuku’s thoughts come to a stop as his hand freezes where it’s jotting down an answer to a question on the worksheet in front of him. He really doesn’t remember getting it—had Iida passed it to him, or had Sensei? And when did he start filling it out? What even was this?

Izuku can’t help but let his thoughts stray from the paper again, glance lifting to the ghost perched at the teacher's desk at the front of the room.

He really doesn’t know a lot about the ghost.

He’s let this ghost use his Quirk, but he knows very little about him. Honestly, what does he actually know?

He knows he’s dead.

But that’s a given. Oboro is a ghost. Ghosts are usually dead. That doesn’t really count as something Izuku really knows about him. It’s fact.

He knows he’s close to Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic-Sensei.

But he doesn’t know how. Why. Why is this ghost following his school teachers around? Why is Oboro so keen on them? So invested in them? Why does he sit through this class every single day when he’s not learning anything, and Sensei can’t even see him?

Izuku definitely wouldn’t want to follow any of his teachers around if he was a ghost.

It just raises more questions.

Why?

Who the hell is this ghost?

He’s obviously a student here... or, he was a student here. The uniform is a giveaway, but Oboro definitely has the spirit and attitude to be a Hero Course student—and he’s got a good Quirk to boot. He gave little regard for himself before launching into battle alongside Sensei, and throwing himself in the crossfire when it came to Izuku and his peers versus the Decay-Quirked villain. He had that same drive of ‘my feet just started moving on their own’.

But what else does he really know?

He knows Oboro’s Quirk just from seeing it.

He knows the Quirk because Oboro had been compelled to tell him about it. That had been the only conversation where he’d actually gotten solid answers from the ghost, and that was just because they were both too desperate to figure out what the hell happened to really think about what they were doing and sharing.

But that... that’s all he knows.

He’s a ghost, he’d died at some point, he’s close to his two specific teachers (again: how? Why?), and he’s got a cloud Quirk that he wouldn’t have told him about if it hadn’t come up like it had—quite literally. Izuku’s not sure Oboro would’ve said a thing about his Quirk if he hadn’t witnessed the clouds himself.

Then there’s...

...

There’s nothing else he can think of.

He knows nothing else about this ghost.

And in contrast, there’s so little Oboro doesn’t know about him.

Oboro’s seen where he lives—he’s been in his home. He’s watched his TV, and used his computer. They’d eaten together (or, Izuku had eaten and Oboro had pouted while whining about his inability to eat). He’d been in Izuku’s room, seen the frankly kinda embarrassing All Might décor he’s collected since his toddler years—had hidden a laugh at said décor into his fist before telling Izuku it was cute (rude!).

Oboro knows his deepest, most guarded secrets. He knew of One for All, and he knows more of what Kacchan had done to him than anyone else. He’d seen Izuku at his worst after those battle simulations, stuck by his side through it, and he’d even shared the prideful and joyous sentiment when they’d first really used his newfound old Quirk without being overcome with intense emotions.

Oboro's used his Quirk. Izuku had trusted Oboro enough to let him into himself. He’d like the ghost in, allowed him access to his Quirk. The first ghost to ever get that sorta trust from him. The first to ever befriend him, like more than just friendly greetings and conversation in passing. They were friends.

Oboro has gotten closer to Izuku than anyone had since he was diagnosed as Quirkless, but the favor definitely hadn’t been returned. Izuku had let this ghost of a teenage boy who’d died who knows when, who knows how, into his life, and he hadn’t gotten the same thing back.

If Izuku was an open book, Oboro was a padlocked diary.

And he understood that Oboro probably had reason to keep his secrets guarded. He understood that maybe it was hard for the happy-go-lucky ghost to recall his old life, to think about what he’d been like before dying. Death was hard. He didn’t know how it had happened, but it was probably traumatic—death usually was.

Izuku couldn’t even begin to imagine being a ghost. Being able to do nothing more than follow loved ones around. Not to be seen, or heard. Hardly even there, but also there completely.

Izuku understood. He got it, but he still couldn’t help the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him it wasn’t fair. This ghost knew so much about him. He followed him around, came to his home. He knew his secrets, and had been his voice of reason a few times in their short friendship, but he never gave back what he was taking.

Oboro told him nothing—and even when he’d tried to ask, just an innocent question about if Sensei and Present Mic were friends, he’d been shut down. Oboro had stepped around the question entirely. He’d led him along without really giving him an answer.

If he wouldn’t answer a question like that, one that wasn’t even about him, there’s no way he’d answer a question about himself. Plus, was it considered rude to ask questions like that to a ghost? Would it stir up bad memories?

As curious as he was, and as desperate as he was for something to balance the scales a little, he still didn’t want to ask anything that could hurt the ghost.

He’d never want to intentionally ask something that would upset his friend. But what was considered upsetting questions? There was no online how-to or ancient guide book to talking to ghost friends about themselves. Izuku was pretty sure this was a problem that was entirely his own.

It just... it wasn’t fair.

Didn’t seem fair that Oboro knew so much about him, but kept himself so mysterious.

Izuku bites the inside of his cheek, forcing his attention back onto the lesson being taught.

He’s behind now—doesn't even remember what’s been taught thus far. What had the original lesson been? What were all those examples on the board?

All he knows is what’s written on the board now, is not what had been there before. How many times had Mic-Sensei erased and written new notes? And he hadn’t even finished his work sheet yet.

Izuku blinks, frowning down at his work. The half-finished worksheet and the nearly empty page of notes. Yikes.

When he looks up towards his teacher and the board again in an attempt to try and brute force his way through the lesson, he catches Sensei’s gaze for just a second. The teacher frowns lightly, cocks his head to the side in a silent, hardly noticeable gesture of question before going back to his teaching.

He knows.

Had he been that obviously lost in thought? Caught not listening; not even paying attention in the slightest by his Sensei? That was a glance of knowing from Mic-Sensei. Had his teacher really caught on to the fact he was so spaced out he didn’t even notice forty-minutes had passed in class?

And had he noticed, but not attempted to call Izuku’s attention back? To remind him to focus? He’d just... let him...?

Izuku’s not sure what his teacher sees on his face when the man catches his own gaze for a second time and—damnit, he’d zoned out again, hadn’t he? The board’s been updated, and nothing makes any sense to Izuku anymore.

His teacher’s frown had deepened for a second after that brief moment of eye contact, the second time, not the first, before that bright smile is back on his face and he’s addressing the whole class again.

He’s honestly glad he doesn’t get called out for it. That’s something his previous teachers had always done, and it always fueled his tormentors. Stupid Deku wanting to get into Yuuei when he couldn’t even focus in class? Yeah right!

Kacchan had always been the worst for throwing those thoughtful spells of inattention back at him.

He brushes off the thought after a glance over at Kacchan. The older teen’s gaze is on the board, sitting slack in his chair. He’s writing down the notes, paying attention, even if he does look completely board with his fist holding his head up. He’s not paying Izuku any mind, and it’s a weight off the green-haired teen’s shoulders.

Kacchan had changed a lot since the start of the year, hardly paying Izuku any attention anymore.

For the rest of class, Izuku tries to catch himself up—but it's a lost cause considering he doesn’t really know what he’d missed. How much had Mic-Sensei taught when he’d had his head up in the clouds thinking about his ghost friend?

“Midoriya?” Sensei’s voice breaks him from his thoughts. The teen looks up from his anxious scrawl of the notes he’d caught at the end of class, only to notice the room emptying—had the bell rung already? He forces his attention up to where Present Mic is looking at him, that little frown from earlier back on his face, “can we have a word before you head out, Lil’ Listener?”

He gives a nod, because who is he to deny a teacher asking to speak with him?

He’d expected this. He’d been ignoring the lesson, lost in his own head. Of course, his teacher would have something to say about it. They always do.

He was behind now—his notes making zero sense because he’d missed half of them. And the assignment his classmates were setting down in a pile on Sensei’s podium was hardly even started.

He was definitely in trouble.

But at least he was in trouble after his classmates were gone.

Izuku packs up his desk and stands slowly, half completed assignment clutched to his chest as he makes his way towards Mic-Sensei. Ochako had paused in the doorway, shooting him a look, which he’d waved off. He didn’t want her to be late for math class too, and he really didn’t want her watching him get chewed out for spacing out when he was supposed to be paying attention.

He shuffles his feet, shooting Oboro a look that the ghost frowns heavily at. There’s a hesitance, and uncertain glimmer in the ghost’s eye as he stiffens up. Had he noticed Izuku’s inattention too? He hadn’t said anything either. He’d almost forgotten the ghost was in the room at all, too consumed by his own thoughts and the pit of bubbling uncertainty in his stomach.

Still, the look Izuku shoots him has the ghost leaving the classroom as well; lingering for just a second before poofing away. He’s not sure where he goes, but he’s glad he left. He doesn’t want to be lectured in front of any of his friends. Alive or ghost.

“Are you okay, Listener?”

Izuku’s attention jolts up to where his teacher is leaning against the edge of the podium—right beside where everyone had set their assignments.

It’s not what he’s expecting. Concern? Where was the irritation? The annoyance?

“Uhm...” is the only thing Izuku can manage out.

“I just noticed you haven’t been paying much attention in class today, and I was wondering if you were alright? Did something happen? I know you... you were working with Aizawa this morning, right? Did something happen then?”

He gives a slow nod—and he’s not sure whether it’s conformation that he’d worked that morning with Aizawa-Sensei, or agreement that he’d been dissociating in class. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up to the other questions, and he quickly shakes his head, which is probably contradicting to the nod.

He hopes Sensei understands either way.

“I’m...” he’s what? Okay? Not okay? Lost? Confused? Thinking about a ghost he knows nothing about? “...fine.”

“Fine?” his teacher repeats with a raised eyebrow. Present Mic’s face softens slightly and his head quirks a bit to the side, “y’know, Listener, I’ve been a teacher for a long time now, and I gotta tell ya, when a student says they’re fine they’re not usually fine.”

There’s a pause, where Izuku shrugs, gaze dropping to his shoes.

“You were having a lot of trouble staying focused, and from what I could tell, you were dissociating pretty bad, Kiddo,” Mic’s voice is soft again. Maybe even the softest he’s ever heard from his eccentric, loud spoken teacher, “do you need to see HoundDog? I can walk ya down before the next class starts? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” he shakes his head promptly. This wasn’t a probably he could talk to the counsellor about. It wasn’t a problem he could talk to anyone about. “I’m sorry, I... I’m just having friend troubles, I think? Really, I’m... I don’t need to see HoundDog. I really am okay, just... Sorry about spacing out during class.”

“It’s alright,” Mic-Sensei assures with a gentle smile, “sometimes you just can’t help it. Just one of those days, huh?”

Izuku gives a light nod, fiddling with his assignment paper.

“Tell ya what, Listener,” Mic-Sensei's voice is almost back to the usual chipper tone he teaches with. It’s still softer like before, but it’s a nice middle between the softspoken and his bright teaching tones, “why don’t you stop by at the start of lunch and we’ll make sure you’ve got all the notes, okay? And if you need a bit more time with that assignment, you can pass it in at the end of the day, or even before class on Monday, sound good?”

“Yes, Sensei,” Izuku lets out a breath of relief, crinkling the paper as he tightens his grip. He really had stayed behind expecting to get lectured—to be in trouble for not paying attention. And honestly, he does feel bad about not paying attention—he shouldn’t have let himself get so wrapped up in Oboro. “I really am sorry, I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“Don’t worry your little head, Listener,” his teacher chirps back, and he’s suddenly back to his usual self. The softness almost completely wiped from his tone. But it’s almost comforting that Present Mic is letting this go so easily. “It’s nothing we can’t fix with a little extra work, ya’dig?”

Izuku lets a small smile curl onto his own lips.

He liked Present Mic.

He’d always seemed super nice on the radio, and it’s nice to know he’s actually like that in real life. Some people just put on an act when they’re in the spotlight—a persona that’ll be well received by the public.

Izuku’s not sure that’s the case for the eccentric radio host and Pro Hero. It’s nice.

“Oh, hey, before you head out,” Mic-Sensei interrupts Izuku’s thoughts. He hadn’t been spacing out, just thinking, “was there anything I could help you with? Y’know, with your friend problem that’s troubling you? Or if not, that’s fine too!”

Izuku opens his mouth to promise he’s okay before he shuts it with a click of his teeth.

Wait a second...

Maybe he could help...

“When did you start teaching here, Sensei?”

The question catches his teacher off guard. He can tell. Mic-Sensei's eyebrows furrow in surprise and his mouth forms an ‘o’ shape before his expression relaxes out and he lets out a laugh, “ah, I’ve been here about... six years?”

“What about Aizawa-Sensei?”

The surprise doesn’t show on Present Mic’s face a second time, but he does cock his head in confusion. The man blinks slowly before replying uncertainly, like Izuku has some kind of ulterior motive behind the question, “Aizawa started a semester after I did.”

Izuku nods his head. Six years. Good, he’s got a time frame now.

“Thank you, Mic-Sensei."

“No problem,” the man mutters without a second thought. He sobers a bit, a light frown of suspicion tugging at his lips, “is there a... reason you’re asking about us, or are ya asking all your teachers when they started?”

“No, no reason,” Izuku rubs the back of his neck, teeth digging into his lip a way he hopes doesn’t look suspicious. It probably does, but what can he do? “I was just curious, I guess. You’re just... a great teacher, Sensei, and uhm, so is Aizawa-Sensei in like... his own kinda way...?”

“Thanks, Listener,” Present Mic nods slowly, eyeing the teen over before he lets out a sigh, “now, you’d better get to your next class. The bell’ll be ringing soon. If you are late, tell Ectoplasm to shoot me a message and I’ll excuse ya, yo. I did ask you to stick around for a sec.”

“Thank you!” Izuku bows quickly before standing up again, “I’ll see you at the start of lunch, Sensei!”

Izuku sprints out the door before his Sensei can get another word in.

It’s hours later that Izuku finds himself alone in the library.

He’s not sure where Oboro had gone, he hadn’t seen him since English when he’d sent him away with nothing more than a glance. He hadn’t been waiting outside of Midnight-Sensei's Modern Hero Art History class at the start of lunch. That’s usually where Oboro found him if he wanted to spend lunch with him, and if not, Izuku would just step into the flood of students heading to the cafeteria.

It’s lunch break now, or, twenty minutes into it at least.

He’d made a beeline for English when the bell had rung, stopping in with Mic-Sensei for that promised extra help.

He felt loads more confident about finishing the worksheet now that his notes were in order and he had everything he’d need. It really had helped, and thankfully, Mic-Sensei had brushed off how odd Izuku had been that morning.

Truthfully, his teacher just looked glad to see him chipper again, and not as dissociative as he’d been during class. It was still lingering; he’d had to drag himself forcefully from his thoughts on multiple occasions, but nothing had gotten as out of hand as it had in English.

He’d managed to pull himself together for the most part and keep his thoughts off his ghost friend during the rest of his classes. He thinks maybe it’s because Oboro never joined him in any of those classes. Just English, homeroom and any training that Aizawa-Sensei is a part of. Anywhere his two Senseis would be, basically.

His lunch time study session had also been the perfect excuse to dodge his classmates when they asked him to join them for lunch. He felt bad doing it, but he was on a mission, and technically, he had spent lunch with Mic-Sensei, just... just not the whole lunch hour. He hadn’t lied.

So, here Izuku sat at a table towards the back of the library, hidden away behind rows of books. The library was usually pretty empty unless students were cramming for tests or exams, but for the most part, the student body tended to hang out in the cafeteria, or the school yard during breaks.

There were the stragglers, of course, like him right now, tucked away and hidden.

But still, the library was silent—only disturbed by the occasional turning of a page, scratching of a pencil or a soft whisper that he could barely pick up.

Izuku looks down in front of him where six books are stacked up. Six yearbooks. All dating back the past six years. Those past six years when Present Mic-Sensei, and then shortly after, Aizawa-Sensei had been teaching at Yuuei.

The teen bites his lip as he pulls the first one off the stack, flipping through the pages in hopes of finding a familiar face and tufts of cloudy blue hair hidden in the pages.

He wants to find Oboro in one of these books. Oboro’s bound to be here somewhere—he's wearing the school uniform after all. He was a student here. He knows the courses, and the teachers. He hangs around Aizawa-Sensei and Mic-Sensei. Two teachers. Izuku’s teachers, so probably his own teachers too.

How else would a student know the two? They’d taught him, right? They’d been his teachers. He can’t think of any other reason—nothing else adds up like this does.

So, he flips through the pages. Scans them all. Studies each photo of each student. He slowly, one by one, makes his way through the pile. Each book gets the same treatment. Each book is studied, and memorized, and scanned for one face in particular. Searched for that wide, squinty grin and cheerful blue eyes.

But he doesn’t find him.

Oboro isn’t in any of these books.

There’s no one who even looks faintly like Oboro in any of the six books, and Izuku is frustrated. Oboro doesn’t exist. Not here in these books. Not in the past six years his Senseis have been teaching at Yuuei.

Izuku lets his head thump down against the table top, swallowing down a groan of defeated annoyance.

Nothing makes sense—and he feels more lost than he had before.

As far as Izuku was concerned, his day had gone relatively well. There were ups, and there were downs.

Training had been a big success.

In just two days, he’d already made bounds and leaps with both his natural Quirk and his gifted Quirk.

First of all, he’d touched Oboro. They’d touched of their own will, instead of whatever forced trauma manifestation had happened at the USJ and when they’d been tucked away in Izuku’s bedroom. It had almost been different, using his Quirk of his own free will—channeling it instead of being swept under the undercurrents of grief, or fear, or any other strong emotions that had forced the connection.

Still, it was amazing. How cool was that? He’d touched the ghost. Had allowed the ghost access to his Quirk—he’d accessed his Quirk.

They’d touched—a living teen and a deceased teen: touching! Oboro didn't even have a solid form, but he did. Only when Izuku’s Quirk was active.

And then there was the fact Oboro had made a cloud.

A cloud in Izuku’s living room.

Sure, he’d seen the clouds at the USJ, but it felt all the more real when it was in his house. He knew for a fact nothing could’ve done it beside Oboro. Clouds don’t appear in apartments, not that they supposedly just appear in the enclosed dome of the USJ, but Izuku knows for a fact that clouds don’t appear in apartments. There was no doubt about the fact that Oboro could harness Izuku’s Quirk to use his own.

And if that weren’t already progress enough, he’d also made serious progress with One for All too.

He’d only ever seen All Might rely on his fists in the heat of the battle. So Izuku had as well. It had seemed right; logical. Punching. Using fists.

It was All Might’s Quirk, so he should use it like All Might, right?

Wrong.

Izuku didn't have the same bulking frame. He was small; agile in a way the Pro could never be in his Hero form. Izuku was small and could easily rely on his feet instead of his fists.

Kicks just made so much more sense. He could put so much power into whipping around to kick something, someone. He was powerful with his fists as well, but kicking just worked better for him, and his body type. He could try as hard as he wanted to build up mass, but it was unrealistic to think he’d ever reach All Might’s frame.

Besides, being small wasn’t a curse—well, it had been when he was little, but now it was a blessing in disguise. He was fast. Could throw himself into a roundhouse kick without much thought. He was light on his feet, but strong. His kicks held serious power—maybe even more than his fists if he can continue strengthening his ability to direct One for All to his feet better.

Plus, if he uses his feet, he doesn’t risk injuring his arms any more than he already has because frankly... the scars are starting to get worrying. And he knows that by how Aizawa-Sensei's gaze had lingered on his arm to play ‘connect the scars’ when he’d been checking him for major injuries after their Quirk training session that morning.

And he really didn’t want to push his arms and hands past the point that he can no longer use them.

He can use his feet as his primary attack method, but he can’t always rely on being able to swing into a kick. He’s got to have other effect moves, like Sensei had mentioned at the USJ.

And his teacher really had had cool hidden moves that Izuku couldn’t even dream of having.

Sensei was so cool.

Still, Izuku feels quite accomplished as he walks home from the train station.

He knows the day hadn’t been perfect.

His dissociating episode in English class that worried his teacher to the point he’d suggested an impromptu counsellor visit, as well as slamming into a dead-end on the first lead Izuku had managed to get when it came to trying to figure out his ghost friend.

Not to mention the fact that he’s sore still; bruised and with his fingers bandaged at Recovery Girl’s insistence. But he’s feeling good all things considered.

He’s alone today; Oboro having found him while he was doing sparring with Asui towards the end of the day. Present Mic had apparently been called in specifically for a villain attack in the city, and Oboro had been bouncing on the balls of his heels as he’d raved about tagging along.

Izuku had nodded his head, frowning as Asui caught him with her tongue in his second of distracted. His brain was half a second too late to dodge around it like he had been up until that point. He shot the ghost a glare as he struggled halfheartedly against the restraint of Asui’s tongue before turning his attention back to his frog friend who was blinking in surprise.

“Pay attention, Midoriya.” Sensei had scowled from across the room, shaking his head. Izuku wasn’t sure how the man always saw them whenever they weren’t at their best—it was a scary talent. “You’re a sitting target when you’re distracted.”

The ghost had shot him a sheepish grin before disappearing from sight, no doubt to join Present Mic like he’d been talking about. The teen blew out a breath, dragging his gaze away from where it had shot to his Sensei’s stern tone and back onto Tsuyu as his friend let him loose. “Again?”

Asui nodded, settling into an attack stance.

The day had finished off as it usually did. After his distraction of a friend was gone, he’d managed to push himself to the limits. He’d performed to his full potential, and gave it his all. Sensei didn’t have to remind him to focus again.

Izuku didn’t mind leaving by himself, though it was weird to not have Oboro by his side. He’d grown used to walking home with the ghost in the two and a half weeks they’d been doing it.

And to be fair, he hadn’t even really walked alone.

He walked to the station with Iida and Ochako, who always invite him to walk with them, but he usually excuses himself and left a bit later so he could walk home with the ghost. It was nice walking with people he could talk too without having to pretend to be on a call, or risk looking like a crazy person.

They’d really just talked about lessons, the homework they’d been given for their core classes, and about how harsh Aizawa-Sensei could be at times. They only talked about him because he’d lectured Uraraka about pushing herself too hard instead of taking small steps in an attempt to build up her endurance when she’d made herself sick towards the end of class after overusing her Quirk.

It was a fair lecture, as Sensei’s intense talks usually were, but no one liked being on the receiving end of them. Even if they were incredibly useful.

He’d waved to them as he stepped onto his own train. Ochako’s went in the other direction, and Iida’s was about ten minutes after theirs.

The rest of his walk home was quiet.

He’d settled down at the kitchen table to work on his homework when he’d arrived. First on the English assignment, and then on his math homework.

He was halfway through his math equations when there was a steady knock on the door.

Izuku cocked his head in the direction of the door, frowning as he pushed himself up and padded through the apartment to open it. He really doesn’t know who it could be—Kacchan and his family are the only people who know where he lives, but he knows his hardheaded childhood friend definitely wouldn’t stop in for a visit.

And none of his school friends know where he lives, and Oboro doesn’t bother with doors—usually can’t anyways.

Izuku pulled the door open, back going ramrod when he makes eye contact with their landlord standing patiently on the other side.

He probably should’ve checked the peephole before opening the door. Then maybe he could’ve come up with something more than the quiet, “H-hi.” he accidentally squeaks out.

The teen winces internally at the pathetic noise he’d just made in his surprise, wanting to do nothing more than face palm. He doesn’t, but he wants too.

“Hey, Kid,” the man greets. He’s short—just a bit taller than Izuku is but that’s not really a positive comparison. Portly, but with a friendly face and kind eyes. He’d always been a kind, lenient landlord over the years. He’s older, mid to late fifties—his own daughter had been Izuku’s babysitter for a couple years after his dad had left. She’s in university in America now. “Your mother home?”

“No,” Izuku shakes his head, “not yet. Y-you know how hectic her schedule is sometimes... Was there... a message I could deliver to her?”

The man shuffles his feet, biting his lip before sighing. “It’s not something you should be worried about, Kid, you’re going to that fancy school, eh? Yuuei? That’s what you should be worried about. I’ll come back around later to talk to her.”

Izuku gives a slow nod, wondering briefly how he knows which school he goes too before remembering he’s currently in his school uniform. Then his brain catches up to the ‘I’ll come back around later’, and he knows that his landlord isn’t going to catch her—if Izuku, who lives in the same apartment can’t, the landlord probably won’t. “No, it’s okay. I... what, uhm, what do you need my mom for?”

“Well,” the man clears his throat, “just... rent was due last week and I didn’t receive anything from her.”

His mother hadn’t paid their rent? Izuku tried not to let the surprise show on his face, “ah... I’m sorry. She must’ve forgotten. I’ll... I’ll let her know when I see her.”

“Thanks kid,” the man gives him a light smile, “just let her know I stopped by. Good luck with your classes, I hear they’re tough.”

“T-thank you,” Izuku forced a smile onto his own face, despite the sinking feeling in his chest. She hadn’t paid rent. She’d never not paid rent before... “I’ll let her know you’re looking for her when I see her. Thank you for stopping in.”

Izuku bows slightly, hoping that the action will hide his nervous eyes behind his hair when he straightens back up. The man gives him a smile, and a light wave before turning the walking away down the hall without another word. Izuku finds himself a couple seconds later stood in the exact position, leaning too heavily on the open door.

He swallows, slowly easing the door shut.

She hadn’t paid rent. She’d always paid rent. Why... why hadn’t she paid rent?

Izuku treks numbly back into the apartment, blinking owlishly at his homework spread along the table.

Now that he thinks about it... when was the last time he’d seen her? Heard from her? When... when was the last time she’d given him food money? He remembers finding more than he usually would a couple weeks ago; being surprised. It wasn’t enough for rent, but it was more than he’d ever gotten.

That was... the start of the school year. He’d just figured it was a ‘Good job, Izuku, getting into Yuuei high school is no easy feat!’ kinda thing. But now that he thinks about it... he hadn’t really talked to her about getting into Yuuei—had simply left all the school admission forms on the table before school started one evening and they’d been signed by the next morning.

He honestly doesn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother face to face.

A rush of panic crawls up his spine as he chokes on a breath.

He hadn’t had any contact with her for weeks—almost a full month. Those signatures had been the last time she’d actually been in the apartment and left him something of proof that she was coming around. That extra food money and those signed documents.

Izuku turns on his heels and walks down the hallway leading to their bedrooms.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest.

His mother’s light is off, as it always is. He pauses outside her door—he’d always respected her space. Never going in. The last time he’d been in her room had been when he was little, after a nightmare. He’s wandered in, dragging his fist across his eyes to wipe away his tears and begged to sleep with her.

He hadn’t been allowed to sleep with her. She’d sat up drowsily, casted a nervous look behind him like there was someone behind him (there wasn’t), before frowning down at him and leading him back to his own room. He remembers trembling as she’d tucked him back in, scared to be alone but she’d left him anyways.

He doesn’t hesitate outside the door for long, biting the inside of his cheek before pushing the door open and flicking the lights on.

And...

It’s empty.

Her clothes are gone. The bed is made, and untouched. Her spare shoes are nowhere to be seen; the closet is practically bare besides old outfits she never wore anymore, things that didn’t fit, or that she didn’t quite like anymore. Everything in her outfit rotation was gone.

There’re empty clothes hangers left strewn on the rod in her closet, and Izuku can imagine her ripping her clothes off the hangers in a hurry. He bites down so hard on his lip that he’s sure he broke skin.

The more he looks, the emptier it feels; the smaller he feels.

There’s a light layer of dust coating everything from the shelves, to the bedside tables and lamps.

Izuku forces in a breath when he realizes he hadn’t been breathing. It burns his lungs, but he still takes another steadying breath because breathing is important.

She’s gone.

Everything of his mother’s is gone. The drawers are empty. All her little knick-knacks are gone. Her makeup isn’t there, and the few photos she’d framed, over the years, hung along the walls and perched on her tables are nowhere to be seen.

She’s... she’s really gone.

He feels sick. He feels dizzy. He feels like the world is suddenly crumbling around him.

His mom is gone.

He steps stiffly into the room; perches on the edge of the bed as a numb feeling settles in his entire being. She’d left. She was gone... and she hadn’t even... she hadn’t said goodbye.

He wants to cry, but no tears surface. Maybe he’s just too tired to cry. Maybe it’s not even worth crying over.

A small part of him had known this was coming. A tiny, logical part of his brain knew it was only a matter of time. She’d been pulling away from him like his father had. She’d spent more time at work. Sent fewer text messages. Her calls to him when she was at work slowed before they’d stopped entirely. She stopped coming home when he was home, and avidly avoided him.

It was all there—he'd seen this coming, so why did it hurt so bad?

He drags his palms down his eyes and then his cheeks, exhaustion hitting him like a truck. He hunches forward to drop his head between his knees in an attempt to calm his churning stomach, freezing when his eyes catch a piece of paper on his mother’s bedside table.

It’s folded, tucked halfway under the lamp, but he can see his own name written out in his mother’s perfect scrawl. He sucks in a breath as his fingers settle over the penmanship before he carefully pulls it out.

He stares at his name. He doesn’t know how long he does. It’s like he can’t force his attention away—like if he looks away, or pays it any mind at all it’ll disappear from his fingers. He thumbs over the lettering of his name before finally finding the courage to unfold it.

And he wishes he hadn’t.

I’m sorry.

Chapter Text

Izuku doesn’t remember falling asleep in his mother’s room. He doesn’t remember sinking to the floor with his back against the bed, face tucked into his knees, and arms clutching around his knees like a lifeline, but that’s how he’d woken up. Sore and stiff, eyes dry and irritated.

The paper, his mother’s note, had been refolded and grasped in his hand the whole night.

It’s a little wrinkled now, new folds in the paper from where he’d held too tight in his sleep. The note brings back the numbness from the night before, but he’s kinda glad he’s numb. He’d rather numbness than heartbreak. It’s the better option.

He sits on the floor for a while before managing to pull himself up. His body moves on autopilot as he treks through the apartment. Feet dragging more than stepping. It feels colder now. Bigger than what he’s used too. He feels small.

It doesn’t feel real, but the note in his hand is very much so.

A tiny part expects him to find his mother in the kitchen, or sitting in the living room.

It’s dumb.

I’m sorry.

She’s not of course. He’s alone.

The apartment remains the same it had been when he’d made his way to her room. His books and papers are all scattered on the table, half completed. He drops heavily into his chair from the night before, feeling more exhausted than he had when he’d fallen asleep.

The note sits before him, turn upside down on top of his math assignment so he can’t see his name. Looking at it hurts his heart, but seeing his name in her scrawl shatters it completely.

He doesn’t have enough money for rent—he barely has enough money to buy himself school lunches and instant ramen to tide him over until the next lunch. He’d spread that allowance he’d been given as thinly as he could, but it still wasn’t enough. Soon he’d have none left, which meant he’d have no food.

Izuku lets his head fall down onto the table, straying his fingers away from the note as if it had burnt him.

Now isn’t the time to give up.

He can’t let this hurt him. Not now.

He was a Yuuei student; a Hero Course student. He’d been living alone for a long time now but... he’d never done it alone. His mother had always made sure he had everything he needed, even if she wasn’t really around. She fed him, and clothed him, made sure he had an education, and a roof over his head.

But he was alone now.

There was no help. She’d left. She’d left without a word, just like his father. She’d packed up, and moved her belongings out. Left when he was gone, or in the middle of the night—he's not sure. No one was going to help him. No one knew, and frankly, he’s not sure anyone would even want to help him.

He didn’t have his mom, or his dad. Not anymore.

No family.

He really was alone.

But could he do it alone...?

He’d have to try.

He wasn’t going to give up.

How could he be a Hero if he gave up when things got tough? This was... it was a learning curve. This would make him stronger. He’d learn from this.

Izuku pulled in a ragged breath, glancing down at his homework before pushing himself up from his chair.

He wasn’t going to sit around while everything he’d worked so hard for crumbled.

The cool morning breeze assaulted his face when he stepped out of the apartment building doors.

He hadn’t bothered pulling on a sweater, or a jacket—in fact, the chill washed over the numb feeling that had settled in his bones and made him feel. He shivered lightly as he stepped away from the doors, happy to that he wasn’t really as numb as he felt.

He’d spent a great deal of time thinking. Worrying.

He was alone now.

His mother had left just as his father had, and it’s not like they have any close family friends he could turn too. Kacchan wouldn’t care, and he didn’t know where he stood with Auntie. When his friendship with Kacchan crumbled away, he’d slowly stopped seeing the woman as well, even though their parents had been close friends.

He thinks briefly of telling his Sensei what had happened, or even mentioning it to HoundDog or Present Mic, but he thinks better of it. They don’t need to worry about him outside of school—he already causes enough problems in school. And what if they didn’t care? What would he do then? He’s not sure he could pick himself back up again if it was proven he really was alone in this. He was slowly starting to trust his teachers—what if he was wrong?

Izuku shoves his frozen fingers into the pockets of his jeans. He’s glad he had half a mind to change out of his school uniform, even if the blazer jacket would’ve added some additional warmth. The thin shirt does little to protect him from the morning chill, but at least he’d opted for a long sleeve shirt instead of a tee shirt.

He knows he can’t do nothing. He can’t survive if he does nothing.

He needed a means to feed himself. He had pocket change—the remainder of what he’d been given at the start of the school year, but that’s almost gone. His money had dwindled down with each passing meal, and soon he’d have none left.

At this point, he could barely afford his next school lunch.

He knew he wasn’t going to steal anything. Not money, or food; he was training to be a Hero, and that was against his morals. But he knew he needed to feed himself. He couldn’t just stop eating—especially with One for All in him.

So, the first thing he’d done that Saturday morning was make his rounds to all the shops in the neighborhood. He offered his services. Cleaning windows, mopping floors. Stocking convenience and grocery store shelves, bagging purchases. He offered to make deliveries for restaurants in the area, to clean and wait on tables. He offered to wash dishes, or clean bathrooms, or do any other annoying jobs that everyone always hated doing.

He went into each store with a wide smile and offered to do whatever they needed done—be it manual labor or just a helping hand.

But no one took him up on it.

And he’d known it was a possibility. He was fifteen—he hadn’t prepared a resume in his desperation, and he probably didn’t look presentable. He hadn’t really thought this through, just knew he needed money, and the only way to get money was to work for it.

One by one the shops and small businesses shot him down. Apologetic smiles, pitying shakes of people’s heads. Soft declines. No one wanted to hire a teenager. They looked at him and saw a kid. No one trusts a kid without a resume; a kid with no past work experience. No one was willing to give him a chance.

Izuku was feeling down as early evening approached. He’d been asking around all morning and afternoon, feet carrying him along the streets and in and out of any shop open. He didn’t plead, or beg—that wouldn’t help his case, but he asked kindly, making sure to smile.

The rejection was starting to weigh in on him. He’d tried to come off as friendly, and reliable—responsible—but no one was willing to take the risk.

He was on his way back to the apartment when he noticed a sign perched on the sidewalk. It was black, and written on it in curly, formal chalk lettering was ‘Come in, we’re open!’, along with the business’s name stamped on the center top of the board and a blocky arrow that pointed towards a door Izuku gad never noticed before.

He’d never noticed the sign before, nor the door tucked away on the side of one of the buildings. He’d walked this path before—with his mother when he was little, and he’d passed by every day when walking to his junior high, so he’s surprised he’d never noticed it.

He does as the sign suggests and walks into the little business. A bell above the door chimes his arrival and friendly faces greet him from behind the counter.

It was a small little coffee shop.

There were maybe six small two-seat tables spread along, as well as a coffee counter and a display case of fresh baked goods. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but the inside was bustling with activity—a hidden gem in the streets of his neighborhood.

Izuku stepped into the small, three-person long line, his thoughts on a warm drink to ease the ache and chill in his fingers. He’s not sure if the cold stirred up the ache from his still healing fingers, or if they just genuinely hurt, but he hopes a warm drink will help.

When it’s finally his turn, he orders a hot chocolate, hand digging into his pocket to pull out the change, just praying he has enough to cover it. He does, thankfully. He feels bad passing over a handful of loose coins, but the woman takes it with a friendly smile.

Its family owned, as a lot of the businesses in his neighborhood are, and it appeared the whole staff was related. Parents, their children and maybe even a grandchild or two working the different jobs of running a small little café. They work fluidly, stepping around each other with ease to keep the line moving and hot drinks and baked goods coming out.

His hopes of being able to feed himself had slowly flickered away as he’d noticed it, watching as they worked. He stands with his hands jammed in his pockets waiting for his drink. He debates asking the question, already wallowing in the rejection that hasn’t come yet.

He still finds himself asking—desperation winning over.

The woman making the drinks hands him his hot chocolate. She’s older, one of the owners he’d guess by how he’d watched her order the others around firmly but kindly. He grabs the to-go cup with his bandaged hand, and her eyes linger on the bandages.

He hesitates for a second, just a moment before speaking, “I, uhm, I was just wondering if... if you were looking to hire anyone? I’m in need of an afterschool job, and I promise I’ll be a good worker—I... I can do anything you need! I,” he swallows roughly, wincing, “I don’t have a resume, or... or any work experience but I’m a fast learner!”

He’s ready to accept defeat as she pauses. The woman who’d taken his order, this woman’s daughter perhaps, glances over before returning her gaze to the customer before her.

The older woman eyes him, looks him up and down like she’s gaging his worth. He knows she’d noticed the handful of change he’d used to buy his drink, and she’d seen his fingers and hands too. The wounds still healing. He hopes she doesn’t peg him a delinquent roughed up from fighting.

He knows he doesn’t look very good after a full day in the chilly air and constant rejection—from other businesses as well as his mother.

Maybe she can read it all on his face, in his eyes, just how desperate he is. The woman lets out a drawn-out sigh, turning to the espresso machine behind her to prepare the next order, and he just knows his face crumples in defeat.

“Okay,” she sighs out, handing the espresso the waiting man on Izuku’s left before scanning him again as she leans against the counter, “I’m sure we can find something for you to do.”

It was an under-the-table job.

Waiting on tables, cleaning and taking out the trash. Making drinks, and helping out in the kitchen to prepare for the next morning’s baking. He wouldn’t get close to minimum wage, but he would be paid out of pocket at the end of each shift. It wasn’t actual employment, and he knew it wasn’t permanent. There wasn’t really anything official about it.

But it was something, and he’d have money again.

She’d offered him three hours a day, every day starting just after school finished.

He’d jumped at the offer—how could he not? It was overly generous, and he was in desperate need. He knew it was a pity job, but it’s not like he really had any other choice. He needed to eat, and it’s not like he could start stealing—that was against everything he stood for.

So, he’d started working. He earned his pay, and did it with a smile on his face.

“So...” Oboro drawls when Izuku sits himself down at his desk in English, “where’ve you been? I dropped by your apartment like four times this weekend, and the only time you were there, you were passed out on your homework, which is bad for the back, lemme tell ya. And where’d you run off to so fast after Quirk training with Sho? You were like a ghost, and that’s coming from a ghost.”

He’d seen Oboro at his weekend training session with Sensei, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with him. He’d left, had needed to leave fast after he finished in order to make it to the coffee shop in time—the last thing he needed was to be tardy arriving at the only job who’d even considered him.

He’d also tried to leave without being noticed so he wouldn’t have to shoo Oboro away. It was easier to just leave without him because the ghost couldn’t follow him then, and he’s like 95% sure the ghost can’t just locate him with magic locating powers. He needs to actually see where you’re going before he can find you there.

But besides that, he hadn’t seen Oboro at that morning’s Quirk training. Izuku assumes the ghost was with Present Mic instead, but he literally could’ve been anywhere. He’s a ghost, a secretive ghost.

“I’ve been busy,” Izuku replied as he organized his belongings on the desk. He pushed the finished assignment from the last class up to the corner of his desk to hand in when Present Mic showed up. “I’ve been doing some work for a bit of extra money.”

“Oh?” Oboro cocks his head in interest. “Saving up to buy something?”

Izuku rubs at the back of his neck, giving a hum of acknowledgement. He’s not, unless keeping himself fed counts, but he’s not going to tell the ghost. The last time Oboro had gotten into his business he’d found himself telling Aizawa-Sensei far more than he wanted too in that conference room. And, sure, maybe it had worked out in the end, but he still wasn’t gonna do it.

“So, ya gonna tell me where you’re working?”

“No,” Izuku huffs a laugh, shaking his head, “and you’re not allowed to follow me either. I need to focus when I’m there, and that’s hard when you’re around.”

“It’s my sparkling personality, isn’t it?” Oboro gives a dramatic sigh, though his lip curled with disappointment. “Or it’s my boyish good looks, right?”

“Sure,” Izuku teases with a shrug. “Whatever you say.”

Oboro scoffs in offense, but it doesn’t stay long. “Hey, listen, sorry about Friday by the way—I know we didn’t really see much of each other, and you were kinda... spacey in English, didn’t wanna push my luck, y’know? Sometimes I gotta decide whether being there is helping or doing the opposite.”

Izuku gives a light nod, raising a hand to wave at one of his peers, Jirou, who walks in, returns the wave before plopping down at her own desk to listen to her music. “It’s okay. I was just thinking, and I guess I got carried away. Mic-Sensei checked in with me.”

“Good,” Oboro’s smile is light, “so you’re feeling better then?”

Izuku lets a tiny smile lift onto his lips, “yeah, I am.”

He’s not, but he’s not going to say that.

He’s still feeling numb, like he’ll walk home one of these days to see his mother—but she’s not going to be there. Logically he knows she’s gone. He hasn’t the faintest idea where she is, but when he’d called her workplace from a payphone outside the café asking about her without making himself known, they’d said she quit weeks prior.

She could be anywhere now.

“I’m glad,” his ghost friend smiles, unaware of Izuku’s internal struggles. “So, did you want to work on your Quirk after school today? I think you’re right that the more we do it, the easier it’ll be, right?”

“Can’t,” Izuku lifted a shoulder in a shrug, “I work after school.”

Oboro’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout, “well... when’s your next break? What days are you off then? We’ll work on it then.”

Izuku shakes his head, “I work every day after school. And most of the weekend too.”

“You... every day?” the playfulness is gone from the ghost’s expression, replaced with a sour looking expression, “...really? When do you, like, get a break then?”

Izuku shrugged, hunching forwards. He didn’t have time for breaks. He needed to make money. He needed to attend his classes. He needed to attend his Quirk training and counselling. He had to keep working because if he doesn’t, he’ll lose it all. And he can’t do that.

“I’m fine,” Izuku waves a hand, trying to ignore the calculating look in Oboro’s gaze.

Oboro opens his mouth to respond, to dispute that, but before he can manage, Present Mic walks into the room grinning as he gives a loud greeting. Izuku shoots up, grabbing the paper from the edge of his desk to pass in before moving to greet the teacher, leaving the ghost to huff, already knowing their conversation is over for now.

There’s something about this that makes him feel... bad. But he can’t put his finger on it.

The days carry on.

Each day Izuku wakes up early, and catches the train to school. He does Quirk training, or counselling, respectively, before starting his classes like usual.

He tries to keep up appearances, smiling at his peers and quelling any worry from his ghost friend, living friends and his teachers to the best of his abilities. After school is finished, he hops back onto the train, and tries to do his homework on the trip home, but it makes him motion sick most of the time.

He knows he doesn’t have time to do it later between his hours at the café, and how exhausted he is when he gets home. So, he forces down the sick feeling and tries his hardest to answer the questions. Maybe he’ll have to start doing his homework at lunch?

Wednesday had been the worst day of his week.

He’d apologetically informed the woman who’d hired him that he’d be late on Wednesday due to the fact that it was the one day a week he stayed after school with his Sensei—and she’d offered him the day off. But he couldn’t do that, because he needed the money, so instead, he did his training and then arrived in to help close up the coffee shop.

By the time he got home on he was dead on his feet, and he’s sure he wasn’t much better the following day at school.

He tried not to give his peers anything to be worried about, but he knew they still were.

Just like his teachers, except now, instead of Aizawa-Sensei and Mic-Sensei studying him, all of his teachers were. It wasn’t obvious—but he could see them looking away whenever he looked at them. He could see the confusion clouding their eyes when he’d yawn for the third time, or catch his eyes slipping closed accidentally.

All Might had even tried to check in on him, leading him into one of those conference rooms that Aizawa-Sensei had shown him and awkwardly asking if he was alright.

He’d promised he was perfectly fine before launching into the progress with OfA he’d made with Sensei, and that seemed to distract the Number One Hero well enough.

It wasn’t just All Might either, he could see the worry on both his Sensei’s faces as well, but they weren’t as awkwardly upfront about it. Well, Present Mic had reminded him that he was always there if he needed to talk, while Sensei hadn’t really said anything, but he also hadn’t pushed him quite as hard.

None of that even came close to the worry from Oboro though.

It was getting harder to keep the ghost out of his business. Oboro was persistent. Following him around and worrying vocally. Where everyone else watched from afar, questioning him in round-about ways, Oboro certainly didn’t. Izuku’s not sure he’d ever met anyone as confident and persistently caring in his life.

Maybe it was his lack of sleep making him more irritable than usual, but the ghost was starting to get on his nerves.

By the time Friday rolls around again, Izuku’s exhausted. He’d barely had the time to sleep—had actually fallen asleep on the train with his homework in his lap. He’d lost his pencil somewhere, and hadn’t had the energy to try and find it.

His shift at the café is long. Not in real time—he's not there for more than three hours like usual, but it feels longer. It feels like he wipes the tables for hours, and he knows he accidentally mixed up a few orders too. Thankfully, people just laughed when he did instead of getting offended.

He was sure if someone had’ve yelled at him, he’d have started crying.

He pretends he doesn’t see the pitying looks the owners and staff send him as he stumbles over a tired and anxious apology. They let him leave twenty minutes early, sending him off with his pay for a full three hours, and a paper bag of baked goods that the baker, the owner’s husband, had promised were going to be thrown out, despite the fact Izuku knew they’d just come out of the oven an hour or so earlier.

He walks home on numb legs, barely managing to carry himself up to the apartment. And when he gets there, it feels like a tsunami washes over him as his gaze settles on the door. He wants to cry.

With shaking fingers, he pulls the eviction notice off the door just enough to be able to read it without ripping it off. He scans over it as a deep, heavy sigh rattles out of his lungs.

Izuku lets his head thump against the door as his shoulders sag. He unlocks the door, unsurprised to find his key still works. Their landlord is far too kind. At this point they’re two weeks late for the rent, so he could’ve changed the locks, but he hadn’t. Not yet.

Izuku knows he couldn’t have gotten rent together even if he’d tried. He simply couldn’t work enough while also putting as much effort into his hero classes, training, and school work.

He pushes the door open, and despite the pull to collapse in his bed, or on the couch, he sets to work.

He’d slowly been packing in preparation for this. He’d known this was coming from the moment the landlord had knocked on the door to inquire about their rent. It’s not like his landlord will just look the other way if he stopped paying rent. He was a nice man, but he wasn’t that nice. Nor stupid.

Izuku had just been riding it out for as long as he could. Clearly his luck’s run out now.

He had a duffle bag settled on his desk, filled so far with his Hero Analysis notebooks, some of his favorite All Might merch, an old photo album he was surprised, yet entirely not at the same time, to find still tucked away. He’d grabbed some of the few photos off the walls too—the ones from simpler times. When his mother... when she liked him.

The rest of the bag he’d filled with knick-knacks and clothes. Whatever he could shove in. Things he couldn’t bear to part with. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do—select what was important enough to jam into the single duffle bag he was taking. He’s sure he’s wiping sad and exhausted tears off his cheeks as he zips it up.

His backpack gets the same treatment—though it’s mostly clothes. He jams his school uniforms, some of his favorite sweaters and a couple changes of clothes in beside his school supplies. He manages to fit his laptop, phone and all the corresponding chargers in as well. He’d need those for school.

Lastly, he slips on another sweater, an All Might one, a favorite of his, and then pockets the small stockpile of money he’d managed to save between his school meals and travel expenses.

He leaves a note of apology for the landlord on the table, silently feeling awful that he was leaving so much behind—but he really couldn’t take a couch, or the oven with him. He knows his landlord will have no ill intent about it, but it is a bunch of extra work on his plate. He really does feel bad.

Along with the note, Izuku leaves his own house key. He has no idea where his mother’s is, but he leaves his just as proof he’s gone. The locks’ll probably be changed since both keys aren’t present and the landlord can’t be sure they didn’t make any copies, but he still feels better leaving it. He doesn’t even want it anymore anyways.

The teen gives the apartment, his home for his whole life, one last glance before grabbing his duffle bag and easing the door shut behind him with a soft click. It’s late enough that he knows he won’t run into his landlord, but he still sneaks out.

He’s too afraid to sleep on the streets, so instead he heads to the twenty-four-hour laundromat two blocks over and does a load of a single shirt and a pair of socks. It’s a waste of money, but the ‘No loitering.’ signs spooks him.

He wouldn’t mind too much if they were stolen while he sleeps, but he curls tightly around his duffle and backpack protectively.

With any luck the nice family he works for will let him stash his duffle bag in their tiny office until he can hide it away in his locker at Yuuei for safe keeping until he figures out what they hell he’s going to do.

They do, and they thankfully don’t ask any questions. He knows they want too; he can practically see the worried inquiries on the tips of their tongues, but they don’t speak them. And he’s not sure if he’s glad they don’t, or upset about it.

Oboro knows there’s something up. He’s sure everyone knows there’s something up with Izuku. He can see it in the way his classmates peer silently at him, in the way the teachers watch him when he’s not looking. He knows Hizashi and Shota are oh-so close to figuring things out—they talk, he sees the gears in their heads turning, but they’re still so far away from taking the plunge into helping Izuku.

Even All Might seems to be catching on to the fact that Izuku isn’t right.

But still, no one says anything. The teachers turn a blind eye, waiting for him to go to them, which is so stupid. The students watch from afar, but never try to help—he's honestly not sure how well these kids will do in the Hero Course program if they can’t look at their peer, their friend, and see him struggling.

He wishes he could do more.

He’d been trying.

He’s been trying his hardest to get Hizashi and Shota thinking about Izuku any opportunity he got. He’d rearrange their marking so Izuku’s name and papers were always on top. He did it to both of them—every time he could. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do—especially without Izuku by his side, but he was trying so damn hard.

The looks on their faces every time they settle down to do their marking and Izuku’s paper is always on the top of the pile, and he’s made sure it really is every time, would’ve been funny if it weren’t for the fact no one was getting his messages. No one was helping. No one was looking into the green-haired teen.

Surely everyone was seeing what he was seeing, right? How the teen was running himself into the ground. How his focus was wavering in classes, and practice, and just in general conversation; how he was wavering. How his training was getting sloppy. How he was messing up more these past weeks than he had been since the start of the year.

Was no one seeing it?

It had been a full week of Izuku steadily declining. He wasn’t okay. He was far from it, but every time Oboro brought it up, the teen would snap at him. Avoid the instigation, and direct the conversation somewhere else. And there wasn’t a lot he could do to counter it—he was a ghost!

It’s not like he could grab ahold of the teen and shake him out of the ‘I need to deal with this solely on my own’ mindset—especially when Izuku was... was he blocking the connection between them? Subconsciously capping it off again like he’d been doing since he was a tyke? All Oboro knew was that he wasn’t feeling the same around his green-haired friend recently as he’d been before.

What was he supposed to do?

Izuku had been weird for a full week now.

That Sunday, when Izuku shows up to Quirk training, Oboro can only watch from afar as his heart shatters. The teen had been... almost pulling away from him as the days carried on. He wouldn’t... he wasn’t ignoring him, but he wasn’t acknowledging him either. There was hardly a moment to talk—Izuku was busy, and Oboro knew he couldn’t overstep. Not with his friend already on edge.

The kid looks awful. He’s got bags under his eyes, dark enough that they rival Shota’s. He’s slow, and tired. Lethargic. Shota’s well enough now, most of his bandages having come off, that they’re sparring, working on some hand-to-hand combat.

Oboro can see Shota holding back his attacks, blank face so close to breaking in concern. He can see the twitch of his school friend’s eyebrow, how his lip quirks downward each time he sends Izuku sprawled onto the mats with what should’ve been easily avoidable attacks.

Each time the teenager hits the mat, it takes him a few more seconds to pull himself up. Oboro’s counting them each time—first it had been five seconds, then thirteen, twenty, thirty-two, and then a full minute before he ever forces his eyes open.

The kid is so tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping—and maybe he hasn’t. Oboro doesn’t know. He’d been kept at arm's length, and it’s not like they’d been following their routine with Izuku’s new job stealing his attention after school.

“We’re done, Kid,” Shota’s voice had softened, but it’s only heard to a trained ear. It’s that softness that he’d use on Hizashi when he got worked up, or his Quirk slipped accidentally and he felt bad. It probably sounds no different to the green-haired kid. “You’re not up to it today.”

“I am,” Izuku wheezes, and that alone, and also in addition to the fact he’s still sprawled on his back trying to catch his breath, really contradicts the words. “I— I’m okay, Sensei, I’m just... I’m fine. Let’s keep goin—”

“No,” Shota cuts the kid off with a shake of his head, arms crossing over his chest, “when we decided on these additional training sessions, I told you I’d veto them if I thought you were injured, or a danger to yourself, and guess what, Midoriya? You’re a danger to yourself. Clearly these weekend training sessions are too much.”

“They’re not,” the teen whines tiredly, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Shota sighs. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, Kid, but something’s not right. Was there anything you wanted to talk about? Anything I should know?”

“I’m fine, I... I’m fine, Sensei. I promise.” Izuku bows his head, “n-nothing you should know. I’m okay.”

“Midoriya...” there’s a hint of warning in his tone, “you’re obviously not. You’ve been down for two minutes now. These are easily avoidable attacks—we're warming up. I’ve seen you dodge swifter and wilier attacks without a thought. You’re not okay.”

“You’re...” the teen swallows, finally pushing himself up so he’s sitting on the mat instead of laying on it. His eyes are dull, and Oboro’s not even sure with what. “You’re just hard to predict, Sensei. That’s all.”

Shota’s quiet for a second before he sighs. He scratches idly at his scalp, taking care not to mess up the bun he’d put his hair up in to keep it out of his face while they sparred, “that may be so, but you’re also out of it. You’re a liability like this, Problem Child. I can’t in good conscious let you keep going. If you can’t keep up with the warm ups, I can’t, won’t, keep pushing you and expecting a different result. It’s counterproductive and illogical. You’re tired and I, I know tired, Kid. You need to get some rest.”

The teen just glares down at his lap, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It’s not directed at anyone, and Oboro can see Shota sees that as well, because the man doesn’t comment on it like he usually would.

“We’re done for today, and until I see you’re taking care of yourself, we won’t have another training session. I’m not going to stand back and watch you run yourself into the ground. I won’t teach that. You’re walking a fine line, Midoriya, don’t keep pushing like this, or you’ll burn yourself out.”

“You’re cancelling tomorrow’s Quirk training?” there’s a desperation in the teen’s voice, a waver. Shota definitely hears it, but doesn’t comment on it. Oboro bites his lip to keep himself quiet. He thinks Izuku’s forgotten he’s even there. “W-what about Wednesday?”

“We’ll see,” Shota frowns, watching as the kid finally stumbles up to a wobbly standing form. “Show me you’re rested and taking care of yourself. Show me you’re able to keep up with me in class tomorrow, and then we’ll see where we stand with Wednesday. Now go, get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Izuku does leave, bowing his head with a quiet, “yes, Sensei.” before disappearing into the locker room. Oboro heaves out an unsteady breath as he watches Shota. The teacher is staring at the doorway Izuku had just disappeared through. Eyes locked on it, unblinking.

The man drags his attention away, shaking his head as he leans down to stack and pick up the mats, “just what’s going on with you, Problem Child?”

Oboro would very much like to know that as well.

Izuku is gone by the time Oboro makes his way into the locker room. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes that he’s stood stiffly by his school friend, watching the dark-haired man stew thoughtfully as he cleaned up from their training.

Oboro bites his lip, shaking his head. He knew he should’ve followed right behind Izuku. Now the teen could be anywhere. He almost wishes he had’ve gone against Izuku’s will and followed him to his new job. Maybe then he’d know where he was. Maybe he’d feel a little better.

Shota had told Izuku to rest, but if Oboro knew anything about the kid, he knew that he wasn’t going too. He knew he would be on his way to work now because he worked every day apparently. It was no wonder the kid looked like death standing.

All he can do now is head to Izuku’s apartment and wait for him to come home.

It had been a few days since the ghost had gone to Izuku’s apartment. He wasn’t the kind of guy to go where he wasn’t wanted, and a small part of him knew that Izuku didn’t really want him around. But he was getting concerned. He needed to corner the teen, and find out what the hell was going on.

He’d let this go too far, had watched without helping longer than he should’ve.

Oboro makes his way down the familiar roads, phases through his apartment building’s doors before walking up the stairs to Izuku’s floor. He knows he could’ve just appeared in Izuku’s apartment, but the other teen probably isn’t even there, and this at least gives him something to do.

A noise startles Oboro from his thoughts, he freezes outside Izuku’s apartment door.

There’s someone inside?

He leans through the door, sticking his head in, but just as he does so, the door opens, and suddenly someone’s walking through him.

“Jeez!” A voice yelps, but Oboro is overcome by an uncomfortable sickness as the surprise of someone unexpectedly phasing through him surges through him, “oi, watch the cold spot, if you make me drop this couch on my feet, I’ll kill you.”

“I got it, I got it,” another voice scoffs.

It’s just then Oboro realizes he’s stood in the middle of Izuku’s moving couch. He just barely manages to jump out of the way as a second body comes towards him. He gapes at the men as they carry the couch out the door, and down the hallway. He’d glad no one can see him, because he’d pretty sure he looks like a fish or something, stood there like an idiot.

“W... what?” Oboro whispers to himself, finally spinning to walk into the apartment. Izuku is... moving? Why hadn’t he told him?

There’s not just those two people—there's a bunch. A team. There’re people boxing up Izuku’s things, other’s taking the photos and any décor off the walls. He cranes his neck to see two people in the kitchen, tossing things into garbage bags. They empty the cupboards, and fridge. He takes a nervous step towards Izuku’s room, noting how his room is mostly untouched; some things are missing, but the majority still there.

“What about the kid’s room?” A voice calls, and it’s just then Oboro realizes there’s someone beside him, leaning into the room. “We taking it apart too?”

Taking it apart?

“Yes, just...” a new man joins them, eyes scanning the room with an uncertain look, “pack it up, but keep everything but the furniture. He’s a good kid, I’ll store it for now.”

He’s... what?

What is going on??

Oboro stares at the man, who’s obviously in charge. His voice is soft, as are his eyes as he looks around the room again as the man, and a woman now step in with boxes. Then, his gaze darts down to a paper in his hand. A paper Oboro hadn’t noticed before. Maybe he’d pulled it out of his pocket.

Curiosity piqued at the sight of Izuku’s formal writing, he leans over to read.

It’s an apology letter.

It’s not very descriptive, doesn’t explain much. It doesn’t clear any of the confusion Oboro is feeling up, but it’s honest and respectful. Izuku’s sorry for not managing rent, and he’s sorry to be leaving everything for this man, his landlord, Oboro realizes with a start, to dispose of.

It all crashes down around him.

Izuku wasn’t here. Izuku hadn’t been here. These people were tearing his apartment apart, probably in preparation for a new renter coming in. Izuku didn’t have an apartment anymore.

If he did, he would’ve brought all his stuff. He and his mother.

Izuku didn’t have a home anymore.

Where was his mother?

How could she let this happen? How could she... what had happened?

Where the hell was Izuku?

Oboro would never admit he was a nervous mess as Monday rolled around. He’d stayed in the apartment all day watching them tear it apart. He wishes he knew where the green-haired teen was, but he doesn’t. If he did know, he’d be there instead of standing around watching this unfold like an idiot.

He watched the furniture leave, and trash bags of stuff filled and walked out. Izuku and his mother’s possessions being thrown into trash bags like they’re nothing more than literal trash.

Oboro swears his stomach is in his throat, as he watches Izuku’s apartment, his life, be uprooted and stolen away. Thank God he hadn’t had to watch as Izuku’s room and personal possessions got the same treatment. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle that.

The moving company had taken everything to be either resold, or even thrown away, Oboro didn’t know. Everything but Izuku’s belongings, which he’d followed up a few flights of stairs. As the landlord had said, they’d been packed up in four neatly packed boxes and tucked away in the landlord’s apartment closet for safe keeping.

Oboro watched as a cleaning company came through, washing walls, and cleaning the bathrooms when everything was gone. It wasn’t dirty by any means, but he knew that things had to be incredibly clean. He remembers moving when he was little—they'd only moved once, but his mother had stressed herself out making sure everything was tidy before they left.

By the time night falls, Oboro isn’t feeling much.

He hadn’t been this disconnected from the living world since just after he’d died. It’s a strange feeling.

He seeks out his friends.

Catches Hizashi as he arrives home from his own evening weekend patrol downtown. The blonde man collapses onto the bed, groaning into the covers, which prompts a huff of laughter from Shota, who’s in the process of zipping up his jumpsuit. Oboro almost smiles at the exchange.

Oboro watches Hizashi lay relaxed on the bed until he hears the front door open and close, which at that point, he spins around to follow Shota.

He follows behind Shota on the man’s patrol a lot closer than he usually tends too. Occasionally, his dark-haired friend would shiver, but he’d just tuck his face into his capture weapon and carry on.

His patrol was slow, and there wasn’t much activity.

By the time the sun was raising above them as the early hours of the morning creeped up, Oboro felt exhausted. He was more tired than he’d been after the USJ incident, and he hadn’t even done anything. It had been years since emotional exhaustion had washed over him like this. He hadn’t even felt like this after he’d died.

He was confused, and worried; concerned for his friend. He didn’t know where Izuku was. He didn’t know if he was okay. He didn’t know how long this had... how long had he been dealing with this silently? Behind closed doors, refusing to let anyone in to help?

How long had he not had a home?

Oboro feels like the worst friend ever.

He’d noticed the changes, but he never would’ve thought it would be this bad. Izuku was homeless as far as he could see. His mother was where ever the hell she was, he’d seen how absent she was but this? This was a whole new level of absent. They’d lost their apartment. She hadn’t paid rent.

Oboro’s never even met the lady—but the thought of her made his stomach roll unpleasantly.

Izuku looks the worst Oboro had ever seen him when he stumbles his way into English class.

And what’s worse is he ignores him.

Completely ignores him.

For a second, Oboro thinks that maybe Izuku can’t hear him anymore—can't see him, and he panics, before he sees Izuku’s eyebrow twitch in annoyance.

The fact he’s ignoring him stings more than it probably should. He’s used to being ignored; as a ghost now, but even when he was alive. Shota put up a good fight pretending Oboro, and the majority of their friend group didn’t exist at one point or another, but he’d never been ignored by Izuku.

He chalks it up to Izuku being tired. Or, he hopes it’s just because he’d tired.

Still, he doesn’t stop trying.

He follows the teen to every class, which he’d never done. He trails after him silently as Izuku makes his way to the cafeteria. He grabs lunch, but falls asleep at the table instead of eating it. His friends, Iida and Ochako, as well as a couple other kids he still doesn’t really know, frown and whisper hushed concerns amongst them, but no matter how hard Oboro tries to get them to ask Izuku questions through nothing more than sheer mindpower, they don’t.

The kid sleeps through lunch.

He startles awake by Iida’s hand on his shoulder just before the bell rings, but he laughs it off tiredly. He dumps his lunch into the garbage, completely untouched, before following his friends to class with nothing more than a glance at Oboro, who’d been stood awkwardly behind him.

Oboro stood back, waited for Izuku to come to him, but he was at the end of his rope. He can’t just watch anymore.

“What is going on with you?” He asks desperately as he falls into step with his friend.

Shota had just benched the teen, and the terrifying part was that Izuku had hardly put up a fight. Had stared unseeing back at the man who’d levelled him a vicious, annoyed glare at the fact that his suggestion of rest from the previous morning had been blatantly ignored.

Oboro’s gonna take a guess and say Wednesday’s extra training is probably cancelled.

It takes Izuku a second to reply, and he’s not completely sure if his friend is debating ignoring him some more, of if he’s just that groggy that he doesn’t automatically realize he’d been spoken too. “What?”

“What’s going on with you?” the ghost repeats, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. He wonders if he should just up and say it, ask about the fact he’d watched Izuku’s landlord gut the apartment, but he thinks that might be a bit harsh, “I’ve barely seen you.”

“I see you every day at school. And I saw you yesterday too. You’re being a little dramatic. Besides you know where I’ve been; I’ve been working. Sorry I don’t have as much time to spend with you, but I’ve got stuff to take care of.”

“That didn’t count as seeing you,” Oboro snapped, “Sho had to send you home because you could hardly keep yourself upright. You didn’t so much as look at me at all, and you’ve... you’ve been ignoring me all day—hell, all week. Are you mad at me or something? Did I do something?”

“No,” Izuku scoffs, looking a bit surprised at the accusation. He seems to shake the surprise off with a shake of his head, continuing with a heavy, almost annoyed sigh, “I’m not ignoring you. Maybe I’m just having a bad day. Ever thought of that? Not everything has to do with you, Oboro. I have problems outside of whatever this is.”

“A bad day?” Oboro narrows his eyes, “Izuku you’ve been acting weird for days.”

“So?” Izuku hisses, “I’ve been weird a few days, who cares?”

“I care!” Oboro shouts fiercely, “I know what’s happened, Izuku, I saw it. I went to your apartment yesterday. I saw those people in your apartment—I saw the note you left. Where the hell have you been?!”

“You saw it?” Izuku’s tone is icy, like Oboro had struck a nerve. He doesn’t know what the nerve is, but it’s too late to start treading carefully in this conversation. It’s hard to unstep on a landmine already underfoot. “Why can’t you just stay out of my business? If I wanted you involved, I would’ve told you.”

“You’re homeless!” Oboro fires back, “how’m I supposed to stay out of that? Where have you been staying? Where have you been sleeping? I’m worried about you, Izuku. I can’t just ignore this. I’m worried.”

Izuku’s nose wrinkles like he’d trying not to scowl, “what’s this matter to you anyways?”

“What’s it matter to me?” Oboro jerks back in surprise, knowing his voice raises as he forces out a reply, “we’re friends, that’s why! I care what happens to you! You’re my friend! Of course, it matters to me!”

“Are we?” Izuku snaps back under his breath, “’cause it sure doesn’t feel like it!”

“W-what?” Oboro takes a tiny step backwards, but it seems Izuku is fired up, glaring at him.

“You heard me,” the boy barks out, eye glowing with frustration. “I don’t know you. I know nothing about you. You’re cryptic, and you don’t let me in. You know everything about me. Like literally, everything now because you can’t keep your nose outta my business; yet, the only things you tell me are things I need to know, and even then, you don’t even really tell me that stuff either! That’s not... it’s not fair. That’s not what friends do. So, are we really friends? Huh? Are we?”

“I—” Oboro swallows. It feels like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. Izuku had been sitting on this the whole time? He knows he doesn’t share a lot about himself—but most of it isn’t important. He’s a ghost, he barely even exists outside Izuku’s realm.

He doesn’t remember ever refusing to answer a question—besides that one about his friends, Izuku's teachers, but that’s not Oboro’s secret to share. He doesn’t even remember Izuku asking him any questions, beside that day they laid it all out on the table after the USJ. He’d answered the questions. He’d told Izuku what he knew, so where was this coming from?

“We are friends,” Oboro manages out weakly, glancing at the other teen. “I’m just trying too—”

“Yeah, well stop,” Izuku hisses, hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides. “Just... leave me alone!”

“Midoriya!” Shota’s voice booms from where he was still on the floor with the students. Oboro had honestly forgotten they were all there; his friend and Izuku’s classmates. And if by the way Izuku jolts upright, looking the most awake he has all week, he can assume to the same goes for the teen.

Izuku’s cheeks flood red, nervous eyes casting around at all the eyes on him. His cheeks only seem to darken when he notices everyone is looking at him, staring, and Oboro can only wonder how much they’d heard. His heart pounds in his chest, sharing Izuku’s anxiety of it, while simultaneously breaking because he doesn’t have to deal with the repercussions of this like Izuku does.

Shota looks more concerned than he does angry, Oboro can see it even from the distance. His tone had been sharp, piercing the air, but there was an undertone of cautious concern. Oboro knows Shota isn’t upset, but he’s sure Izuku can’t see anything past the embarrassment consuming him.

The green-haired teen launches to his feet, sprinting out of the training gym without a word. His classmates call to him, some even stepping to follow, but he doesn’t stop or even slowdown in the slightest. The gym doors bang shut behind him, and they ring on Oboro’s ears as a heavy silence blanketed over them.

“Leave him,” the teacher growls, thankfully on top of his class and already predicting their movements. He instantly gains everyone’s attention, and those who’d been moving freeze abruptly.

“But Sensei—”

“Leave. Him.” Shota repeats stiffly, leaving no room for any additional complaints. “Back to sparring. All of you. Let’s go, before I make you run drills instead. Don’t test me.”

The students remain frozen for another long second before returning to their spars. No one wants to push Aizawa, and it’s definitely a good call.

Oboro remains rooted where he is, stuck exactly where he’d been when he’d taken that step away from his friend. His brain is still reeling from it all as he tries to figure out how he’d fucked this up so extraordinarily bad. He can’t force himself to move.

“I hope Midoribro is okay...” Oboro hears distantly, and he thinks it’s the kid with the spiky red hair. Maybe. Without looking, it’s hard to match faces to voices, or... or names to faces too.

“Tch, shitty Deku. Don’t worry about him, he’s always been like that.” Oboro’s frowns, that almost sounds... nice? “Always been a fuckin’ freak show.”

Ah, never mind. He’s never wanted to punch a kid as much as he wants to punch Bakugou.

“Man, you’re always so harsh, Bakubro!”

“Shut up and spar,” Shota snaps at the two of them. “Unless you’d like to do some suicide sprints, because I can arrange that.”

If Oboro weren’t feeling so gutted, he probably would’ve laughed at the redhead’s sputtering and Bakugou’s huff of apologetic-bordering-annoyed submission as he launched back into a sparring stance.

The saving grace of Aizawa Shota.

Chapter Text

Izuku feels so incredibly stupid as he flees the training gym, making a beeline for the locker room. He wipes furiously at embarrassed tears on his cheeks, sniffling as he tears apart his locker in an attempt to find his school uniform, which is futile considering his hands are shaking and he can hardly think straight. It had taken him three tries to get his combination lock unlocked.

He’d yelled at the ghost. Aloud.

People could hear him. His peers could hear him. His Sensei could hear him. He’d yelled at a ghost in front of everyone he knew.

How much had they heard? Had they listened to the whole one-sided conversation? Picked up bits and pieces? Just the end, where he’d been yelling? What had he even yelled? Sensei had sounded pissed, as the snap of Izuku’s name had cut through the arguing.

Had he said something bad? Revealed something? He’d been lost in the moment and the emotions, hardly aware of what he’d been saying.

Even now he could hardly keep his thoughts in line.

They’d seen him talking—yelling—at nothing. At a ghost who existed only to him. How was he supposed to come back from this? How was he supposed to show his face in class ever again? At this point there’s a small, nagging voice of anxiety in the back of his mind telling him to just drop out of school, which is beyond insane.

He won’t, no matter how embarrassed he is. He’d worked far too hard to get here, and he wasn’t going to willingly drop it because he’d done something stupid. He tries to push the thought from his head, but it’s persistent.

Sure, he was no stranger to embarrassing himself, but this... this was a lot. His whole class had seen him talking to nothing. Having a full-on conversation with thin air. His teacher had physically yelled at him for raising his voice, and only then had he realized that he and Oboro weren’t alone.

God, he’d really messed this up, hadn’t he?

He’d gone so long without being the weird kid who talks to himself. It’s not the first time he’d gotten carried away with a ghost—but it is probably his biggest mess up. Seriously, everyone? In front of his whole class and his homeroom Sensei? They’re definitely gonna talk about him, and if he knows anything about classmates, kids in general, he knows the rumors are going to spread.

It had been refreshing. He didn’t have a target on his back, or cruel nicknames that his peers would call out in hopes of getting a reaction from him. He’d just been normal for the first time in his life, and then he’d gone and messed it all up by talking to a ghost. By fighting with a ghost. God, what had his life come too?

Izuku shakes his head in an attempt to neutralize the thoughts, finally pulling out his uniform and changing quickly. There’s a good hour until school is finished, and Izuku wonders what Sensei is going to do to him tomorrow for leaving class early without permission. The thought makes him shiver.

He grabs his school bag and flees before anyone can come for him, deciding that whatever punishment he’ll get is far better than staying here right now. He can’t. He can’t do it. Not right now, not yet. He’s afraid that Sensei will come looking for him, or worse, a classmate. Maybe even Oboro, and he’s not sure he can handle seeing the ghost.

Izuku’s slowly starting to feel guilt creeping in along with the anxiety.

Oboro hadn’t deserved that. Any of it.

He’d just been angry, and tired. Afraid. He’d let everything build up, bottled it all up and shouldered it alone because he was alone. And in the end, it had all come out in a moment of weakness. That final straw that had caused it all to come spewing out.

It wasn’t Oboro’s fault, not in the slightest, and Izuku feels bad that he’d been the unsuspecting recipient of a week's worth—no, a month’s worth, because this certainly hadn’t just started, even if that’s where it started getting bad—of Izuku’s shit. The guilt tugs at his heart, and he hopes the ghost will still want to be his friend even after everything. He can’t lose another friend—not Oboro.

It was just a case of wrong place, wrong time when it came to Oboro. He’d just been the one to balance that last piece of straw, the piece that broke the camel’s back. It hadn’t been intentional; purely bad timing.

It had all been steadily piling up.

His mother leaving him without a word—with just a stupid note that Izuku definitely could’ve lived without. He hates it, but he still can’t help but tuck away safely in one of his Analysis notebooks.

Homelessness.

His after-school job; the pressure of needing to work to survive. He had to work. He needed money. This had never been a problem for him—his mother had taken good care of him. It’s hard.

His classes.

Not to mention his extra training with Sensei too.

Counselling.

One for All and everything that came along with that.

His own Quirk; the ghosts. His doubts about Oboro and their friendship that had all come out in a rush of emotions. The look on the ghost’s face would haunt his dreams, he’d been trying not to hurt him, but he had.

He didn’t have a second to himself anymore. He didn’t have any time to do his homework, and he knew his last few assignments haven’t been up to par with everything he’d done prior to his life falling apart around him. He’s sure his grades are slipping, but then again, it’s not like he’s got a parent to be angry at him for it right?

Izuku drags a fist down his cheek as he steps slowly and quietly through the halls.

Every little thing added a new weight. Big, or small, but weight on his shoulder nonetheless.

It felt like he could hardly stand. It was too much—he was going to topple over under it all. He had toppled over, just now: in class, surrounded by his classmates and his Sensei. They’d seen him break, and he’d just ran away.

Because that’s what he does, apparently, runs from his problems.

He knew he was falling apart.

He knew he wasn’t handling this well—that he was barely even surviving despite the fact he could keep himself fed. Sensei had been right; he was working himself into the ground. Between it all, he’d spread himself to thin somewhere, and now it was starting to crack.

No, those cracks were starting to split into gaping holes that Izuku can’t mend on his own.

Izuku drags a rough fist under his eye, blowing out a sigh.

The day had not gone well. This was probably one of the worst days of his life. His morning classes had been alright—no better, nor worse, than they had been all week. He tried to keep focus, and listen, but he was just so tired.

He hadn’t had an actual good night sleep since he’d found the eviction notice and fled the apartment without a word to their landlord. The past two nights he’d been sleeping out on the street, behind a dumpster because there wasn’t anywhere else to be.

The laundromat manager, a young man not much older than twenty, had shooed him away the second night he’d tried to sleep there again. He’d been kind, and awkward about it, telling him that you couldn’t allow him to sleep inside, even if he was washing a pair of socks.

Izuku had swallowed, nodding his head. He’d left the socks there as he walked out, stepping onto the dark streets. It was honestly terrifying being on the streets so late.

He’d always had a curfew, even if his mother was never around to press it—Izuku had always stuck to it.

Izuku jumped at anything that moved. He tucked into himself, keeping a tight grip on his backpack, knuckles tightening to a pale white with each step. He’d been scared.

He knew there were places he could go—homeless shelters. That was always an option, but that would’ve made it feel real. Having to go to a shelter because he was homeless. And he was, but he still didn’t want to believe it.

He’d stumbled upon the isolated alleyway by mistake.

His feet had ached from walking around for hours, and he was so tired. He just wanted to sit down. He’d arrived at the mouth of it, planning to just shuffle in enough that he’d be out of the way. It had just been so quiet; he couldn’t help but push further in.

It had seemed perfect—it hadn’t smelled, it wasn’t incredibly dirty; no more so than anywhere else. He was outside, after all. There was a perfect sized gap for him to tuck himself into, one that hid him away. He was sure no one would be able to spot him, but still, sleep was hard.

Any noise startled him awake. He was afraid to shut his eyes, to be vulnerable in an unfamiliar place, and he was afraid that someone would find him. Afraid he’d fall asleep, only to wake up and find his backpack gone. He was afraid.

But he didn’t have a whole lot of options.

He knows the lack of sleep had been hitting him hard.

He could see the worry on everyone’s faces, he could see the bubbling questions, and just prayed no one asked him about it. He didn’t want to tell anyone. He didn’t want to worry anyone. He wasn’t going to be a burden on anyone else—not like he had to his mother and father.

It was hard keeping it all to himself though.

He’d almost cracked at weekend training with Sensei. He’d been homeless for two nights at that point, had spent his first official night on the street, relying on a phone alarm to wake him up in time for the training session. He hadn’t really been asleep, but his eyes begged to be shut.

He’d almost told him that morning, sprawled on the mat as he tried to draw in breaths. It was the safest he’d felt all week, even if he had just been laid out by his teacher's quick reflexes, because he knew his teacher would protect him.

And then Sensei had asked if he was alright, and his mouth had gone dry and he’d wanted to tell him everything—but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d promised he was fine, which resulted in training being cut short.

And the sad part was, he wasn’t even upset about it.

He was tired. He ached. He just wanted to sleep—like actually sleep, dead to the world kind of sleep— but he knew he had to keep pushing if he wanted to be a hero, so he had. He’d pushed until Sensei cut him off. He was almost thankful his teacher had.

He’d left quickly after that, knowing he had to get to the café if he wanted to be able to buy something to eat. LunchRush wasn’t at school on the weekends, and he hadn’t eaten anything the day prior either.

He knows he’d disappointing his Sensei. He can see it in the man’s eyes as he benches him Monday during Hero Training. The look on his Sensei’s face had been sour and distastefully when he’d sat Izuku out of practice in front of his peers.

That had been a hit to the pride, and then Oboro had brought it up. The apartment. It was still a sore subject—it had only been three days since he’d left. He didn’t know how the ghost knew—he didn’t care in the moment to ask—he'd just been so upset; so frustrated.

It was the beginning of the end—his tipping point.

He hadn’t even really realized he’d blown up until he was left in the ashes of his own mess, glare softening at the look on the ghost’s face, only to be shocked out of his own little world by his Sensei’s stern call.

Izuku winces now, in a delayed embarrassment type of way. It’s that weird, almost like second-hand embarrassment, which isn’t exactly right, because it is still his embarrassment, just all over again.

The teen sucks in a breath as he moves slowly through the halls. He needs to get out of here. He needs to leave. He can’t stay here right now, not after that.

It’s not hard sneaking out of Yuuei as one might expect from the world-renowned school. He hopes it’s hard sneaking in than it is sneaking out.

With most teachers and students in class, he barely sees anyone in the hallways. And no one pays him any mind, busy with their own school work. Those few students in the hall, whether getting drinks, or going to the washroom, barely glance at him, and he’s never been more thankful to be ordinary.

The boy pushes out the door, blowing out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. He slips in hands into his pockets, slumping as he moves down the long sidewalk before passing out the Yuuei gates.

He knows he’s gonna be early, but he hopes the kind woman who’d given him his job won’t mind him starting early— he doesn’t even care if he gets paid for the extra work or not, he just needs something to occupy his time and take his mind off of everything.

Oboro hadn’t meant to follow Izuku. He really hadn’t.

He just knows he can’t stay in Shota’s class watching them spar—knowing that Izuku was supposed to be there as well. He hates to see his friend like that-- hates even more to know he’d aided in Izuku being gone. Had he been too harsh on the teen? Gotten too involved, too worried?

He’d never really thought about the fact It's so easy for him to overstep. That line had blurred years ago—he was polite about where he went, and what he did. He had boundaries. There were lines that shouldn’t be crossed whether you’re alive, or dead, but he still didn’t really have boundaries like living people do. Had he overstepped in Izuku’s life?

He doesn’t even know. He’d always been like this—fiercely protective and close with his friends. You can ask Shota and Hizashi, who’d both been on the receiving end of his affection. It’s just who he was. But he knows he’d stepped on their feet sometime too, Shota mostly, who Izuku reminded him very much of. That stern, stupid, mindset of its me versus the world, which it totally doesn’t have to be.

Together, he and Hizashi had eased Shota out of that, not completely, because he was still, and always would be, a stubborn idiot, but he was a lot better than he had been when they’d cornered the shy, angry-faced transfer into being their friend.

But how was he going to do that with Izuku? He was a ghost. He hardly even existed. He didn’t have backup in the form of Hizashi’s charming grin and loud friendly attitude.

The ghost gives a huffed, suffering sigh as he fists his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumping tiredly. He’d left the training gym shortly after Izuku, but he didn’t dare go after the teen. He gets the feeling he’s not Izuku’s favorite person right now.

He thinks about finding Hizashi, sitting with him and just enjoying his friend’s presence as he teaches, but then he catches sight of Izuku leaving the school, and watches him from the window as he walks down the pathway.

He’s worried still.

Of course, he is.

Izuku is his friend, no matter what Izuku thinks. No matter how royally he’d messed up, he’s honestly does consider Izuku to be one of his closest friends.

He’ll need to prove that at some point, but for now he just wants to make sure the younger teen is alright.

He keeps his distance, doesn’t get to close.

It’s hard, because no one usually sees him. Distance doesn’t matter so long as he doesn’t step into anyone’s personal space, but with Izuku, the teen can see him. Hear him. If Izuku turned to look back, he’d see Oboro following him, and the ghost really doesn’t want to get caught following him after their spat in the gym.

He doesn’t ever want to fight with Izuku like that again. He’s not sure his ghost heart can take it.

He follows silently, keeping out of sight, but Izuku doesn’t even turn to look. To be fair, when he’s not talking, Oboro is silent. There’s no ruffle of clothing, or soft noises of breathing. His feet don’t slap on the pavement because he’s weightless. When he’s not avidly trying to make noise, he makes no sounds at all.

So really, there’s no reason for Izuku to look back. He’s still cautious though

Izuku walks silently towards the train station, then waits after purchasing his ticket to his usual stop, the one a couple blocks away from his apartment—the apartment. His old apartment.

With that in mind, Oboro doesn’t bother getting on the train too; that’s a risk of being seen that he doesn’t necessarily need, so instead he pops up at the other end of the line, and waits there to see the familiar head of forest green hair getting off the train.

It’s not a long train ride, twenty-minutes, maybe twenty-five. Yuuei is pretty secluded, and on the other side of town from Izuku’s neighborhood, so it actually makes good time considering walking would’ve been upwards of an hour from Izuku’s front door to Yuuei’s entrance gates.

Izuku gets off, and for the first time since he’d seen the rush of red lift to his cheeks, and the genuine fear in the teenager’s eyes, Oboro looks at his face.

He looks a bit more awake, not as tired as before, but you can easily see the building exhaustion. He wants to wrap the teen in a blanket and make him sleep for fifteen hours straight.

Izuku’s eyes are red, like he’d been crying, and he probably has. Oboro’s seen him cry before, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t stab through his heart like dagger. He’d made the teen cry. Not intentionally, but still. If Oboro hadn’t have opened his mouth, then Izuku wouldn’t have either, and they wouldn’t be in this mess.

Besides the red-rimmed eyes, slumping exhaustion, and almost permanent downward curl of his lips, the teen doesn’t look too bad. He doesn’t look great, but he could definitely look worse.

Izuku doesn’t linger, steps away steadily in that way you only can if you’ve walked it hundreds of times. He follows after him, watching as Izuku turns down a different road that he’s unfamiliar with. He feels stupid for assuming Izuku was going to the apartment, because obviously he can’t.

The ghost bites his lip, keeping his distance, but staying close enough as to not lose sight of the younger boy.

He turns suddenly, into a door hidden on the side of building. Oboro edges closer, glancing in the window where he sees Izuku greet some people. He stalls for a second, a nervous flush on his cheeks as he waves his hands like he’s promising something to the old lady behind the counter— ‘No, no,’ Oboro can imagine him saying, ‘I’m fine!’ but he’s definitely not, and he’s not fooling anyone if by the way the woman’s eyes narrow as she says something else to him is anything to go off.

It looks like Izuku laughs as he says something Oboro can’t really see, shaking his head before shooting her a sheepish smile that has the woman shaking her head and gesturing to the door off to the side of the room.

Izuku bows his head gratefully, before ducking into the door, only to return a second later with an apron tired around his waist. His bag, and Yuuei blazer jacket had stripped off, as well as the tie, leaving him in just a white button-up and his school slacks.

It takes a second longer than Oboro would ever admit to realize that this must be Izuku’s job. The job that had taken up so much of the teenager’s time, but now he understands why. Izuku was trying to survive any way he could. He was trying to keep his head above water while everything in his life tugged at his feet.

There’s a smile on the boy’s face as he makes a beeline for one of the little tables where two people are sitting together, waiting to be served, but it’s so fake it looks almost wrong on his face. It doesn’t match his tired eyes.

Oboro stays there for a while. He’s not really sure how long, just peeking in the café. Izuku doesn’t notice him, never even glances towards the window between his work and talking to customers and the rest of the staff.

Oboro leans against the wall beside the window, turned just perfectly so he can watch what’s going on inside the small café. The bustling of coffees and warm drinks being served—Izuku milling around behind the counter with the machines, talking to customers, cleaning and waiting on tables.

Before long the boy disappears back into that room, and comes out dressed in his uniform once more. His yellow backpack is grasped in his hands as he makes his way to where the old woman is wiping a table.

She hands the boy something— money, maybe?— and he bows his head thankfully in return. Oboro ducks out of the window as the boy turns to leave, and he pushes himself into the wall completely when Izuku steps out of the small café.

Oboro watches Izuku stuff the money into his pocket as he steps onto the street. It’s later now, the sun’s starting to set and a chilly breeze sweeps over them. Following the money, his hands shove into his pockets as well, and he starts to walk, shoulder slumping like someone had flipped a switch that drained all of Izuku’s energy.

It makes him sad to see.

This kid was only fifteen-years-old, and he was already so good at forcing himself to be okay until he had the time to break apart. It comes with being a hero, Oboro knows, but Izuku isn’t a hero yet, and this is a learned trait. He’d learned this, and it had nothing to do with being a hero.

Izuku walks for a while, steps slow and sluggish. He slipped his backpack on, but clutched at the straps like he was afraid someone would swipe it from him if he didn’t. The kid turns off into a darkened alleyway. He glances around before pushing back towards the end—a dead end with a dumpster pushed up against a wall.

Oboro watches as the kid unzips his bag, pulling out a sweatshirt. He pulls it on with a relieved breath before finally wedging himself in between the wall and the dumpster, making sure his backpack is hidden and blocked in for protection.

Oboro’s mouth feels dry as he watches from afar.

Izuku was staying here. This was where Izuku was living. This was... the kid was living beside a dumpster. The kid was living beside a dumpster and no one knew.

Oboro can’t let his happen—he can’t just leave Izuku to live by a dumpster. It wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe.

He’d have to do something about this.

Shota had seen a lot of things on his patrols.

Logical things, illogical things. Weird things, odd things, normal things, regular things. He’d seen things that don’t make sense, and things that made perfect sense, but... he’s never seen this.

The street light before him was flickering.

Now, that in itself wasn’t weird.

Street lights flickered. That happens, and there’s many causes for a flickering street light.

Power surges.

Dying bulbs.

Outages.

The list goes on.

There are many answers to a street light flickering.

What wasn’t normal, however, was the light flickering until he drew near, before shutting off completely. Shutting off completely only when he was underneath the light source.

He’ll admit he played around with a little. Tested it. This was something you needed to see to believe, and even seeing it now, he doesn’t believe it entirely. It’s not logical. He lives his life on logic, and this, this isn’t.

But it’s happening anyways, so he’s obviously going to investigate this phenomenon.

The light would be bright. Had almost blinded him from where he’d been perched on the edge of a rooftop. Shining, showing no sign of shutting off at all, and when he’d glance at it scoping out where he was heading next, it would start flickering.

Like clockwork, it kept repeating. He’d look away and it would be bright, then he’d look back, and it would flicker. Away, bright. Back, flickers.

It felt like the light was trying to draw him in. It wanted his attention with was insanely illogical. An inanimate street light trying to draw in his attention? He felt like an idiot even thinking it.

Still, it was not normal.

So, he’d stepped up to see what was up with it. Street lights don’t do that. Not normally.

To his surprise, when he’d stepped up to inspect it, the light went out completely. There was no warning it was going to go off. No flicker as it tried to conserve energy, and it didn’t look like it was trying to turn back on. It just... went out, like something had blown in its wiring.

There’d been no noise, or sound of sparks that usually entailed something electrical malfunctioning. Besides the obvious fact it was out, it didn’t look like it should be out.

Again, there were reasons this could happen.

Nothing happened without reason.

Maybe a wire had gotten lose? The bulb had died? Maybe a breaker was down somewhere and... well, maybe not that one. It appeared that only this specific light was off. The hero leaned to look around the light, inspecting it for any damage or loose wires, but he could see nothing.

But then again, he was in the dark because the light was off. He had good eyes, but he wasn’t a raccoon, or a cat or something. He didn’t have night vision; therefore, without the light overhead, he really couldn’t be certain it wasn’t malfunctioning for a reason.

The man shook his head before he glared up at the blacked-out bulb.

He just had to assume it had gone out. That was the most logical reason he was stood in the dark after a flickering bulb had drawn him in.

A dead bulb wasn’t something to be overly worried about though.

They went out all the time. Half the street lights on his patrol were out because they were in places the general population tended not to go. A dead bulb wasn’t out of the ordinary for an underground hero to see, lights being on were honestly more surprising.

The man scoffed to himself, shaking his head.

The absurdity.

Shota turned away from the street light, capture weapon lifting off his shoulders to coil around a fire escape close by so he could pull himself up except—the light was back on. The surprise of suddenly being in the light made him jump, and when he spun back around with gritted teeth, the light abruptly went out again.

His capture weapon dropped back over his shoulders in his confusion, gaze sweeping over the area to try and spot something—anything that could be messing around with him. He didn’t see any electrical boxes, nor did he see a soul out here with him.

So... the light wasn’t dead after all?

There was something very, very weird about this.

In nothing more than an attempt to test if he was actually losing his mind, Shota turned away a second time, and as expected, the light was back on. He lingered for a second, hand gripping his scarf to see if it was just randomly flickering, and he’d just had some insanely impeccable timing, but the light didn’t flicker, or waver, or go out again, until he turned to face the light again.

He blinks slowly. Trying to understand. This was... it was weird. It wasn’t normal. Lights don’t do this, and certainly not to him.

Sure, their lights back at the apartment flicker sometimes. They’ll go out, and turn back on, but never like this. Honestly, Shota chalked that up to faulty wiring or their building have odd power surges—and he won’t deny it’s not funny when Hizashi turns a light off, only for it to turn back on just as he sits down again, or vice versa.

Hizashi swears up and down that their apartment is haunted, but the idea of ghosts is illogical.

It’s just something that’s always happened to them. Way back when, when they’d first moved in together, and through the years. Once, maybe twice a week something would do something weird. Odd, but nothing to be concerned about.

But it’s never been like this. Never as precise as this, and never anything as worthwhile as a full street light. The best he’d seen was their kitchen light flickering out before turning back on, and the lamp in the living room turning on and off. Shota’s only seen that a couple times, however. Hizashi claims it happens often.

Still, he can’t come up with a logical excuse for why this light is doing this.

Shota tucks his hands into his capture weapon as he stares up at the light. It’s off still, but it had turned on just seconds earlier. The light definitely isn’t dead if it’s still turning on. The question is, why is it turning on? Or, better yet, why had it turned off to begin with?

He glances to the left, noticing the street light off to the side shining brightly, undisturbed, before glancing to the right where it's—wait, is it flickering?

The light overhead stays out, but the one to the right flickers just as the one he’s stood under had in order to draw in his attention.

Surely this much be a hoax.

With furrowed brows, the hero steps towards the flickering street light. The light he was just under turns back on abruptly. He glances back, but carries on towards the new light that flickers more intently as he gets closer.

Like before, as soon as he’s basked in the light, it shuts off abruptly.

This is illogical. He’s following street lights like they’re trying to lead him somewhere.

What the hell?

The light to the right of the new one he’s under flickers again, repeating the process once more. Something really wants him to follow the lights. He’s definitely being led somewhere.

But by what? Who?

Was this some Quirk? A trap? Was he walking into some villain’s scheme right now?

Even if he is, he can’t in good conscious ignore light sources leading him along in the dead of night, now can he? Even if it’s not the greatest idea to follow along; play into whatever this is, he’s intrigued.

Deciding to throw caution to the wind in that way Hizashi absolutely hates, the dark-haired hero shoves his hands in his pockets and starts walking in the direction the flickering lights are leading him.

The flickering has sped up now, as he walks. They’ll flicker once, maybe twice as he approaches, before shutting off completely and leaving him in the dark as if someone’s flipped a light switch as soon as steps foot in the flow of said light. If he doesn’t stop, neither does the lights, which turn back on as soon as he’s passed the actual bulb overhead, which is when the next starts flickering.

It all moves fluidly. Each of his steps is accompanied by the light either flickering, shutting off, or turning back on. Something is tracking his distance; unsettlingly accurate with the lights so it matches perfectly with him.

Honestly, he’s impressed by the dedication if this is a villain trying to lead an unsuspecting hero into a trap.

He follows the street lights for a good half an hour. He’s slower on foot than he would’ve been on rooftop, but the lights are insistent, and he’s unsure if this will still work if he’s not directly under them. They’d stayed on the main road up until this point. He’d followed the lights left and right depending, but they didn’t stray from the main roads.

The street light he’s stood under is turning on and off slowly, and the next one town the line doesn’t flicker. He turns looks to the left, a sluggish on and off overhead, then to the right, on and off again, before turning to look behind him.

The light turns off.

Behind him is an alley opening. It’s dark, no street lights down the path. He’s sure if there were light sources, it would’ve kept leading him.

It feels like a trap.

He’s no longer on his patrol route—hasn't been for a good twenty minutes now. He’d blindly followed the lights that had appeared to be leading him along. He has half a mind to believe he’d imagined the whole thing, but here he stands, at the mouth of an unfamiliar backstreet.

The light above him flickers lazily as if prompting him on, and a chill climbs up his spine as he looks back towards the alley opening when the light’s gone off again.

When he takes a step in, the light comes back on. He glances back at it again, but it doesn’t flicker again. The beam is steady and uninterrupted.

That... that had happened, right?

Shaking his head as he fists his hands into his capture weapon in case this really is a trap of some sort, the man sneaks in. He’s silent as his steps carry him in. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find. He doesn’t even know if he’ll find anything.

The alley way is silent; that dead of night kind of silent. His steps are the only thing heard, soft and steady. He tightens his fist, clenching his fingers around his scarf until his knuckles turn white. He’s waiting for something to jump out at him. For something to attack, or flee.

But nothing comes.

By the time he reaches the end of the alley, a dead end, the man feels like he really had been punked. By his own brain. What the hell? Had that really happened? It was completely illogical, but it had been entirely real. He was sure of it.

Shota surveys the dead end with a heavy frown, looking for something, anything, out of place. Is there anything here that doesn't belong here? Anything worthy of the street lights leading him here?

Something moves in his peripherals, and he’s quick to jump, scarf flying overhead, ready to neutralize any potential threat. It drops abruptly back to his shoulders when he notices sneakers. Red sneakers. Familiar red sneakers, but he can’t quite put his finger on where he’d seen them before.

It’s not just the shoes—attached to those red sneakers are feet, and attached to those are legs. Shota’s sure there’s the rest of the human there too, but they’re hidden; wedged in between the wall and the dumpster.

He comes into contact with the homeless a lot. Life hasn’t been kind to a lot of people. He knows some Pros turn their head and pretend not to see it, but he likes to check in. And... well, when he finds people unconscious in alleyways, he likes to ensure they’re not dead.

Shota moves towards the person, trying to make himself as loud as possible to announce his presence without being overly loud as to scare the shit out of them. He stomps his boots just a little louder than he usually would, but the person doesn’t stir.

Probably not good.

“Hey,” Shota calls, leaning closer. The person’s head is tucked in a hook, angled downward. He can’t see their face. But he catches sight of a bright yellow backpack pressed between the wall and this person’s body.

The figure is small and—

Shota freezes.

A bright yellow backpack?

Bright red sneakers?

A wave of panic rushes through him as he grabs one of the person’s shoes, giving it a light shake, “hey,” he calls again more urgent this time. It’s just now Shota’s eyes zero in on the familiar Yuuei uniform slacks, as well as a rumpled up white uniform shirt peeking out from under the bright sweatshirt.

Oh God, this really is his Problem Child.

What the hell was Midoriya doing sleeping on the street?

Feeling more confident that he knows this person, and also needing the proof that this is his Problem Child even if everything pointed towards yes, it was Midoriya Izuku sleeping in a dark, dirty alleyway, the man pushed the hood back off the small frame’s head, sucking in a breath as he does so.

Curls of dark green spring up from under the hood, and with the hood gone, the man can make out the dusting of Midoriya’s freckles even in the awful night lighting—and there’s no doubt this isn’t one of his kids. His Problem Child.

All Shota can do is whisper out profanities under his breath as he scans for any injuries on his face.

“Midoriya,” he calls again, hoping his name with stir him better than ‘hey’ had. The kid doesn’t move, and for a second, Shota’s body goes ridged. Fear pulses down his spine as he leans forwards, tapping the kid’s cheek with urgency. “Midoriya, hey, up and at ’em, Kid. C’mon.”

The last he’d seen the boy had been that afternoon when he’d rushed out of the gym without a word. He’d been fine—well, mostly fine. Unharmed, at least. Shota won’t pretend to know why Izuku was so upset, and he hasn’t the slightest clue what he’d been yelling at.

He’d come to know Izuku as a mumbler; a child who would mutter to himself, so when he’d glanced over to see the kid’s mouth moving, he didn’t really think anything of it. But then he’d shouted—and Shota had been surprised. The angry yell from the green-haired teen had startled the class, drawing in curious eyes from all around, and the only thing he could think of to do was to snap the kid out of whatever he was doing had been to call his name loudly.

Midoriya had left right after, and as much as Shota wanted to chase after him, to get an explanation, he still had a class to teach and students to be responsible for. There comes a point when you’re a teacher working with young people, where you need to back off and let them go— even if he’s a little annoyed the problem child just ran out without a word.

He’d been fine when he’d left class though. Tired, and unfocused, but fine.

Shota’s taps on the teen’s cheek gets more persistent. “Midoriya, I’m five seconds away from calling for an ambulance. Wake up, Problem Child.”

The kid stirs, thank the heavens, groggily curling into himself tighter before unfurling and blinking slow, owlish eyes at him. He reaches up to rub at his eye with a white, probably frozen fist, before cocking his head as if trying to gage the situation in his tired state.

“Sensei?” his voice is curled with sleep, tired and drawled. He shivers, tucking into the sweatshirt.

Shota sits back on his haunches where he’s still crouched beside the boy. His heart is still pounding anxiously in his chest, but with the kid conscious and speaking, he can let out a slow, anxious breath.

His student, one of his kids, hadn’t woken up right away. He’s not sure if it’s because of how exhausted the boy had been looking recently, the cold night air, or something else entirely, but there’s still warning bells going off in his head as he watches the kid sharply.

It’s just a second later that the kid jerks up abruptly, arms tightening around himself as he gapes nervously at his teacher. It seems he’d come to his senses finally. The sleep is wiped away and replaced with a familiar anxiety. “S-Sensei?!”

“Midoriya,” Shota replies blankly, frowning at the teen.

He has questions. Lots of them. But Midoriya has been out in the evening chill for who knows how long, he’d been asleep on the ground, his cheeks and nose an irritated red from the freezing breeze sweeping over them. His first course of action is getting him somewhere warm.

“Sensei, uhm.” the boy winces at his own voice, pulling into himself like he’s afraid Shota might attack him, “w-what are you, I mean, uhm, why are... what’re you doing here?”

“I was on patrol,” the man huffs as he stands back up, looming over the child with a glare, “what are you doing here, alone in a dead-end alley at two AM?”

The question is a trap, and Izuku sees through it instantly. He’s smart, Shota will give him that... then again, the kid’s asleep on the streets, so can he really give him that? Not a complete idiot then.

The kid bites his lip and drops his attention down to his feet. Midoriya’s stiff fingers fiddle with his shoelaces, and Shota decides right then that they’re not going to get anywhere right now. The kid’s obviously tired, and cold, and probably hungry. He wouldn’t want to talk either if roles were reversed.

“Up,” he demands with a shake of his head.

He gives the teen props for how fast he flies to his feet, clutching his backpack to his chest. Shota gestures the kid out from his hiding spot easily, and Midoriya scampers past him. The teenager pauses by Shota’s side, waiting for direction. “Where...” he swallows, biting the inside of his cheek, “where are we going?”

“Does it matter, Kid?” Shota asks tiredly, reaching up to tuck his hands in his capture weapon again. The wind nips at his fingers; its freezing cold, and he can only imagine how cold the teen must be after who knows how long out here “any where's better than here.”

Midoriya is silent, thoughtful at his side.

Shota takes a couple steps before stopping, glancing back at the kid.

He’d been around teenagers long enough to read his expression easily, so, with a heavy sigh, the man explains, “my place, Midoriya. I’ll take you to my place for the night, because I sure as hell am not leaving you here. Unless, of course, you have somewhere else to be, in which case I’ll walk you there.”

He studies the teen, watched his body movements and facial expressions. How his fingers tense around the fabric of his backpack, how his lips curl downward before pressing into a straight line. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, it’s all in his body movements.

“I... I don’t,” Midoriya’s curls block his eyes when he ducks his head. “N-nowhere else to go...”

At least the kid hadn’t lied to him. The teacher nods, acknowledging his student’s honest answer.

“C’mon then,” Shota huffs out, hoping his voice comes out a bit more inviting than he thinks it does. Still, at this point he knows his students are used to his hardened personality—or, lack thereof. “You okay to walk? It’s a bit of a trek from here.”

Shota looks around to try and gage where they are exactly. He’s not entirely familiar with this part of town, since he had strayed off his patrol, but he’s got a basic idea of where they are, and he’s confident he can get them to the apartment. It just might take a bit longer on foot.

“Y-yes, Sensei,” Midoriya nods quickly, “I’m fine.”

He’s getting tired of hearing that from the kid. This obviously isn’t fine. But he can tell Midoriya that another time. Preferably after he’s fed, warmed and rested. Then he’ll ask questions and lecture some sense into him.

They step out of the alley side by side, and Shota shoots a glance over his shoulder at the street lights. They’re all shining brightly, each and every one of them that had flickered before shutting off. There’s no trace of any residual flickering. The man furrows his brow as he tightens his grip in his capture weapon.

Had that even happened at all? How’d he... how the hell did he find Midoriya?

He shakes himself from his thoughts, looking back at the child.

Midoriya’s hands are shoved in his pockets now, hood tugged back up. He’s wearing his backpack; hunched over in exhaustion. The kid blows out slow breaths that fog up into to the cool night air. He gives a shiver that seems to vibrate his whole frame, before curling in on himself even more.

Shota hates to see his students like this—he'd hate to see any of them in the state Midoriya is in, but there’s just something so heartbreaking about his happy-go-lucky Problem Child so quiet and timid.

“C’mon, Problem Child,” Shota shakes his head, stepping towards the kid so he could press his fingers between the kid’s shoulder blades, just above the backpack, in a guiding gesture. Shota’s silently pleased the kid doesn’t flinch away from him, at least that trust is still here.

Midoriya doesn’t pull away from the touch, so neither does Shota. He just presses his hand closer to the kid, flattening it so his palm presses firmly, grounding him, against the teenager.

With his other hand, the man pulls his cellphone out of one of his utility belt pouches, texting a one-handed message to his husband as a bit of warning. He knows Hizashi won’t care, he’d been just as worried about the green-haired teenager as he was.

‘I’m bringing home a stray.’

He gets a single thumbs up emoji in reply just seconds later.

Content with the answer, Shota drops his phone back into the pouch before glancing over at the kid.

They walk side by side, not slow by any means, but not as fast as Shota could’ve been had he been up on the rooftops. Still, Midoriya’s tired, and he doesn’t trust the kid enough to use his Quirk to keep speed, nor is Midoriya even allowed to use his Quirk outside of school without his provisional license.

So, he settles into the long walk.

They don’t talk—not really. Shota isn’t one for pointless conversation, and Midoriya is worryingly quiet as well. It’s different from the rambles and mutters the boy usually has. He’s not sure he likes it.

They make it to the apartment, and Shota leads the teenager up the stairs and down the hallway—pulling his house key from one of his pouches to unlock the door. They step inside and he locks it once again.

He hears Hizashi’s footsteps before he sees the man.

Shota has to shake his head when his husband rounds the corner of their apartment, tired smile jolting into a gape of surprise. Hizashi’s eyebrows shoot up, jaw dropping as he freezes abruptly at the sight the stray in question, a teenager, toeing his shoes off, partially hidden behind Shota.

Shota doesn’t think his husband knows who it is yet.

That’s not a cat. His charming, intelligent husband signs dumbly, wide eyes locked on the child. Midoriya’s head is still ducked, his upper body hidden behind Shota. He’s fiddling with his shoes—Shota doesn’t even have to see it to know. Still, he’ll gladly accept the second of distraction as he eyes his husband in silent warning.

Shota shakes his head with a knowing look. It takes a second for Hizashi to manage to draw his shock back up to Shota, but when they catch a second of eye contact, Hizashi drops his gaze down to Shota’s hands for a signed reply of: I know.

His husband shoots him a dirty look at the incredibly unhelpful reply, lip poking out in a pout. What did you do?

Shota raises an eyebrow, blowing out a light huff, I found him on the streets.

Hizashi’s shock bleeds into concern, eyebrows furrowing as he glances down at the child, at 2 AM?

The dark-haired man gives a nod as Midoriya finally stands up again. He signs a quick tell you later to his husband before turning his attention back to the child. Midoriya’s shoes are off, pushed politely against the wall in an orderly fashion. He doesn’t move, but glances just a little around Shota to eye Hizashi.

Shota kicks off his own boots, toeing them against the wall haphazardly.

Shota sees the exact moment Hizashi figures out who he'd brought home. The surprise from earlier is nothing compared to the shock on his face now as he stares at Midoriya’s still weather nipped red cheeks and nose. Shota knows his husband has a soft spot for the kid, he honestly doesn’t know of anyone who doesn’t.

“C’mon, Kid.” Shota invites Midoriya in. As he speaks to Midoriya, his signs to Hizashi just so they’re on the same page without the kid hearing. Guest room?

Hizashi stares at his hands for just a second before seeming to decipher the signs and their meaning. He nods, turning on his heels to prepare the guest bedroom, and probably grab his hearing aids for Midoriya’s sake. The kid hadn’t seemed to catch on to the signing yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“Who, uhm,” Shota looks down at the boy inching along behind him, “who was that, Sensei?”

Shota raises an eyebrow, a smirk curling onto his lips. Ah yes... without his obnoxious voice, and that stupid cockatoo hairstyle, no one knew that Hizashi was Present Mic. Shota reigns in the humored grin, regarding the teen with a schooled look, “my husband.”

Midoriya blinks once, then twice.

It’s probably a surprise. Shota wouldn’t be shocked if his students thought he was single. It’s not like he ever talked about himself around them, and he didn’t wear his wedding band on his finger just because it was risky to announce something like that. Most heroes tended to keep their personal lives on the downlow, and never showed, or spoke of loved ones. He and Hizashi were no different, especially at school, or in their hero costumes where they’re easily recognizable—well, Hizashi is, at least.

Besides he preferred they think he was single, less stupid questions that way.

And he didn’t want them prying into his personal life—he got enough of that from Nemuri and the other teachers. They all knew he and Hizashi were married, yet still, he never got a moments peace.

“O-oh,” the teen exhales the word softly, head bowing in a thoughtful little nod. “Okay.”

Shota raises an eyebrow before shaking his head, “you must be cold. And dirty, I don’t want to catching anything from that alley either. Why don’t you head into the bathroom and take a shower to warm up?”

Midoriya bites his bottom lip, looking conflicted. He clutches his backpack to his chest, but Shota doesn’t say anything about it. He wonders how long his kid had been on the streets without him noticing.

“Are you sure?” the boy asks slowly, almost nervously.

“Yeah,” Shota lulls his head in Midoriya’s direction, “you don’t have too, of course. I’m not going to force you, but we will be talking—either after you shower or right now.”

Izuku stiffens at that, glancing down the hallway.

“Your call, Problem Child,” the man muses, “we talk now, or you can have a couple minutes in the shower to get your answers straight. Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Shower?” the teen decides with a light frown.

“Good choice,” Shota nods, gesturing him down the hallway Hizashi had disappeared down before crossing his arms over his chest. “First door on your left down that hallway. Feel free to use whatever you want in there, we don’t mind. Clean towels are under the sink. You got any clean clothes in there to change into?”

Midoriya nods sharply, clutching tighter around the bag. Shota pretends not to notice. “Good. I’ll make us something to eat while you shower. Anything specific you’d like?”

“Oh, uh y-you don’t have too—”

“Anything specific you’d like?” Shota repeats, cutting the kid off. He tries to keep his exasperated tone to himself. At this, the teen shakes his head meekly. “No allergies?” There’s none on his school records, but then again, Midoriya also hadn’t had a Quirk before school started, and that also wasn’t on his record.

The kid shakes his head a second time, fidgeting with his own fingers.

“Alright,” Shota huffs softly, “off you go then. We’ll talk while we eat. I have questions, and you should have answers.”

The kid looks nervous at that, but nods anyways. He turns swiftly and disappears into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Shota lets out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. He takes off his capture weapon, letting it pool on the coffee table for the cats to sniff.

He hears the water turn on in the bathroom, before making his way into the kitchen.

“Mind telling me what the hell is going on?” Hizashi’s voice almost startles him. When he looks back, his husband has his hearing aids in, and his hair has been brushed up into a messy bun. “Why is Midoriya here? Why was he out at 2 AM? Where did you find him?”

“We’re about to find out,” Shota huffs, silently happy the chef of the apartment is joining him, he’d hate to serve the kid something burnt. “Now, come, help me make him something to eat. I... I don’t think he’s been eating well recently.”

A concerned frown tugs at Hizashi’s lips, but he does as requested, settling beside Shota at the counter to help him make a very late dinner.

A lot had happened in the past hour.

He’d been caught.

He’d been caught sleeping on the ground, hidden away in a dead-end alleyway. He’d been caught being homeless by his homeroom teacher. Of course, it was Aizawa-Sensei who’d found him. Of course.

Izuku’s hands shake as he locks himself in his teacher’s bathroom, eyes surveying curiously over everything in there. It feels weird to be in his Sensei’s home—his Sensei’s space.

Izuku bites his lip as he sets his schoolbag down onto the counter, unzipping it to dig out a pair of sweats and a long sleeve shirt. He hadn’t grabbed any pajamas in his hasten to get out of his apartment after finding the eviction notice, and it’s not like he’d change into pajamas on the streets anyways.

He fishes out a fresh pair of boxers, shaking his head as he reaches underneath the sink like Sensei had instructed, where he finds towels, just as promised. With everything laid out, Izuku turns to start the faucet, studying it for a second to understand how it works before finally turning it on.

The water patters on the floor of the shower, but Izuku makes no move to undress.

“Y’know,” he fiddles with the edge of his hoodie, pulling on a loose thread, “it’s weird that Sensei found me even when I was completely hidden in a dark, isolated alley, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, uhm weird...” He hears someone clear their throat, proving his suspicion to be right. Izuku turns on socked feet, regarding the ghost with a frown. Oboro looks nervous, shuffling his feet as he chews on the inside of his cheek. “Actually, uh, about that... I... I sorta followed you?”

“I’ve gathered,” Izuku shakes his head, giving the ghost an unamused look. There’s no anger in it—he's over being angry. Too tired for it. He continues on, voice bland and holding no heat, “I told you not too.”

“I know,” Oboro winces, squeezing his eyes shut like he’d committed the ultimate betrayal. “But I was worried about you. You just left class, and I know we’re fighting, but I’m still worried, because you are my friend. And I saw you go into the alley, and I knew that you were staying there, and I got this really gross feeling in my stomach, like someone walked through me but worse and I-I couldn’t just leave you out there, Izuku. I couldn’t. I’m sorry, but it’s dangerous on the streets, especially at night and I knew Shota would help you as soon as he knew, but I knew you wouldn’t tell him and... I’m sorry.”

“We’re not fighting anymore,” Izuku shakes his head, pulling the sweater over his head before setting it on the closed toilet seat. “I’m sorry too. I don’t think we ever were fighting, just... just I was. That was unfair of me. You didn’t deserve that—I mean, I’m not happy you were snooping around, or that you followed me even when I told you not too, but I get it. I... I would’ve done the same thing too for a friend. I’m... I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Don’t be sorry!” the ghost yelps, rubbing the back of his neck, “I totally did deserve it. Sometimes I forget I’m a ghost and that some of the stuff I do is overstepping—that it’s... well, that it’s stuff living people can’t do. I really was just going to check on you, but then I saw your landlord and a moving crew in your apartment and... yeah.”

“You did overstep,” Izuku agrees softly, but with a tiny smile. He knows he can’t hold it against the ghost—he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Izuku gets that this is a trial-and-error kinda thing, because no one else sees ghosts like he does. “But I know you didn’t mean to. It’s... it’s okay. Mostly. Try and remember living people restrictions every now and then, yeah?”

“Trust me,” Oboro smiles, but it’s not the wide one Izuku is used to seeing, “I don’t want a repeat of this, I’ll be trying extremely hard to not, uhm, not ghost in your business.”

There’s a moment of silence, not quite uncomfortable, but there’s not as much tension as when the ghost had first peeked in.

“I think," the ghost starts off slowly, “uhm, maybe we should talk more sometime. Preferably when your teacher isn’t waiting on you. You’re already in for a talk, eh?”

“Don’t remind me,” Izuku pouts, “I can’t believe you—wait, how did you lead Sensei to me? You’re a ghost.”

Oboro lets out a breathy laugh, looking tired as he rubs at the back of his neck, “tell you later?”

“So long as you actually tell me,” Izuku teases, voice curled with humor instead of the frustration he’d had back in the training gym at school. Oboro seems to notice that too, because he’s grinning, nodding his head vigorously. “I trust you too though.”

Izuku lets a small smile curl onto his lips at the way Oboro’s face brightens with relief. Maybe he’d taken that fight more to heart than Izuku had thought. He’d never really had a friend like this—not since before he’d gotten his medical diagnosis. It's nice.

Getting back to the task at hand, Izuku strips off his socks. He glances down at the remainder of his clothes, biting his lip as he glances back at the ghost.

He hopes the running water is muffling the sound of his voice as he speaks with the ghost, but at this point, he’d already embarrassed himself enough. What’s one more embarrassing thing in front of his Sensei?

“So, Sensei’s married, huh?”

Oboro grins at that, nodding his head because Izuku’s already seen that. He’d gotten confirmation from Sensei already. It’s not a question, it’s an observation framed like a question.

“I never even thought he was seeing anyone, let alone married. He’s so secretive, hardly ever talks about himself, y’know? Who’s his husband anyways? He looked... familiar, but I can’t figure out why?”

“Not to be cryptic,” Oboro cocks his head, tongue in cheek as he smiles, “but you’ll definitely figure that one out on your own. Give it a couple minutes.”

Izuku puckers his lips in feigned annoyance before turning away from his friend, “I feel bad wasting water while we’re talking. I should probably, y’know,” the teen gestures to the running shower.

Oboro gives a hum, but clearly doesn’t catch on. He doesn’t make any move to leave, hadn’t even seemed to connect the dots.

Izuku snorts a laugh, angling his attention back to the ghost as he unbuttons his school shirt, “I’m gonna get naked now, sooo unless you’re that kinda ghost: get out.”

“R-right!” Oboro yelps, cheeks flushing brightly as he takes a couple steps backwards—right through the locked door, so just his head is peeking in once again, “oh, right, sorry, uhm. Yikes. I’ll be, um... enjoy your shower.”

Izuku laughs, throwing a wave over his shoulder as the ghost leaves him be.

He strips the rest of his clothes, stepping under the warm stream of water that makes him shiver after being cold for so long. It feels so nice. He hadn’t had a chance to shower the past couple days—he'd left without showering after training on Sunday, and he’d been in a hurry to leave after school that day.

It was nice to get clean. He used a tiny amount from one of the shampoo bottles—it smelt fruity. Izuku can’t help but wonder if it’s Sensei’s, or the man’s husband’s. He feels bad using their soap, but a shower is pretty pointless without actually cleaning.

Still, he makes quick work of the shower so he can get out fast.

He dries off after shutting the water off, then dresses quickly. It’s weird to be undressed in his teacher’s home. It’s weird to be in his teacher’s home period. At least he technically has a friend here, because Oboro follows Sensei around like a puppy.

Izuku shoves his uniform and sweatshirt into his backpack, hoping the uniform doesn’t get too wrinkled before school tomorrow. School tomorrow was gonna be weird. He’d been in his teacher’s apartment.

He unlocks the bathroom door after making sure everything he’d touched was back in place, even the wet towel folded neatly on the counter. He would’ve hung it up, but he wasn’t sure where too, since the towel rack was already full.

He feels awkward.

His steps are quiet as he pads through his teacher’s apartment, bare feet announcing his arrival. His teacher and his husband are both at the counter, backs turned to him. He shuffles his feet anxiously, forcing a half smile when Oboro, perched on the counter beside the men, gives him a wide grin and a sheepish wave.

It’s Sensei’s husband who notices him first, “oh!” the man chirps as he swirls around to grin at Midoriya, and, wait a second— “how was your shower, Lil’ Listener? No trouble with the faucet?”

“Present Mic?” Izuku gapes, shooting a betrayed look to the laughing ghost.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Aizawa-Sensei huffs monotonously.

“You didn’t tell him upfront?” Mic-Sensei shoots Aizawa-Sensei a scandalized look, before he sent Izuku an apologetic glance.

“Where’s the fun in telling him upfront? He’s smart, he would’ve figured it out eventually. All it took was you opening your mouth, ‘zashi.”

“Shota, that’s awful!” Mic shakes his head, “sorry, Midoriya. I guess this is a bit of a surprise, huh? I thought Aizawa would’ve briefed ya a bit before bringing you home, so you weren’t thrown in head first. Guess I was wrong.”

Present Mic’s tone towards the end is accusing, but Sensei just shrugs his shoulders indifferently, looking back down at whatever he was making.

Izuku can just slowly nod his head, not trusting his voice in the slightest.

He lets his gaze flicker to Oboro; eyes narrowed in silent censure. That innocent question in passing of if his two Sensei’s were close flashing in his mind, and conveyed easily to the ghost who flashes a grin.

“Hey, I told you they were close,” the ghost laughs, hands raising in surrender, “I just didn’t specify how close. To be fair, it really wasn’t my place to share, but now you know! Your teachers are married, weird, huh?”

He could hit the ghost right now, and probably not even feel sorry about it.

“Midoriya?” Present Mic’s voice is soft and concerned, “you alright? Not gonna dissociate on us, are ya? I know this is a lot to take in so suddenly...”

“Oh, uh, no. I won’t, I mean, I’m not, uh dissociating? Sorry,” Izuku forces his attention back, smiling sheepishly when he catches both his teacher’s gazes on him, “just... just surprised. I mean, I uhm, w-we didn’t think Sensei well... that he, uhm, he’s never seemed f-fond of, um, you? I guess?”

“I’m not,” Aizawa-Sensei snorts in agreement, which in turn prompts an offended scoff from Present Mic.

“You are so!” Mic sputters, spinning to point an accusatory finger at Aizawa-Sensei, who stares back blankly, entirely unoffended, “we're married! You are fond of me, and I know it! Don’t lie to Midoriya, you grump! You definitely like me!”

Aizawa levels the man a glance, eyes flicking down to the finger almost pressed against his chest before batting it away and looking towards his student. “We made onigiri. I hope you’re hungry, Kid. Have a seat.”

Present Mic lets out a huff, shaking his head as he does so. He joins Aizawa-Sensei at the counter again, but doesn’t linger long, just grabs the tray of onigiri, while Aizawa-Sensei collects plates from a cupboard.

While they’re distracted, Midoriya does as told, inching into the kitchen before settling himself at the table. There are four chairs tucked in around it, so he pulls the one closest to the door out, sitting stiffly as he sets his backpack on the floor, tucked under him slightly.

“Coffee, Midoriya?” Sensei asks after setting the plates down on the table. He turns back to the counter, already working on preparing a fresh pot of coffee.

Izuku opens his mouth to reply, but Present Mic beats him too it, sitting on the chair to Izuku’s left. “You are not giving our student coffee at three AM. Some of us still need to sleep!” Then, to Izuku, the man continues, “we have tea, or juice. Uhm, water? Anything suit your fancy, Listener?”

“Tea?” Izuku shrugs, fiddling with his own fingers. He doesn’t drink much coffee, he’d always been afraid of it stunting his growth like his mother had always told him, and he’s already short enough. He won’t lie and say he hadn’t been living on the beverage over the past week and a bit of working at the café, but he doesn’t quite like the taste either.

“Fine,” Sensei nods. “’zashi?”

“Tea,” the blonde-haired man decides after a second. “I’m still hoping to sleep a bit before work tomorrow. I don’t know how you can drown yourself in coffee and still be able to sleep.”

Aizawa-Sensei doesn’t respond to that, but he does move to fill the kettle.

Aizawa-Sensei leans the small of his back against the counter, scanning Izuku where he’s sitting. The teen tries not to wriggle nervously at the attention, ducking his head and toeing at his backpack on the floor, where it’s leaned against the table leg.

He’s not afraid—he does trust his Sensei.

And he has a deep respect for Present Mic as well. He likes him, but he can’t say he trusts him like he trusts Aizawa-Sensei. But still, he knows he’s safe, he’s just... anxious. He doesn’t want to burden them with his shitshow of a life, but it doesn’t look like he’s really got any options here? Especially with a persistent ghost hellbent that he reaches out.

Something brushes against Izuku’s leg, and he jolts both out of his thoughts, and up into a ramrod straight position. He may make a noise of surprise or something, because Present Mic jumps in surprise too, and even Sensei’s gaze jerks up, locking on the teen who’s ducking under the table.

“That’s Satan,” Oboro calls from the counter, cocking his head at the cat. The cat seems to stare right back at the ghost. “He’s mostly harmless despite the name.”

“Oh!” Yamada-Sensei laughs, head ducking down too to look at the cat, “don’t worry, Listener, that’s just Blanket.”

“Blanket?” Izuku frowns, glancing first at the black and white tuxedo cat, before narrowing his eyes at Oboro.

“Yep!” The blonde-haired man nods, “Shota found him on patrol a couple years ago, when he was just a tiny little thing. He’s appropriately named; check any blankets before you sit down—it's a good thing cats have nine lives because he’s definitely lost a few by being sat on. He’s the sweetest though!”

“He’s the devil,” Aizawa-Sensei scoffs from the counter. Oboro gestures to Aizawa-Sensei in a ‘that’s what I said!’ kinda way. Despite his words, the dark-haired man taps on his chest once and the cat rushes over, perching at his feet before jumping gracefully into his arms. “He responds to both Blanket, as well as the nickname Satan, which he’s called by depending on how much of a little shit he’s being. Don’t be fooled by cute faces, Midoriya. They’re menaces.”

“They’re?” the teen’s eyes widen in surprise. It’s hard to take the man’s words seriously, as he cradles a cat to his chest. He’d never imagined his stern; stony-faced teacher could look so domestic. But here he is with a husband (Present Mic!), cuddling a cat to his person.

This night probably couldn’t get any weirder.

“You really didn’t tell him anything, did you?” Mic-Sensei tuts, shooting Aizawa-Sensei a light glare. “We have three cats, Listener. You’ll probably see Fish and Nemo too at some point. Fish is pretty old; I’ve had him since I was around your age, and Nemo doesn’t like anyone other than Sho, so she’s probably hiding somewhere. And there’s a bunch of strays in the neighborhood that we feed too, but none of them trust us yet.”

“I’m making progress with the strays.”

Wait a second... was Aizawa-Sensei pouting...?

“Sure,” Present Mic shrugs, angling his head towards Aizawa-Sensei with a fond look, “but we’re already one cat over the pet limit in the lease we signed.”

“Like our landlord would notice.”

“Well, she would if we had an army of cats following you around like their cat God, or something!”

Izuku just looks between the two of them as they talk, almost like they’d forgotten he was there. Banter. His two teachers, Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic were bantering. He blinks, glancing towards where Oboro is doing the same thing, but almost as if the ghost can sense his gaze, he looks towards him.

“They’re always like this,” the ghost lifts one shoulder into a shrug. “You’ll get used to it. I’ve been telling you for ages Sho’s a softie, I mean, look at him holding that absolute demon of a cat. Adorable.”

The kettle whistles as Izuku looks back towards his teacher. The man leans down slightly, but the cat almost slinks out of his arms, landing on the floor with a thump. The cat saunters out of the room, and Izuku can’t help but watch him go. He wishes he had that kind of confidence.

Movement out of the corner of his eye draws his attention back to the table, where he sees his Sensei setting a mug of steeping tea in front of them, before returning to the counter and pouring himself a mug of fresh coffee. He chugs it—and jeez, that’s steaming hot; how?—before pouring a second that he sips as he joins them at the table.

Present Mic had already set to work placing a plate in front of each of them, giving Izuku a small, comforting smile as he does so. He’s so far out of his depth, he doesn’t move until after his teachers have.

Aizawa-Sensei is the first to grab one of the rice balls, and Present Mic takes the next, clearly following his lead. Izuku hesitates, glancing between the two of them—Mic-Sensei is already taking a bite out of his, but Aizawa-Sensei is watching him lazily, silently urging him to do the same with his eyes.

Izuku decides to bite the bullet and grab one of the onigiri from the plate in the center of the table, staring down at it before taking a tiny bite of it.

It tastes good—and he’s not sure if it actually tastes amazing (he’s sure it does), or if he’s just so hungry that eating a shoe would probably have the same effect. After the first, he takes a bigger bite, suddenly aware of the hungry clench his stomach had been in.

He had been eating—convenience store foods, LunchRush’s school meals; but he’s painfully aware right now that his appetite hadn’t been nagging him recently. He doesn’t remember the last thing he actually ate—even though he had bought a lunch from the cafeteria that day. He’d slept through lunch.

He takes another bite, savoring the filling of the rice ball. It’s a quick tuna filling—the same you’d get from a convenience store, but it’s so much better. Homemade. It’s been a while since he’d had homemade. It always tastes better.

He savors the flavors as the painful hungry feeling fades away to a calm contentment.

His onigiri is gone before he realizes. His teachers are still eating theirs, and he’s reminded then of where he is. He feels nervous again, unsure if he should reach for another, or not.

“Just take another one,” Oboro prompts from where he hadn’t moved from the counter. Izuku’s eyes flick towards him, but he doesn’t move his head at all. Oboro looks content where he’s curled into a ball, his back pressed against the fridge, knees drawn up to his chest. It’s a small, probably unused corner of countertop between the fridge and a wall. That’s probably been his spot for a long time. “They won’t care,” the ghost adds, “trust me.”

He does trust the ghost, but he’s still nervous. How could he not be? This was uncharted territory. He was in his teacher’s—no, two of his teacher’s— home.

“Eat, Problem Child.” Izuku jolts his gaze to where Sensei is finally reaching for another. Present Mic’s is gone now too, but he’s instead focused on his tea. “I know you’re hungry, so eat. If you don’t eat them, they’ll go to waste.”

“Well,” Present Mic clears his throat, “they’ll go in the fridge for later, but yeah, eat as many as you’d like, Lil’ Listener. Help yourself!”

Oboro hums from where he’s sitting, and Izuku knows if he were to glance over, the ghost would have a shit-eating grin on his face. With a slow, anxiously shaking hand, he reaches for another. He takes a bite just so he won’t be expected to talk.

“Like them, Listener?” Present Mic asks over the rim of his mug. His eyes are bright despite the hour of the morning, tone a pleasant calm that’s almost like his teaching voice, but also completely not.

Izuku nods hurriedly, mouth full of rice, dried seaweed and tuna. He swallows the bite, looking towards him, “they’re delicious,” he promises, glancing between the two teachers, “thank you.”

Sensei waves him off, as he takes another bite, and Present Mic smiles warmly.

Not a lot is said after that—his teachers seem content to just let him eat for now. He finishes off the second onigiri before grabbing a third, shooting a look between his teachers, but neither are paying attention to him.

He takes a bite, glancing at Oboro.

The ghost, unlike his teachers, is watching him. But Izuku’s pretty used to that.

He looks back at his food before he’s caught staring at a random corner of his teacher’s kitchen.

He finishes off the third, knows he could eat a fourth, but reaches for his tea instead. Four seems rude. Mic-Sensei had told him to help himself, but four onigiri? Too much. He doesn’t want to take advantage of their kindness, and eat all their food. So, instead, he sips at the now lukewarm tea. It’s sweet, almost perfectly so.

It’s calm in the kitchen; still, he can’t help but think about how it’s a little weird being with his teachers outside of school, but it’s less so now that he’s warm, and fed. It’s the most content he’s felt in ages. He feels safe, even if he doesn’t trust this completely.

“Done, Kid?” Aizawa-Sensei asks casually when Izuku makes no move to grab another onigiri, head lulling to the side. He’s clutching at the handle of his mug, looking about ready to get a third cup. Izuku nods slowly, looking down at the couple stray grains of rice on his plate that had fallen off his onigiri at some point. “Good, we’ll talk now then.”

Oof. Maybe he’s not as content as he thought. The admission has a strike of fear climbing along his spine. He’d almost forgotten about that part. He should’ve known Sensei wasn’t going to let this go—he had found him asleep on the ground.

He must look nervous, because his Sensei regards him carefully, and Present Mic frowns thoughtfully. The blonde-haired teacher grabs the plate of remaining onigiri before collecting all three of their plates too. He makes himself busy at the counter.

“Would you prefer to just talk to me?” Aizawa-Sensei suggests quietly, soft and inviting. He’d heard the tone before, but it was a rarity. Izuku shakes his head. He doesn’t mind Present Mic knowing, and he’s very aware that Oboro wouldn’t leave unless he straight up told him too. “Mic doesn’t mind leaving, Midoriya. If that’ll make you more comfortable.”

“No... no,” the teen shakes his head again, “I don’t mind just... I don’t know where to start?”

He’s hardly aware that he’s fidgeting with his mug, tracing the lines of the black cat on the side of it. He wants to be surprised by the cat mug, but after seeing his teacher with that cat from earlier, he’d be more surprised if he was holding a blank mug.

“I could ask questions?” Aizawa-Sensei suggests as Present Mic grabs his mug to refill. The man shoots his husband a fleeting grateful glance before returning his attention to Izuku. “You don’t have to answer them, obviously, I can’t and won’t force you too, I just... I want to understand, Problem Child.”

The teen gives a tiny, slow nod. That sounds reasonable. At least this way he doesn’t have to retell everything. Sensei will give him a starting base, and he’ll just... fill in the blanks.

The teen wonders where his teacher will start?

“Well,” the man’s steady gaze is on Izuku, “first I’d like to know if you know where your mother is?”

The surprise must show on his face, because his teacher regards him carefully. He’d not been expecting that. That’s... that’s oddly specific to the current problem, but how would Sensei guess that so fast? The man’s lips curl downwards thoughtfully, “I’m going to take that as a no.”

“W-why,” Izuku stops, clears his throat in a vain attempt to get his voice to stop being a nervous whisper, “why are you wondering about my mother?”

“We’ve been trying to get ahold of her,” Aizawa-Sensei explains easily before his head cocks towards Izuku in disbelief, “Midoriya...” his voice comes out breathy, “you can’t honestly think we wouldn’t be trying to figure out why you’ve been so different in class? We’ve been worried about you, you’ve been more tired, less focused. Your grades have started to slip. We’ve been trying to arrange a wellness check with you and your mother for over a week.”

“You... you have?”

“We have,” the man assures stiffly. “Mic and I stopped by your apartment on Saturday since none of our calls were returned, but no one was home. I was going to ask you to have your mother get in contact with me after your training on Sunday, but it slipped my mind since we ended early, and I’d planned to keep you after class today—or, yesterday now, I suppose, but you—well...”

Izuku’s silently thankful his teacher trails off instead of remind him of how he’d run from the gym without a word. Not his proudest moment.

Present Mic returns, a pot of tea in one hand, and Aizawa-Sensei's mug of coffee in the other. He sets the mug in front of the man, before silently offering Izuku more tea. He accepts just so he’ll have something to keep himself distracted with.

Izuku’s still curious how much Aizawa-Sensei had heard, but he’s not curious enough to bring light to it and ask. If he did that, he might have to actually talk about it, and he doesn’t have an excuse for why he was yelling at someone who wasn’t really there.

“So you... haven’t seen your mother, Listener?” Present Mic asks softly, head angled in Izuku’s direction.

“Oh, uhm, n-no? She just... she works a lot, and we, um, had opposite schedules so she was... she wasn’t usually around... I didn’t usually see her, but I... I knew she was there, y’know?”

“When was the last time you saw her?” Aizawa-Sensei cocks an eyebrow at him.

Izuku drops his gaze to the mug in his hands as he swallows, his fingers fiddle with the ceramic, running along the handle, “she, uhm, she signed my Yuuei admission forms for me but... but I hadn’t really seen her.”

He hears Present Mic suck in a breath, and he can feel Aizawa-Sensei stiffen even with the space between them. He knows this looks bad. He knows. He’s known it wasn’t normal, or right, but that’s just how it was.

“Midoriya...” Aizawa-Sensei says slowly, unsettled, “that was almost a month ago.”

“I... I know, Sensei.” Izuku feels stupid admitting it. Admitting that they were so dysfunctional. He hadn’t seen his mother in a month, she’d moved out without him realizing, and he’d just thought it was normal. He hadn’t realized she’d left because she was never around to begin with—because it wasn’t a concern when he didn’t see her for a few days, or a week, or, hell, even a few weeks.

There’s a silence that settles in around them. He wouldn’t exactly call it suffocating, but it wasn’t comforting either. It was almost tense, but in that disbelieving kind of way. They were shocked—he could see it in the way neither knew what to say next. By their faces and tense shoulders.

“How have you been...”

“She took care of me,” Izuku admitted without looking up, finger smoothing along the rim of his mug as something to do. “She gave me allowance money for food, and kept the apartment rent paid so I had a roof over my head. I... I never went without. I had clothes, and stuff, and... and everything I needed. Sometimes she’d come home, but... but I never really saw her.”

“Izuku,” Sensei’s voice is soft, and Izuku forces his gaze up, because Aizawa-Sensei has never sounded like that, nor has he ever used any of their first names, “you were sleeping on the street behind a dumpster. That isn’t taken care of.”

Present Mic lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a choke, but Aizawa-Sensei doesn’t draw his attention away from Izuku. The teen might’ve laughed at the fact Aizawa-Sensei clearly hadn’t explained anything to his husband if he weren’t so close to crying.

“Izuku...” Oboro’s voice sounds raw off to the side, and that’s when the teen realized he wasn't close to crying, he was crying.

He wipes at his eyes, clearing his throat. “A week and a half ago,” he blows out a stuttered breath, “our landlord came to the door to talk with my mom. She, uhm, she wasn’t there but... I thought she was just, y’know, at work, or busy... like she usually was.”

He sees his teachers exchange a look out of the corner of his eye, but he’s busy trying not to start sobbing at the table, “he told me she hadn’t paid rent the week prior when it was due, so he, he asked me to pass on a message to her.”

Izuku’s quiet for a second as he tries to figure out how to carry on. How do you tell your teachers your mother left? Just packed up without you knowing and took off to God knows where?

“I-” the boy shakes his head when his voice comes out in a whisper, continuing when he’s sure he’ll have volume again, “I went to her room because I thought, y’know, it's been a while since I’ve seen her? She...” he sucks in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut, “h-her stuff was all gone. She was gone.”

“Gone?” Present Mic breathed out like he was missing something, maybe even hoping he was missing something, but he had it all right.

“Did she...” Aizawa-Sensei starts before pausing, clearly thinking his words through completely, “did she leave anything for you? An explanation for her absence? Or... have you not heard anything from her at all?”

Izuku give a slow nod, fingers tightening around the mug. He releases his grip; silently afraid he’ll accidentally activate One for All and smash his Sensei’s mug. He reaches down to his backpack, unzipping it before pulling out his Hero Analysis notebook—the one that held his mother’s parting note pressed between the pages.

His fingers tapped on the book’s cover, silently trying to decide whether he really wanted to show them. He’d already come this far, might as well. He flipped the cover open, thumb tracing the edge of the note before he picked it up and handed it to his homeroom teacher without a word.

For a second, Aizawa-Sensei just holds the note exactly where Izuku had given it to him. His hand hovers over the table, the little sheet of folded paper pressed between his fingertips. The man glares down at it, holding it in front of him like the note will spring to life and bite him.

Izuku’s sure he’d stared at it the exact same way at some point, but now looking at it just makes him feel numb.

Izuku holds in a bated breath until finally, his teacher lifts his other hand to unfold it. The man’s breath hitches as his shoulders square up. He glares down at it like he’s reading those two words on repeat. Over and over again.

Finally, he sets it on the table like he can’t bear to look at it any longer and slides it towards the other teacher without a word. He’d spared Izuku a glance, almost as if asking for permission to share it, but Izuku had refused to meet his eyes, merely lifting one of his shoulders in a pathetic shrug.

Present Mic’s face holds a lot more emotion that Aizawa-Sensei's when he reads it, sad eyes bouncing between the two words before he’s looking at Izuku with a soft, sympathetic look. “Oh, Kiddo...”

The teen gives another shrug. He brings his hands back up to the mug. The tea has gone pretty cold now, but he still takes a tentative sip. His cheeks feel kinda wet, so he rubs his cheek against his shoulder in an attempt to dry them up.

“Izuku,” Aizawa-Sensei's voice is calm and cautious as he addresses the teen, “how long have you been sleeping on the street?”

He doesn’t really want to answer. But he can’t just not answer—not when his two teachers are giving him such soft, understanding looks. He wants to believe they understand this—understand him. He just... he doesn’t want to do this alone anymore.

“T-technically three nights. I... I got the eviction notice three days ago, but I... I was scared to sleep on the street s-so I... I uhm, I slept in the twenty-four-hour laundromat in my neighborhood. They, um, they caught on and I wasn’t allowed to sleep there again so...” the teen stares down into his tea, “j-just two nights on the street.”

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut and only opens them when he feels a hand on his forearm. The touch is oddly comforting. Present Mic had always been the teacher that would pat their heads, or shoulders when they’d done well in class, or set cautious touches on their shoulders or arms when they needed comfort. He did it to everyone in class 1-A, and Izuku was sure it didn’t stop with them.

“I’m sorry you went through that, Izuku,” Present Mic tells him, and for some reason, Izuku actually believes him. Some people say it just because it’s the right thing to say, but Izuku’s sure that’s not the case here.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Izuku?”

Izuku looks up at his homeroom teacher. The man is frowning, but it’s different than the usual frown. It’s almost deeper—holding emotions that Izuku can’t really place, but it makes him feel guilty. Like Aizawa-Sensei honestly cares about his wellbeing—and maybe he does? Izuku doesn’t know. He’s never had people, teachers, like Aizawa-Sensei and Mic-Sensei who cared.

So, he shrugs.

“I... I could’ve helped you, Kid. I would’ve helped you.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” the teen whispers. He feels Present Mic’s hand squeeze his forearm in an attempt at comfort, or reassurance, but it doesn’t really work. “You’re already so busy, and you were kind enough to take extra time to help me with On— with m-my Quirk. I just... I didn’t want to bother anyone. I thought I could do it all myself.”

“You’re not a bother, Problem Child.”

Izuku feels a light smile slip onto his face, speaking without really looking up, “you can’t really tell me I’m not a bother and then call me ‘Problem Child’ Sensei. It kinda contradicts itself.”

Present Mic lets out a snort of laughter, but Aizawa-Sensei just scans the teenager before his lips quirk up the faintest amount, “I suppose I can’t argue with that logic. You are a problem child, but you’re in no way a bother. I expect you kids to cause problems; you’re all learning. But even with all those problems, and I’m expecting a lot with your classmates, none of you are burdens, or bothers.”

There’s a pause, but it’s no longer than a second before Sensei continues, voice sharp with resolve, but still quiet and attentive, “it’s okay to need help sometimes, Kid.”

He sees Present Mic nodding in agreement out of the corner of his eye. He notices the blonde-haired man’s hand is gone, he’s not sure when he’d pulled back. His arms are now crossed on the table in front of him, almost holding himself up.

Izuku frowns down at his tea, thumbing the side of the mug. “I... I need help, Sensei.”

Saying it both knocks the wind out of him, and lifts a weight off his shoulders. The mix of hopefulness and dread swirl in his stomach almost unpleasantly. He’s not sure which he should be feeling after admitting he needed help—ultimately asking his teachers for help. He’s not sure there even is a right way to be feeling.

“I’ve got you, Midoriya,” Aizawa-Sensei replies, and Izuku feels his teacher’s foot nudge against his under the table. That action, for some insane reason, has Izuku’s shoulders easing up a little from the strain of anxiety he’d had tensing in his muscle for as long as he could remember. “You’re not in this alone anymore.”

“We’re right there with you, Listener,” Present Mic adds with a wide, toothy grin. The blonde pats Izuku’s hand comfortingly, smile softening to something a little more personal.

“Definitely right there with you.” Oboro’s voice joins in, his own voice just as hushed. Izuku wants to look over at him, but knows better than too, especially with his observant Sensei already watching him. “One-hundred percent, ‘zuku. You’re stuck with me.”

He can’t not smile at that though.

Izuku takes a sip of his tea, looking between his teachers thoughtfully. “What happens now?”

“You go to sleep,” Aizawa-Sensei huffs, standing from his chair. His back cracks as he stretches lightly. “I highly doubt you’ve been getting much sleep on the streets. So, you’ll go to sleep here, in the guest room. In an actual bed.”

Izuku opens his mouth to respond, but instead lets out a quiet yawn. He really is tired. He hadn’t realized how tired he actually was. He wipes at his eyes with the balls of his palms, stifling a second yawn as he does so.

“You must be beat, Lil’ Listener,” Present Mic coos, but it’s not condescending at all—it's gentle and comforting in a distantly familiar way. The blonde-haired man stands slowly, leaving his mug on the table as he pushes his chair in under the table, “c’mon, I’ll show you to the guest room. Grab your bag, Kiddo.”

Izuku does as told, too tired to put up much of a fight. Now that his teacher had mentioned a bed, it’s all he can really think about. He’s so tired. Exhausted. He just wants to sleep, and now he can.

He wavers when he finally pushes himself to his feet. Aizawa-Sensei steadies him with a hand on his upper arm, only pulling away when the wobbling has stopped. There’s an almost humorous tilt to his teacher’s lips.

“Have a good rest, Problem Child,” the man teases, but Izuku can hear the sincerity in it. And then the man’s hand is on top of his head, fingers ruffling through his still slightly damp curls, and Izuku just knows he leans into the touch in his exhaustion.

Oboro is giggling, and Izuku’s sure he hears Sensei let out a soft puff of laughter as well. Still, he can’t find it in himself to be upset. He just feels so soft and warm. So not alone. He likes it.

“C’mon, Kiddo,” Present Mic calls again, this time from the doorway, “let’s get you to a bed before you fall over.”

At last, tucked away in a bed. Wrapped under warm, soft blankets and with his head buried in a pillow, Izuku feels at ease. He hardly even cares he’s in his teacher’s guest bedroom, in his teacher’s apartment—all he cares about is sleep.

Chapter Text

Izuku wakes up gradually. He drags an arm over his eyes—there's no sunlight assaulting him from above, but they still ache for some reason—as does his brain.

His mind is hazy; lagging behind. He feels warm and comfortable and... and he’s not on the street. The street is not this warm, comfortable and pleasantly dark.

Izuku jerks up into a sitting position, sucking in a breath as he does so. Where is he? His eyes dart around the room, taking everything in too fast to really take anything in. He sees, but it’s almost unseeing in a way.

“Aye, calm down, ‘zuku...” Oboro. Good, Oboro was here. That’s good. The teen’s attention snaps to the side of the room where the ghost sits. “You were pretty outta it when you fell asleep last night. You were out before your head even hit the pillow. You’re okay, okay? You’re in Shota and Hizashi—er... Aizawa and Yamada’s apartment, ‘member?”

Yeah... yeah. He does remember that. He remembers being startled awake behind the dumpster, only to come face to face with his homeroom teacher. He remembers the concern on his teacher’s face, and he remembers walking to his teacher’s apartment with him. He remembers Aizawa-Sensei's husband—Present Mic—Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic are married.

He remembers showering, and eating delicious onigiri.

And the talk.

God, they’d talked, hadn’t they?

He’d told them about his mom and then... and then he’d fallen asleep, right?

“What time is it?” Izuku manages to croak out, throwing the blankets off himself only to freeze when something beside him makes an unhappy noise. He turns slowly, gaze locking with a cat. Definitely not the cat from last night. He faintly remembers Present Mic talking about two additional cats, so this must be one of them.

“Just after noon,” Oboro answers. There’s a desk in the room, it’s not overly big, but it’s a good size for Oboro to perch on, reclined back against the wall. The heel of his foot is hooked over the backrest of the chair pushed under the desk; one ankle crossed over the other. His gaze his fond, nose wrinkled with a grin, “and that’s Nemo. I’m honestly surprised she’s even here with you. She never comes in here, because she doesn’t like me any more than she like ‘zashi. You must have the cat whispering gift like Shota does.”

Izuku’s brain stalls for a second. The cat is still curled up like a loaf of bread, paws tucked under her, but he can almost see the glare on her little face. Her eyes a boring into Oboro like he’s a disgrace not to be trusted, but her attention drags towards him after a second. The annoyed look doesn’t change. Does she like him or not? He’s not sure.

“It’s after noon?” Izuku’s brain kickstarts on that, and he jolts up from the bed. The cat makes another annoyed noise, but doesn’t scramble away at his quick movements. “I’m late for school! W-why didn’t my teachers wake me—why didn’t you wake me??”

“Why would I do that?” Oboro cocks his head, “you needed the sleep. Besides, I’m sure nothing short of an earthquake would’ve stirred you. You crashed hard, Izu. Sho and ‘zashi keep peeking in to check on you, and you barely even moved.”

Izuku feels his cheeks heat up at the knowledge. His teachers were checking in on him? “Really?”

“Uh huh,” the ghost gives a nod, “how else do you think Nemo got in here? Snuck in when Sho cracked it open to see if you were up. I doubt she meant to get closed in, but if she was unhappy, she’d be screaming to get out, and no doubt he’d come to her rescue because he’s weak for that little brat.”

Izuku looks back at the bed as his heartrate from the surprise awakening finally starts to slow.

The cat had moved over and was happily sprawled in the spot Izuku had just vacated. She’s a very pretty cat; orange and white. She looks like she has soft fur, but he’s not going to pet her right now because he doesn’t want to disturb her. She seems to be content in his spot, probably reveling in the warmth from his body heat.

Izuku decides to leave his school bag on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself as he pushes the door open. The cat doesn’t move—appears to be asleep again. He steps out, leaving it ajar in case she wants to leave at some point.

He pads his way into the kitchen, keeping quiet yet also announcing himself. Oboro is at his side, silent but there. He likes having the ghost hanging around, he doesn’t feel as nervous as he’s sure he would if Oboro weren’t around.

Izuku freezes in the doorway of the kitchen, taking the scene in before he’s noticed. Present Mic is stood at the fridge, reaching around inside it, and perched above him is a cat laying along the entire edge of the fridge. The cat’s tail swishes faintly, yellow eyes boring down on the blonde hero.

The cat has grey fur and looks aged—due to that, and process of elimination since he’d already met the other two cats, this one must be Fish. Izuku watches as Present Mic pulls away from the fridge, shutting it easily before reaching up and offering something—is... is that cheese?— to the cat.

Without hesitation, the cat takes the offering sinking his teeth into it as he scans the hero almost affectionately.

“You’re a sucker for that cat,” Aizawa-Sensei huffs from where he’s sitting at the table. He hadn’t even looked up from whatever he was working on. He’s sat in the chair Izuku had been last night, so his back is too him.

“He’s fifteen, he deserves some cheese in his life, Sho.” Present Mic scoffs without looking in their direction. “And like you’re any better with Nemo. Cats don’t need fresh fish and gravy as treats. She’s a bit of a spoiled brat. Fish likes cheese, but he doesn’t refuse dry cat treats like Nemo does.”

“Nemo is perfect. How can you say no to her little face?”

“Nemo is not perfect. She scratches Nemuri every time she sees her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat that hates literally everyone, besides you for whatever reason—I mean, I’ve known her since she was a baby too and she barely tolerates me.”

“She’s my spirit animal,” Sensei’s voice comes out monotone, but there’s definitely a curl of humor, “and I’d scratch Nemuri too if it was socially acceptable to do so. It’s her fault for trying to pet her when she knows Nemo doesn’t like her.”

Izuku’s not sure how to interrupt the conversation. He rolls on the balls of his heels anxiously, which seems to prompt Oboro on. The ghost saunters over to Present Mic, who’s turned to the counter now, and steps through him.

“Y-yow!” the man gasps as he takes a few steps away from the counter, “I swear, these cold spots are following—Oh! Midoriya!”

Aizawa-Sensei turns in his seat to look behind him, but Present Mic speaks again before the homeroom teacher has a chance.

“Good morning, Listener!” Present Mic greets happily, grinning widely.

He’s not wearing his hero costume again, just regular civilian clothes like he had been the night before, but he looks a bit more put together. Half of his hair is tucked up in a neat bun, while the other half is still down. He’s also wearing a pair of regular glasses. He doesn’t really look anything like Present Mic right now.

Aizawa-Sensei snorts from the table, turning back towards the paperwork, “it’s after noon, ‘zashi. Good afternoon, Midoriya.”

The dark-haired man’s got papers stacked around him, and Izuku can just make out that they’re assignments they’d recently gotten. That was just after he’d started losing sleep due to overworking and stress so he’s afraid to see what his grade will look like.

His homeroom teacher is also not wearing his hero costume. He’s got a long-sleeved black shirt on, and a pair of matching black pants. Unlike Present Mic, Aizawa-Sensei looks almost exactly like he does in his hero costume. He’s just missing the capture weapon, and it’s different seeing his teacher with his hair up in a messy bun.

“You’re such a stickler,” the blonde man huffs affectionately before looking back to the teenager, “good afternoon, Listener. I hope you slept well. You looked like you really needed some shut-eye, yo.”

Izuku sees Aizawa-Sensei shaking his head with a light huff before he hears the man’s voice, “how are you feeling, Midoriya?”

“Better,” Izuku returns softly, bowing his head thankfully at Present Mic, who’s still looking in his direction. “Thank you for your hospitality, Senseis.”

“Don’t worry about it, Kiddo,” Present Mic waves him off, smiling kindly. “We’re just glad you’re safe, ya’dig?”

He bows his head in a nod, giving a light smile in return.

He’s still unsure what he’s supposed to be doing—he'd always been awkward in other people’s homes, besides Kacchan’s since he’d been going there since he was a baby. The Bakugou home had always been like a second home to him or... it had until things with he and Kacchan started getting messy.

“Make yourself at home, Midoriya. Help yourself to anything in the fridge,” Present Mic calls from the counter, stirring a pot the smells deliciously like broth, “I’m just finishing up lunch. You like any sides with your soba, Listener? We usually like to have spring onions, wasabi and ginger?”

“That sounds good,” he nods. He really doesn’t mind; he’s in no way a picky eater. He’ll eat anything. Besides, it’s not like he’ll say no when they’re being so kind and feeding him. He’ll take whatever’s given and eat it with a smile because that’s the polite thing to do—or, that’s what his mom had said to do when Auntie Mitsuki made things Izuku didn’t particularly like.

Neither teacher is looking as him, so he slips further into the room intent to get a glass of water.

He faintly remembers where the glasses and mugs are, cautiously pulling the cupboard open. He has to stretch to reach them—since both his teachers are tall, and he’s pretty short. He manages to grab a glass, pulling his hand back.

He jumps, struggling to keep his hold on the glass as he squeaks out. Something had just grabbed him. Something had grabbed his butt. He’s frozen in place, but slowly his head turns and angles downwards. It’s one of the cats. The one from last night. Blanket.

Distantly, Izuku hears laughter. Oboro’s laughter. He’s laughing hard, but all Izuku can do is stare down at the cat staring up at him with unblinking eyes.

The cat is still stretched along him, one paw on his thigh, and the other on his butt like he’s thinking about climbing him like a tree.

“Oh, oops. Sorry, Midoriya, I should’ve warned you about him.” Present Mic lets out a nervous laugh, leaning forwards to shoo the cat away. “He sorta... grabs.”

“Gropes,” Oboro corrects with a wheeze of laughter. He’s back on that little corner of counter, but he’s sitting with his legs crossed this time. “Satan gropes people. He likes to touch the butt. He’s definitely a pervert.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Sensei calls from the table, not even looking up from his marking.

“Or it’ll scare the crap outta you ever time he does it,” Present Mic counters with a shrug. The blonde man shakes his head, returning to the pot on the stovetop.

Izuku blinks, glancing at the black and white cat. He’s sitting off to the side now, staring directly up at Oboro. The ghost is leaned forwards, making clicking noises and that ‘pspsps’ sound at him.

He drags his attention away from them, instead joining Present Mic at his side so he can get some water from the tap. He drinks half of it, before refilling it and slowly moving to sit at the table with his Sensei. The teacher’s gaze lifts up for just a second before dropping back to his marking.

He doesn’t know how to start a conversation, so he runs the pad of his finger along the glass instead, pausing occasionally to take small sips. It’s not an awkward silence—well, it is, but just too him, he’s sure.

“If you’ve got something to ask, Problem Child, you can ask it.” He hadn’t looked up from his work, but Izuku realizes with a start that he’d been staring at his teacher. After another second, the man finally glances up again, “yes?”

“I’m supposed to be in school,” Izuku bites his lip, ducking his eyes from his homeroom teacher’s.

"I’m sure your teacher won’t mind you missing a day,” Aizawa-Sensei snorts, head cocking because he is Izuku’s primary teacher. Everything that goes on with class 1-A is run through Aizawa-Sensei first. “You needed sleep, Problem Child. I made an executive decision that your wellbeing was more important than getting you up for school this morning. One day is fine, no one can fault you for taking a day to relax and recover. I’ll help you catch up personally, though you’re not missing much.”

“But you guys are...” supposed to be in school too. They’re the teachers—just because Izuku isn’t there, that doesn’t mean the rest of his class isn’t.

“Something important came up. You’re my first priority right now. You, and your wellbeing.” Sensei shrugs. “I doubt anyone will miss us for one day anyways—besides, substitutes are a thing, Midoriya. Midnight is covering your homeroom and as much as it physically pains me to say, I trust her.”

“And I have Snipe sitting in for your English class. He’s awful at English, so it’s essentially a study block for the rest of the class.” Present Mic chimes from the counter. “Get your paperwork off the table, Sho, lunch is ready!”

With a huff, the dark-haired man stands, collecting piles of paperwork. Izuku, feeling a little useless, stands up to help, refusing to look down at what he’s carrying. He doesn’t want to see anyone’s marks or work.

“Thanks, Problem Child,” the man nods, patting Izuku on the head as the teen settles his own pile beside Aizawa-Sensei's on the coffee table in the living room. He wants to lean into the gesture again, but he’s awake enough to not this time.

When they return to the kitchen, Present Mic already has three bowls of hot soba in broth settled in front of three of the chairs. Each bowl has a small side dish of wasabi, ginger and spring onions just as he’d mentioned earlier.

There’s a second glass of water on the table now, as well as a steaming mug of coffee where Aizawa-Sensei had been sitting. Izuku sits down in front of the bowl next to his half-drank glass of water, and Aizawa-Sensei retakes his seat as well. Present Mic is the last to sit down.

The soba is just as good as the onigiri from last night.

He thoroughly enjoys it, getting lost in the meal instead of the company around him. His teachers don’t seem to mind, each eating their own soba too. They talk back and forth a bit, casual conversation about classwork and the other teachers, but Izuku doesn’t focus on it—he can’t help but let his thoughts wander as he eats.

He doesn’t feel as awkward anymore. And it’s strange because he thinks he should feel awkward about that. He’s sitting, on a school day, during school hours, eating soba with two of his teachers in their apartment, when they too should be in school. He’s enjoying the quiet company of his two teachers (and his ghost friend) while he eats.

That’s... that’s definitely weird. But it doesn’t feel weird.

He feels safe, and comfortable. There’s that teeny-tiny spark of anxiety in the back of his mind, but overall, he’s content here. With Aizawa-Sense and Present Mic.

“What’s got you mumbling, Problem Child?”

Izuku jerks up from his thoughts, the noodle he’d had entangled in his chopsticks slipping back into the bowl of broth with a tiny splash. Had he been mumbling? Both his teachers are looking curiously at him.

Aizawa-Sensei is staring, but Present Mic is just glancing over between bites of his soba.

“Oh, I was just... well, I was wondering what happens now, Sensei?”

He remembers asking that same question last night—to which his teacher had responded that Izuku needed sleep. And he’d been right. That was a good place to start. But now he was rested, and thinking straight, and he knew this wasn’t something he could just brush under the rug.

His homeroom teacher leans back in his chair thoughtfully, hand reaching to his side.

For a second, Izuku was confused until he saw tiny cat ears poking up over the side of the table. Fish was still watching over the kitchen from the top of the fridge and Blanket was attempting to swat at Oboro’s wiggling fingers, which just left Nemo, who must’ve come out of the room.

“I can’t let you go back out onto the streets,” his teacher admits finally. “Morally I can’t allow that to happen, your safety is my utmost importance, but realistically, I’d never in a million years allow one of my students to live like that when I can help them. It’s unsafe, and it would be completely illogical for me to ignore this when it’s clearly affected you greatly in both your personal life, and your studies. I refuse to let you live in those conditions, Midoriya. It’s just not going to happen; I hope you know that.”

Izuku gives a slow nod as he swirls a noodle in his bowl with his chopsticks. He’d had a suspicion that that was how this was going to go. It’s not like he wants to live on the streets. It’s scary, and hard, and he’s terrified of it, but he hadn’t seen any other feasible options.

“You’ve got a couple options,” his teacher explains, chopsticks abandoned on top of his bowl so he can give Izuku his full attention. The cat at his side is still swatting without claws for attention, but Sensei’s elbows are on the table, and his fingers are laced together and supporting his chin. “You’re fifteen, so you get to make some choices here, and I’ll stand by whatever you choose. In the eyes of the law, you’re still a child, but I know for a fact that you’re entirely capable. I know you are a child, but you are old enough to make some decisions regarding your life, and I’ll make sure you get a say in your situation, understand?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Izuku sees Present Mic nodding along in agreement. He’s not eating anymore either, but he’s still clutching at his chopstick, following the conversation without really adding anything.

“Yes, Sensei,” Izuku gives a little nod, “I understand.”

“Good,” Sensei nods. “Since you no longer have a place to live, or a guardian as far as we can see, we’ll need to get in touch with the police and social services. You’re a minor, so unfortunately, we can’t not do that. We can’t just keep you; it’s basically kidnapping even if you have nowhere else to stay. The police and social services will first look into your mother’s absence before tracking down any family members who can take custody of you.”

“I don’t... my parents were both only children and... all my grandparents have passed away...” Izuku informs, not looking up. “I don’t think there’s anywhere else I could...”

“That’s okay,” Present Mic hums softly, “they’ll check, but even if there is no one, you’ll be taken care of, Izuku.”

Aizawa gives a stiff nod, looking between his husband and the teenager before tilting his head in Izuku’s direction and continuing, “if they don’t find a relative willing to take you in, you’ll be put into the system. Normally, you’d have very little say in this, but I’m giving you the option of where you’d like to stay, and I’ll try my damnedest to make sure it happens.

“As a hero in training, you’re a special case. It’s hard to find foster families willing to work with the school because it takes up a great deal of your time between the school work and training exercises. Foster parents find it harder bonding with hero class students, and they have a difficult time understanding the time, effort and willpower you students are putting in to achieve your dreams so... placements don’t usually work out. Plus, there’s the fact the Yuuei students have been targets of a villain attack quite recently, people are hesitant to let heroes in training into their home even more so now. Keep that in mind, Midoriya.

“There is the option of group homes too, but... I’m not sure that’s best for you. I don’t want to see you swept away as just another statistic. It’s an option though, so I won’t take it off the table completely.”

Aizawa-Sensei shakes his head, before he’s ducking it slightly so his chin digs into his laced fingers, “there’s also the option of becoming a ward of Yuuei. It wouldn’t be the first time the school has taken guardianship over a student. All your needs will be met, and there won’t be any hassle with foster homes and such.”

His teacher is quiet for a second, gaze flicking from Izuku to Present Mic. They share a moment of eye contact before Present Mic’s hands start moving. He places his chopsticks down finally, hands moving quickly before him. Aizawa-Sensei's eyes track the movements.

Izuku tries to keep up too, but he doesn’t know any, what he assumes is, sign language. He glances over at Oboro, who’s also following the hand gestures with a light frown. His eyes are bright with recognition, understanding what’s being said. He catches Izuku’s eyes after a second and shakes his head with a light smile, “I’m not going to translate for you, Izu. Sorry.”

A frown tugs at his lips, but he understands.

“The last option,” Aizawa-Sensei continues with a light huff, “would be me taking you in as a foster child. Hizashi and I both have emergency fostering licenses, as most of the teachers at the school do, so that shouldn’t be a problem. We’d still need to do it through all the legal channels— speaking with the police and child protective services— but with any luck I’d be able to have you back by tonight. I’m not sure if that’s something you’d be comfortable with, and remember, Problem Child, this choice is entirely yours. It just seems logical to offer.”

“I...” Izuku swallows, clearing his throat. His eyes feel watery, but he urges himself not to cry, “you-you’d really let me stay here, Sensei?”

His teacher shifts a little, frown deepening before relaxing into something softer, “to be honest, Izuku, I’d prefer to have you here. The foster system is... it’s shit. I don’t trust it. I want you to be safe, and the only place I know you’ll be safe considering the circumstances, is here. It’s the most logical solution—Present Mic and I both know hero work. We know how difficult this is, and we know what you’ll be going through.”

It does make a lot of sense. He knows these two men. They’re his teachers. He trusts them. He knows Aizawa-Sensei will keep him safe, and he knows Present Mic will do the same. Not only are they teachers, they’re also two Pro Heroes. This is quite possibly the safest place for him to be.

Izuku must’ve been quiet for too long, because Aizawa-Sensei shifts slightly. He leans more intently back against his chair, and Nemo takes the opportunity to launch into his lap.

“She’s not supposed to be at the table, Sho,” Present Mic scoffs softly, but his eyes are still flickering to Izuku. Aizawa-Sensei locks eyes with the blonde-hero, before reaching a hand up to stroke from the cat’s head to the base of her tail in an act of defiance. And Izuku snorts.

“Sorry,” he shakes his head, unable to wipe the small smile from his lips. Both his teachers look towards him, and he fights the urge to curl in on himself under their watchful eyes. He clears his throat, glaring down at his soba before looking up with all the confidence he can muster, “I, uhm, I’d r-really like to stay here, Sensei. If-if that’s, I mean, if I can... I trust you.”

“Then that’s where you’ll stay,” Aizawa-Sensei gives a nod. “I’m glad I have your trust, Kid. I know I wasn’t the best teacher at the start of the year.”

“You were a good teacher,” Izuku promises, though by the snort his Sensei lets out, he may have winced a bit as he said it. “I mean, you were right, Sensei, a-about my Quirk but... but maybe a bit harsh? We were all terrified.”

“Yeah,” Present Mic nods, “he has that effect on people in general. And that whole immediate expulsion spiel makes all the first years crap their pants.”

“It’s not a spiel if I follow through,” Aizawa-Sensei huffs in annoyance, stroking the top of Nemo’s head gently. “Just because I didn’t expel anyone this year, doesn’t mean I haven’t before and won’t again in the future. Midoriya showed promise even with that ridiculously overpowered Quirk he’d waltz into my classroom with. You’ve been working well with it, Kid.”

Izuku’s sure his cheeks have washed over with a light pink blush at the praise—it means a lot coming from Aizawa-Sensei. He only says it if he truly means it, that’s what Izuku had noticed in the few weeks he’s been learning under the Pro. "Thank you, Sensei.”

His Sensei ducks his head in a nod, finally ushering the cat off his lap. “Are you finished eating, Problem Child? I hate to rush you on something like this, but we really should start getting this all sorted out. I’ve got an... acquaintance at the precinct that’s been made aware of the situation and he’s waiting for us.”

Izuku feels his stomach freeze and for a second, he thinks maybe Oboro had settled beside him, but a half glance towards where Blanket is still entertained by watching Oboro’s foot swing back and forth where it’s hanging over the edge of the counter proves that theory wrong. It must be nerves.

“I... I-yeah, I uhm, I’m not... that hungry anymore,” he’s sure if he took another bite he might throw up as anxiety swirls in his stomach.

Present Mic regards him with a soft look, standing up and brushing his fingers through Izuku’s curls, “don’t be worried, Kiddo, Eraser’ll be with ya the whole time, ya’dig?”

“You won’t?” Izuku angles his head up, catching the surprise on his teacher’s face.

The blonde hero freezes where he’d been reaching for Izuku’s half-finished bowl of soba, other hand already holding the rim of his own bowl, “I mean, I can if you really want me too, Listener? I was going to hang back and get some chores done. Clear out some of the clutter in the guest room for you. I was also going to try and get in contact with your landlord and see if your belongings were still there.”

“Oh,” Izuku breathes out, a warm feeling heating up the nervous chill in his stomach. “No, it’s okay, I just thought... Uhm. I assumed. It’s okay. And, uh, I doubt that... h-he already... No, my apartment has already been cleaned out.”

“Your landlord kept your stuff from your room, Izu,” Oboro tells him, finally looking up from the cat, “he’s got it in a closet in his apartment, I saw it. He really likes you; you know.”

“B-but,” Izuku lets out a nervous laugh, “maybe he, uhm, kept some of it? I’m n-not sure.”

“Well,” Present Mic clicks his tongue thoughtfully, “no harm in trying, I guess. Hopefully you’re right, I’d hate for you to have lost everything but your school bag.”

Izuku give a little nod.

“Why don’t you go get dressed?” Aizawa-Sensei suggests offhandedly as he stands, stacking all the side dish plates and bringing them and his own bowl to the counter. “This isn’t something that’ll get easier the longer you wait; it’s only logical to get it sorted out now. You got clean clothes to wear, Midoriya?”

“Y-yeah,” Izuku nods, “I do. I think.” Well, moderately clean. He stands to leave the room, making it just to the doorway when he pauses at Present Mic’s voice calling out to him.

“Would you like me to do a load of laundry for you while you’re out, Lil’ Listener?” Present Mic suggests without looking at him. He’s at the sink now rinsing out the bowls. “I was already planning to do a few loads of ours since it’s my turn and I never usually have the time.”

“Y-you...” Izuku swallows, “I can do it. I don’t... Y-you don’t have too.”

Now his teacher does turn to look at him, frowning in thought, “I don’t mind, Izuku. I’m already doing ours, what’s one more load anyways, right? If you’re uncomfortable with that though, one of us can show you how to use the washer later today.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Izuku shakes his head, because he’s not. He’s not uncomfortable, he’s just... confused. The teen shuffles his feet in the kitchen doorway, “I just... I’ve always... are you sure?”

No one had done his laundry but him since his mother had first taught him how to use their own washer and dryer. That had been just after she’d started working more hours—he'd only been six, or seven. It had just been something he’d always had to do, so the thought of someone else offering to help threw him for a loop.

“Completely,” the voice hero chirps, turning back to the sink, “wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t! Just leave whatever you want washed on the bed, or toss it in the basket in the bathroom.”

“O-okay,” he whispers, unsure if he’s actually heard as he spins on his heels and flees to the guest room where his backpack is.

He hadn’t managed to fit a lot of clothes in his backpack, and he’s worn everything already. If he was still on the streets, it would’ve been about time to actually wash his clothes at the laundromat.

He gets dressed in the cleanest clothes he has, biting his lip as he dumps his backpack on the bed. He sorts out the clothes into a pile and shoves everything else back into the backpack before tucking that under the bed. He makes sure both his sets of his uniform are in the pile because they’re in desperate need of a wash. He’s a bit afraid the wrinkles in the fabric are gonna be permanent at this point.

“He really doesn’t mind washing them,” Oboro’s voice tells him from his side. He hears the ghost before he feels his presence. “You really gotta stop second guessing yourself. They’re not the kinda people to offer something if they don’t have intentions of following through. He wants to help you out.”

“I feel bad,” Izuku admits softly, “I’m not used to people wanting to help.”

“I know,” the ghost breathes out, and Izuku hears the sadness in it. “But they really do want to help you. And they will. As long as you’re willing to let them, they will help you.”

Izuku shakes his head, pushing down the nagging disbelief before finally looking over at the ghost, “are you coming with us to the station?”

“Oh, thank God,” the ghost lets out a breathy laugh, “I thought I was going to have to stay here and watch ‘zashi do his laundry dance. I’m honestly so surprised he doesn’t get noise complaints by how loud he’s got American music playing whenever he does literally any chores.”

“Like you wouldn’t have followed us anyways,” Izuku accuses with a snort of laughter, pretending he hadn’t heard the ghost complaining about his teacher. “If I didn’t want you around, I’d tell you. Besides, at this point, you’re already just as in this as I am. Guess you’re stuck with me just as much as I’m stuck with you now, huh?”

“Yeah,” Oboro grins, a fond look on his face. “Guess so, Izu.”

“If you are coming, just know I won’t be able to talk to you much. I mean, I think Sensei’s already pretty suspicious of me. And I did just get caught yelling at no one—he probably thinks I’m insane or something. I can’t add any more fuel to that fire.”

“Seen but not heard,” Oboro pouts, but nods his head. “Got it. Emotional support then.”

“Sure,” Izuku can’t help but laugh, “You’re my emotional support ghost then.”

“Okay, you say that sarcastically, but I literally am!” The ghost laughs. “Now c’mon. The faster you get this over with the better, yeah?”

Izuku gives a nod, watching as the ghost leaves ahead of him, content with the silent answer. Izuku lingers for just a second, shooting one last frown back at the pile of clothes before turning on his heels and leaving the room. He keeps the door cracked open because he’s got no idea if there’s a cat in the room or not, and he doesn’t want to lock anyone inside.

When Izuku finally makes it to the living room, Aizawa-Sensei is reclined back against the couch, scrolling through his phone. When he angles his head just right, he can see Present Mic stood at the kitchen sink, probably washing the dishes. He feels bad that he’s eaten two meals with them thus far, and hadn’t offered to help tidy up either time. He will later—the next meal.

“Ready, Midoriya?”

Izuku jolts in surprise, turning his head to see his homeroom teacher watching him. He gives a nod, it’s pretty unconvincing if the way Aizawa-Sensei's frown deepens slightly. The dark-haired man sighs as he pushes himself up off the couch, “I promise nothing is going to happen, Izuku. I’ll be with you every step of the way. It’s rational to be nervous, just remember you’re not fighting this alone anymore.”

Aizawa-Sensei's hand claps over his shoulder, giving a light comforting squeeze as he walks past. The touch is gone as fast as it appeared, but it had done as intended. He’s not calmed down by any means, but it had comforted him. He believes his teacher, but he's still nervous. This is... it's a lot.

The teen turns to trail off after his teacher, pausing at the door to pull on his own shoes just as Sensei is doing.

When they both have their shoes on, Aizawa-Sense regards Izuku for a second before turning to face the apartment. “We’re leaving, ‘zashi,” Aizawa-Sensei calls gruffly into the apartment. “We’ll be back later.”

“’kay! Good luck!” is the chirped reply, barely heard over the sound of the kitchen tap running.

Oboro arrives just as Aizawa-Sensei turns back to the door, pulling it open and ushering Izuku out. The ghost joins him at his side, falling into step on the side opposite to Aizawa-Sensei. Izuku is sandwiched in between them, but he feels safe there for some reason.

“We’re taking the car,” Aizawa-Sensei tells him as they walk down the hall together. “The precinct isn’t too far, but it’ll be easier and faster than walking.”

“Okay,” Izuku hums, because he’s not going to complain.

He’s quiet on the car ride. Aizawa-Sensei lets Izuku sit in the passenger’s seat, and Oboro pouts as he clambers into the backseat, flopping against the seat with a playful protest of ‘I’m older than you, why’m I in the backseat? What, just because I’m not actually here, because I’m a ghost, I lose front seat privileges?’

Izuku has to turn to look out the window to hide his smile.

It doesn’t take long to arrive at the police station. Aizawa-Sensei parks in a visitor's parking lot, getting out of the car without a word. He pauses, glancing back at Izuku before shutting his car door, which spurs the teenager on. He’s quick to undo his seatbelt and stumble out of the car after his Sensei. Oboro follows suit, hands tucked in his pockets as he follows at Izuku’s side.

The police station is bustling with life. There’re a couple villains and low-level thugs in cuffs waiting to be processed, and officers working at their desks, attention spread between their work and keeping an eye on the criminals. Aizawa-Sensei doesn’t pause in his steps, and Izuku has to hurry along to keep up and not lose his teacher in the precinct.

Aizawa-Sensei seems familiar with the police station, but he probably shouldn’t find that surprising considering he’s an underground hero. He probably works closely with them— if mainstream Pros do, then underground Heros certainly do.

Izuku follows along on his teacher’s heels, and Oboro keeps close to Izuku. A permanent chill that’s following him along. He’s gotten used to Oboro’s cold presence— it hardly even bothers him anymore. It’s almost comforting at this point.

Aizawa-Sensei stops in front of an office, and Izuku almost runs into his back. He manages to freeze just before running into his teacher, prompting a snort of laughter from the ghost who’d watched, but hadn’t warned him. Thankfully, Aizawa-Sensei doesn’t seem to notice him almost running into his back, nor the fact Izuku glares back behind himself.

“Ready, Kid?” the man asks finally, hand raised and with his bent finger joints poised to knock.

Izuku nods silently and the man nods in return, tapping his pointer finger joint against the door. It’s not long until a voice is heard inviting them in, and Aizawa-Sensei doesn’t waste a second before pulling the door open and ushering Izuku in first.

The man sitting behind the desk scans the two of them—first Aizawa-Sensei, where the man’s lips quirk up faintly. “Aizawa,” he greets kindly before looking towards Izuku where he studies him a little closer, almost thoughtfully.

Izuku stares right back, this man... looks familiar. He’s wearing a white dress shirt, and a blue tie. He looks so familiar but... he can’t figure out why.

“Tsukauchi,” Sensei greets in return, slinking further into the room, “this is Midoriya Izuku, the kid I was talking about. Midoriya, this is Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa. He’s gonna help us sort out your fostering case and the situation with your mother.”

“Midoriya Izuku?” the detective cocks his head before his eyes light up with understanding, “oh, right, you’re All Might’s kid, aren’t you? We met—after the USJ attack. Remember?”

Oh. Yes, he does remember that. He remembers the detective coming in—All Might being glad to see him. Another person who knew about his weakened form. A friend of All Might’s.

“All Might’s kid?” Aizawa-Sensei's voice goes characteristically stern, and Izuku tenses at his side. Oh. Oh no. Aizawa-Sensei didn’t know that All Might was his mentor... that he and All Might had gotten close due to One for All. This could go very, very poorly. “You're mistaken, Tsukauchi. This is my kid, from my class. Why would Midoriya be that blonde idiot’s kid?”

The detective blinks, eyes casting from Aizawa-Sensei's tense frame to Izuku’s pleading one.

“Right,” the detective nods slowly, a sheepish, toothy smile lifting to his face, “I misspoke. I met the kid with All Might. In Recovery Girl’s office after the USJ. He found out about All Might’s little problem, so I just... You’re right, sorry, Aizawa. Nice to meet you again, Midoriya.”

“Likewise,” Izuku forces out. He’s certain his voice comes out breathy—and Sensei might even hear the fear in his tone if the thoughtful glance shot at him is anything to go off.

“You know about All Might’s time limit?” Sensei asks slowly, one eyebrow arched in question. “I thought that was confidential.”

“Y-yeah,” Izuku nods. “I, uhm, I found out before school started. A-after a villain attack that he, uhm, that he saved me from.”

Aizawa-Sensei's face pinches in masked worry at that, and even the detective looks confused and vaguely concerned. No one knew about the villain attack but himself, All Might and Oboro, who Izuku is sure doesn’t really count. Maybe it’s a mistake talking about it—but the last thing he needs right now is to be caught in a lie by Aizawa-Sensei.

There’s a tense moment of silence, but thankfully the detective breaks it, “so, I’ve got a social worker on the way to be a part of this conversation. It’s pretty basic stuff—an interview with the kid. I’ll ask some questions, and so will his social worker. She’ll have some requirements for you regarding the kid—probably a doctor’s visit for Midoriya, since it’s neglect we’re looking at and he did spend some time living on the street. There will probably be a couple home visits and check-ins, but she’ll explain all this better than I can.”

The detective pauses, taking a second to contemplate like he’s running through a mental checklist of points he needs to bring up to them. “Since he wants to stay with you, and you are a licensed foster parent, even if it’s just for emergency placements, I’ll look into your license; make sure everything is up to date for long-term fostering and all that so we aren’t looking at any problems in the future, and if all goes well, we’ll have Midoriya leaving with you by the end of this.”

“Right,” Sensei turns away from Izuku to nod at the detective. His teacher carries on moving into the room, collapsing into one of the chairs opposite the detective’s on the other side of the desk. Izuku follows suit awkwardly, settling carefully into the chair.

“While we wait though, maybe you could tell me a bit about your mother?”

“W-why?” Izuku stutters out, glancing to his teacher despite the question being aimed at the detective.

“Kid...” Aizawa-Sensei turns a bit to consider him thoughtfully, voice softening from the hardness he‘d addressed the detective with, “what your mother did to you was against the law. Not only did she abandon you, she’s been neglecting you for years.”

“She didn’t neglect me,” Izuku shakes his head, fiddling with his fingers. He couldn’t argue the abandonment, but he could the neglect. “I told you, Sensei; I was taken care of. I ate, and had a roof over my head. My clothes always fit, and I had toys and stuff growing up.”

“But she wasn’t around,” his teacher summarizes, knowing from the night before. “That’s still neglect, Izuku. Psychological and emotional neglect are just as real as physical neglect.”

“She was working to provide,” Izuku whispers out, despite the clawing of truth in his stomach. He knew she wasn’t around—and sure, it was because she was working to provide, but she also didn’t want to be around him either. He knew that. He wasn’t an idiot—he could put two and two together, even if it hurt to do so.

“That doesn’t excuse her actions,” his teacher shakes his head. “You’re a child, Izuku. The whole world shouldn’t be falling onto your shoulders, and I’m sorry it has been. What your mother did, leaving the way she did, should be punished. She should face the consequences for her actions. For how her actions affected you.”

He doesn’t like the sound of that. He loves his mom. She’d taken care of him through everything—his special ability and his Quirklessness. His father had jumped ship as soon as it started getting hard, but she’d stayed. She provided for him. He never went without, and he was always taken care of. That’s what moms do, right?

“What kind of consequences?” Izuku asks, attention now angling back to the detective, who’d been silently watching them.

He looks almost surprised to be addressed, clearing his throat, “well... fines, or possibly jailtime. It depends on the severity of the neglect case—but abandonment is pretty urgent. Plus there’s the fact that due to her leaving as she did, you lost your home and ended up on the streets, which is child endangerment as well. Anything could’ve happened out there, Midoriya.”

The detective bites his lip, looking briefly at Aizawa-Sensei before focusing back on Izuku, “when your social worker arrives, we’ll talk more about that. Neither I, or Aizawa have as good a handle on cases like yours. For now, we’ll try to focus on finding your mother.”

Izuku nods hesitantly.

“So, you have no idea where she could’ve gone?”

“No,” Izuku sighs out. “She... I called her work, and they said she resigned a few weeks prior to our landlord tell me our rent was overdue. I hadn’t... I—” Izuku swallows, feeling his cheeks heat up as he tugs on a lose threat on his jeans, “I hadn’t seen her since before school started. She could be... w-we don’t have any living family, and I doubt her closest friend even knows what’s going on—or, uhm, if she does, she hasn’t mentioned it.”

“Does this close friend have a name? It would be useful in trying to locate your mother. Any leads will help.”

“Bakugou,” Izuku huffs out under his breath. He can feel Aizawa-Sensei's eyes snap in his direction, “Bakugou Mitsuki. She... I practically grew up with them. Kacchan— her son, Katsuki— and I were best friends until...” he lets his voice fade off, glancing at Aizawa-Sensei. The man gives a slow, understanding nod because he does know about the falling out due to Izuku’s Quirklessness. “A-anyways, we drifted apart, I guess. I haven’t seen her in... well, probably a couple years now. Kacchan and I don’t talk and I don’t know if she and my mother are even friends anymore.”

The detective nods, writing something down in a notepad that he pulls from the corner of his desk.

“And your father, where is he in all this?”

Izuku tenses up, glaring down at his lap, “he left when I was five. My mom said he moved to America when I asked, but I don’t know if that was legit, or her just trying to get me to stop asking questions. He, ah, his name is Midoriya Hisashi.”

“Okay,” the detective gives a nod, writing that down as well. “Thank you. Now, do you have any idea why your mother would’ve left you, Midoriya?”

Yes. “No.”

The detective looks up, blinking at the teen. He studies him for a second, a frown tugging at his lips. “That’s a lie.”

The detective seems just as surprised by his own words as Izuku, hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly, “ah, sorry about that.”

“Lie?” Izuku jerks up. “W-what?”

“My Quirk,” the detective informs regretfully, smiling apologetically between the teen and the teacher at his side, “I’m sorry, Kid. I forgot to tell you about it. My Quirk is called Lie Detector. I didn’t mean to use my Quirk—especially not without warning you beforehand, but sometimes it just... happens. Usually when someone says something completely untrue.”

“So it’s involuntary?” Izuku asks slowly, heart pounding in his chest at being caught in a lie, but interest piqued because that’s a cool Quirk. He feels Aizawa-Sensei's eyes on him, but refuses to look away from the detective. He doesn’t want to know what his teacher is thinking.

“Sorta,” the detective gives a light smile, “it’s only involuntary when it’s a blatant lie. I have the ability to turn it off and on, but sometimes.... well, sometimes Quirks just have a mind of their own—it’s prompted by me asking a question while the Quirk is active, and it only works through vocal answers from the person the question is aimed at. It doesn’t work with shakes of the head, or nods. Strictly vocal.”

“So, it’s a voice type, just instead of your voice, it’s other people’s voices? But there must be some kind of que in your own voice too that activates the Quirk for those who are the target, so it technically is a voice Quirk all around.”

“You’re a nerd,” Oboro huffs from somewhere behind him, but Izuku is focused on the detective.

“Yeah, uh,” the detective rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, “I suppose you could look at it that way. It works mostly the same as a polygraph. It takes more effort to lie, so like a polygraph, where it reads your blood pressure, pulse, respiration, and skin conductivity, my Quirk hears frequency changes in an individual's voice when they lie.”

“That’s so cool,” Izuku breathes out, itching to write it all down in his notebook. The boy opens his mouth to ask another question, but promptly shuts it when there’s another steady knock on the office door. Like before, the detective invites the person in, standing to greet the woman who steps in.

She’s an older lady. Maybe mid to late forties. She smiles kindly, greeting the detective with a handshake. She’s clutching a few file folders to her chest with her other hand.

“Aizawa, Midoriya, this is Miura Annaisha. She’s one of the social workers from child protective services who works in close contact with the police. Miura-San, this is Aizawa Shota, Pro Hero: Eraserhead and Midoriya Izuku.”

“Hello,” the woman smiles, gaze casting over Aizawa-Sensei before dropping to where Izuku had almost sunken into his chair. Her gaze lingers, but she smiles widely in greeting.

It’s a long, boring process.

From there, the four of them (and the ghost) move into an interrogation room where Izuku feels like he’s suffocating under all the questions.

They’re kind—surprisingly so. He’s not used to adults being so cautious and kind to him, but then again, they probably think he’s a damaged, trauma ridden kid and—well, he’s doesn't really know where he stands. He still feels pretty numb, and he knows at some point all this will start to feel real, and he’s not sure what he’ll do then.

The woman, incredibly kind and soft-spoken, talks him through the process.

She’d dug into his family tree before leaving the social services office, and hadn’t found any living relatives besides his mother and father—but their whereabouts were unknown. She’s regretful as she tells him, voice lowering to a gentle tone as if he’ll completely break down—but honestly, he’d expected as much.

If she’s surprised by his indifference, she doesn’t say anything.

She asks a lot of questions—some seeming out of place, like how he was liking school, while others are geared towards the situation, how long were you on the street before being found by Aizawa-San?

She asks him about Aizawa-Sensei—how he’s treating him, about his husband, their apartment, the room he's staying in. She asks if he feels safe there, and even goes as far as to ask about how he feels about the cats that Present Mic and Aizawa-Sensei have.

It seems odd, overly personal, but he answers honestly. He doesn’t have a single negative thing to say about any of it—in fact, he takes that time expresses his gratitude and how thankful he is that they’re willing to take him in, knowing his cheeks light up in a nervous flush as his Sensei’s expression softens slightly.

Izuku thinks she’s trying to get a feel for him. Gauge his personality and pick him apart before anything more happens. She’s probably also observing Aizawa-Sensei, who hardly moves, gaze flickering between the teenager and the social working in interest. He wishes her good luck if she’s trying to read him too.

For the most part, the detective and his teacher just watch on—listening to the conversation, absorbing it, without adding anything.

Until the woman’s attention is turned onto Aizawa-Sensei.

As the detective had said, the woman does had guidelines for his teacher to follow. The teacher just nods along with everything she spouts out, almost like he’d expected it all.

It’s a long list of requirements that need to be met before she’ll sign off on a permanent placement. Izuku’s surprised by how much is going into this, but no one else seems to be.

The woman talks about home visits, where their residence will be inspected to make sure it’s a suitable place for a teenager to live and grow. There will be more in-depth interviews between Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic, but Aizawa-Sensei assures they’ll jump through whatever hoops she has if it means Izuku can stay with them for the long run.

Izuku is most surprised by the stern demand that he be seen by a medical doctor— she worries openly of fears of malnutrition from his time living alone in the apartment— how she knows he hadn’t eaten a lot, he doesn’t know— as well as the fact he’s been homeless, even if just for such a short time. She fusses good-naturedly and Aizawa-Sensei nods in total agreement.

“We have plans to already,” the man assures without glancing at Izuku, “Shuzenji Chiyo, Recovery Girl, Yuuei’s nurse, will be doing a full physical. We share the same concerns. I also have him seeing our school Guidance counselor two days a week already.”

“Good,” the woman hums, pleased with that.

In the end, she decides she’ll approve the fostering, but just for a two-week trial period. At the end of the two-weeks, she’ll decide whether Izuku is better off staying with his teachers permanently until the case of his mother is sorted out, or whether he’s better off somewhere else—and the thought of being forced to leave almost sends him into a panic attack.

The only thing that drags him out of the attack is his teacher’s knee pressing against his own under the table, grounding him back to the real world. Everyone seems to have noticed, but no one mentions it, thankfully.

The teen sits quietly as his teacher signs off on some temporary fostering paperwork. Everything seems to have checked out, and as of that signature, for the next two weeks, Aizawa-Sensei will be his guardian.

The adults talk around him, but he’s already emotionally drained. This was a lot. A lot of questions. A lot of prying. He just... he wants to go home- no, wait... he means back to Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic’s apartment.

Oboro stands against the wall across from where he’s sitting. He’s stood perfectly between the Detective and the social worker, mouth pressed in a concerned line.

“You okay?” the ghost asks slowly, maybe seeing something in Izuku the others don’t. The ghost has seen a lot from him—they're close in a personal way, he wouldn’t be surprised if the ghost was picking up on something no one else was.

Izuku gives a nod, ducking his head down so his curls block his eyes.

Before Izuku knows, Aizawa-Sensei is ushering him up, leading him through the precinct after quick valedictions. He’s led out by a grounding hand between his shoulders, just like when his teacher had directed him to his apartment last night. It’s a comforting touch, and Izuku loves it.

They get into the car silently, where his teacher finally releases a sigh.

“That was tiring,” the man huffs, head thumping back against the headrest.

Izuku just nods, curling into himself. Oboro is uncharacteristically quiet in the backseat, just looking between Izuku and his teacher. He can see the ghost in the rearview mirror.

They sit in silence for a moment before Aizawa-Sensei starts the car, pulling onto the road. There’s traffic—Izuku watches out his window as nothing moves. It must be the after-work rush of everyone trying to get home.

The teen stills at the thought before slowly pulling his phone out of his pocket. He winces as he turns it on, drawing in a stuttered breath as he glares down at the time.

“Kid?” Aizawa-Sensei prompts slowly, “what?”

“I’m late,” Izuku shakes his head, feeling awful.

“Late?” Aizawa-Sensei blinks, angling to face the kid. "For what?"

He bites his lip, looking away from his teacher’s prying eyes. They’re not moving, so it’s not like his Sensei will be focused on the traffic.

“After I realized my mom was... that I wasn’t going to be able to f-feed myself for much longer, I... I uhm, I started looking for a way to make some money b-because I knew I couldn’t, y’know, I couldn’t steal anything, it goes against my morals... so I sorta got a job.”

“A job?” his teacher’s voice takes an uncertain edge.

He doesn’t say anything else for a second, lost in thought before a deep frown tug at his lips, “Izuku...” his name comes out like a warning, displeased, and the slow, cautious drawl as he continues tells Izuku his teacher already has a pretty good idea where this is going, and he doesn’t like it, “where did you find the time to work between school, quirk training, counseling and sleeping?”

“A-after school,” Izuku bites his lip, “I uhm, I really needed money, Sensei... I tried everywhere in my neighborhood to find someone who’d hire me... b-but no one would, and I was desperate.”

“How much were you working, Midoriya?”

“T-three hours,” his teacher’s expression relaxes a little and Izuku winces as he continues, “e-everyday.”

There’s a heavy silence in the car. Izuku thinks about fleeing for just a second before his teacher forces out a breath, “you worked twenty-three hours a week on top of forty-hours of school, and at least five additional hours of counseling and Quirk training at least?”

Izuku nods meekly, ducking his head.

“Christ, Kid,” Aizawa-Sensei huffs, fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he looked away from the teen, easing up behind the car ahead of them. “No wonder you were dead on your feet. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

“It’s not your fault,” Izuku shakes his head. “It... it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t an official job, more of an... under the table kind of thing—” the teen freezes abruptly, mouth drying out as he catches his teacher’s thoughtful gaze.

He’d just told his pro-hero teacher that he was working an illegal, under the table job. What if they got in trouble for helping him out? The thought makes him feel like he’s suffocating. “Please don’t be mad, Sensei. T-they were just trying to help me, and they were so kind and, and, I did the work, and t-they paid me for the work. We didn’t do anything b-bad, just... Y-you can’t get them in trouble—please, they didn’t... I didn’t mean too—”

“Izuku,” his teacher’s hand is on his knee, and when had it gotten there? Sensei’s hand squeezes lightly, as if he can tell Izuku’s gaze is locked on it. “Take a breath, alright? You’re not in trouble, and they’re not in trouble, okay? Just... just breathe before you pass out.”

He sucks in a breath, his teacher’s gruff praises going in one ear and out the other as he tries to calm himself down. Oboro’s hand is by his shoulder; snaked in between the side of the car and the headrest. He’s not touching, but Izuku can feel the chill as he hovers as emotional support. His soft, soothing words are equally as unhelpful as Sensei’s. He can only focus on sucking in oxygen, not on the words being said to him.

“Good, Problem Child,” Sensei hums out calmly, “you’re fine. It’s okay.”

He takes another breath, then another before he finally nods. It’s slow and shaky, hands wringing together before interlocking and dropping into his lap. He draws in a few more huffs of air before finally glancing over at his teacher.

“You good, Kid?”

“Yeah,” the teen nods stiffly, voice shaky, “I’m sorry. I just... they really helped me out, and now I’m late for my shift. And I... I ratted them out, and I know you’re a pro, I-I just told you we were doing it and it’s... it’s illegal for them to—b-but I asked for help and they gave it to me...”

“No one’s in trouble,” his teacher repeats firmly. “I promise, Kid, I’m not going to do anything. Maybe it’s illegal, but all I see is someone helping out a kid in need. Someone helping one of my kids out and I’m not going to fault them for doing something I failed to do.”

Izuku’s lip wobbles, but he brushes the tears away before they fall. He feels overwhelmed. First the police station and the fostering stuff, and now this. He’s so tired. “You didn’t fail.”

“I did,” the man disagrees with a glance over. “I failed you, Midoriya. I should’ve done more the second I realized something was off. That’s on me, but I won’t let it happen again.”

There’s a pause, traffic moves a bit before freezing up again. His teacher drums a single finger against the steering wheel, opposite palm supporting his chin, elbow braced on the edge of the car door, as he drives.

Izuku’s not sure what else to say, and the ghost in the backseat is just as quiet. It’s Aizawa-Sensei who breaks the silence, casting a cautious look over at him the hardly lingers for a second before his eyes are back on the road, “now, where was it you worked? We should stop in so they aren’t worried about you.”

Izuku wants to protest, he wants to not let the Pro hero anywhere near the kind family who’d helped him, even if they’d done it illegally. They’d helped him when he was desperate, and he’d protect them now.

But at the same time, there’s that deep-seated trust in his teacher after just over a month of knowing him. He trusts Aizawa-Sensei, and he really does want to apologize for missing his shift.

So, he cracks and spills the location.

Izuku walks into the small café with his teacher a step behind him. It’s still bustling with life, all six tables filled with chatting patrons, and the service line four people deep. He’d be on his last hour of work had he arrived on time, and the guilt nags in his chest.

“Izuku!” the woman who’d hired him, the old woman who paid him and kept an eye on him greets, relief in her eyes. “Thank Goodness, we were worried when you didn’t come in. Thought something happened to you.”

“I’m okay,” the teen smiles softly, moving through the crowds to join her at the side counter where all the coffee machines are. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come in.”

“Don’t worry about it, Izuku,” she tells him, a soft smile shot in his direction as she carries on with her work. It’s almost like magic how fast she can work the machine, turning out perfect drinks. “You know this was never a set schedule thing, you’re just our extra hands. So long as you’re okay, I’m happy.”

She hands over a cappuccino to a man waiting before turning back to the teen, finally noticing the grouchy looking man stood behind him, hands tucked in his pockets. Her eyebrow arches as she blinks at him, “who’s your friend, dear?”

One of the other family members, a young man, ushers the woman out from behind the counter, taking over for her. She pauses beside Izuku, eyeing his teacher thoughtfully. Aizawa-Sensei doesn’t waver under her stare, just returns it with respect.

“O-oh,” the teen looks back. Aizawa-Sensei cocks his attention down at the teen, catching his eye before Izuku turns back, “this is Aizawa-Sensei, uhm, one of my teachers. I’m... I’ll be staying with him for a while.”

“Oh," the woman breaths out, pausing in what she’s doing. She regards them both carefully before nodding, “that’s good to hear, Izuku. We were starting to get worried about your situation... You’re looking more rested now though. I’m glad you’ve got somewhere to be. I guess that means we probably won’t be seeing you every day now, huh?”

Izuku shakes his head with a tiny smile, “I have to focus on my school work if I’m going to become a Pro Hero like All Might and my Sensei. Thank you for helping me out.” He ducks into a bow, feeling the woman’s hand ruffle his hair after just a second of his head being angled downwards.

He perks back up with her hand, returning her smile.

“Well, if the hero thing doesn’t work out for you, you’ve always got a job here. An official job, whenever you want it. But you can still come in and help out whenever you feel like it, we won’t say no to extra hands.”

“Thank you,” Izuku grins. It means a lot—even if it’s an empty offer.

The woman nods before turning towards Sensei, who'd been quiet. “You take care of this boy, y’hear?”

“Of course,” Sensei nods. There’s a second where Izuku thinks his teacher is going to lead him out again, but to his surprise, the man is arching forwards into a bow much like Izuku’s. The teen jumps, stumbling backwards. He thinks he might squeak out his teacher’s name, but he can’t be sure.

At his side, the old woman blinks in confusion, glancing uncertainly at Izuku before looking back at the Hero, eyeing him. “Thank you,” Aizawa-Sensei says honestly, still bent over in the bow, “for taking care of my student where I failed too.”

There’s another second of stunned silence—Izuku's feels his cheeks heat up, but there’s something so... heartening about the scene. About what Aizawa-Sensei had just done, was currently doing, for him.

He’d never pegged Aizawa-Sensei as someone who would bow down so easily, and certainly not to someone he’d just met, unprompted. There was no validation to this—he wasn’t putting on a show for someone, he was simply showing respect and gratitude.

Gratitude to a woman whom he’d just met, simply because she’d been kind to Izuku—had looked after him when he’d been at his lowest... it makes Izuku’s insides feel like mush. No more than half an hour ago, Izuku had been terrified that Sensei was going to have them arrested for working out a side-deal with him, but now here his teacher was showing bowed respectfully with nothing but thanks on his lips.

“None of that,” the woman huffs with a shake of her head. Her fingertips hook under Aizawa-Sensei's shoulder, pushing him up, which he easily complies, “up, up. We would’ve helped Izuku either way. He’s a bright, hardworking boy. He did more for me than I did for him.”

The woman shoots Izuku a fond look before catching Aizawa-Sensei's eyes again, “now, I doubt you’re here to work, so was there anything I could get you before you’re off again? Busy hero schedules and all that, right?”

Aizawa-Sensei ordered a black coffee for himself, a hot chocolate for Izuku, and a Matcha tea for Present Mic. This was followed up by the old woman slipping Izuku a paper bag of baked goods with a light smile, “you remember us when you’re a famous Hero, okay? Come visit every once and a while too.”

Izuku promises to do just that under his breath. He feels lighter than he had in weeks—everything was getting sorted out one by one and it was weight after weight lifted from his shoulders.

“C’mon, Kid,” Aizawa-Sensei called, completely unaware—or maybe feigning ignorance for Izuku’s sake as he balances three to-go cups, stood by the door. “’zashi’s waiting.”

Izuku follows after him, throwing a wave over his shoulder before taking his cup from his Sensei.

“Thank you,” Izuku whispers over the rim of his to-go cup lid, barely audible. Sensei somehow hears it, head ducking in a hardly noticeable nod. Izuku’s not entirely sure what he’s really thanking his Sensei for—he just knows the man deserves it.

“First, I get stuck in the backseat, and then I don’t get hot chocolate?” Izuku hides a smile behind his cup as he takes a sip, settling into his car seat. Oboro had decided to stay in the car considering how crowded the cafe was. He didn't want to be phasing though people at every step. “Man, being a ghost blows. I don't recommend death, Izu. Avoid it, alright?”

Despite his words, the ghost flashes a wide grin, clearly pleased at getting a positive reaction.

“Ready to head home, Problem Child?”

Izuku nods, smile softening as he watches his teacher chug his coffee while simultaneously trying to slot Present Mic’s tea into the cupholder.

Chapter Text

The evening they return home from the precinct, Aizawa-Sensei his newly appointed guardian for the time being, it’s surprisingly uneventful.

Izuku is still sipping his hot chocolate as his homeroom teacher ushers him into the apartment building. It’s starting to get dark around them, but Izuku can’t be bothered to shuffle the things he’s holding around in order to tug his phone out of his pocket and check the actual time.

Just a step or so behind, Aizawa-Sensei keeps up, hand holding Present Mic’s matcha tea, and his now empty cup. Izuku’s holding the small paper bag of sweets they’d been given, which Aizawa-Sensei had assured in the car that they could eat after dinner, since Present Mic would lose his shit, Sensei’s words entirely, if they ruined their appetites with treats before dinner.

Oboro solemnly nods in agreement before a smile curls onto his lips.

The ghost hardly wastes a second before he’d reciting the last time Present Mic had caught Aizawa-Sensei ruining his appetite, laughing his way through the reenacted scolding the dark-haired man had received, even going as far as to poorly mimic each of the teacher’s voices.

The ghost finishes off his story as they arrive outside the apartment door, dragging his fingers up through his cloudy blue locks with a sigh of laughter, “I kid you not, Izu, he hasn’t had a single one of those jelly pouch things before dinner since that day. ‘zashi’s honestly terrifying when he wants to be, try’n stay on his good side.”

Izuku refrains from laughing along as his teacher pauses in front of the apartment door, unlocking it, blissfully unaware of the stories being fed to Izuku. He does angle his head in question when he catches the smile the teen can’t wipe off his face.

The teacher clearly decides better than to question it, just gestures the teen inside.

They kick off their shoes, Izuku more cautious of his, making sure they’re pushed up against the wall neatly, while Aizawa-Sensei seems to not care. His teacher steps away and without a second thought, the teen lines his boots up alongside his own and Present Mic’s.

Oboro lets out a fond huff behind him, and Aizawa-Sensei raises an eyebrow that has heat flooding to Izuku’s cheeks, but his teacher doesn’t mention it.

The apartment is quiet, and for a second, Izuku thinks maybe Present Mic had left at some point, but then he smells something tasty wafting from the kitchen. “We’re home,” Aizawa-Sensei calls out, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come.

He doesn’t seem phased by it, just trails into the kitchen with Izuku following a step behind.

Aizawa-Sensei pauses in the doorway—watching the blonde hero who doesn’t turn towards them. He’s humming to himself, working on something at the counter.

Izuku moves to enter the kitchen, but Aizawa-Sensei's arm reaches out, blocking him at chest level. Izuku stalls, blinking in confusion as his Sensei reaches for the light switch, flicking it off and then back on quickly—and Present Mic spins towards them looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

His face breaks out into a grin when he spots Izuku, but he doesn’t say anything.

“His hearing aids are out,” Aizawa-Sensei explains as he finally steps into the kitchen, joining his husband at his side. He passes the tea over and Present Mic smiles widely before his hand lifts to his chin before falling forwards, keeping his palm flat as he does so. That seems to be the end of the gesture, because then he’s taking a sip of the drink.

“That means thank you,” Oboro tells him, watching over Izuku’s shoulder. “I should probably teach you the basics if they don’t, huh?”

The teen twitches to nod back at the ghost, but doesn’t make a move to do so.

Aizawa-Sensei nods in response to Present Mic, glancing back at Izuku who’s still stood in the doorway. The teen clutches at the bag of baked goods, and holds his almost finished hot chocolate close.

His gaze doesn’t linger long before he’s looking back when Present Mic taps his shoulder and starts signing faster. Aizawa-Sensei's eyes follow the gestures, and he nods again, not signing anything back this time. “I’ll be right back, Kid. I’m going to grab his hearing aids. They’re charging.”

“Okay,” Izuku nods, stepping into the kitchen finally as Aizawa-Sensei steps out. Oboro dodges out of the way, throwing himself to the side lest he risk phasing through Aizawa-Sensei. It’s hilarious.

Izuku watches his homeroom teacher leave down the hall, disappearing into one of the rooms at the end of the hallway. He’d only seen the guest room and the bathroom, but one of the remaining doors is bound to be their bedroom.

He turns back when the teacher is gone from his sight.

Present Mic shoots him an inviting glance that puts the teenager at ease. Izuku finally joins him in the room, handing him the paper bag to look in before taking his hot chocolate to the table. He's not sure what to say-- especially when his teacher can't hear him. Does Present Mic know how to read lips? It doesn't matter much anyways, because the blonde-haired Pro Hero is turning back to whatever it was he'd been making.

Aizawa-Sensei isn’t gone long, returning just second later with two white hearing aids in his hand. He stops at Present Mic's side, and the other Pro seems to feel the presence beside him because he turns to look at Aizawa-Sensei. The underground Hero passes the hearing aids to Present Mic, and Izuku ducks his attention when the blonde hero presses a thankful kiss to the underground hero’s cheek. It’s cute, don’t get him wrong but—but it’s also his teachers and that’s... well, that’s a little weird to see.

“Sorry about that, Listener,” Present Mic chirps, and Izuku forces his attention back up, watching as the man pressed the second hearing aid into his ear. Aizawa-Sensei is leaned over, looking at whatever the voice Hero had been preparing. “I don’t like to talk when I can’t hear myself since I’m not as aware of what my Quirk is doing. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk! I can read lips, so just make sure I can see ya before askin' me anything when they're out, 'kay?”

Izuku nods, despite his thoughts lingering on Present Mic’s words.

His hesitance to not speak when he can’t hear makes a lot of sense.

Izuku has a bunch of pages on Present Mic in his Analysis notebook.

He’d extensively done research when he was little, when he’d first stumbled upon videos of the voice hero fighting a villain on YouTube. From there, he’s sorta... deep dived into him. That had led him to Put Your Hands Up radio, and he’d been a dutiful listener every Friday for years. He’d stopped listening in his second year of Junior High, just because things started getting harder around then, and he was constantly overwhelmed with school work and trying to keep himself afloat since his teacher didn’t care if a Quirkless kid like him failed or not.

Plus, he’d seen how destructive the Quirk could be.

People who thought Present Mic just screamed and the Quirk was active were so completely wrong, it wasn’t even funny. The teen can’t even imagine what the Pro does to keep it in check—his Quirk is basically his voice, always there and constantly active. It takes loads of practice and mental strength to be able to constantly keep it neural. Honestly, people don’t give Present Mic nearly enough credit for his Quirk control.

He hadn’t known, however, that Present Mic was deaf, or, hard of hearing at least.

He wonders now how that plays into his Quirk. Had he always been deaf? Was it a result of his Quirk due to long term usage? Were the headphones on his Hero costume specially made to act like hearing aids as well? He’d never seen the teacher without them on at school, and he’s not sure how comfortable the hearing aids he just put in would be pressed under the headphones—

“Izuku,” Oboro’s voice breaks him off from his thoughts. “You’re mumbling again.”

The teen snaps his jaw shut, gaze shooting up to apologize but to his surprise, the teachers are both at the counter still. They’re not staring at him like he’s insane. They weren’t trying to break him out of it like everyone else. They’re not concerned in the slightest that he’s sitting at the table, clutching at a now cold hot chocolate, muttering to himself.

“S-sorry,” he still mutters out quietly. He knows they can hear him, but neither really acknowledges it. Present Mic just glances back briefly, smiling lightly before his attention is back on whatever it is they’re making, while Aizawa-Sensei doesn’t move at all besides the movements as he helps Present Mic cook.

Oboro had plopped himself into the chair beside Izuku at some point, regarding him with a thoughtful look. He doesn’t say anything, but he does watch. His lips pull in a frown at the apology, but he doesn’t say anything either.

Izuku hadn’t realized he’d started to slump tiredly in his chair. The to-go cup is curled against his chest, while his other fist supports his head. He doesn’t realize until Present Mic turns, mouth pursed as if to ask him something, but instead, his mouth shuts with a soft click of his teeth as a gently, fond look crosses his face.

“Why don’t you go put on something comfy, eh, Listener?” He suggests softly, gentle smile never waning. “I washed everything you left on the bed. Your uniforms are hung up in the closet; I ironed them along with some of my shirts. And... I noticed you didn’t have many comfy clothes. We love comfy stuff in this household so I found some of our old things that we never use anymore for ya to use. Just until we can get our hands on your stuff, or get you some new clothes. They’re on the bed too, you’re welcome to do with them as you please, ya’dig?”

The teen gives a light nod, which appears to be all the answer his English teacher needs. The man’s smile widens before turning back to the counter, opening a zip lock bag of marinated something.

“Feel free to shower if you want too, Problem Child,” Aizawa-Sensei adds without looking up from what he’s doing. “Everything from yesterday still applies. We’ll get you your own toiletries tomorrow or something. Today was stressful for you, the warm water will help.”

“Okay,” the teen nods once more, even though his teachers aren’t even looking in his direction.

It takes more effort to push himself up than he’d care to admit. Now that he can relax without worry, it’s frighteningly easy to. He takes the last sip of his hot chocolate, wincing at the mouthful of cold, syrupy residue that had sunk to the bottom. Oboro snorts a laugh from his seat at the face Izuku makes, but he doesn’t make any move to follow him.

He tosses the cup in the garbage, leaving out the doorway.

There’s not a doubt in his mind that they’re going to be talking while he’s gone. Talking about him. They’re married, he gets it. It’s not surprising that Aizawa-Sensei would be keeping Present Mic in the loop, and honestly, Izuku doesn’t even mind. It’s better that Aizawa-Sensei is telling him, rather than Izuku having to do it all over again.

He pads softly down the hall, pushing the ajar guest bedroom door open, where he freezes abruptly.

They’re folded. Present Mic had folded his clothes.

He’s not sure why the thought that his teacher took the time to fold his clothes after washing them shocks him as it does, but it truly does.

It’d been years since anyone other than him had washed his clothes—and truthfully, he’s a teenager with a busy, tiring schedule. He’d never had time to sit down and fold his clothes. There always something more pressing he needed to take care of, or homework he needed to have completed.

And, after a long day of classes, and dealing with his bullies, the last thing he wanted to do was fold clothes, so they never really got done.

The stack is neat, everything he currently owns looking smaller now that it’s not scattered in a heaping pile. It’s a sad amount of clothes. He knows he has a bit more in the duffle bag in his locker—but that bag is mostly filled with personal belongings and items he couldn’t bear to part with.

Izuku’s gaze slides over from the pile of his own clothes, to the second pile of clothes. None are familiar to him, so these ones must be the clothes Present Mic was talking about. There’re old sweatpants, pajama bottoms, tee-shirts and a sweater or two.

He’s curious about them.

He unstacks them all, arranging the folded articles along the mattress as he looks through them with a cocked head before deciding on a colourful Put Your Hands Up radio merch tee shirt, and a pair of dark grey pajama pants from the pile.

He digs out another pair of underwear from his backpack under the bed—he'd been far too embarrassed to let his teacher wash those and they had been the only thing he’d overpacked. He still had another week’s worth of fresh underwear.

He hugs his new clothes to his chest, noting the new scent of a laundry detergent he’d never smelt before. After his mother started leaving more, he’d always gotten the cheapest there was—since his allowance was already spread thin between meal planning. This kind smells very nice; fresh and clean.

The bathroom hasn’t changed since last night’s shower, but he feels a little more comfortable when it comes to stripping his clothes off and stepping under the stream of steaming water. Aizawa-Sensei had been right—it's like the stress from the day sags out of him as he stands under the water.

He uses that same shampoo from the day before, but decides to use some body wash this time around as well. He still doesn’t know who’s is who’s. The scents of the shampoo and bodywash clash in a weirdly pleasing way.

He doesn’t linger too long in the shower, hopping out after all the suds are washed away. It’s nice to be clean, and it’s even nicer to step into clean clothes too. His clothes hadn’t been particularly dirty, but they hadn’t smelt clean like these ones.

The clothes are a little lose on him, but they’re incredibly comfortable. The pajama pants are soft, and the tee shirt is well made instead of the cheap stuff that usually is handed out when it comes to advertising. He likes them—and because he likes them, he manages to push the thought that these were his Senseis clothes aside.

A puff of steam follows Izuku when he opens the door. He steps out, almost tripping when Blanket springs up from where he’d been waiting, almost stalking the bathroom door. He hadn’t noticed the cat before. The cat doesn’t try to enter the bathroom, but he does circle Izuku like he wants to lead him somewhere.

Turns out the cat just wanted to lead him into the guest room, where he leaps up onto the bed and noses his way under the sheets, knocking the stack of laundry over as he goes. Izuku’s not sure why the cat needed an audience, but he doesn’t question it—simply puts his dirty clothes on the end of the bed before turning back around to join his teachers in the kitchen.

They’re talking quietly, voices hushed as they move around one another with ease. It’s fluid, like they’re dancing. He’d never seen his homeroom teacher so... relaxed. It’s nice.

This time, it’s Sensei who notices him first.

“Have a good shower, Kid?”

“Yeah,” Izuku give a little smile, “thank you.”

“Y’know, Listener,” Present Mic hums, opening the rice cooker and stirring the fluffy grains around, “you’re very cute, and incredibly respectful, which is adorable, but you really don’t need to thank us for anything. We’re happy to help! Overjoyed you’ll be staying here with us! So glad you’re—”

“You’re laying that on pretty thick, ‘zashi,” Aizawa-Sensei interrupts casually, cutting the other man off. Present Mic squawks a bit, caught off guard before his jaw snaps closed and he pouts. “He’s right though, Problem Child. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

Izuku hesitates for a second before nodding.

He’s not sure he’ll be able to stop because he really is thankful. They’ve been so kind, and already done so much. For the first time in years he’s having homecooked meals, and he feels safe, and content, and comfortable— taken care of in a foreign way that makes him question everything his life had been. Like, come on, Present Mic had folded his laundry for him after taking the time out of his day to wash it.

How would he not be thankful for that?

He’ll try though, because they asked.

Izuku glances to the side where Oboro had been silently observing.

It’s weird to see the ghost so quiet, recoiled small and tucked in on himself so he doesn’t take up much room. There’s a sad feeling that drops like a brick in Izuku’s stomach at the thought that this is probably the usual for Oboro. Watching silently and staying out of the way.

It makes his heart hurt, but he knows he can’t blame anyone—the teachers don’t know the ghost is there, and it’s not like there’s a whole lot the ghost can really do, especially when Izuku isn’t around.

“Can, uhm,” Izuku clears his throat, stepping closer to his teachers when the both turn to look at him, “w-was there anything I... I could help with?”

“You’re the sweetest,” Present Mic chirps, “sure thing, Listener. Why don’t you grab some bowls for us? We’re just a couple seconds off!”

Aizawa-Sensei is stood at a small grill placed over the elements on the stovetop, four fillets of unagi grilling. Present Mic is still manning the rice cooker, fingers drumming on the countertop as he waits impatiently.

Izuku does as asked, grabbing four bowls— freezing as he realizes what he’d done. He frowns at the stack, shooting the ghost a sad look before settling that fourth bowl back in the cupboard.

“Hope you like kabayaki, Kiddo.” Present Mic laughs as he starts filling each bowl with rice, before holding them out to Sensei, who transfers a fillet of grilled eel on top of each bowl of rice.

Izuku nods energetically in response.

He hovers in the middle of the kitchen for a second as he tries silently to figure out where the chopsticks and cutlery are kept before glancing questioningly at Oboro. The ghost huffs fondly, slipping off the counter like he’d read Izuku’s mind, and pauses in front of one of the drawers. “This one.”

Izuku smiles gratefully, tugging it open. He finds exactly what he’s looking for, pulling out three sets of chopsticks and sets them on the table.

“Did... did you guys want something to drink?” Izuku asks carefully, unsure why he feels so nervous.

“Ooh, good call,” Present Mic nods, he’s still got his Matcha tea that he’d been sipping on, “how about water? Shota, water?”

The man gives a gruff hum that Izuku thinks means yes, so he grabs three glasses down from the cupboard, glad Blanket is, as far as he’s aware, tucked away in the guest room and won’t grab his ass while he reaches.

He fills each glass with water, smiling to himself.

His teachers are currently transferring the bowls to the table, dancing along awkwardly as to not step on Fish and Nemo who’re circling underfoot at the scent of the eel, despite the sweet-smelling soy sauce marinade. Oboro is trying to lure the cats away with soft calls, but they ignore him; the ghost pouts.

Izuku thinks he likes it here.

The day Midoriya Izuku doesn’t show up to school, is the day that Bakugou Katsuki swears hell freezes over. He’d known the nerd since they were both in diapers, and not once had the idiot missed class.

He’d come to school sick, and injured. Flushed with fever, and so annoyingly tired that it made him a complete moron. Midoriya Izuku did not miss school. Never had—and Katsuki thought he never would.

Yet, here he was, at school, at Yuuei, the damn nerd’s dream school, and Deku’s nowhere to be seen. He gives the idiot the benefit of the doubt at first.

Sure, Deku arrived early every day, but everyone has days when they wake up late. It had been years since Katsuki beat the nerd to school, so when his lip curls in annoyance when he notices Deku’s seat empty, he ignores it.

He waits.

One by one, peers enter the room. None try to talk to him—except that stupid, red-headed extra, who seems to think they’re friends. They’re not. Still, he gives one word replies whenever the idiot pauses in his rambling. A few more kids joined the conversation, crowding his desk. The electric one, and tape arms.

Katsuki half listened, while ignoring the conversation at the same time. He wasn’t interested in it, but still kept an ear in it. He wasn’t sure why the extras chose him to crowd—maybe they followed Shitty-Hair or something.

Time ticks on, and the seconds dwindle down until finally the bell rings.

And Deku’s not there.

He turns back in his seat to glare at the empty chair behind him. It’s weird to see it empty.

“What, you don’t miss Midoriya, do ya, Bakugou?” His scowl lifts to Tape Arms, who’s smiling smugly one seat back and one seat over from him. For a second, he debates throwing an explosion in the Extra’s direction, but decides he doesn’t want to be expelled, so he shoots him with a death stare instead.

Earphones beside him snickers. Katsuki’s glare snaps to her, but she’s undeterred.

“Why would I miss that shitty Deku.”

“Where is Midoribro anyways?” Shitty-Hair questions from across the room, eyes flicking to the empty seat with a light frown. “He hasn’t missed a day yet, has he?”

“No,” Glasses shakes his head matter-o-factly, “Midoriya’s attendance thus far has been exemplary. It’s rather surprising he’s not here. Then again, what’s even more curious is the fact that Sensei hasn’t arrived yet, nearly a full minute after class has officially begun.”

“Yeah,” Floaty Girl chimes in with an uncertain look, “that is strange. Aizawa-Sensei is a stickler about time, so it’s weird for him to be late...”

“Sensei could be busy with Hero work, or teacher things, kero. But Midoriya... I hope he’s alright,” Frog Girl shakes her head, “ribbit. He did leave pretty fast yesterday.”

“Oh yeah, he did,” Shitty-Hair frowns harder. “I forgot about that. What was he muttering about anyways? Does anyone know? He sounded so upset.”

“He mutters a lot,” Earphones shrugs when everyone glances towards her. She has the best ears of the class, besides maybe the Extra with all the arms. “I tune him out mostly—it's usually about Quirk related stuff, but sometimes he talks to himself. He’s hard to understand; he talks fast.” That doesn’t surprise Katsuki; the nerd has always fanboyed over Quirks because the useless Deku never had his own. Until now. And don’t even get him started on Deku’s stupid one-sided conversations. “It did sound like he was having an argument with someone though. It was... intense.”

“Yeah, we saw,” Sparky sighed, leaning back in his chair, “I think everyone heard him yelling at the end. He sounded pretty messed up—I wonder what it was about.”

“We should not be gossiping about our classmate in his absence,” Glasses tuts, shooting a glance around at everyone. Though not everyone was talking, everyone was listening. Clearly Deku’s lack of presence was concerning to everyone.

“What Four-Eyes said,” Katsuki spits out, “mind your damn business, Extras. If Shitty-Deku wants to miss his classes, let him fail. Who gives a shit?”

“Harsh,” Shitty-Hair huffs out as he slumps down against his desk.

“That is no way to speak about your classmate, Bakugou!” Glasses scolded, pushing his glasses up his face with a stern look. No one seemed to pay him any mind though, attention still focused on Katsuki, who’s slumped in his seat in annoyance.

“You really don’t care he’s absent, Bakugou?” Raccoon Eyes calls from across the room, leaning on her elbow and edging her body in his direction in contemplative interest. “What if he’s not okay?”

What if he’s not okay? Why the hell would Katsuki care?

He doesn’t care what Deku does.

“Why would I?” Katsuki snorts indifferently. “Now, will all you idiots shut up about that shitty nerd? He’s always been fuckin’ weird, forget about it.”

“Still,” Sparky shrugged, “shouldn’t we be a bit worried he’s having full on conversations with himself?”

Earphones casted a look to the side at the blonde electric Quirked teen before nodding slowly. “Maybe...” a thoughtful second of silence before she continued, “he was having a full conversation with seemingly no one in the gym...”

No one has a chance to say anything else, because the classroom doors roll open, and everyone’s glancing over to see who comes in. It’s not Aizawa-Sensei running late though; it’s Midnight-Sensei who strolls in.

“Sorry I’m late,” the woman apologizes, but there’s literally nothing apologetic about her voice. She smiles brightly, scanning over them. “Aizawa’s got personal matters to attend to today, so I’m covering for him. I don’t have a lesson plan, so... today’s a study period. But I’d also like to remind you all that you’ll be picking your hero names at some point soon, so think on that. It’ll represent you as a hero, so make it good.”

She doesn’t say much else, content to lean against Aizawa-Sensei's podium, only glancing up every so often, but even then, she doesn’t seem particularly worried about whether or not they’re being productive. She’s really just adult supervision, Katsuki grits his teeth when he realizes. Of course Aizawa doesn’t trust them.

Still, the blonde-haired teen does as told; pulling out the Modern Hero history assignment that’s due in a few days. His glance drifts over his shoulder every so often, glaring in irritation at the empty seat. Unbelievable.

Shitty Deku. Missing school. How’s the bastard gonna learn if he doesn’t show up? How will Deku ever beat him if the useless nerd doesn’t step up and try.

“Bakugou misses Midoriya,” someone around him teases under their breath, but he can’t for the life of him recognize who, or else he would’ve lit their desk up in an explosion; consequences be damned. He shoots a vicious look at everyone in the proximity of his seat, gaze lingering briefly on Deku’s empty chair before he’s turning his glare back onto his work.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses back under his breath.

He most certainly does fuckin‘ not.

Izuku’s worried about school the following day. He’s worried about what his friends are going to say, and he’s worried he’s fallen behind in that one day of missed classes. He’s nervous about facing everyone after how he’d left on Monday— and he’s also afraid of the questions they’re going to ask.

How would he explain himself?

Just because Aizawa-Sensei hadn’t asked about why he’d been talking, shouting, alone on the benches, doesn’t mean his prying classmates won’t. How’s he going to excuse that? How much had they heard? Jirou has amazing hearing due to her Quirk, and Shoji can also hear really well depending on what his duplicate arms are doing. He doesn’t know how loud he was—maybe everyone heard him.

Plus, he’s got so much more to explain too—like, why’d he miss his classes? His classmates are a curious group, and he knows he’d be worried if any of his friends left unexpectedly only to not turn up the following day.

There’s just so much that had changed in those two days—Monday evening and Tuesday. He lived with their teachers now. Knew more about their teachers than he’d ever admit. Sensei and Present Mic were married, but he’d take that secret to the grave before telling any of his peers. If Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic wanted them to know, they would’ve told them.

So, yeah, he’s a bit anxious for school on Wednesday morning.

He’s awoken that morning by a freezing cold chill that settles in his forearm. In response to the surprise cold, the teen lets out a jolting gasp, the sound heavy and completely involuntary, like his body is reacting as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over him. He springs up into a sitting position, blankets pooling in his lap as he pants.

“Sorry! Sorry,” a voice yelps, “I forgot, oh man, sorry. Just... Sho’s coming to wake you up—thought you might, I don’t know, want to be up already?”

“Yes,” Izuku wheezes, trying to clear the fog from his brain at the abrupt wake up. “'m up, thanks. Jeez that’s cold. T-thank you.”

“Sorry,” the ghost repeats once again, a sheepish look on his face. “I thought maybe—y'know, the touching thing... guess not.”

“We need more practice,” Izuku huffs out, throwing the blankets off himself. A shiver racks his body, but it’s got nothing to do with the ghost. He’s just cold. His arms wind around himself, hugging himself tightly.

He jumps in surprise when there’s a rapping of knuckles against the door, soft but announcing all the same, followed by a low, “Problem Child? You awake? I’m leaving in an hour, and I assume you’ll need a ride in too.”

“Y-yes!” Izuku blurts, embarrassment flooding to his cheeks as he drags his palms down them in an attempt to ward off the flush, “thank you, Sensei. I’m awake! I, uh, I-I’ll just be a second!”

He doesn’t get a response, but he does hear his Sensei’s footsteps receding down the hallway. Alone once again, well, with Oboro at least, the teen sucks in a couple breaths. The ghost looks apologetic, wringing his hands together. He looks like he feels awful about the abrupt wake-up call.

“Don’t worry about it,” Izuku shakes his head when he finally catches his breath, “I’m used to it. Your, uhm, your chill. Just... not when I’m asleep, I guess? I’m fine, it was just a surprise.”

“I still feel bad,” Oboro pouts.

Izuku shoots him a light frown, shaking his head as he repeats, “don’t worry about it. Really, it’s cool. I really don’t mind.”

The ghost is still pouting, but he nods slowly.

“You should get dressed,” the ghost shakes his head, turning on his heels and marching towards the door. He pauses, half in the door, looking back. He looks like he wants to say something else, mouth opening before snapping shut like he thinks better of it. Then the ghost leaves through the door.

Izuku stares at where the ghost had just been before finally sliding out of bed. The first thing he does is sort out his backpack. He takes all his underwear out of the pocket, because now that he doesn’t have to cart his underwear around, he doesn’t want too.

He’d be devastated if his underwear accidentally spilled out across the floor and his peers and teachers saw them. He’d never be able to show his face again—that would be worse than everyone knowing he talked to someone who wasn’t technically there.

...probably, at least.

He sorts out everything he needs for his classes, and leaves everything he doesn’t on the desk in the corner of the room. He’ll probably bring his duffle bag back with him tonight— and then he can actually use his locker again.

After his backpack is sorted, lighter than he ever remembers it being, he opens the closet door where he instantly feels soft and fluffy. He’d forgotten Present Mic had ironed his uniforms for him. The wrinkles are gone, and they smell fresh and clean. The fabric sits perfectly on him, probably looking the best it has since that first day of school.

He takes slings his backpack over a shoulder before making his way to the bathroom, where he takes care of his morning routine—peeing, brushing his teeth and attempting to finger brush through his wily curls (always futile; his hair is absolutely unruly).

He leaves the bathroom feeling more awake, but still completely nervous. He really doesn’t want to face his friends, and peers—but on the bright side, at least he doesn’t have to face his Sensei.

Speaking of, Izuku finds Aizawa-Sensei sat at the table in the kitchen nursing a mug of coffee. He looks tired, but not as tired as he usually looks.

“Where...” Izuku glances around, clearing his throat before continuing. Aizawa-Sensei's gaze had lifted from his coffee in preparation to Izuku’s incoming question. “Where’s Present Mic, Sensei?”

“Patrol,” the man answers, gaze dropping back to his mug. He takes a swig before continuing. “’zashi has morning patrols on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. They start around five AM, and end just before his first class—your class. He’ll also occasionally get a weekend patrol shift, or be called away for missions suited to his Quirk and fighting style, but that’s a general rule of thumb for any Pro Hero.”

“Oh,” Izuku cocks his head. That’s pretty cool. “When... uhm, when do you patrol, Sensei?”

The question lingers for just a second before Izuku realizes how stupid it is— “I-I mean, I know you’re an underground hero, so you obviously patrol a-at night since that’s when all the activity is, but, like, w-what times do... do you, uh, patrol?”

And... foot in mouth. Nice Izuku.

Oboro snorts a laugh somewhere behind him, and Izuku doesn’t even need to glance over to see the ghost on that little corner of unused counter.

“I took off the next week with stockpiled vacation days,” Sensei explains easily as if Izuku hadn’t just rambled himself into a wall. The man doesn’t even look up, just glares tiredly down into his coffee. “Usually though, my patrols start around ten PM and end somewhere around four AM. Some are longer, and some are shorter depending on the other heroes patrolling any specific night.”

The teen nods, that makes sense. He is confused, however, why his teacher was taking time off. This was the same man who’d walked into class the day after waking up from a head wound induced two-day coma. At least that’s what he’d gathered from the ghost who’d kept him in the loop.

“Why’d you take vacation time?” Izuku mumbles after a second to mull over everything his Sensei had just explained.

The man raises an incredulous eyebrow before sighing, “for you, Problem Child. You’re still getting settled in, and you’re my priority right now. We have a lot we need to accomplish before that two-week check-in deadline if we’re going to get the go-ahead for you staying here more permanently.”

“Oh,” Izuku breathes out again, sounding like a broken record. Right. This isn’t permanent yet. He’s staying here on borrowed time until his social worker deems them fit long-term foster parents, and the apartment a good place for him to be raised.

His teacher gives a deep, huffy hum, but doesn’t look up from his coffee. “You need to eat something before school, Problem Child. I can’t cook for shit—that's ‘zashi’s thing. But you’re welcome to make yourself something, or there’s toast, or a jelly pouch if you’d like. Anything’s better than nothing.”

“O-okay,” Izuku nods, turning towards the counter. It’s not hard to locate the bread— but he’s a bit confused about the toaster. At home or... back when he lived with his mother, they’d had a pop-up toaster that sat on the counter for convenience. There didn’t appear to be one here.

Izuku scans a second time before turning to look at his teacher. Aizawa-Sensei's gaze is still downcast, glaring down into his coffee tiredly. The teen doesn’t really know how to inquire about the toaster randomly without seeming like an idiot, but he doesn’t have to worry for long because almost as if his teacher can sense his gaze, the man’s attention drags up slowly, “did you need something, Problem Child?”

“Uh... where do you keep the, uhm, the toaster, Sensei?”

The man blinks for a second before nodding to himself.

He stands, fingers gripping the rim of his mug. He makes a beeline for the coffee pot first, setting his mug down beside it, before pulling open a cupboard. The cupboard below Oboro’s counter spot. The ghost draws his legs up as the teacher rummages around in the cupboard, a frown tugging on his lips at being disturbed.

Izuku steps to the side a bit to see what else is in the cupboard. There are a couple random appliances in it—a blender, an older model of a rice-cooker, an indoor grill, the kettle he’d seen on his first night here, as well as the toaster.

“Anything we don’t use often is kept in here,” Aizawa-Sensei explains as he pulls the pop-up toaster out setting it on the counter by Izuku, next to the closest electrical outlet. “Hizashi likes having things, even if he doesn’t use them often. I personally don’t see the appeal, but to each their own.”

“Why... do you have two rice cookers?” Izuku can’t help but ask as he watches his teacher plug the toaster in for him.

“He’s also a hoarder.” The man huffs bluntly, lip curling up in the faintest, fondest way. “I asked the same question—apparently we needed a spare in case the newer, better one broke. It seemed illogical to argue with him about it.”

Izuku can’t help but smile at that.

Finally, with the toaster plugged in and waiting, the teacher stepped out of the way, turning back towards the coffee pot. His teacher didn’t pause at all, moving gracefully to fill his mug again. Izuku took that as his que to drop his slices of bread down into the slots, pushing the button that lowered the bread into the toaster.

It wasn’t long until Izuku was sat at the table with his teacher-foster-parent, along with his ghost-best-friend. And wasn’t that a sentence he’d never ever breathe aloud. He takes a bite of his buttered toast, and Aizawa-Sensei sips silently at his coffee. Oboro’s draped himself over the table, finger dragging through Izuku’s plate and second piece of toast.

All is quiet, until his plate shifts to the side along with Oboro’s finger.

Izuku jerks his attention down—it hadn’t moved far, half an inch, maybe even less, but it had scraped along the table as it went. And Sensei had heard it too. The man looks towards Izuku, who’s hands are nowhere near the plate, one hanging just over the edge of the table and the other holding his slice of toast to his mouth, frozen where he was about to take a bite.

“Um, oops?” the ghost manages out, staring down at the plate in shock. So, that hadn’t been intentional.

“What was that?” Aizawa-Sensei raises an eyebrow, head angling down at the plate. Oboro had withdrawn completely, sitting on his hands like a scolded schoolboy.

“U-uh,” Izuku stutters out, trying to come up with an excuse. He doesn’t, of course, how can he come up with a logical excuse when Aizawa-Sensei's eyes are boring into him as he waits for an answer? “W...what was what, Sensei?”

“That’s what you’re going with?” Oboro blinks at his side, and Izuku’s never felt more personally attacked. He gets it, it was a stupid answer, but what else was he supposed to say to a plate moving all by itself? Sensei is smart and attentive—he wouldn’t be easily fooled.

Ignoring the ghost entirely, and as a panicked attempt to not have to continue speaking, the teen takes a big bite of his toast. It dries his mouth out completely, but it’s worth it because now he can’t answer.

His teacher narrows his eyes, gaze scanning Izuku’s features. He hopes he manages to school his expression, but he’d not sure because Aizawa-Sensei's lips quirk downward in an almost frown.

“Never mind then,” his teacher relents with a heavy sigh. Despite the sigh, he really doesn’t look like he believes Izuku’s words. Maybe it was his hurry to jam toast into his face when shot a questioning look. “But while we’re at it, you can drop the honorifics with us, Problem Child.”

“W-what?” the teen promptly chokes on the mouthful of dry toast. He coughs, fist coming up to pound at his chest as toast crumbs cling to his throat. His coughs don’t really die down, and his body panics at the feeling; eyes watering as a glass is shoved into his hand, another hand on the bottom of the glass urging it up.

Izuku’s not sure when his teacher had moved, or how he was so fast and quiet.

That bite of toast really backfired.

The water washes down his bite of toast, taking the lingering crumbs down too. He chugs the water, hardly aware of the hand on his back rubbing soothing lines that help ease the tension in his muscles.

“That was eventful,” Aizawa-Sensei says at his side when Izuku can finally draw in shaky breaths again; they’re littered with little half coughs and wheezes, but the panic is subsiding gradually.

Izuku sucks in a couple more desperate breaths, finally dropping his hands, glass included, down to his lap. The hand from his back is gone, and he’s not even sure if there ever really was one.

“Do you have a habit of choking on toast that we should be aware of, or was it something I said that caused that?”

“Sorry,” the teen forces out, wiping the wetness from his eyes. “Just… You really want me to stop calling you Sensei...? But—”

“No,” the man cuts Izuku off not unkindly with a shake of his head. He finally eases away from the teen, regarding him thoughtfully, before he reaches for his mug across the table and takes another swig. He finishes off his coffee in that mouthful, staring down at it longingly before turning to set the empty mug in the sink, continuing casually as he does so. “I want you to call us appropriately depending on the situation and where we are. I am your Sensei, and I will be for the next three years, but I'm not your Sensei at home—just like I’m not a regular civilian or a teacher when I’m on patrol.”

“What should I call you instead?” Izuku stumbles his way through the question, ignoring Oboro’s snickers.

“I don’t really care, Kid.” The man shrugs. “And neither will Hizashi. Just not Sensei here. Try to separate homelife from school life. You can call me Aizawa, or Shota, whatever’s easier for you. And you can call ‘zashi Yamada or Hizashi. It’s logical. You live here with us. We’re not your teachers when we’re at home we’re... we’re your guardians, yeah?”

“So...” Izuku hazards uncertainly, “I call you Eraserhead outside of school when you’re in your hero costume, Aizawa-Sensei at school and... and S-Shota at home and the rest of the time then?”

It feels incredibly weird calling his Sensei by his given name. It feels almost like taboo, but it’s also something he’s sure he’ll get used to the more he does it.

The man in question lifts one shoulder in a shrug, “that would be ideal, yes. It really doesn’t matter what you call us, just when we’re in the presence of others—your peers, or the other teachers, be cautious of the names you’re using. I’m not sure I could handle your class of hellions calling me anything but Sensei.”

Izuku can almost imagine the face of accumulating danger on their teacher if any one of his classmates called the man anything other than Aizawa-Sensei or Eraserhead. The thought’s almost as funny as it is truly terrifying.

Still, Izuku understands the concern. He’d known his peers for over a month now, so he knows that if they heard Izuku calling him anything else, not only would it raise questions, but it would also open a door to them using the names as well. Teenagers were notorious for the ‘monkey see, monkey do’ thing, and he really doesn’t want to be the one to start that.

“Uhm, y-yeah,” Izuku nods slowly. It’s really a fair request. He’s not sure he’d want to be called ‘Sensei’ at his own home if this was reversed. And it’s not that weird addressing his teacher so... informally. Well, it is, but he’ll do it. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Good,” the man huffs, looking the most pleased Izuku thinks he’s ever seen the stone-faced teacher. “Are you going to attempt your toast again, or would you like a jelly pouch for the road?”

The thought of finishing his toast after nearly dying from it is not appealing. “Jelly pouch?”

“A kid after my own heart,” his teacher muses without emotion, tugging another cupboard open (it looks like it’s filled with snack foods and easy things to eat and make) and pulling two jelly pouches out of it. “This is where I stash them. Help yourself. Now grab your stuff; we’re going to be late.”

That’s how Izuku finds himself riding passenger with his homeroom teacher, Shota, on the way to school, while sucking at a jelly pouch that tastes surprisingly good.

They really were almost late. The halls are filled with students milling around, gossiping and waiting for classes to start. It’s just a few minutes before the bell, but Izuku knows he can make it into the classroom before it rings. He expects no leeway from his teacher—he wouldn’t accept it even if he got it (though he has a feeling Aizawa-Sensei wouldn’t play favorites ever, and Izuku’s glad he doesn’t).

He loses his teacher at some point, thankfully.

He doesn’t want to walk into class with Aizawa-Sensei on his heels. Sure, they’d arrived together—but it’s not like anyone would’ve seen him getting out of Sensei’s car. The teachers had a really cool underground parking garage that only opened for Pro Hero teaching Licenses. Izuku hadn’t even known it existed!

Or... that’s what Oboro had explained from the backseat of the car at least. Laughing to himself when he’d caught sight of Izuku staring down in awe at the Yuuei teacher ID card in Sensei’s hand.

Izuku’s just glad it’s the ghost who catches him intently focused on the card instead of the Pro himself.

Izuku makes his way through the crowded halls, hands fisted around the straps of his backpacks as his nerves get the better of him. He feels like it the first day at Yuuei all over again. It’s not—he knows what he’s doing. He knows his classmates, he knows his teacher, and quite frankly, he’s not sure he could have a worse day than that first day.

Still, his heart pounds in his chest and anxiety pulses through his body.

He hesitates outside the door, already hearing the chatter of his classmates preparing for the day.

“You not going in?” Oboro asks at his side, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor as he waits. “Sho’ll arrive soon, and as much as he likes you... uhm, there won’t be any lenience?”

“I know,” Izuku huffs. “I don’t want lenience. I’m just... it doesn’t matter.”

The ghost opens his mouth to say something else, but Izuku really doesn’t want to hear it. Instead, the teen slides the door open, swallowing anxiously when a hush falls over his classmates. It appears he’s the last to arrive—just his seat empty.

“Deku!” Uraraka chirps, launching up from her seat and beelining towards him. “You’re back!”

“Yeah,” the boy lets out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I’m back.”

“Midoriya,” Izuku looks over at Iida, who’d joined them. The engine-Quirked teen chops at the air as he continues on, voice stern and formal, “we were very surprised to see you absent yesterday, but I know an exemplary student like yourself must have a perfectly good explanation for tardiness!”

And there it is.

Everyone is looking over at him now. Some downright staring, while others are glancing over periodically only to look away hurriedly. He feels under observation, and it an awful feeling.

“I...” Izuku can hardly force the word out, unsure how to add anything else. His fingers tap against his thigh as he stands there, eyes flicking around the room but avoiding catching anyone else’s.

What was he supposed to say?

He doesn’t want to talk about and of that. Not about his mom, or his days homeless. Not about his teachers taking him in, or his visit with the police and social services. He doesn’t want to tell them he’s as good as an orphan now—that his mother didn’t like him enough to bother sticking around.

The fear must show on his face because no one in the room mutters a thing. The silence is heavy, almost suffocating for the green-haired teen.

It’s Tsuyu who breaks the silence, preceptive and kind.

“You don’t have to tell us anything, Midoriya,” the frog-Quirked girl croaks softly from her desk. “Ribbit. We just missed you, is all. I’m sure Iida’s not trying to... pressure you, right, Iida?”

“Of course not! I’d do no such thing, Midoriya!” The class rep squawks, before he arches into a tense bow. “Forgive me for my rudeness, we’re all just glad you’re all right! It is none of our concern what goes on in your personal life, we were just worried about your absence!”

“Right,” Uraraka nods with a frown. “It was the weirdest thing, Midoriya. First you didn’t come to class, and then Sensei was out too! We had Midnight-Sensei as our stand-in!”

“Yeah, kero,” Tsuyu agrees, “and then Mic-Sensei was out too. Snipe-Sensei filled in for him, so we really had two study periods.”

“Sensei was out too?” Izuku plays dumb, head cocking to the side. Oboro sniggers behind him, clearly enjoying the insider knowledge that Izuku knows far more than any of his peers do. “Why?”

“Well, we’re not exactly sure,” Kirishima calls from his seat, eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully, “no one would tell us much. Midnight-Sensei just said he was taking personal time. I hope he’s okay. But hey, glad to see you back, Midoribro! Class just wasn’t the same without’cha!”

“Yeah!” Uraraka nods furiously, “it totally wasn’t! It was the weirdest day by far. We didn’t do like anything interesting, so don’t worry, Deku, you didn’t miss much!”

The class all mutters in agreement, and a tiny part of Izuku's chest lights up with a faraway feeling of fondness. He’d been gone for one day and they’d missed him. That’s a first. He’s always amazed by these teens, his classmates. He hadn’t really had friends before, but now he has nineteen of them. Or eighteen not counting Kacchan.

Content to leave the conversation there, Izuku steps into the room. He plants himself at his desk, Oboro perching on the edge of it by the wall. No one else says anything, so Izuku focuses on pulling out what he’ll need for homeroom.

“Oi. Deku.” Izuku’s attention jerks up to Kacchan, who is no longer sitting in his own desk, instead stood stiffly by Izuku, shoulders hunched and hands jammed in his pockets. “Here.”

The ash-blonde draws one hand from his pocket, holding it out to Izuku. The green-haired teen freezes uncertainly, blinking in surprise as he slowly moves his hand to settle under Kacchan’s. His heart speeds up, expecting—well, he doesn't even know what he’s expecting. An explosion maybe?

Only when Izuku’s hand is under Katsuki’s does the blonde open his hand, letting something small drop into Izuku’s hand. He can feel his classmate's gazes on them, watching. He’s also acutely aware of Oboro pressing in far too close, almost protectively.

Kacchan’s hand is back in his pocket as soon as the item drops from his grip, and he’s glaring at Izuku over his nose, lips pursed in a scowl.

The green-haired teen withdraws his own hand with another cautious blink, only to have his gaze drop onto... is that a Bluetooth earbud? He doesn’t even own earbuds—he didn’t have the money for them. Never seemed like a necessity. “Kacchan this isn—”

“Can it, Deku.” The blonde spits venomously. “You dropped that on Monday before you left class like a bat outta hell. Next time you decide to take your shitty deadbeat dad’s call, don’t do it in class, got it, ya Shitty Nerd? Keep your daddy issues to yourself, we don’t need to hear about it.”

And with that, the blonde turns on his heels, takes two steps forwards before dropping into his chair.

“Tch.” Kacchan's glare snaps around the room, barking out his next words with projection so all can hear, “will you stupid fuckin’ Extras mind your own damn business?”

Everyone’s attention jerks away from the two of them.

“That’s... not yours?” Oboro’s chilly breath fans over Izuku’s shoulder as he peers down at the lone earbud still cradled in Izuku’s palm. The green-haired teen’s still blinking down at it too.

His silence must drag on for a second too long because Oboro continues uncertainly, “…right?”

Izuku shakes his head in a silent answer to the statement, hair falling into his eyes at the soft gesture of reply.

“Did... did Bakugou just cover for you?” Oboro’s glance is now burning into the back of Kacchan’s head, eyes narrowed with astonishment. Izuku thinks he’d be looking at Kacchan too if he weren’t busy staring down at the earbud.

He lifts his shoulder in a faint shrug, one that could easily be passed off as a deep inhale.

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Izuku knows for certain this earbud isn’t his—in fact, he’s like ninety-eight percent sure this is Kacchan’s actual personal earbud. It’s a nice brand, and definitely loved. One half of the pair Izuku has seen the explosive teen using all the time.

Plus, if anyone knew Izuku hasn’t talked to his dad in years, it’s Kacchan. Izuku literally hasn’t had any contact with his dad since the man hopped on that flight to the United States. Kacchan had still mostly been his friend at that point—Izuku remembers spending a lot of nights over at Kacchan’s place while his mother sorted herself out.

But Kacchan is really too smart to make this kind of mistake. He knows Izuku too well, even if the years have separated them; despite them growing up as polar opposites in every single way. He’d known Izuku better than anyone at one point. Just like Izuku had known him, and he knows this isn’t some mistake.

The teens hand curls around the earbud, jamming it into the pocket on his backpack. He’ll return it later, when the class isn’t around to watch.

Izuku can’t help but wonder why Kacchan would do this.

Kacchan doesn’t like him.

The last time the two of them had an actual, civil conversation had been days before Izuku had revealed his Quirklessness to his once friend.

Why now?

What had changed?

Why was Kacchan being nice in his own standoffish way?

“That may be... I don’t want to say nice, but almost nice—” Oboro huffs out, arms crossing over his chest as his glare hardens on Kacchan’s slouching form, “but I still think he’s a bastard.”

Izuku lets out a light huff of humor. He can’t argue that.

His thoughts are interrupted by Aizawa-Sensei rolling the door open exactly as the school bell rings, face a twist of exhaustion and annoyance already. “I hope you all enjoyed your day of relaxation yesterday. It won’t happen again; you need to all be conscious of the fact that your fight is far from over.”

There’s a murmur that sweeps over the students as their teacher makes his way to the podium without so much as a glance in their direction. Izuku tenses up—their fight? What fight? What was going on?

“The Yuuei Sports Festival is about to start.”

The morning plays out how it usually does after their teacher springs the Yuuei Sports Festival on them like he was commenting on the weather. Nothing really changes, and he’s thankful for that. Neither Aizawa-Sensei nor Present Mic treat him any differently than before, and Izuku returns the favor.

His classmates don’t question him any further, and no one says anything about Kacchan. Kacchan mutters not another word to Izuku; doesn’t even glance in his direction all morning.

Truthfully, Izuku is still reeling from the fact his childhood friend covered for him.

Izuku had been terrified of how he was going to play that off. He didn’t know what his classmates had heard, but he’d obviously been arguing with someone. As far as they could see, he’d been talking to himself. And that’s concerning to people.

Kacchan had been clever in his ruse—offering up the earbud, easily hidden in one’s ear, as well as using the play that Izuku was on call with his father. Izuku is completely indifferent when it comes to his, as Kacchan had said, deadbeat dad. He didn’t care if his classmates knew his dad was an asshole because he was. Who leaves their kid over something they can’t change?

He still doesn’t know why his childhood friend would go the length for him.

It’s confusing.

Before the teen knows it, lunch time has arrived. Oboro had hung back with Hizashi like usual, and he hadn’t been waiting outside Izuku’s last period before lunch break. Though they spent most lunch periods together, he knew the ghost sometimes had other things to be doing.

When the ghost wasn’t around, Izuku usually fell back onto plans of joining his living friends in the cafeteria—he hadn’t outright said it, but Iida, Tsuyu and Uraraka are always thrilled when he joined them at their lunch table whenever he finds the time.

He really should spend more time with them—but to be fair he’d had a lot on his plate the past couple weeks.

He’s just lingering behind in class now. All his peers had been quick to stand and leave after being dismissed, but Izuku stuck around to ask Midnight-Sensei if he’d missed anything in his absence the day before. He hadn’t, and she shoots him a knowing look that he’s not entirely sure what to do with.

He’d gotten a lot of those from all his teachers except Sensei and Present Mic.

Did they all know? It wouldn’t be too surprising if his teachers had a general understanding of the situation, but that didn’t mean it didn’t fill the teen with a sense of dread.

Maybe he’d ask Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic tonight.

Izuku leaves the classroom with a light frown tugging at his lips, only to freeze when he sees All Might’s bulking form stood there, waiting. All Might holds a bento box pinched between a couple of his fingers, grinning brightly when he catches sight of Izuku’s stalled form.

“A-All Might?” Izuku blinks, “what are... what are you doing here?”

“I am here,” the hero grins, “Young Midoriya, would you care to join me for lunch?”

“Lunch?” the teen repeats. It’s not the first lunch they’d spent together. They’re not consistent in any way. All Might is busy, and between his friends, his ghost and general school work, he doesn’t usually have time to join the Pro Hero. Plus, he doesn’t like to have lunch with All Might when Oboro’s hanging out too. The distaste the ghost has for the Hero is distracting.

“Of course!” The Pro booms energetically as if he’s not starting to steam where he’s standing. The Pro shifts, smiling waning the slightest in exhaustion. “We have much to speak about, my boy!”

We have much to speak about.

Oh no.

Chapter Text

He really should’ve seen this coming.

He’d practically seen the cogs in the detective’s head turning as soon as he’d figured out who Izuku was. Detective Tsukauchi was All Might’s friend. They were close—the man knew of All Might’s time limit. As far as he knew, very few people did. He thinks the man might even know about One for All, which is surprising considering how intent All Might was that no one finds out about the Quirk.

Of course, the detective would tell the Pro Hero that his mentee had shown up at the station with his homeroom teacher, abandoned, after living on the streets for three days between classes, practically an orphan who’d been taken in by said teacher.

That’s not exactly the kind of thing adults would keep a secret, even if Izuku was desperate for it to be.

Still, a shard of betrayal stabs in Izuku’s gut.

Of course, he understands. He knows why he’d done it. Why the Detective had turned around and told All Might; they’re friends— close friends—he'd told his friend because his friend is close with Izuku, but still, it wasn’t the Detective’s to share. It wasn’t All Might’s right to know.

If Izuku wanted to tell All Might, he would’ve.

Rationally, he knows it’s not that much different than Shota telling Hizashi, but at the same time, his teacher had made sure Izuku had most of the say. He remembers the questioning look his teacher had sent Izuku before passing over the note his mother had left to the other teacher.

And they’d been so careful and cautious, making sure Izuku felt safe, offering for him to just talk to Aizawa-Sensei. Giving him a choice. He’d had choices—he was forced into anything. He wasn’t forced to tell anyone. He got to say who was a part of the conversation, and who wasn’t.

And given the option, he hadn’t minded his English teacher sitting in too.

But he’d been given the option to decide.

The detective hadn’t given him any option.

And now the number-one Pro Hero was upset with him.

Izuku follows silently behind All Might, being led first into the teacher’s lounge, and then into one of those sound proof conference rooms. It’s not the one he and Aizawa-Sensei had talked in, but it’s basically the same.

None of the teachers batted an eyelash at Izuku trailing along behind All Might, and thankfully Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic were nowhere to be seen.

All Might’s form fades away with tendrils of steam coming off him when the door closes behind him. Blood seeps from his mouth, but Izuku is pretty used to that now. The Pro doesn’t seem bothered either, just wipes it away before gesturing to the couches without a word.

Izuku sits cautiously, distracting himself with digging around in his backpack.

He’s thankful for the bento lunch Shota had pressed into his hands just before leaving that morning, a quiet explanation that Hizashi had packed dinner leftovers for him to take. The thought made him feel soft inside, and he was excited to dig into the food for a second time. It was so good. It gave LunchRush’s food a run for its money, and that was high praise.

All Might sets his own lunch down on the table, while Izuku balances his own in his lap.

The Pro doesn’t say anything for a moment. A long moment.

It’s different than his conversation with Aizawa-Sensei. All Might isn’t waiting for Izuku to lead the conversation; he’s not handing over sole control of where the conversation goes—he really just doesn’t know how to start it. The differences in teaching, and knowledge of teenagers is blatantly obvious.

Izuku decides, after another lingering second of silence where All Might doesn’t know what to say, to give the man some mercy, not looking up from where he’s tearing bits of kabayaki apart with his chopsticks, “the Detective told you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah...” the Pro finally speaks, voice dry and uncertain. “Yeah, Kid... he did. But I needed to know—”

“He shouldn’t have,” Izuku can’t help but mutter, hardly even away of the fact he’d cut the Number One Hero, All Might, off. He’s too focused on the stabbing feeling of betrayal fluttering in his chest. “And no, you didn’t.”

A small, petty part of him wants to tell Aizawa-Sensei that the detective had told someone else about his situation, but that was a can of worms Izuku would be stupid to open. It would probably do more bad than good.

Izuku’s quiet for a second before he’s glaring up at the Pro; All Might almost shrinks in on himself when he meets Izuku’s gaze, “I told the detective of my situation in confidence, and he told someone else without my knowledge. That’s not allowed. He shouldn’t have done that, even if it was you he was telling.”

“No, ah,” the man shakes his head guiltily, wringing his fingers together in a very un-All Might way. “He probably shouldn’t have. You’re right. I’m sorry, my boy. He just... he knew I was worried about you. We all were—you were... you were different, Kid.”

There’s a pause, a second drags on. Izuku’s trying to formulate a response when All Might breaks the silence tersely, “I did.”

The words were huffed out sharply by the Pro. For a second, Izuku is confused, but then the guilt in All Might’s expression is flickering out, replaced with a sharp sternness. Izuku doesn’t have time to question it though, as the Pro Hero’s mouth curls downward, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes narrow slightly, “I did need to know, my boy—”

“No,” Izuku grits out, overcome by a burst of... anger. He’d never felt this angry at All Might before. The emotion twisted in his stomach like a dagger, it felt wrong being this angry. Being this angry at his idol. “You didn’t. It wasn’t... it wasn’t your concern. It had— it was nothing to do with One for All so— so it had nothing to do with you.”

“It had everything to do with me,” the Pro’s eyebrows furrow, the frown deepening. “I was worried, and you weren’t telling me anything. You were... you were avoiding me. You were getting sloppy in your classes, and I could see how tired you were getting. You peers were worried, and your teachers were worried. Your grades were slipping, my boy.”

The flash of anger fades away to exhaustion. Izuku slumps back slightly in his seat eyes scanning the Pro silently.

All Might drags his fingers through his hair stressfully, gaze settling on Izuku and features pinching in confusion and a bit of offense, “I’m your teacher as much as I am your mentor. I care about you. I could’ve helped you. Why... why didn’t you come to me? Why didn't you tell me—”

For a brief second, Izuku wants to snap a reply of: ‘yeah, well, none of my other teachers who care about me enlisted a lie detector cop to feed them personal details of a situation they have no business being a part of!’

“I didn’t want you to know,” the boy goes with instead, capping the flames of anger down. Getting angry won’t help anyone. Being snappy and riling the Pro up won’t help either. He doesn’t want to fight with All Might. He’s not sure he can handle it.

The teen ducks his gaze, pressing a bite of eel and rice into his mouth.

When he looks up again, he’s surprised to see the shock on All Might’s face. Izuku’s not sure why the look makes his heart drop into his stomach. He’d never really seen something like that on All Might’s face—never so strong. The surprise is strong and present, but under that, hidden in his eyes, is uncertainty, and heartbreak.

“What? Why—” the man’s voice is tight, and he seems to realize it too, because he cuts himself off. He takes a breath, blowing out slowly before trying again, “why not, my boy?”

Why not?

Izuku cocks his head. The answer is obvious.

“Because you’re you.”

And it’s true.

Not only does he not want to burden the Number One Pro Hero with his problems, he’d never do that to begin with. His problems weren’t important. Not enough to seek out All Might’s help.

Plus, All Might is busy.

All Might has the world on his shoulders already. Izuku doesn’t want to add anymore onto his plate—as awful as it is to think, if All Might doesn’t have the time to talk about Quirk stuff, to help him learn this powerful, potentially deadly Quirk, why would he have time to care about Izuku’s homelife?

And again, it’s really not the Pro’s business.

It’s Izuku’s.

Besides, he hadn’t wanted to tell anyone— frankly, if Oboro hadn’t lured his homeroom teacher in with ghost voodoo or whatever he’d done, Izuku would probably still be sleeping on the streets, struggling to survive.

His eyebrow arches as All Might chokes on blood at the admission, some spurting out into his hands. He barely manages to catch the mess of red, eyes staring at Izuku is a surprised, uncertain type of way. The teen fiddles with his chopsticks, frowning with himself as he continues softly, “you’re you, All Might. Why would I... I had it handled. I didn’t want anyone to know. I was doing fine, I—”

“You were living on the streets,” the man reminds breathily after composing himself. His voice remains low and careful, but there’s an edge to it that Izuku wants to duck away from. All Might’s eyes track Izuku’s own clumsy chopstick movements as he fists at his chin and the corners of his mouth, most of the blood wiping away. “Your mother left, my boy. That’s- that’s—”

“That sucks,” Izuku fills in softly, indifferently, despite the pit of guilt and sadness in his own stomach as he pushes rice around his bento container. “I know. But it’s... it’s not the end of the world. I barely even noticed—she's been distant for weeks; months even.”

“Months?” The stuttered way the man breathes the word out had Izuku looking up, eyebrows knitting in confusion. All the fight, the flaring hostility that had clouded the Pro’s gaze, fades away to a deep look of despair. The Pro looks deep in thought, and if by the way his features twist before melting into worry, it’s not nice thoughts.

Izuku doesn’t try to speak again, not when the Pro looks so wrecked by something.

“My boy...” Toshinori asks slowly, carefully. He draws the word out uncertainly, like he’s afraid to continue or... or afraid of an answer. “Did your mother leave because of One for All?”

He’s really not expecting that. He doesn’t know where the Pro got that idea from.

His mother doesn’t even know about One for All. Not as far as Izuku knows at least. She’d never asked, and he hadn’t seen her to tell her he’d magically manifested a Quirk on the day he’d competed in the Entrance Exam. As far as she knows, from what he knows at least, he’d gotten into Yuuei completely Quirkless, because that’s what he’d always been. Quirkless.

He’s not even sure she would’ve stayed if he had manifested a Quirk earlier. It wasn’t the Quirklessness that drove her away, not like it had his father. It was Izuku who’d chased his own mother away. His gift of seeing ghost—the fear of her child being different. Being weird.

Ironically, it was the Quirk he’d had all along; that no one had known he had because his body wasn’t biologically equipped to handle any Quirks (according to Izuku’s pediatrician, who quite possibly could’ve been a Quack like Oboro had huffed weeks prior), that had chased away the ones who were supposed to love him unconditionally.

Who would’ve thought his unique gift that he’d had since he was born was the Quirk his parents had desperately wished he’d manifest.

Izuku opens his mouth after a long second, thinks about what to say, comes up short and closes his mouth again. He does it a second time before clearing his throat and swallowing to calm his nerves, “why... why would you think that?”

The Pro blinks at him, shifts where he’s sitting before leaning back against the backrest of the couch in exhaustion, “Naomasa said... you lied about why your mother left. He didn’t press it because Aizawa was there as well. I know Aizawa doesn’t... that he’s unaware of this; me mentoring you, and about One for All. Naomasa mentioned Aizawa was... concerned that we were together after the USJ incident. He assumed you lied because you didn’t want Aizawa to know.”

All Might thought his mother left because he got One for All.

And honestly, that’s a perfect excuse. ‘Yeah,’ he could say solemnly, ‘it was too much for her. All the power I suddenly had, having to watch me get hurt all the time. I guess it... I guess it drove her away.’

It would be so easy. All Might had just hand fed him the answer to his problems. He’d given him an out. Made up an excuse for him. It would be easy.

But he can’t.

He can hardly bear the look the Pro hero is trying to keep neutral. The deep-seated guilt clouding his eyes at the thought that something he handed over had unintentionally orphaned a young boy.

He loved All Might. He adored the man; looked up to him, and had for the majority of his life.

He couldn’t put that on him, because it just wasn’t true. He refused, even if it was the easy way out.

“No,” Izuku shakes his head lightly, picking at his food now. He’s not sure how to continue—he doesn’t want to tell anyone. It was still weird. It was still the reason his mother had left, why he’d always been made fun of. His natural Quirk was a secret for a reason, and if he couldn’t keep his own secret, what hope did he have keeping One for All a secret? “It wasn’t... no. She didn’t even know about One for All, it’s... well. I’m sorry, I just... I don’t want too—”

“You... you don’t have to tell me why she left then,” the Pro comes to his rescue, voice small. He looks like he really wants to know— wants an answer— but Izuku choses to focus on his words instead of his pleading face. “My boy, I know this is... a personal matter. I see that now... And I see now that just because I was worried for you, it gave me no right to act on it as I did. As Naomasa did. What we did... it was unprofessional and wrong.”

There’s a pause, but Izuku doesn’t look up from his food. He’d more or less just mixed pieces of crumbled up eel into the rice at this point instead of eating it, but he’s not even really hungry right now.

Stressed.

He was stressed.

This was stressful.

The hero draws in a slow breath before continuing. "This wasn’t the right way to go about my worry for you as my student both within Yuuei, as well as regarding One for All. This was wrong; I was wrong. Naomasa telling me something so personal about you without your consent was wrong... it was an abuse of my power as the Number One Hero, and an abuse of my friendship with the Detective, as well as an abuse of Naomasa’s position. And for that, I apologize.”

Izuku’s gaze slowly crawls up from the bento in his lap to the Pro Hero. All Might’s head is bowed forwards, tone genuinely apologetic and guilty. He really doesn’t like All Might’s tone dropping like this—especially not for him, but he can’t lie and say it isn’t nice to get an apology.

It was wrong. It was probably against some laws too that the detective had told All Might something so personal about a minor’s personal situation. He was supposed to be able to trust the police, but he didn’t know if he could. It was wrong; what they’d done.

He gets it. The worry All Might must’ve been battling. Izuku knows he’d been withdrawn, but he’d had a lot on his plate. It wasn’t just All Might he’d pushed away, it was everyone. Still, he really had abused his status as Izuku’s mentor, as well as the Detective abusing his position within the force.

‘It’s okay.’ Izuku wants to tell the Pro. He wants this to be over. He wants to brush this under the rug—be done with it. He wants so badly for this to all just... go away.

But... it’s not. It wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay.

“It’s not okay,” the teen breaths out without lifting his eyes from his chopsticks. “I’m upset, and I feel like you went behind my back. You... you had no right to do that—if I wanted you to know I-I would’ve told you. And... what happened at the police station was private, that Detective had n-no right to tell you, friends or not. I’m... I’m angry, All Might. I’m mad at you.”

“As you should be,” the Pro winces. His hands interlock together, falling into his lap like a scolded school boy awaiting punishment outside the principal’s office. “I truly am sorry, Kid. We were wrong. I was wrong. I broke your trust in me and... and Naomasa did as well. That’s unforgivable.”

The deeply apologetic tone stirs up feelings in Izuku’s stomach. If he wasn’t not hungry before, he certainly wasn’t now. Deciding to stop playing with his food, the teen silently closes the bento container, sucking the ends of his chopsticks to clean the rice clinging to them before shoving both back into his backpack.

He doesn’t say anything else for a long second, and neither does All Might.

“It’s not broken,” the teen mutters after a deep, exhausted sigh. He’s drained. He’s just so done with everything being about him—about everyone snooping in his business. The boy drops his gaze down to his backpack clutched in his hands, “just... bent. I trust you; I just hate what you did. It wasn’t cool.”

He’s not sure anything All Might could do would completely shatter his trust in the Pro Hero. He’d looked up to him for too long. He’d adored the man for too long. All Might did so much good—maybe he wasn’t good at this, but he was good.

“As do I,” the man shakes his head, “I wasn’t thinking, young Midoriya. I was... I forgot my place in your life—you don’t rely on me like I relied on my mentors. It won’t happen again; that I assure you. I just... I want to be someone you can come to when you need help. I don’t want to going through this alone. I never... I was never alone with One for All. I always had a mentor around, and friends who stuck close. It pains me to know you were alone on the street for three nights.”

“I wasn’t alone; I... I had Sensei,” the boy whispers out, only after he’d said it realizing how rude it sounds to the man attempting to be that someone for him. It was true, but it did come off as rude. “He found me by some... some stroke of luck and he... and he helped me. He’s the only reason that I went to the police. I owe him a lot.”

That didn’t help much.

He opens his mouth to apologize, only to freeze when All Might lets out a low laugh. It’s not happy, or humorous, but it's also not a sad laugh. It falls somewhere between defeated and appreciative.

Izuku’s eyes shoot up to meet All Might’s at the sound of the breathy laughter, but the Pro Hero’s gaze is locked down on his untouched bento box.

“I suppose so,” All Might’s soft laugh slows, but the small smile on his face doesn’t waver, “Aizawa’s a good one to have in your corner. I’m glad you weren’t alone, Kid. Even if you don’t put your faith in me... put it into someone, alright? The world’s a lonely place when you do everything alone.”

Izuku hadn’t cried the whole time.

He’d been close at times—talking about his mom, seeing the Pro Hero succumb to guilt that wasn’t entirely warranted. He’d wanted to cry through his anger and the flurry of betrayal, but he hadn’t.

The words hit something deep in Izuku though. He’d noticed. He’d been miserable by himself, terrified. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if Oboro hadn’t led his teacher to him. Where would he be now, just a couple days later had Oboro not forced Izuku to take action?

The tears slip down his face before he even knows they’re welling. He doesn’t quite hear the Pro force out a breath, nor hear the man stand and round the coffee table.

“I’m sorry, my boy,” the Hero whispers, “I didn’t mean too—”

Izuku jolts up to wrap around the Pro, pressing his cheek against All Might’s chest. For half a second the Pro doesn’t move, and then he’s returning the embrace just as feircly.

It’s not the first time Izuku had hugged All Might, and man, was that not a thought that would’ve made five-year-old Izuku pass out in excitement. All Might, despite the skinny frame, was a very good hugger. He wrapped tightly around Izuku, one arm pressing against his back, while the other knotted through his hair, cradling his head.

Izuku made sure not to squeeze too hard around where All Might had been wounded all those years ago, but he did melt into the touch. Hugs were scarce in his life—especially hugs from adults.

He manages to contain the sobs threatening to bubble up, sniffling into the man’s pooling suit jacket and button-up shirt. All Might is silent above him, but his grip doesn’t waver until Izuku starts to pull back.

“Thank you,” the teenager bows his head slightly, “for being worried and thinking about me. I’m okay. I appreciate everything you’ve done, and that you’re doing for me.”

All Might’s voice comes out misty, even after clearing his throat. The Pro drops down to sit on the edge of the coffee table, one hand settling on Izuku’s knee as his eyes shine with determination, “anytime, my boy. You remember that.”

Izuku nods quickly, reaching up to palm away the lingering tears in his eyes and clinging to his own cheeks. He hopes he doesn’t look like he’d been crying—class was about to start again soon.

“You should—” the man clears his throat again, an emotional undertone still clinging despite his efforts, “you should probably head out soon. Your next lessons are about to start and we both now Aizawa doesn’t stand for tardiness.”

“Yeah,” Izuku sniffles, shooting the Pro a tiny, honest smile. He wipes at his eyes one more time for good measure, wincing at the irritation that he was sure was bright red now from both crying and roughly trying to dry his tears.

He’s still upset, rightfully so, but he feels better about the situation. The apology had helped, and even though it had taken All Might a little while to realize what he’d done was unsavory, he had come to the right conclusion in the end, and that’s what really matters. Izuku wholeheartedly believes the Pro will keep his word when it comes to not overstepping.

Izuku stands, pulls his backpack on as he ducks his head in a nod before moving towards the door. All Might is on his heels, carrying his own untouched lunch.

The teen pulls the door open, takes exactly one step out where he freezes.

The teacher’s lounge is empty—well, besides one person. Said one person’s eyes drift over at the opening if the door from where they’re sitting at their desk.

“H-hi, Mic-Sensei...” Izuku breathes out with a crooked smile.

Oof, busted.

Even behind Present Mic’s tinted glasses, he can see the man’s eyes widen a fraction in surprise, body jolting up in concern. He must look a lot more like he’d been crying than he thought he did. Or, maybe his face was just all red—a mixture of strong emotions and the fact he’d cried. The voice-hero's eyebrows knit together as he moves to stand, a question on his lips that dies out unexpectedly.

Mic’s eyes swiftly trail up Izuku and land over his shoulder. Izuku can feel the Number One Hero there, and the boy is sure he winces, not that either teacher is looking at him to notice. It’s not exactly a secret that he and All Might are kinda close—but they’d never really been caught sneaking around—well, not that they were really sneaking around just—

“Ah, Yamada!” All Might greets, slipping out past Izuku. He’d forgotten for a second that All Might was in his weakened form and could squeeze through. “Good afternoon.”

“All Might,” Present Mic greets in reply, scanning the man with a frown before his gaze shifts back over to Izuku. The teen pretends the way his teacher’s expression softens doesn’t make him feel soft and content, instead scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor and stepping more into the room. “Listener, what’s up? You... okay?”

“Oh, uh,” Izuku swallows, “yes, I’m f-fine, and uhm, n-nothing we, uhm, we just... were...”

“Young Midoriya and I were talking about some extra credit to boost his grade.” All Might fills in with a cheerful smile, strutting to his desk where he deposits the bento. “They slipped a little recently, and we all know that just won’t do in this course. We’ve figured it all out, right, my boy?”

“Y-yep!” Izuku yelps, internally wincing. Even he knew that wasn’t convincing. He shakes his head to himself before looking back up at his English teacher. “It’s all sorted out now. I’m feeling... better.”

Present Mic eyes him, frown deepening before he glances over at where All Might is shifting. His gaze returns to Izuku, the confusion knitting his eyebrows together deepening, “you’ve been crying, Listener...”

“Yeah, a bit.” Izuku gives a watery laugh, wiping his eyes once again. It’s not like he can deny it—Present Mic had seen him crying before. “I’m alright though. I was just... nervous? I really don’t like my grades being so low...”

“Uh-huh,” the voice-hero gives a slow, not entirely believing nod. “Sure... Of course. Glad you’re getting some help, Kiddo.”

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest that this is going to get back to Aizawa. Actually, he knows this is going to make its way to his homeroom teacher— Sensei and Mic are married. Even if Mic doesn’t tell Aizawa at school, he’ll probably tell him at home. They don’t seem the type to keep secrets from each other.

Izuku’s kind of dreading Aizawa-Sensei finding out about the One for All meetings he has with the Number One Pro Hero. He’s sure the man already has his suspicions, but this? This’ll only add fuel to the fire. All Might and Izuku coming out of a private meeting, where Izuku had been crying. Yikes. That doesn’t look good for the Number One Hero; especially considering he’s already not Aizawa-Sensei's favorite person.

“W-well,” Izuku clears his throat awkwardly. His teachers seem to be having a conversation with their eyes. All Might is going to be taking some heat definitely, but Izuku definitely doesn’t want to hang around and watch. “Class will be, y’know, starting soon so... I uhm,” he gestures to the door at his side.

“Right,” Present Mic nods, dragging his attention from All Might and onto Izuku. He gives him a light smile, but something in his eyes tells Izuku that this probably isn’t over with him either. Double yikes. “You have a good rest of your day, Kiddo, ya’dig?”

“You too!” the teen blurts, hand pressed against the door. His fingers tense to push the door open, and he’s using every ounce of his self-control not to activate One for All in an antsy attempt to get out, “uhm, you as well, All Might-Sensei!”

He doesn’t wait around for a response, slipping out the door quickly.

“What were you doing talking extra credit without Aizawa?” Izuku hears Present Mic ask as the door shuts behind him. His voice is probably the hardest Izuku’s ever heard.

“I was simply offering the boy some help. I was unaware I needed to run that past Aizawa—”

“He was crying.” Mic’s tone was as sharp as a dagger, silencing the Number One Pro with ease. “What the hell did you say to him to—”

The door shuts, cutting the conversation off from his ears.

Probably for the best.

Oboro was right, Present Mic was someone you did not want to get on their bad side. And Izuku thought Aizawa-Sensei could be scary. Yeesh.

The next few days are hectic at best. School doesn’t really change, despite the heavy gravity that the Sports Festival is just around the corner. Izuku’s seen the way his peers are pushing themself to get just that little bit better before being shoved under a spotlight with spectators watching and observing like they’re a group of show ponies.

Everyone wants to be the best, and that shows in the effort they’re putting in when it comes to training.

This, the festival, has the potential to open so many doors for them; so, they all know they need to be good. There will definitely be scouts—and though they’re there mostly for the second and third-year students, it’s the first real chance the first years have at getting their Quirks noticed and scouted too.

Izuku is no different than the rest of his classmates, using everything he’d learned thus far— between his Hero Course classes, and those few personal Quirk training sessions with Sensei they’d managed to have— to his full advantage. He’s still got miles to go, but he’s sure he can get himself noticed. He’s excited for the festival, just as much as he is terrified. But it’s a good terrified, he thinks.

Izuku wishes he’d had more time to practice using One for All, but his time had been spread fairly thin. As much as he’d love for the upcoming Sports Festival to be the only thing on his mind, his new homelife, the one with his teachers, has been busy.

Wednesday after school, they’d gone shopping; just like Shota had promised the night prior.

Izuku had thought they were just going to get toiletries—his own shampoo and deodorant. That’s all he’d planned to buy anyways. It was all he’d ever really needed and spent the money on. Plus, he was sure he could afford it with what little money he had left over from his shifts at the café.

That was not what happened.

Hizashi was the one to announce with an excited grin that they were heading to the mall when he saw Izuku at the end of the day. The teen had dutifully followed behind his homeroom Sensei to the door the lead to the secret underground parking garage, which was where the voice-hero was waiting.

Shota had frowned heavily at the news, scanning his ID card to grant them access with a sigh. Izuku’s lips tugged into an uncertain frown at his teacher’s reaction, mouth opening to tell them he didn’t need to go shopping, but Hizashi was quick to correct him.

“He hates shopping,” the blonde had muttered solemnly, patting Izuku’s shoulder as if sensing his unease. “To people-y for him, so don’t mind his grumpy-pants attitude, Listener.”

“Grumpy-pants?” Shota had scoffed, “clever, ‘zashi. I’m so offended.”

“Shush,” the blonde pouts as the three of the got into the car.

Oboro, who Izuku had wondered where he was, was already reclined back in the backseat of the car, eyes shut but they flickered open when Izuku settled beside him. “Ha, you’re in the backseat too. Share the pain, my friend.”

“Me shush?” Shota huffed with a roll of his eyes, “you’re the one calling me names.”

“You know I only do it outta love,” Hizashi sighed happily, grinning to the right where Shota was settling into the passenger’s seat, “my darling.”

“Gross,” Shota scoffed once more, though his cheeks tinted slightly with colour and he’s turning his head to the side to stare out the window.

“Gross,” Oboro echoed, a mixture of exasperation, fondness and actual half-hearted disgust in his expression. Izuku almost wants to laugh at the way the ghost’s face has pinched up like the affection had physically offended him. When the ghost continues, his voice is filled with fondness, curled in a teasing way, “I’m sorry you have to hear this, Izu. I wish I didn’t have to hear this.”

Izuku doesn’t say anything but he does let a light smile grace his lips. He doesn’t think it’s gross—weird, a bit—but not gross. It’s actually almost... cute. In a weird, these are my teachers kinda way.

He feels special that this is a side of them that he gets to see—that they don’t mind showing him. These people aren’t Present Mic and Aizawa-Sensei, despite the costumes they’re still wearing. These two are his two new foster parents, Shota and Hizashi. They don’t change much varying from school and homelife, but there are little things—like the affection.

“Heyyyy! Don’t call my love gross!” Hizashi huffed playfully. “You’re so mean, Sho. And in front of our sweet, innocent little Listener too. The nerve.”

Izuku actually laughs at that, ducking his head. He thinks he feels both his teachers glance back at him, but he doesn’t dare look up from where his curls have curtained his eyes. He’s sure they can see his smile though. Shota huffs tiredly, and Hizashi returns a light laugh, hand snaking over to pat Shota’s knee.

They stop by the apartment to change out of their uniforms—Hizashi rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck while he explains that people tend to flock when known Pros make appearances in their costumes. Thankfully, he’s hardly recognizable out of costume with his hair down and regular framed glasses, and Shota is... well, never recognized to begin with.

Izuku hadn’t even been able to place him until seeing him use his Quirk that first day, and none of his peers had connected the dots until after Izuku had muttered their teacher’s Hero name, and even then, some of them didn’t know who Eraserhead was.

Shota doesn’t appear thrilled to be going shopping even when he’s dressed in black jeans and a matching black shirt, flopped on the couch with Nemo curled up on the small of his back, but he shoots Hizashi an annoyed, offended look when the blonde-haired man offers for him to stay home and sleep while they go.

Which is how Izuku finds himself tucked under Hizashi’s arm as he leads the teen along in the mall, with Shota trailing a step or so behind them, shoulders slumped and hands buried in his pockets.

“Where do you like to shop, Kiddo?” Hizashi had asked, glancing down at Izuku.

Izuku’s not sure how to say ‘the cheapest place I can find’ without sounding pathetic, so he shrugs his shoulders. Izuku remains silent at his teachers bicker about where to shop—Hizashi wants to visit expensive shops where he buys his own product, while Shota demands they not go somewhere too expensive.

Shota wins in the end, when Hizashi glances down at the tense teenager tucked under his arm, clearly spotting the guilty fear on his face. He relents without fight after that.

Izuku is jarred, blatantly so, at everything that’s added to their shopping cart for him when they arrive at a department store where the prices aren’t horrific, but still not cheap quality. A good middle ground.

He’d been expecting to grab a bottle of nice smelling shampoo, and a new deodorant because his is getting to the end between all the physical activity he’s been doing between classes and his own training schedule.

That’s not what happens.

They’d started at the toiletries—but it wasn’t just soap and other necessities. One by one, his teachers directed him to pick something that he likes and it’s added to the cart without a word. He smells handfuls of shampoos, and conditioners, and body washes and deodorants.

He’d actually started to get a headache from the contradicting scents.

He gets a new toothbrush, and dental floss and frankly the most expensive toothpaste he’d ever gotten in his life. Hizashi had selected that for him and tossed it in the cart before he could mutter a word.

He thinks they’re done after that—but instead of heading towards the checkout lanes, Hizashi turns the cart towards home goods section.

“Bedsheets,” Hizashi had huffed when Izuku blinked in confusion, “the guest room needs new bedsheets.”

But it’s not just bed sheets.

It’s a couple new pillows, and a comforter set that Izuku hesitantly picks out. Three different pairs of bedsheets and pillow cases, along with a plush black and white stuffed cat Shota glares fondly at before tossing into the cart without a word. His only excuse when Hizashi cocks his head in entertained confusion is: ‘Looks like Blanket.’ which he mutters with a shrug of his shoulders before his hands are replaced in his pockets.

It does look like Blanket, but that’s not the point.

Izuku feels bad they’re spending all this money. It’s a lot. He doesn’t even want to know what the total is going to be. He knows that blankets and bed stuff and even toiletries are expensive. And when he tried to voice this, softly, but making sure they knew he was grateful for the effort, Hizashi had frowned thoughtfully, “we’re just sprucing up the guest room, Kiddo! You’re just the lucky first one to use it, ya’dig?”

And that’s totally a lie if Izuku’s ever heard one.

If that was true, Izuku would not be getting as much say in colours, and textures and just general likes and dislikes when it came to everything in the cart. Like how he’d reached out to feel the texture of a fuzzy blanket— unaware of the light smile on his face because it was so soft— only for Shota to toss it into the cart when Izuku stepped away from it.

And once again, just when he thinks they’re done, Shota, now manning the cart, starts in the direction of the clothing section.

“Really,” the teen tries in vain to deter them, “I don’t need anything. I... I have clothes. Please don’t waste your money.”

“Izuku,” Hizashi hesitates, clearly torn, “it’s definitely not a waste. You only have a backpack worth of clothes. It’s no big deal, I promise. We want to buy you some clothes. You should be comfortable. We want you to be comfortable.”

“Problem Child,” Shota sighs when Izuku bites hard enough at his bottom lip that the skin burns in threat if splitting open. “We’re supposed to be taking care of you. What do you think your social worker is going to say when she comes around for that home visit and sees that you own only two pairs of your own, non-school related, clothes?”

A breath of anxious air rushes out of his lungs, and he stutters through a shaky inhale at the thought.

She was a nice enough lady, but her rules and requests held no room for error or complaint. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that she won’t hesitate to tear him away from this, his teachers, if she deems them unfit. He doesn’t even think any pleading on his part would make a difference.

Izuku wants to stay with his teachers—they were familiar and kind, and honestly, it was most rational place for Izuku to be.

His teacher gives him a considering look before it slowly melts into an out-of-place soft expression, stepping close and carefully tucking Izuku into his side. It’s the first time his homeroom teacher had ever really embraced him in any way. He’d gotten light touches, and head pats over the last couple days of being under his teacher’s guardianship, but this was different.

Izuku melts into the half embrace before he even registers there’s an arm around him. It’s different than hugging All Might. It’s even different than when Hizashi had slung an arm over Izuku’s shoulder earlier. He’s not sure why it’s different, but it is.

“I know this is a lot, Kid, I get it.” Shota’s voice is barely a whisper, arching forward a little to be closer to Izuku’s level without pulling away. His voice comes out so soft that Izuku’s sure only he can hear it. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his teeth to release his lip when Shota gives him a light squeeze. “But trust me when I say we want to do this. We want you to have clothes, and your own bedding and possessions. You’re staying with us; hopefully for a long time. We want you to be content, and happy, and taken care of. We want to take care of you.”

“It’s so much,” Izuku whispers, finally blinking his eyes open. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t just—”

“No, don’t be sorry.” Shota shakes his head, “we’re almost done, I promise. Pick out two pairs of pajamas, three shirts, two pairs of pants and a sweatshirt. Then we’re done.”

Intent to let Izuku pick his new clothes on his own, the dark-haired man lets the teen out of his hold, but doesn’t move away yet. Izuku doesn’t make any move to step away either, just worries his bottom lip between his teeth again.

He wishes Oboro hadn’t opted to stay home with Izuku’s laptop playing an old hero movie he’d found on a streaming site at the ghost’s request. “Shopping is boring when I can’t touch anything,” the ghost had groaned in an attempt to guilt Izuku into letting him borrow his laptop, “and you never talk to me when other people are around— especially Sho and ‘zashi.”

And the guilt trip had worked.

He’d lingered for probably far too long in the guest room making sure Oboro was content. His laptop’s volume loud, but just low enough that no one would hear it outside the room. He’d left a giddy ghost on his bed with the beginning credit to a movie Izuku hadn’t even heard of playing.

He’d shut the door quickly after himself, letting out a silent breath of relief when the hallway remained silent despite the movie playing. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was letting a film play while he wasn’t even in the room—not even home.

“That’s so much,” Izuku breaths out again, shooting his teacher a betrayed glance.

“That’s hardly enough.” Hizashi counters, gaze shooting to Izuku like he wants to wrap the teen up in a blanket and buy the whole clothing department for him.

“That’s a logical compromise,” Shota huffs out, as if he’d predicted both their reactions. “Hizashi, leave the kid alone, and Problem Child, Hizashi wanted to buy you a full new wardrobe, so for the love of God, take the win.”

Shota’s hands are tucked in his pockets, stance slack as if he’s not acting as a mediator. He’s not annoyed per se, but Izuku thinks his patience is starting to run thin. Hizashi spins to glare softly at his husband, mouth opening to spurn the decision, eyebrows furrowed in discontentment.

Shota beat him to it though, turning sharply to the side, “I love you, but think about this from his point of view. I know you just want to spoil him rotten, but that’s not what he wants. And... as much as I hate to veto you, I am the official guardian, ‘zashi,” Shota’s gaze locks on Hizashi, lips pursed in understanding, “and you,” he shoots Izuku a pointed look just a second after Hizashi’s shoulders slump, “it’s our money, and we get to choose how we want to spend it; and it’s on you. So, pick what you want or we’re picking for you and then I really won’t be able to stop him.”

That feels like... a threat.

Not a serious one, of course, they’re talking about clothes and spending money. Frankly, most people would be happy in Izuku’s position, so it really isn’t a threat, but he really doesn’t want to walk out of here with a full new wardrobe. That’s far too much.

The teen shoots one last pitiful look at his homeroom teacher, but he stays strong, prompting Izuku on with nothing but a nod of his head in the direction of the racks of clothes.

So, the teen blinks with a sigh, trying to ignore the swirling guilt that he’s somehow using their kindness, and taking advantage of them, even though they literally aren’t letting him weasel his way out of it, and browses the clothing department.

He does as asked.

Picks out the required amount of clothes.

He’s conscious of prices, but everything is roughly the same amount when it comes to each item. Finally, he makes his way back to the cart where the two adults are talking in hushed voices; Shota leaning against the cart’s handle while Hizashi stands at the end with a defeated look and his arms loosely crossed over his chest. It’s not tense, just... sullen.

“Sorry, Listener,” Hizashi offers gently when Izuku comes back. His arms drop to his sides almost like he’d suddenly deflated. “I was being overbearing, huh? I just hate that you’re in the position you are, and your landlord hasn’t gotten back to me about your stuff, and I hate that you don’t much and—”

“It’s okay,” Izuku smiles, nudging his shoulder against the Pro’s arm is a bold gesture before he can second guess himself. He ducks his head, completely missing the surprised adoration on the Hero’s face. Izuku means the words this time; not like when he’d thought about saying the same thing to All Might earlier. “I just don’t want you wasting so much money on me.”

“That’s never a waste, Listener,” Hizashi promises, catching the teen in a hug that Izuku can’t help but return, pushing in closer, “never.”

“He’s right,” Shota huffs, eyeing Izuku’s clothing selection. He seems satisfied with the clothes, bowing his head lightly in a nod before speaking, “and now, as promised, we’re done. Let’s go. I’m tired of being here, and I’m hungry.”

They’re in the check-out lane surprisingly quickly. His homeroom teacher must be in a hurry to leave. The three of them are putting items on the conveyer belt to be scanned, but Izuku can’t help but watch the price go up as everything is scanned through. He feels sick. He already sees a credit card in Shota’s hand, waiting to be used. Hizashi is still unloading the cart, but Izuku is to overcome with dread to help.

“I can help pay,” Izuku blurts quietly, desperately, and though it doesn’t make this feel right in the slightest, all this money being spent on him, it’ll definitely clear his conscious a little.

“Sure,” Shota nods easily without a glance in Izuku’s direction. “How much you got?”

“Wha— Sho!” Hizashi gasps, appalled. “No! He will not—”

“Around 5000¥,” Izuku offers slowly, pulling the bills out of his pocket and holding them out to Shota, who takes them without looking over at Hizashi’s gawking face.

It’s really not much—considering how high the number is climbing, but it’s most of his money that he’d had saved. There’s still a couple hundred yen tucked away in his school bag for emergencies, but that had been the bulk of it. It’s weight off his chest to contribute though, even if it causes Hizashi’s face to twist in disbelief.

“He doesn’t need to—”

“Hizashi,” Shota’s voice comes out low yet soft, almost like a warning. Izuku almost feels a little bad about how the blond-haired man physically wilts in defeat at Shota’s tone, pouting as he seems to accept the exchange without further protest, even if he looks like he wants too. Still, Shota continues softly as he tucks the money into his own pocket. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” the blonde man frowns, gaze flitting over to Izuku. He’s not sure what the Hero sees in his expression, but whatever it is makes Hizashi’s expression soften, “okay.”

Thankfully they don’t do much after shopping other than eat, but that’s not where the hecticness ends.

Thursday has Izuku staying after school with Shota for a visit to Recovery Girl. He’d honestly been dreading this part—and he’d known it was coming.

Still, it was one of the requirements his social worker had given, and honestly, he’s glad this physical is happening with Recovery Girl instead of some random pediatrician somewhere. He follows instructions as prompted, strips off his shirt for her to assess his old injuries.

She asks about his history as she checks his vitals.

He’s weighed and measured, and he feels like he’s four years old again.

She does a heart exam, a lung exam, a head and neck exam. She does some simple neurological tests, and does a quick extremities exam—looking at his extra jointed pinky toes, and checking his wisdom teeth and appendix—the parts of him that scream: Quirkless.

It’s a good thing Recovery Girl is already in the loop of One for All and knows he was Quirkless, or this could’ve been a very awkward examination.

Recovery Girl explains everything she does, and it helps to put him at ease.

Before he really knows it, Shota is back in the room with them, slumped patiently in the chair beside where Izuku is sitting. The teen is perched on the edge of one of the beds, and had been for the majority of the exam. The infirmary didn’t have an actual exam table, so it was the best she could do.

“Underweight,” Recovery Girl tuts out without Aizawa-Sensei even asking. “He’s malnourished. Three meals a day, young man. Aizawa, you and Yamada need to make sure he’s eating balanced meals. His Quirk burns through calories incredibly fast. You need some meat on your bones with those muscles, you hear?”

Izuku nods meekly. Shota looks thoughtful where he’s sitting, but he doesn’t say anything, just keeps his focus on Recovery Girl.

“And the poor thing’s scarred beyond belief. You’re lucky I know you’re a Hero Course student who regularly breaks his bones or I’d need to report these healed wounds on suspicion of abuse. You need to get a handle on your Quirk, Dearie. Your body won’t be able to handle these injuries reoccurring forever. At some point, my Quirk won’t help anymore and you’ll be left with permanent damage.”

Izuku is yet to put his shirt back on, so when his teacher’s gaze flicks back to see for himself, all Izuku can do it tuck in on himself. The wounds range from small, old scrapes that scarred over, to big, palm sized burns and other marks.

A lot of his wounds are from his newfound Quirk, but a lot of them are also from his childhood—growing up with Kacchan and his gang of bullies.

“We’re working on that,” Shota tells her easily, shooting Izuku a glance. “Anything else?”

“Everything else looked fairly normal,” the woman huffs softly. “His temperature is a little below average, which isn’t really cause for concern. It might affect his circulation though; let me know if you start experiencing weakness in your muscles, regular ‘pins and needles’ sensations on your skin, numbness or chest pains.”

“And you,” she turns to his teacher after he gives another slow, understanding nod, “you and Yamada watch for a pale complexion on him, or heaven forbid, a blue tint to his skin. Contact me, got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Shota ducks his head in a respectful nod. “We’ll keep an eye on that.”

“I’m just regularly cold,” Izuku tells her softly. “I always have been.”

He thinks it has to do with ghosts and how cold they are. He knows he always gets colder when Oboro is around, and it’s always freezing when he makes contact with the ghost, or he stands to close.

“Still,” the nurse shakes her head, “be mindful of it. Both of you.”

She’s quiet for a second, leaning back in her roller chair, “any questions for me?”

“Actually,” Shota speaks up before Izuku can shake his head in answer. His eyes shoot towards his teacher, but the man is looking at the nurse. She prompts him on with an acknowledging hum, “I was going to bring this up to his mother before shit hit the fan, but is it possible the kid could have some sort of... developmental disability? ADHD, maybe?”

Izuku’s sure his own jaw drops open, blinking a couple times at his teacher. A disability? A disability they'd noticed? Why?

“What have you noticed?”

“Lack of attention,” the man huffs blandly, and Izuku freezes. “He gets carried away with his thought in class and he’ll space out for a good number of minutes before coming back around. Gets lost in his own tangents. He mutters to himself sometimes too. Yamada and I have both noticed it— there’s nothing wrong with it, so please, Midoriya, don’t give me that look. You’re fine. We were just curious if there was something we could be doing to help with his focus.”

Izuku hadn’t even realized his expression had been dropping into something of... he’s not even sure. He makes sure to press his mouth into a straight line and stare ahead though. They thought he had a learning disability-- or, how had his teacher put it? A developmental disability? And they were going to tell his mom about it too. He’s not sure what to think about that.

He supposes he’s glad they’re looking out for him—that they’re making excuses for him. He does space out a lot, but at the same time, he’s a little... embarrassed? He’d been caught, many times apparently, if it was a concern at this point.

“It could be,” the nurse hums out thoughtfully in agreement. “Among other diagnoses. We can set up additional testing, but that’s for another day. He’s been through enough today—take the poor thing home for the night. He’s got a big day tomorrow, and hopefully I won’t be seeing him.”

“I’ll try to not get hurt at the festival,” Izuku finds himself saying, a tiny smile lifting to his face. “No promises though.”

“He sounds like you,” the nurse huffs a laugh, slapping Shota on the knee. The man blinks with a frown, glancing over at the teen. “I remember you saying the exact same thing to me years and years ago. No promises though. If I remember correctly, it was only a couple days later that you came in with that dislocated shoulder—caused by that silly capture scarf thing you were so enthralled by.”

“I mastered that scarf,” the man scoffs, though his cheeks have darkened with colour.

Izuku nods hurried in agreement, because Shota with his scarf was frickin’ cool. He was amazing when it came to using the capture weapon.

“Yes, of course, Dear,” the woman huffs, patting his knee like you would a child who’d been discouraged. “Now you have, sure. But back then I swear I saw you every week. Poor Yamada having to drag you in when you’d fall from the ceiling, or when you broke your bones—and of course there was more than just the one dislocation.”

She gives a laugh like she’s remembering something fond instead of a student making weekly nurses visits for seeming bad injuries. She cracks a smile before cocking her head in Izuku’s direction, soft patting his knee as well, “don’t take after him, Dearie.”

Izuku looks over at his teacher who’d steadily gotten more and more flushed as the nurse talked on. She didn’t seem to notice, or... or maybe she didn’t even care that she was embarrassing him. Recovery Girl had never reminded him more of a grandmother teasing her grandchildren than she did right now.

The woman lets out another laugh, eyes twinkling as she looks at Izuku. Her gaze goes a little hard, knowing, as she continues, “I know I’ll be seeing a lot more of you, so make promises you can actually keep. You children, you’re all the reason I’m grey, I tell you.”

“You are a Problem Child,” Shota huffs under his breath, knee nudging Izuku’s own.

“As were you,” Recovery Girl scoffs, shaking her head teasingly. “You still are, fifteen whole years later. Twelve years since you graduated and you’re still sticking around; still relying on my Quirk. You and Yamada both.”

“Alright,” Shota clears his throat awkwardly, the pink flush crawling up his cheeks again, “put your shirt on, Midoriya, let’s go. Recovery Girl, we’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, yes,” the woman waves them off, turning to her desk. Izuku listens as he pulls on his button-up and starts doing up the buttons. “Good luck tomorrow, Dearie. Do try to be careful.”

“I will,” the teen bows gratefully, “thank you for your help.”

“Anytime, Child,” she offers fondly.

“C’mon, Midoriya,” Shota calls, the teen’s blazer and tie draped his arm. “Before she starts telling more stories.”

“I do have a bunch,” the woman teases as Shota ushers him out the door. “Goodbye, boys. Take care.”

It’s that evening when he and Shota get home that the news of Izuku’s landlord finally getting in touch with Hizashi comes to light. True to Oboro’s word, the boxes of Izuku’s belongs— clothes, All Might merch, trinkets and knick-knacks were all stored away for him to come get.

According to Hizashi, his landlord had seemed relieved that Izuku was alright, and he didn’t mind holding onto the boxes until Sunday, the earliest day all three of them would have time to stop by and collect them.

“He wished you good luck in the festival,” Hizashi had told him, tone bordering on cooing. “It was very cute. He said he and his daughter would be rooting for you from home!”

“That’s kind,” Shota had mumbled from his spot on the couch, where Nemo was once again curled up in his lap. His fingers stroked along her head.

“Isn’t it?” Hizashi grinned, “we’ll be rooting for you too!”

“Unbiasedly,” Shota added gruffly. “We like you, Problem Child, but your combatants are literally the rest of my students.”

“I’ll be biased.”

“No, you won’t,” Shota huffed, “they’re your students too. Unbiased, English teacher.”

“Fine, fine,” the blonde sighs, scratching at his scalp before dragging his finger back through golden locks, “I’ll be unbiased, but a little biased because this one’s mine. You should be a little biased too, he’s yours as well.”

Oboro cocked his head in Izuku’s direction, having watched the whole exchange, “he’ll definitely be completely biased towards you. It is a good thing he’s just an announcer and not a judge, eh?”

Izuku can’t help but snort a laugh, taking a sip of his tea to hide his pleased smile. He gives a light nod into his tea as the two Pros bicker over how wrong it was to be biased. ‘Just a bit biased!’ ‘That’s still biased.’

The next morning Izuku wakes up to a ghost standing on his chest. Well, technically, he’s in his chest and he’s jumping. The springs in the mattress don’t move at all under the ghost’s non-existant weight, but Izuku feels like his heart is going to freeze in his chest.

“G’ff,” he slurs out with a shiver. “I thought you weren’t going to wake me up like this.”

“It’s Sports Festival Day!” The ghost blurts like a child on Christmas morning. He’s far too giddy, Izuku really needs to find a way for the ghost to sleep so he can return the favor and wake him up by swatting a hand through him. “Get up, get up! ‘zashi made miso soup, rice, grilled salmon and eggs for breakfast! C’mon, c’mon, you gotta eat so you’ll be ready to kick some serious ass today!”

Izuku sits up, frowning at the stuffed cat clutched in his arms. And the real cat at his side, watching the ghost apprehensively. “Good morning, Fish,” the teen huffs, petting the old cat’s ears back.

“He gets a good morning before me?”

“He didn’t jump on my chest,” Izuku snorts out, finally shoving his covers off, careful not to disturb the cat. The teen glances at the theatrically pouting ghost. “Good morning, Oboro,” he huffs sarcastically, “you’re in a good mood.”

“Sure am,” the ghost cheers, “I’m going to watch you win the Sports Festival today.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah!” The grin is wide, even wider than his usual squinty-eyes grin. This time he smiles so big his eyes squeeze shut. “I know you’ll do great, wipe the floor with your peers.”

“You’re sounding biased,” Izuku teased as he finally pushed himself out of bed, his new pajamas wrinkled from sleep.

“I’m one-hundred percent biased,” Oboro’s nose wrinkles with a wicked smile, “I don’t have obligations like your teachers do.”

“You really think I’ll go well?”

“I know so!”

Well then, let the games begin.

Chapter Text

Shota knows something is off with Hizashi the second they settle on the couch together, Fish sprawled along the back of the couch, Blanket tucked between the draping edge of the throw blanket tossed semi-orderly across the back of the couch, and Nemo curled up in a tiny ball in Shota’s lap.

Hizashi is pressed against the arm rest of the couch, his elbow settled against the arm rest, and fist supporting his head. Shota himself is pressed into his side, Hizashi’s other arms thrown over his shoulders, fingers trailing softly across his collar bone. Shota’s head is pressed against Hizashi’s shoulder, close enough that if he turned his head, his nose would brush against the column of the blonde man’s neck.

There’s an American film playing, subtitles running across the bottom of the screen both because of the language barrier, as well as the fact Hizashi has the television volume set to the lowest setting for the teenager sleeping down the hall.

It's late.

Not incredibly late, but late enough that Hizashi had shooed Midoriya off to bed so he’s ready for the festival tomorrow. The kid hadn’t put up any fight; simply smiled, bowed his head and wished them a good night.

Shota can’t help but hope at some point the teenager will settle into this— relax a little around them. He in no way wants a moody, bratty teenager around, but he’d like to get to a point where Izuku is comfortable enough with them to be a just that. A normal teenager, content in their life and comfortable with their guardians.

He especially hopes the teen will settle down when he’s finally here to stay. The underground hero knows the boy is nervous about the aspect he might be taken away from them, he thinks Izuku is biding his time and keeping himself at arm's length simply because he doesn’t want to be stripped from what’s become familiar to him for a second time in as little weeks.

The poor kid just needs some normalcy in his life—but it can’t really be normal until they have the all clear for Izuku to remain with them. It would be cruel for Izuku to settle in, become familiar—a part of their odd little family and then be ripped away from it. It’s cruel, but Shota won’t put it passed social services.

At this point, he’s not even sure they have the children in mind whenever he deals with them—never usually as one on one as this, Izuku’s case and his direct participation, but in passing. They seem to like control, and relying on the easiest option depending. Just another corrupt government branch.

Shota won’t lie and say he’s not a bit nervous either about the thought his student might be pulled from his custody and shipped off to some shitty group foster home somewhere against his wishes. He knows he’d fight tooth and nail to get the kid back if that were to happen, but that could take weeks, months, or maybe even years.

He just prays everything works out, and the social worker is satisfied when that two-week trial period hits.

And he knows that’s been a thought for Hizashi too—but that’s not what’s off about him.

He’d been vocal about how much he wants Izuku to stay, both to Shota in private, as well as to the teen in question as well; spoken easily about his worries that the teen may end up swept into the foster system despite the perfectly good home for him with them.

That’s the thing about Hizashi—he'd always tended to be vocal about his thoughts and worries. It was something Shota always admired about his husband, since he himself was terrible at showing emotion and putting things into words.

Shota lets his head fall back against Hizashi’s shoulder softly, lulling his head so his ear presses against the junction between Hizashi’s shoulder and neck. Hizashi is staring off in the direction of the TV, but Shota can tell he isn’t watching it.

He studies his husband; thoughts of how wrong this feels only deepening when his husband doesn’t even seem to notice the eyes on him. Shota’s so used to getting caught staring at his husband that when he doesn’t, it makes his skin prickle like something’s wrong. His fingers are still dragging feather-like touches across Shota’s shoulder absently, but he hasn’t moved, or talked, or even glanced at the television.

Shota’s gaze travels along his husband’s jaw, before catching on his ear.

Huh.

“You’re still wearing your hearing aids,” Shota mumbles accusingly.

It’s not like Hizashi doesn’t like wearing them—he does.

He likes to hear his music, and conversations going on around him; being a part of said conversations. He listens to the TV playing the news when they have it on, and most recently, he likes to hear Izuku ramble— but in the evening, after long days of teaching and his radio show and patrol and villain fights, he adores the silence when decompressing.

The past couple days, since Izuku had fallen into their laps, he’d been wearing them until after the kid heads to bed before taking that much needed hearing break. They usually end up watching English films on nights like tonight where neither has anywhere to be (which is rare occasion between all their jobs), because he likes reading the English subtitles, even though he’d understand the words just as clearly as if they were speaking Japanese.

So to see him still wearing them when there’s really no need this time of night after the kid’s asleep and won’t be looking for them, and since the two of them can still talk using JSL since that’s the only second language Shota had made sure he was fluent in, it’s a bit worrying.

As is the delay in which his husband drags himself from his thoughts.

“Huh?” Hizashi’s attention finally crawls back to Shota, chin angling to look down at Shota. His eyebrows furrow lightly in surprise at how close Shota is suddenly, their faces just hardly separated by the height of Hizashi sitting up, and Shota leaning down on him. “Oh... I must’ve forgotten to take them out when I changed.”

It’s not weird, per se, that they’re still in his ears. Hizashi wears them around the house a lot, but he had gone into their room and changed into his pajamas. That’s usually the point in which the blonde will take them out and charge them. It’s rare Hizashi forgets to take them out, because as loud as he is, and as much as he seems to like his own voice, he adores his evenings of silence before bed.

It’s how he winds down.

“What are you thinking about?” Shota shifts closer, and Hizashi’s arm tightens around him as he does so. He presses his ear against the blonde’s chest and Hizashi lets his chin settle on the top of his hand, the arm that had been supporting his head flopping down on the arm rest. The arms around him squeeze lightly after he asks, but Hizashi doesn’t answer right away.

Hizashi had been... off since yesterday afternoon. Not off enough for Shota to question it; sometimes Hizashi just needed some time to work through things alone before he’d seek another opinion or talk to him about it, but he’d seen the subtle change. He’d known Hizashi for fifteen years now, they’d dated for thirteen and have been married for seven. He knows this man better than he probably knows himself.

He knows when Hizashi is putting on an act; feigning his Present Mic, happy-go-lucky persona as opposed to stepping directly into it. Hizashi likes to keep up his front, even when he’s not quite feeling up to it—for the teachers, for Izuku, for the students. Sometimes even for Shota himself, which very, very rarely slips past the underground hero. He can tell the difference between the authentic Present Mic that Hizashi well and truly is, that side of himself that’s been there since the dark-haired man had met the blond years and years ago, and the Present Mic that Hizashi forces himself into to keep up appearances.

He’d been drawing a fine line between the two personas since yesterday, so something must’ve happened.

“I’ve just...” his husband sighs, fingers still sprawled on Shota’s collar bone pausing, “I’m worried about Izuku.”

Shota squeezes his eyes shut, huffing out a breath. “We’ll do everything we can to keep him here, ‘zashi. We’ll jump through any hoops she puts in front of us, it’ll be okay.”

“No— well, yes. I... know. And, yeah, I am worried about that too, but I know we’ll find a way to make that happen no matter what. She’ll have to pry that boy from my cold, dead hands before I let him be swept away into some shitty foster system. Spoken as both his teacher, and the guardian who already adores the little green-bean.”

Well. That’s unsettling. Too. There was something else his husband was worried about. Shota agrees with the Izuku sentiment wholeheartedly though, his thoughts are just stuck on that word. Too. As well.

“Then... what are you worried about?”

Hizashi repositions, shifting so his head is no longer on top of Shota’s head. His chin angles, and despite the want to keep himself pressed close, to keep his face buried in Hizashi’s side, Shota shifts around too to be able to catch the blonde’s eyes. He doesn’t quite like the uncertain worry and hesitation clouding his lover’s eyes.

“Did you know Izuku’s been... spending time with Yagi?”

Shota cocks his head to the side, gaze shifting upwards to really look at Hizashi. Noting the worry creases in the blonde’s face, and how his mouth is pressed into a straight line that almost looks out of place. He’s thoughtful for a second, face unchanging before he ducks in a swift nod, “I’m aware they’re... close.”

That much was easy to tell.

Shota had been aware of their... familiarity from practically day one.

All the teachers knew, to a degree, that All Might was oddly intrigued by the teen. Anyone who’d taught beside All Might when it came to 1-A, could see the Pro’s attention periodically catching on the green-haired teenager. He watched them all, of course, but he lingered on Midoriya. He studied Midoriya, critiqued him in a way that was almost different than he did the other students.

The blonde is in no way stealthily secretive, even if he thinks he is—Shota remembers him talking about the boy way back on the first day. He’d even drawled out an accusation for All Might’s blatant favoritism, on the first day of official classes. Yagi had brushed it off, and in turn, so had Shota who’d had better things to be doing that standing like an idiot with the Number One Hero.

Then there had been what Tsukauchi had said to the boy—you're All Might’s kid, aren’t you?— when they’d arrived at the police station.

Then there was the obvious hero worship Izuku had for the Pro, but that wasn’t Izuku specifically—it was hard to find children who’d never looked up to All Might at some point or another.

“Why?” the question rolls off the underground Hero’s tongue easily, eyes focused completely on the other man. The television is nothing but white noise, easily drowned out by the chilling worry spreading through Shota’s chest.

It wasn’t odd to see All Might stop Izuku in the halls, talking hushed to the kid, but now that he’s really thinking about it, did he do that with any of the other students, or just with Izuku?

Izuku had never seemed uncomfortable, or hesitant. Even now, most of the time, the teen’s eyes didn’t twinkle like an awestruck toddler, it always seemed... professional. Personal, but in a professional way.

Hizashi shifts again, that slow action that’s somewhere between uncomfortable and nervous. He draws in a breath and looks away as he answers. “They came out of one of the conference rooms yesterday during lunch.”

Shota bites his tongue before he can stupidly ask ‘So?’. Teachers coming out of conference rooms with students is hardly out of the ordinary. Just weeks ago, Shota himself had been in there with the kid. Hizashi had spent his fair share of time in those conference rooms as well, thought he tended to talk to kids in the comfort of the classroom instead.

There’s something Shota is missing, or, maybe they’re just looking at this from two different angles. Nothing about what his husband had muttered was particularly worrying to him but...

This is bothering Hizashi, so he’ll hear him out. Afterall, Hizashi doesn’t do this, act like this—be so deep in thought, so distracted— when it’s not warranted. There’s a reason. He’d seen something, and he’s worried about it.

A second drags on before his husband finally looks back at him, brow pinched and lips downturned, “Izuku was crying, Sho.”

“Crying?” the dark-haired man repeated slowly, drawled like the word tasted bitter.

Hizashi’s head bounces in a nod, bottom lip pinned between his teeth.

To Shota, the revelation isn’t entirely surprising.

Midoriya cries. Quite a lot, actually. The teen has cried in frustration, and annoyance. He’d seen the boy tear up in pride after making good progress with his Quirk. Sometimes he cries when he laughs too much; he’d see that a couple time, when Ochako would mutter something to him, or Iida would say something probably stupid and class president like, like Tensei used to as well.

“’zashi,” Shota’s sure to keep his voice low, careful. He turns just a little bit more so he can keep direction eye contact with Hizashi, who’s attention slowly returns to Shota at the cautious call of his name. “Izuku cries a lot. That’s just... it’s who the kid is, I guess. Wears his heart on his sleeve— I mean, he was seconds away from crying when I talked to him about his Quirk, and he asked me to do that.”

“No, I know,” the blonde shakes his head, the frown deepening. “He’s cried in English too... it’s just.” He huffs out a low breath like he’s trying to figure out how to word his worries, “I just can’t shake the feeling that Izuku lied—that Yagi lied.”

Shota stills, “about what?”

“When I saw he was crying, I got worried, y’know? He’s my student, and I’d be worried about any of those little listeners crying, but it was Izuku crying, so I was really worried, because, y’know- well- you know how I am—”

“Because you’re as soft for him as you are for Fish.”

“Okay, rude,” the blonde huffs, shooting the dark-haired man a look of irritation that comes off far more fonder than anything else, “and I’m just as soft for you as I am for them— but I’m being serious here, Sho.”

“Sorry, I know.” Shota bows his head. “Why do you think they lied?”

“When I saw the tears, I asked if he was okay. And he... well, truthfully, he said he was alright. Which is fine. You know? He stuttered a bit, but he does that. It’s normal for him.” There’s a short pause, but before Shota can open his mouth the question what exactly the problem here was, Hizashi continued, “what’s not normal, is the fact that Yagi answered for him.”

“What?”

“Told me he was talking about some extra credit to boost Izuku’s grade.”

“He didn’t run that by me,” Shota shakes his head, a light frown tugging at his own lips.

“I know,” Hizashi’s tone turns sour. “I didn't ask about it until after Izuku left, but Yagi was just... he was just so innocent about it. They weren’t acting weird or anything. I probably shouldn’t be this worried, but to see Izuku leaving that room like that? Face red, and eyes puffy from crying. And All Might stepping out behind him all pleasant with a smile? I mean, maybe it’s true. Maybe that’s exactly what happened, just—”

Shota is quiet for a moment as the blonde cuts himself off, head turning and gaze shooting to the television to avoid any eye contact.

The dark-haired man blows out a slow breath through his nose, before hooking a finger under his husband’s jaw to gently force his attention back onto him. It doesn’t take much effort to get Hizashi’s attention back, but he keeps his fingers hooked even as he speaks, “what do you think happened in there, Hizashi?”

“I don’t know,” Hizashi whispers when they met eyes. “I just... it was a bad vibe. Izuku looked like he was caught doing something bad—like a kid caught stealing cookies or something, and h-how Yagi just... how he spoke over Izuku, answering for him. And the crying; he was full on crying in there, Sho. I’m just... I don’t want to believe anything bad happened, but I can’t help but think... he’s under our protection, ya’dig? What if we’re not... protecting him?”

The thought prickles at Shota’s skin.

He believes Hizashi one-hundred percent, but at the same time...

He just can’t see it.

All Might is fond of the kid, sure, but in like... a parental type of way. Maybe it’s a bit closer to the kid than the other teachers had gotten, excluding Shota himself and Hizashi for obvious reasons, but Shota had never detected any ill intent when it came to Yagi and his Problem Child.

Shota teaches alongside the Number One Pro the most of anyone, and he’d never gotten any negative vibes from him. He’d gotten idiot vibes, sure. He’d wanted to turn around a kick the bastard for some of the things he says and does—how a man like Yagi Toshinori could be the Number One Pro but still suck at teaching and interacting with teenagers was beyond Shota.

But he’d never done anything bad. He’d never said anything bad. He was just a clueless idiot trying to trek his way through teaching a group of rowdy, infuriatingly powerful students.

And then there’s the fact that Nezu would have vetted Yagi just as hard as he did all the teachers before allowing them to interact with the students. Number One Hero or not, it didn’t matter that Yagi and the rat were close, Nezu wouldn’t do anything that could jeopardize the school. He was too fond of it.

“I’ve never noticed anything,” Shota decides to mumble softly. It doesn’t disregard Hizashi’s feelings, but it is an observation from the one who sees the most interactions between the teacher and the students. “Yagi is not an amazing teacher,” Shota trudges carefully, and it’s true. The idiot is often out of his depth, unsure about how to handle things, but that doesn’t make him a threat to the students. “But I don’t think he’s doing anything to Midoriya, or any of the students.”

He can’t be sure of course.

Things slip through the cracks. Things can be covered up. Nothing is sure in this world, and as Heroes, especially Shota, an underground one, they’ve seen just how fucked up the world can be.

People can hide things. Izuku had hidden being homeless for three days, and probably would’ve for longer had the street lights... well, had the street lights not done what they did. Or, at least he thinks they did...

But still, he’s fairly sure Yagi is not doing anything illegal to the green-haired child. Though what Hizashi saw is worrying, it’s not a valid cause. He was certain this was a miscommunication—one Hizashi had let get into his head.

“Yeah,” the blonde swallows, fingers tapping rhythmlessly against Shota’s shoulder as a nervous tic, “maybe you’re right. Sorry, I just...”

“We can ask Izuku about it,” Shota finally breaks eye contact, letting his ear press back against Hizashi’s sternum, “if he is lying for Yagi then we’ll be able to see it, and from there we can look deeper if there’s a need too. I believe what you saw, ‘zashi, but we really can’t jump to conclusions so fast, especially about such a sensitive subject. It won’t due to accuse Yagi of something without having all the facts and concrete evidence.”

“You’re right,” Hizashi breathes out, and Shota feels the stutter in it from where his head is pressed against the blonde’s chest. He lifts his hand, the one that had hooked on Hizashi’s chin up beside his head, flattening it on the man’s chest and stroking his thumb lightly. “I just hate the thought that Izuku’s being hurt, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Shota blows out, hugging Hizashi closer. “You’ve gotta put some trust into the kid though. I know you’re worried, but try to relax a little until we can actually talk to him. Get answers from the source in a safe environment. Midoriya is a smart kid, he’ll come to us when he needs too.”

Hizashi hums, but doesn’t say anything else. Shota feels the man bury his nose in the lose strands of his dark hair and smiles despite himself, nuzzling against Hizashi in an attempt to return the comfort.

“C’mon,” the dark-haired man pats gently at his husband’s chest, pulling away and regretting it as soon as he does it. Still, it needs to be done. He’s sure Midoriya isn’t comfortable enough yet to find them sprawled on the couch tomorrow morning, sound asleep. And that would kill their backs, and necks. “It’s a big day tomorrow. Let’s head to bed.”

Shota gently ushers Nemo off his lap, the cat letting out an unhappy huff at being forced out of her comfy position. The underground Hero stands, stretching out his shoulders before holding a hand out to his husband. Hizashi stares at the hand for just a second before hid fond eyes lift to Shota’s face and he clutches the outstretched hand.

Together, without releasing their interlocked hands, the two walk silently to their room.

Izuku does not get dressed before stumbling out of the guest room.

It had been cold in his room, and it had been cold with a ghost stood in his chest, and it was cold outside of the warm cocoon of his blankets. His pajamas were warm against his body, and the All Might sweater he’d tugged on after shivering was warm, and it just made sense to savor the warmth for as long as he could without needing to strip it off so he could change into his uniform.

He pads into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Oboro had woken him up a bit earlier than he’d set his phone alarm for, but if there was a big breakfast waiting for him, he wanted to have time to savor it.

The ghost was at his side, preppily keeping Izuku’s slow, sleep hazed pace. His smile hadn’t faded in the least, and it was honestly hyping Izuku up. It was nice to know the ghost had this much faith in him—was this excited to watch the Sports Festival purely because Izuku was playing a part of it.

“Good morning, Listener!” Hizashi greets when Izuku finally steps into the kitchen. The table is already laid out with the traditional breakfast Oboro had mentioned, and Izuku feels his mouth water at the sight. “I was just coming to wake you up! I’ll be right back though; I do still have to wake Sho up. Don’t let the cats up onto the table!”

Izuku gives a tired nod, smiling when his teacher passes by before beelining down the hallway. He hears the man greeting Fish, who must’ve come out of Izuku’s room, before he hears a door open.

Izuku moves to sit down at the chair that he’d been using, a giddy feeling in his chest as he internally claims it as his own. It’s been a while since he’d done that. My spot.

“I’m so jealous, dude,” Oboro huffs out a sigh, but even that sounds happy and excited. The ghost plops into the only chair at the table the doesn’t have a meal in front of it, frowning at the array of food. “This looks so good.”

“It does,” Izuku agrees, fingers twitching to pick up the chopsticks and dig in. He doesn’t— that would be rude, but he’s tempted too. It smells delicious. Izuku feels something brush up against his leg, and looks down to see Blanket, and not far behind him is Fish, sitting in the doorway. “Sorry you can’t have any.”

“I’m used to it,” the ghost waves him off, shooting Izuku a light smile that doesn’t completely reach his eyes. It’s still warm and honest, but it’s a downgrade from Oboro’s usual look. “The woes of being a ghost.”

“You’re sorry who can’t have any?” Izuku jolts upright in his chair, turning towards the doorway so fast his back cracks and he fears he’s going to get whiplash. All he can do is stare at his teacher like a deer caught in the headlights of vehicle.

Shota is stood in the doorway, one eyebrow raised perfectly in question. He’s not yet in his hero costume, instead sporting a pair of pink sweatpants and a ‘Put Your Hands Up’ radio tee-shirt that looks very similar to the one Izuku had been given. For a second, Izuku wonders how many of those shirts are floating around here, but he’s quick to force his attention back onto the current situation.

Izuku’s eyes jerk away from his teacher, lingering on the ghost who blinks unhelpfully before he realizes bad idea with his teacher already watching him, so his gaze drops to his lap. And that’s where he spots his saving grace— “Blanket!” the teen blurts. “S-sorry, Blanket, you, uh, you can’t have any. You... you’re a cat.”

The cat blinks at him, then bats at Izuku’s bare foot before standing up and strutting away as if offended to be Izuku’s scapegoat. Izuku watched the cat leave, and when he meekly lifts his head, he sees Shota’s gaze following the cat out of the kitchen.

“Woow, nice save,” Oboro snorts a laugh into his fist, tone so clearly teasing that Izuku has half a mind to whip his hand through Oboro’s arm and pray he makes contact. “That totally fooled ‘im. You’re a master of deception, Izu.”

He’s being tested. His level of restraint is definitely being tested.

“...right,” his teacher’s eyebrows furrow, but thankfully he still appears too tired to question it. The dark-haired man steps into the room, ruffles Izuku’s bedhead as he walks past towards the coffee pot that’s just finished brewing.

Izuku tries not to feel giddy when his teacher’s fingers tousle through his hair as he passes, but he knows he probably has a stupid grin on his lips. And that’s made clear by how Oboro huffs out a light, teasing little ‘awh~’. Restraint. Swatting at the air will look weird. Restrain yourself. Izuku lets out a huff of air instead of interacting with the ghost, but he can’t help but let a smile curl onto his lips as he sees Oboro’s wide, boyish grin.

Hizashi returns just a second later as Shota is finally joining Izuku at the table with his mug of coffee. Hizashi, unlike himself and Shota, is already dressed in his Hero costume with his hair up. He’s not wearing his support items—his directional speaker is missing, and he’s still wearing his regular hearing aids instead of the ones that are a part of his costume.

“Big breakfast for a big day, can’t have my favorite listeners going hungry, now can I?” the blonde man cheers with a wide grin. He steps around Shota in order to get to his own seat, hand running along his shoulders as he moves. “I can’t wait to see how all you Listeners do. This festival is usually about the second and third years, but something tells me we’ll have a hard time keeping our eyes off 1-A.”

“You think so?” Izuku cocks his head, holding his chopsticks now, but still waiting for his guardians to start eating first.

“Certainly!” Hizashi nods cheerfully, finally picking up his own chopsticks and digging in. Izuku follows suit, scooping some rice into his mouth. “Your class is a riot. Between the Quirks and the attitudes—it’ll definitely be entertaining. I am so glad we’ll be commentating!”

“You’re telling me,” Shota huffs into his coffee mug. He seems to favor that over his food, but that really doesn’t surprise Izuku in the slightest. “Though riot isn’t quite the word I’d use to describe them. I don’t know how you talked me into commentating.”

“Awh, Sho, you’re just a stick in the mud,” Hizashi shakes his head with a laugh, “I think they’re fun. Those agency scouts are totally in for a treat between your class and the second and third years. This year’s festival is gonna be amazing!”

“It totally will be,” Oboro chimes in, grinning brightly at Izuku. He’s hunched over, elbow on the table and palm supporting his chin. He really just looks happy to kinda be a part of the conversation. To be heard. “You’ll totally kick ass and place. I just know it!”

Izuku hides his own smile behind a bite of salmon.

The conversation fades off. Izuku’s eager to stuff his face with the delicious meal. He’s both extremely excited, and extremely anxious for the festival. He hopes he lives up to Oboro’s expectations, but he’s really just going to try his best and hope to place. “Do you think All Might is going to be around to watch the festival?”

There’s a heavy silence that surrounds him following the question.

When he looks up, both his guardians are staring at him, he notices two things.

First, Hizashi’s eyes are locked on Izuku, chopsticks slack in his fingers and mouth agape slightly.

Secondly, beside him, Shota is also staring, just instead of at Izuku, he’s staring at Hizashi. His features are tightened in warning, and his fingers tense around his chopsticks.

The silence drags on for another long second.

“Not now, Hizashi,” Shota huffs out almost under his breath, “he needs to focus on the festival.”

“So do we,” the blonde retorts softly, tone edging towards a whine.

“What’s the matter?” Izuku can’t help but ask, lowering his hands to his lap as he looks between his teachers. Shota’s gaze snaps towards the teen, reading his expression before he looks back at Hizashi.

Hizashi’s gaze doesn’t stray. “I can’t focus on the festival, Sho, not until I know for sure.”

“You guys are seriously gonna do this now?” Oboro groans, head hitting the table. Izuku’s almost expecting the telltale ‘thump’ that always comes when someone drops their forehead on a table, but it doesn’t come. His eyes flick towards the ghost in question, but Oboro’s not looking at him at all. “You have the absolute worst timing, ‘zashi.”

Izuku can almost feel as the light atmosphere drowns under the sudden seriousness. It’s almost tense, and he’s not sure what to think or say. No one says anything for a long moment—his teachers seemingly having a conversation in with their gazes. The longer the silence drags on, the more worried Izuku gets until he finally can’t stand it, “did... did I do something?”

“No,” Shota blurts just as soon as the words leave Izuku’s mouth. “No, Kid, of course not. This is...”

“It’s something else,” Hizashi tells him, straightening up and setting his chopsticks aside. “You’re not in trouble, Kiddo. Not in the slightest.”

Oh no. Undivided attention.

“Don’t freak out,” Oboro whispers beside him, finally looking up again. “I uh, I probably should’ve warned you this was coming, but... well, I didn’t think they’d to this now; right before the festival.”

And wow, doesn’t that fill Izuku with confidence. Not. That didn’t help in the slightest—in fact, he’s even more nervous.

“If... it wasn’t something I did, then... then what’s wrong?”

“Izuku, sweetheart,” Hizashi starts slowly, almost uncertainly, “if someone was... hurting you, you’d tell us, right?”

“Hurting me?” Izuku cocks an eyebrow, frowning at his teachers. Despite his earlier protest, Izuku has Shota’s undivided attention as well. He almost wants to squirm under their intense gazes, fiddling with his chopsticks as he continues slowly, “I... yeah, of course... I mean, I guess... yeah. W-why?”

His eyes flicker back to Oboro, who’s biting at his bottom lip. He doesn’t dare more his head, but his eyes leave the ghost almost as fast as they’d settled on him. “What’s going on?”

Hizashi draws in a breath, and Shota seems to lean in closer; curiosity and protectiveness all rolled into one odd facial expression.

“All Might has never done anything that... oh, I don’t know... made you feel... uncomfortable, has he? Nothing... inappropriate?”

“All Might?” Izuku feels his brain stutter to a halt. All Might doing something that made him feel uncomfortable? Like what? And, what constituted inappropriate? What was going on— Izuku froze. No... they didn’t... Where on earth would they get that idea? “Inappropriate how?”

Hizashi bit his bottom lip, glancing away before returning his gaze onto Izuku, “why were you crying when you left the conference room on Wednesday?”

Oh. Oh. That. Right.

He’d known this talk was coming at some point, but he hadn’t known it would be like this. Maybe All Might had gotten into more trouble than Izuku had first assumed when leaving him there with Hizashi.

Still, it’s completely wrong. All Might hadn’t done anything but sort of overstep and then hug him in an attempt to calm Izuku down—and to be fair, Izuku was the one who’d hugged him first.

“No, nothing of the sort.” Izuku sucks in a breath, eyes dropping to his bowl of miso soup. They’re watching him, studying him. He blows out the breath, wincing as he explains, “I just... well, I told him about my mother.”

“You... you did?” Shota speaks for the first time since Hizashi took over the situation. “Why? I didn’t think you wanted anyone to know, which is completely fine. Everyone who needs to know, does now but... I’m curious as to why you told All Might.”

Honestly, if All Might hadn’t have brought it up, Izuku wouldn’t have told him. But he’s not going to tell his teachers that. That seemed like it would be more problems than it was worth. And he honestly didn’t want to get All Might into trouble—they'd already sorted their problems out.

“We’re... close,” Izuku tells them slowly, cheeks instantly flushing at the floundering look of panic on Hizashi’s face. Shota’s face had twisted up similarly, but not quite as animated. “N-not like that!” Izuku waves his hands frantically, accidentally phasing through Oboro, “I mean, like, we met before Yuuei... he, he saved me from a villain in middle school and since then he’s been... I don’t know, sorta keeping an eye on me? In like, a completely professional, hero, uhm, guardian sorta way because, um, ew? I don’t... he’s not... e-ew.”

And maybe the words tumble out before he can organize them—and maybe that might come off a bit rude—the ew’s might be a bit uncalled for— but Izuku has never even thought about anything of the sort. He’d never once felt uncomfortable with the Pro. Frankly he’s a bit freaked out at the insinuation. All Might would never hurt him like that.

“Dude’s like fifty,” Oboro added unhelpfully, cocking his head in Izuku’s direction, eyebrow quirking with a knowing look. He’s glad only he can hear the ghost’s addition to the conversation, though even he doesn’t really want to hear it. It’s true though. Izuku’s only fifteen, and All Might is... well, at least fifty. “That is ew.”

“I forgot you mentioned that you’d met All Might before school, but I didn’t think the two of you were that close. I think... that might answer your question, Hizashi,” Shota blinks, the corner of his lips twitching up faintly before straightening again, “ew is a perfectly logical answer. The kid’s definitely not lying.”

Hizashi is quiet for a second before his eyes are back on Izuku, searching his expression. He’s relaxed a bit, but there’s still that underlying cloud of worry in his eyes. “All Might said you two were talking about extra credit work, not your mother.”

“Well,” Izuku bit his lip, rubbing at the back of his neck, “we were. Kinda. I mean, we were talking about my Quirk really because it’s... it’s so similar to his and I was wondering if he had any tips for me... He also asked about my grade slipping while we were together, and since I’ve known him for a while now, and... and I’m comfortable around him, I told him about my mom. I... I can’t really talk about her without, y’know, without crying so he... he gave me a hug. Sorry, I... I thought he would’ve told you when you asked...”

“The idiot probably should’ve just told me,” Hizashi huffs, but it he seems to deflate in relief. “Would’ve saved me a whole lot of worrying. Keeping secrets from me about my own kid.”

“He was trying to protect me, I think,” Izuku lets out a watery laugh, dragging his nails along his pajama covered thigh. “I told him I wasn’t telling anyone—that I hadn’t told anyone and that... that Shota found me. I don’t think he knows I’m staying with you as well... Who, uh, who knows you guys are t-together? Married?”

“Oh,” Hizashi blinks, quiet as he processes the thought. “Yagi... does not, I don’t think... Did you say anything to him about us, Sho?”

“Why would I tell him?” Shota snorts, sipping his miso soup. “You’re the talkative one, you talk to people more than I do. And he’s never around when we’re together, plus we never wear our rings in costume, nor when we’re at school, so I don’t see how the idiot would know we’re married unless Nemuri or one of the other teachers blabbed.”

“Oh God,” Hizashi whines, rubbing at his forehead, “I feel awful—he was just looking out for our little Listener, and I... I won’t lie—it looked suspicious, definitely, but he had good intentions. You just... you’d been crying, Izuku, and I didn’t know what to think, and then he made up that excuse that technically wasn’t an excuse, but also not the truth, not entirely, and it was... it was just suspicious!”

“Did you really think he’d do... do that?” Izuku can’t help but ask.

He supposes with what Hizashi had witnessed, just the end of the interaction—seeing Izuku leave the room with teary eyes and flushed cheeks— he could see the misunderstanding, but he also knew All Might had never done anything that made him uncomfortable.

“No,” Hizashi breaths out, defeated, “not really. I know he’s a good guy. He’s a good Pro. I trust and respect him, but when it came down to you... I don’t know, I just... I lost it a bit. Got caught up in my thoughts.”

“Who’d’ve though Hizashi was a mama bear?” Oboro’s leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange. “I would‘ve put my money on Shota to be honest. You kids bring out the dad in him; make him all soft and protective.”

He doesn’t look the least bit worried, or freaked out, and Izuku just knows the ghost is well aware of everything going on on both sides of this—of the truth about Izuku and All Might (because the ghost was literally the only person to actually know the full extent of it) as well as the thought process on his teacher’s side.

Izuku briefly thinks about standing up and switching seats to he can sit in Oboro, but decides against it. He’s a bit annoyed the ghost is watching this all play out like some drama he’s been predicting the outcome for. He’d been right, Izuku would’ve appreciated a bit of a warning.

The blonde man leans back in his chair, palming at his forehead again, “we’re supposed to protect you, ya’dig? And I thought maybe we weren’t and it was irrational—”

“Not completely irrational,” Shota shakes his head as he takes a bite of grilled salmon, “it did look suspicious. I think anyone would’ve been worried seeing a student leaving a private meeting with a teacher like that. You were right to be suspicious. Yagi could’ve saved us all a lot of trouble if he’d just told you, but I do respect the fact he respected Izuku’s privacy. We should probably inform him that we’re married, and that you’re just as much Problem Child’s guardian as I am.”

“That would probably be smart,” Hizashi huffs, finally picking his chopsticks back up. “To avoid future instances like this. I am so glad this was all just one big misunderstanding. I’m not sure my heart could take it if it was true... That’s a yucky thought.”

“All Might has never said or done anything that made me uncomfortable,” Izuku tells them both, feeling the need to defend the Pro. It’s also a halfhearted attempt to quell the last of their worries. This was a false alarm—Izuku was fine. “But if he... if he ever does, which he won’t, I... I’ll tell you.”

“That goes for everyone, not just Yagi,” Shota tells him seriously. “I hope this goes without saying, but you can come to us with anything, Izuku. We’re doing something wrong as your teachers and guardians if you feel like you can’t be honest with us. Any problem you’re facing, whether you’re still living with us—”

“Which you totally will be, we’ll make sure of it!” Hizashi chirps, cutting Shota off.

The dark-haired hero huffs in annoyance before continuing as if he hadn’t been disrupted, “—or somewhere else, we’ll always help you out. You’re my student, my current ward, but most importantly, Izuku, you’re my kid, and nothing that social worker says will change that, got it?”

“Got it,” Izuku nods lightly, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, Problem Child. You just remember that no matter what.”

“Y’know, that went a lot better than I thought it was gonna,” Oboro tells Izuku with a wide grin, “what a show. You only squirmed a little—honestly, ‘zashi and Sho squirmed more. Props to you, Izu!”

Izuku does not pretend to wobble in his chair and accidentally flop into the chair by his side. Oboro doesn’t jump up with a hiss of discomfort and a fierce glare as a chill of ghost presence climbs up Izuku, and the teen doesn’t excuse himself with a bashful half-smile and a claim of being tired while he subtly shoots the ghost a triumphant, teasing grin.

His teachers certainly don’t share a glance of confusion, before waving Izuku’s oddness off and dismissing him to get dressed for the day.

Of course not.

But... serves him right.

Oboro finds himself tucked in a small corner of the observation/ emcee booth stationed in the audience of the stadium in which the Sports Festival takes place. It has, arguably, the best view of the arena in which the students will compete, but, despite the good seat, Oboro can’t help but wish he was down there too.

Every year he’s up here, and every year, despite how interesting this is—seeing all those nifty Quirks and the next round of talented heroes showing their stuff, he’s always bored.

It’s boring watching but not participating.

It’s boring seeing things; watching and being impressed and wanting to share the amazement with his friends—which is impossible and has been for a good thirteen years.

It’s boring listening to the small talk shared between Shota and Hizashi, and not being able to add anything. Listening to them talk and knowing he’s not really there. That he doesn’t really exist—not to them, at least.

It’s boring, but it happens every single year. This emceeing gig Hizashi bends over backwards to do every single year since he’d started teaching at Yuuei.

It almost feels like it’s different this year though—he's got Izuku. Someone sees him. He’s actually watching someone compete that he can cheer for, someone he can praise and congratulate, and rave about their performance. He’s psyched.

It feels different, but he knows it’s not.

“No,” Izuku had narrowed his eyes into slits. Class 1-A had left to follow Shota to the stadium, but Izuku had lingered back unnoticed, gaze locking on Oboro.

“I literally haven’t said anything,” the ghost had huffed with a laugh. He fiddles with his own fingers, cocking his head. His tone curls in a teasing manner, already knowing what the boy is no-ing him for. “No what, Izuku?”

“No,” Izuku repeats, his lips now quirked with humor, “not yet, but I can practically read your mind at this point. No, you’re not allowed to help me. In fact, you’re not even allowed to step foot on the grounds, capisce? I have to do this alone.”

“Technically, even if I do help, I really am not, because without you, I’m nothing, y’know? I’m basically a figment of your Quirk.”

“Nice try,” the teen snorts. “You’re speaking of a Quirk that doesn’t really exist—at least according to my medical history and the school records. No cheating. You’re your own person—your own person who will not be using my person at all.”

Oboro pouts, bottom lip jutting out. “So, I’m just supposed to watch?”

“Yes?” Izuku laughs, “That is what everyone else will be doing, yeah? Shota and Hizashi are running the emcee booth. Hang out with them.”

“I do that every year. Boring.” The ghost groans, falling forwards dramatically. He fully expects to phase right through the teen, but to his surprise, his forehead catches on Izuku’s shoulder. The teen gives a shiver, angling his head to arch an eyebrow at the ghost, but Oboro is too busy grinning. “We’re getting so good at this.”

“All the more reason for you to hang back,” the teen lifts a hand and pushes Oboro’s head off of him. Initially, he catches on the ghost, just enough pressure to push, but he slips through Oboro a second later. Oboro stumbles, pout deepening as the hand jumbles his brain momentarily. “I want to keep this Quirk a secret until I have more control over it. Until we really see what we can do.”

“What if you’re in danger?” Oboro drawls dramatically, “you want me to just sit back and watch you suffer? The one person I can actually aid, and you want me to do nothing? I’m a hero at heart, ‘zuku, ya’know I can’t just do that.”

“Fine, drama queen.” Izuku huffs, “if I’m about to die, and only if I’m about to die, you’re allowed to help me. I’ll give you permission for that. Don’t let me die, but... besides that, don’t interfere.”

“Great!” The ghost chirps. “I’ll keep that in mind then. I’ll be rooting you on from way up in that boring booth with your teachers who can’t see me... Hey, actually, do you think if I talked into the microphone you’d be able to hear it? That would be so—”

“That would be distracting,” the green-haired teen scoffed lightly, but Oboro could see the wheels turning in the teen’s head at the suggestion. “We will definitely test that, just not today. If you talk to me through that mic, I will definitely make it my life mission to walk through you every chance I get. And remember, I live with you now.”

“What if I’m solid?” Oboro teased, following behind the teen who’s now fleeing the room to catch up with his peers. “What then?”

“Even better, I’ll be able to actually smack some sense into you.”

“Ouch,” Oboro gave a hearty laugh, knowing that Izuku would never despite the threat. It was nothing more than playful banter, an empty threat. “Many have tried, none have succeeded.”

“Sounds about right,” the teen drawls lowly, shooting back a clearly teasing smile. The teen’s nose wrinkles up as he grins, eyes squinting along with his nose.

“Hey!” the ghost laughs again, but takes his leave instead of pushing Izuku any further. He’s got to be prepared for the festival, and Oboro definitely won’t be aiming to distract him. Despite his teasing, he has no plans of trying to intervene at all.

The Sports Festival is like a sacred trial for the students. It’s a means to be flashy—to get noticed, and Oboro won’t stand in the way of Izuku flourishing. Even if he really, very much wants to stand beside him and watch from the sidelines, or better yet, Izuku’s direct side, he’ll hand with his friends in the boring box and watch like Izuku wants him too.

Oboro drags his fingers through his cloud like locks, huffing out a heavy sigh before finally making his way the that oh-so familiar emcee booth. The woes of being a ghost.

Izuku was going to die.

He was going to die—

—of devastation! Of embarrassment! What kind of a friend would Oboro be if he left Izuku to suffer that fate? Izuku looked as good as dead—eyes glazed over and steps small but certain. It was definitely the work of a Quirk, and Oboro knew exactly who the Quirk belonged to. He knows exactly what's happening, but that doesn't make the panic slowly thrumming through his chest any easier to digest.

Honestly, he’s down in the arena, hovering uselessly by a hazy-eyed Izuku’s side before be even knows what he's doing. Before he has a chance to think and be rational. The teen had turned slowly away from his competitor, taking one slow, measured step after another towards the white out of bounds line behind him.

And yeah, Oboro panics. This feels cheap. This feels like a dirty trick. When had Hitoshi even activated his Quirk? What even was his Quirk— truthfully, Oboro hadn't kept many tabs on the purple-haired teenager. He knew the basics of Hitoshi's Quick, but he'd never really witnessed it up close and personal. Hitoshi didn't get a lot of practice with it outside of Quirk training and counselling, which is why it's entirely terrifying to see Izuku’s eyes glazed over, eyes unseeing and ears unhearing. He looks too dead for Oboro’s comfort. And he’s seen dead. He’d seen himself dead.

It’s not a good look; and it makes his nonexistent heart hammer anxiously in his chest.

But at the same time, this is how Shota had made his way into the Hero Course. A Gen-Ed kid who’d kept his scarily cool Quirk to himself until he could really shine. It’s smart—so incredibly clever, but it feels so wrong to see it happening to Izuku. A small part of Oboro wants to root for the underdog, and he would be if it wasn't Izuku that Hitoshi was up against, like he'd rooted for Shota all those years ago after being taken out in the early stages of the dual battles, but the bigger part of himself is hyperfocused on his friend.

Oboro knows he shouldn’t do anything. He shouldn’t.

Izuku wouldn’t want him too.

Sure, the teen wouldn’t want to go out like this, but he wouldn’t want Oboro to jolt him out of it. He has a feeling the cold chill of a ghost touching him would give him that clarity—force him from the hypnotized state, but Izuku wouldn’t want that.

“’zuku,” the ghost croaks out, standing between the boundry line and his friend who’s slowly inching closer. The teenager on the other side of the arena is watching intently, a small frown tugging at his lips. Oboro frowns too. “Izuku,” the ghost chimes louder, “c’mon, man, I don’t wanna see you go out like this. You’re so close!”

Izuku continues to step. One after another. Slow, but steady. He doesn’t blink. His expression doesn’t change. Oboro’s not even really sure if the teenager’s there. He’s there, but not there. Not like he usually is, and it’s unnerving.

It’s a losing battle, the ghost knows.

He backs up slowly, still calling out to the green-haired teen in waning attempted to break him out of this without really breaking him out of it. Each step forwards Izuku takes, Oboro matches with one backwards until he’s on the line. He glares down at the white underfoot, taking that last step off.

Izuku is two steps off—he's so close to being out of bounds—to losing.

And then he stops.

And he stumbles, the toe of his lagging shoe catching on the pavement.

And Oboro is moving without thinking, reaching out to catch the teenager. He honestly doesn’t mean it—it's second nature to try and protect someone from damage. He’ll always try, even when he goes right through them.

But he doesn’t this time.

Oboro doesn’t feel anything as he drops to his knees under Izuku’s weight, the green-haired teen’s conscious, yet unseeing gaze still locked on nothing. The boy’s prone body supported by Oboro’s arms under his armpits, he doesn’t move in the slightest.

His brain lags behind the usual haze that comes with being solid—and he only notices he’s done something more when he sees it.

Oh no.

Shota watches Izuku pause. The teen freezes abruptly, but doesn’t completely appear to be coming out of the hypnosis Hitoshi put him under. The teen doesn’t move a muscle, not backwards to continue his fight, or towards the threatening white line painted along the floor.

He’s three steps away from the boundaries line—maybe two—he’s not sure.

It’s too far to really tell. Only the cameras and ground referees will be able to say.

Shota crosses his arms across his chest, torn between being a bit disappointed he won’t be seeing his Problem Child competing anymore, but also distantly intrigued by Hitoshi's progress. He knows the purple-haired teen is throwing his all into this battle, that Hitoshi is desperate to make it through. It’s been a while since Shota had seen a move like this from a Gen-Ed competitor—the last time he’d seen this successfully done, had been when he himself did the exact same thing. He'd had high expectations for Hitoshi, but facing off against his number one Problem Child is a challenge in and of itself.

For a second, nothing moves. The crowd is nothing but dull, confused murmurs and varying waves of confused silence, Hitoshi looks confused; like he’s tempted to step towards his competitor. Hizashi is near silent at Shota’s side, doing nothing more than letting out even breaths of air as he watches on, waiting like everyone is.

Izuku stumbling down had Shota leaning forwards in concern. He sees the purple-haired boy lurch like he wants to check on his opponent, out of the corner of his eyes, but the teen remains in place. A small thrum of pride washes through Shota's chest at the knowledge that Hitoshi is concerned for Problem Child, his competitor, but he smothers it down under a mask of unbiased disinterest.

That’s not the surprising part though—no, the surprising part is how Izuku, despite his legs knocked out from under him, hovers for just a second, before he’s dropping down to his knees completely, gently, almost guided. His hands don’t fall down. His torso doesn’t drop. He just... hangs.

There’s hardly a second to ogle the absurdity—Shota can barely blink his eyes when something, a fog, or smoke, or something along the lines fills the arena. It’s thin, misty, almost like Midnight’s sleep-inducing aroma.

It’s the closest comparison he can come up with in the moment, but it’s also so completely different. It’s a light grey-ish white, like traditional fog. Natural fog, he should say. This is not natural fog. This is fog indoors. Faintly familiar indoor fog.

It’s almost fluffy, how it spreads, but it’s so obviously fog. Fog coming from the arena.

The fog takes over so fast. It’s just... it’s there one second. He can just barely make out the two boys in the arena before it gets to dense but—no, wait, three boys—What. The. Hell?—

Hitoshi looks beyond confused, gaze looking around for answers as he’s quickly enveloped by the fog— Izuku on the other hand, is now on the ground, knees tucked under him like he’s crumpled forwards, but was caught. His torso and hands are still up, like he’s resting in someone’s lap. And there’s... wait, who is that?

There’s someone down there with his Problem Child. He can just faintly see the two together.

He feels himself stand before he even knows what he’s doing, pushing himself forward to the point his nose is almost pushed against the Quirk repellant window.

Beside him, Hizashi’s chair squeals as it’s shoved back by the sheer force for him standing up abruptly. His hands slam down on the counter and he’s leaning just as close to the window as Shota himself is.

The fog fills the entirety of the boundry outlines in less than three seconds. Nothing can be seen past the hazy, fog like cloud hovering.

“What the fuck?” Hizashi babbles dumbly at Shota’s side. The dark-haired hero is glad that it comes out in English, considering Hizashi had not muted his mic. The audience has fallen under an unnatural, frankly pretty rare awestruck silence at the sight, but Shota can just stare.

Yeah, Hizashi’s sentiment carries to him: What the fuck?

Chapter Text

Izuku could just watch from the restraints in his own body as he moved. It was involuntary. He could see himself moving through his own eyes—see the white boundry lines getting closer and closer—but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t force his steps to stop. He was going to walk himself out of the running. What was this?

It was obviously some kind of mind control Quirk. Figures that he’s be competing against someone with an unknown, insanely awesome, Quirk.

How’d the Quirk activate? What had happened? All Izuku remembers is... well, they’d talked, hadn’t they? So, it probably had something to do with the conversation. There had been something in their exchange that had swept over him and stole away his control, but what?

For a second, Izuku’s mind flashes back to Ojiro’s warning from before the match started.

“Don’t answer him.” His classmates had breathed out, just loud enough for Izuku to hear. His classmate’s tail had been pressed loosely over his mouth, just enough pressure to silence his words to Shinsou. He hadn’t really thought about it much at the time—or seen it as the warning it so clearly is now. Don’t answer.

So, maybe it was answer based then; some hidden opening for the words to grab control of someone. Still... how?

The one thing he did know, was that it was voice activated; there was some sort of activation key in Shinsou’s words, and in the targeted recipient’s response. That didn’t really narrow it down—there was so much to speaking that could’ve been the key. Tone, response, maybe even frequency or volume of Shinsou’s voice; he'd have to keep that in mind.

The teen tries hard to pull himself out of the effects of the Quirk. It seems useless. Feels useless. His body is moving without thought. One step following another. He’s moving on autopilot—the command of someone else.

At least his steps are slow; baby steps in the opposite direction he wants to be moving.

He has time to try and figure a way out of this. He has a chance still, even it feels pretty hopeless.

Quirks like these are tricky—like Shota’s. How long does the effect work? Shota’s stops as soon as he blinks—but there’s no other way for Erasure to stop unless Shota gives up control, either willingly or forced. Is this Quirk like that? How long will it go? Is there a way to... knock himself out of it, or does Shinsou hold all the cards?

Izuku’s eyes are focused in one place, staring straight ahead of himself. He doesn’t even have control of where he looks—what he sees. He can only see the path before him—the path leading him to his defeat. To Shinsou’s victory.

He sees All Might hiding in the tunnel doorway under the stadium seating, face peeking out from behind the edge. He looks nervous, face twisted with worry. Izuku has no idea what he looks like—how the Quirk had taken over his features as well, but it’s probably not good if All Might looks as freaked out as he does.

It’s honestly a strange sensation. He’s trying so hard to move his body. To knock himself out of it. He tries to wiggle his fingers, or toes, or even just clench his teeth—anything—but nothing works. He has no control. His body is moving, following directions, but they aren’t Izuku’s directions.

His head feels full of fog.

It’s awful.

Uncomfortable.

But so cool.

This is a cool Quirk.

This would be so useful in the Pro Hero field—and Izuku fails to see how someone with a Quirk like this wound up in General Education. That’s where Shinsou’s from, isn’t it? How? This Quirk was incredible—and he’d definitely rave about it more when he wasn’t staring defeat in the eyes.

Izuku’s so busy trying to jolt his own body out of the hypnotic state that he hardly realizes that Oboro is now in front of him. If he could, he’d scoff. This ghost is gonna be the death of him—so much from not stepping foot in the arena unless Izuku was dying.

He can sort of hear the ghost talking. It feels like his ears are stuffed with cotton and the words all jumble together like he can’t focus his brain on processing them. Maybe his brain will only be able to respond to Shinsou’s voice? How deep does the brain washing Quirk go?

He has the urge to shake his head and rid himself of the Quirk related thoughts, but he can’t force the action. It’s jarring and annoying, but it is what it is when it comes to Quirks.

He’s getting closer to the boundry line now, one tiny step following another. Oboro is stood on the line, bottom lip pinched between his teeth. Worry drops in Izuku’s stomach like a brick—he was gonna lose. This was the end. He couldn’t go out like this. He couldn’t. He’d worked so hard to get here. He couldn’t let his friends, guardians and the ghost who’d put all his confidence into him, down.

Oboro is just watching him now, lips pressed into a straight line that curls the faintest bit downwards, and All Might is staring too, fingers tightening around the edge of the doorframe.

Come on... come on. He’s trying to force his thoughts back. To force his body to respond.

The line it right there—he's so close to losing.

Then a chill jolts up his spine. It’s... different. It’s familiar—like when Oboro or any other ghost gets too close, but it’s different too. He can’t place his finger on why it’s different, but it is. He knows Oboro isn’t beside him, he’s looking at the ghost.

He’s not exactly sure why his eyes hazily drift towards where he’d last seen All Might, locking on the doorway like something was pulling his direction there—overpowering the Quirk he’s under.

He feels his feet stumble below him, eyes landing on the doorway. It’s not just All Might—in fact, he can’t even really see All Might. There’s a black, blurry mess. Glowing eyes lighting up the darkness. None of the eyes are particularly familiar except... he sees All Might’s eyes there too, positioned exactly where the Pro had been standing the last time he’d glanced over.

What the hell was that?

He makes eye contact with some of the eyes, finally getting a little bit of control of where he can look. His head still refuses to move at his orders, but his eyes flicker about the doorway, catching on prying eyes. They’re watching him. All of them are.

He feels the thrum of One for All in his fingers, fuzzy and foreign at the moment, like he’s not supposed to have control of it, but does anyways. Like someone is using One for All to overpower the brainwashing Quirk he’s still trapped in.

Someone activates the Quirk, but it’s not... it’s not entirely Izuku. He’d been trying since he realized he’d been tricked by his competitor—that he hadn’t heeded Ojiro’s warning. But his attempts had been in vain—it he couldn’t so much as flick his gaze away from the pointed spot, there was no way he could’ve harnessed his Quirk.

He feels himself drop to his knees. Feels arms catching him. He feels himself being lowered, barely able to make out Oboro’s light tufts of cloud-like hair, but his eyes are still in the door way. The hazy blackness fades away to a collection of figures—but he can’t make them out. None are familiar, but they’re all there. Eight of them; seven unfamiliar, and All Might, who’s figure becomes more familiar as a long second stretches.

One for All is still buzzing in his fingers, desperate to be used. It almost burns. He can feel the gazes of those stood in the hallway on him, silent but prompting him in a strange way. He almost... feels them inside his head; inside his body.

It’s weird.

He’s still under the brainwashing Quirk. He knows he doesn’t have full control over his body—he hardly has control over his twitching fingers. Eye contact with the figures in the doorway is cut off by smoke clouding his vision—but no, that’s not smoke. He can breathe; his lungs feel fine. It’s thin and mist-like. Fog. It’s fog.

Fog?

Why would there be fog—

Oboro.

Everything clicks into place and before Izuku knows what he’s doing, one hand, the one active with One for All, is shooting out behind him and flicking, while the other, jostled out of his state by the whirl of wind from One for All, shoves the ghost off of him.

The fog had been blown away by the flick, and it disappears as soon as Oboro’s contact is brushed away just like every time they’d used Oboro’s Quirk thus far. Still, Izuku can’t help but feel a tad bit irritated—he'd given the ghost one rule, and that, miraculously, is the one rule Oboro had broken. Of course.

The ghost doesn’t seem offended in the slightest as he’s ripped away from being solid; in fact, he looks sheepish, and shamed, hands raising in a surrendering type of way, but Izuku’s gaze strays behind him to the tunnel doorway away, where all he sees is All Might’s face of surprised confusion. There’s a hint of pride in there too, and a tiny smile sweeps onto his mentor’s face and—

Oh right.

He’s in the middle of a battle.

He can hear Shinsou talking to him, but he’s not going to let himself be tricked again.

He’s still in bounds.

He’s still in this.

They haven’t called the battle off. He can see Cementoss and Midnight on their respective corners of the boundry lines. Both look ready to jump into action, but neither move. He can hear the audience, but it’s almost muted to his ears. The clearest thing he hears is Shinsou’s voice, and it prompts him on.

He won’t lose.

He can’t lose.

Nezu calls for a break directly after the Shinsou vs. Midoriya battle.

There’s barely a second to be excited that Midoriya, his kid, had taken the victory, even though he’s a bit bummed that Hitoshi’s chances of making it into the Heroics Course just dwindled significantly. Still, Shota’s seen what the kid can do, and he knows how hard this— having a Quirk like Hitoshi’s— is, so he’ll... he’ll see what he can do. It's a waste for Hitoshi to stay where he is, especially with all the potential he has. The dual battles are just about as rigged as the Entrance Exam in the end, so Shota hopes there's something more he can do for Hitoshi.

Hizashi call out the break to the crowd as a half an hour intermission for the judges and staff to review the battle. Shota has never been happier to receive a message delaying something, because this, whatever the hell had just happened in that arena, needed to be discussed.

And that’s how the dark-haired man finds himself seated at a table with the majority of the staff in charge of the festival. There’re still some teachers supervising the students, and keeping an eye on the audience milling around, but anyone involved, teachers of the students and those who’d witnessed the oddity first hand, are gathered around.

The discussion is more or less bickering—not everyone had a good view from where they were positioned, not everyone had seen the battle unfold in depth or in detail, but everyone had witnessed the fog take over the battle boundaries.

“Did Midoriya cheat?” Shota swivels in his chair to glare at Snipe, but the gunman doesn’t so much as glance in Shota’s direction.

“No,” the underground hero denies sharply, a snarl curling his lips. “That kid would rather die than cheat. I don’t know what the hell happened out there, but Midoriya had nothing to do with it.”

“That is true,” Yagi shakes his head, arms crossing over his chest, “Aizawa and I have both spent ample time with young Midoriya, and that boy would never cheat. Not willingly or intentionally. Whatever that was, it wasn’t caused by Midoriya.”

Shota lets his gaze flicker to Yagi across the table, not voicing anything else but silently thankful he’s got Midoriya’s back too. Hizashi is nodding at Shota’s side, clearly agreeing with the sentiment as well, but he doesn’t have quite as much experience with Midoriya to really add anything; but still, he’d spent just as much time with Izuku—frankly, anyone who’d taught the kid at all would see the prideful air about him.

He wants to learn and do things on his own. He wants to be able to do things alone. He absorbs information, and really takes critiques to heart—the kid is an honest hero in training, just as most of their students are. None of his 1-A students would cheat, and Shota would bet his life on it.

Besides, Shota can’t imagine the boy, Midoriya Izuku, who’d worked the hardest Shota had seen in ages, pushed himself to the absolute limits with a Quirk he’d just recently gotten, ever cheating, let alone at something as important as the Sports Festival. It’s illogical.

“Well, it wasn’t Shinsou’s doing,” Cementoss shakes his head, “the boy looked just as confused as anyone else. I didn’t see much, but I could see him.”

“If we’re going by that logic, Midoriya was on the ground.” Midnight cocked her head, shooting her fellow referee a hard look, “he was still under the effects of Shinsou’s Quirk. The kid couldn’t move—I mean, we all saw him break free of the hypnosis; that was one powerful flick. We all saw how it blew the fog away, but, forget about that for a second— are we not going to talk about the third person down there?”

The stunned huff in the woman’s voice as she speaks draws in Shota’s attention.

The man’s gaze lifts to her, as her narrowed eyes shooting around the room. She’d seen him too. It was one thing for Hizashi and Shota to see the third teenager, but it was another for Nemuri, who’d been down there on the ground, to have seen that unknown person as well.

“The what?” Vlad King blinks. There’s a moment of chilling silence, where no one knows what to say. The teachers are shocked, those who hadn’t seen the teenager down there too. Shota had thought everyone would’ve seen him—it was blatantly obvious.

“The third kid,” Midnight turns to him in surprise. Her confident expression crumbles slightly as he gaze surveys over the confused, surprised and nervous faces of their co-workers. “You didn’t... did anyone else see him?”

“We did,” Hizashi gestures to both himself and Shota. “Barely, I mean. I saw someone down there, sure, but... I couldn’t make out any details. It all happened so fast. I have no idea who that kid was—we were too far to really see. Did you see anything else, Nem?”

“No,” she shakes her head with a huff, “no more than you, apparently. I just got a glimpse and then the fog filled in and I could hardly see anything. It was just out of the corner of my eye, and before I could really look over, I couldn’t see anything inside the boundaries. I take it you two saw roughly the same thing?”

Hizashi nods slowly, blinking thoughtfully behind his tinted glasses. Shota just slumps a little more in his chair, glaring down at the edge of the table.

“Hold on. There was a third person down there and no one thought to intervene?” Snipe’s voice comes out icily, scanning around the table, “what was the point of having you two down there if you didn’t do anything about someone, a stranger, down there with the children?”

“You can’t honestly be blaming us,” Midnight glares hard at the gunman, “what would you have liked us to do? I barely saw the kid before the fog filled in, and Cementoss didn’t even see the kid. And, might I remind you, this whole thing went down in no more than five seconds.”

“Now, now,” Nezu chided with a wide smile, “settle down, teachers.”

The calm words of the principal instantly draw in everyone’s attention. Nezu is positioned at the head of the table, and until now, had been content to just watch the staff derail. His eyes shine with mirth, and his voice is light.

“I do agree that this is quite the predicament. I can’t say that I saw someone down there with the students either, but the thought in itself is rather worrisome. Three of my teachers witnessed it, a couple too many to brush off, no?” The rat taps at his chin thoughtfully. “Then again, the fog is quite hard to explain as well.”

“How could someone get in though?” Power Loader asks when no one says anything for a long moment. “We’ve doubled down on the security after the USJ incident, and we’ve had Pros patrolling the area all day.”

“Let’s not forget that we have a full stadium of civilians,” Hound Dog offers slowly, “it could’ve been any one of their Quirks as well. We know both Midoriya, and Shinsou’s Quirks. And... as much as I don’t want to say it, villains have gotten in once this year, who’s to say they couldn’t have again?”

“Yes, you do have a point,” Nezu nods. “The festival has allowed access to the campus, and it’s true that villains could use that to their advantage. It is the one day a year where Yuuei eases up on our security just a tad bit.”

“If it was a villain...” Shota starts stiffly, unconvinced, “why did nothing happen? Neither boy was harmed. The fog lasted no more than five seconds. Seems illogical that villains would risk accessing the school a second time so close after the USJ to do that. Our security has been doubled, common knowledge. Pros are patrolling, as they do every year. That stadium is filled with first, second and third year students with powerful Quirks.”

“That’s true,” Midnight’s eyebrows furrow. “Villains can be pretty stupid, but I doubt any are that stupid. Aizawa’s got a point; nothing did happen. If a villain managed to get past all our defenses undetected, why didn’t they do something? The festival is broadcasted live, anything said or done would’ve blown up.”

“Another good point,” Nezu nods again. His smile has waned a little, but it’s still wide and toothy on the rat’s face. “Oh dear, this really is quite troublesome. Perhaps we should take a look at the camera footage of the battle, hm? I’m sure that will settle this, and answer all our questions!”

“Now he tells us,” Snipe huffs under his breath.

It doesn’t take long for a hologram screen to pop up in the middle of the table at Nezu’s fiddling with a small remote. Some teachers shift to get a better view; Shota feels Hizashi’s hand on the arm rest of his own chair, and then his husband and pushing in close to see better. Shota lets out a huff.

There are a couple angles; the screen split in sections of each angle. There was a camera right beneath the emcee booth where he and Hizashi had been, one off the side of where Midnight had been standing. There's an overhead angle, and a fourth that has a clean view of the entire battle area from the side.

There’s more cameras spread around, but these are the ones with the best views of this specific portion of the stadium. These are the angles that are broadcasted all the individual battles live.

They watch the battle play out as it had in real time. None of the videos have sound playing just because there’s four videos playing at once, but they don’t need the sound either way.

Shota leans forwards in interest as Izuku falls under the hypnotic Quirk, swiveling on his heels and slowly stepping away from Hitoshi.

The room is silent as they watch the kid move.

His steps are slow and sluggish, dragging as he goes. Watching now, Shota can see how the kid wobbles like he’s really trying to fight the Quirk but to no avail. This just proves how much more valuable Hitoshi’s Quirk is. Midoriya is strong—both when it comes to his Quirk, and mentally. This is no easy feat for Hitoshi, all the more reason that the kid should’ve been given an actual shot at Heroics admission, instead of a rigged entrance exam.

The underground hero forces his attention back onto the screen where, finally, Izuku’s steps falter. He’s frozen in place, wobbling just a little more, and when he does to take another step, the one right before he topples as the toe of his shoe catches on the concrete.

The teen stumbles to his knees, and... from these angles, it looks like he’s down. Shota remembers the teen almost dangling, held up by something, someone, but here, it doesn’t appear to be the case. It doesn’t look completely natural, how Izuku goes down, but at the same time, it’s not someone hovering in mid-air weird.

The next thing Shota notices, just before fog takes over the entirety of the dual arena, is that no one is there. Literally, no one. There’s not another person in sight. Just... just Midoriya and Shinsou.

“What?” Hizashi breaths out at Shota’s side, breath brushing along Shota’s neck as he lets out a similar exhale. Midnight across the table looks as stumped as Shota feels.

No one. There was no one there but... he’d seen someone. Hizashi had seen someone. Nemuri had seen someone. Shota had seen someone holding Izuku.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Midnight blinks owlishly at the camera footage, “we saw someone. We all did—me, Yamada and Aizawa, I mean. How can we all see something that’s not there?”

“Well, there’s nothing there,” Vlad King gestures to the screen. “We have four different angles and there’s nothing on any of them. Nothing but the fog.”

“Maybe it was an illusion Quirk of some sort? What if—” Yagi continues, but Shota doesn’t care to listen in.

Shota ignores the conversation carrying on around him in favor of studying the replaying video. He leans in even closer to the screen as he watches the repeating footage. He narrows his eyes as he inspects it, nose wrinkling as he tries to ignore the conversation taking place. Arguing about this is useless, they’re never going to be able to agree on anything because no one knows what they really saw.

Some saw something, others didn’t.

The footage repeats again and this time... wait— “There,” the underground hero huffs gruffly, everyone looking towards him after his bout of silence in the conversation. Shota doesn’t look up at anyone as he points to a spot on the screen. “That. What’s that?”

It’s hardly noticeable. Tiny, compared to the rest of the screen. It looks like a little translucent ball hovering next to Midoriya. It glows faintly, is really hardly there, easily overlooked, but he’d spotted it, and the more he looks at it, the more it stands out.

“What?” Snipe leans forwards, “what are we looking at?”

“That spec by Midoriya?” Vlad questions, head cocking as he stares too. Everyone is looking where Shota is pointing. “Yeah, what is that?”

After further analysis, Shota determines that the little ball thing appears in all the camera's angles. It’s just barely there in the other three, and the one Shota is pointing at it the most visible, but it’s there. In most it’s just an outline of the edge of the sphere shape, but the original one he’s noticed is filled in with what appears to be a translucent white flash.

It’s odd.

“I’m not... sure,” Power Loader’s hands plant onto the table as he leans close too, “a glitch in the footage maybe?”

“In all four videos, captured by four different cameras?” Hizashi questions with a raised eyebrow. “Seems unlikely.”

His husband’s eyes are narrowed, attention locked on the small spec in the footage right beside Shota’s finger. Everyone is glaring down at the spot in the video.

“Fascinating,” Nezu chirps, pushing himself up from his seat and climbing onto the table. He struts towards Shota, pausing in front of him to almost press his nose against the floating sphere. Shota leans away from the table a little as his boss’ tail swishes in interest right beside his face. “Truly curious,” the rodent nods cheerfully, “I have no idea how to explain that.”

“A glitch,” Power Loader offers a second time, rubbing at the back of his neck. He doesn’t look like he completely believes it, but what other explanation is there? “Technology glitches. Maybe the cameras caught something we didn’t.”

“Some of us did,” Midnight huffs. “I know what I saw, and it was... I don’t know. Familiar, maybe? The kid, and the fog. Just... I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Hizashi nods, slumping back in his chair with a huff, “I don’t know either. I didn’t get a good look but... yeah, I agree. Familiar, now that you mention it. Just seeing it out of the corner of my eye, ya’dig? It’s like I’ve seen it before.”

“Aizawa,” Shota’s attention shoots up, and when it does, he comes face to face with Nezu. The rodent had never been one for personal space, enjoying sitting in his capture weapon whenever he has the chance, but this is a little close for comfort. “Didn’t something similar happen at the USJ?”

He feels everyone’s gaze on him.

Of course the rat would bring that up. It was in his police statement, sure, but being put on the spot like this? Nezu takes way too much pleasure in it.

Asui and Mineta, and a couple of his other students in proximity had reported seeing the clouds, but who was going to take the word of two traumatized first year students, a teacher who’d had his brains bashed into the concrete and a tiny collection of students who thought they saw some smoke or something.

“Not like this,” Shota drawls out, narrowing his eyes and glaring at the rodent principal over his nose. “It was similar, yeah. The fog, at least. I don’t know what I saw after I was injured; I don’t trust my own judgment after the head wound, but my students spoke of similar images to what happened today.”

“Asui and Mineta told me they thought it was a villain’s Quirk,” Hizashi adds, distraught. “A villain who was helping them escape the League of Villains, and it seems farfetched, I know— a villain turning in the middle of a fight— but we can’t discredit them. None of us were there. And we do know all our students, Aizawa’s, and Thirteen’s Quirks.”

“So there was a villain here,” Vlad King’s voice drops low. Tone serious and tense. No one makes a sound as the words sink in. As the insinuation that a villain had once again made their way on campus settled over them like a suffocating blanket.

“Or,” Nezu tuts, walking along the edge of the table, clearly done with Shota, “a vigilante, perhaps? Nothing harmed our students today, and if the word of Aizawa and those students present during the attack on the USJ is correct, this fog Quirk only aided them. A villain would do no such thing, certainly not if they were working with the League of Villains.”

“So we’re just going to discredit this like it didn’t even happen?” Yagi’s head is cocked, confusion lacing his voice, “Sir, I don’t think—”

“No,” Nezu beams, hands interlocked over the small of his back, “certainly not. I won’t say this is a threat, but I also won’t say this isn’t a threat. We hardly know a thing; the only thing we can all clearly agree on is the fact that the fog was unusual and cause for concern. As of now, I highly doubt anything will happen during the festival. The battle between Midoriya and Shinsou continued as normal after the fog cleared. It will cause an uproar should we cancel the event, especially now that it’s almost finished.”

“Is it worth putting our students in danger to avoid an uproar?” Hound Dog frowns.

“I truly do not think whatever caused the fog has any intention of harming the students. There have been ample times that something could’ve happened. Five full seconds where no one moved; more than enough time to make a move, yet nothing happened.” Nezu tells them easily, “I’ll admit, I’m just as curious as you all, intrigued by this—it certainly is some food for thought, isn’t it?— but I don’t believe there’s any danger as of current.”

The teachers all share a glance as the principal pauses at the edge of the table by the seat he’d started in, “that said, I want everyone in this room on high alert. Should another incident, such as the one to happen while Midoriya and Shinsou were battling, occur, we’ll shut it down. We know what we’re looking for now, I don’t want to see anyone hesitate should that fog appear a second time today.”

His tone is almost icy in that way Nezu can only do. It’s a drastic contrast to the charming smile he sends them when he swivels on his heels to make fleeting eye contact with each and every teacher seated at the table.

No one dares say anything. Not when Nezu’s tone leaves no room for argument.

“Good!” The rat chirps after a long second of awkward silence, tone back to the light, playfulness it had been previously. “Now, that brings us to the final aspect of this meeting. Can we consider Midoriya’s win fair?”

There’s a second of uncertain silence.

“We saw his win,” Yagi clears his throat after breaking the silence. “It’s not like they fought in the fog, neither boy moved until it was cleared. It’s all on film. Young Midoriya used his Quirk to shock himself out of the hypnotic state his opponent put him in. That’s fair. That’s a win.”

“Yes, but you like the kid,” Vlad King reminds with a frown. “We don’t know that for sure.”

“Yeah, I agree. We don’t know what happened during those five seconds where we couldn’t see anything.” Snipe blinks slowly, “anything could’ve happened.”

“We see exactly where Midoriya went down,” Shota huffs out, nodding his chin towards where the screen in the center of the table is still playing the reruns of the battle. It’s the part where the green-haired teen is falling to his knees, “and when the fog clears, Midoriya hasn’t moved at all beside his arms. He’s completely in bounds.”

“How did he manage to use his Quirk?” Midnight questions with a quirked eyebrow. She leans her elbow on the table, chin supported in her palm, watching the screen like it might tell her the answer itself.

“Sheer power of will?” Hizashi huffs a light laugh, “Midoriya’s hard headed, you could see him struggling against the Quirk. All he needed was a little bit of give to break himself out of it, and we see that on film too. If anyone can do it, it would be Midoriya.”

“Young Midoriya is quite head strong,” Yagi shrugs helplessly in agreement.

“Wouldn’t it be fair to have a rematch?”

“A rematch won’t change the outcome,” Shota shakes his head with a sigh. It sucks to say, but Shota also knows that he doesn't want Shinsou losing twice. He has high expecations for the teen, and he knows he's more than capable, but the win is in the video, and Shota knows how Izuku processes Quirks. It's not worth forcing Hitoshi into a second fight where his outsome is a heartbreaking loss; he's made great progress, but he's just... not quite up to par with his components just yet. “Shinsou’s main advantage in this battle was that initial element of surprise. That’s how he got one over on Midoriya, but Midoriya knows his Quirk now. He knows how to avoid it. It’s a losing fight, and frankly, it would just be cruel to make Shinsou compete twice when he only had an advantage the first time around.”

“Yes,” Nezu lets out a light huff, that small amused smile still on his lips, “I agree. We won’t host a rematch, but we could disqualify both on account that the match could be seen as invalid considering those five seconds of lost time.”

“That seems unfair to both,” Midnight frowns thoughtfully, “neither boy did anything wrong, and we all know what disqualifications’ll do to them. Between the spectators in the crowd, the media vultures and their classmates—we might as well paint targets on their backs that say cheater. Midoriya did win in the end, Shinsou did end up outside of the boundaries. Aizawa was right, even if we didn’t really see anything for those five seconds, neither one moved. We can analyze these videos as much as we want, it won’t change what’s in front of us.”

“Alright then,” Nezu puffs out his chest a little, teeth baring in a smile, “we’ll continue as is. Midoriya will be moving on as normal. Any objections?”

No one bothers to speak.

“Wonderful!” the rat chirped with a clap of his hands, “that concludes this meeting; and perfectly timed as well, our half an hour intermission is just about over. Back to your posts, please. We have a Sports Festival to finish!”

After that half hour intermission break, the Sports Festival carries on without any other interruptions. Izuku’s not quite sure what to think. He knows everyone had seen the fog. His and Shinsou’s battle had been on repeat in Recovery Girl’s office. His fingers had shattered again and should he be allowed to compete still, he needed to be in good shape to do so.

The fog was so obviously clear. It was there, but no one was saying anything. No one mentioned it. He was so confused.

He still doesn’t know what possessed Oboro to ignore him completely and join him. He doesn’t know why his friend reached out to touch him, or even where the ghost was now.

He’s not sure if he’s glad he doesn’t see him, or upset he’s gone. All he knows is one second, he’s glaring, turning away from the ghost and being swept up with the battle at hand now that he had his re-found freedom back, and the next, when he has a second to think, the ghost is gone.

He’s not sure what he’s feeling when it comes to Oboro. The ghost doesn’t just do things—especially not things that could get Izuku in trouble. He can’t help but wonder why the ghost touched him when the risk of it was so blatantly obvious.

His Quirk had been seen on live television. How was he going to explain that? How was Yuuei going to explain that? He didn’t know, and only a very tiny part of him actually wanted to find out. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want it brought up. He didn’t want anyone to know it existed, his natural Quirk. Nothing good ever came from people knowing about it.

It’s a long half an hour as Izuku waits for the festival to continue. He knows they’re talking about him—about the battle between him and Shinsou—about the fog.

He’s still upset.

He’s worried.

He’s a little frustrated, and there’s a strange inkling of defeat in his lungs that doesn’t make sense because he’d won. He’d won against Shinsou. But he knows that can all be dashed away at the drop of a hat.

Sure, they’d let him finish the battle—he'd won. He’d managed to get Shinsou out of bounds, but was he going to get in trouble? Was the fight valid? Would they think he cheated?

He waits anxiously as that half an hour intermission ticks on, minutes crawling along at snail’s speed. He’s not sure his heart settles the whole time, and he has half a mind to check in with Recovery Girl for a heart attack, or something.

He doesn’t, can’t bring himself around to it. All he does is stare at his own fingers and wait.

What if he gets kicked out of school for this?

What if he gets disqualified? What if he gets Shinsou disqualified?

What if his new guardians think he’s a cheater?

Would they still keep him?

What will he do if he gets shipped off to some foster home, or group home? What then?

He doesn’t think his teachers would do that—but then again, he didn’t think his mom would just walk out on him without a word either. He’s not sure he’d be able to hand the two men just... giving up on him. That would be his breaking point. He can’t even imagine it—he'd only lived with them for so long, but he’s dependent on it. On them. It’s been so long since he’d... felt like this.

Thankfully there’s not much time to stress over it all, because before he knows it, the festival is under swing again, and the next battle pair is up, and no one’s said anything about a disqualification, and he can finally take a breath.

He can hardly pay attention to the next couple rounds—who wins and who loses. All he really needs to think about is who he’s fighting next and that’s Todoroki.

He feels bad that he didn’t give his friend’s matches as much attention as he should’ve feeling the worst about not really seeing Ochako’s battle against Kacchan.

He’s a little sad she lost, but at the same time, he knows how powerful Kacchan is. She put up a good fight, and she should be proud. He’ll tell her that when he sees her next.

He waits patiently to see if a teacher comes to find him to tell him he’s disqualified, or that he was expelled for being caught cheating, but no one comes.

Before he knows it, he’s stood in the tunnel that’ll lead him towards his next battle.

He’s not expecting to have a run in with the Number Two Hero in said tunnel, and honestly, it irks him. He’s already stressed, and tired, and he’d been trying to put all his attention into this battle, but he’s got his two guardians spectating, and a missing ghost, and he really doesn’t want to deal with the guy.

He honestly hates the short conversation with the Pro. As Izuku makes his way towards the other end of the tunnel, content to not give Endeavor the time of day, the Pro’s voice stops him; tells Izuku to do his best not to give Shoto a disgraceful match. Before Izuku can leave, can end the conversation he didn’t even want to have in the first place, Izuku tells Endeavor that he isn't All Might and Shoto isn't him. He feels bad for his classmate.

He really doesn’t mean to get hurt.

He just... he wants Todoroki to be himself. He wants Todoroki to own his powers—the ice side and the flaming side. They’re both his Quirks, despite being inherited. He wants his classmate to see how useful his Quirk can be, how it doesn’t have to be used like his father uses his own flames.

And if he gets beat, if he loses in the long run, then so be it. Because he’d helped Todoroki. And hopefully he’ll start to see the dual Quirked teen striving to be the best with both his icy side and his flaming side.

He’d hated seeing Todoroki sad.

Izuku wakes up in the infirmary. He’s not sure how much time has passed. A couple hours, he’s sure.

He feels drowsy, like his head is full of cotton wool. His mouth feels dry, and his body hurts. Aches. Ouch.

“You with us, Kiddo?” Izuku lets his head lull in the direction of the voice, giving a faint nod. The voice is familiar, but for a second, Izuku can’t place it with his mind everywhere. “You had us real worried, Darlin’, but man was that fight amazing.”

“Don’t encourage him,” another voice scoffs, older and weathered, “the men in this boy’s life, I swear. It’s like a fight club around here. Now, how are you feeling, Dearie?”

“Ouch,” Izuku tells the second voice unhelpfully, with prompts a deep snort of laughter from Izuku’s other side. It belongs to neither of the first two voices. Izuku likes the sound, even if it sounds like the voice is laughing at him.

“That’s helpful, Problem Child.”

Problem Child?

Oh. He knows who’s here now.

“Shooota,” Izuku lulls his head in Shota’s direction, “you’re here.”

And if he’s here then... Izuku’s head angles back to the other side, “’zashi. It’s you, you’re here.”

“Hey, Izu,” Hizashi leans closer to him, brushing Izuku’s bangs out of his face. His hand settles on the side of his head for a second, and in his hazy, drug filled mind, the only option is to press in closer. “You’re so high it’s not even funny, Listener. You’re just the cutest.”

“’m not,” Izuku huffs out, hardly aware of how he’s pressing against his guardian’s hand.

“He’s like a cat,” comes Shota’s own voice, soft and slow and comforting. Izuku feels the dark-haired hero’s hand on his forearm. It’s nice—calloused from years of handling the capture weapon, but there’s a strange, out of place softness too.

“I hurt,” Izuku tells them numbly, mind lagging behind. He feels groggy. He hopes he comes out of this soon, he clearly has very little brain to mouth filter, and that not something someone in his position can bear to lose.

“Should he be hurting?” Shota questions, and Izuku can almost hear concern in his voice.

“You did just wake up from surgery, dear. Does it hurt, or is it just a bit uncomfy?”

His brain stutters, thinks it through before he lifts his head and forces his eyes fully open, “uncomfy.”

“That’s as I expected,” the woman tuts softly. “He’s still coming out of the pain medication I gave him when he first arrived, but he should start coming around soon. Once he’s functioning, he’ll be good to go so long as you two keep an eye on him, and he gets lots of rest this weekend before school. No training, no physical activity, nothing of the sort, alright?”

“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Hizashi promises.

“Trust me, the kid won’t be doing anything until he’s properly healed. If he’s not going to heed your warnings, I will.”

He doesn’t like the sound of that, but he’ll worry about that later.

“W-who, uhm, who won...?” His voice comes out rougher than he thought it would; voice dry like his mouth and throat felt.

“Overall, or the top three?”

“Both?” Izuku cocks his head. “Was... was it Kacchan? K-Kacchan is strong, I knew he could do it.”

“Yes,” Shota’s lets out a fond huff. “Katsuki did win. He placed first, followed by Todoroki and the Tokoyami.”

“Good,” Izuku breaths out lightly, his brain feeling like mush, “I’m glad. T-Todoroki deserves it too; used his fire side an’ everything. So strong. And... and Tokoyami too. Good job.”

“You did well too,” Hizashi tells him, “We’re very proud, Izuku. You fought hard, and you made it far. Good job, Izuku too.”

We’re very proud.

Good job, Izuku.

Man, when was the last time he heard that?

“Awh, baby,” Izuku hears, and then there’s a hand brushing under his eyes, and the tone is so soft, and sweet, and unfamiliar, but so appreciated, “don’t cry, sweetheart, it’s alright.”

He hadn’t realized he was tearing up, and he’s not even sure why.

Because he hasn’t felt like this in so, so long.

Because he’s hurt, and drugged up, and he’d lost.

Because he feels so nice, and protected and soft and these two men are sitting at his bedside, and calling him nice things and saying good job and we’re proud and... oh, wow, why can’t he stop crying?

The arm he reaches up to wipe his face with, his dominant one, sends a sharp spark of pain through his arm whole arm. He knows he lets out a his, and the violent wince makes his head spin. He feels Shota’s gentle hand press it back down to the bed, and instead the dark-haired hero wipes away his tears.

“Hush, Problem Child, try to sleep a little more, you’re getting yourself worked up.”

And he does, because he’s so tired, and he’s warm, and safe and this is... it’s so nice.

Izuku doesn’t remember his first time waking up in the infirmary.

He wakes up the second time to his guardians conversing quietly, and Recovery Girl working at her desk. Shota and Hizashi look tired, worn out after a long day, and they look a little stressed too.

He doesn’t remember a lot of that either to be fair, but he remembers more than he does about the supposed first time he woke up. He’s a little fearful to ask if he’d done anything strange under the influence, but he really doesn’t want to know the answer.

He doesn’t remember getting loaded up into the car, or getting helped into the apartment. He does remember being ambushed by cats—both Shota and Hizashi trying to shoo them away, but to no avail.

How he ends up with all three sprawled on his bed, he’s not sure.

He remembers catching Oboro’s eyes as he’s helped into the guest bed by Shota. As Hizashi grabs him a water bottle from the fridge in case he gets thirsty in the night. He remembers the sad look, and the wince when all Izuku can make himself do is stare into the ghost’s eyes.

Then he... well, he falls asleep.

That following morning, Izuku knows what he needs to do. He doesn’t wake up to the ghost in his room. He doesn’t even see the ghost until he makes his way into the main living space of the apartment where Shota and Hizashi are sitting together watching some English film.

He spots Oboro sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, watching the TV, but not at the same time. He doesn’t even seem to notice Izuku until the teen clears his throat to get everyone's attention.

“Do you guys mind if I go visit a friend today?” Izuku questions with a light smile.

“That depends,” Shota replies without looking up from the movie, “how are you feeling?”

“Better,” Izuku tells him honestly. “My arm hurts a bit, I guess, but other than that, I’m feeling fine now.”

“I don’t mind then, eat something for lunch before you take off, and be back by dinner.” Shota shrugs, finally looking up at Izuku before glancing over at Hizashi who’s tucked under his arm, “Anything to add, ‘zashi?”

“Did you want me to drive you?”

“Oh, uh, no thank you,” Izuku gives a cheerful smile, “I’m fine. I want to get some fresh air on the walk.”

“Alright,” Hizashi gives him a light smile, “you’ve got our numbers and you know how to find your way back home, right?”

“Yes,” Izuku nods, and it’s mostly the truth. He has their numbers, and he has a ghost who’ll be able to find his way back. The ghost in question is watching Izuku with an uncertain look. Oboro startles when Izuku subtly gestures him to follow.

“Sounds good then, text us if you need us.”

“Sure!” Izuku chirps, turning on his heels to leave the room, “will do!“

“Oh, and Problem Child?” Izuku freezes in the doorway at Shota‘s gruff voice, “try’n stay out of trouble, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” Izuku laughs. “See ya later!”

He grabs something quick to eat from the kitchen before taking his leave. He feels the ghost following behind him, silent but there. He’s never spent any time with Oboro where the ghost was this quiet. It makes Izuku feel uneasy.

“Who are you going to visit?” Oboro asks awkwardly at Izuku’s side, clearly unsure why he’d been invited along.

Izuku glares over at the ghost before letting out a heavy sigh, “you, ya block head. We need to talk.”

Izuku wasn’t sure Oboro’s pale complexion could turn and paler, but it certainly does. Huh.

Chapter Text

The teen isn’t really sure what possessed the ghost to do as he’d done. Why had he completely ignored him and joined him down in the arena anyways? When Izuku had explicitly told him not to. They’d literally had that conversation just before the events started—surly Oboro couldn’t have forgotten that?

Sure, he’d given the ghost an okay to do so, but that had only been if Izuku was dying.

If he was sitting on death's doorstep, and the only thing that could’ve saved him was Oboro—which he knew wouldn’t happen. Not at the Sports Festival. Not surrounded by his friends, and teachers, and countless Pro Heroes on patrol or simply just watching the next generation of Heroes perform to their fullest.

No one had died at the Sports Festival—sure, there had been some fatal blows and close calls, but Recovery Girl was always on top of any injuries, so despite how dangerous the festival well and truly is, no one had died. Oboro knew that, so why’d he come back on his word?

The ghost trails silently behind Izuku as the teen walks down the street. It’s mid-day, so the streets are busy. He doesn’t really know the neighborhood, but he knows it well enough considering it’s relatively close to the school. He’d walked through it once or twice, but never really looked around or explored.

But now was as good of time as any, and this wasn’t a conversation he could have on the streets with people walking past—and he certainly couldn’t have it at his guardian’s apartment. Not when they were home, and Izuku really doesn’t think they should put this conversation off. They were still putting off the ‘who are you really?’ conversation, but Izuku is waiting for Oboro to take the first step with that one.

He still hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask his guardians—or, would he be asking his teachers?— what happened with the fog. He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely something has to be said about the fog that had pooled into the sectioned off battle arena. That’s not normal. And Izuku isn’t sure how he could explain it if he tried.

He can’t tell someone else about his Quirk-not-Quirk. He can’t lose someone else because he’s weird. Because he’s different. He’s afraid. If this had chased away his own parents, the ones whose sole responsibility is to take care of him, what will it do to the two men who don’t have obligations to care for Izuku?

He doesn’t want to find out.

The teen walks slowly, passes shops and stores. There're a couple different apartment buildings spread around, it’s almost neighborhoodlike, but at the same time, it’s not open or happy like the neighborhood he grew up in. It’s clear this is the type of neighborhood where people tended to keep to themselves—which makes sense considering Shota’s position as an underground hero.

The less attention there, the better.

Izuku almost remembers walking around here with his Sensei the night he’d found him on the streets. It’s distant, truthfully, that whole night is pretty distant, but he’s got faint memories. It had been a long walk considering the trains weren’t running at that hour, nor was any other public transit.

Which is how Izuku finds his way to a small, secluded playground. It’s old, weathered down. Faded metal and chipped paint. It’s not one of those fancy new playgrounds you see in community-based neighborhoods, or at schools where small children attend these days; with tubes and bridges connecting dozens of slides and activity toys—it's nothing but a single metal slide, a swing set, an old, squeaky merry-go-round and a see-saw.

The park is devoid of anyone, and by the look of the quality, it’s probably for good reason. There’s no cushioning under the equipment; sand or woodchips, or even gravel, just grass that’s on the way to being overgrown.

He’s not sure even his mother would’ve let him play where when he was little, and that’s saying something.

Still, it seems perfect for this, and honestly, Izuku’s a bit sore from walking.

So, he makes his way towards the swing set, plopping down on one of the swings and using his toes to kick off a smooth, swaying motion. Oboro is stood a foot or so away, watching with a pinched expression. It looks like he’d just bitten a wedge of lemon, or something as equally sour and bitter.

He looks like he doesn’t know what to say or do; like he suddenly doesn’t know how to act around Izuku despite their month of friendship and the fact that Oboro is probably the closest friend he’s ever had.

“You coming?” Izuku cocks his head to the side, gesturing to the remaining swing at his side.

Oboro seems to survey over Izuku for a second before letting out a breath through his nose and moving cautiously to settle on the swing. It doesn’t move an inch—the chains holding it don’t rattle like when Izuku had sat down. Honestly, the swing would be completely still if it wasn’t for the breeze sweeping over it.

Oboro seems to take that in stride, lifting his feet up so they hover above the ground instead of how Izuku is guiding himself with his toes. The ghost hands over full control to the gentle, swaying breeze.

They sit in silence for a second, Izuku swinging faintly, and Oboro staring blankly ahead of himself.

“I haven’t really seen you since yesterday,” Izuku mutters quietly, staring down at where his toe is digging into the grass instead of glancing at his friend. “Or, talked, I guess. You were around, but you weren’t... there.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” Oboro returns slowly. His hands are grasping tightly at the chains on either side of him, and he looks so uncomfortable it makes Izuku want to frown. “You were... I did it again, Izuku. I fucked it up again. I messed up, and I could’ve... I could’ve ruined everything this time.”

Izuku choses to remain silent at the ghost’s side. Oboro isn’t even looking at him, just glaring straight ahead like the slide in front of them had personally done him wrong. He wants to question what the ghost means, but knows if he keeps quiet, Oboro might just tell him without prompting. Silences like these do weird things to people.

“I don’t know how not to screw it all up,” the ghost heaves out, “I just... I try not to do anything, and it should be easy, y’know? I’ve done nothin’ for years—but when it comes to you... I don’t know. I just... I— You could’ve gotten disqualified, or they could’ve thought you were cheating, or, hell, you could’ve been expelled because of me.”

The ghost lets out a groan that comes out more like a growl, nose wrinkling in frustration.

“You used your Quirk.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Oboro stressed the word out. “Really, that was... it was an accident. I had no intention of using it, Izuku, and you’ve gotta believe me. I’d never intentionally do that to you. I would... I’d never. You’ve gotta know that.”

“I know.” And he does.

Which is why he’s so confused why it actually happened.

“It... it just happened,” the ghost whines out like it doesn’t make sense to him either. It’s almost like Oboro had read Izuku’s mind, because he’s pretty sure he didn’t say his thoughts aloud. “I was just... I don’t know. I was scared. I was scared, and I know you said that I shouldn’t intervene unless you were dying, and I know, I know you weren’t. You weren’t dying; you were safe. I know that, but I just...”

Oboro’s voice tapers off, and now the ghost is staring down at his own lap.

“Just... what?” Izuku inquires softly.

“You had this look in your eyes,” Oboro tells him just as quietly. “It was the Quirk. Hitoshi’s Quirk. Your eyes just... they glazed over, y’know?”

Once again, Izuku waits while the ghost processes through his thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to go down there, you told me not to. I know. I just. I blinked, and then I was there—but I wasn’t going to do anything. I just... I was talking to you. And I could see your eyes, and your stiff movements, but I made sure we didn’t touch. Every step you took, I took one back. I know you didn’t want any help, but I thought maybe... maybe I could help without helping, you know?”

“That’s still helping,” Izuku cocks an eyebrow, and Oboro lets out a light, sad laugh.

“I know. Sorry. I wasn’t... I wasn't thinking, I guess. It’s just you worked so hard to get there, and I know—I know Hitoshi did too, but I’m biased towards you. I know everything you’ve done to make it this far, and to go out like that—to lose it all over a question?”

“It was fair,” Izuku tells the ghost, even though he knows Oboro already knows that as well. “I wasn’t expecting it, sure, but he did use his Quirk fairly. He showed off what he was capable of, and it was clever. He’ll make a good hero one day, if that’s what he’s going for.”

“You’re too good, you know that?” Oboro huffs out with another light laugh. It’s not much brighter than the first, but there’s also not as much sadness hidden beneath it. “You’ll make a good hero too, Izu.”

Izuku glances over to his side, seeing Oboro’s head lifted just enough so they can catch each other’s gazes. He can’t help the light smile at the ghost’s words, but he’s quick to shake it off, “we’re getting off topic.”

“Sorry,” comes Oboro’s whisper of a reply.

Despite Izuku’s accusation, neither continues for a second. It’s Oboro who breaks the silence in the end, and just barely at that. If it wasn’t so quiet here, he’s not sure he would’ve heard the ghost at all. “Why aren’t you angry at me?”

“What?” Izuku’s caught off guard, looking up from his red sneakers abruptly, gaze locking on the ghost at his side.

Oboro doesn’t look up, keeps staring ahead of himself. His fingers tense around the chain again, the ghostly pale of his skin fading out to an almost translucent white. “Why aren’t you upset?”

“I... was,” Izuku can’t lie to the ghost, even if the admission has Oboro’s face crumpling and body slumping in defeat. “In the moment, I definitely was. I... I pushed you away, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to be so harsh, but I panicked, y’know? I just didn’t... I was wondering why. We’d talked about it before the festival started and I was clear when I told you I wanted to do it alone—that I had to do it alone. I was upset, and angry because it felt like you... I don’t know, like you ignored me completely.”

“I didn’t mean to,” the ghost croaked out, voice barely above a whisper. Izuku’s not sure he’d heard the ghost sound so wrecked. “I know what I did was wrong, and I... I really didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Izuku frowns, digging his heel into the grass to push off and start swinging again. He sways twice, head thrown back to stare up at the sky, “that’s why I’m not angry or upset anymore. I’m just... I’m trying to understand.”

Oboro is silent at his side, one hand on the chain, and the other picking at the edge of his Yuuei blazer jacket. He doesn’t look like he wants to say anything else, but Izuku’s not content. “Why did you really come down when you knew I didn’t want you down there with me? Why... why did Shinsou’s Quirk affect you? What made you move?”

He can’t be upset at the concept that Oboro moved before he knew what he was doing. It was a hero trait. That was exactly how Izuku caught All Might’s attention—having a hero’s heart and mindset. That inability to look the other way. He’d be a hypocrite if he was upset Oboro had the same urge when looking at something he deemed dangerous—

The question was, why was it dangerous? Why’d he move? What went through his head when watching that battle that prompted him into action?

The ghost is quiet for another long second before he finally blows out a slow exhale. “I’ve only seen the look that you had in your eyes, that glazed over, unseeing stare, once before. It... I don’t know, I guess it messed with me. I... I didn’t like it. Not on you.”

Izuku opens his mouth to push for more, desperate to understand, but Oboro continues before he can, “and... and that one time I’d seen it was... was on myself. Standing o-over... after I...” an audible swallow as Oboro arches forwards, elbows on his knees and head hanging, “your eyes looked dead, Izuku.”

And everything clicks into place.

Dread drops over Izuku’s head like a block of ice that shatters into a million little pieces as the words sink in. Oboro, this dead teenager, had looked at Izuku during that battle and seen images himself after he’d passed away in Izuku. The thought swirls in his stomach and makes him feel physically sick.

He hadn’t known what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He never would’ve thought that. Would never want to think that, let alone have it actually happen.

He feels awful for his friend, and everything he’d gone through, even though Izuku doesn’t know the bare minimum of it. He can’t imagine looking at someone— Kacchan, or Tsu, or Shota and Hizashi or, hell, even Oboro— and seeing what he associated death with.

His stomach gives a churn at the dark image—at the fear swirling that’s probably not even half of what Oboro had felt in the moment as he’d come back on his word and found himself staring Izuku’s brainwashed gaze in the eyes.

This time it’s Izuku who moves without thought.

He’s up off the swing, the chains clinking as they’re tossed backwards from his quick movements.

One second, he’s sitting on the swing, and the next he’s grabbing Oboro’s arm, and tugging him as he drops to his knees— and they’re touching again—his fingers curl around a solid arm, and all he can think to do is comfort.

There’s a tiny part of him ecstatic that they can touch like this, as easily as they are, but the bigger part of his brain knows it’s just because he’s desperate to comfort Oboro. He’s desperate to squash down that fear because Izuku is fine.

Oboro slides off the swing and onto his knees too, clearly not expecting the touch or weight of Izuku barreling into him and locking onto his frame, and when they’re the same level, on their knees in the grass, Izuku tugs the ghost into a hug.

He pulls Oboro in close, arms encircling around the ghost’s neck. He pressed his face in close, eyes squeezing shut as his nose brushes against solid skin. Solid skin. Because Oboro is solid.

Oboro is slack in his arms for a second—not longer than a second— before he’s wrapping his arms around Izuku’s midsection and squeezing just as desperately. His own face shoves in close and he lets out a shuttering breath as they sit there on their knees in front of the swaying swings, squeezing each other.

Izuku had never hugged a ghost—never gotten close enough to one to allow it. Never thought he would’ve initiated it in the first place, but this feels right. There’s no chill of it, just a familiar warmth of another body. It’s not like hugging someone living, not really, but it’s also not like hugging air.

He feels the ghost breathing against him, he feels Oboro tightening his hold desperately; and all Izuku can do it return the favor.

He’s not sure how long they sit there together, wrapped in an embrace Izuku had never thought would be possible. He hadn’t known he’d needed the hug as much as Oboro clearly did.

Oboro doesn’t move against him, but he thinks the ghost might be crying. His breaths come out uneven, heavy and forced. If he needed to breath to survive, Izuku would be pulling away and demanding the ghost try to calm down; but Oboro isn’t alive, and the green-haired teen thinks the ghost wouldn’t take to kindly to him pulling away yet.

“I haven’t...” Oboro’s voice definitely sounds like he’d been crying, “it’s been... I’ve missed h-hugs.”

His words are accompanied by Oboro burying his own nose in Izuku’s shoulder, tightening his grip. It breaks Izuku’s heart to hear—but he’d... he’d expected it. Oboro was dead. Oboro phased through ninety-nine percent of, well, everything; but that didn’t mean it didn’t shatter his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku whispers out, unsure what he’s apologizing for. He’s crying too, he realizes. This isn’t his pain, or his trauma, but this is his friend, and he’ll hurt for him. With him.

Truthfully, he hadn’t seen much emotion from the ghost. Not such raw emotion like this—not since the USJ where Oboro had fought his hardest to help Aizawa-Sensei. Oboro had always seemed so chipper—content being a ghost, and sure there were times he looked sad, or defeated, but never like this. He’d never really thought about how being dead would make a ghost feel.

To be dead, someone would’ve had to die and there’s... there’s very few pleasant ways to go. And something about this, about Oboro’s age, and his appearance now, tells Izuku that Oboro probably didn’t get some peaceful ‘died in his sleep’ ending. The green-haired teen has a feeling it’s traumatic all around.

Izuku shifts slightly, unsure how long they’d been kneeled in each other’s embraces.

“Not yet,” Oboro’s voice is hardly above a whisper, grip tightening. “Please... please don’t let go yet.”

“I won’t,” Izuku promises, wincing as he shifts again, “but I do need to move. Some of us have poor blood circulation that’s currently not circulating. My legs are numb; I’m going to have awful pins and needles when I stand up again.”

“If you’re talkin’ poor circulation, I’ve got you beat. Nonexistent is worse than poor,” the exhale the ghost releases is basically just a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, well,” Izuku scoffs, “only one of us actually needs the circulation that they don’t have, so technically I have you beat.”

“Yeah, alright. That’s fair enough.” Satisfied with the huffy reply from the green-haired teen, Oboro lets Izuku go just enough for the teen to shift so he’s sitting on his butt with his one leg stretched out and the other tucked under himself.

It’s not perfect, but it’s better.

They still have multiple points of contact, but the hug has relaxed slightly. There’s enough give for Izuku to wriggle around in an attempt to get his blood moving, but not enough to pull away unless he physically tore himself away, which he wouldn’t.

“I think we need to start working more on this Quirk,” Izuku tells the ghost after a second of silence. The breeze ruffles through his curls, and one of the swings behind him bumps into his back, but he’s not bothered. “This... forced emotional activation is only going to hurt us at some point—nothing to bad happened this time, as far as I know, but that won’t always be the case. We need to learn this Quirk, and get it under control before we mess something up.”

“Okay,” Oboro agrees. “I really am sorry. I just... I was trying to catch you when you stumbled, and I didn’t, well, I didn’t think I actually would. It’s always iffy, you know that. I try to touch you all the time, but most of the time you block it, or, or I block it...? But it was different this time; I guess I was more upset at the effect of Shinsou’s Quirk on you than I thought.”

“And that’s alright," Izuku breathes out. “That’s... that’s a good reason to lose control. Good reason, but bad time. Thanks for trying to help me though, even if you weren’t supposed to. And, I’m sorry you went through that and... and that all I did was push you away after.”

“No," Oboro’s smile is back, but nowhere near the bright squinty one, “I’m glad you did. Pushed me away, I mean. Continue to do that. Shove me away if it happens again. I don’t want to use your Quirk without your consent, just like you didn’t want to use mine without mine. We don’t roll like that. Consensual Quirk usage, deal?”

“Yeah,” Izuku returns the smile, “deal.”

Izuku thinks the ghost’s words through for a second before he’s letting out a light laugh and leaning into the solid form of the ghost. “That’s probably one of the oddest things I’ve both heard and agreed too. But it also makes the most sense, as insane as that sounds.”

“What can I say?” Oboro’s humous tone feels like a breath of fresh air, “I’m a ghost of many clever words. Oboro’s words of wisdom.”

“Says the same guy who called himself an emotional support ghost—”

“Which I clearly am!” Oboro huffs out, gesturing first to Izuku, “you’re emotional,” then to himself and the way they’d settled so Oboro’s arm is draped along Izuku’s shoulders, “and I’m support. See?”

“I'm emotional? Not this time, Buddy,” Izuku teases, unable to wipe the smile off his face as Oboro squawks next to him, pulling away just enough to glare halfheartedly at the living boy.

They sit together on the ground for just a little while longer.

Izuku disappears into the guest room with both Blanket and Fish on his heels when he gets back to the apartment. He’d arrived on time, early even. They hadn’t been at the playground for longer than two hours, so there was still some time before dinner.

Shota is half asleep on the couch when he arrives. The tired man gives nothing more than a grunt of greeting when he catches sight of Izuku from behind sleep lidded eyes, but considering the man carries a sleeping bag and will sleep whenever he has the chance, Izuku takes the ordeal in stride and doesn’t comment on it.

Hizashi is somewhere in his and Shota’s bedroom, but he calls a greeting when he hears Izuku coming down the hall, and the teen returns is with a light smile that he knows no one else but the cats see.

It’s a level of domesticity he hasn’t been a part of since he was a child. Since before he got his diagnosis of Quirklessness. Being here, a part of this now, makes his heart flutter in an unfamiliar type of way.

Izuku makes himself at home on at the desk in the guest room, his textbooks and the assignments he’d been slacking on recently spread around him. His teachers had been kind enough to supply him with some extra assignments to boost his grade when he’d worked up the courage to ask.

He’s not sure how much the Yuuei staff knows about his situation, but clearly, it’s enough to offer him help when it comes to his suffering grades. It’s the first time in his life his grades have ever been this low, and he hates it. He’d never had a Quirk growing up, but he’d always been intelligent.

He’s still sore—he knows Shota is going to offer him another round of pain medication soon, but that probably won’t be until before dinner. He faintly remembers Recovery Girl saying something about taking them every six hours, but then again, he’d been fairly medicated when she’d said it.

Behind him, Oboro is sprawled on the bed with Blanket and Fish.

Fish is laying on Izuku’s pillow like he’s the king of the room, no doubt getting fur everywhere, and Blanket is tucked away at the foot of the bed, somehow under the fitted sheet and the bedspread. Nemo had shot one look at Oboro before turning on her heels and strutting away when the trio of cats had followed him from the main living area of the apartment at his arrival.

Oboro is watching a movie with the sound on low so Izuku can work, but he’s so completely enthralled by it that he doesn’t even stir when Izuku’s name is called.

Izuku turns in his seat to study the ghost and cats for a second before pushing off the chair and slipping out of the room without disturbing the occupants on the bed.

“Yeah?” Izuku cocks his head when he rounds into the main living area.

It’s been about an hour since he’d returned back from the playground, and now Shota is sitting on the couch looking no more rested than when Izuku had disappeared down the hall. His eyes are still lidded, but he’s at least sitting up, head held up by his palm, supported by an elbow on the armrest of the couch.

“We’re going out,” Shota told him with a huff, not sounding very enthused. “Well, ‘zashi and I are, at least.”

“And you’re more than welcome to come!” Hizashi called from the kitchen, “we’re just heading to the grocery store, but last time you went shopping you got a bit overwhelmed, and we know you’re still hurting after the festival, so you don’t have to come. But you certainly can if you want to.”

Shota gave a hum of agreement, head lulling back to study the child. “It’s completely up to you.”

“O-oh,” Izuku blinks, looking around the room before shuffling his feet. “I... can stay here?”

“Well, that answers that,” Shota huffed, but his lips quirked upwards slightly, “he’s staying home,” the man calls back a bit louder, earning a replying hum from Hizashi in the kitchen.

Hizashi rounds the corner, gazing in from the kitchen doorway, “was there anything you wanted in the house, Listener? We want to have things you like around here too. We’re gonna do some meal planning and stock up on some snacks and the likes.”

“Jelly pouches,” Shota adds, eyes closed again. Nemo is sprawled on the couch cushion beside him, and his fingers tousle with her soft fur. Izuku faintly hears her purring.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hizashi scoffs, “we’re getting your dumb jelly pouches. Caffeine and jelly pouches, the things that make Aizawa Shota’s world go round.”

Shota lets out a huff, “sometimes you also make my world go round.” A pause. “Depending on the day.”

“That was almost cute,” Hizashi gives a sigh, nose wrinkling and eyes shining behind the regular pair of prescription glasses. Izuku likes this side of his teachers. This teasing, bantering side of them. “Or, it would’ve been if caffeine and jelly pouches weren’t higher on your list than I am, the man you’ve known since high school, who you married.”

“Don’t feel bad, dear, my sleeping bag is also probably higher than you too. As are the cats. You’re a solid fifth, or, if we’re adding the cats individually instead of as a whole, seventh place for now. And, you can be annoyed as you want about those jelly pouches, they’re good. Sustenance. At least I’m eating something.” Shota drawls tiredly, one eye slivering open, “and the kid likes ‘em too.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Hizashi gestures to the dark-haired man in playful exasperation. Izuku can hardly contain the giggle threatening to escape his lungs as Hizashi’s gaze shoots towards Izuku, face contorted in what he can now determine is halfhearted betrayal.

His gaze doesn’t linger for long, instead shooting back to Shota as a scowl settles on his face.

“I told you not to teach Izuku your bad habits.” The blonde lets out a heavy sigh, but there’s a fond smile on his face, “I guess since Izuku likes them too we can grab a couple more boxes. You two are not to live off those awful things though.”

“That’s the fastest I’ve ever won an argument regarding jelly pouches,” Shota huffs, finally sitting up and glancing at Hizashi with a light upward tilt of his lips, “we should’ve gotten a kid sooner.”

Izuku feels his cheeks heat up. His homeroom teacher sends him a sly look, eyes twinkling in a teasing sort of way despite the boredom etched on his face. The man pushes himself up off the couch, ignoring Nemo’s mrroow of complaint. The dark-haired hero disappears into the kitchen after Hizashi who’d turned on his heels with a huff of annoyance.

Izuku follows behind them.

“Say, Kiddo,” and Hizashi no longer sounds annoyed—it was probably just playful then, “what’s your favourite food? I was thinkin’, y’know, since you did so well yesterday in the festival that we could have a celebratory meal?”

“But I didn’t win?” Izuku frowns. “And I got hurt.”

Hizashi spins to face him, a frown on his own lips, “that doesn’t matter, Izuku. You worked hard, and made it far. It doesn’t matter what place you came in; you did your best. I told you this yesterday, but you probably don’t remember it due to the medication, but we’re proud of you.”

He faintly remembers that. Hadn’t he... oh God, he’d cried, hadn’t he? Best not bring that up.

“He’s right,” Shota adds softly. He’s turned towards the counter, focused on something, but still obviously listening and pay attention. “And speaking of your injury, it’s about time for you to take your meds. You’re supposed to be resting up so Recovery Girl can see what she can do with that arm of yours on Monday.”

Shota had been focused on the small bottle of prescribed pain relief, and a small glass of water. He turns towards Izuku holding both out, a sharp, almost demanding look on his face as he passes the items over. Izuku takes both, downing each before moving to set his glass in the sink.

“So? Favourite food?” Hizashi questions when the pills are gone. “What’re we making tonight? It’s up to you!”

“Well...” Izuku bites his lip, feeling a little cornered, “I’ve always like katsudon? B-but I’ll eat anything! Really! I’m not picky at all, just—”

“Katsudon it is!” Hizashi cuts the rambling teen off not unkindly. He flashes a wide grin. “It’s been a while since we’ve had katsudon, hasn’t it, babe?”

“Mm,” Shota hums in agreement, turning back to the counter to put the bottle of pills back in one of the cupboards. “Good pick. Hizashi makes a pretty decent katsudon.”

“Pretty decent?” the blonde squawks, “I make a spectacular katsudon, Sho.”

The word in the middle of the sentence comes out in what Izuku can only assume is English, so the teen doesn’t know what it means. He’s still not entirely good at the language, but that sounded like nothing he’d ever heard before.

Shota snorts a laugh at it though.

Hizashi shakes his head, pouting. His arms cross over his chest, “just for that you don’t get any of my delicious katsudon.”

Izuku just looks between the two of them, trying to figure them out. He’d never really had a dad that he remembers, so he’d never really seen parents interacting with one another. Not that he thinks Shota and Hizashi are his parents or anything, it’s just the closest comparison. He thinks this is how parents are supposed to be? Kacchan’s parents had been like this, but he couldn’t base everything off of one set of parents.

He can tell by the way Shota doesn’t look put out by the threat of no dinner, that Hizashi isn’t serious. It’s a playful jest—the threat of taking away something every day, like dinner, just because Shota had offended Hizashi using said dinner. Well, not really offended—teased, maybe? As teasing as his homeroom teacher can get, Izuku’s sure it was only said to rile Hizashi up—

“Your meds kicking in, Problem Child?” Izuku’s attention snaps up to Shota, who’s now stood in front of him, hands tucked in his pockets and an observant look on his face. “You okay? ‘zashi was talking to you, but you looked a bit out of it.”

“W-what?” Izuku’s attention shoots to where Hizashi is stood. Hizashi had been talking to him? He hadn’t even noticed. “Sorry, got a bit lost in my thoughts. Um... what were you saying?”

“I was just asking if you wanted anything from the store again before we leave but...” the blonde bites his lip in thought before glancing at Shota, “I’m not sure we should leave if you’re not feeling okay.”

“I’m fine!” Izuku squeaks out, “I’m fine. Really. Okay. I mean, I am okay. I was just... thinking. I promise, you guys... you don’t need to stay home just for me; I really am fine. R-really fine.”

“And as convincing as that spectacle was,” Shota huffs out, a frown decorating his face, “how about you be really fine from the couch? We definitely aren’t leaving if you pass out in the kitchen.”

“I won’t pass out,” Izuku pouts, but lets the dark-haired man guide him to the couch by a gentle grip on his shoulder. “You’ll still leave if I pass out in the living room instead though?”

He’s not sure where the quip comes from—probably the pain medication working to numb his arm and injuries until he’s got enough stamina for Recovery Girl to fix him up properly.

He almost apologizes for it, but Shota lets out a small huff of laughter. Hizashi also lets out a snorted chuckle of surprise as Shota lightly pushes Izuku down into the spot he’d been sitting in earlier. “Cheeky brat. You know that’s not what I meant. We obviously won’t go if you pass out anywhere.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” Izuku tells them again through a half smile. He doesn’t know why, but something about making them both laugh makes him feel really happy. “I’ll stay on the couch the whole time you’re gone—and, I mean, Recovery Girl wouldn’t have let me leave if she thought I was going to pass out or something, right? I really was just thinking. I feel fine.”

Shota crouches down, staring Izuku dead-on in the eyes. It’s like he’s searching his soul or something. The teen furrows his eyebrows as his teacher eyes him.

“Actuallyyy, Listener’s got a point,” Hizashi huffs, but he doesn’t look completely convinced. “Chiyo doesn’t let kids leave until she’s sure they’re fine—remember spending three days in there with her?”

“Don’t remind me, and yeah, I think the kid’s fine,” Shota agrees, ruffling Izuku’s hair. "No pain?” A shake of Izuku’s head, his teacher’s hand still knotted in his hair. “Dizziness?” Another shake. “Feeling faint?” A huff along with a third shake. “He’s fine. Whatever happened in the kitchen, thinking or whatever else, has passed.”

The underground hero stands, knees popping as he does so. His hands are back in his pockets, form slouching as he rounds the couch to join Hizashi. “You call one of us if any of that check list changes to yes, got it Problem Child?”

“Got it,” the green-haired teen pokes his bottom lip out in a pout. “I’m seriously fine.”

“We’ll take your word for it then,” Hizashi shoots Izuku a smile as he slips his own shoes on. “Just give us a call if it changes. We’ll be back in an hour—two tops depending on how busy the stores are.”

“Oh goodie,” Shota sighs, leaning down to pull his own shoes on. “Behave, Problem Child.”

“I will,” Izuku promises with a little laugh.

His homeroom teacher lets out a deep sigh, but his lips quirk up in a way they never do in class. Hizashi gives Izuku a wave from the door before he’s slipping out, followed just a second later by Shota. And then Izuku’s alone.

In his teacher’s apartment.

How odd. He probably shouldn’t feel as comfortable as he does.

Izuku leans back into the couch. He hasn’t really sat down in the living room—tended to stay out of his teacher’s way because despite how open and inviting they are, he still can’t shake the feeling he’s being a burden. Maybe that’ll change when they get a more permanent fostering license, but he’s not sure.

The teen lets his gaze cast over the living space. His homeroom teacher had seemed to be quite the minimalist, but Hizashi seemed almost the opposite. The room wasn’t bursting with life, but it was more decoration and décor than Izuku can imagine Shota having. It’s almost a perfect mix of the two personalities.

Izuku takes in all the knick-knacks on shelves, the large shelving unit packed in with books, and records and CD’s. There’s kind of a colour scheme when it comes to the furniture, but there’s just enough odd items thrown in to make it feel home-y— like the cat pillow on the opposite end of the couch that clashes with everything else.

There are some magazines on the coffee table too, mostly Hero related ones. Present Mic is even on the cover of one of them, grinning widely with finger guns. It’s promoting Put Your Hands Up radio. Izuku will definitely be looking through those at some point.

He catches sight of some photos—there's one or two wedged in on the shelves, and a couple more hung up on the walls. He hadn’t noticed them before, but he also hadn’t taken the time to study his teacher's living area. Especially not when they were around.

Curiosity gets the better of him.

He inches off the couch, heading first towards the hung photos.

The first one he spots is of his two teachers pressed very close together. Shota’s hands are settled on Hizashi’s waist, just above where his ribcage starts, and Hizashi’s arms are laced around his homeroom teacher’s neck. They’re slow dancing, Izuku realizes. They’re both dressed very well, nice suits and each of their hair styles neat and formal.

They look younger, each of their hair is shorter. Their foreheads are touching, faces pushed so close together; it looks very intimate. A flash of colour drags in Izuku’s attention, gold on his teacher’s fingers. Matching rings—no, wedding bands. This must be from their wedding.

Izuku drags his eyes away from the photo.

The next appears to also be from the wedding, since their outfits and hairstyles haven’t changed. It’s a more forward photo—more than just his teachers as well. It’s the wedding party. Hizashi and Shota are stood in the middle, Shota looking tired, but with a tiny smile, while Hizashi grins brightly. He thinks he knows some of the people in the photo like that, that’s Ingenium, Iida Tensei, and... is that Midnight? There are a couple other people pressed together in the photo, some he doesn't know at all, probably not Pros even; two men and a woman who look a bit like Hizashi, bright blonde hair and sparkling green eyes, and a woman who looks an awful lot like Shota.

Izuku’s eyes flicker over the picture again before landing on the two smallest people there; the first is a little boy with crazy purple hair and a tiny half-smile, and the second is— hang on, is that Iida? From his class? Iida Tenya? His friend and classmate knows about their teachers? Was at their wedding? That’s insane. Crazy. Man, who would’ve thought?

Izuku shakes himself from his thoughts. He’ll definitely store that away for later.

The rest of the pictures are more or less just regular pictures. There are some of Hizashi with two older women, and there’s a second of Shota and Hizashi with the two older women on either side of them. Shota is almost smiling in that picture. They seem to be getting younger with each picture he looks at. There's a picture of Shota and the woman from the wedding photo, she's got an arm around his shoulders, pulling his tightly against her; and he looks slightly annoyed. She's smiling widely, while Shota's barely got an upward tick of his lips. Other photos are just the two of them, Shota and Hizashi, some selfies usually the camera in Hizashi’s hand, while other seem to be captured by someone else. There are people who frequent the pictures, the woman he thinks is Midnight, and Iida Tensei too.

He can’t help but let himself smile as he glances at all the pictures. He feels a little like he’s prying, but at the same time, all these photos are hung on the walls for anyone to see. It’s not like he’s snooping through a photo album or something.

The photos on the shelves appear to be the youngest ones. One is of the Sports Festival which must’ve been their first year—Shota has the gold, first-place metal around his neck, and Hizashi stands showing off his second-place metal next to him on the podium. He doesn’t know the person in third.

In the last picture, they’re a little bit older, but not by much. Izuku feels himself smile as he takes in Hizashi’s arm thrown over Shota’s shoulder and hooked around his neck, hand hanging against the dark-haired teen’s chest. He’s clearly tugging him in close despite the half scowl, half half-smile on the one who is clearly Shota’s face.

He takes them in for another second, before his gaze flicks onto the third person in the photo, Hizashi’s arm thrown over them as well. The third person is willingly leaning into Hizashi’s side, head cocked in what looks like a laugh.

The smile falls off his face.

Izuku sucks in a breath as he takes in the third person.

The fluffy, cloud-like blue locks of hair, and the wide, squinty-eyed grin that Izuku is very, very familiar with. The third figure’s arm is laying across Hizashi’s shoulder, fist locked on the material of Shota’s grey Yuuei blazer and obviously tugging him into the camera frame as much as Hizashi is.

He doesn’t mean to snatch the photo frame off the shelf, holding it up to his face in case he's seeing something wrong because this... this isn’t... this is— it’s... what the hell?

His feet are moving before he even knows what he’s doing. His world is spinning, tilting with each step, and for a second, he’s not sure if it’s the unknown, almost betrayed sinking feeling in his chest, or the pain medication hitting him like his teachers had been worried about. Still, he pushes on, feet padding against the ground as he makes his way into the guest room.

“Oboro,” his tone comes out neutral, but that’s just because he’s biting his tongue to contain the surprise and uncertainty, “what is this?”

“Hn?” the ghost hums, attention hardly lifting from the laptop screen where his movie is still playing. Izuku’s patience is already so thin that he doesn’t even think as he slams the laptop shut. The sound of it startles Fish, who jolts up and scrambles under the bed, but Blanket just stretches a little under the sheets and covers.

“Hey!” Oboro jolts up, a look of devastation on his face as he looks between Izuku and the closed laptop, “you-you know I can’t open that again! Dirty move!”

“What is this?” Izuku repeats, holding out the framed photo, eyes narrowed at the ghost.

Oboro’s gaze drops to the photo frame, but Izuku can tell he doesn’t really look at what’s framed, just sees the item as a whole. Oboro’s gaze lifts back up to Izuku, and there’s nothing but confusion and annoyance in his eyes, “I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s a photo frame?”

“What’s in the frame, you ass.”

The confusion in the ghost’s gaze doesn’t wane as he finally looks down at the picture, taking in the two grinning faces and the third half smile. He stares down at the photo, clearly not understanding what about it has Izuku in a tizzy.

“A school picture...?” Oboro answers uncertainly, finally sitting up from where he was laying on his stomach and sitting crisscross with his hands in his lap, “I didn’t know they framed that one. I like this picture.”

“That’s you.” Izuku breathes out, and he’s not sure why it feels like his world is tumbling down around him. This doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t make any sense. How is this...

“Yes?” Oboro cocks his head, a frown tugging at his lips.

“That... that’s you. W-with my teachers.”

“Um,” Oboro blinks slowly, angling his head in confusion. “Yes...? Are you alright? You’re acting a bit—”

“That’s you—” Izuku repeats again, but it’s too himself, like he’s trying to understand it. Like he’s trying to make sense of it. “— you with... with my teachers. With my teachers when they were young. Oh my God.”

“Izuku,” Oboro speaks slowly, “I, uh, I don’t think we’re on the same page here. Wha-what’s the matter? What’s wrong.”

“You’re my age though.” Izuku glares down at the photo—at Oboro, alive, and well, and the same age as Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic. The same age as Izuku’s teachers. Friends with Izuku’s teachers. “You’re... I thought you were... you’re my age, b-but you’re with them here, you were- you went to-to school with my teachers but you... you’re my age.”

“Still not following,” Oboro’s frown has deepened, and he’s shifted to the edge of the bed now, prepared to leap up and... well, Izuku’s not sure what he’s prepared to do.

“They weren’t your teachers or... or your g-guardians. They’re your friends. Oh my God.”

“What?” Oboro flails a little as he almost phases through the bed in surprise. The ghost picks himself up, planting his feet on the floor and staring at Izuku in shock. “Of course, they’re my friends! Why else do you think I hang around?”

“I don’t know!” Izuku returns in a panicked shout, “you’re my age! You go to school every day. You- you follow my teachers around, what else was I supposed to think?”

“I’ve called them Hizashi and Shota from the moment I met you, Izuku—I mean, I call them Sho and ‘zashi, for heaven's sake. How many teachers in your life have you ever given personal, given-name related nicknames to? Do you think I’d ever do that to a teacher? A Yuuei teacher? I thought you knew they were my friends—that I was their friend! It’s not like I hid the fact from you.”

“H-how was I supposed to know that? They told me to call them Shota and Hizashi too! So, so that’s not a valid argument!” Izuku pouts as an embarrassed flush lifts to his cheeks. He’d been wrong. So wrong.

“They’ve adopted you though!” Oboro returns, face lax in shock. He blinks slowly, “of course they’d get you to call them by their names!”

“T-they haven’t adopted me! It’s... they’re... it’s fostering! A-and how was I supposed to know the difference when you’re my age, and you treat them the way they’re asking me to treat them?”

“You think they—that I—that's—no! That’s, that’s, that doesn’t even make any sense! Just because I look your age, doesn’t mean I am your age.”

“That makes a lot of sense!” Izuku hisses, feeling the most confused he has in, well, maybe ever. His gaze shoots to the framed photo again, “if they adopte—I-I mean fostered— me, then they could’ve taken you in too!”

“Hey, wait just a minute!” the ghost puffs out his chest, “if anything, I’m the one who adopted those idiots! Shota was my adopted introvert, and Hizashi... Hizashi just clings like glue. We met on the first day and have been friends ever since. But still! I was the mastermind behind that friendship, therefor, I’m the adopter.”

“Why do you say such odd things?” Izuku can’t help but huff out, glaring at the ghost. His tone comes out exasperated. “I— I’m freaking out here, Oboro. This is—you’re my friend, but you were... you were my teacher’s friend first! You’re old enough to be my Sensei’s friend! You’re old but, but you look young.”

“I am not old,” Oboro pouts, before his expression settles on something more somber, “and I only look young because this is... you stop growing once you... y’know.”

You stop growing once you... die.

The fight drains out of Izuku like he’s a bathtub that someone just tugged the plug out of. He feels it swirl away, only to be replaced by a dark, sickening weight. He’s not sure how he keeps forgetting Oboro is a ghost. Oboro has gone through something no one living can understand.

“You were only... what? Fifteen? Sixteen?” Izuku asks before he can stop himself. Before he can remind himself that it’s insensitive.

“Seventeen,” Oboro corrects with a shrug. The sadness is there, but the ghost is trying to mask it. “It was my second year at Yuuei an... accident during my internship. I was the only casualty, but it could’ve been so much worse. The villain went rampant, didn’t care that there was a group of school children, and back then I could only... my Quirk wasn’t as strong.”

“You saved them over yourself,” Izuku can read between the lines. It’s correct too, if by the way Oboro bows his head solemnly is anything to go off.

“A building went down, and I could only make one cloud back then so I...” Oboro clears his throat, it sounds wet and raw with emotion, “the kids were safe. That’s what matters. Anyone would’ve done it.”

The teen doesn’t know how to respond to that. How to... what do you say to something like that. He wants to tell Oboro he’s a hero, because he is. He sacrificed himself so those kids could live—that's heroic. But he doesn't know if it’s a sore spot too. He’s died saving them. Died. Death wasn’t a nice topic of conversation—and especially not with ghosts.

“I’ve made peace with my decisions,” Oboro continues when Izuku doesn’t speak. The carefree look is back on the ghost’s face, but it’s sadder—less held together. “I wouldn't do anything differently. It was worth it, because I did what I was training to do. To be the best hero I could, and save people.”

And Izuku’s never heard anything more motivating.

“You... you would’ve made a great teacher,” Izuku tells him with a watery laugh.

Oboro snorts a laugh now, “y’know, I said almost that same thing to Shota that day. I knew he would, seeing him interact with those kiddos. He’s prickly, sure, but he’s kind, and supportive and thoughtful—cares to much. He didn’t believe back then—man, what I wouldn’t give to say ‘I told ya so’ to him now.”

Izuku huffs out a laugh before he’s closing the distance and catching the ghost in another hug.

“Wow, two hugs in one day,” Oboro teases as he returns the hug. This one isn’t as desperate, but it’s calm and comfortable. Just as needed as the first, but in a different way. “What did I do to deserve two in one day?”

“This one’s for me this time,” Izuku tells him, letting his cheek settle faintly on Oboro’s shoulder. He’s tall, just like Shota and Hizashi, “you needed the first one, I needed this one.”

“That’s fair,” Oboro replies, and Izuku can almost feel the smile on the other’s face. “I think we both needed both though.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Izuku shakes his head against the ghost. He pulls away, returning the smile the ghost levels in his direction. “I should put that picture back before they get home.”

“Probably best,” Oboro shrugs. He leans down, hands braced on the bed as he studies the three young faces. Izuku likes the reminiscent look on his face. “Look at Shota’s lil’ baby face. How cute.”

“I should tell him you said that,” Izuku scoffs as he finally grabs the picture.

“Bet,” Oboro returns with a sharp, knowing smile. “Tell him I said that, actually, I dare ya to—”

“Yeah... not gonna happen,” Izuku laughs. “That backfired on me.”

“Don’t mess with the ghost,” Oboro grins, slinging an arm over Izuku’s shoulder. The green-haired teen is sure if he compared the scene of himself and Oboro right now, to Oboro and his teachers in the picture, Oboro would look exactly the same in both, “because we fight back with masterfully planned inconveniences.”

“Inconveniences?” the teen questions as the ghost plops on the couch. Nemo glares at him before bolting away. Izuku carries on to the gap in the shelving unit, setting the frame back exactly as he’d found it.

“Oh yeah,” Oboro answers, unbothered by the cat. “Once, Hizashi walked through me twice in one morning, so for the rest of the day, whenever he was alone—at Yuuei, at the radio station and here, whenever he sat down, I turned the overhead lights off. He was spooked, and the best part was, that when Shota came home, he didn’t believe him because I didn’t touch the lights with him there.”

“That’s almost evil,” Izuku can’t help but snort out a hearty laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better,” the ghost puffs out his chest. “Hey, since you cut my movie off halfway through, can we watch something out here until—hey wait a second, where are Sho and ‘zashi?”

“Shopping,” Izuku give another shake of his head, grabbing the television remote before plopping down on the couch where Shota had guided him before leaving, “and yeah, sure. Whatever you’d like.”

When his teachers return, Izuku can’t help but look between them and the ghost is apparently, despite his teenaged face and body, their age. He can’t seem to wrap his brain around it, but thankfully his questioning looks are brushed off by both under the ruse that he’s getting some medication side effects.

That night, Izuku eats probably one of the best katsudon dishes he ever has. He hates to say it, but it puts his mother’s to shame. He doesn’t voice that though, simply eats and enjoys the easy conversation with his teachers. He doesn’t even have to worry about Oboro because the ghost is in the guest room finishing his movie. Small victories.

The next day Izuku joins his teachers to get his stuff from his landlord. Just as Oboro had promised, four taped up boxes are lugged from the hall closet—and everyone refuses to let him help carry anything to the car. He feels useless, pouting, even as his arm thrums in a bit of pain.

“Don’t worry about it,” Shota had huffed, giving the teen a side glance from behind his box.

“Rest your arm, lil’ Listener,” Hizashi adds cheerfully. “We’ll be in just as much trouble as you if Recovery Girl doesn’t like what she sees tomorrow, so, relax for us!”

Izuku’s old landlord laughs, patting his shoulder softly before moving to pick up his own box of belongings to help carry to the car.

It’s not until Izuku is tucked away in the backseat of the car—boxes loaded in like an odd, overly large game of Tetris that his phone vibrates with a notification. Oboro makes a noise beside him, most of his body inside the boxes with just his annoyed face peeking out over the top.

“Who’s texting ya?”

Kacchan 11:32 AM

Come over.

Kacchan? Why was Kacchan contacting him? Why was Kacchan inviting him over...?

Only time will tell.

“Do you guys think you could drop me off at... a friend’s house?”

Chapter Text

It’s weird staring down at Kacchan’s name lighting up his phone screen. It had been... well, years since the blonde had texted him, and vice versa. Kacchan had stopped texting roughly the same time Izuku had stopped going over to his house. Probably around the time they started at junior high.

Kacchan was a mystery to Izuku.

For the longest time, after he was diagnosed Quirkless, the ashy-blonde was still kind of his friend. When they were alone, at least. When Izuku was over at the Bakugou home, Kacchan was... well, he wasn’t nice. But he wasn’t mean either.

Their friendship was one that was only there behind closed doors. Locked away in the safety of the Bakugou home, or sometimes even Izuku’s apartment.

Which was why neither of their parents ever assumed anything was happening between the two of them. As far as their parents could see, Izuku and Katsuki were friends— and they sorta were?

They always appeared friendly whenever parents were around, and honestly, a part of Izuku still thinks they were friends until the point Kacchan decided to cut him off—leaving his texts on read and mocking him at school.

There wasn’t reason for their parents to be concerned, and besides; the bullying, and taunting and teasing only ever happened outside the safety of their homes. When Kacchan was home, or over at Izuku’s, he was a completely different person to the bully at school. He was still Kacchan, of course; brash and explosive personality wise, but in the safety of their homes, Izuku wasn’t a target.

Kacchan was different when it was just the two of them compared to when the explosive boy was surrounded by peers.

When others were around, especially kids of their own age, he was mean, and harsh, and overly-cocky. Kacchan had always been prideful and egotistical, but it seemed tenfold when there was someone around to impress; teachers, peers, random school children crowding around him in hopes of seeing his powerful, heroic, Quirk.

Izuku shakes himself from his thoughts, attention slowly straying from his phone screen. The phone had powered down into sleep mode due to inactivity, but Izuku knows the notification will still be there if he was to tap it.

“And where exactly does this friend live?”

Izuku jolts in surprise, gaze darting to his two teachers. They’re both looking at him; Shota’s eyes following him in the rearview mirror, whereas Hizashi is turned a bit in the driver’s seat to glance back at him. The car is still parked on the curb next to his old apartment building. He’d almost forgotten he’d asked a question. He knows Oboro is watching him too, buried under the boxes.

“Do you guys think you could drop me off at... a friend’s house?”

“Well," Izuku rubs at the back of his neck, shooting them a toothy smile that might be a bit too wide to come off as natural. “Um, he actually lives just down the street. I can, well, I can walk from here if that’s easier?”

He’s not sure what he says wrong, because his teachers are looking towards each other, some sort of conversation being held through nothing but their gazes.

“Does this friend have a name?” Izuku almost winces at Shota’s suspecting tone. The drawl comes out somewhere between caution and an almost knowing disbelief. Izuku opens his mouth to respond, but ultimately just snaps it shut again with an audible click of his teeth when he realizes he doesn’t want to admit to who he’s seeing. “I don’t like how you asked that, Problem Child. I don’t like how you had to settle on a relation to this person.”

“I didn’t... I wasn’t settling,” Izuku tells them, wringing his hands together. “We, uhm, we are friends just... well, I don’t know. Sometimes we are—or, maybe, we-w-we uhm, we were?”

“You’re not really filling us with confidence here, Kiddo.” Hizashi tells him softly.

“Sorry,” Izuku bows his head, because apologizing is easiest. “I know this, uh, that it looks sorta bad? But it’s not. Please?”

“Who is it you want us to drop you off to see?” Shota asks, and the tone leaves no room for argument. It’s that demanding tone he uses at school—when the class is rowdy, or Quirks get a bit out of control, or even just when he’s had a long day and is tired of their shit before class even starts.

“K-Kacchan,” Izuku forces out, fighting back a wince.

“No.” It takes all his will-power not to swivel around to glare at the ghost. Oboro’s tone had held little emotion as he huffed the word out like his word had any power over Izuku or his guardians up front. He refuses to look over at Oboro, instead keeping his gaze locked towards the front of the car where his guardians had gone silent in thought.

“Bakugou,” Shota’s tone comes out similarly to Oboro’s, tense and uneasy. It’s almost a bit distasteful in a way a teacher’s voice probably shouldn’t be when talking about a student. “Why?”

“He asked me to come over,” Izuku lifts a shoulder in a shrug.

“And you... want to go?” Hizashi asks slowly, blinking like he can’t quite process Izuku’s own thought process. It doesn’t appear that anyone in the car beside Izuku can see anything past how Bakugou tended to treat not just Izuku, but the rest of his classmates as well. But Izuku knows things they don’t— Izuku knows Kacchan wouldn’t contact him unless it some something important.

Izuku shrugs his shoulders, not quite trusting his own voice not to raise an octave in panic.

“You want to willingly go to the home of the boy who tried to, not once, but twice in the first few days of school, injure you? The same boy who we have been keeping you apart from in fear that he’ll do physical damage to you in a bout of poor temper? That Kacchan?”

It sounds weird hearing Shota’s dull monotone voice spitting out Katsuki’s childhood nickname. Izuku thinks it’s just the underground hero forcing Katsuki and Kacchan into one—Kacchan the childhood friend, and Katsuki, the ex-friend who tormented him.

“Um,” Izuku squeaks out meekly, “yes?”

And he knows it doesn’t make very much sense.

They are looking at this from a whole different perspective than Izuku is. Shota and Hizashi, and Oboro a bit by extension, are seeing Izuku asking to visit the student who’d been nothing but trouble for him since the start of the year, where Izuku is just asking to talk with the one living person who knows probably the most about Izuku despite the years of being... not friends.

“Izuku...” Hizashi’s voice comes out unsteady, low and concerned. He and Shota had shared another silent second of eye contact; neither saying a thing, but their faces had twisted similarly in conclusion, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. Kacchan doesn’t use his Quirk at home. He’s not allowed to.” Izuku huffs out carefully, taking care to make sure his voice doesn’t change, or waver. He doesn’t want his guardians to be angry with him, but he’s going to insist a bit. “Auntie will probably be there too, she doesn’t work on the weekends—or, uhm, she never did before?”

Hizashi seemed to consider this before shooting Shota another look that doesn’t linger long, “an adult will be there? And she won’t let... Bakugou do anything...?”

“He wouldn’t even try,” Izuku insists, and he’s confident in that.

Bakugou Mitsuki is in no way a softspoken woman.

She’s fire-y and persistent and the person Kacchan adopted most of his less than pleasant traits from, but she’s a good mother; soft and nice in her own way when she needs to be and... well, like any good mother, she’d put the fear of God, or mom, into her child. It’s no question she loves Kacchan, but she’s also one of the few people who never put up with his bullshit.

When Kacchan pushes, his mother pushes back.

It’s a familiar dance between the two of them, and Izuku has watched them dance it for as long as he can remember. Looking in from the outside, it may appear like a strange dynamic, but Izuku knows that despite how they interact, Kacchan respects his mother.

“You two aren’t seriously considering this...” Oboro lets out an irritated huff that honestly comes out more defeated than anything. “It’s Bakugou. C’mon, you idiots; you’ve seen what that bastard child can do. Use your brainss. Say no.”

Izuku is so glad neither teacher can hear the ghost; he’d never wanted to slap his hand over someone’s mouth to shut them up more than he does now.

“If you’re sure about this, Problem Child,” Shota’s tone sours a little like he’s not happy with his own words. “Then I suppose we can drop you off for a while. But. But we’re meeting Bakugou’s mother before we leave you anywhere. I’m well aware you’re a teenager, but I refuse to leave you somewhere potentially dangerous unless I know there is an adult who can handle Katsuki around.”

Izuku doesn’t have time to be excited about the small victory before he’s sputtering, “y-you can’t meet them!”

“Oh?” Shota finally turns to look Izuku in the eyes, one eyebrow cocked in challenge, “and why’s that?”

“You’re our Senseis. Kacchan is smart,” Izuku reminds as his lips curl into a frown, “I don’t want him to... I mean, not that I don’t want people to know you guys are looking after me, because I do—well, I don’t, but that’s not because it’s you guys—j-just...” Izuku lets out a frustrated noise, trying to arrange his thoughts, “people at school don’t know you guys are, well, t-together, right? ...and I know Kacchan won’t tell anyone if he were to figure it out, because he’s... he keeps secrets, but I don’t want him, y’know... knowing that I ah... that I’m staying with our Senseis?”

Izuku forces out a breath, feeling his cheeks heat up as he realizes how that sounds, “n-not that there’s anything wrong with it! B-because there’s not, I mean, it’s very kind of you two to let me, uhm, let me stay with you, and I’m v-very thankful that you’re watching over me, a-and doing everything so I’m not put into the fostering system—just—”

“Take a breath, Kid,” Shota tells him, cutting Izuku off with ease. The teen’s jaw snaps shut, eyes shooting to his lap as he sucks in a breath he didn’t realize his lungs were begging for. “We get it, Problem Child. Stop panicking and breathe for a second.”

Izuku managed a little nod as he takes a few more breaths. “S-sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hizashi reaches back to settle a hand on Izuku’s knee, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re fine, and we’re not upset. That’s a valid argument that we overlooked, right, Sho?”

A gruff grumble of acknowledgment from the underground hero. “How do you know Bakugou will know who we are?”

“You look the same in costume as you do out of costume,” Izuku replied flatly, nose wrinkling a little as he returns Shota’s stare. The teacher’s eyes narrow as if Izuku is a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

“Your landlord didn’t know who we were,” the dark-haired hero remarks.

“The only hero my landlord knows is All Might,” Izuku snorts a laugh. “That only works for civilians who don’t know who you are. Kacchan sees you every day. Kacchan knows who you are, both as Eraserhead and Aizawa-Sensei. He’s smart, remember? He’ll have questions if he sees you with me outside of school on the weekend. And... I don’t want to answer those questions, or have him or anyone else in our class prying just yet.”

“Okay...” Hizashi angles his head a little in thought, “what about me? I’m nowhere near as recognizable. I mean, you didn’t even realize it was me until I called you Lil’ Listener, yeah? And none of your classmates have seen me in civilian clothes yet. I’ll just meet Bakugou’s mother, and if it seems alright, we’ll be on our way.”

“That—” Izuku pauses thinking it over. That might actually work. When Hizashi wasn’t in full Present Mic mode, he didn’t even really sound like the Pro unless he was excited, or used one of the give away nicknames he uses for them. Honestly, Izuku’s sure he wouldn’t have pieced it together so fast if Hizashi hadn’t called him Lil’ Listener. “Um, okay.”

“Perfect!” the Pro chirps. “You’re staying in the car, Sho.”

“Fine by me,” the man in question slumps into his seat, eyes slipping shut, “that just means I can have a moment of silence to sleep while you do your thing. But listen here, if Hizashi decides it’s not worth it, Izuku, you leave with him. Bakugou is a wildcard when it comes to you, and I don’t want to have to call Recovery Girl because you two got into a scrap we could’ve avoided.”

“I will,” Izuku nods, and he will. It’s not like he wants to get beat up, or burned—he just knows that Kacchan is serious about the text. And he’d never try anything in his own house, not under his mother’s nose.

“I don’t like this,” Oboro hisses, slumping down on the top of one of the boxes. His arms cross over each other, and his chin settles on his forearm as he sighs. “That kid is trouble. I mean, who just texts someone to ‘come over’ out of the blue? Sketchy.”

Izuku ignores the ghost in favor of rattling out directions to the Bakugou family’s home. When they arrive, Hizashi even parks a few houses back so the car and Shota aren’t in view. Izuku hadn’t asked, but he’d silently been worried about Kacchan placing their teacher just from seeing him in the car. Kacchan was quick to anger, and had an explosive personality, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t observant.

“Ready?” Hizashi turns to look at Izuku.

“As I’ll ever be,” Oboro mopes in reply, even if the question was obviously aimed at Izuku.

The green-haired teen is so close to letting a surprised laugh slip past his lips, barely managing to contain it as he gives the Pro a responding nod. Izuku makes sure his hand flies through the ghost’s head in silent warning as he undoes his seatbelt.

Annoyance is clearly not a strong enough emotion for the Quirk to force activate.

He shuts the door on the complaining ghost, momentarily cutting off the stream of bemoaning whines. It’s barely a second before the still complaining ghost is at Izuku’s side. Thankfully, at that point, Oboro seems to accept defeat and falls silent as Izuku leads Hizashi up Kacchan’s familiar walkway.

He’d thought about texting Kacchan that he was here, but figures it might be better for the introductions to happen without the ashen-haired teen.

Izuku shoots an uncertain look back at Hizashi, but forces himself to knock before he can think better of it. They’re really not waiting long— it feels like it’s only a second before the door swings open.

Izuku stares back at Kacchan’s mother as she pauses in confusion, gaze crawling up him.

It's been a while since he’d really seen her, but before he can open his mouth in a greeting, he’s being swept into a tight, constricting hug. Tight, yet familiar. He sees his guardian tense out of the corner of his eye, but Hizashi makes no move to intervene—it's not like Izuku is panicking, or struggling at all.

“Izuku!” Mitsuki yawps out, clutching the teen tightly to her chest. He almost feels suffocated in the embrace, but Auntie’s hugs have always been tight like this—he should just be glad she’s hugging him. It’s not like his own mother had in the recent years.

“Hi, Auntie,” Izuku greets because to him she still is the closest thing he’s had to an aunt. She seems to relax a bit at the greeting, pulling away but locking her hands on his shoulders, holding him at arm’s length to study his face.

“God, ‘zuku, I’ve been so worried since that detective called. I knew Inko left—just, I thought you were with her. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you, and Kat doesn’t mention you very often, so I just thought— and then I see you in that festival with Kat, and then the detective rings me up and God, what the hell was your mother thinkin’ leaving you alone like that?!”

Izuku shuffles his feet awkwardly, clearing his throat. “The, ah, the detective called?”

Was that what this was about?

“Yeah,” the woman huffs, jaw set in anger, “I just can’t believe Inko. Packed up and moved to America to be with that deadbeat dad of yours. As far as I heard, at least. I told the detective as much too—your mom and I haven’t spoken since she left. I don’t know where she is over there; wish I did. If I get my hands on that woman—”

America. His mother had left the country without him. Japan was apparently too small for her to share with him; she’d needed to put an ocean between them.

The woman heaves in a self-soothing breath through her nose, expression softening as she seems to take Izuku in. “I’m sorry, Kid. I can’t even imagine what you went through. I’m just... I’m glad you’re okay. We all are; Masaru and Kat too.”

Izuku doesn’t completely believe Mitsuki’s claim, but he manages a light smile anyways. He doesn’t doubt Kacchan’s parents being worried about him, but he doesn’t believe for a second Kacchan shared the sentiment. Not completely at least.

It’s just then that Mitsuki seems to notice that Izuku hadn’t shown up alone. Her gaze strays from the green-haired child to the man stood calmly behind him. Izuku feels her grip tighten protectively, tugging him a bit closer.

He’s sure to a normal eye it wouldn’t look like anything, but Hizashi probably sees the action for what it is, because he flashes a bright placating smile.

Izuku gives mercy to both, stepping to the side so one of Mitsuki’s hand’s slips off his shoulder, but the other remains gripping the fabric of Izuku’s sweatshirt. He clears his throat and manages his best smile, “Auntie, this is Yamada Hizashi, one of my... uhm, one of my foster dads? And, Hizashi, this is Bakugou Mitsuki, uh, Kacchan’s mum.”

“You’re the one looking out for this brat then?” Mitsuki’s voice comes out low and almost warning. Hostile, in a way a mother bear would be. She drags her gaze up the tall man, but Hizashi just keeps smiling.

He gives a nod, cheerful smile never waning, “my husband and I, yes. My husband works with Detective Tsukauchi, who I assume is the Detective you spoke with, and we have our fostering licenses, so Izuku was placed with us relatively fast.”

“And you like it with them, ‘zuku?” she looks down the teen, gaze prying.

“They’re very kind to me,” Izuku gives an honest nod. He knows Mitsuki can read his expression and words; knows she sees the honest truth in his words, because she relaxes slightly, studying Hizashi once again with less hostility. Still, he repeats her words back to her just to cement his opinion, “I like being with them.”

Hizashi’s smile softens to something a little less forced at the soft admission, but he doesn’t say or do anything, just slips back into his, what Izuku is gonna dub, ‘Present Mic grin’.

“That’s good then,” Mitsuki nods after a second of contemplation, “I just wish we had’ve known sooner—maybe we could’ve taken you in. God, what was your mother thinking?”

Izuku doesn’t think that’s how it really works, and by the way Hizashi’s lips pinch in a frown before the smile returns, he’s gonna assume it takes a bit more work than she thinks it does.

Izuku doesn’t know how to respond to Kacchan’s mother, so he stays silent instead.

It’s not more than a second of almost awkward silence before Mitsuki speaks up again. “I guess I should get my brat down here then. He’s who you’re looking for, right, Izu?”

Izuku gives a light nod, finally tugging away from the woman’s grip as she turns to shout up the stairs.

He casually steps so he can almost press back against his guardian, waiting to see if he’s staying or going. Hizashi sets his hands on Izuku’s shoulders and gives a light squeeze as Mitsuki yells up at Kacchan to ‘hurry his ass up and greet his guest like a good host!’

Kacchan’s returning grumble of ‘yeah, yeah, old hag—it's just ‘zuku!’ has Hizashi’s hands tensing on his shoulders in silent debate.

“That temper of his,” Mitsuki huffs out as she shakes her head, attention lulling to Hizashi as she tuts, “I swear, that kid and I are gonna have a smackdown at some point if he keeps coppin’ that attitude with me. I’ve tried everything short of beatin’ it outta him; too bad the kid takes after me.”

The words come out with a playful lightness; like how Mitsuki used to always talk with Izuku’s own mother about Kacchan’s terrible twos, threes, fours, fives, and... well, every age since. She was what people are referring to when they someone is all bark and no bite.

Hizashi hesitates for just a second longer as footsteps start thumping down the stairs, accompanied by Kacchan’s grumbles, before he seems to come to a decision as he gives a light push into the threshold instead of pulling him back, which Izuku takes as permission to actually step in.

Izuku had been right, if anyone can keep the ashy-haired teenager in line, it was definitely his mother.

Kacchan’s jaw is tense when he steps halfway down the stairs, pausing to observe Izuku over his nose. Izuku can see how Kacchan’s muscles tense in a way that must be biting down his usual sneer and tight words.

Izuku watches Kacchan’s gaze travel up the length of Hizashi, but neither says anything. Good.

“C’mon, De-’zuku,” Kacchan clenches his jaw, looking away as he continues, “my room.”

Izuku bows his head in a nod, toeing off his shoes and replacing them with an old pair of uwabaki slippers that he remembers always being around for guests. He’d had his own pair the last time he was here, but they definitely wouldn’t fit anymore.

He smiles at both Auntie and Hizashi, giving the man a wave goodbye, before following his childhood friend up the stairs. Kacchan had turned, retreating back upstairs, abandoning Izuku as soon as he’d seen him taking his shoes off.

“Very hospitable,” Oboro scoffs, keeping pace with Izuku as the teen takes the stairs one at a time.

Izuku ignores him again so he can listen in to the two adults speaking before he’s out of ear shot, or Hizashi leaves. He’s curious:

“Would you like to come in for some tea or something while the boys do whatever it is teenagers do?”

“Oh, thank you for the offer, but I really should be going. My husband’s waiting in the car, he’s feeling a little unwell. We just wanted to make sure Izuku got here safe—we’re a bit cautious of what he’s doing with his injuries from the Sports Festival. We were just on our way home from errands when Katsuki-san texted Izuku.”

Izuku had never pegged Present Mic as someone able to lie as flawlessly as he had. Shota, maybe, but Hizashi? He never would’ve guessed. Izuku’s almost impressed.

When Izuku is finally out of earshot, he lets himself glance at Oboro. The ghost’s scowl has deepened. “You don’t have to stay, y’know,” Izuku tells him with a shake of his head.

“Like I’m gonna leave you alone with that explode-y meathead. The guy has bomb hands and the temper of a toddler—last thing I need is to have to guide you into the afterlife because your friend got too handsy. I wouldn’t be a good tour guide, dude. I can hardly ghost for myself; I can’t show someone else the ropes if I don’t have a hold of ‘em!”

Izuku just shakes his head as he finally steps through Kacchan’s ajar bedroom door.

It honestly hasn’t changed much from the last time he’d been here.

His friend had liked heroes and had toys and action figures growing up, but it was never like Izuku. Kacchan had traded his hero adoration in quite early—just a couple years after getting his own Quirk and deciding he was destined to be the greatest hero.

There were a couple old sentimental knick-knacks spaced around the room, but nothing compared to its former glory, or the boxes loaded up in his guardian’s car.

“Shut the damn door,” Kacchan hisses from the bed, arms crossed over his chest as Izuku finally steps into the room, easing the door shut behind him. He’d be lying if he said his heartrate didn’t spike at the blonde’s tone, but deep down he knows no blows will come.

Izuku opens his mouth to speak, but is instead cut off by Kacchan’s gravelly voice coming out low as to not be heard downstairs, “what the fuck, Deku?”

Izuku can just blink; once, then twice before, “what?”

“What do you mean what?” Kacchan growls, “why didn’t you fuckin’ tell me your mom skipped the fucking country without you?”

“Is he serious?” Oboro tone comes out deathly thin. “Why the hell would you tell him?”

Izuku’s thoughts exactly, “why... why would I tell you, Kacchan? Why do you... why do you even care?”

“I don’t!” The blond snaps bitterly but there’s something in his voice that doesn’t match up with the way he spits the words out, “but the old hag and my old man do. What the hell is wrong with you? Where the hell’ve you been? The old hag said Auntie Inko left almost three weeks ago and you, what, you just decided to keep coming to school like nothing’s happened? Like your mom didn’t get on a fuckin’ plane to America without you?!”

“I...” Izuku sucks in a breath, straightening his shoulders as an angered grimace lifts to his face, “I didn’t even know she left until rent was overdue. It’s not like she talked to me anymore. You... you know we weren’t close. You know why we weren’t close! So, trust me, Bakugou, I was just as surprised as you are!”

“Don’t call me that, you fuckin’ nerd,” Kacchan snarled, inching closer to where Izuku was still stood beside the closed door.

“Back the hell up, asshole,” Oboro seethed at Izuku’s side, his own body tensing up. It goes unheard, of course, and it doesn’t stop Kacchan’s pressing steps, but it’s nice to know Izuku’s not alone in this. The green-haired teen lets his fingers ghost through Oboro’s wrist in an attempt to calm the entity, and it just barely works.

“Don’t call you by your name?” Izuku bites back, eyes narrowing, “what would you like me to call you then, huh? You don’t like Kacchan, you punched me the last time I called you Katsuki, and now I can’t call you by your family name like everyone else? I just can’t win with you!”

“Those shitty extras at school call me Bakugou—” the ashen-haired teen hisses, “you’re not one of them, Deku. You’ll never be one of them. I’m Kacchan and you're Deku. That’s how this shitty friendship works, so quit tryin’ to fuckin' change it! It’s fine how it is!”

Izuku freezes as Oboro bristles at his side, “our... friendship...?”

For just a second Kacchan looks spooked. Like he’s surprised and uncertain at hearing the word repeated back to him. It bleeds away to the usual brash temper just as fast as it appeared, “why the fuck do you say it like that?!”

“We’re not friends,” Izuku lets slip in his genuine surprise. “This... this isn’t friendship. We haven’t been friends in y-years. You... you hate me, Kacchan. You bully me. You’ve used me as target practice for your Quirk for years. You and, and all our classmates bullied me for something that I—that I couldn’t change! You told me to take a swan dive off a roof and hope for a Quirk in my next life.”

“He said what to you?” the tone of Oboro’s voice sends a chill down Izuku’s spine. He’s never heard anger like that from Oboro. “This waste of human existence suicide baited you?”

Izuku waves a dismissive hand in Oboro’s direction, attention on his childhood friend. Katsuki’s body is tense with familiar rage, but his gaze is haunted, almost… regretful. The strange look in his eyes is blinked away and the familiar blazing red is back.

“You know I didn’t mean it, Deku!” Kacchan scoffs like he really doesn’t see what’s wrong with it, “I obviously didn’t fuckin’ mean it! What the hell do you mean we aren’t friends? I let you keep callin’ me that stupid childhood nickname, didn’t I?”

“You let me— Kacchan is an affectionate nickname that I gave to you when we were babies, you call me Deku—and you have since we were six. That... that’s—”

“It's just a stupid childhood nickname!” the blonde’s eyebrow twitches as he glares at Izuku. “It’s literally just another way to say your name, dumbass.”

“Which means useless,” Izuku fires back. “You only called me Deku to pick on me—you- you and your friends! You only gave it to me to mock me with—’useless’, ‘good for nothing’, ‘someone who can’t do nothing’! You think that’s a nice nickname to have—to be stuck with?”

“Well, at least I liked you enough to give you one!” the ashen-haired teen bares his teeth, “and they weren’t my friends! They were useless extras who followed me around like damned dogs! Like you did when we were kids!”

“I thought you were cool!” Izuku feels his own irritation growing, “I only followed you because you were so cool. You were cool, and confident and you had a really amazing Quirk, and I always thought you were the greatest. You were everything I wasn’t, and I was just glad to be around you! I t-thought we were friends! I thought we were friends, even though you were mean to me, and I know it was unhealthy and-and downright toxic, but I was willing to be the butt of the joke, or the fucking target because it meant hanging out with you!”

“We were friends!” Kacchan roars, closing the gap between them to grab at the collar of Izuku’s sweatshirt. Izuku doesn’t struggle; has years of remaining perfectly still under his belt—just levels the blonde a glare. Izuku is hoisted up by the fabric, being tugged into Katsuki’s face so only his slippered toes are on the ground still.

Everything happens so fast—one second Izuku is held up by Kacchan’s, thankfully sparkless, hands and the next he’s stumbling down to his feet, back hitting the door as he fumbles to get his footing.

Kacchan is taking measured steps back, a hiss on his lips as he clutches his arms to his chest like Izuku had physically burned him; the hairs on his arms standing on end as a vicious shiver wracks through his body. “W-what the fuck was that, Deku?!”

Izuku’s wide eyes lock on Oboro, who looks like a feral animal. He’s now in front of Izuku, on the opposite side from where he’d started. Just one glance between the two, Kacchan and Oboro, tells him exactly what he needs to know. Oboro had stepped through Kacchan. It’s not a very pleasant experience the first time—or in general, but the first time is always the worst.

“J-just be happy I didn’t accidentally use your Quirk to use mine,” Oboro growls out when Izuku shoots him a disapproving look. “I’m mad, Izuku, I want to drown this bastard in the densest cloud I can.”

“That’s not heroic; not to mention impossible,” Izuku huffs out, only to freeze abruptly when he realizes—oh shit— Kacchan is here, and Izuku is speaking to a ghost.

Kacchan’s glare targets Izuku, lip curling. “The fuck’d you just say to me, Deku?”

“I-I wasn’t talking to you, Kacchan— I wasn’t, I mean, I was...” And wow, when, oh when did he decide to dig himself a grave and dive head first into it? “It was nothing—I wasn’t, I-I wasn’t talking to you I was—”

“You two better not be rough housing up there!” Izuku stammers over his words as Mitsuki’s words pierce his rambles, “I swear, if I find another hole in your bedroom wall, Kat, you’re buying the supplies and patching it yourself!”

“We’re not!” Kacchan barks, anger now turned on his mother, “leave us alone, Hag!”

Kacchan seems to suck in a heavy breath through his nose, glare shooting to Izuku where he just stares for a second, then his eyes flicker around the room like he’s trying to spot something before looking back at Izuku with an unreadable expression.

Katsuki’s gaze locks on the green-haired teen once again, but he doesn’t say anything until: “Sit,” Kacchan demands, pointing to the desk chair.

Izuku shares a subtle glance with the stewing ghost before moving to sit down. Kacchan follows suit, just instead of sitting close, he sits as far away as he can get on the edge of his bed. Oboro heaves a disappointed sigh that they aren’t leaving despite the violent approach from Kacchan, slumping to take a seat on Kacchan’s desk top.

“You still talk to them,” Kacchan states, eyes narrowed at Izuku.

“Talk to... to who?” Izuku breathes out, fingers twitching in his lap.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Deku. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Those shitty imaginary friends everyone kept telling me you had. Whatever you had those dumb one-sided conversations with like a fuckin’ headcase. Our moms said you’d grow out of it, but you clearly haven’t.”

Kacchan had been one of the few people to know the true meaning of Izuku’s muttering.

They’d known each other through their early childhood years, way back when, when Izuku went to doctors, and psychologists and any sort of degreed figure who could diagnose him with something to explain his muttering habit—to explain the imaginary friends, the ghosts.

As they grew up, Kacchan teased him about it, of course. But he never told anyone else. He never turned it around on Izuku. Even now when he catches Izuku muttering to himself, he doesn’t do much more than roll his eyes, or scoff.

It was the one thing Kacchan never touched on—not even when he was in particularly cruel moods.

“They’re not imaginary,” Izuku grits out. He’d told Kacchan that before. When they were little and Izuku figured out that, no, these people were not imaginary. They were real people, just without a physical form. Dead. Kacchan had been the first person Izuku reported back to after the realization.

After the initial snappy reply that whatever Izuku sees is not really there, Deku, Kacchan had just ignored it whenever Izuku would mention it. Much like his mother did.

No one ever believed him, and that was fine.

He didn’t need someone to tell him it was real, because he could see it with his own eyes.

He’d talk to them, get to know them.

And now he had Oboro, and there was literally no way that this ghost could be a figment of his imagination. Oboro was his Senseis’ long dead friend; was photographed and framed in their home, and Izuku had met and gotten to know him without even realizing he was literally his Senseis’ friend.

Kacchan levels Izuku a look. It doesn’t hold any of his usual blunt annoyance. It’s almost blank.

“What... what just touched me, Deku?”

“Who,” Oboro corrects in a huff, arms crossing over his chest as he slumps back. His icy glare hasn’t strayed from Kacchan. “Callin’ me a what you egotistical dirtba—”

“A ghost, Kacchan.” Izuku cuts the ghost off, glaring down at his own lap. “I know you don’t believe me, no one does—no one ever has— but it’s the only explanation I have for you—”

“You honestly expect me to believe you summoned some shitty ghost? Ghosts don’t exist, Deku.”

“I-I don’t summon them. I don’t know what you want me to say here, Kacchan—”

“Prove it.”

“P-prove it?” Izuku repeats slowly, feeling like his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth that the turn of events. “Prove... how?”

Katsuki is quiet for a second before he abruptly sticks his hands behind his back, eyes narrowed in warning, “how many fingers am I holding up? And you’d better not fuckin’ cheat.”

Izuku blinks at Kacchan for a second, trying to decide if the blonde-haired teenager was being legit—Kacchan didn’t move a muscle even as Izuku studies him uncertainly— before turning his gaze back to Oboro.

“You’re kidding me, right? You actually want me to do that?” The monotone disbelief in the ghost’s voice just makes Izuku narrow his eyes, gesturing to Kacchan. “Alllright, not kidding,” Oboro rolls his eyes, making sure Izuku can see he’s annoyed, before finally huffing out a sigh and strutting across the floor towards Kacchan.

Izuku almost snorts as his ghost friend dramatically angles his head down towards the small of Kacchan’s back, where he looks up with the most unimpressed expression Izuku had ever seen on the usually so lively ghost. “I probably could’ve guessed this from the desk. Middle. Left hand.”

“Seriously,” Izuku’s head angles towards Kacchan who’s face hardens. “The middle finger on your left hand. You should at least try to be unpredictable...”

Katsuki’s brow pinches in annoyance, “lucky guess, what about now?”

“Both middle fingers.”

Izuku wrinkles his nose, shooting his childhood friend an exasperated look, “you can’t just hold up both middle fingers, Kacchan, I could guess that without the ghost.”

“Fine,” the blonde snaps, bringing his hands out to settle on the bed beside him, “it was a shit test anyways. Two lucky guesses in a row don’t prove nothin’. Get it to do something else.”

“I can’t just— he doesn’t— he isn’t a dog, Kacchan!”

“Yeah, well, unless he does somethin’, he doesn’t exist!”

“Fine,” Oboro huffs, weaving around Kacchan’s outstretched legs. “I’ll play along for the sake of getting the hell out of here ASAP. Masterfully planned inconvenience time.”

Izuku watches the ghost hop up onto the mattress. The springs don’t squeak under his weight, and there’s not even indents in the soft material where the ghost’s feet are, still, Izuku can’t draw his attention away.

Kacchan looks to be also trying to follow the movements—maybe try to see what Izuku sees, but he clearly doesn’t. There’s not a muscle on the blonde teen that isn’t tensing with negative emotion. It’s a familiar look on Kacchan.

Oboro gazes up at the light before expertly lifting a hand through the flush mount protecting the lightbulb inside. Instantly the room is blanketed in pitch black. Izuku’s body tenses up in surprised because that’s pretty cool! He’s never seen Oboro do something like this before.

Similarly, Kacchan makes a noise of muted distress; surprise and uncertainty colouring his voice in the darkness. Kacchan, for his part, does look a bit startled when the light flicks back on at Oboro’s fingers prodding at the bulb above. The ashen-haired teenager is glaring up at the light fixture in disbelief.

The ghost shoots Kacchan one last snide look, looking like he’s debating sticking his hand through him once more, but seems to decide better of it and instead tucks his hands into his pockets, “it would be so easy to mess this kid up,” Oboro tuts as he weightlessly jumps off the bed and takes his place back on the desk.

“Please don’t,” Izuku lets out a heaving sigh. He’s so glad these two can’t actually interact because he’s sure it would result in a fist fight. Oboro clearly doesn’t like Kacchan, and Kacchan... Kacchan doesn’t like anyone.

“You brought a fuckin’ ghost into my house?” Kacchan demands, eyes darting around the room as if he’d magically be able to spot the entity at just the knowledge, at the proof. And that... well, that’s not denial. This is uncharted territory because Kacchan, for the first time in their lives, isn’t immediately shutting it down. “What the fuck? Why the hell would you bring a dead person here?”

“I didn’t bring him,” Izuku shakes his head, heart hammering because... does Kacchan really believe him? “He followed and I can’t stop him. What would you like me to do, Kacchan?” Izuku turns back to look at Oboro, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation—he already knows exactly how this is going to play out, but asks anyways: “If I asked you to leave now, would you?”

“No.”

“No,” Izuku repeats out on autopilot, voice coming out in a huff. The teen lets his hands drop to his thighs when he notices he’d been gesturing to the ghost. Oboro wrinkles his nose but doesn’t add anything else as Izuku turns back to Kacchan who’s eyes have widened a fraction. “He said no. They’re their own people, Kacchan, some want nothing to do with me, and some cling.”

“I am not clingy—”

“You definitely are clingy,” Izuku retorts easily, not even bothering to glance back; just keeps his eyes on Kacchan as he continues without missing a beat, “I met him at Yuuei, he was... a student there.”

“You’re being followed by a dead kid?” Kacchan’s eyebrow arches as the words are soured by his disbelieving tone. “That’s messed up, Deku.”

“I’m not a kid!” Oboro snarls, body tensing in annoyance behind Izuku. Izuku thinks that these two may never be friends—which is probably for the best.

“He’s seventeen,” physically, at least, Izuku thinks but doesn’t mention. “So, he’s not a kid.”

“Yeah, kōhai,” the nickname comes out in a low, sickly-sweet venomous drawl, “that makes me your senpai, doesn’t it? You tell him that, ‘zuku. I wanna see him squirm.”

Izuku chokes on a breath, “I would literally rather die than say that to him.”

Kacchan bristles at the words, a dark scowl settling on his face as his eyes scan unseeing over the space behind Izuku, clearly determining that’s where the ghost must be since Izuku keeps glancing back at it.

“What the hell did that bastard ghost say about me?!” Kacchan’s body tenses up like he’s getting ready to pounce, but after a second of his muscles tensing, he seems to force himself to calm down. “You better not be fuckin’ with me, Deku. I swear to God if you’re tryin’ to make me look like an idiot, I’ll—”

“Fifteen years is a long time to keep a gag running, Kacchan,” Izuku shakes his head. He probably sounds tired; and he is. He’s so tired. This is the closest he’s ever come to someone believing him. It takes time, and convincing, and in this case, a full-on fight. “And even if I was, how do you explain that cold sensation? He walked through you. And the light? I mean, I honestly could’ve guessed the other test, but there’s no way I could’ve faked those!”

“That ghost asshole did that on purpose?!” Kacchan spits, rubbing at his arms where the hairs on his arms are still standing on ends, “fuck, it felt like my blood froze!”

“Damn right I did! And I am not sorry!” Oboro hisses, arms crossing over his chest. Oboro definitely should not look so smug—especially not when Izuku is still playing damage control for Oboro’s chilling party trick. “I wish I’d have done it sooner too!”

“Not helping,” Izuku snaps. Oboro at least has the decency to look shamed, though his gaze strays back to Kacchan where it hardens again. “He’ll try not to touch you anymore, Kacchan.”

“I will?” Oboro abruptly shuts his mouth at the sharp glare Izuku shoots over his shoulder. “Fine, I will. Unless that jackass makes the first move, then all bets are off.”

“Knock it off,” Izuku seethes out between his teeth. The ghost slumps down in defeat.

“You really aren’t fucking with me,” Kacchan mutters, eyes narrowed on Izuku but not in the usual angry type of way. There’s a blissful moment of thoughtfulness in Kacchan’s gaze; eyes and face lax of anger in an attempt to understand. “Why the hell didn’t you get your ghost friends to touch someone before?”

“I just met him,” Izuku frowns, “I mean, not just, of course, we are friends, but... I met him at the start of the school year.”

“Not that specific one, idiot,” Kacchan snaps as if Izuku had just said the dumbest thing he possibly could’ve, “any of ‘em— all of ‘em, I don’t fucking know. You’ve been talking to them all your life—why now?”

Izuku considers this, glancing back at the ghost.

Oboro is quiet, but attentively listening.

“Ghosts are...” Izuku debates his words, “in passing, usually. And I mean that by they don’t tend to stick around after they meet me. They don’t usually follow me. S-some continue their everyday lives after they die like they don’t even know they’re dead, some follow loved ones, some just hang around where they, y’know, d-died and others... well, others go beyond. I-I'm not sure where they go, or what happens. I’ve never and won’t ask, because I... don’t wanna know.”

Izuku shakes his head, thumbing at the bandaging on his arm as something to do, “I can’t even really tell the difference between them and us unless, y’know, they um, they look dead... Ghosts talk to me, but they don’t tend to follow me—like I meet them in passing all the time, but Ob—t-this, um, this ghost, is the only one who’s actually... you know, stayed. We-we became friends.”

“You could not get any fucking weirder, Deku.” Kacchan averts his gaze, eyebrows furrowing as his jaw clenches. “Fine, I believe you. You’re some shitty ghost whisperer or whatever. Just stop talking to it—them— at school—I won’t cover for you again, got it? Beating you won’t mean shit if our class thinks you’re a psycho.”

“B-beating me?”

Kacchan’s glare snaps back to Izuku, “I don’t know how a Quirkless nerd like you ended up with a Quirk—a late bloomer, or whatever bullshit lie you spewed about All Might giving you a Quirk—doesn't matter. I will still be better than you. I’m going to be the number one hero, and I don’t care who you have helping you. I will beat you.”

Izuku’s not sure how to respond, so he doesn’t. He just looks at the blonde like he’s trying to understand him. He doesn’t.

Finally, Izuku gives a nod.

His mind drifts back to Kacchan’s furious, but not explicitly angry, shout of ‘We are friends!’. He’s a bit surprised Kacchan considered him a friend. Izuku always had considered Kacchan one because he was his... Kacchan had been his first friend. His closest friend for many years. He’s always looked up to Katsuki—admired his strength and power and confidence.

Maybe the ashy-haired teen shared the same sentiment in his own way.

Kacchan has always treated him differently than everyone else, it just... it wasn’t exactly nice.

“This isn’t exactly a healthy relationship, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, refusing to look at the other teen. “You bullied me. Maybe you don’t really anymore, but you did, and you-you’re still not... you’re not nice. We shouldn’t be friends. We... we aren’t really friends, but I think I’ll always consider you one anyways.”

To be fair, Kacchan wasn’t really nice to anyone. He still felt the need to mention it though.

“We’re rivals now.” Kacchan tells him, the closest to soft Izuku is sure his childhood friend has ever sounded. “I will be better than you and all those shitty extras in class, no matter what Quirk you, or any of them, have— so... so you better keep up with me and give me an honest fight, Deku. Not like that shitty Icy-Hot who didn’t.”

“We’re not friends.” Izuku repeats again, and Kacchan’s head angles in exasperation. “But we are...” yeah, rivalry describes their dysfunctional friendship to a tee at this point. “We are rivals.”

“Keep up, Deku,” the other teen huffs. There’s a curl of annoyance in his tone, but that’s literally just how Kacchan’s voice is. “Things better not change at school either. I still want nothing to do with you or your shitty ghost friend despite all this. And you, ghost kid or whoever the fuck you are, touch me again and I’ll find a way to kill you all over again.”

“Kacchan! That’s so insensitive!” Izuku cries out, shooting Oboro an apologetic look.

Oboro doesn’t even seem phased by the explosive teen’s words, simply rolls his eyes and catches Izuku’s gaze, “can we leave yet? The longer we stay, the more tempted I am to power through my own discomfort and stand in him.”

“I, uh, I should be going,” Izuku tells Kacchan, standing and ignoring Oboro’s drawn out ‘Finalllyyy!’ as the ghost slips off the desktop, where he waits impatiently by the door. “My foster parents will be waiting for me to come back...”

“Yeah, you should,” Katsuki snipes, standing as well. He gestures Izuku out the door in a sarcastic sort of way, following Izuku down the stairs, just a step or so behind him. The ashen-haired teen settles by the door as Izuku swaps the slippers for his shoes.

Izuku pulls the door open, takes one step out; “Maybe you could come around again sometime,” the words are quiet, but Izuku pauses anyways. “To give the old hag peace of mind, I mean. She likes you for some godforsaken reason.”

“Yeah,” Izuku turns a little to look back. Kacchan is glaring at the floor. Intensely. “Maybe. If, ah, my guardians say it’s okay. I... I don’t live around here anymore. A-anyways, um, I... I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Unfortunately,” Kacchan growls out, gaze shooting up and locking on Izuku with his lip curled in an irritated snarl. Izuku shrinks in on himself a little before stepping the rest of the way out. “And Izuku?” Izuku pauses, staring ahead, “I’m sorry about your mom, what she did really sucks.”

Izuku doesn’t say anything else, just chokes on a stuttered breath and bows his head as he finally steps all the way out, easing the door shut behind him. He roughly drags the heels of his palms under his eyes to dry up the welling tears.

“Maybe he’s not a complete waste of space,” Oboro’s voice is soft at Izuku’s side. He almost startles—almost forgot the ghost was there. “He’s still a prick though—has therapy done anything for that kid?”

And that gets a laugh from the green-haired teen. “Believe it or not, he’s ten-times better than he used to be in middle school. Hound Dog is a miracle worker.”

“Well,” Oboro frowns as Izuku pulls his phone out of his pocket, “that’s a worrying thought."

Shota 1:23 PM

Text us when you’re ready to be picked up.

Izuku smiles down at the text, fidgeting with his phone.

He’d honestly never thought of someone like Aizawa-Sensei having a smartphone—and it sounds stupid to admit, but it had thrown him for a loop when the dark-haired hero had recited out his personal number for Izuku to input in his own cell, as he’d whipped his own phone out and requested Izuku text him so he’d have the teen’s number in turn.

Hizashi had gotten to him first when it came to number exchanging; having swiped Izuku’s phone from his hands to add his own number with a wide grin, then sent himself a text too.

The text had come in around the time Izuku had followed Kacchan up the stairs, so Shota must’ve texted it when they left. He feels a bit bad that he’d ignored the text up until this point, but he honestly hadn’t felt his phone vibrate.

Izuku 2:31 PM

That’s ok, I’ll take the train! I’ve got my student transportation pass, no need to come all the way back over just to drive all the way back. Walking to the station now!

Surprisingly, Shota response comes almost instantly.

Shota 2:32 PM

Logical.

Good call.

Izuku nods to himself at the response, carrying on down the Bakugou walkway and making his way towards the train station. He jumps in surprise when his phone vibrates again, not long after the first texts.

Shota 2:34 PM

Hizashi disagrees and would’ve liked to come get you

Ignore the whining when you arrive, god knows I’m trying to

And how can Izuku not smile at that?

Chapter Text

Nothing at school changes between Kacchan and Izuku on Monday or any day after.

Izuku had expected it, but he’s not sure if he’s glad or upset nothing changes. They’d sorta had a heart to heart, just in their own odd way. But Kacchan had told him up front things weren’t going to change much.

Still, the green-haired teenager returns the borrowed earbud, leaving it on Kacchan’s desk after he arrives early that Monday with his guardians. When Hizashi is home in the mornings, they arrive to school much earlier than when it’s just Izuku and Shota home in the mornings.

Izuku thinks it’s a bit funny—his teacher always on their case about tardiness and being on time being the one that’s always in danger of being late, while the seemingly carefree and boisterous English teacher is entirely punctual.

Kacchan doesn’t so much as look back at Izuku when he spots the lone earbud; just slips it into one of the pockets of his backpack and collapses in his seat (but not without glaring back, over Izuku’s shoulder like he’s trying to spot Oboro, who, at the time, wasn’t even in the classroom).

Though things don’t change between them, Kacchan’s attitude towards Izuku does take the faintest step upwards. He’s still not nice; no nicer than he is to any of their other classmates, but he’s not as blatantly rude or hostile anymore. It’s hardly noticeable—Izuku doubts their peers will be able to spot the difference in Kacchan’s aggressive personality when it comes to their green-haired classmate, but to Izuku it means the world.

It’s not a lot, but it’s change. And it’s change in the right direction.

Maybe at some point they can actually be friends again—have civil conversations. Maybe at some point Izuku will feel at ease joining the Bakugous in their home again, but for now, the progress is micro but appreciated.

And though he still calls Izuku Deku, the nickname has softened a little around the edges as well when it comes from Kacchan. It’s in no way a nice nickname still, but it comes off nicer than it had prior, and that’s a step up too.

Izuku doesn’t forgive Kacchan entirely—he hadn’t said sorry for the things he’d done or anything over the years, but he seemed now to realize it wasn’t exactly right. But even if Kacchan did say sorry, that doesn’t change the fact he’d suicide baited Izuku and bullied him for the better part of their lives when their parents weren’t around.

Izuku wonders if Kacchan talks about him with Hound Dog—he hasn’t broached the subject yet, but he’d probably need to at some point. Maybe it would be nice to get it off his chest, without naming names.

He really doesn’t want Kacchan to have any additional repercussions—Aizawa-Sensei had already dealt a punishment for Kacchan, and the ashy-haired teen was going to counselling, which Izuku thought he’d never see. Sure, Kacchan had been wrong, and a bully—but Izuku knew in the deepest pits of his heart that the blond would one day be a damn good hero.

So no, nothing really does change in their relationship; well, besides maybe one thing...

Kacchan’s gaze seems to occasionally sweep over the classroom, usually around Izuku, as if expecting to spot something. Izuku doesn’t even really notice it at first, when Kacchan’s head would angle, eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled like something was physically offending him. After the first couple times, Izuku takes notice and puts the pieces together.

Kacchan always scowls when being caught looking around for an entity he knows he won’t be able to see, but still completely believes is around, and Oboro flat out cackles when he realizes the development too; from then on, Kacchan’s pens, and pencils and any other writing utensil rolls directly off his desk whenever they’re put down, even if just for a second.

Oboro watches the writing utensils Kacchan has like a hawk, swooping in like a cat whenever he sees the opportunity to flick things off of the desk, watching them roll onto the floor in satisfaction.

Izuku doesn’t have the heart to tell the ghost off, and Kacchan clearly hasn’t pieced it together just yet, so Izuku lets the ghost take his frustrations about Kacchan out on Kacchan. At least until Kacchan realizes his desk isn’t uneven or slanted.

Maybe he should at least tell Kacchan that Oboro only joins them in two of their core classes, but he won’t lie and say it’s not entertaining to see the ashen-haired teen jerking his gaze around when the lights above so much as flicker.

The days carry on.

Another week in the Heroics class passes.

Wednesday, the two-week trial deadline approaches and passes.

Izuku social worker drops in at the apartment Wednesday almost directly after school for the home inspection she’d mentioned, and it’s Izuku who’s encouraged to show her around. Shota and Hizashi trail along behind the social worker, and Oboro thankfully stays in the guest room that Izuku supposes he can now call his own bedroom, considering the couple items of Hero merch he’s selected from the boxes to liven the place up at Hizashi’s insistence.

Izuku’s a nervous wreck as he shows her around, internally cursing his stutter that hasn’t been as bad as it had been in literal years. The cats weave underfoot almost as if sensing his unease, and he narrowly misses stepping on Blanket, who stops directly in front of Izuku and flops onto his side for attention. The teen stumbles as he steps beside the cat instead of on him; quick to reach down and pick the fluffy beast up, cuddling the easy-going demon to his chest as he continues the tour.

At some point in the tour, his social worker and guardians take pity on him, and Hizashi steps up to take the lead. Izuku falls back with Shota, who leads him to the living room and gently eases him onto the couch by a calloused hand on his shoulder.

Izuku listens from his spot as Hizashi talks on about how the household has changed for the new addition. Like the locks—they'd locked a cabinet in the kitchen. Izuku hadn’t even noticed there was a lock—but then again, he’d never searched out alcohol. Plus, he’s too short to reach the cabinet above the fridge anyways.

Similarly, medications had been locked away, which Izuku can’t help but frown at. He understands it’s just for the visit, really, he’s no danger to himself unless he’s using One for All, but it’s still upsetting that this social worker doesn’t trust him at all. His pain relief pill from Recovery Girl (that he no longer needs), had sat on the kitchen counter and neither guardian had seemed worried about it; they trust him.

It’s dumb that this woman gets to make all these decisions for him, even when she hardly knows him.

They talk more about him, sitting around the kitchen table like Izuku isn’t in the adjoining room. They talk of the Sports Festival, his injuries, his medications. His physical exam with Recovery Girl, and even his sessions with HoundDog that are still happening. Izuku glares down at the purring cat in his lap as the woman pries into his life.

Until finally, finally, the woman agrees that Izuku is in capable hands with his teachers as his guardians. Shota signs the paperwork as his main guardian, and Hizashi as the secondary. They have equal standing, but since Shota was his initial guardian when it came to the emergency fostering, it’s just easier to extend that and add Hizashi in separately.

The woman finally leaves later in the evening with a warning of surprise visits and wellness checks on her lips. They’d all expected it. The three of them gather around as she leaves, sending her off with grateful smiles.

“I’m too stressed to cook,” Hizashi huffs out after a beat as soon as the door shuts behind the woman, “who’s up for some celebratory take-out? You’re official ours, Izuku!”

“Yay!” Oboro cheers from Izuku’s bedroom, but doesn’t make an appearance. Izuku can’t help it when his smile widens at Oboro’s cheer.

Hizashi moves in, wrapping Izuku in a welcome hug. The teen melts into it, squeezing his official guardian back. He feels giddy and excited—relieved. He gets to stay. Almost as if reading his thought, Hizashi continues, voice softening as he presses his nose into Izuku’s curls, “you’re here to stay, sweetheart! Look, even Sho’s got a smile!”

“I don’t,” the dark-haired man huffs, voice coming out tired and fond. Izuku feels Shota’s fingers tangle in his curls too, and Hizashi’s teasing laugh vibrates Izuku where he’s still clutched to the man’s chest in a hug. “Welcome home, Problem Child.”

And he’s definitely not tearing up. Nope. Definitely not. “T-thank you.”

Nothing else really changes after the stamp of approval from the social worker.

The week carries on. Classes are the same as usual. The only thing that’s different is the relief in the teen’s chest whenever he makes his way back to the apartment, or settles down in the bed—his bed. He’s here to stay for a while.

Shota tells them of the upcoming offers for select students who caught the eye of Heroes and agencies during the festival. He mentions it, but doesn’t add much detail yet. He informs them that he needs time to sift through the offers and get in contact with any and all interested parties before actually letting the students select where they want to intern.

At home, Izuku sees Shota hunched over his laptop in most of his free time. He’s always got what appears to be an endless mug of coffee, and his expression flickers between scowling and frowning as he reads through internship requests.

Not every student in 1-A will be getting them, and Izuku knows that some students will get more attention than others, but he still can’t help but hope he gets one, or two himself, even if he hadn’t actually placed.

Still, Izuku doesn’t ask, and his teacher doesn’t tell.

Their classes continue on with a little bit of normalcy. They work hard with their Quirks—the festival had been eye opening for some of the students. It really put into perspective where everyone needed to focus their attention when it came to improving; none of them had been perfect.

On Friday, Aizawa-Sensei promises that on Monday he’ll finally reveal the internship requests to those affected and let them select where they want to go if they have more than one agency interested in them.

Saturday morning is odd.

Oboro is in his room reading when Izuku wakes up.

After the plate incident with Shota, the ghost has been focusing his energy on random items around the apartment, but he seems to have the best results in guest room where Izuku stays. The ghost isn’t good at picking things up and holding them, but he has gotten good at pinching pieces of paper between his fingers, so as of recent, Oboro has been spending his time reading.

Izuku wakes to the ghost at the desk, hunched over a book he’d requested Izuku snag from the shelving unit in the main living space. His eyes scan over the words and when he reaches the end, it takes a good minute or so for the ghost to focus on the pages and his own fingers enough to turn the page.

It’s a process.

Izuku throws his covers off with a yawn, ignoring the way the blanket shifts until Blanket the cat’s head emerges. Fish is at the end of his bed, tail swaying as the cat glares at Oboro. Nemo still spends very little time in Izuku’s room, and the green-haired teen can only wonder what Oboro had done to piss the cat off so much that she avoids rooms he’s in.

“Mornin’,” Oboro throws a wave over his shoulder without looking up from the book.

“Hey,” Izuku greets in return, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m going to get some breakfast.”

“I’ll be here,” the ghost hums out, eyes focused on the corner of the paper where he’s hovering his fingers.

The rest of the apartment is quiet, and for a second, Izuku thinks maybe Shota and Hizashi had stepped out for the morning to run errands or something, but to his surprise, he finds them both sat at the kitchen table.

Neither notices him.

Shota’s head is down, arms pillowing his head even though Izuku is sure the man’s forehead is on the hardwood. His hair is down, still wearing his sweats and the shirt he’d gone to sleep in the night before. One of his hands is loosely curled around his coffee mug, the dark liquid untouched but no longer steaming. Weird.

Hizashi looks off too. His hair is pulled into a messy bun and he’s still wearing his sleeping clothes like Shota. He’s leaning heavily on the table too, elbows supporting his body, and his head ducked slightly like he’s glaring down at the table. His mug is grasped between his hands, cooled off as well, but it’s only half full as opposed to Shota’s full cup.

Hizashi is staring off into space, eyes locked on nothing—almost unseeing. There’s a downward curl to his lips and his thumb trails along the ceramic of his mug thoughtlessly.

Izuku must make a noise of surprise, or maybe he shifts or something, because a second later Hizashi’s gaze is lulling towards the teen and he’s forcing a tiny smile, “mornin’, sunshine,” Hizashi greets.

“Good morning,” Izuku shuffles lightly before deciding to step into the kitchen.

Hizashi’s gaze follows Izuku as he makes his way to the counter, pulling open the snack cupboard to select something quick and easy to eat. He’d been sleeping in lately—he's going to have to get back on track with his morning running soon.

The teen reaches blindly into the jelly pouch box and manages to pull out a peach flavored one.

When he turns back, neither man has moved. Hizashi is looking down at his mug, and Shota hasn’t stirred at all. It’s not strange per se, they don’t watch him, but they do tend to glance at what he’s up to usually. But neither really moves.

And that’s when Izuku decides something is wrong.

Hizashi hadn’t even complained about Izuku eating a jelly pouch for breakfast—something is definitely wrong.

The kitchen feels heavy, but it’s only now that he’s noticed his guardian’s dour moods that it really fills in around him—it’s different than every other time Izuku has been here since moving in with his teachers. It’s heavy, and almost suffocating. Sad. But why?

“A-are you guys alright?” Izuku’s eyebrows furrow as Hizashi looks towards him again. Shota doesn’t really move still—doesn't even lift his head at being addressed—but his shoulders do shift a little as he breathes.

“We’re...” Hizashi bites his lip, looking at his husband before returning his gaze to Izuku. His expression softens a little and he manages another tiny smile that looks wrong on his face, “it’s a sad day, Kiddo.”

“Oh,” Izuku breathes out. He gives a light nod. He doesn’t really understand, but at the same time, he does. He wants to ask questions, but he also doesn’t want to pry. They’re sad—he's not sure why, but they are. And they probably don’t want to deal with him right now anyways. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Shota speaks, voice coming out gravelly, almost sounding emotional. He still doesn’t lift his head. “We’re fine, Problem Child. Just... it’s not a good day.”

“We’ll be right as rain tomorrow, Listener, don’t worry your little head, ya’dig?”

“Oh,” the teen repeats, just because he’s not sure what to say. He fidgets with the jelly pouch, not looking at either guardian. “I... I’m going to eat this in my room. I’ve got some homework.”

“Okay,” Hizashi nods, voice soft in a way that Izuku’s never heard before. The man tucks a stray clump of golden hair behind his ear as he continues, “if you need any help with your English homework, let me know.”

“O-okay,” the teen bows his head before scampering out of the room. He doesn’t dawdle as he makes his way back into the guestroom where Oboro hasn’t moved. The ghost’s tongue is poked out in concentration as he glares down at his book, but Izuku’s nerves get the better of him, and before he can stop himself, he’s blurting; “there something wrong with my teachers.”

Oboro pouts when his concentration is broken, but turns to the teen with his head cocked in interest. “Oh? I’ll need more than that. What happened?”

“See for yourself,” Izuku gestures to the doorway, heart pounding in his chest as he sits on the bed. Fish still hasn’t moved from the edge of the bed, so Izuku strokes the cat’s head in an attempt to calm himself down. The cat makes a little ‘purr’ noise before butting his head against Izuku’s hand in an attempt to demand more pets.

Oboro shoots Izuku an odd look before doing as told and disappearing through the closed bedroom door. He’s not gone long, maybe ten seconds before he’s back with a perplexed look. “Yeah, that’s weird,” the ghost agrees. “Did they say anything...?”

“Just that it’s a sad day,” Izuku frowns as he wracks his brain for anything else that might be of use. Izuku’s words have Oboro freezing up, his own frown deepening as he looks in the direction of the kitchen briefly, before his eyes are back on Izuku, clouded with some unfamiliar emotion.

“What... what’s the date?”

“The date?” Izuku bristles in surprise. It takes just a second for Izuku to figure out the date off the top of his head. Yesterday had been the fourth, so today is obviously the fifth. “W-wh—uh, it’s the fifth. May fifth.”

“Ah,” Oboro turns away, slumping back to his book. He drops down heavily in the desk chair, glaring down at the book, “that explains it.”

“E-explains what?” Izuku demands lightly. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why-why are they upset?”

Oboro turns back to Izuku, gaze surveying over him before the ghost gives a little half-smile, head angling to the side. The half-smile is sad—but accepting. It only makes Izuku even more confused until: “It’s my birthday.”

Izuku’s brain screeches to halt. It was Oboro’s birthday? Why hadn’t he known? Why hadn’t the ghost told him?

“It’s... r-really?”

Oboro gives a hum of confirmation, head bowing the slightest into a nod as he glares down at the book before him. His hands are settled in his lap and he no longer looks tempted to try reading anymore. The energy that fills the room is not the same energy that’s in the kitchen. It’s sad, but not downright depressing and suffocating like his teachers. It’s like... defeat? But it’s accepted.

“Happy birthday.” Izuku’s lips curl down in a light frown as he fiddles with the jelly pouch in his hands. Oboro swirls around in the chair to gap at Izuku, and Izuku can just jump in surprise at the emotions flickering through the ghost’s awestruck gaze.

A sinking feeling settles in Izuku’s heart. Oboro looks shocked, and touched at the words—simple words that Izuku had muttered out of habit. It’s the first thing you do when someone tells you it’s their birthday, right? Acknowledge it. Acknowledge them. Birthdays are special—most people want to feel special and noticed—remembered.

“T-thanks, Izu,” Oboro’s voice is heavy with... Izuku’s not quite sure. Sadness, relief, desperation. Maybe a bit of joy at hearing the words too. “It’s been a while since...” the ghost clears his throat, “y’know. No one wishes someone not around a happy birthday. Kinda pointless.”

And ouch. Izuku sucks in a breath.

Oboro had been around all these years, had hung close and stayed—and every year his birthday had passed. Izuku can only imagine what happens each year based on what he’d seen in the kitchen: the ghost’s friends clammed up, and the atmosphere dropped into a chilling, depressing state. The memory is there, but it’s not light and cheerful, it’s dark, sad and regretful.

Izuku doubts Oboro had heard the words since he’d died all those years ago when his teachers were students at the school they now teach at.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku shakes his head until his unruly curls fall into his eyesight, blocking his view of the room and the ghost still watching him, “I’ve never even thought about... is it like this every year?”

“Don’t be,” Oboro blows out, standing out of the chair to settle beside Izuku on the bed. The ghost’s back presses against the headboard, one leg outstretched along the mattress, just shy of touching Izuku’s thigh, and his other foot is still settled on the ground. “It’s really not your fault.”

When Izuku glances to the side, he sees a small smile on Oboro’s face.

It wavers slightly before he’s looking away and clearing his throat again, “it’s gotten better, honestly,” the ghost informs fiddling with his own fingers, “it used to be... bad. They used to get... God, they were so upset. It sucked; you know? To s-see them so sad, and angry—mad at the world, and hurt over... over me.”

Izuku tries to keep his own raging heart under control as the ghost talks.

“It’s been a long time now, and I know they still get upset on my birthday and... and the day I died, but it’s not like it was years ago, thankfully. It doesn’t hurt them as much—isn't as fresh. I’m just glad they remember me still, even if it’s mostly guilt and regret, a-a sad thing. It’s nice to not be forgotten.”

Izuku personally doesn’t see anything nice about this—this hurts him, and he’s not technically a part of this. This is something he shouldn’t even see. His Quirk has given him something no one else has, and in that, it’s also opened up a world of hurt that he’s never even thought could exist.

He aches for both his guardians and the ghost before him. This is... it sucks. He hates this.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku croaks out when he can’t find anything else to say.

Oboro cocks his head in Izuku’s direction, expression brightening a little from the contemplative frown he’s been wearing. “It’s not all bad,” the ghost tells him softly, smile a little fond. “Everyone still gets together for me—every year. Like Sho and ‘zashi sometimes host our other school friends, and my birthday is the only time a year my family all gets together.”

“Really?” Izuku sniffles, frowning at Oboro’s broadening smile.

“Yep!” He nods enthusiastically, “I have three brothers and two sisters. They’re all older than me. Then there’s my parents, and I have nieces and nephews now too! After I died, they... my parents moved the family away and it’s, uh, well, it’s a commute, even for a ghost; but since they all meet up, I try to go too when I remember it’s my birthday, so I can check up on everyone and... and see the new family members if there are any new babies.”

“That sounds... it sounds nice,” Izuku swallows. “That’s a big family.”

“Yeah,” the ghost gives an enthusiastic nod, shooting Izuku a dopey grin. “But a big family means they never really have a chance to get everyone together for anything, but every year, without fail, they get together for me. I’m glad that I’m a part of that, even if I’m not actually a part of it. It’s a little sad, I know they m-miss me too, but it’s not like my friends get. Kids are preceptive, and my family tries to make me a happy memory for the little ones.”

“That’s sweet,” Izuku can’t help but smile. “Does that mean you’re going to visit them then?”

“If you don’t mind?” Oboro cocks his head, “Sho and ‘zashi are... we were close—not to say I wasn’t close to my family, but I think I—my death—hit them differently. I don’t... really know how they’ll be. Sometimes they have a couple drinks, sometimes they’re just... blah, I guess? It depends on the day really. Will you be okay if I go?”

“It’s your birthday,” Izuku reminds with a smile. “You do what you want. I trust them, and however they need to cope is alright with me. I mean, worse comes to worst I just hang out in here, right?”

“If you’re sure,” Oboro narrows his eyes, scanning Izuku up and down as if searching for any hesitance. “I’ll be back in a couple hours. With the kids around no one stays out to late, y’know?”

Izuku nods, finally opening his jelly pouch and taking a couple slurps of it, “take your time. Have fun! Maybe you can tell me about your family later if you want? I love learning about Quirks.”

“Yeah, sure!” The ghost chirps, almost vibrating with enthusiasm. “I’ll keep an eye out for any cool Quirks the little ones might have! I’m sure there’s some awesome ones!”

Oboro’s gotten off the bed at this point, jumping around the room like an over excited toddler. He’s grinning—a bright contrast to his earlier look when he’d realized what day it is by nothing more than a glance at Izuku’s teacher’s states.

The ghost gives Izuku an enthusiastic wave before he blinks out of existence leaving Izuku alone with a cat glaring skeptically at where the ghost had just been.

Izuku lets out a laugh as he brushes Fish’s ears back.

For a while after getting the jelly pouch, Izuku stays in his room with Blanket and Fish. The cats seem content to just laze on the bed, and even Nemo paws under the door in a request to be a part of it; Izuku thinks she might be mad that Shota isn’t giving her as much attention as she’s used to receiving from him.

Izuku’s not sure how the cat knows the ghost is gone, but he doesn’t hesitate to open the door to let her in, taking a second to peer out and see if he can hear and see anything from his guardians.

He can’t.

He doubts they’ve moved from the kitchen table.

He works on his homework until it’s all finished—or, most of it is, at least. He’s having a little trouble with the English concepts they’d been assigned, but Izuku will definitely not be bothering Hizashi with it today. Not after hearing just why his teachers appeared so... off.

When his homework is finished, Izuku eases back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling as he lets a heavy sigh rattle out of his lungs. It’s nearing lunchtime now.

Izuku’s debating leaving his guardians to grieve the birthday of their school friend alone. There’s not really a lot he can say or do in this situation without outing himself and his odd Quirk. He doesn’t want to do that, but he also doesn’t want to butt his head into something that he shouldn’t be a part of because technically he doesn’t really know Oboro—or the Oboro that his teachers know, at least.

Still, he knows he can’t just stay in his room the whole day. He doesn’t want to upset his guardians more, and he knows not eating will do that. He’d gotten lucky when it came to no one mentioning the jelly pouch for breakfast, but he’s sure they’ll have complaints if he doesn’t eat anything for lunch.

So, with another, breathier and more anxious, sigh, the teen eases his door open.

None of the cats stir, but he still leaves the door an inch or so open so no one feels trapped. Because they will scream.

The apartment is still quiet, but a quick glance down at the end of the hallway shows his guardian’s bedroom door still open, meaning they’re probably still in the main living area.

Izuku pauses at the end of the hallway, frowning at his teachers. They’ve moved into the living room now, settled on the couch together. Shota is sprawled stomach down along the couch with his face buried in Hizashi’s lap. Hizashi is slumped down too, elbow resting on the armrest of the couch with the side of his jaw cradled in his palm.

The tv is on, mumbling softly, but neither seems to be watching it.

Izuku realizes with a start that the photo of Oboro, the one he’d found on the shelf of the three of them together, is now on the coffee table lying face down like neither of them can bear to look at it. He wonders for just a second why the photo is even down if they just laid it face down, but he knows loss is a messy emotion.

The thought tugs at the teenager’s heart strings.

Izuku sucks in a breath and holds it as to not disturb them as he slips into the kitchen.

He scrounges around in the fridge, pulling out some leftover onigiri that Hizashi had made for bento lunches the day prior. He takes a bite of the rice ball as he sets to work grabbing the kettle. Tea sounds nice. Maybe some green tea, or perhaps matcha tea if he can find it.

He hesitates for just a second before moving swiftly to the doorway. It takes more effort than it probably should for the teenager to open his mouth and actually let sounds come out, “w-would, uhm,” Izuku swallows as Hizashi’s gaze sweeps towards him, and even Shota’s head angles up a little so his chin is digging into Hizashi’s thigh, “would you guys like some tea?”

“Tea?” Shota’s voice comes out gravelly, one eyebrow arching.

“U-uh,” Izuku taps a finger against his thigh, “you guys are just... well, you’re sad, right? It’s just, I ah, used to... I mean, when my mom was... w-when she was upset, I would bring h-her tea and it would help her fe-feel better...?”

Izuku stares down at the ground as he clenches his hands into fists at his sides. There’s a stretch of silence that feels like it drags on—but Izuku knows it’s probably no longer than a second, maybe two. He doesn’t know why he’s so anxious. These are his teachers—and literally the worst outcome here is them declining the offer.

But he’s apparently worried for nothing.

“I’d love some tea, Kiddo,” Hizashi straightens up a little, his smile coming off a bit more naturally than it had earlier. Izuku finds himself returning it.

Shota lets out a sigh, shifting so he’s on his side instead of his stomach, head still pillowed in Hizashi’s lap, “yeah, kid,” the man runs a hand through his hair, “thanks.”

Izuku nods quickly, retreating to the kitchen.

He finishes off his rice ball between gathering the tea, mugs and sweeteners and waiting for the kettle to boil.

Izuku has seen the men drinking tea a couple times since he started staying here with them, and memorizing little things about people—like what they like in their tea, or coffee—is something Izuku has always been good at, so he doesn’t even need to ask how they like it. Surprisingly, Shota likes black tea with a frankly worrying amount of sweetener, whereas Hizashi prefers herbal teas sweetened faintly with honey.

‘It’s good for the vocal cords!’ Hizashi had told him enthusiastically one of the first days Izuku stayed with them. Izuku thinks Hizashi must know all the tips and tricks for keeping your throat healthy. He wonders briefly how Hizashi’s Quirk influences his vocal cords—does it require special care? Is the strain bad when he overuses his Quirk? Would his Quirk still work if he lost his voice... can he lose his voice?

Izuku shakes himself from his thoughts as he settles on herbal tea for himself—a green tea blend.

He drops two green tea bags into the mugs, one that Hizashi uses every morning, and the other a mug he’d found shoved into the back of the cupboard. The third mug, a mug with little paw prints and a parade of cats circling the entirety of the mug that Shota tends to use, gets a black tea bag.

When the kettle is boiling, Izuku pours it over the tea bags and give all three a stir before leaving them to steep. Shota like his tea the same when he likes his coffee—bitter. It’s contradicted by the spoonful of sugar and the splash of cream he likes, as opposed to the straight up black coffee he drinks.

Izuku himself likes his tea to be a little weak, so it’s the first teabag he removes. He spoons some honey into his mug and takes a sip as he waits for the other two mugs. Hizashi likes his tea to steep for the allotted time on the box, so when the however many minutes pass, Izuku removes Hizashi's as well and adds the faintest amount of honey to his mug.

He removes Shota’s last, adding in the sugar and cream before grabbing both his guardian’s mugs and walking carefully into the living room. Shota has sat up now, but he’s still tucked into Hizashi’s side; the blond’s arm hooked over Shota’s shoulders as his thumb brushes along his collarbone.

Izuku pretends he’s not surprised that his stony-faced, grumpy teacher is this much of a cuddler as he sets the two mugs on the coffee table. He gets two thank yous; one from Hizashi, accompanied with a wide, thankful smile, while Shota’s comes out gruff and exhausted, but with just as much gratitude.

He makes a beeline back into the kitchen, grabbing his own tea before pausing in the doorway.

“You’re welcome to join us, Problem Child,” Izuku startles at Shota’s monotone voice. The teen’s attention shoots between the couch where Hizashi is glancing back at him while Shota sips at his mug of tea, and the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

“A-are you sure?” Izuku squeaks out, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “I don’t want to... I don’t mind staying in my room if-if you guys need to be a-alone or—”

“Nonsense, Listener,” Hizashi shakes his head, another soft but honest smile on his face, “we’re not gonna force you to come out if you don’t want to, but don’t isolate yourself just because you think we want you to. We won’t, and never will, send you away for any reason; sad or not, ya’dig?”

“This is your home too, Kid,” Shota huffs out over the rim of his mug. “You’re welcome anywhere at any time. We enjoy your company, Problem Child. Don’t feel like you have to do anything to please us, just know you’re always invited to join us whenever you’d like.”

“Right,” Hizashi gives a firm nod of agreement, “and if we did want to be alone, which may happen at some point, we’d do so in our room. You’re always allowed out here; in the living room, in the kitchen. That said, never hesitate to come to us if you need us, Listener!”

“Just knock first if we’re in our room,” Shota’s lip curls into a tiny smirk, and Izuku doesn’t want to think too much about the smirk means, especially when Hizashi squawks and lightly smacks at Shota’s shoulder. “What?” Shota’s tone has a playful drawl, undeterred by his husband as he hides a small smile behind his mug, “it’s common curtesy to knock, isn’t it?”

“Don’t say things like that!” Hizashi glares playfully at Shota, pinching at the dark-haired man’s shoulder lightly.

“I literally didn’t say anything bad,” Shota snorts into his cup, smile never waning. “It was solid advice.”

“Maybe not, but you implied it,” the blonde pouts, “not to mention you definitely thought something bad, and around our child too! You spend way too much time with Nemuri!”

“I’m not the one who invites her over all the time, so that’s on you, ‘zashi.”

Izuku can’t help the soft exhale of laughter—which brings him back to how he’s awkwardly stood in the doorway clutching a mug of tea. He doesn’t really want to head back to his room. It’s a little boring, and without Oboro, he’s kinda lonely. It’s very rare for Izuku to be completely alone these days, and he’s really not sure what to do with himself when he is.

So that fleeting thought seals his decision for him. He takes slow, hesitant steps into the living room, settling himself on the loveseat. Neither guardian pays him much attention as he does so, and he’s glad. He’s honestly waiting for them to tell him they’ve changed their minds and either they leave, or ask him to leave, but it doesn’t happen.

The TV is playing some show Izuku’s never seen before. The volume is on low, murmuring faintly in the background. The three of them sit in comfortable silence, all sipping at their teas.

“So, Listener...” Izuku looks up from his mug to see the two of them looking at him. He shifts a little, but cocks his head in question, “since this is your home too now, we were wondering how you’d feel if we invited someone over later? We usually... this time of year we have a couple friends over....”

Izuku blinks, looking between the two of them.

“It’s your call,” Shota continues with a halfhearted one-shouldered shrug, “we understand this is a lot to adjust to, and you deserve some peace and quiet in your new environment. Nemuri won’t mind, and if she does, we can always meet her somewhere else or head to her place. You have a say here, Problem Child.”

Izuku pauses, eyes drifting down to his tea in thought. He really has no right to deny them this—wouldn't even if he truly trusted their words. They could tell him it’s just as much his home as theirs, but it’s really not true.

And besides all that, he’d never deny them this.

It’s the birthday of their high school friend who lost his life. It’s Oboro’s birthday. Oboro had told him that his school friends got together to remember him and be together.

“I don’t mind,” Izuku shakes his head, “did you want me to leave? I, uh, I could catch the train to Kacchan’s house for a few hours?”

“No,” Shota responds far too quickly, studying the teenager, “I feel like you missed the first half of this conversation; we’re asking because we want your honest opinion, Kid. We want to know if you’re comfortable with her coming here while you’re still here. And I prefer you have as little one on one interaction with Bakugou as possible, for my own peace of mind.”

“You’ll never need to leave for any reason, Sunshine,” Hizashi frowns, “You don’t have to say yes if you’re not comfortable with it. No one will be upset.”

“I really don’t mind,” Izuku tells them honestly, thumb tracing a line along the mug in his hands. “I just thought... m-maybe you guys would want to be alone because of—um, because you, uh, you’re s-sad?”

Izuku stiffens when he realizes he almost blew his own cover.

He’d almost let slip that he knew why they were sad when neither told him. He doesn’t want them to think he’s been snooping—or worse, think there’s something wrong with him like the ability to see ghosts or something. Well, that’s a bit farfetched, even if it is the truth. No one believes that.

His guardians share a look, before both are glancing at him again. Neither say anything, but they don’t stop looking at him. Like they’re trying to understand him, or see some underlying hesitance in his words that’s not there.

“Is... is there a reason today is a sad day?” Izuku asks quietly, staring down at the rippling liquid in his mug. He jerks his attention up when he realizes what he’d asked, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want! I was just curious, b-because you’re both upset and... and I don’t know. I don’t know how to help.”

They stare for a second longer before Hizashi looks away abruptly. He shifts a little before looking back at Izuku with a look that’s similar to the one from this morning, but less... raw? “Today is the birthday of someone who is... was... very important to us.”

“Was?” Izuku swallows, hooking one ankle over the other as he inches forwards towards the edge of the loveseat.

“He died,” Shota shakes his head, voice devoid of any emotion. “A long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Listener,” Hizashi shoots him a light smile. “Like Sho said, it was a long time ago. It just gets a bit rough this time of year—he was our best friend. He, well,” Hizashi rubs the back of his neck with a fond laugh, “he’s the reason Sho and I even became friends, let alone the one to play matchmaker for us. He was very important to us.”

And yeah, that sounds a lot like Oboro; sticking his nose in other people’s business with the best of intentions. Izuku almost smiles.

“He sounds like a good friend,” Izuku offers lightly, and he knows the words to be true. He’d only known Oboro for a short amount of time, but he really was a good friend.

“He was,” Shota bows his head, leaning forwards to pick the photo frame up off the coffee table. He stares down at it for a second before handing it to Hizashi. The blond looks for a long second too before stretching in order to pass it to Izuku.

A small part of Izuku feels strangely honored that they’re trusting him with this—that they’re letting him in and sharing something, someone, so important to them. He takes the frame into his hands like it’s a crown jewel and finds a tiny smile curling onto his lips as he focuses on Oboro’s grinning face.

“I’m sure you can tell which one he is,” Shota huff with an edge of sad humor. The dark-haired man is glaring down into his drink as he speaks while Hizashi is watching Izuku with a fond look. “Izuku, meet Shirakumo Oboro.”

Izuku thumbs the edge of the frame, studying the photo for a second time. This time it doesn’t feel like he’s prying. It feels like he’s a part of this now. It’s one thing to hear these things from a ghost, but it’s another entirely to hear it from someone living. To be let in on something special instead of fed information and stories from a ghost.

“What do you guys usually do for his birthday?” Izuku asks softly, looking up from the frame.

“Drink,” comes Shota’s answer.

“We don’t—w-well, yeah, I guess we do. We’ve made it tradition to invite our school friends, Nemuri and Tensei, over because they were close with Oboro too. And we do usually drink, but we won’t be this year.”

“Why not?” Izuku cocks his head.

“Because we have you, Problem Child,” Shota snorts into his sip of tea. “Can’t very well get wasted with a minor in the house. That’s something no one needs to see; especially someone under legal age.”

“We don’t get wasted!” Hizashi yelps, glaring at Shota, “we have a couple drinks and then usually crash. Nem and Tensei sometimes spend the night, but this year we don’t even have the space for that either. Not to mention Tensei’s in the hospital still, so it’ll just be Nem coming over.”

Izuku doesn’t pry into that, no matter how much he wants too. “But I don’t mind you guys drinking if you want. You shouldn’t change things for me; you... you do this every year.”

“I mind,” Shota shrugs.

“I do too,” Hizashi frowns. “And we’re not changing it just for you, Kiddo, it’ll be different this year anyways. Besides, I have patrol tomorrow morning, so I can’t drink a lot anyways.”

“Well...” Izuku frowns thoughtfully, “what will you guys do instead then?”

The two Pro heroes exchange a look. Hizashi frowns as Shota’s shoulder lift in a tired shrug. “That’s a good question, Listener,” Hizashi shakes his head. “We’ll probably just talk... maybe watch Oboro’s favorite movie again or something.”

“You should bake a cake.”

For a second, Izuku doesn’t even realize it had been him who’d said it.

And it sounds dumb. And his teachers are now looking at him like he’d grown a second head. Izuku feels an embarrassed flush wash over his cheeks as he abruptly drops his attention down to his lukewarm tea.

“Cake...?” Shota sits up a little more, a curious twinge to his monotone voice. “Why?”

“It’s a, um, it’s a birthday?” Izuku frowns. He feels really childish now. “It’s hardly a birthday without a cake.”

“You want us to make a birthday cake?” Hizashi asks slowly, pushing his glasses up his nose when they start to slip. He’s watching Izuku still, head angled like the teen is a complex puzzle he doesn’t understand.

“W-well,” Izuku ducks his head, fingers tensing around the rim of his mug, “just, when I was little, m-my grandma died, and we were really close, so... so when her birthday rolled around, I was devastated. We baked the same cake every year for her, and she’d come over and we’d celebrate, and then suddenly she was gone, and I-I was so sad.” Izuku pauses, looking up for a second before looking away again, “my mom, uh, sh-she insisted we still, y’know, make a cake. So w-we did. We still baked a birthday cake, and decorated it, and wrote her name on it in icing, and then we ate it while thinking about her and t-telling stories about her?”

Izuku shakes his head, nose scrunching up as he glares down into his drink, “sorry, it’s dumb.”

“It’s not,” Hizashi shakes his head with a little smile, “that’s really cute, Sunshine. And you want us to make a cake for Oboro?”

Izuku gives a little sheepish nod, “it was just nice to enjoy something she loved, even if she wasn’t around. I, uhm, I think it helped me grieve?”

And it’s only a bit of a lie. Or... actually, it was entirely a lie.

The truth was, Izuku had never met any of his grandparents.

They’d all passed on before he was born, and as far as he knew, none of them hung around in the real world. He feels bad lying to his teachers, making up the heartfelt story, but he knows it’s an element of closure both sides need.

Normally, he’d never offer something like this up. It sounded silly—but he knew Oboro was still hanging around. He knew his teachers were grieving still. He knew that even if Oboro couldn’t share this— the cake, their company— in its entirety, that the ghost would be touched at the little details.

He wanted Oboro to feel special. To feel remembered on his birthday and make it into something light and happy instead of dark and sad.

Izuku wants to do something nice for Oboro. He sees the way the ghost views this—the grief, and sadness. His friends being sad and hurt over him; that’s a feeling that no one likes. It sucks. Oboro had been so dejected that morning when he’s realized it was his birthday, and Izuku wants to change that. Birthdays are supposed to be happy.

Maybe he can make this hurt a little less for his teachers. For the ghost.

And cake is a great way to do it.

Shota is quiet for a second. Thoughtful gaze studying the teenager. Izuku almost wants to shrink under his teacher’s gaze, but he just pretends not to notice it. The boy thinks his homeroom teacher is trying to figure out how to say no without hurting Izuku’s feelings, so the boy is thrown for a loop when instead his teacher looks towards Hizashi, “what was that cake Oboro loved so much?”

“My mom’s chocolate cake,” Hizashi laughed, sinking back into the couch with a wide grin, “I forgot how much he loved that cake—how many slices did he eat the first time he had it again?”

“Your mother cut him off at four, and then he threw up after Nem bet him that he couldn’t do a flip on one of his clouds. He almost dropped himself on his head.”

“Right!” Hizashi chokes on a hearty laugh, smacking the arm of the couch as he laughs, “then he ate another slice too, didn’t he?”

“No,” Shota shakes his head, a tiny smile curling onto his lips, “the asshole ate my slice.”

“He ate more cake after throwing up?” Izuku lets himself smile. He can see it. That sounds like a very Oboro thing. This also sounds like a very Oboro thing that Oboro would never tell Izuku himself, so he’s glad to hear it. “He sounds really fun.”

Izuku knows it to be true—but it’s still nice hearing stories of his friend. It’s like friends of you friend telling you stories about your friend, but in Izuku’s case, it’s a bit messier. The friends of his friend are his teachers who’re currently fostering him, and who have no idea that Izuku had somehow befriended their dead friend.

“He was,” Hizashi’s smile turns reminiscent.

His teachers exchange yet another glance, this time it’s softer and it’s almost like they’re having a conversation with their eyes. Finally, Shota speaks again, the corners of his lips curled into a small, real smile, “still have your mother’s recipe?”

“Yep!” Hizashi grins, “and the chocolate fudge icing too! The cake is incomplete without it, my mother’s rules!”

“Well,” Shota moves to stand off the couch, Hizashi following his lead, “let’s get to baking before Nem arrives and fucks up our kitchen in an attempt to help.” Izuku stands to disappear into his room, ready to let his guardians do this alone when, almost as if predicting Izuku’s actions, Shota glances back at the teen, “c’mon, Problem Child. Your idea, your cake.”

Izuku grins as he turns towards the kitchen instead of the hallway leading to the bedrooms, following his teachers into the kitchen to make a birthday cake for their dead friend, and Izuku’s ghost friend.

What a sentence.

Baking with his guardians proved to be a lot of fun.

The recipe was simple to follow, and it was nice to see his guardians working together in perfect harmony to bake a cake.

Izuku helps too—mostly with mixing the batter which is honestly the best job anyways. Plus, he gets to lick the whisk (Shota encourages him, and Hizashi whines about him getting sick from raw eggs and uncooked flour).

They make the icing while the cake is in the oven baking. Izuku licks the whisk again when they’re finished making the icing too, but this time neither guardian has any complaints (and it would be hypocritical to have any complaints, considering Hizashi and Shota are both taking turns dipping their fingers in the empty mixing bowl).

Izuku is glad to see neither looks as sad as they had before. They’re laughing and talking. Telling Izuku about Oboro and sharing little details with each other about their cloud-haired friend. It’s nice hearing things from someone other than Oboro, he likes that they’re letting him in and being almost vulnerable around him—which is something Izuku would’ve never thought his homeroom teacher would ever do.

Izuku listens intently as Hizashi raves about their school days with the cloudy-haired teen; Hizashi had apparently met Oboro first at the start of their first year, and Oboro had coerced Shota into being his friend when the dark-haired man had first joined the Heroics Course after their own Sports Festival.

The friendship had taken a bit of work, especially when it came to roping Shota, who sounds like he wasn’t much different back then to what he is now, into it.

Izuku likes this. He likes seeing them like this. He likes talking about Oboro, even if he has to play dumb a bit. He likes that they’re not upset—and he knows Oboro will get a kick out of this as well. He can’t wait to see the ghost’s face when he gets back.

His guardian’s friend Nemuri (Midnight!) arrives before Oboro returns. She lets herself in and comes bearing take-away for dinner, and a bottle of wine that Hizashi takes from her and sets aside.

Izuku is surprised to see her. She looks way different out of her hero costume, just like Hizashi. She’s wearing more clothes than Izuku has ever seen; a long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of tight fit jeans. She’s got a pair of regular glasses and her hair is tied up in a neat bun. She’s very pretty.

It takes a bit longer to place the civilian to the hero costume than it had with Hizashi and his Present Mic get up, but Izuku comes to the conclusion after just a couple minutes with the woman. Izuku’s child self would probably have passed out at this point, surrounded by three Pro Heroes who’re all comfortable enough around him to let their guards down.

“I guess we’re keeping this get together PG if this little cutie is hanging out with us,” Nemuri pouts theatrically as she steps into the kitchen. “And do I smell Yamada-san’s chocolate cake?”

“We told you the Listener would be here,” Hizashi reminds with a playful grin, “and yeahhh! We’re trying something new this year, eh, Kiddo? Oboro’s favorite.”

Nemuri’s face twists into a sad frown for just a second before she’s giving them a sly grin; going along with the idea without a second thought, “are you sure it’s still his favorite after spewing three slices worth of it in the grass?”

“Four,” Shota chimes gruffly, sticking his frosting covered finger in his mouth before continuing, “and he did eat my piece afterwards.”

Izuku thinks his homeroom teacher may be harboring a bit of a grudge about Oboro’s cake stealing. Just how good is this cake? Shota continues as Izuku drags his thoughts back to the cake, and the bustling of teachers around him. “I think it’s safe to assume he’d still love it.”

"Seconded,” Hizashi raises his hand after slipping his hands into a set of oven mitts, “I’ve been eating this cake for thirty years and it’s still one of my favorites.”

The oven timer chimes and Nemuri cheers as Hizashi pulls the cakes from the oven. They look really nice, and the room smells of sweet chocolate. The cakes are fluffy and they’ve risen nicely; Izuku can’t wait to taste the finished product.

They can’t do much more while the cakes are still hot, since they’ll melt the icing if they do.

Izuku disappears into his room so the Pros can talk without Izuku around. He has no doubt Midnight-Sensei, no, auntie Nem, as she’d requested to be called (Izuku just knows his face had turned tomato red as he’d averted his eyes from the woman), much to Hizashi and Shota’s chagrin, is curious about the abrupt change in their usual plans when it comes to celebrating Oboro’s birthday.

Izuku lays on the bed with Fish and Nemo, scrolling through his phone as he waits. Blanket had left to greet the visitor, but the other two cats had remained in place. The cake has probably cooled now, and he assumes his teachers are all icing the cake if the voice of varying levels of annoyance and humor are anything to go off.

“Honey, I’m home!” Izuku looks up at Oboro’s cheerful call. Just a second later, the teen shivers as the ghost plops down on the bed beside him, “how’s it hanging, ‘zuku? Hope Sho and ‘zashi weren’t too depressing while I was gone. You haven’t been in here the whole time, have you?”

“Welcome back,” Izuku snorts as he pushes himself to a sitting position. “No, it’s been okay. They’re... okay, I guess? And I’ve been waiting for you to come back. I hope your family is all well.”

“They’re great,” Oboro’s grin brightens, “I have a new nephew! Cutest little guy around—they're all adorable, all those little ankle biters. I wish I could’ve actually met ‘em all, y’know? Anyways, it was great to see everyone! They’re a very lively bunch! And man, it was so much fun to see everyone hanging out, and the kids, they were just so full of energy—”

Izuku can’t help but smile as the ghost continues to talk on about his visit to his family. Oboro seems content to just talk to someone who can actually listen. Oboro talks so long that Izuku’s phone blacks out due to inactivity, but the green-haired teen can’t be bothered.

Oboro pauses in his story when he catches sight of Nemo, who’s pressed up against Izuku’s thigh, tail swishing as she glares at the ghost. He blinks at the cat before his smile widens, “there is only one person in the world that that cat hates more then she hates me, so if Nemo’s in here with me, that must mean...” Oboro jumps to his feet, “Nem’s here, isn’t she!”

“She is,” Izuku confirms, letting out a quiet laugh as he stands after the ghost. “But wait, before you head out there, there’s actually a... well, there’s a bit of a surprise for you?”

“For... me?” Oboro freezes where he’d been about to charge through the bedroom door and make his way into the kitchen. “I don’t know what that means, ‘zuku.”

“You'll like it," Izuku promises, giving the ghost a light smile as he opens the door for them. Izuku walks out with Oboro following hesitantly on his heels. He really hopes the ghost does like it.

The cake smells even better now, the sweet scent of chocolate icing aiding the rich chocolatey cake. Oboro pauses, gives a light sniff as his eyebrows furrow, “is that cake?”

Izuku just smiles as he bounds into the kitchen where his teachers are.

The cake is on the table now; the two cakes stacked on top of each other, fully iced. It’s not neat or perfect, looking like it was just smoothed on with a butter knife, but it looks homemade and smells great. Besides, what’s it matter what it looks like, when it tastes good, right?

Oboro freezes in the doorway as Izuku plants his palms on the table beside Hizashi, leaning over to look at the cake, “it looks great!” the teen chirps, smiling shyly at the adults.

Last time he’d seen it, it was still in the pans cooling. Now it’s an actual cake!

“Don’t lie to us, Problem Child,” Shota drawls in the humored monotone. He glares down at the cake distastefully before sighing, “at least we know it tastes good.”

“Hey!” Hizashi laughs heartily, standing from his seat to stare down at the cake like Izuku is, “I think it looks great too! The writing on top is just perfect.”

The top of the cake has squiggles of deep blue gel icing. Izuku spots a small tube of the matching icing beside the cake, mostly empty. He hadn’t seen it before, and honestly didn’t know his guardians even had something like that, but he can’t deny seeing Oboro’s name in wide, loopy scrawl on the top of the cake doesn’t make his heart warm.

“You’re only saying that because you did it,” Nemuri scoffs, one eyebrow arching in an unimpressed sort of way, “and I beg to differ. You wrote ‘Happy’ too big and had like no room for ‘Birthday’— I mean, look at that, the a and the y are all squished together and tiny.”

“But I fit Oboro just fine,” the blond’s lip juts out in a pout, finger pointing down and hovering over where ‘Oboro’ is written in wobbly squiggles. “I like it. And besides, I got to use that gel icing I bought for Sho’s last birthday that he blatantly refused to eat if it was on his cake. It’s a win all around. And,” the man hums the word with a grin, “Oboro loves blue!”

“I do like blue,” Oboro’s voice comes out breathless. He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t stepped in. Hasn’t even really seen the cake yet. He looks nervous, afraid to come in. Hesitant to join them despite the fact they’re celebrating him. Izuku bite his lip as he subtle gestures the ghost in.

Oboro takes slow, measured steps into the room, hovering over Izuku’s shoulder. He doesn’t touch him, but he’s very close to hooking his chin over Izuku’s shoulder. The height difference between them is the only saving grace.

“It doesn’t look awful,” Shota concedes, frown still present, “but it is a mess.”

“It’s beautiful,” Oboro breathes out just as the words leave Shota’s mouth, voice sounding wobbly. Izuku is sure if he were to look over his shoulder, the ghost’s expression would match the catch in his voice. “It’s... it’s beautiful. You got them to... you guys made... it’s really for me?”

“Sure, it’s a bit of a mess,” Nemuri shrugs as she plops onto one of the chairs, “but so was Oboro. That idiot would’ve adored this mess of a cake, and we all know it. Well, maybe not you, Hon.” Izuku almost huffs out in offense as Nemuri’s fingers ruffle through his hair.

“Oh, the irony of that,” Oboro snorts a laugh into his fist, eyes still a little teary and voice crumbling no matter how hard he tries to keep it together. “I guess I can give credit for this one to you, eh, ‘zuku?”

The teen’s head dips faintly in a nod, which is followed by a light shrug.

A little, but he’d just sparked the idea. Shota and Hizashi had run with the idea, making Oboro’s favorite and icing it together with their other friends for the sake of the ghost. He didn’t want full credit for this when it wasn’t about him in the slightest. He’s just glad that everything feels light, and the ghost has a grin on his face that is somehow the brightest Izuku has ever seen.

“I have never loved anything as much as I love this cake,” the ghost coos, flashing Izuku a wide smile before stepping through the table and ducking down so his nose is almost pushed against the frosting on top.

It would be unsanitary if the ghost wasn’t, y’know, a ghost.

“That’s my name! Wow, it’s been so long since I’ve seen it written out. I can’t believe you got them to make me a cake! I can’t believe you got Shota, Mr. Logic-and-rationality, to bake me a cake! Best ghost birthday ever!”

And now Izuku is smiling like an idiot, because he’d expected Oboro to be happy, but not this happy. Not genuinely ecstatic to see it. Still, the thought and sight of Oboro so over the moon about this makes Izuku feel all warm and squishy.

The cake is such a small thing, tiny in comparison to extravagant birthday parties, or big get togethers for someone’s birthday. It had taken no more than a couple hours from start to finish, but it had made Oboro giddy. It had completely cheered the ghost up, not to mention livened the whole apartment. Everyone seemed in better spirits.

Shota insisted they eat real food, the take out Nemuri bought, before they ate the cake.

Nemuri groaned, and called the two men boring dads (and Izuku’s cheeks definitely did not flush red at her words, no matter what a chortling Oboro has to say about it), but they did all settle down to eat.

Conversations continued, mostly revolving around Oboro. Nemuri had some interesting stories of the cloudy-haired teenager too, and Izuku was happy to listen. She was a year ahead of Oboro, Hizashi and Shota, but they were all close friends.

“He walked directly into my homeroom Sensei, because he was too busy trying to keep pace with me,” Nemuri laughed, sipping at the wine she’d brought. Shota and Hizashi had caved, each having a glass as well after making sure Izuku was fine with it. And of course, he was. “Sensei was so mad, and all Oboro could do was stumble over his words—I swear he said sorry three times before fleeing the room like a dog with his tail between his legs. I’m surprised the poor kid didn’t wet himself.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Oboro pouts, looking at Izuku. “But to plead my case, 3-A's homeroom teacher that year was Pro Hero: Pride, with that scary lion mutation Quirk. He was so possessively protective of his class, and had very large teeth.”

Izuku tried really hard not to laugh, stifling it into his sleeve.

“To be fair,” Hizashi snickers, “Pride-Sensei never did like Oboro.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he was always hanging around our classroom when he wasn’t being an idiot with you two. Or riding those clouds everywhere. Nezu used to get so pissed when he saw Oboro on his clouds.”

“He only hung around because he liked you,” Shota teases, lip remaining in a straight line despite the tone. “He was willing to risk his life intruding in Pride-Sensei's classroom just to talk with you.”

“He did?” Izuku squawks, attention shooting to the ghost, who suddenly has more colour on his cheeks.

“Now that you mention it,” Nemuri lets out another laugh, “yeah, that would explain it. He was like my shadow whenever he was around. He really was sweet though.”

Izuku still hadn’t dragged his gaze away from the flushing ghost.

“Hey,” Oboro pouts when he catches Izuku’s gaze, smile still bright on his face despite the pink crawling up his features, “she was an upperclassman who was nice and pretty, sue me. I’m pretty sure Nem had our whole class, excluding those two lovesick idiots, drooling whenever she stepped into the room.”

Oboro pauses for a second, a small smile curling onto his lips, “she thinks I’m sweet.”

Izuku does accidentally let a laugh out at the dopey lull in his voice, ducking his head as he does so.

“That was pretty bad,” Hizashi hums thoughtfully, smile turning mischievous, “but what about when Oboro came into class soaking wet and proceeded to shed all of his clothes, right in the middle of the classroom with our Sensei in the room!”

“R-really?” Izuku can’t help but squeak, second hand embarrassment lifting onto his own cheeks as he chances a glance back at a smug looking Oboro.

“I’m not a prude,” the ghost shrugs, a toothy smile on his face. He doesn’t look embarrassed at all, just proud. “And I covered all the goods with a cloud; so, no one saw anything... I think? Not that it woulda mattered, I ain’t shy!”

“What?!” Nemuri is bent over laughing, “no one told me that!”

“Oh yeah,” Shota hums, a tiny smile on his face as he recalls the event, “that was the day he found Sushi. Came in late; soaked from the rain and stripped down to nothing but that customary censor cloud he made. That idiot.”

“Sensei was so done with him,” Hizashi manages out between booming laughter. It’s very close to being Quirk active, but it doesn’t get to that point. “Man, I wish I had that kinda confidence, I mean our whole class was in the room!”

“It’s a gift,” Oboro drawls in a tease.

Izuku covers his own face in second hand embarrassment that Oboro isn’t even first-hand embarrassed about, and it had been him who’d done it. His confidence really is unrivalled, Izuku’s not sure even Kacchan would have the gall to do that, and he’s the most confident person Izuku has ever known.

It’s not long after dinner is cleared away that the four of them (and the ghost) are preparing for the cake that had been waiting on the counter. Oboro is stood behind Izuku’s chair, leaning on the back of his chair as he stares at the cake with a small smile as the teenager grabs forks for the group. Hizashi is grabbing plates.

Izuku freezes when he notices a small package of candles in the utensil drawer that had obviously been dropped in at some point and forgotten about. He runs a finger over the box before grabbing it and the four forks he’d been directed to grab before returning to the table.

“Can we light a candle too?” he bounds over to Shota, stopping just beside him. The man blinks in surprise before looking at first Hizashi, and then Nemuri. He looks like he wants to say no, but before he can, Izuku continues, “it’s not a birthday without a candle, is it?”

“You are really pushing your luck,” Oboro’s laugh is breathy, eyes tracking the candles hopefully despite his words.

Shota huffs out a breath through his nose before holding his hand out. “Just one.”

Izuku hasn’t felt this childish since he was a literally child. Since before he got his Quirk and he had all this for himself. He’s not sure why it feels so nice to do this for Oboro; to give him something he hasn’t had in years, but it does. And it makes him feel giddy.

The teen carefully places the package of candles in his guardian’s hand, and Shota easily opens the pack and selects one of the candles. He presses the candle into the cake between the words ‘Birthday’ and ‘Oboro’, the stands up and pulls open one of the drawers Izuku had never bothered looking in, and produces a lighter from it.

Shota and Hizashi settle at the table at the same time, Hizashi with the plates and a knife to cut the cake with, while Shota is thumbing at the lighter as he waits. When everyone is settled at the table, Shota finally leans forwards to light the single candle.

Izuku watches the small flame flicker before steadying out.

Everyone around the table just looks at the cake for a second, no one says anything. Not even Oboro who’s eyes tract the flame’s movements intently. His smile is nothing more than an upward curl of the corner of his mouth, but it’s fond and heartening. It’s not a big, flashy show smile, it’s an innocent little thing.

“Who’s going to blow it out?” Nemur asks after a second, looking between her two friends. They were always closer to Oboro.

“Me!” the ghost hoots, and it takes everything in Izuku not to look over his shoulder at the ghost who sucks in a deep breath before leaning over Izuku and blowing hard. Izuku will give him credit for the fact the flame does flicker as if a breeze has swept over it, but it doesn’t go out. “Awh.”

Oboro lets out a huff before leaning even closer to the cake, one arm stretched out before the him, while the other supports him by his forearm resting along the length of the back of Izuku’s chair. The teen holds his breath as the ghost concentrates on the flame, fingers circling around it before he pinches the wick.

And the candle goes out.

Hizashi jumps in surprise as a small stream of smoke lifts from the smothered flame, and Nemuri’s chair scratches faintly on the floor as she pushes back in surprise. Shota’s eyes widen a fraction, but he doesn’t move.

“I did it,” Oboro puffs out his chest, clearly proud.

“What the—”

“Burr,” Izuku gives a fake little shiver, followed by a real one as the ghost resumes his close position and surrounds the teen with his ghostly chill, “the candle must’ve got caught in that breeze.”

“Breeze?” Shota looks around the room with narrowed eyes, gaze catching on the teen again when he can’t find a source for the breeze, “from where?”

Izuku opens his mouth to answer, but promptly shuts it instead, answering with a shrug. There are no open windows— not windows in the kitchen at all, so he doesn't know what he could blame, so it's better to keep his mouth shut.

“Well... now no one has to blow it out,” Nemuri laughs, though she still looks a little startled by the candle going out on its own by a breeze no one felt but the teenager.

“Y’know, I’m just gonna believe Oboro did it,” Hizashi lets out a laugh, brushing the incident off a lot easier than Nemuri. “Happy birthday, Buddy!”

Izuku almost chokes on his own spit, and he feels the ghost lose his lean on the solid backrest of the chair, flailing around as he falls through faintly before catching himself and pushing up to stare in awe at his blonde school friend.

“That’s literally impossible,” Shota shakes his head, lips pulling into a frown. “Illogical.”

“But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” Hizashi coos, crossing his arms across his chest defiantly, “besides, it was perfect timing. Oboro blew that candle out, you can’t change my mind; not with your silly logic, Sho-chan.”

“Believe what you want,” the underground hero sighs, still looking at the candle like it was about to suddenly relight without any intervention from them. “And don’t call me that.”

“Sourpuss,” Nemuri snorts into her glass of wine. “Someone cut the cake already. It’s been years since I’ve had a slice of Yamada-san's cake; I’m long overdue for a foodgasm.”

“A... what?” Izuku blinks at the woman. Hizashi gives the woman a shove, shooting her a death glare as Shota just drops his head into his hands.

“Don’t teach him things like that!” Hizashi scolds.

“What? It’s not like I’m talking about my other favorite gasm~” the woman purrs out, just to get a rise out of the blonde, who squawks and flaps his arms in disbelief.

“Nemuri,” Shota huffs out through his palms. He suddenly sounds exhausted, “I swear to God...”

“Fine, fine,” the woman gives a bright laugh, sipping her wine once again, “someone cut the cake already then.”

Izuku retires to his room when Shota and Hizashi do. Nemuri had left a while before, complaining about an early morning patrol and needed a good night’s sleep to be on her game for it. Izuku had hung around with his guardians to help with clean up and washing dishes. They'd told him he didn't need to, but he's insisted on helping.

They’d quieted down a little, not quite as upbeat and cheerful anymore. The grief was slowly returning, but it was a half thought instead of constant. They were still sad, and Izuku knew they always would be no matter how they celebrated. He understood it.

He flops down on his bed, and groans into the pillow when a cold presence settles at his side.

“Thank you.”

Izuku rolls onto his side, hugging the stuffed cat his guardian’s had bought for him to his chest. “What for?”

“I know they wouldn’t have done this, made me a cake and... and celebrated me instead of mourning me, if it wasn’t for you. So... so thanks. It was amazing. I haven’t felt that included—alive—in years.”

“I’m glad you had a good birthday,” the teen replies, letting his eyes slip shut. He feels the smile twisting his lips and doesn’t even attempt to hide it. He’s very happy Oboro had a good day.

“I did,” Izuku can hear the smile in Oboro’s voice. “There’s only one thing that could make this birthday even better.”

“Oh yeah?” Izuku hums out, slivering one eye open to glance at the ghost, “and what would that be?”

“A ride on one of my clouds!” the ghost cheers, head angling to look out the window. “I tell ya, ‘zuku, you haven’t seen stars until you’ve seen them from a cloud. It was always my favorite thing to do.”

“Really?” Izuku finds himself sitting up.

“Oh yeah,” the ghost gives a serious nod, shifting around so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s just so calm up there. You don’t hear the city sounds, and no one bothers you. Plus, the stars are gorgeous from up there, bright and up close. Sparkling. It’s the best.”

Oboro stares out the window for a second before he’s slowly turning to Izuku. The teen blinks as Oboro’s intense eyes focus on him, the ghost’s smile stretching wider by the second, “have you ever, oh, I don’t know, wanted to stargaze from a cloud?”

“Uhm,” Izuku frowns, inching away from the ghost. He already knows where this is going—can see it just from the mischievous glint in Oboro’s eyes. “I don’t know?”

“Wouldn’t it be fun?” The ghost bounces on the edge of the mattress, eyes sparkling and smile wide and toothy, “c’mon, it’s my birthday?” the ghost’s eyes turn pleading and his lip pokes out in a pout. “Pleaseee?”

“You just want to use your Quirk,” Izuku groaned, burying his face into his pillow before scootching to the edge of the bed so he could plant his feet on the ground. “What if Shota and Hizashi come check on me, and I’m not here and they think I snuck out or something?”

“They won’t,” Oboro snorts, “they trust you. ‘zashi’s already getting ready for bed at this hour because of the early patrol, and Shota’s marking your classes essays. And it’s not like we’ll be gone all night, it’ll be an hour, tops. C’monnn! You're not gonna deny the ghost who’s been all alone on his birthday for thirteen years this, are you?”

“Guilt tripping is not cool,” Izuku pouts, but offers up his hand anyways. “An hour. And if I get caught sneaking out—I- well, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll figure it out, but you’ll be sorry!”

“Yess!” Oboro cheered as he stepped close to Izuku, hand clamping down on the green-haired teen’s hand. The touch was instantaneous, and for a second Izuku was afraid at how easy it had become. Oboro was solid, pulling Izuku up by the hand and dragging him toward the window.

Somehow, Oboro managed to push the window open with just one hand, and then Izuku was gazing out at a large fluffy cloud. It was big enough to comfortably seat the two of them, but Izuku still hesitated.

“Y’know, if we accidentally let go, you’ll probably float, because weightless ghost who has no solid form without me and all, but I, I will plummet to my death.”

“We won’t let go,” Oboro huffs, a half amused, half annoyed look lulling in Izuku’s direction as he does so.

“That doesn’t make me any more confident in this.” Izuku shakes his head, “we’re literally dangling my life from a cloud. You’ve seen how easy it is for us to lose contact—do you really want to do that in the sky?”

“Okay, okay, point made.” Oboro thinks for a second before Izuku is being dragged to the wardrobe where his uniforms are hanging. The ghost tugs one of his red uniform ties down from the hanger, pushing up close to Izuku so their hips were touching before releasing the teen’s hand.

Oboro makes quick work of knotting the tie around first his hand, then Izuku’s. The ghost laces their fingers together without a word, wrapping the tie around their hands like an odd present of some sort.

The knots were almost tight enough to hurt, but he couldn’t argue that they weren’t secure.

Oboro gives a jolting tug of the bindings and Izuku stumbles at the force, tugged into Oboro’s side. He glares at the ghost, but Oboro just looks smug as he lightly pushes Izuku back onto his own feet.

“There,” Oboro gives a firm nod, inspecting his work, “nothing short of untying that will break the connection, and we can always have a second point of contact too, like our knees touching or something. Now,” the ghost whines now, almost pleading, “can we gooo?”

“Yeah,” Izuku swallows, glancing back at the cloud hovering completely still outside the window, “let’s do it.”

Oboro climbs onto the cloud first, looking entirely too giddy considering Izuku was walking onto something that was going to be taking him upwards and could literally blink out of existence with just one wrong move from the two of them.

Best not to think about that.

His steps are slow and cautious as he climbs out the window, heart thrumming with nerves and anxiety at being caught and the thrill of actually sneaking out and trusting not just his own ghost-seeing-and-sorta-using Quirk, but Oboro’s own cloud Quirk too.

The ghost sinks down into a criss-cross sitting position, pulling Izuku down too. The teen melts into a similar position, squeezing at his friend’s hand.

“Relax,” Oboro gives him a goofy half-smile, “I used to do this all the time. I won’t let anything happen to you. Trust me.”

And he does trust the ghost.

But he doesn’t let up his grip.

The cloud is moving before Izuku really knows what’s happening. They’re going up—not like how they’d gone up and strayed to the side like at the USJ, no, they were really just going up like Izuku was on one big cottony elevator.

The higher they got, the harder his heart thrummed in his chest, pounding like it would beat right out of his ribcage. The wind ruffles through his curls, and his body gives a shiver at the late-night chill brushing against them. At his side, Oboro looks free and alive, a natural smile on his face and his eyes shut as he directs the cloud as if it’s second nature. The ghost’s head is angled upwards, chin raised as he accepts the wind and chill like it’s a part of him.

Izuku doesn’t doubt for a second that Oboro did this all the time when he was still alive. It’s obvious the ghost missed this. Being free like this. Guiding his cloud where few could go. Being able to just hop onto a cloud and go.

Izuku looks down as the tall buildings get smaller and smaller. The cars below look like nothing but ants and the stray pedestrians wondering around can’t even be picked up by his eyes.

Soon they’re surrounded by natural clouds, which is where Oboro stops the movement. His eyes sliver open and his head angles towards Izuku, taking him in before his head is thrown back and he’s staring up at the stars in awe.

“Look up,” the ghost guides, his own hand giving Izuku’s a light, prompting squeeze. “Pretty, huh?”

Izuku lets his head follow direction on autopilot, eyes lifting to the scattering of stars above. They really are beautiful. Twinkling like that nursey rhyme his mother used to sink to him. Glittering above.

He wishes he knew more about the stars. About constellations, and names—more than just the North Star that he couldn’t even point out if he tried. It really is beautiful—a sight he’s sure very few see like this.

“Yeah,” Izuku hears himself say, unable to draw his eyes away. “Thanks for talking me into this.”

“Thanks for letting me talk you into this,” Oboro’s burst of laughter is what draws the teen’s gaze away from the sky. “This really was the best birthday I’ve had in ages. Thank you, Izuku.”

Izuku bows his head in acknowledgment, attention crawling back up to the sky, “I never did ask how old you turned,” the teen hums, “obviously older than me, but like, how old?”

“Thirty-one,” the ghost returns softly, just as distracted by the sky and the stars.

Izuku sputters, choking on the spit in his mouth. Oboro looks towards him in surprise, but has to bite his lip to keep from laughing at Izuku’s choking coughs and red cheeks.

“You’re old!” the teen accuses, disbelief furrowing his brow, “I forget you’re as old as my teacher, because you look, well, like that!”

“Izuku,” Oboro’s nose wrinkles as he grins. The green-haired teen can see the shit-eating grin on Oboro’s face even in the dark, that tongue in cheek smile, “Buddy, I’m older than your teachers.”

“You’re what?!”

Izuku chokes out a couple more exclamations that don’t quite for real words, but they’re drowned out by the ghost’s hearty laughter.

Izuku doesn’t even really complain when they stay out fifteen more minutes than Izuku had approved. He’s just glad to see Oboro smiling so much, and enjoying himself.

They really need to work with the ghost’s Quirk some more because this, this is amazing.

Chapter Text

After Oboro’s birthday, everything settles out again. Sunday comes and goes, and his guardians are back to normal. They’re maybe a bit quieter, a bit more soft-spoken, but besides that, they’re almost completely back to normal.

By Monday, you’d never be able to tell they’d spent the weekend mourning a close friend’s birthday.

Izuku wonders briefly how his guardians would’ve been had Oboro’s 31st birthday fallen on a school day. He assumes it has before—it the fifth can’t fall on the weekend every year, right?

He can’t imagine them staying home for the day, but also can’t really imagine them showing up in as poor moods as they’d been that Saturday morning before Izuku had guided mourning into something a little lighter. He pities the classes who’d been stuck with Shota’s short, grieving temper over the years. He hands out suicide sprints and lectures on the best of days, Izuku doesn’t want to imagine Shota on the worst of days.

But that doesn’t really matter now anyways; the day had passed and with it, so had their dour moods and sad thoughts. And Izuku thinks that the cake and light atmosphere as opposed to the usual quiet mourning may have helped.

Hizashi had been up and gone before Izuku had even rolled out of bed, Oboro tagging along with him, and Shota had been flopped on the couch with a mug of steaming coffee set on the coffee table when he’d finally shuffled out of his room.

Izuku had been up early enough to make himself and his guardian eggs—nothing extravagant, but he could make decent scrambled eggs, as eggs were one of the things he could sometimes find in the fridge growing up.

He plated it up with toast and set the two plates on the table.

He’s not sure why he’s so awkward when it comes to inviting his guardian to eat with him.

Once again, he knows the worst that’ll happen would be Shota declining the offer.

Like when he’d been offering tea to his guardians, he lingers in the doorway as he tries to find his voice. He hopes at some point they won’t make him quite as nervous, but this is all still pretty new, and they’re all just starting to understand each other.

He shouldn’t have been nervous, Izuku is coming to realize after the second time he’d worried over nothing when it comes to asking his guardians things—Shota pushes himself up with an arched eyebrow when disturbed before his eyebrows knit together at the stumbled over invitation and he finally stands up and grabs his mug off the coffee table.

Izuku will never admit the warm feeling of pride as he sees Aizawa-Sensei, stern and rough around the edges, eating and enjoying something he made. He even gets a gruff compliment as his teacher pauses his eating to sip at his coffee (which is when he points out that Izuku hadn’t touched his meal yet, and the boy yelps and shovels a forkful of eggs into his mouth, much to his guardian’s amusement).

They arrive at school earlier than the two of the usually would, early enough that Shota leads Izuku into the teacher’s lounge until more students arrive. Hizashi is there, already hunched over what looks like their English homework from Friday, which reminds Izuku that, oh yeah, he hadn’t finished his English homework because he’d been too side tracked with a ghost’s birthday and his out of character guardians.

Thankfully, Hizashi is more than happy to help him with those last couple concepts he’d struggled with. The Voice Hero multitasks like an expert as he guides the teen through the concepts as he marks through their work.

Slowly, teachers start filling the room. None seem too surprised to find Izuku sharing the space of Hizashi’s desk, a chair pushed up so they can both work at the small surface area. Nemuri bounds over to ruffle Izuku’s hair and drapes over Hizashi’s shoulder to watch him mark.

Shota just snorts a huff of laughter as Hizashi whines in annoyance at the surprise of weight suddenly on him; not to mention Nemuri pointing things out on the paper despite how, according to his guardians, she is awful at English, second in the awful scale to just Snipe.

A couple teachers look their direction, but by the way no one looks surprised at the interaction, he assumes this is a common occurrence.

Izuku doesn’t linger long when it starts getting closer to the time when his peers would be arriving. He doesn’t want to be seen leaving the teacher’s lounge. He doesn’t want his friends to think he’s in trouble, or worse, think he’s not and that he’s just spending time with their teachers like a weirdo, or a suck-up. And he really doesn’t want anyone to start thinking he’s getting any special treatment, because that’s just not true, but he has no idea how he’d explain it if his classmates did see.

It’s early enough that he’s still one of the first ones in the classroom, followed by a ghost who is animatedly telling Izuku about Hizashi’s patrol that morning and the villain the Voice Hero had caught.

Izuku listens halfheartedly as he finishes up the rest of his English homework so it’s ready for Hizashi’s class.

One by one his peers enter the room, most greeting Izuku with waves and smiles before settling at their own desks until their friends arrive, or crowding around their friend’s desks as they come in. Uraraka bounds to Izuku’s desk when she comes in, followed by a tense Iida.

Izuku wants to ask Iida about the tension; how his jaw is clenched shut like he’s trying to compose himself, but Oboro just sends the teenager a sympathetic look, which reminds the green-haired boy that Iida’s brother was in the hospital.

That was why Ingenium hadn’t been able to come around to celebrate Oboro’s birthday like his guardians had mentioned they did every year.

Izuku wants to express his sympathy too; he wants to be there for Iida, and have his friend know he’s there for support if he needs it, but he also doesn’t want to call Iida out right now.

He doesn’t know who, if anyone, in class knows about Iida Tensei being hospitalized due to the Hero Killer. And he also doesn’t know how he’d explain his own knowledge of the situation apart from ‘oh, we were celebrating a ghost’s, Shirakumo Oboro, if ya know him’s, birthday, and my foster parents, y’know, Shota and Hizashi, or, our Senseis, mentioned that your brother was supposed to be there too, but couldn't make it because he’s currently in the hospital dealing with substantial, and potentially career ending injuries? I’m sorry to hear your brother almost died at Stain’s hands.’

Yeah, no.

He was not going to do that. He’d feign ignorance, and offer his sympathy and support in some other way. Preferably a way that didn’t need a direct explanation that Izuku definitely did not want to give.

Izuku doesn’t have long to figure out a way to broach the subject of support with Iida, because soon bell is ringing and no more than a second later Shota is rolling the door open and stepping into the room. It feels like when Izuku blinks, everyone is in their rightful seats, staring wide-eyed at their Sensei and awaiting his words as Shota’s dark eyes survey over the room.

Shota doesn’t beat around the bush, eyes sharpening as he strides to his podium, speaking before he even reaches it and can set his papers down, “we’ve been talking a bit about the upcoming draft internships. As most of you know, Pros typically draft second or third year students as interns, but after your performances at the festival this year, some Pros and Agencies have taken interest in a few of your potentials.”

Shota goes on, talking about the results of the Pro Hero drafting, listing how many offers students got (mostly the ranking students who got dozens, if not hundreds, of offers). It’s no surprise to Izuku that Todoroki, Tokoyami and Kacchan received the highest amount of offers, but Oboro still lets out a low whistle as he glares at Kacchan, who in turn, is glaring at Aizawa-Sensei.

Their teacher talks of how everyone has to participate in an internship, whether they were drafted and offered positions, or if they’ll be taken on by Agencies that agreed to take on students who didn’t get any offers.

"Students who did not receive offers will choose from a list of the aforementioned pros offering internship to anyone without, while those of you who received offers will choose from among your draft nominations. The internships will last one week and you’ll have just two days to choose your desired hero agency, so use your time wisely.”

When Shota was done speaking, he gets to work handing out lists of Agencies; some of offers from interested parties, and others just a list of Agencies and Pros willing to take in any students. Some students wind up with one of each—like Izuku.

He has some offers, a couple interested Pros willing to take him and his destructive Quirk on, but there’s still not enough variety between Pros and Agencies, so Aizawa-Sensei settles a list of the aforementioned Agencies as well.

Hizashi had put in an offer on him, but that one for some reason feels a bit like a pity offer. Izuku’s eyes narrow on the name ‘Gran Tornio’, who he’s never even heard of before—which is surprising because Izuku knows a lot of heroes.

“Who is that?” Oboro is leaning on the back of Izuku’s chair, scanning over the names just as the green-haired teen is. Izuku lifts his shoulders in a silent, halfhearted shrug as an answer. “I’ve never even heard that name before...”

Izuku bites the inside of his cheek as he narrows his eyes at the name before promptly switching to the second paper he’d been given. He surveys over the Pros and Agencies, most familiar to him. He’s curious about this Pro who he’s never heard of though. Maybe someone else will know?

“Gran Torino?” Hizashi cocks an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch as he runs his fingers through his hair. He’d just gotten out of the shower, washing out all the hair gel that kept his Present Mic hairstyle together, “I’ve never heard of him.”

“I hadn’t either,” Shota confesses as he joins them in the living room from the kitchen. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the room, and Izuku knows the dark-haired man is caffeinating so he’s prepared for his patrol that night.

The underground hero walks in, one hand clutching a mug of steaming coffee, and the other holding a curled-up Nemo in the bend of his arm. He plops down gracefully on the other side of the couch from Hizashi, kicking his legs up to drop his fit in Hizashi’s lap.

The blonde hardly reacts, just settles his hands on Shota’s shins and keeps his eyes on Izuku.

Shota takes a sip of his coffee before his own gaze is settling on the teen, head angling as he continues, “he’s retired. Apparently, he taught at Yuuei years and years ago, way before we attended.”

“He did?” Izuku cocks his head, tucking his feet under himself. He nurses his bottle of water in his hands, shooting a short look at the ghost perched on the armrest beside him. Oboro is looking between the three of them, acutely following the conversation but making no move to be a part of it.

“This guy must be ancient then,” Hizashi blinks, “I’ve still never heard of him— how long did he teach?”

Shota’s lip puckers slightly like he’d eaten a slice of lemon, “one year.”

“One year?” Hizashi sputters in surprise, “why only a year? Was it on his terms or, like, was he fired or something?”

Shota shrugs, sipping at his coffee thoughtfully. “Not sure. I tried to dig some information up, but considering the year he taught predates Nezu even teaching at the school, there weren’t a lot of sources. There isn’t even much about him as a Pro—he wasn’t a limelight Hero and as far as I know, he also wasn’t an underground Hero either. If there weren’t copies of his license on file, I wouldn’t have even believed he was a Pro Hero at all.”

“Why is he interested in me?” Izuku blinks, frowning between his teachers.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Shota huffs out, stroking Nemo’s head. “It’s just strange that this retired Pro is willing to come out of hiding and offer you an internship. There’s been no word from him since his single year teaching at Yuuei. Nothing reported of his Hero name either since his retirement.”

“And we’re sure we can trust him?” Hizashi’s voice is quiet—that thoughtful, deep in thought kind of quiet. “There has to be a reason he only taught for one year. What if he was fired for misconduct or something? You want us to ship our kid off to some strange, retired Pro hero for a week?”

“I looked,” Shota shrugs, “nothing of termination. That would’ve been documented, no matter who this Pro is; he left on his own account after the year finished. If he had of been fired, he wouldn’t have made it onto Izuku’s nomination list—who do you take me for, ‘zashi?”

“Sorry,” the blond shakes his head with a light, apologetic smile.

Shota rolls his eyes at Hizashi’s halfhearted apology, digging his heels into the blonde’s thighs. Hizashi huffs a light laugh as he gently massages Shota’s ankles and shins in prolonged apology.

The blonde’s gaze casts over to Izuku in silent question as his fingers move, “what do you think, Izuku?”

“Well... I’m curious,” the teen shifts where he’s sitting. “There has to be a reason he’s interested in me. He didn’t draft anyone else in class—we talked about our offers and where we were interested in going over lunch.”

“No, he didn’t,” Shota agrees quietly, having gone through all the paperwork first. “But that said, there’s no reason this internship offer isn't viable. There is no reason for me to veto the offer, hence why it made it onto the list, so the choice of whether you want to take it is entirely yours.”

“I don’t know,” Izuku mulls over it, the pad of his thumb swiping over the rim of his water bottle. “It’s just weird that I’ve never heard of him, y’know? I’ve always loved heroes, and studied them relentlessly growing up. I love seeing new ones, and learning of the old ones and studying their Quirks. It’s kinda my hobby... But a hero no one’s heard of, me included... I don’t know.”

Izuku thinks for a second longer, thoughts drifting to All Might.

He knows he should run the internship options past him and see what he thinks. All Might may not be around a lot to really help with the Quirk, but he does know a lot of Pros, and he probably knows good places to intern that could possibly help him when it comes to One for All.

And, who knows? All Might might even know about this Gran Torino guy or something?

“You still have until end of day tomorrow to decide,” Shota nods his head, gaze watching the teen.

“Don’t rush the decision,” Hizashi adds, “but don’t let your curiosity hinder your decision. Pick the internship that you think will be best for you.”

“I will.”

As it turns out, All Might does know of Gran Torino.

“You know how I mentioned having a couple mentors...?” The Hero rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, sounding the most nervous Izuku thinks he’d ever heard him sound. The Pro looks tense as he leads the teen through the hallway and into the teacher’s lounge. Izuku gives a slow nod as he tries to keep up with All Might’s quick, almost scared steps. “Well... Gran Tornio was one of them.”

“He was?” Izuku squawks, tripping over his own feet as he follows All Might into one of the conference rooms in the teacher’s lounge. “He was your mentor?”

“One of them,” All Might mumbles sheepishly.

“But he was a teacher here...” Izuku mumbles out before he can even think it through. Logically, he knows All Might graduated from Yuuei. That had been what made Yuuei High School such a sought-after school in the recent years—the Number One Hero graduating from there? Every hero wannabe wanted to go to school where the best of the best attended.

Still, Izuku can’t help but recoil slightly at the knowledge. He goes to school where not only Present Mic and Eraserhead attended, but All Might too. What is his life?

“Yes,” All Might sighs, “he was. After my first mentor, the seventh wielder of One for All, passed on, Gran Torino stepped up in her place as my mentor. He’d aided her a little bit when it came to mentoring me, knew of the Quirk from her, one of the few people to know the full story without possessing the Quirk himself. I really don’t know how he managed to do it, but when my third year rolled around, he was my homeroom sensei.”

“He became a teacher just to teach you?” Izuku blinks in surprise. That was some dedication. Izuku can only imagine what a Pro would need to do to be able to teach at a school like Yuuei. And to go through the process for one class—one student, was incredibly surprising.

“I believe so, young Midoriya,” All Might clears his throat like he’s trying to swallow down a lump of nerves. “It was a brutal year between my classes, internships and his intense training...”

“And he wants to train me?” Izuku asks in bewilderment. “Why?”

“I assume the same reason he thought to train me,” All Might shakes his head, interlacing his fingers together before settling them in his lap like a scolded schoolboy. “He knows about One for All, and he does know how it’s passed from holder to holder...”

“How does he even know about me?”

At this, All Might shrugs helplessly, “perhaps the Sports Festival? If he watched that then he would’ve seen that you’re not quite... up to his standards. He’s known two generations of One for All holders now, so he’d know the Quirk if he saw it... Which would mean I’m failing you as a mentor—” sheer fear settles on the Pro’s face and clouds his eyes like he’s seconds away from being smote by God himself.

How... how scary is this mentor?

“That means he would’ve seen me getting injured by One for All,” Izuku winces. It really wasn’t his proudest moment—letting Todoroki and his own superpowered Quirk break him to the point that he needed surgery to right the wrong.

“Yes,” All Might winces. “I’d bet that’s why he put in the internship offer.”

Izuku is silent as he lets that sink in. Then, he’s looking up towards his quiet mentor, “should I take it?”

All Might shifts uncertainly, like he’d been expecting the question, had thought about an answer, but still has no idea how to respond despite it. He opens his mouth, only to close it and frown.

Finally, the man lets out a slow sigh, “I’ll admit,” All Might starts off slowly, “it has been quite a few years since I’ve spoken to him... And he has a tendency to be a bit of a... harsh teacher, but he was a good mentor. I learned a lot from him in the years I studied under him, and despite never possessing One for All, he’s got a pretty good handle on it from watching Nana and myself.”

Izuku thinks back to how All Might had talked about his mentors back after the USJ incident when he’d had to tell the Pro he’d almost accidentally spilled the secret of One for All to his Sensei.

“Aizawa has been helpful for you, I know that. I’ve seen the subtle changes in how you wield the Quirk, due to his teachings, but Gran Torino has more knowledge on it and I don’t doubt he’ll help you along as he did for me. It won’t be easy, mind you, he has a tendency to be... brutal, my boy, but he knows what he’s talking about...”

Izuku sucks in a breath, mouth flattening into a straight line.

That afternoon, Izuku passes Shota the finished internship document. The only thing the slip of paper is missing is a guardian’s signature. Izuku watches as Shota’s eyes scan over the paperwork before catching on the chosen Pro/Agency line. His attention lifts up to Izuku, mouth pressed in a straight line, but a silent question flickering in his gaze.

“You’re sure?” Shota asks quietly under his breath so the rest of the class won’t hear. Izuku gives a serious nod, dropping his gaze to his shoes. Shota lets out a heavy sigh, one eyebrow arching as he scribbles his signature on the bottom and files it away with the rest of his classes, “take your seat.”

They pick hero names that class.

Shota had given them a casual warning the day prior, telling them to think about it without really telling them to think about it. Still, most of his class is shocked when Midnight saunters in, tell them what the agenda is as if Shota hadn’t mentioned it yesterday.

Shota promptly tucks away for a nap, leaving the class in her hands. Izuku can tell Shota isn’t completely asleep, more resting his eyes as he listens in.

He’d picked up on when his guardian is actually asleep and feigning it in the time, he’d been living with them. There are subtle tells.

Izuku’s not quite sure why he settles on the name ‘Deku’.

For years he’d hated the stupid nickname. It made him feel awful, and worthless. Useless, as intended when Kacchan had doled it out all those years ago. But it was also a part of him. A bit of a reminder. Why he needed to be better, do better. He never wanted to feel like he had growing up again.

And then there was the fact that the nickname had slowly started to change since starting at Yuuei.

Uraraka started calling him by it; in no way meant to belittle him. And after she had, some of his other classmates had as well, and suddenly it felt different. No one here knew the origin of the nickname.

And even that little bit of confirmation from Kacchan that it was just a stupid nickname like ‘Kacchan’ was to the ashen-haired teenager had taken away some of the heat and hatred when thinking of the nickname.

It’s still not a particularly nice nickname, nor will it ever really be considering what it means, and where it came from, but Izuku does settle on it as his Hero name. He knows that Shota definitely doesn’t agree with his choice, even if Midnight wrinkles her nose but accepts it nonetheless.

Izuku can tell by the way his guardian’s lips twitch downwards through his feigned sleep when Izuku announces his decision, but he doesn’t back down.

Deku it is.

Perched on Izuku’s desk, Oboro huffs out a breath of fond acceptance, also not particularly happy with Izuku naming himself ‘useless’ but the ghost shoots him a small smile even as he rolls his eyes.

Before Izuku knows it, he’s arriving at the address Gran Torino had gave him. All Might hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that this old man could be brutal.

Not even in the way he taught, but in the way he jested as well.

It was a little cruel to play dead like an opossum or something right before his new protégé arrives; laid out on the floor like he’d been murdered. Izuku’s heart lurches into his throat, and he’s sure that his heartrate doesn’t drop that entire first day he’s with his new mentor.

He really does have Izuku fooled when he arrives in for his internship. Izuku should’ve known then that he was in for one hell of an internship just by how he’d met Gran Torino.

The little old man in the yellow Hero costume appears to be senile. The man calls him ‘Toshinori’, All Might’s given name like he’s back mentoring the Number One hero instead of Izuku.

He plays the part perfectly, and Izuku is fooled.

Izuku quickly realizes that’s just a façade. Gran Torino is messing with him.

How Gran Torino teaches is kinda brutal as well. He’d psyched himself up for much worse considering how All Might had all but cowered when Izuku had mentioned the retired Pro’s name.

It’s no walk in the park.

Izuku gets thrown around—tossed into walls and slammed into the floor by a tiny man who’s easily in his eighties. The retired Pro is fast—Izuku would love to pick apart the man’s Quirk, but for now all he can focus on is not getting his ass handed to him by an elderly man whipping around the room.

He does learn.

It takes just two days of working with his new mentor for Izuku to be able to channel One for All throughout his whole body instead of directing it towards any specific part when he intends to use it. He hears whispers in the back of his mind praising him.

He tries not to get distracted by it, but it’s odd. Strange in a way he's never felt before, which says something considering he’s seen ghosts for as long as he can remember. He’s seen and heard ghosts, but he’s never seen or heard them... within himself.

He tries not to let his thoughts catch on the fact that these voices he’s faintly hearing in the depth of his brain are probably those of the past One for All wielders.

Neither he nor All Might really knew what was going on with the Quirk, besides the fact that, yes those several figures behind All Might during the Sports Festival were probably the seven previous wielders.

He’d brought up what he’d seen during his battle with Shinsou to the Pro that Monday after the festival, and All Might had gone surprisingly quiet as he’d thought. Though not exactly like Izuku, nowhere near as prominent, the Pro had also had mentioned hearing and seeing similar things when he’s possessed the full power of One for All.

All Might does admit that the Quirk is haunted—but of it, he doesn’t know much considering it never really showed itself to him, and neither his mentor Nana, or Gran Torino had ever spoken of it.

It matched up too well for it to be anything else, but still, All Might seems confused that Izuku had physically seen them, when All Might himself had just heard whispers and visualized shapes almost resembling people.

Izuku can’t help but wonder if it’s because of his other Quirk that they’re all so human in appearance. That they had physical forms outside the Quirk—stood behind All Might— and that they talk to him more than they’d talked to anyone else.

He’ll dwell on that later, when he’s not in near constant threat of being slammed into the floor or the wall.

Izuku trains hard—fights Gran Torino to the best of his abilities and starts to feel almost... confident in his growing abilities. There’s still a lot of work to be done—he can hardly even touch the Jet Quirked man, but he’s grown a lot just since arriving for his week internship.

He can’t wait to show Shota how much he’s learned on their next Quirk training session. Or even during class!

During this internship, Izuku also has the added distraction of a ghost who decides, since he can’t be of any use around the retired Pro, that he’ll add commentary that just Izuku can hear. Izuku gets really tired of hearing ‘anddd he’s down!’ and ‘looks like our favorite green bean has taken yet another hit by the ancient hero!’ and worst of all, ‘wooww, that’ll definitely leave bruise!’ very fast.

He supposes it’s a good lesson when it comes to focus—he needs to focus on Gran Torino’s quick movements and not the ghost’s irritating voice and words. After a couple hard hits while he’s distracted, Izuku starts getting better at tuning his friend out and focusing on the threat.

He knows Oboro is just trying to be annoying, but it actually does help his focus. And, he can now easily ignore the ghost. Probably not what Oboro had in mind when it came to annoying Izuku, but Izuku thinks it’s a very beneficial lesson.

When things do get intense though; when Izuku gets worked up or things get a bit too rough, the ghost does know when to keep quiet. He asks if Izuku is alright, and lets his tone take a concerned curl. And at night when Gran Torino has passed out, the ghost is very sympathetic and understanding of just how brutal the training is. It’s painful, and Izuku just knows he’s going to leave this internship bruised like an old banana.

So Izuku’s not really mad about the ghost’s presence, just a bit annoyed.

Despite how brutal it is, Izuku knows he’s learning.

He can feel himself getting better with the Quirk, which is why he begs for Gran Torino to keep attacking. Pleads for the man to keep going for just a few more minutes. Izuku knows he’ll land a hit on the Pro at some point—he just needs to keep practicing.

But, like Shota, the man cuts him off when he deems Izuku has had enough for the day. Or, maybe the Pro just really likes his early evening bedtime.

It the evening of his third day of the internship that Gran Torino deems him ready to go on an actual patrol, or, maybe he just wants to switch things up from the cat and mouse game Izuku had been losing horribly at.

The teen is surprisingly nervous as he changes into his hero costume. It’s the first time he’s sought villains out, instead of coming face-to-face with them during a school activity, or being cornered by them on his walk home from school.

He’s nervous on the taxi ride to the train station, but he’s anxious by the time they board the train taking them to Shinjuku.

And then... and then shit hits the fan.

The Nomus attack, the train is destroyed and Gran Torino leaps into action—and Izuku can’t just sit there and wait. He’s a heroics course student. He’s here on this internship to learn how to help people. What good is he just sitting on a damaged train waiting for someone else to come rescue them when he can be helping.

He knows he needs to locate Gran Torino— he doesn’t doubt the Pro’s ability but... Gran Torino is kinda old. And retired. And Izuku knows he should’ve stuck close to him, Izuku is the man’s responsibility after all, even if the Pro demanded he staying the in the train car.

Oboro is at his side as Izuku traverses the city easily, falling back on everything Aizawa-Sensei had been teaching them in class. His recently learned Full Cowl makes it so much easier to do so, and Izuku almost feels like he’s flying as he jumps from rooftop to rooftop.

When he arrives at the center of the chaos, he’s almost instantly distracted by a call of Iida’s name. There are Pros talking about his friend—his missing friend, apparently. It’s unlike Iida to go AWOL.

That’s when a bad feeling churns his stomach.

He knows Iida has been off since his brother was attacked, but he’d never suspected Iida to be dumb enough to go off alone in search of the Hero Killer. He hoped he was wrong, that his feeling was nothing. But that’s not the case.

Izuku’s not entirely sure how he finds Iida—in Stain’s hands, no less—but he does.

And he knows he can’t leave his friend to fend for himself. He’s torn between finding his mentor and helping his friend, and obviously helping his friend wins out. It’s hardly a thought—he's moving before he even realizes it’s even Iida on the ground with the murder taking out Heroes left and right standing over his prone form.

And the fight begins.

It grueling.

Stain is a hard opponent.

He’s smart, and has a very useful Quirk. He’d taken out dozens of Heroes—and Izuku knows that they’re just students. Iida had walked into this fight with nothing by vengeance on his mind, and that’s not what they’re supposed to be.

Izuku’s not even surprised when he finds himself locked under Stain’s Quirk, body paralyzed no matter what he does. He’s not surprised, but he’s so incredibly frustrated with himself that it’s not even funny. He’s faintly reminded of his battle against Shinsou, but this is a hundred times worse.

Oboro is loudly panicking at Izuku’s side like he doesn’t know what to do. Izuku can’t open his mouth to speak, he barely has control of his eyes. Izuku’s breathing picks up as Stain eyes him. The man is talking, preaching, really, but it’s in one ear and out the other as he slinks over to Iida, clearly ready to end what he’s started.

Izuku could cry when he spots Todoroki. He hardly remembers shooting off the text to all his contacts. It’s had been nothing more than a location drop and sheer hope that his classmates would see through the rushed and panicked message and come help.

A shot of fire blocks Stain from reaching Iida, followed by ice crystalizing along the ground and sweeping everyone behind Todoroki.

He can just watch as Todoroki fights the villain one-on-one.

Izuku’s not sure what forces him out of the paralysis—maybe it’s Oboro shaking him by the shoulder and urging him up, or the Quirk wearing off, but as soon as he feels it, he’s up and aiding Todoroki.

Oboro is trying his best, using himself as a distraction. He throws himself through the Killer like he had the villains at the USJ, but it doesn’t seem to faze the villain at all. Todoroki is using his ice, his more trained side, and Izuku feels the chill of it sinking into his bones as he fights.

The second time Izuku feels the paralysis sink into his bones, Oboro is at his side in a second. The ghost had dropped to his knees beside Izuku, hands hovering uselessly.

“Fuck, are you okay?”

No, he’s not.

“D-do it,” Izuku forces out, “s-save Native and Iida. Protect them. Help Todoroki.”

A look of determination clashes over Oboro’s face and he gives a hard nod. His hand reaches out, ready to grasp Izuku’s arm—but it goes through.

Oboro lets out a gasp as he wavers forwards, clearly expecting to make contact. Izuku opens his mouth the share the surprise, except a feeling of cold rushes through his body. He wants to cry out, but no words will come.

He’s so cold it’s almost painful.

Todoroki’s attacks vary between fire and ice, throwing each element easily and blocking Stain away from Iida and Native, but Izuku can see him getting tired. He sees him getting overwhelmed, Todoroki is still unused to using his fire, but he does without a second thought.

The fire spreads warmth through the alley, but the ice rushes Izuku’s veins. He can’t move and the ground is so cold. He’s so cold. He’s never felt like this before—it feels like his blood is second away from freezing.

It hurts.

The only saving grace is those bursts of warmth, without them, it feels like Izuku would’ve frozen to death. His body eases out of the paralysis slowly, and his body’s first response is to get up despite how his body wobbles and his limbs feel uncoordinated.

Oboro is at his side as he pushes himself up, hand phasing through him again as if the first failed attempt at using Izuku’s Quirk was a fluke. The chill that crawls up his shoulder where the ghost had attempted to touch him make a cry of pain burst from his mouth.

It's never happened before. Oboro is always cold, but it feels like the ghost is jabbing an icicle through his shoulder. He hears himself mumbling out apologies and slurred reassurances, but it doesn’t look like it helps.

He’s never seen Oboro jump away from him so fast.

“I’m sorry,” the ghost wheezes out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening! I don’t know how to help! I’m so sorry!”

Izuku can’t focus on the ghost.

Not with his classmates struggling to survive, and a wounded Pro Hero relying on them. When Izuku finally managed to focus his attention on his friends, Iida has joined the fight again. It seems Todoroki had gotten through to him.

His attacks are slower, even with full cowl. The chill in his body makes his limbs heavy and tense. He’s never felt like this before. Never been so cold, but he can’t give up. He can’t, and he won’t. He’ll keep going until he literally can’t anymore.

It takes the three of them together to finally defeat Stain.

Izuku is still so, so cold as they restrain the Hero Killer. He feels his body shiver, slipping a little on the frosted ground. It’s not even really cold outside—it's a nice night. But his body doesn’t seem to agree. His teeth chatter the faintest bit, and the shivers are slowly getting worse.

He can’t help but push up against Todoroki’s fire side as they all work together to get both Stain and Native out of the alley and onto the street so they’re spotted when help finally arrives.

“I’d like to apologize,” Iida bows his head, before looking up between his friends. He says more, talks for a while, but Izuku can’t seem to force himself to focus on it. He thinks Iida might be crying through the apology. He says something about selfishness, but the word is gone from Izuku’s brain as fast as he hears it.

His brain feels funny. His everything feels funny, actually.

He’s so cold still, wavering against his classmate’s side.

“Midoriya?” Todoroki turns his head lightly, eyebrows furrowing when he spots the other teen shivering. “You’re freezing...”

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.

His energy is very quickly abandoning him. It feels like his energy is being drained out and replaced with snapping cold that tears at his body. He can’t find it in himself to reply. Can hardly make his mouth even open as he slurs out a few syllables.

“Midoriya?” Iida questions, one hand putting pressure on his own shoulder wound, while the other keeps a hold of Stain. “Are you alright?”

“He’s so cold,” Todoroki frowns, lifting his arm to wrap around Izuku’s shoulder and actually tug him into his side. Izuku feels the warmth spread along his side, but he can’t seem to stop the shivers. “Your heartrate is very slow.”

Izuku hadn’t even noticed Todoroki’s fingers pressed against the pulse point in his neck.

“You’re not looking too good,” Oboro whispers from the other side of the sidewalk. He’d made sure to keep his distance since the second failed attempt at channeling Izuku’s Quirk. A small part of Izuku feels bad the ghost is so afraid to get close, but the bigger part is melting into the warmth of his classmate.

“I didn’t hit you with my ice, did I?” Todoroki sounds off. Izuku hears the consternation in his classmate’s voice at just the thought of accidentally injuring someone with his Quirk.

“N-no,” Izuku manages to spit out, the words coming out slurred, “c-co-cold.”

“It’s not cold, Midoriya,” Iida sounds so concerned. “This is not normal.”

“No,” Todoroki agrees quietly, “it’s not.”

“He needs help.” Izuku feels Todoroki nod slowly in agreement.

“I’m so sorry,” Oboro whispers dejectedly. Izuku wants to tell him it’s not his fault, because it’s not. Oboro touches him all the time, and he’s never felt like this. He doesn’t know what’s happening. “I don’t know what happened... what’s different this time? Why did I do that to you?”

The Pros arrive in a flurry of questions and concern.

Gran Torino gives Izuku a look before moving to his side and eyeing him. He must not look great, because his mentor frowns heavily. He touches Izuku’s arm, the frown deepening when he does, “what happened to him?”

Izuku is having a hard time keeping himself up, and if it wasn’t for Todoroki, he’d have probably sprawled across the pavement by now. He can’t seem to regulate his temperature, even with Todoroki’s help.

“We’re not sure,” Todoroki responds steadily, “I might have accidentally hit him with my Quirk...”

“N-no,” Izuku denies instantly, “d-di-didnn't.”

“Ambulances are on the way,” one of the Pros tells them calmly.

Izuku has half a mind to pull away from Todoroki in order to look at the gathering of Pro heroes. He doesn’t even realize he actually is pulling away until he almost hits the ground— except before he does, something grabs him.

He cries out as something sharp pierces through the cold haze. Pierces into his body. It stings, grasping at him and he feel wind in his face. Cold, cold wind. He hears voices behind him. Calls of his name. Oboro shouts, and Gran Torino yells. Todoroki and Iida call his name in panic, but all he can focus on is the fact that something has him.

And then he’s falling.

Izuku doesn’t remember crashing to the ground. But he sees Stain, and he sees the Nomu who’d taken him. His head feels full of cotton, and he's trying to grasp at consciousness, but it feels like a losing battle.

The last thing he remembers seeing is Oboro instantly at his side, hands hovering over Izuku, almost afraid to touch him, and his friends rushing towards him followed only a couple steps behind by the Pros.

Shota is on patrol when he gets the message.

It’s a bit of a slow night.

He feels the most awake he has since he’d gotten the roster of his hell class. He’d been getting some sleep during the days, prepared for his nightly patrol. All the teachers had been taking the lack of class 1-A and 1-B in stride and using the free hours during the day for themselves, either as ‘me time’ or to prep for the Heroics students returns.

Shota himself had used his free time to sleep.

And it had been the best naps he’d ever taken at Yuuei. It’s very nice to not have to be worried about his class lighting things on fire, or starting fights, or attracting villains like villain magnets they are.

He hasn’t heard anything from any of the Agencies or Pro Heroes who’s taken his kids on, which is beyond great. That means nothing too dangerous has happened, no one’s been hospitalized and he can rest easy.

But of course, when does that ever happen when it comes to his class?