Chapter Text
[IZUKU]
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Narita International Airport. Local time is 0415 and the temperature is 18 degree celsius. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the captain turns off the fasten seat belt sign.”
He’s vaguely aware of the announcement, but his nap haze feels so good and he’s so tired (sleeping for 8 hours out of a 11 hour flight is most definitely not a nap, that’s a full night of sleep, but sure let’s call it a “nap”). So, of course he indulges a little longer on his sleeping drunkness, after all his earplugs make it so easy to buffer the quiet noises from the empty first class.
“Izuku,”
Hm… the daifuku mochi they served after dinner was so good, he thinks fondly.
“Izuku.”
He really should eat more mochi, it’s not like they don’t make it in LA, you know.
Ah, he’s really tired.
“Izuku!” A gentle yet insistent hand shakes his right shoulder.
He groans in response.
“Ok. I’m awake.” Good, his voice sounds as defeated as he feels. “I’m here, maybe.”
99.9% of him wishes they’d have thought about hiring someone with a teleportation quirk to come pick them up inside of the airplane. The other 0.1%, being whatever’s left of his Japanese upbringing, tries its best to keep him from coming across as a spoiled brat. Surprisingly, that 0.1% is quite resilient.
Sighing in defeat, he slides his sleeping mask, pushing back his curls, in the process.
Sleepy eyes meet ready for life, and he feels insulted. That whole energy, emenating from across him, is criminal.
“How can you possibly be like this?” He waves his right hand up and down in her general direction, frustration rolling off his shoulders as he yawns. In the thirteen years he’s known Melissa, her disposition and readiness still baffles him.
She laughs in her very Melissa laugh: airy, mocking and amused.
“No gluten, no vegetable oil, no processed foods, no alcohol, daily exposure to sunlight—vitamin D—strength training and mobility five times a week, strict 8-9 hours sleeping schedule, no devices after 9pm and introspective practice.” She says all in one easy smirk. “But you already know all that don’t you, Bunny?” He rolls his eyes. “Because we do most of these together, except for my perfect record of sleeping hours, no devices after 9 and introspection. How was it that you put it, again?” She touches her chin, pretending like this isn’t a rhetorical question. And Izuku wants to crawl into a hole, because knows he’s about to chew his own words.
“I don’t really think I’m that anxious, I also don’t like to journal? What’s the point of sitting with yourself doing nothing anyway? Maybe at this point my anxiety’s become kind of like a healthy motivator to keep me going through the day, you know.” Scratch what he said before, this impression of him right here is the criminal offence. Straight to jail. The fact she has the audacity to laugh?
“My hands don’t even move that much…” He mumbles quietly, which only earns him a perfectly raised eyebrow.
Izuku doesn’t blush (he also doesn’t pout, not even a little) and Melissa quickly snaps a photo of him looking like a loser with his legs up on the reclined bed seat, still wearing his airplane pajamas with hair pulled back by a sleeping mask.
He feels like he’s free falling because it’s not like he’s not used to Melissa taking photos of him, or the whole concept of being a celebrity with an online presence, they’ve been doing this for years now (the whole social media thing), but this time it’s different.
Because this is the first time he’s come back to Japan, ever since he left. Yes, yes, he knows. Has he been avoiding his home country like the plague? Well, maybe (he’s guilty, your honor). But listen, America is so big! And he loves his audience there. They’ve kind of become home for him, you know. His American fans only know him as Izuku, nothing else. And that’s kind of perfect for him.
Then he had his South American fans who were super passionate and he’s cried in every single performance there because they are the best “singing back” crowd at live concerts. And then he’s got Europe and the entirety of Asia! See? So many places to visit and explore.
Izuku is so grateful to everything that life had given him: new worlds, new cultures, new people, new possibilities and opportunities!
And Japan is…
Well, it’s more of a reminder of everything that couldn’t be.
Japan is memories of a quirkless snotty crybaby with wobbly red knees and an unachievable dream.
Japan is an anxiety attack waiting to drop in his face and then proceed to tumble him down a cliff only to crash in a pile of rocks and then flop him into the sea.
So yes, maybe he’s been on the verge of a nervous breakdown since this trip’s been confirmed (against his will). And maybe he’s been dealing with it with ridiculous amounts of overthinking and bad sleep. But he’s been coping with it in the only way he knows how to! (Lies! Melissa’s given him a very practical approach to address his fears, but he pretends to forget about it every time he gets an anxiety attack). So, yes, Izuku’s way of dearling with stress? Immersing himself in his work, also known as: overworking himself to exhaustion.
No pain, no gain, right? That’s the American saying, and Izuku’s basically American at this point (kinda).
How was it that his title went?
Midoriya Izuku, age 27, professional singer-songwriter-guitarist, internationally renowned artist, two-time Grammy award winner, a walking disaster and somehow voted the ‘smoothest lover’ of the year by Cosmopolitan magazine. Ok, maybe he did write a lot of love songs, but his experiences were a lot less than what people imagined them to be! The past six years had been crazy so most of his relationships had been fleeting, except—
Nope. Not opening that can of worms.
It’s one thing to sing about it, it’s another one to rationally think about it.
“Posted! Now hop hop time, Bunny, we’re right on the clock. Everyone’s already left and they should be able to sneak us out without too much of a commotion. We’ve managed to keep a low profile so far, since you wanted to get here a month ahead of schedule, so this photo is your first official news.”
He looks at her mortified.
“OH MY GOD, MELISSA!”
Melissa gets them out of the plane in six minutes. She shoves Izuku into the toilet with a change of clothes and his flying toiletries kit, gets his backpack (still yellow thank you very much, just Gucci) and his guitar nicely tucked in his own custom black Gucci case and gives him a time ultimatum.
He’s only given his phone back after they go through customs.
“But it’s my instagram!” He whines like a child and she rolls her eyes.
The photo looks exactly as he imagined it would. At least he has the decency to cover his face with his free hand in embarrassment. He looks like a total mess.
“You look like a dessert! That’s what you look like: delectable, Bunnybun. Look at all the comments, see if I’m lying.” She sings matter of factly.
[photo]
4.789.345 likes
Izuku can’t believe it’s been sixteen years since I’ve been here… finally back in Japan (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)
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1 hour ago
paigebaby i just can’t with this man, I’m ready, please someone call the morgue.
bradleytheway Izuku I’d literally wax my entire leg for you
shazadreamer you know where you’d also look amazing? In my bed.
davebthane a fucking beautiful gift to humankind, that’s what you are
suzuka_091739 aaaaah! I can’t believe this is happening, Izuku-san is finally in Japan!
livefromtheheart HOW CAN YOU BE SO FUCKING SEXY AND CUTE AT THE SAME TIME?!
izuku.fam can’t decide if I want you to fuck me into next year or slowly make love to me so that time stops
People can be very strange on the internet—not that Izuku’s been sheltered or anything, heck no. Izuku speaks from experience, with years as a netizen surfing through hero forums during his youth, he’s well aware of how creepy people can be (entitled, owners of the truth, government trained quirk specialists, etc).
But the western audience is a little bit more… how should he put it? Obscene, more assertive, perhaps? Japan is definitely on the far end of the prudish spectrum, that’s for sure.
“See, I told you. People love these candid shots, your forty million followers thank me every time I give them a treat and they don’t even know I’m their patron saint. Is that why I sleep so well at night? Millions of strangers being grateful for my deeds?” Izuku snorts. “If it were only up to you and your terrible social media game they’d be flooded with food pictures, terrible shots of the studio and random landscapes.”
“Hey! That’s not true, I take some selfies and stuff.”
“Yeah, but I’m the one posting them! Otherwise they turn into collectibles in your camera album.” She chastises. “You have to start posting your own pics Bunbun, one day I’m gonna open your photos and find nudes and it’s gonna be awkward. Well, actually that kind of already happened, remember that girl from Chicago? The one with the nipple piercing–”
“OH MY GOD, MELISSA!” He can feel the blush all the down his back.
Izuku is going to pretend that the airport staff guiding them didn’t just try to hide a giggle behind her hand.
Because fine, you know? He is more than happy to make people smile, even if at the expense of his own embarrassment. But in his defense: said photo had a context. Izuku had just finished a tour, which usually meant he was not sober, and on top of that he was going through one of his biggest existential crisis to date and his one-night stand that evening meant a lot to him–but he also wasn’t about to tell Melissa that that pierced nipple belonged to Georgia, the model (also, it was an artistic photo).
Sure, Georgia was incredible in bed (aside from being drop dead gorgeous), but she left a strong impression with Izuku because in his drunken stupor he opened up about his childhood traumas and she ended up doing the same. So, if anything, they had an emotional one night-stand. Incredible sex, but also way too many tears.
As per usual, Izuku’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t even realize they’ve made it to the VIP room where they’re supposed to meet their private security escort.
So, imagine how surprised he is when, instead of the usual 2-3 people dressed in black suits, he comes face to face with a small purple haired female dressed in black jeans, leather jacket and combat boots.
He’d recognize those ears anywhere.
“It’s an immense pleasure to meet you Izuku-san, my name is Jirou Kyouka, hero name Earphone Jack, and I’ll be your head of security throughout your stay here in Japan!” The woman says, her eyes shining bright and a lovely smile gracing her lips. He blinks, still stunned.
Earphone Jack is famously known for her cool nonchalant attitude whenever on camera, Izuku knows this.
“I’m a huge fan of your work…” She mentions in a smaller voice, raising from her bow. A cute blush paints her cheeks and he honestly feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest.
Because Earphone Jack, pro hero number twelve on Japanese charts, is blushing and telling him she is his fan.
But wait a minute.
Confusion engulfs his existence because they never hire pro heroes. Squinting his eyes he looks at his blonde companion in what can only be interpreted as high levels of skepticism in disguise (Melissa knows that look and he knows that she knows that he knows) and the woman has the audacity² to smile sheepishly at him in a way he knows she won’t explain herself, at least not right now.
“You know, I’ve been reading about exposure therapy…”
The meddling witch.
Lucky for him, Izuku’s has years of industry exposure and he pulls himself together in the blink of an eye.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Earphone Jack.” He says with a sweet smile. But that’s it. If he opens his mouth any more then he’s going to sound like a total creep with two thousand questions about her quirk and he likes to keep this part of his personality locked up inside of the vault of his mind, only accessible to the people closest to him a.k.a mom, dad and Melissa (and Georgia, but they’re not super close, she just knows his life story and they’re instagram friends and he wrote a song about her and she’s somewhere in Europe doing photoshoots and runways).
“Oh, please call me Jirou, I’ll be accompanying you for a while so…” She says, almost bashfully.
He’s going to die.
Izuku doesn’t know how to deal with this.
So he does the only thing he can do: he nods like the dumb nerd he is.
They take an express train from Narita to Tokyo Station because a car would take hours and Melissa would kill anyone who mindlessly wastes her time if she has a better way to optimize their day.
Melissa also tells him that he shouldn’t be surprised that there’s actual people waiting for him on the platform, but what he doesn’t expect is how well behaved everyone became as soon as they saw the pro hero walking in front of him. But then again, Japan is so different from the US. Passionate American fans don’t give a damn about security or pro heroes if their number one idol stands in front of them. They can be so wild. Hence why some of his friends tend to hire at least 3 pro heroes as escorts. Some more well known celebrities even go as far as 5-10 during world tours so they can shift.
Melissa makes small talk with him, going over his schedule for the next week and Jirou is quiet for the most part, she pays attention to the schedule even though Izuku knows she probably has her own copy because Melissa is just that organized. But he can feel her eyes staying a bit longer on his face and suddenly he feels very self-conscious, because he’s just a quirkless nerd and she’s a top pro hero who’s saved thousands of lives with a badass quirk.
He’s wearing a green beanie and sunglasses and their wagon is mostly empty except for an elderly couple sharing a Japanese dessert. Fifty minutes later they make it to the station and as soon as they get out of the train Izuku wants to pinch himself and bash his head against the wall because freaking Chargebolt, pro hero number seven, is waiting for them and he’s more handsome in person than he is on TV and Izuku thinks it’s all very unfair.
“Nice to meet you Izuku! I’m Chargebolt, I’ll be working with Earphone Jack as your security!”
He pushes back all of his traitorous thoughts of what the pro heroes existence entails and chooses to focus on their current situation.
Maybe he should take back his previous statement about Japanese fans being well behaved, because somehow people start recognizing him and suddenly he’s being rushed out of Tokyo Station and maybe he underestimated his own fame and maybe he shouldn’t have compartmentalized Melissa’s voice saying “Bunny! What the actual fuck, you’ve sold out all of your concerts in Japan in less than 24hs! This has never happened before.”
There’s a car waiting for them as well as a mob of photographers and fans, but they keep a fairly respectable distance. Izuku stops to sign a few autographs and take selfies because it just feels weird not to. He doesn’t need to stop, but he truly is grateful to all of his fans, and maybe, just maybe, he’s feeling extremely guilty of neglecting his entire Japanese fanbase.
“What? Are you actually surprised?” Melissa’s the first one to speak once they make it safely into the spacious vehicle.
“Err, I guess? I’ve never played here so part of me kind of thought not many people knew me…?” His laugh is nervous, a defense mechanism to mask his anxiety.
“Are you kidding me?!” Kaminari Denki (yep, he never introduced himself by his full name, but of course Izuku knows) is the one who turns around from his seat next to the driver and looks at him with surprise stamped on his face. “You’re like a National Treasure here in Japan! No Japanese artist has ever made it to the top charts and won awards in the US, you’re the only one! But listen, Kyouka’s like your number one fan.”
“KAMINARI!”
“What, it’s true, and you always sing his songs when we go to Karaoke! Or during patrol, or during breaks.”
Izuku’s never seen anyone go as red as Jirou Kyouka, except maybe himself.
Melissa’s laugh echoes in the car and Chargebolt doesn’t look a least bit sorry.
“Jirou-san, do you like singing?” There’s still a part of him that stands stronger than his own social anxiety and that’s helping out those in need, and Earphone Jack looked like she’s about to die of embarrassment. Thus he acts.
She uncovers her face and looks up at him in surprise.
“Um-yeah, but it’s more like a hobby, you know, but I love music and you’ve been an uh-inspiration for me.” She bites her lip in shyness.
Please someone call the funeral home and send a casket because Midoriya Izuku’s status has been updated to deceased.
“She’s being too shy and modest, she’s a great singer! Back in our first year of high school we put together a band for the school festival and it was such a huge hit we kept that act until we graduated.” Chargebolt says animatedly. “We still get together every now and then to make some noise–we even played some gigs in the last few years! We do a bunch of covers, but we have some originals too. Kyouka’s the one who writes all the lyrics!” The hero finishes proudly.
Izuku does a double take on the small pro hero next to him, now truly intrigued. While he keeps his obsession for heroes locked up inside of his heart, he’s extremely outspoken about his love for music. Izuku’s always had this weird thing about his personality, how he fixates and obsesses about things.
So he asks her questions and she’s more than eager to answer and ask her own in return. Soon they’re lost in a bubble of music, unaware of the shared amusement between the other passengers in the car.
It doesn’t seem to take too long before they arrive in their temporary residence for the next month, Park Hyatt Tokyo.
They’re led into their room by the manager and two other staff members.
As soon as they walk in Chargebolt lets out a whistle.
The Presidential Suite is moody and elegant, with darker shades of brown, black, gray and green. There’s a grand piano in the living area and the near ceiling-high windows give out a spectacular view of the Shinjuku Central Park, it’s a prime location. Izuku is glad to see a kitchen, and a nice separate dining area which will definitely be used for meetings, then a smaller more private living room to give anyone privacy whenever needed.
He shares an appreciative look with Melissa at the enormous bathroom that comes with a dry sauna and his room is unnecessarily big with two double king-sized beds, but he’s not about to complain.
So stupefied in his daze he doesn’t even notice when the staff excuses themselves.
He feels Melissa’s gentle hand on his back before he hears her quiet voice.
“All concert dates, sold out, less than 24 hours. I told you, Bunny.”
“Yeah, you did. I guess I haven’t processed it yet.” He says quietly looking out at the magnificent view.
At her soft chuckle he feels a smile take over his face and he leans in automatically as she pecks his cheek amicably.
“So, Jirou-san, Kaminari-san, let me show you to your rooms. Your bosses told me only one of you would be sleeping here, but in case we needed both of you, you’d be ok to share, is that right?” Melissa asks, leaving Izuku to get lost in his thoughts. “Perfect, it’s the adjoining one to Izuku’s, mine is just behind the kitchen…”
His friend’s voice trails off as the group leaves.
Izuku takes in a big breath.
He’s really back.
[TWO WEEKS BEFORE IZUKU’S ARRIVAL]
[KATSUKI]
“But Bakugou-chan,” Katsuki’s right eye twitches at the way he’s addressed. “We know these are not everyone’s cup of tea, but you know how it can make a huge difference for the image.” And he can feel his patience thinning at the whiny quality of the delivery.
Fuck this fucker, fuck all these fuckers.
Katsuki takes a sharp breath.
If there’s one thing Bakugou Katsuki learned in his many years of anger management therapy it’s how to actually exert self-control. Plus, Hawks is literal fucking child so it’s not like Katsuki gets any special treatment, the fucker speaks like this to everyone, especially more so after he got older and married his other sorry excuse for a boss.
“I don’t give a flying fuck, I didn’t sign up to become a fucking celebrity model, I’m a pro hero, if that were the fucking career choice I wanted to pursue, I wouldn’t really need to look fucking far from home now, would I?” He asks rhetorically. The retired pro winged hero makes an exasperated sound and looks up at the giant wall sitting next to him for help.
Todoroki Enji sighs and closes his eyes, like he’s counting to ten, like he’s a father trying to find his inner patience when dealing with a problematic child and something about that look makes Katsuki want to explode something.
“Listen kid, I never really liked doing these things either. And even after my retirement I still don’t particularly enjoy them, but Keigo has a point.” Fucking sappy Hawks makes stupid ass lovey-dovey eyes at his husband. “The fact that polls are now relying mostly on popularity is a good sign, we’re finally living in an era of peace after so much destruction. It hasn’t even been ten years since the war.”
Katsuki feels himself bristle at the mention of the war. Fucking stupid ass Meta Liberation bitches, he curses internally. As if Katsuki didn’t think about that enough on his own, as if he didn’t stare at his cup of coffee in the mornings every once in a while and found himself whispering “fuck, been almost ten years.”
Katsuki fought in that fucking war. He still got nightmares about the people he couldn’t save, flashes of small hands crushed underneath piles of rubble, dismembered bodies lying on the streets, five fucking cities crushed to the ground, nine others barely standing.
“It’s only been, what, three years since the polls have been reinstated? Our society has finally regained trust in the hero community. Civilians are now looking up to us as role models. They don’t only want ideals, they want real people, but for that they need to understand those who stand at the forefront of their defense.” Oh for fucks sake, Endeavor’s TED talking, again. “Since we’ve started expanding internationally and the government, led by our initiatives, created partnerships with developing countries in Southeast Asia, it’s important that people feel more connected with their heroes. All of these interviews are being translated and streamed for free. Japan has finally opened its doors to more immigrants, increased with the cultural exchange programs and incentives for start-up companies. Times are changing, kid. Sometimes we have to do things we’re not comfortable doing.”
Fucking old man and his stupid emotionally reasonable speech. And fuck Hawks for passing the baton to Endeavor, as if sneaky fucker didn’t know Endeavor was one of the few people Katsuki actually respected.
“You’ve avoided the media for as long as you could. You made it to the top one last year, but the Lemillion boy got that spot back again. I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge, Bakugou. Didn’t expect to see you run away because of a couple of photos and an interview.” Shitty bird bursts out laughing like a fucking hiena and silent motherfucker half’n’half, like the little shit he is, decides that this is the cue to join in the conversation with his own pussy-ass little laughs.
Stupid bastard’s been silent like a fucking Buddhist monk since the beginning of this meeting.
“The fuck you laughing at you fucking Disney princess wannabe?! What about him? That fucker hasn’t been on any interviews or magazines. You giving him a pass to win favors?” Endeavor should know by now that if he’s gonna bite, so will Katsuki. Bastard knows he ain’t gonna give up on a challenge, but still. ‘Twas a pretty shitty move on his part to put him on the spot like that.
So, take that.
“I’ve always known you were quite primitive, Bakugou, but after so many years I thought you’d finally joined society… I seem to have been mistaken, because it’s clear you’re still living in a cave.” Says monotone princess.
“Eeh—” KFC wannabe starts surprised. “Bakugou-chan, what are you talking about? Sho-chan’s been on the cover of three magazines since last year and numerous talk shows, even on his holidays to France he went live with Le héros podcast for three hours. You know, the one hosted by retired pro hero Marée.”
Shitty Elsa pulls the magazines out of his ass and slides them over the table like he’s been waiting for this moment because he’s an asshole and, sure enough, his majesty’s stupid ass boring printed face stares back at him, dressed in really nice clothes (not that he’d ever admit that out loud), so he grunts at the sight instead.
“Fucking hell, whatever, one lousy fucking interview and one shitty photoshoot, so choose wisely Chicken Fingers.” The old man laughs at Hawks’ pout, so at least that counts as a win in Katsuki's book.
“One interview and two photoshoots and c’mon Bakugou-chan! I’m your boss you know, you could at least call me by my name. You call Enji by his.”
“No he doesn’t, he calls me old man.”
“Well, that’s still better than Chicken Fingers, McNuggets, Birdman, Real Housewives of Tokyo—” Katsuki snorts, Endeavor and Shouto try not to, but fail. Katsuki’s a genius at coming up with monikers and that last one’s probably his favorite. “Ok, maybe I like the last one too, but really Bakugou-chan, you break my heart.”
“Can’t have everything you want.” Well, Katsuki has better things to do. “Fucking fine with your deal, that all?”
“Yes, that’s all.” The old man says.
“Then why the fuck is that bastard here for?” He asks, pointing at the heterochromatic intruder in the room sipping on his tea like a bastard.
“Ah, Sho-chan’s here ‘cause Touya-kun wants to have dinner with everyone this week, so we’ll be changing his patrol schedule. You should come over Bakugou-chan, he’s been asking about you since the Nightmare case.”
Oh well, shit.
It’s not like he’s been actively ignoring Touya’s messages, it’s just.
Fuck.
It’s still kind of hard for him to talk about it, ok? Katsuki knows why the elder Todoroki sibling reached out. He had fucking consulted with Touya when he picked up the case because he’d worked closely with Nightmare during the war. And even though Katsuki went prepared for his quirk, it still hadn’t been enough. Dynamight compromised in order to save the hostages and went under the villain’s quirk for forty five hours.
He knew his friend was concerned.
But also, they both sucked at communication—they were actually kinda really good at it because they were so bad, if that makes any sense—so that’s the real reason why he’d been avoiding Touya.
“I ain’t doing your sappy family dinners!” He shouts with no real bite but adds, “I’m coming over next week.” He should probably reply to his fucker of a friend. Katsuki knows how little contact Touya actually has with other people and how much that sucks. He’s aware he’s being a dick, so he’ll do something about that.
“It’s been years since our dinners have been sappy.” Birdman complains, pouting like the child he is. “And you know that.” Katsuki rolls his eyes at the memories. “Rei-san always laughs when you come over, she calls you Touya’s potty mouth friend behind your back.”
“Bakugou’s also my friend.”
“The fuck I am Half’n’Half!”
“Denial.” The bastard deadpans.
“Listen here you little piece of shit—”
They soon fall into their normal bickering.
It’s strange really, Bakugou’s relationship with the Todorokis, whom he considers to be a bunch of weird ass fuckers (and he’s definitely not fond of them).
IcyHot had been his number one rival back at U.A. when his relationship with his father had been pretty shitty.
Through their rivalry (and many a black eye and broken ribs) the youngest Todoroki finally accepted his other fiery side and started to open himself more to others. Seeing his youngest son’s progress, Endeavor took it upon himself to go through his own atonement journey—got a divorce and moved his family to a home where they could start off fresh without him.
Then the war happened and his not-so-dead son Touya rose from the ashes (like the motherfucking drama queen he is) and tried to kill the old man in an act of revenge. He failed, got caught, family drama, yadah, yadah, yadah, got locked up in Tartarus for five years, went through daily counseling—insert Enji’s shark-ass expensive lawyers—plus the fact Endeavor had been the one to lead them into victory during the war and they managed to bend Touya’s sentence. Instead of fifteen years in Tartatus, he got fifteen of house arrest with weekly individual therapy, family therapy and had his quirk permanently removed. Touya was also microchipped.
“Guess that’s as good of a deal I could get,” he shrugged, sharing about his case to Katsuki once their friendship had sort of cemented. “Thought I’d rot in Tartarus for the rest of my life, so… Also, zero fucking attachment for any of the other fuckers,” meaning the other members of the MLA, “The commission threw in a little bit of information into my bill and here I am.”
Curiously enough, Touya chose to live with his father and his new husband rather than with his mother and his siblings. Their whole fucking ordeal started with daddy issues, all the way back to Endeavor’s father, “So why the fuck not.” Is what he said when Katsuki asked.
At the beginning Enji was apprehensive about leaving a quirkless Touya to his own devices in fear of retaliation. Besides his beyond extra entrance during the war, Touya’s case had been pretty under the wraps and the terms of his deal were top secret. But Enji knew better than that—he also didn’t trust just anyone to stay on guard in his own home. So Katsuki, IcyHot, Dunce Face, Ears, Enji and Hawks took turns.
Much to everyone’s surprise (Katsuki’s included), he was the one who ended up developing an actual relationship with the guy. At first, they pretty much only threw insults at each other, fighting over who had the shittiest personality, until they decided to settle it over a (never ending) Halo competition.
That had been four years ago (and Katsuki was still winning)
“I think it’s unfair that Touya-nii gets to play videogames with you and all I get is a ‘fuck you piece of shit candycane’ which doesn’t make any sense because candycanes are a sweet, so they can’t be made out of feces.” What the flying fuck is this piece of shit even going on about? As if he doesn’t barge into Katsuki’s home because no one else wants to watch his shitty ass horror movies with him.
“That’s because you’re a sorry excuse—”
Their bantering comes to a halt at the sound of a knock.
“Come on in!” Says Hawks.
“Oh, hey guys.” Replies a familiar voice.
“Kyouka-chan!” See, weird ass boss. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I was going over mission requests just now and I’d like to be the one in charge for this job.” She hands Hawks a folder and the winged man raises an eyebrow at the contents.
“Are you sure, Kyouka-chan? This is more like a rookie kind of gig, we thought some of the younger kids would want to take over—also, that’s a four month job.” He says with a mix of confusion and amusement.
“Yes I know, I read the file.” Something seems to click for McNuggets.
“Oh! Are you perhaps a fan?” Ears actually blushes and Katsuki frowns, what the fuck? “Oh my god! You totally are! That’s so cute! Sure, sure, but you need to assemble a small team because you’re a bit invaluable in case we get an emergency, ok?”
“Yes! Thank you so much Hawks, Endeavor!” Hawks waves her goodbye and the old man gives her a curt nod. “See you Todoroki, Bakugou.”
“Bye Jirou.”
“Ears.” As the door’s about to close Katsuki remembers he should be getting the fuck out, otherwise these fuckers will only keep him around for more useless shit. “I’m out.”
“Bye Bakugou-chan!”
“Kid.”
“Bakugou.”
Katsuki’s midway through the enormous hallway when he remembers about the message he ought to send.
[angry child]: sup kylo ren, coming over on monday to see your ugly face.
He gets an immediate response, fucker probably wasn’t doing much anyway.
[emo ass]: i actually have a recording of u saying i look good.
[emo ass]: <sent an audio attachment>
The fuck? Katsuki quickly presses the attachment and soon enough the sound of his own awkward voice comes up, “Your face looks nice…”
Fucking piece of shit.
Shitty motherfucking asshole.
Patience dried up, Katsuki explodes a hole in the wall. Fuck his bosses, they deal with this shit.
Katsuki tries to be a decent support human being and this is the shit he gets in return? The fucking asshole on the other end of the screen had just started his stupid ass skin regeneration treatment and Katsuki thought he could say something nice since the fucker wasn’t looking like a fucking corpse anymore and what? He gets that thrown back in his face like it’s a bad thing?
Fuck being nice.
[emo ass]: i bet u just exploded something.
[emo ass]: i hope it was in the office.
[emo ass]: old man gets super pissed, always entertaining to hear him rant about u.
[emo ass]: u got any new games?
Katsuki sighs.
[angry child]: yeah, i got the new halo, see you fucker.
Why the fuck do people test his patience so much?
[BACK TO THE PRESENT]
[IZUKU]
“So, the prodigal son returns to his homeland!” Is the first thing his father says when his face pops up on the screen. Izuku rolls his eyes and he hears his mother’s small laugh.
“Ha ha, very funny dad.”
“How does it feel to finally be back?!” Inko takes the phone from Hisashi’s hands and gets closer to the screen.
“Tell us everything, leave no details other than your sordid love affairs.”
“DAD!”
“I think it’s good to know about your children’s personal lives, but I do tend to agree with your dad, Izuku, we do end up knowing more than we’d like…” the smirk taking form on the smaller woman’s mouth should’ve been warning enough for what is to come. “One pair of candy lips and your bubblegum tongue, that’s hardly parental-friendly material.”
“MOM!” Yep, his face is combusting.
“I don’t blame the kid honey, he is my son after all.” Says his dad with pride as he shoots a knowingly glance towards his mom who, in reutrn, blinks her eyes at him dreamily. Interacting as if Izuku’s not even on the other side of the screen.
“Can we please stop making my life a living hell and talk about something else?” He begs, left hand covering his face.
Even though Hisashi’s favorite pass-time is to make Izuku die out of embarrassment and Inko, forever in love with her husband, is too easily influenced by the man which results in the prolonging of his embarrassment, Izuku loves his parents dearly. And he also loves speaking to them.
With his parent’s move to California from New York being delayed for another two years (truth being that Hisashi didn’t want to retire just yet), they’d only seen each other in person a couple of times last year. And that wasn’t nearly enough for the Midoriyas, who were pretty tight-nit.
Conversation, as always, comes easy. Izuku shows them around the hotel room; listens and agrees with the myriad of compliments his parents give out to Melissa (even though she’s not there); his mom pulls out a list of restaurants she thinks he might like; Izuku promises to send in his appearance schedule (Melissa will be the one doing that) so his parents can keep up with everything.
And Izuku relaxes, falling into the normalcy of tour video calls.
But that’s the thing, this is not a normal tour.
“Will you be meeting up with Katsuki-kun?” The worst part is that his mother’s question is completely understandable and innocent. But it feels like she’s just shot him in the head.
“Oh that’s true, you were video chatting with Mitsuki just last week.” His father mentions. As if Izuku could ever forget about Kacchan’s existence.
If there was one thing Midoriyas apparently were, it was fiercely loyal to their relationships. After sixteen freaking years abroad, Midoriya Inko still video chatted every week with one Bakugou Mitsuki, filling each other in the neighborhood gossip. Which as something Izuku never understood. They didn’t even live in the same country anymore! How could Mitsuki possibly be interested in what Mrs. McKinnon said about Miss Brook’s unorthodox ways of harvesting bees in the middle of NYC?!
And even if he wanted to ignore (he didn’t, aunty Mitsuki was a dear friend of his mother), Izuku, much to his dismay, had even been subjected to many of these calls back when he still lived under his parents’ roof. Every “Izuku dear, come and say hello to Mitsuki” was a shot of adrenaline at the possibility of maybe seeing Kacchan at the other side of the screen, like just casually lounging in the background. Just the possibility of maybe having his eyes directly look at him again left him so much on the edge that that had been Izuku’s first clues about the nature of his feelings towards his childhood friend/bully.
However (un)fortunately the object of his affections never made an appearance. Katsuki’s status always remained: off at the hero boarding school, off fighting a war, off saving the world.
Izuku didn’t even know if Kacchan remembered him.
“Yes, Izuku! Mitsuki and Masaru send their love and she’ll be devastated if you don’t come over for dinner.” He sort of hears his mother say over his thoughts.
They hadn’t spoken to each other since the day Izuku moved across the world. Scratch that, Kacchan hadn’t said a word to Izuku on that last day, the singer didn’t even need to squeeze his memories hard enough to remember his own red weeping face and broken goodbyes.
Kacchan had been stoic, a permanent frown etched to his face, probably annoyed at Izuku’s emotional display and weakness.
“Anyway, I’ll share her contact with you, she doesn’t want to impose, but you know how we, old people are, so make sure you text her and go visit.” He must’ve made some type of confirmation because his mom continues. “Ok, perfect. And Izuku, please, don’t forget the omiyage!” She adds sternly (or as sternly as Midoriya Inko can sound).
Sure, omiyage, won’t forget.
“Talk to you soon, son. Don’t get too crazy, hey!” His dad says.
Don’t get too crazy?
Don’t get too crazy?!
“Bye, Izuku, we love you!”
“Love you too.”
His parents hang up and he’s still staring at the black screen in his hands.
This was bound to happen, it’s not like he didn’t see it coming.
Knowing Izuku’s luck he started suspecting the moment he laid eyes on Earphone Jack and Chargebolt (of course he knows they went to school with Kacchan), somehow he just knew there’d be no avoiding the past. And it’s not like he ever got away from it, like he ever gave himself enough room to breathe.
Even though Izuku put on a façade in front of everyone else, hiding his hero-obsession behind closed doors, he still followed the #HeroDynamight on every social media platform he scrolled through and his YouTube algorithm made sure to always feature video montages of the blonde’s rescues on his recommendations.
Yes your honor, the defendant pleads guilty.
Midoriya Izuku, age 27, professional singer-songwriter-guitarist, internationally renowned artist, two-time Grammy award winner, a walking disaster somehow voted the ‘smoothest lover’ of the year by Cosmopolitan magazine and still very much smitten with his childhood crush turned weird obsession bordering online stalker behavior for the past sixteen years.
And you know what?
It is what it is.
Kacchan is a hero.
He’s an ideal: something unachievable to Izuku. So what if he used this idealized image of his childhood friend/bully as a safe haven for the past sixteen years?
It’s not like anyone knew about it—except Melissa—not even his past relationships.
So what’s the harm? He knows plenty of fans who do that with celebrities, it’s not like it’s abnormal behavior…
“There’s only three things in this world that can make you look like that,” he squeaks in surprise, “the first one is when you fail to obtain any All Might limited edition memorabilia you’ve been looking for, and since I’m always aware of these, I know that’s not what we’re dealing with.” Godammit, Melissa. “The second one is in rehab and doesn’t have your contact, but even if he did, something tells me that’s not it.” He winces. “The third, and most likely given our current location, is the explosive elephant I’ve been trying to address for the past month which you’ve been so good at avoiding.”
He sighs. There’s no use deflecting anymore. But he still looks around to see if they’re alone.
“I’ve told them you’d be tired and that we’d go over your schedule for tomorrow, so they’ve retired for the day. Kyouka’s unpacking in her room.”
Melissa’s eyes are warm even in their icy blueness. She’s always been warm, that’s how she broke through Izuku’s many layers. Well, that combined with her sharpness.
Like father, like daughter, they say.
David Shield is one of the world’s most renowned scientists, he understands quirks and technology like no other. And Melissa, while also incredibly gifted in those areas, has a knack for understanding human nature and behavior. She also reads people like they are an open book, it’s sometimes unsettling.
She would’ve done wonders by following her father’s footsteps, and for a while that’s what she had intended to do, until she met Izuku’s quirkless ass and decided to pursue a career in musical production. “I mean, there’s a lot more to quirkless life than most people think. I’ll be a backstage billionaire on my own and travel the world with you. Sounds like an entertaining and glamorous life.” Is what she told him once they graduated high school.
Popping champagne and all that jazz, right?
In that moment, Izuku feels like a cork forcefully pushed open, lying forgotten on the floor.
But Melissa always finds him.
So he tells her everything that’s been plaguing his mind.
Everything.
It all comes out in a blur and there’s things she’s heard before and others she hasn’t (the depth of his secret obsession mostly) and how he’s constantly used Katsuki as a tool of comparison in his relationships and his fears and what being in Japan makes him think about (about things that didn’t happen, about his crushed dreams) and he feels like a quirkless lonely kid all over again.
Melissa puts a cup of hot tea in his hands and they both sit side by side on the very comfortable sofa Izuku wishes he could become a part of. She also covers both their legs with an expensive looking blanket and he cries even more at the gesture. She doesn’t interrupt him and only speaks once it’s clear he’s said his piece.
“Well, let’s start with coming to Japan,” she looks in his direction and he consents. “You say that coming here means having to face ‘crushed dreams, things that didn’t happen’ and that you feel ‘like a quirkless lonely kid all over again’. We know that you don’t feel quirkless, quirkless is not an emotion, so how do you really feel?”
“... sad I suppose is the best way to describe it.”
“Good, so you feel sad about being quirkless.” He nods. “And the worst part about being here… is it your crushed dreams and things that didn’t happen or is it the fact that you are quirkless that hits closest?” Izuku gives her a wobbly smile, they’ve had a similar conversation before.
“Quirkless…”
“And when you come to Japan and you are quirkless, what does this mean about you?”
Izuku sighs and his head falls back into the backrest.
“It means I’m a failure.”
“And when you believe that story, that you are a failure, do you notice anything about the way you behave and feel?”
He closes his eyes, shit she’s good. Maybe that’s why he gets complacent.
“Angry, sad, scared, disappointed. I clam up, avoid my real feelings, turn into a ball of anxiety, my thoughts get all over the place and I pressure myself into an overworking frenzy, and lose sleep.” He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know she’s trying to hide a knowing smile. Like he said, she reads him like an open book.
“We’ve had many conversations before, so you know how this goes Bunny. What are you expecting out of this story? What’s your payoff from believing that you are a failure?”
“I don’t know.” He answers, avoidant.
“When you clam up, when you avoid your feelings, when your mind is overwhelmed and you lock yourself away with your work—when you actively choose to not step foot in Japan for sixteen years, because you are afraid of being a failure—what do you get in return? What’s your payoff?”
His snort is very undignified, but these talks are never comfortable.
“Well, you already know the answer, pretty obvious isn’t it.” He doesn’t mean to sound bratty, but defense mechanisms and all, you know.
Melissa remains, as always, unfazed.
“It doesn’t matter what I think, this is not about me. You have to say it out loud.”
She sips on her tea.
Izuku opens his eyes.
They stay in silence for maybe a minute or so.
He inhales a deep breath and sighs.
“By not coming back I don’t need to come face to face with the fact that I’m a quirkless failure who couldn’t become a hero and that I had to find something else to do with my life. That even though I love what I do, this was never my dream.” There are tears streaming down his face, he can feel them, but his voice doesn’t crack. “I don’t need to face the truth.”
“Protection from the imminent truth.” She concludes patiently.
“Are you sure you want to continue being my producer/manager? A career in psychology doesn’t appeal to you?”
She actually rolls her eyes.
“No, my mentor’s got that covered, he’s releasing his first book next year. And I have no interest in holding space for people I don’t know or dislike—and you,” she says, a manicured nail poking at his nose, “Know this very well.” He can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Alright smarty pants. So when you choose to believe the story that you are a failure because you are quirkless and you react by clamming up, overworking, losing sleep, and you find yourself lacking coherence in your thoughts and you are a ball of nerves and anxiety, does that get you what you want?”
“Not really, I’m still quirkless, aren’t I?” She sends him a pointed look. “Ok, ok. I guess I did avoid having to confront this story by not coming here before. But reacting to it sort of got me where I am today? Like, I’ve released 2 albums since I turned 18, that’s a lot…” there’s that look again ‘are you seriously going to give me excuses, now?’ Well, shit. “But I suppose what happens when I stop believing this to be true is that I feel at peace with myself. I can recognize my accomplishments and give myself a break, take things at a slower pace, get some sleep, and look at things more objectively. I mean, I actually love what I do and it brings fulfillment to my life.”
It’s almost annoying how much lighter he already feels.
Because a part of him really wants to hold on to the pain.
“And after you come to these realizations, does being quirkless and being a failure remain the same thing?”
“Nope.” Still, he answers without a beat. She smiles.
“Now, about Bakugou Katsuki—”
He groans, hard.
"Should we get some coffee? Schedule comes after."
[THE NEXT DAY]
[KATSUKI]
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I’m your host Reina-chan and this is The Monday Late Show!” The host’s pink skin reminds him of Ashido, maybe two tones lighter than the bubbly menace, but the woman’s obnoxiously applied some sort of sparkly cream all over her skin turning her into a Christmas decoration.
Suppose Horns would do this sort of thing if given the chance.
“I’m beyond excited because on tonight’s show we have some incredible guests... so incredible that I’ve already had five freak outs since they confirmed!” Her messy hairdo gets a little bit messier as she shakes in excitement and her necklaces fervently ring against each other. “I’m personally a huge, huge fan of both these men and as much as I’d like to ruin the surprise and just yell their names, you know how this show works, we don’t say our guests names until it’s time for them to come up the stage! However, thanks to our questionnaire, we know you guys are just as crazy about them as us! But before we get into that, let’s delve into a little segment I like to call ‘Newsbomb Flash!’—”
Someone knocks on the door of his dressing room and a head soon peaks out, the producer whose name Katsuki’s already forgotten. He’s got one hand pressing into his earpiece and the other holding the door slightly ajar.
“Bakugou-san, be ready to go in six minutes. I’ll come to pick you up soon.”
Katsuki grunts in affirmation and fights against the impulse to explode a hole in the wall.
“And now, I’d like to call in my first guest! He’s one of the reasons why we get to sleep so soundly at night—with an incredible record on his back, he’s beloved by the masses for his authentic, unique and crass personality! He was voted as Japan’s sexiest man of the year and this is his first interview in two years! He’s the current number two hero, but he’ll always be our number one favorite bad boy, give it up for Pro Hero Dynamight!”
Katsuki really fucking hates these things. But he’s also not one known to back down from a commitment or a challenge, and this situation is actually both. The thing is, not only does he think these stupid ass interviews are fucking frivolous and don’t add any real value to people’s lives but he’s also aware that he needs to police himself to extreme levels whenever he’s engaging in such situations. And he fucking hates having to police himself.
It’s become a sort of internal joke amongst the ‘Bakusquad’ (God forbid they hear him acknowledge the ridiculous name) that you can always tell how close a friend Katsuki considers you to be by the amount of curses he spews by the minute. Which is code for ‘Bakugou not swearing equals bad news.’
Katsuki once went to Kaminari’s house and he’d been so caught up in his own head, recently out from work and having just spoken to an interviewer on the case, that when he opened the door, eyes assessing the mayhem that was inside and said “Kaminari, please clean your house.” By the time Kirishima arrived, Pikachu was bawling and Katsuki couldn’t understand what the fuck was going on. Apparently, Kaminari thought Katsuki had decided to disown him, or some shit.
So, yeah. Katsuki fucking hates interviews, because he needs to be 150% aware of every single thing that comes out of his mouth. So fucking annoying.
At least the host isn’t asking him any stupid questions.
They focus on the programs he’s part of, not only rescue missions on Southeast Asia, but also the youth aid for kids with dangerous quirks and his heavy involvement with anger management branches within these organizations.
“I didn’t think it was possible, but I guess we’ve all fallen even more in love with Dynamight-san! And while I wish I could ask you a hundred more questions, there’s another guest I’m dying to introduce too! Like seriously you guys, tonight’s show is like my personal dream come true, you have no idea!” The audience claps enthusiastically.
“My next guest is somewhat of a national treasure, but this is actually his first time in Japan after sixteen years!” The host says wiggling her eyebrows, like this should make it obvious who she’s talking about.
“OH MY GOD!” Someone screams in the audience and other people start gasping. What the fuck’s wrong with people?
“Ha! Some of you seem to have figured it out, but shush! He’s considered to be one of the greatest guitarists of modern times—he’s a two time Grammy winner with two albums on his back and next month he’ll start his Japan tour and if you didn’t know him until today, I’m sorry to say all twenty eight concerts were sold-out in 24hs, breaking a new record in Japan!” What the fuck is happening, these people are going crazy and Katsuki half wonders if he should be fearing for his life. “I’m one of the lucky people who’ll get to watch 3 of these concerts and I’m dying to have him on my show! He’s the guy you want to introduce to your parents—please ladies and gentlemen, to perform our musical number tonight, please give an enormous round of applause for the internationally renowned IZUKU!”
Who?
Name sounded somewhat familiar, though he couldn’t quite point out where from. Fucking hell, these people were going ballistic. Katsuki was at least intrigued by this bigshot introduction if somewhat taken aback by the reactions around him, if some of these people lost their voices by the end of the hour he wouldn’t be surprised.
So he was expecting many things when all the lights turned off and a single spotlight was lit over a chair with a mic set up on the little stage not too far away from the couch they were sitting in.
What he did not expect was a small dude, dressed in loose faded jeans, a white t-shirt that literally said fucking ‘t-shirt’ and a pair of old-ass red high-tops. Boyish curly green hair, freckles and all, this guy did not look like a superstar at all. Who the fuck let this guy walk out like this?
The fuck was his PR team doing? With two fucking Grammys shouldn’t this guy have a stylist?
Katsuki could barely hear his own thoughts with the audience screaming.
And then the guy said “Good evening” and it was like time stopped, his nimble fingers moving with an expertise Katsuki had never seen in his life, not live.
He didn’t recognize the song, or was it a solo? Fuck, that blues was good. But then the melody changed and girls in the audience screamed.
[ x ]
When sky blue gets dark enough
To see the colors of the city lights
A trail of ruby red and diamond white
Hits him like a sunrise
He comes and he goes
Like no one can
Maybe Katsuki feels his eyes widen, and who cares really, no one’s looking because no one in the audience can blink or look away from the figure on stage, the guy’s really fucking good. His voice… Damn that guitar.
Tonight he's out to lose himself
And find a high on Peach Tree Street
From mixed drinks to techno beats it's always
Heavy into everything
He comes and goes and comes and goes
Like no one can
He comes and goes and no one knows
He's slipping through my hands
He's always buzzing just like
Neon, neon
Katsuki understands music, and that’s why he’s beyond shocked. Maybe his hands are damp, it’s hard to tell when he’s so focused. There’s a small breeze coming from somewhere and the singer’s boyish green hair flows gently as he closes his eyes to sing.
Who knows how long, how long, how long
He can go before he burns away
I can't be his angel now
You know it's not my place to hold him down
And it's hard for me to take a stand
When I would take him anyway I can
He comes and goes and comes and goes
Like no one can
What the fuck are those chords? And the man’s picking technique? Is that fucker only using his thumb and index finger to play? Fucking hell, yes he is. He’s never seen anything like this before.
He comes and goes and no one knows
He's slipping through my hands
He's always buzzing just like
Neon, neon
Who knows how long, how long, how long
He can go before he burns away
“Heh, thank you.” The singer says awkwardly and something hits Katsuki like a ton of bricks.
No way.
Katsuki’s not sure how long it takes for the guy to make his way to the couch, he’s hyper aware of his senses, a not at all uncommon feeling when he’s watching a villain’s next move. Like he’s ready to act at any suspicious movement. But he does none of that, and when he finally feels an extra weight added to the sofa, and he’s staring into enlarged pools of dark pupil, a constellation of freckles and a stupid dorky smile, he feels all blood being drained out of him. Because he must be seeing a ghost.
“Deku.”
“Hi Kacchan, long time no see…”
[To be continued]