Chapter Text
“It’s getting worse,” says Jirou, glaring at the empty mouse trap.
“Well, maybe it’s a good thing?” Uraraka says. “If they’re eating the bait from the trap, maybe they won’t need to eat any of the food in the cupboard.”
“Are you suggesting we feed the mice to stop them from stealing from us?”
“I mean--” Uraraka says, twirling her hair round her finger. “Mice are cute? Do we really have to kill them?”
“Yes, we absolutely have to kill them.” Yaoyorozu shudders and manifests more mouse traps, these with even heavier-looking springs than the last. “You know they’ll just breed otherwise. We’ll be overrun in no time.”
Izuku sighs. The problem with the mice has been ongoing since a few weeks after they moved into the dorms. Theoretically, in these brand-new buildings, there ought not to be any way for them to get in, but mice, as Tokoyami keeps telling them, will find a way. Opinions on what to do are mixed, but it doesn’t seem to matter much, since whatever traps they put out – humane, inhumane, extremely inhumane depending on Yaoyorozu’s mood – the mice seem to be able to extract the food without setting them off. To all intents and purposes, they are feeding them.
“I guess they’re superintelligent mice,” Kaminari puts in from where he’s lounging on the couch. “Like, isn’t it illegal to kill superintelligent things?”
Yaoyorozu ignores him in favour of manifesting something that could either be a mousetrap or a torture implement. Izuku’s not sure that many spikes are really necessary.
“Where’s the soba?” she asks, because the superintelligent mice – as they’ve discovered – have very specific preferences about bait. And really, that should have been a clue that maybe they didn’t completely understand what they were dealing with. But even if they’d spent even more time talking about it – what kind of mice only like eating soba? was basically the class motto for several weeks, but no answer was ever forthcoming – they wouldn’t have figured it out, anyway.
What kind of mice indeed.
****
Izuku is woken – after what feels like several hours of dreaming about searching for a bathroom and never finding one – by his desperate need to pee. He stumbles to the bathroom, still half asleep, does what he needs to do, then stumbles back to his room and crawls into bed. Only to lie awake, extremely aware of how dry his mouth is. He tries to ignore this – he’ll drink some water in the morning, it’s surely only a few hours away! – but eventually he starts hallucinating beautiful, crystal-clear streams babbling over pretty, pale rocks, and by then even the prospect of forcing himself upright and dragging himself down the stairs is not enough to keep him from the prospect of glorious, cool, clear water.
Somehow, he makes it to the kitchen and fills up his glass without noticing that part of the common room is on fire. To be fair to him, it’s a very small part and he is half asleep, but even so, it’s not a good sign for his observational skills.
“Ah!” Izuku says, dropping the glass and then catching it before it hits the floor because – fire – water – he needs water – then dashing across the room to where one corner of a rug is going up in flames and dumping the water unceremoniously over it. The fire goes out instantly, and Izuku sits down hard on the floor, gasping for breath. How does a corner of the rug just suddenly – catch fire in the middle of the night? That doesn’t make any sense. He looks around wildly in case anything else is randomly on fire, then looks back at the rug, scorched and sopping wet, and--
--and. There’s something there, lying on the rug. It’s not very clearly visible, since Izuku only turned on a few of the lights when he came down, and at first, he thinks it must be one of the famous mice. But when he leans closer, he sees – not a mouse. He rubs his eyes, then scrambles to his feet and hits all the light switches, dropping to his knees to stare at the – at the--
Person. Lying face down on the rug, soaking wet and apparently unconscious, is what appears to be a tiny, tiny person.
Izuku sits down on the floor again. “Oh,” he whispers.
He can’t think of anything else to say.
****
It takes a few minutes for Izuku to truly convince himself that he’s not dreaming or hallucinating or in some kind of parallel dimension – that there really is a tiny person lying on the scorched rug. The person is maybe a handspan in height – or would be if he was standing rather than slumped on the floor – wearing tiny, dark-coloured clothes and tiny boots that Izuku has to stare at for a few seconds because it’s hard to believe they’re real. He has strange hair – it looks like half of it is red and half is white, though it’s hard to tell with how wet he is – and a red mark on his face. And he’s – tiny. He’s so tiny. It’s just – impossible. Izuku wonders wildly if it’s just some kind of doll that someone dropped – some kind of incredibly lifelike doll – right up until the tiny person shifts and shivers, huddling into himself a little.
“Oh,” Izuku says again. And that’s when he really notices that the tiny person is unconscious. Unconscious and soaking wet and shivering. Because Izuku poured a glass of water over him. He could have drowned him! He’s so – tiny!
Izuku swallows, then reaches out carefully. He touches the tiny person, gently nudging his shoulder with the tip of his finger. The tiny person doesn’t respond, and Izuku takes a deep breath, gets up on his knees and leans over. Carefully, he scoops the tiny person into his palm. The tiny person shifts and mumbles something, curling into himself, a bedraggled lump in Izuku’s hand. Izuku stares at him. There’s a weight, there, not much, but enough that it’s clear that what Izuku is holding is a real thing and not a figment of his imagination. But it seems – impossible. Surely it’s impossible.
But whether it’s possible or not, it’s definitely happening, and now Izuku has to decide what to do. He shakes his head, then cups his hands around the tiny person and makes his way slowly and carefully to the elevator. It’s difficult, because he finds it hard to tear his eyes away from the tiny person, but he’s also terrified of tripping and somehow crushing him, and the combination of confusion and anxiety and incredulity has his heart thundering in his chest. By the time he makes it to Iida’s floor, he feels kind of sick. Then he realises there’s another issue: he needs to knock on Iida’s door, but both his hands are cupped around the tiny person, and while he’s small enough that Izuku could hold him in one hand, then there’s the risk that he might roll off – certainly he’ll be a lot less protected. Izuku looks at the distance from his hands to the floor. The poor tiny person could break his neck! But Izuku can’t put him on the floor to knock, because then what if someone steps on him?? And Izuku can’t put him in his pocket, because what if he suffocates on pocket fluff???
After a short period of mental paralysis, Izuku settles for kicking Iida’s door, which is rude, but it is an emergency after all. There’s no answer the first time, so Izuku kicks again. A moment later, the door opens and Iida peers out. He’s not wearing his glasses and he looks bleary and confused.
“Midoriya?” he says. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Iida,” Izuku whispers, and extends his cupped hands, opening them up enough that the tiny person is visible.
Iida frowns at him, then down at his hands. Then he leans a lot closer to Izuku’s hands. Izuku can feel Iida’s breath on his palms.
“What is that?” Iida says. “Is that – a doll?”
“It’s a person,” Izuku whispers.
Iida stands still, bent over Izuku’s hands. He stays there for a long, long moment. Then he straightens up.
“You’d better come inside,” he says.
****
Inside Iida’s room, Izuku lays the tiny person down carefully on Iida’s desk. Iida fetches his glasses, puts them on, takes them off, cleans them, puts them on again. They both stare in silence.
“Is it a quirk?” Iida says at last.
“I don’t – know.” Izuku starts mentally rifling through his catalogue of quirk information. “There are definitely quirks that allow someone to change their body size – mostly gigantification, but miniaturisation has been recorded as well. So it could be a quirk. But why would a person with a miniaturisation quirk be unconscious on the floor of the common room?”
“That’s where you found him?” Iida says.
Izuku nods. “Oh, and the rug was on fire.” He feels like perhaps this is still a dream. Maybe he still needs a drink of water. That could explain why he would dream about the fire. Although the tiny person is harder to explain.
“On—” Iida says, turning sharply toward the door. “Did you put it out?”
“Yes – that’s why he’s so wet,” Izuku says. “But I think he was already unconscious. It’s possible that the force of the water falling on him knocked him out, though. I didn’t know he was there.” He leans closer to the desk. “I didn’t know you were there,” he whispers.
Iida just stands there for a moment, looking perplexed. And incredulous. Then he straightens his shoulders.
“Well, I don’t see why a – permanently tiny person would be any more likely to be on the floor of the common room than a person with a miniaturisation quirk,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “But for now the important part is that he’s clearly very cold. Small creatures lose heat quickly due to their high surface area-to-volume ratio. We should find a way to warm him up.”
“Oh,” says Izuku, then “Oh!” He casts around Iida’s room, looking for – something warm. There’s the bed, but that’s way too big. Iida’s clothes? Also too big. A glove, maybe?
“His clothes are wet,” Iida says. He’s leaning close to the desk.
“Should we – take them off?” Izuku asks.
Iida looks at him. Izuku looks back. He’s not sure what Iida’s thinking about, but he’s thinking about tiny buttons and – zippers? Does the tiny person have tiny zippers on his tiny clothes? – and how difficult it will be to get the clothes off without being too rough with him, and how when all’s said and done the tiny person is a person and undressing an unconscious stranger seems like a pretty terrible thing to do even if it’s because his clothes are wet.
Maybe Iida’s thinking the same thing, because he frowns and says “Hairdryer?”
Izuku nods.
Hairdryer.
****
Iida doesn’t own a hairdryer, and neither does Izuku, which means that Iida goes over to the girls’ side of the building while Izuku waits and keeps an eye on the tiny person. The tiny person is now huddled in a ball, shivering, and Izuku carefully picks him up off the desk and cups him in his hands to try and keep him warm.
“I’m really sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know you were there. The rug was on fire.” The part about the rug being on fire is still a little weird, but given how much weirder the tiny person part is, Izuku decides not to worry about it for the time being.
The tiny person doesn’t respond, what with being unconscious, but a moment later the door opens, and Iida comes back in, accompanied by a curious-looking Uraraka, who’s carrying a hairdryer.
“You guys know it’s two in the morning, right?” she says. “I was having a great dream, so I hope this is as important as Iida s--”
Izuku opens his cupped hands and Uraraka stops mid-stride, mouth still open to finish her sentence.
“He’s wet,” Izuku says.
“Is that – real?”
Izuku nods, feeling a little frantic. He can feel the tiny person shivering against his palms. “He’s wet, Uraraka. Can we use the hairdryer to dry him off?”
Uraraka opens and closes her mouth a couple of times. “Sure,” she croaks at last, holding the hairdryer out. “Why not?”
****
Eventually – after some furious semi-whispered arguments – they lay a cushion on the desk, lay the tiny person on the cushion, and direct the hair dryer – set to its lowest setting – so that the main stream of air blows just above him. They have no idea how fragile the tiny person is, and Izuku has terrifying visions of them accidentally cooking him to death, but this seems to be a reasonable compromise. Even so, Izuku sits on the edge of Iida’s desk chair, clutching at his knees and staring at the tiny person for any indication of distress. There’s nothing, though – in fact, the tiny person turns a little towards the warm air, though he doesn’t open his eyes.
“Deku,” Uraraka says, sitting opposite him. “Where – how – what?”
Izuku shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just – found him on the floor. In the common room.”
The tiny person shifts a little and sighs, and both of them are immediately riveted. Uraraka’s face goes through a series of expressions too quickly for Izuku to make out and finally settles on enchanted.
“Deku,” she whispers. “He’s so cute.”
Izuku blinks. His main associations with the tiny person so far are absolute terror that he’ll hurt him somehow. Cute was not something he’d considered.
“Oh,” he says, “I – guess?”
“I just wanna eat him,” Uraraka says, and Izuku looks over sharply to see her with her fists pressed to her mouth, looking delighted.
“Not – literally, right?”
Uraraka makes a muffled noise, but doesn’t reply. At that moment, though, the tiny person shifts again, shivers and groans, and Izuku turns all his attention back to him.
“Hello?” he murmurs, touching the tiny person very gently with the tip of his finger. “Are you all right?”
The tiny person raises a hand and shoves at Izuku’s finger – Izuku can barely feel it – then half opens his eyes and mumbles something.
“Oh,” whispers Uraraka, leaning closer.
“Hello?” Izuku says again, keeping his voice low. “What’s your name?”
“Ah – c-- cold,” the tiny person mumbles. Izuku jumps to his feet to adjust the hairdryer, but Uraraka’s ahead of him, tipping it a little so the warm air blows more directly on the tiny person.
“What’s your name?” Izuku asks again.
The tiny person stares up at him, eyes half-lidded.
“Ka—” he says. “Ka-- Katsu—ki--”
“Katsuki,” Uraraka breathes.
“Are you always small, or is it a quirk?” Izuku asks, suddenly brimming over with questions.
“Katsuki,” the tiny person mumbles, then his eyes drift shut and he turns on his side, curling into himself and shivering. He’s sweating, Izuku sees, his red-and-white hair plastered to his forehead even though the rest of him is mostly dry now.
“I think he’s sick,” Izuku says. “He was – he was unconscious – maybe it was the water that knocked him out, but maybe he was already unconscious--”
“Are you sick?” Uraraka whispers, hands hovering over the tiny person – Katsuki – but not touching. “Poor Katsuki.”
The door opens and Iida marches in. “I found a thimble!” he says, holding out said item. It’s full of water, and Izuku takes it carefully.
“Thank you,” he says. “We think he’s sick.”
“His name’s Katsuki,” Uraraka chimes in. “He speaks Japanese.” She carefully slips her fingertips under Katsuki’s back and props him up. “Wake up, Katsuki,” she croons. “You need to drink something.”
Katsuki’s eyelids flutter, then open half-way. He stares dully at nothing. He looks – really sick. Izuku doesn’t know why he didn’t realise it before.
“Drink some water,” he says, holding out the thimble between his finger and thumb. Katsuki doesn’t even look at it, like he’s not really aware Izuku is there. Which may be a good thing, Izuku supposes. They must all look so huge to him. He brings the thimble closer and presses it Katsuki’s lips as gently as he can, then tips it. A little spills, but after a second Katsuki opens his mouth and drinks at least some of the water.
“That’s good, that’s good,” Uraraka murmurs. “It’ll help you get better.”
After a few mouthfuls, though, it seems like Katsuki passes out, and Izuku quickly stops tipping the thimble because, given that he’s reasonably sure he doesn’t know anyone who’s qualified to do CPR on a person who’s maybe six inches tall, he definitely doesn’t want him to choke. Then the three of them are silent for a few moments, staring at Katsuki huddled on the cushion.
“He’s really sick, huh?” Uraraka says at last. She touches her fingertip to his forehead. “He’s burning up.”
“We’ll take him to Recovery Girl,” says Iida.
Izuku sits up. “Yes – Recovery Girl!” He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of that in the first place. Of course she’ll be able to help. And then Izuku can stop worrying – irrationally, surely it’s irrational – that somehow he caused all this in the first place by tipping the water over Katsuki. But people don’t get this sick in one night just from getting soaked, right? Except – maybe tiny people do? Maybe tiny people are allergic to water? Oh, but they just made him drink water! What if it makes him sick??? They don’t know anything about how his biology works!!!
“Deku,” Uraraka says, thwapping him gently on the arm. “Stop it.”
“S-- Sorry,” Izuku says. He stares at the tiny person sleeping on Iida’s desk. Things are – very strange. But Recovery Girl will help. She’ll help.
****
“Well, dearie, I’m not sure I can help,” says Recovery Girl, peering down at Katsuki.
“What?” Izuku says. It’s still early, well before he would normally be up, but Recovery Girl looks remarkably sharp, fixing him with a bright gaze.
“My quirk works on humans. I’ve never been able to heal anything else.”
“But – he is human,” Izuku says. He stares down at Katsuki, who’s tucked into the big matchbox from the kitchen – the matches dumped out over the counter – which Izuku lined carefully with cotton wool while Iida found a handkerchief to wrap Katsuki in. Katsuki looks – human. Just extremely small.
“Humans don’t normally come in that size, in my experience,” Recovery Girl says.
“Oh please, can you try?” Uraraka says.
Recovery Girl looks over at her, then sighs.
“Well, of course,” she says. She leans over the matchbox and gives Katsuki a very light kiss, her lips completely covering his face and neck.
Katsuki shudders a little and groans, but he doesn’t wake up. Izuku brushes a fingertip against his forehead – the fever’s still there.
Recovery Girl shakes her head. “Not human,” she says.
“Well, I suppose that answers the question about whether he’s a normal person with a miniaturisation quirk or a permanently miniature person,” says Iida.
It’s true, it does answer that question, and normally Izuku would be very excited to have that question answered. Normally he would be thrilled to have such an amazing thing happen to him – to meet a permanently miniature person! Incredible! – but right now, he’s mostly just concerned with the fact that Katsuki is sick and he doesn’t know how to make him better.
“How do you think he got sick?” he asks Recovery Girl. “Do you think – it could be because he got wet?”
“Wet?” Recovery Girl asks. “Dear me, a species that got sick when it got wet wouldn’t last very long! As for what happened,” she continues, oblivious to the fact that all of Izuku’s muscles have turned to water from relief, “I can try to do a check up, but his size obviously presents some – difficulties.”
“Please do your best,” Iida shouts, bowing abruptly. Recovery Girl nods.
“Well, let’s get him out of this matchbox,” she says.
In the end, it doesn’t take very long to ascertain exactly why Katsuki is so sick. Recovery Girl directs proceedings, since her own hands have a tremor and she’s concerned with injuring the patient. Izuku is nominated to carry out her commands. He opens the matchbox fully and carefully lifts Katsuki out, laying him on a wad of gauze on Recovery Girl’s desk. Katsuki’s chest is rising and falling fast, but Recovery Girl notes that small animals tend to breathe faster, so maybe that doesn’t mean anything bad. Izuku carefully removes his boots, but when he pulls at the left one, Katsuki curls towards it and makes a strangled noise.
“Katsuki?” Uraraka says, jumping forward.
“There’s something wrong with his leg, I think,” Izuku says. He grits his teeth and uses one forefinger to pin Katsuki in place, then tugs sharply at the boot, eliciting a howl that he won’t forget for a long time. Underneath, Katsuki’s pants leg is soaked. Izuku eyes the tiny button of his flies. He has no idea how he’s going to get the pants off.
“Try this, dearie,” says Recovery Girl, and hands him a pair of scissors with the finest blades Izuku’s ever seen. Izuku swallows, then very carefully cuts the fabric around Katsuki’s left thigh. There’s a point where he thinks he’s managed to cut Katsuki’s skin, but there’s no blood, and finally he makes it all the way round. He lays down the scissors and takes the tweezers Recovery Girl passes him, then gently tugs at the hem of the pants.
Katsuki moans, struggling weakly under Izuku’s finger. Izuku tugs again, gritting his teeth and doing his best to harden his heart. Katsuki’s body jerks, the tendons standing out in his neck, and then suddenly the gauze, half of Recovery Girl’s desk and most of Izuku’s hand are covered in ice.
“What--?” Izuku says, trying to pull his hand away. But his finger is frozen to Katsuki’s chest, and when he tugs harder, all he succeeds in doing is ripping the skin off his fingertip.
“Ow!” he says, shoving his finger in his mouth and promptly freezing his tongue onto the ice that still covers his hand. “Oergh!”
“What’s that?” Uraraka says. “What happened?”
“Kwoergh!” Izuku says, trying to blow hot air onto his hand without ripping any of his tongue off.
“A quirk?” Iida stares. “An ice quirk! And powerful for someone that size! Well, I never.”
“Hm,” says Recovery Girl. “Fevers can be unpredictable in people with temperature quirks. We need to know what’s wrong with his leg.”
“Oh, I’ll—!” Uraraka says, and snatches up the tweezers that Izuku abandoned when his hand unexpectedly became part of an ice sculpture.
“Gloves, dearie,” says Recovery Girl, and produces a pair of thick gloves that look like they ought to be used for welding rather than delicate medical operations on an extremely small person. Izuku stares at her. “Not my first sick temperature quirk,” she says, and pats him on the shoulder.
Uraraka puts on the gloves and then spends a good couple of minutes trying to figure out how to use the tweezers while wearing them. Eventually, she gets some kind of technique down, and carefully holds Katsuki down with one gloved finger, then grips the pants leg with the tweezers.
“I’m really sorry,” she says, then pulls hard.
Katsuki convulses, a second round of ice shooting out from him in all directions – or, actually only in about half the potential directions, which is a little strange, but Izuku doesn’t have a lot of time to wonder about that right now. But the pants leg comes free, and underneath is an oozing, ugly-looking wound, ragged at the edges, surrounded by swollen, red flesh.
“Well, I see why he has a fever,” says Recovery Girl.
“Oh, poor baby,” croons Uraraka. “We’ll help you get better.” She turns to Recovery Girl. “We can help him get better, right?”
“We could hardly make it worse,” Recovery Girl says. “Antibiotics work on animals as well as humans, so hopefully they’ll work on him. Let me just--” She scoops up Katsuki, dusts off most of the ice, and sets him down in the bowl of a weighing scale that’s next to the desk. “Hm,” she says, noting the weight. “I’ll work out the best regime and have it sent over to the dorm. In the meantime--” She goes to a wall of drawers and opens one, pulling out a tube. “Keep the leg clean and apply this cream every two hours. Don’t let him scratch it. I’d prefer no bandages to let it breathe, but if it’s not possible to keep it from reopening, we’ll think again.” She pauses, peering at Izuku, who still has his finger in his mouth. “Think you can remember that, dearie?”
Izuku nods frantically.
“Well, let’s just check everything else and get him cleaned up, and then you can take him back.”
****
The removal of the rest of Katsuki’s clothes – bar the boxers, since Recovery Girl says that’s not necessary – is significantly more straightforward than the pants. He has plenty of scars, but the wound in his calf is the only one that’s current, and there’s no evidence of internal bleeding or any broken bones. Recovery Girl assures Izuku that there’s no way the wound could have come from having water dumped over him – not that Izuku thought it could have! But it never hurts to make sure!! – and, once Katsuki is cleaned up and the antiseptic cream has been applied, they tuck him back in the matchbox and take him back to the dorms, promising to apply the cream regularly and keep him hydrated.
What Izuku hadn’t counted on was the amount of time they’d spent in Recovery Girl’s office. By the time they get back to the dorms, morning is in full swing, and most of their classmates are in the common room, eating breakfast and preparing for the day.
“Guys!” Kirishima calls as soon as they come in. “I was starting to get worried about you!”
“You were out early,” Yaoyorozu says.
“Hey, is that the matchbox from the kitchen?” says Jirou, getting up from the table and coming over. “Is that why the matches are all over the counter? And did you set fire to the rug or someth--” She gets close enough to see inside the matchbox and stops, staring. “What – is that?”
“It’s Katsuki,” says Uraraka. “He’s a tiny person. Izuku found him in the common room.”
There’s a silence.
“He’s a – what?” says Yaoyorozu, and then suddenly all their classmates are on their feet, hurrying over to look at the matchbox and see what it is Uraraka is referring to.
“Holy shit,” Kirishima says. “Is he – alive?”
“Is it a quirk?”
“You found him in the common room?”
“What—”
“Everybody quiet! Sit down!” yells Iida, chopping his arms through the air. “Katsuki is very sick and he is our guest! Don’t behave like he’s an animal in a zoo!”
There’s a pause, and then the crowd thins, people stepping back – though not all of them sitting down – as Izuku slides through and puts the matchbox carefully down on the table.
“I found him in the common room,” he says. “He’s been unconscious all night. He’s got an infection, but Recovery Girl is going to give him antibiotics and we’re going to look after him.”
“Oh em gee,” Ashido says. “Can I help? He’s so adorable!”
“Oh, can I help, too?” Kaminari says.
“Yeah, man, if you need help, you know--” says Kirishima, and then pretty much everyone in the class is yelling again.
“Quiet down!” yells Iida – thank goodness for Iida and his ability to yell louder than everyone else. “I’m sure that everyone’s skills and goodwill will be needed at some point. Midoriya will ask for your help if he needs it.”
“Right,” says Izuku, and then realises that somehow he’s been nominated as in charge of Katsuki’s care. But he doesn’t know anything about caring for someone! Least of all a very tiny person! What if he messes up? What if he hurts him somehow? What if he gets dehydrated???
“Deku,” Uraraka says, nudging him.
Izuku clamps his hands over his mouth. “OK,” he squeaks, a little muffled. “I’ll let you know if I need help!”
“Let me know first!” Ashido says, leaning closer to the matchbox. “I’m great at helping! Look how tiny his nose is, I can’t stand it.”
Eventually, though, Iida manages to shoo most of the class back to their various activities. It’s Saturday, so everyone has time to come casually – and in some cases not-so-casually – over to the table every now and then to sneak a peek – or to stare intently and coo, depending – but for the most part, Izuku is left alone to sit and watch. And worry. He is so, so worried.
Exactly two hours to the minute from when Recovery Girl last applied the antiseptic cream to Katsuki’s leg, Izuku grabs the tube and finds that both Iida and Uraraka have materialised beside him.
“It’s time to--” Uraraka says, then sees the tube in his hand. “Oh. You already knew.”
“Maybe we can get him to drink something as well,” says Izuku, and both Uraraka and Iida turn immediately towards the sink, resulting in them smacking into each other and a certain amount of confusion. Izuku ignores them, carefully opening the matchbox and lifting Katsuki out. He unwraps the handkerchief and lays him out on the table, then becomes aware that he has an audience. A large audience. What looks like every member of Class 1-A is standing around the table, some craning at the back to see over those in the front.
“Wow,” someone breathes.
“That’s a nasty cut, bro,” says Kirishima, brows furrowed.
“Oh!” says Yaoyorozu. “The – the mousetraps!”
There’s a confused silence, and then Jirou speaks up. “Wait – you think--”
“Superintelligent,” Yaoyorozu says. She looks horrified. “Superintelligent mice.”
“We had mice in my family’s farm in France,” Aoyama puts in. “They like cheese and nuts, not noodles.”
“What if I did this to him?” Yaoyorozu whispers.
Izuku swallows, thinking of the mousetrap with all the spikes. “I’m sure--” he starts.
But he doesn’t finish what he was going to say, because suddenly there’s a sharp noise and a pain in his hand, like a wasp sting but sharper and hotter. Izuku jerks back, dropping the tube of cream, and then there’s more noises, sharp pop pop pop and the pain keeps coming, on his forearm, on his neck, his cheek, dangerously close to his eye. Izuku lurches to his feet and stumbles back, flailing, slapping his face, his chair crashing to the ground. He blinks hard against the pain, and when his vision clears, he sees, to his astonishment, that Katsuki is no longer alone on the table. There’s another tiny person there, this one very much awake and very much furious.
“Get the fuck away from him, asshole,” the new tiny person yells. This one is blonde with spiky hair, and as Izuku watches, his palms emit a series of small explosions. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
“Holy shit,” Kaminari whispers.
Izuku rubs at the painful spots on his face and blinks away the tears that rise to his eyes, staring at the tiny person. The tiny person stares back, face contorted into an enraged sneer.
Holy shit, indeed.