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Right when Shouta arrives behind his target, the target in question merely looks over his shoulder, makes eye contact with him, and turns back around, facing the wide city minimized to blinking lights and moving glimmers.
"Kid." Shouta calls. The boy doesn't answer.
Shouta feels tense, and very alert. This wasn't the boy he was used to working with. Shouta was used to ominous cackles, mischievous grins, snarky remarks, and overall a bright character.
Shouta was used to Conflict.
This boy in front of him acted far from the Conflict he knew.
Conflict- no, the boy, the boy he never actually knew the name of- sat at the edge of the rooftop, hands planted at the sides, posture relaxed and uncaring of the wide range between his position and the ground multiple floors below.
Before arriving, Shouta once thought it was another person he had to talk down, with his gravelly comforting tone and his ability to convince people to change their minds thanks to his reputation as the logical person, as someone who never lied, and therefore, who people automatically started thinking he was logic himself.
It works, in most ways.
But he didn't expect it to be his vigilante, of all people, to be sitting on the rooftop of one of the highest buildings in the city.
Right now, Conflict didn't greet him with the usual 'Hey, Eraser!', nor jumped or perked up from his place to run and crash into him, giving him a tight hug, even if they both knew it was a position where Shouta could capture him easily and turn him into the police.
They both also knew Shouta would never do that, couldn't, so.
Right now, Conflict was silent, contemplating, distant.
Shouta feels more worried than he should feel.
(He also asks, in his mind, if this was the real him, if he kept this side hidden from everyone else.)
Shouta discreetly walks closer behind the boy, cautious of Conflict's reaction. He doesn't seem to mind. Shouta knows Conflict would've ran away if he did, so he continues, and eventually he takes his spot beside the boy, wondering if he was used to this height right in front of him. Every car moving looked like an ant crawling in their lines.
(He doesn't know if he wants to hear the answer to his question.)
The man figured that Conflict wouldn't be speaking so soon, not when he found him like this. He also definitely invaded the only relief place Conflict had. This was the first and most intimate thing Conflict ever shared to him, past life and current life included and considered.
So Shouta sits there, serving as- hopefully- a comforting company for the kid. He allows himself to think, just for a while, and finds that maybe this is why the boy chose this place. A place to think while he sees everything around and below him mellowing around, seeing the multiple lives that they swore to fight for, to protect.
Automatically, his mind drifts towards the boy beside him, the small boy, the vigilante, the teen that's met more pro heroes than normal and moreso under unwanted circumstances, more than most of the teens his age and adults alike.
What a big world, and here is a kid in his teens, too young- too early, in devoting his life to fight people bigger than him. And yet, the boy was still more capable and more reliable than some actual pro heroes.
He's snapped out of his thoughts when he feels something slightly heavy fall on his shoulder, initiating contact. Shouta lets out a soft breath, internally thankful that he has an excuse to secure the boy in his grip, if only to assure himself that he wouldn't somehow end up falling off of the nearly thirty-story building. Shouta protectively wraps an arm around Conflict, pulling him closer. Their bodies fall against each other to give more warmth despite the blowing winds.
Conflict continues to stay silent.
So Shouta does the same.
They spend a few more moments there, and usually Shouta would think about wasting time, but this is the time of the midnight when even criminals and villains were too tired to cause problems in the city. The time where even Conflict should probably feel tired as well, because even a teenager like him needed to sleep. A teenager like him still needed the sleep.
"'Raser." Shouta immediately focuses on Conflict when he mumbles through the wind.
"Kid." He simply responds.
"'Raser," Conflict repeats, and there's something so burned out in his tone that it gives Shouta a painful whiplash. "'Raser, 'm sorry."
Now, Shouta is confused. "You did nothing wrong, Problem Child."
"No," Conflict murmurs. "I'm what's wrong."
Oh, this kid.
"Would you mind elaborating?" He asks, tone changing into something softer. The one he uses for his husband and his kittens.
"There's- there's something wrong with me, this-" The kid's voice wavers. "This society, me, 'Raser, every thing is- every thing feels so wrong even if all I wanted to do was make things right."
"What makes you think that?" Shouta asks, leaning against the kid to ground him.
"I- I'm tired, it doesn't make sense." The kid says, and he says nothing more.
For a moment, Shouta considers that the kid has backed out from opening up to him. He wouldn't blame the kid, but he almost desperately hoped that Conflict at least had someone else to talk about himself to. It didn't have to be him, even if he really hoped it was.
Fortunately, Conflict returns, now playing with the hem of his black hoodie. "I'm quirkless, you know?"
Shouta always had an inkling, but he shakes his head nonetheless. "That never mattered, kid."
"Not to you, at least," Conflict mumbles. "I wish everyone was more like you," The boy adds on. "Right when I was born, I've already been destined to be the wrong thing in this world."
Before Shouta could counter, Conflict continues. "I- I think about it a lot. I'm quirkless, and- and people make it sound like it's wrong. They- They've done a lot to me, 'Raser. They did so many bad things and I- I know it's wrong, that- that's also wrong, the things they did- they still do to me, but even then it's- I keep thinking that it might be the only right thing in my life. Like- Like what if it was the only thing that made sense? I'm quirkless in a world filled with quirks, and- and the right thing to do was to always remove the wrong things around you."
Conflict pauses to take a deep breath, and he's removed his head from Shouta's shoulder now, all while the underground hero was still processing the boy's words and trying to think of a way to get them off of the edge. This is bad.
This is so fucking bad.
Unaware of Shouta's inner turmoil, Conflict continues. "Since- Since I know it's wrong, I- I also know I could've- I could've been bad, could've been worse. I could've been a.. a villain. I- I had every right to, if- if that even justifies it. But instead, every thing made me weak- I became weaker, and it makes sense 'cause I- I know I have issues but- but it's also so wrong because- but it isn't right either. And- and then I became this, a vigilante, something between a hero and a villain, and I- I'm still so fixated on- on trying to be some type of hero even if.. even if everyone told me I could never be one."
Shouta takes a deep breath. He couldn't believe he's saying this, especially since he was on the legal side of things, but.. just this time, fuck the law. "Technically, you're not doing anything illegal. What's so wrong about wanting to help people, kid?"
"That's the point," Conflict counters. "There's nothing wrong but then the people- everyone would still think I'm doing something bad, just- just because I don't have a license to do it legally. Pe- People would still think I'm bad, that I'm on the wrong side of society, and then.. and then I just wonder that- that if they preferred the actual heroes and not some- not some hero wanna-be, moreso someone quirk- quirkless, if they ever find out, then-"
Shouta waits, with a bated breath, for the next words that Conflict would say.
"Then what- what's my purpose? If I- what am I supposed to do? Die?"
Shouta stares at Conflict.
He stares, because he's staring at the biggest conflict he's ever seen.
And Conflict's staring right back at him.
It takes a moment for Shouta to realize that Conflict's hood was down, showing his dark green, curly hair, the front bangs clipped up to his head. It lets him show Shouta his wide, expressive and very tired eyes, ones shiny with fresh tears rolling down his freckled cheeks.
This was the first time Shouta's seen his face.
And the boy looks young. Very, painfully young.
"Can I touch you, kid?" Shouta asks, very careful not to make his voice waver, despite how much resolve he was losing over looking at such a crumpled look on a face he really wanted to see a smile on.
Conflict hiccups, shakily nodding his head, and Shouta immediately wraps his arms around the kid, tight enough to be able to bring him closer, slowly shifting them off of the edge. If Conflict noticed, he doesn't say anything about it, and Shouta's thankful for it.
When they're far enough, Shouta can still feel the way Conflict's body shook against him, and he simply hugs him tighter. The hands gripping at the back of his hero suit gives him an odd, yet very much welcome sense of comfort.
"Kid," Shouta rasps out. "Don't. Never. Never say that, please," He, subtly, begs. "Don't you ever think about dying like that."
The only response he gets is a shaky breath against his neck, and he continues. "Please, kid, let me help you. I'll prove it to you how much rightness you're bringing to this world. The people you've saved, the even more people you saved from the 'could've-been's, if the villains you captured were never caught in the first place. Kid." Shouta rambles, arms still tight around the boy.
"The police department adores you, kid, they really do. They always bicker and worry over how you should be in school, sleeping, doing homework. Fuck, kid, they even worry about you being too busy out in the underground that they wonder if you have time to look for a lover." At this, Shouta feels Conflict's breath hitch in a near giggle, and he takes it as a win. But not enough for the victory he wants. "The things you do, the criminals you bring in, it might be conflicting for you, but it's so right and good for them. You help them out a lot, Problem Child."
Shouta takes a deep breath, "You're just right for me, too, kid," This time, Conflict had stopped shaking. "You don't understand how much I want to help you. My husband tells me I've been talking about you a lot, and I could never even deny it."
"I'll help you through the rights and the wrongs of the world full of grey, Conflict. We'll correct the wrongs, and one thing that's right?" Shouta pauses, finally loosening his hold on the child. "Is that you still continue to do what's right despite the society that have wronged you."
Shouta pulls away, feeling like he's said too much, and looks into Conflict's still watery eyes. "Do what you feel is right for you, kid. And if they don't like it? Then so be it. From now on, their opinions don't matter. Not every wrong thing has to fall on your shoulders, Problem Child."
Conflict openly stares at him, eyes wide in utter disbelief, as if he couldn't even believe someone was willing to be with him despite how much of a pent-up ball of emotions he turned out to be.
Well, newsflash, Problem Child, Shouta thinks, I'm never leaving you alone, even after this, especially after this.
"'Raser," Conflict whispers, cupping his small hands unto Shouta's face. It's a gentle, tender touch, as if he was treating Shouta like he was the fragile one in this situation. "Don't- don't cry."
Shouta finds himself huffing in amusement, waiting as Conflict wiped his tears off with shaky thumbs. "P- Please don't- don't cry for me. I- I don't like it."
He tries to stop the tears from falling. Cursing, Shouta takes a deep breath and sighs. "Please. Let me help you, kid. Just-"
"Okay," Conflict cuts him off. "I- Okay, okay, Eraser."
The one-worded answer catches Shouta off guard, and he scans the look on Conflict's face. It's relaxed now, still wet from the tears, and Shouta can't help but wipe them off on his own, just like how Conflict did to him a few moments prior.
Conflict suddenly grabs onto Shouta's forearms, startling the hero a bit.
"My- My name is- I- I'm.. I'm Mido- Midoriya Izuku," Conflict finally reveals, staring right at Shouta's eyes. And then he starts rambling. "I- I'm fifteen, and- and I g-go to online classes, u-uhm, I used- used to go to Aldera Ele- Elementary and Middle- Middle School. My- My mom, Mi- Midoriya I-Inko, never- she never, never came home for.. for three years now. Dad- uh, Hi- Hisashi, left when.. when I was diagnosed.."
"Conflict- Izuku," Shouta cuts him off, and the boy- Izuku, Izuku stares at him with hopeful eyes. "..No need to say any more. Thank you for the information."
"No- no, no," Con- Izuku insists, his smaller hands letting themselves be engulfed in Shouta's. "Thank you."
They stare at each other for a few more moments, Izuku's eyes beginning to grow wet before he shows Shouta a timid smile, so unlike the wide grins he's seen in combat.
"Please save me this time, Eraserhead."