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Shōta doesn’t give it much thought, the first time he’s in the station and he hears someone whisper-groan the name Midoriya.
Which, if he’s being honest, isn’t really all that much of a surprise.
Shōta prides himself on his attention to detail when he’s on the job but, with that being said, by the time Shōta makes his way into the station during his patrol he is, in general and as a rule, too tired to give a shit about anything or anyone that isn’t actively causing harm in his sensory range.
No matter how early or late into his patrol that stop ends up being.
So, him hearing the name Midoriya, processing it as ‘not an active threat’ and then promptly moving on is par for his generally exhausted course.
Even if it happens more than once.
So the second time he hears the name things progress much as the first time did.
Hear, process, dismiss.
But the third time?
The third time Shōta hears the name Midoriya being cursed in his vicinity it absolutely catches his attention.
He’s slouched down in one of Tsukauchi’s criminally uncomfortable office chairs having just finished detailing the particulars of what is sure to be Kinato-san’s latest anti-animal abuse-related assault charge, when Sansa throws open the office door without even bothering to knock.
“Nao,” Sansa practically sing-songs, feline features giving the impression that he’s grinning with the way that his ears are perked forward and his whiskers are practically quivering. “Guess who’s back!?”
“No,” Tsukauchi immediately says, something exasperated pulling at his expression.
“Yes,” Sansa bats back.
“No,” Tsukauchi denies again, this time with a steely sort of undertone.
Shōta watches the back and forth with rapidly blossoming intrigue even as he admits to being a bit mystified by it all.
“Yes,” Sansa hisses more than actually says, fangs bared and eyes narrowed but something deeply amused still lurking in his body language.
“Don’t say it,” Tsukauchi abruptly switches tracks, voice taking on a wheedling sort of tone. “Please. Don’t say it.”
“Code,” Sansa says slowly, obvious relish dripping from every letter, “Green.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Tsukauchi groans, slumping forward against his desk. “It’s only been two days, Midoriya. Why is he like this?!”
“A potent cocktail of severe ADHD and childhood trauma that resulted in adult him being up to his eyes in a mix of concentrated spite and the chronic inability to let assholes get away with being assholes in his general vicinity or technological reach,” Sansa replies easily. “But, to be fair, it’s probably mostly spite.”
There’s a pause as the three of them stare at each other, Tsukauchi having even peeled himself up off of his desk to turn his twitching eyes directly onto Sansa.
“Hey,” Sansa finally says, holding both hands up in the air in surrender, “that’s just what Izu-kun tells me every time I ask him that same question.
“Do not,” Tsukauchi levels a somehow accusatory and disappointed finger in Sansa’s direction, “call that little stress headache in human form Izu-kun where I can hear you ever again. I’m not convinced he doesn’t manifest somewhere in the building every time you do it.”
“Oh please,” Sansa scoffs, eyes rolling and ears flicking, “first off, he’s already here. And secondly, this is coming from the guy who has a standing Cold Case Coffee Date every Tuesday evening with the little gremlin.”
“It’s not every Tuesday and it’s not on purpose,” Tsukauchi denies hotly even as his eyes dart to the side and Shōta spots the telltale wince he doesn’t quite manage to bite completely back. “It’s a coincidence or a curse but there’s no way in any of the Hells it’s on purpose.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Sansa says. “But your Pawfee Cafe punch card and our case closure rate is loudly saying otherwise.”
Shōta was already intrigued before but Tsukauchi’s wide-eyed and guilty look alongside the mention of his favorite cat cafe now has him downright interested.
Especially if this Midoriya is someone capable of driving Tsukauchi to tell even a small and painfully obvious lie.
For a moment Sansa and Tsukauchi just glare at each other, Tsukauchi leaning forward with his hands planted on his desk and Sansa standing cross-armed in the doorway.
Shōta, as he so often does, spends the time he’s being actively overlooked observing everything around him.
Eventually, Tsukauchi sighs, pushes himself the rest of the way up from his desk, and finally turns his attention back in Shōta’s direction.
“Sorry about this Eraser,” Tsukauchi gives him a grimacing smile as he rounds his desk, gesturing Shōta up out of his chair and then he and Sansa both back out through the office door as he goes. “I’ve got something else to attend to so I’ll finish this up later and add it to Kinato-san’s file like normal. You’ve had a long shift so I won’t keep you anymore, especially for something so routine and simple.”
Shōta allows himself to be herded out of the room but he draws the line at missing out on whatever this ends up being.
“You know,” Shōta finally speaks up, eyes tracking the way that Tsukauchi’s shoulders immediately go stiff, “I’m off shift now and this entire exchange has been … interesting.”
“Eraser,” Tsukauchi turns slowly back towards him, dread obvious in his expression. “No.”
Beside him, Sansa practically vibrates in what seems to be anticipatory glee.
“Wouldn’t mind seeing this Midoriya for myself,” Shōta presses on undeterred.
“Yes,” Sansa hisses triumphantly.
“You planned this, you traitor,” Tsukauchi rounds on Sansa for a split second before he turns back towards Shōta, face carved from resolute stone. “And as for you meeting Midoriya? Absolutely not. I forbid it. He’s a menace with a RAP sheet longer than you are tall and you’re also a menace who enjoys chaos more than you’ll ever admit outright. The two of you meeting has Bad Idea™ written all over it in lights. Mainly for me.”
Shōta just stares at him, deeply unimpressed.
Everyone in this prefecture in general and this hallway specifically knows that Shōta only takes non-mission-related orders from a select group of individuals on a case-by-case basis.
Tsukauchi, for all that they get along and work well together, isn’t actually one of them.
And Nedzu isn’t here to say he is.
“I am literally begging you to let this go,” Tsukauchi says, hands actually coming up to press together in front of him.
“Hm,” Shōta hums. “No.”
Mainly because he isn’t going to anyways but also because even if he would have been willing to let this go before, having Tsukauchi make such a big deal about the situation has just assured that he won’t now.
Tsukauchi squeezes his eyes closed as his shoulders slump and he lets out what can only be described as a soul shuddering sigh.
“I’ve had nightmares about this exact moment,” Tsukauchi murmurs seemingly to himself.
When he opens his eyes again Shōta’s somehow not surprised at the thousand yard stare the detective has adopted.
“This is all going to end up going one of two ways,” Tsukauchi says even as he turns and starts moving back down the hall, “and I’m honestly not sure which option is going to be worse.”
“Oh, I absolutely know which one I’m rooting for,” Sansa pipes up gleefully.
Shōta follows along behind them on silent feet, more interested now than ever before.
~~~
“Nao-san!” a cheerful voice calls out as soon as the three of them step into the holding area.
Tsukauchi groans, Sansa gives a chuffing sort of laugh, and Shōta’s attention immediately snaps towards the direction the call had come from.
Whatever or whoever Shōta had been expecting, whatever scant mental image he’d already composed of the obviously infamous Midoriya, what he finds absolutely doesn’t match up.
The Midoriya currently sitting in the holding area is both younger and smaller than Shōta had expected of someone so obviously capable of getting so deep beneath Tsukauchi’s skin.
Plus, even though Shōta is well aware of just how deceiving appearances can be, Midoriya looks relatively harmless.
Younger than Shōta by at least a few years, Midoriya is all big, earnest eyes and prominent freckles. He also has a headful of messy, shoulder-length waves and loose emerald curls that lend him a slightly frazzled look that Shōta normally only associates with street kittens and Hizashi when confronted with anything even vaguely insect-like.
The most startling thing about Midoriya as far as Shōta can see, besides the fact that he’s currently handcuffed, is the blood that’s caking one nostril and the fact that he’s wearing a black t-shirt that has the word crime printed on it in white uppercase English letters.
All in all, if pressed on the issue, Shōta would have to say that instead of looking like a menace, Midoriya is actually rather … cute.
Although, to be completely fair and according to most everyone he knows, those two words have often meant the same thing to Shōta.
“Midoriya,” Tsukauchi groans, one hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Back again I see.”
“Call me Izuku!” Midoriya chirps, completely ignoring the other half of Tsukauchi’s statement as his eyes slide to and then run over Shōta in obvious appraisal.
Shōta’s immediately gifted with a smile so brilliant that it makes his eyes squint before Midoriya’s attention seemingly focuses back in on Tsukauchi who’s standing directly in front of him.
“Not in a million years,” Tsukauchi snips back.
Their exchange, in Shōta’s opinion, sounds well-traveled. He could almost argue it sounds fond. At least from Midoriya’s end.
“I brought cookies,” Midoriya announces then, head nodding towards the large, patch-covered yellow backpack that’s sitting on the chair beside him.
“Please,” Tsukauchi half orders, half begs, “stop bringing snacks to your arrests.”
Sansa, who’d made a direct line for and is already elbow deep in the backpack, stays suspiciously silent on the matter.
“I’m here so often though,” Midoriya chirps back with a sunny smile. “Mama taught me better than to be a rude guest.”
“You’re in custody,” Tsukauchi tells him, “this isn’t a social visit.”
“Isn’t it though?” Midoriya’s smile takes a sly sort of turn that unexpectedly sharpens his features in a way Shōta can’t help but appreciate.
“He’s got you there boss,” Sansa, plastic container now in hand, pipes up around a mouthful of a cookie that even Shōta has to admit smells delicious from a distance.
Shōta’s pretty sure he’s picking up hints of caramel and espresso and he already knows he’s going to do his best to swipe at least one of them before he leaves. His usual paranoia aside, if it’s good enough for Sansa to feel safe eating then it’s good enough for him.
“Traitorous, gluttonous feline,” Tsukauchi hisses in Sansa’s direction only to be saluted with a cookie in turn.
“It’s been roughly twenty minutes since I got arrested,” Midoriya cuts in then. “So that means Sachi-san should be here soon. Was starting to think I wouldn’t get to see you today, Nao-san!”
This time Tsukauchi outright groans.
“The only thing worse than dealing with you,” Tsukauchi flaps a hand in Midoriya’s direction, “is dealing with Gushiken-san, that devil woman of a lawyer. Just thinking about her makes my head hurt.”
Shōta pauses.
Because he knows that name. Especially when it’s attached to that exact description.
Everyone at UA specifically and a good portion of the heroics community and the government at large knows that name.
Gushiken Sachiko.
The woman whose intellect, integrity, and ruthlessness Nedzu trusted enough to earn her the equally dreaded and coveted position as his personal attorney.
The woman, and the practice that she rules with an iron fist, is the one to whom Nedzu delegates the handling of his many and varied personal projects.
Which, of course, begs the question as to who, exactly, Midoriya actually is that he not only has her coming to his defense in person, but can call her something as casual and cute as Sachi-san and live to see another sunrise afterward.
“So, Izu-kun,” Sansa swallows yet another cookie as he slides his way back into the conversation and over to Shōta’s side, “I don’t think you’ve met …”
“Eraserhead,” Midoriya practically breathes Shōta’s hero name out, his attention shifting back and relocking onto Shōta before Sansa can even finish his sentence.
“You know me?” Shōta can’t help but ask. Because if Midoriya knows Gushiken-san, or even worse Nedzu himself, then his knowledge of Shōta by proxy might be a little … concerning.
Midoriya lights up like the sun and opens his mouth.
“Nope!” Tsukauchi steps in between the two of them then, hands clenched in the sides of his coat as he spreads it out around him in an attempt to block the two of them from even seeing each other. “I’ve changed my mind! This isn’t happening. Not now, not today, and not in front of me. I refuse.”
“Nao-san!” Midoriya squeaks from the other side of Tsukauchi’s coat barrier. “That’s so rude!”
“Don’t care,” Tsukauchi declares as he crowds himself into Shōta’s space in an effort to herd him away from the holding area.
Bemused, Shōta once again allows himself to be moved, walking backward before Tsukauchi can touch him, head tilted to the side so he can see around the detective as he backs out of the area.
Now standing side by side, Sansa and Midoriya both offer him a little wave in farewell.
Midoriya, Shōta notices just as he backs around the corner, is now somehow uncuffed.
~~~
The encounter sticks with Shōta, itching at the back of his brain like a particularly insistent burr, because of course it does.
The entire situation was interesting and curiosity has always been one of Shōta’s best and worst traits.
Plus, Shōta’s not ashamed to admit that a part of him is still bitter that he didn’t get his hands on one of those cookies.
But it’s not until Monday morning that he bothers to do anything about it.
Nedzu is scurrying around the staff room in person for once instead of sending one of the campus bots or heckling Shōta himself about whatever it is he needs or wants done.
So, really, when Nedzu skips in front of Shōta’s desk for the third time in half an hour he decides that it’s a perfect opportunity for him to actually say something.
“Nedzu,” Shōta calls out.
Nedzu, of course, turns on his sneakered heel immediately, facing Shōta with an expectant sort of look pulling at his face.
For a long moment they both just stare at each other.
“Midoriya Izuku,” Shōta finally says.
There’s a breathless sort of pause.
And then Nedzu’s mouth splits open in a truly unhinged expression and he begins to laugh.
Shōta stares at him for a moment, more than aware of how the entire staff room has ground to a complete stop around them.
Then he gets up from his desk, skirts around his still cackling boss, and walks out of the room.
~~~
There’s a file waiting for Shōta in his apartment when he gets home in the early hours of the morning.
It’s two inches thick and resting on his countertop like it spawned there from the void.
But when he flips it open with a spare cooking chopstick and sees the picture on the very first page he knows that it came from something far more dangerous than the unquantifiable darkness between stars.
Because staring up at him from the glossy photo paper, smiling widely with his eyes alight with something vibrant and intense as he stares into the camera, is a much younger Midoriya Izuku.
The photo would almost be wholesome if it wasn’t for the livid bruises that stand out starkly on Midoriya’s otherwise pale face and the way the black gakuran he’s wearing is practically shredded in places.
The fact that the Midoriya in the photo looks twelve if he was a day just makes it all the worse.
Well, that and the fact that the picture is actually a mug shot.
Plans to grab a cat and embrace the sweet bliss of unconsciousness now officially derailed, Shōta finds himself pouring over the file.
The majority of it is redacted, everything from Midoriya’s birthday to his quirk status ruthlessly marked out either for actual confidentiality or because Nedzu would’ve thought it funny to only give Shōta a portion of the puzzle. But what Shōta does read has his eyebrows climbing higher with every page that he scans over.
Because Tsukauchi was right.
Midoriya Izuku really does have a RAP sheet longer than Shōta is tall.
With everything from truancy to jaywalking, from interfering with hero work all the way down to resisting arrest and arson, Midoriya has a record that would make a number of hardened criminals Shōta knows flush with envy.
But that’s not the strangest thing about the file.
Not by far.
Because Midoriya might have an arrest record Shōta’s not completely convinced doesn’t break some sort of record, but he has zero convictions.
He’s never spent an entire night in jail or even stepped foot inside of a prison as an inmate.
Not a single thing Midoriya has ever been arrested for has ever actually stuck.
Hell, Shōta realizes with an incredulous sort of huff, from the time Midoriya was seventeen or so he’s never even paid a fine.
Shōta has paid more in parking tickets than everything Midoriya has ever been ordered to actually pay combined and the only time he has access to a car is when he steals Hizashi or Vlad’s keys.
Honestly, if Shōta was confronted with anyone else with a record like this who’d seemingly never actually been held to account for what they’d done he’d be livid. He’d be actively setting up a hunt of his own to make sure that their lucky streak changed as soon as possible.
Shōta would be their shadow until the very moment they next misstepped.
Then he’d drag them into Tsukauchi’s office himself, secure in the knowledge that at least two officers in the prefecture weren’t blatantly corrupt and would do what needed to be done on their end to see things through.
But …
Well.
Even without Nedzu’s involvement being a glaring red flag that not even he can ignore, Shōta’s fully aware that this situation is different.
Which, if he’s being honest, makes it all the more interesting.
Makes Midoriya all the more interesting.
~~~
It’s another three days before Shōta has the opportunity to see Midoriya again.
And the chance to do so is not, no matter how it seems or how pointedly Sansa stares at him, the reason that he’s been hanging around Tsukauchi’s office more often than he normally does.
But even if it was, well, Shōta is curious and that’s not exactly a crime.
Yet.
He’s no Nedzu whose curiosity, and whether or not it could be classified as a World Security Crisis, was once debated by the UN.
He’s dozing lightly, propped up in an out-of-the-way corner of the lobby, when Sansa comes gliding by, chirping out a peppy little “incoming Code Green” as he goes.
Shōta is immediately alert, eyes trained on the lobby door.
And, sure enough, a few minutes later …
Midoriya.
Only this time, Shōta realizes with a sudden hot spike of interest, Midoriya looks different.
Sharper.
His hair is pulled up and back from his face in a high tail, revealing the undercut lurking beneath the curls and the way that both of his ears are lined with numerous piercings. His black shirt is sleeveless this time, showing off slim but well-crafted muscles and the vibrant swath of crimson spider lilies that decorate his right upper arm. His black cargo pants look well-loved and his red shoes are tied tightly with the laces tucked away.
He’s also bloody again, a shallow-looking cut above his right eye slowly weeping blood down the side of his face.
Most telling of all though is the fact that, unlike the last time Shōta had seen him, Midoriya doesn’t look to be in high spirits.
Not if the way he’s glaring up at the officer standing beside him, the same one who has one of his four hands clamped down tightly on Midoriya’s shoulder, is anything to go by.
Shōta sees the way that Sansa’s face immediately hardens from across the room and knows that something is wrong.
He’s out of his corner and headed in that direction without even thinking about it.
“ -less mutt causing trouble,” the officer sneers just as Shōta gets within hearing range, the large hand on Midoriya’s shoulder moving to shake him back and forth roughly. “What it thought it was doing out there like that with actual people I’ll never understand.”
Shōta immediately goes rigid.
He might be late to the conversation and obviously doesn’t have all the details but he knows bigotry, knows hate, when he walks up on it.
“Remove that hand or lose it,” Shōta orders, one hand creeping up to tangle in the folds of his scarf as he steps up and into the officer’s personal space. “Now.”
The man sputters, eyes wide and face abruptly pale, before he releases Midoriya and takes a large step back, all four arms raising up in surrender.
There’s a moment of tense silence between the four of them with Midoriya and Sansa both staying strangely silent.
But, just when the officer finally collects himself and the sneer from before begins to creep back onto his face, Midoriya coughs lightly and Sansa finally unfreezes.
“I’ll take it from here Goro-san,” Sansa steps forward, sliding between Midoriya and the officer with practiced ease. “Please return to your duties.”
Goro, the officer that Shōta’s already looking forward to catching alone for a few moments in the near future, glares for a moment longer and then turns on his heel and stalks away.
“What,” Shōta immediately rounds on Sansa, “was that?”
“Not here,” Sansa murmurs, already reaching out to place a hand lightly on Midoriya’s elbow to steer out of the lobby.
Shōta grits his teeth and doesn’t say anything else, well acquainted with the idea of discretion and conversations not suited for the open air of a lobby.
So he bites back everything lurking in his mouth and follows them silently down the hall that Shōta knows goes to Tsukauchi’s office.
~~~
“Midoriya,” Tsukauchi sounds preemptively exhausted when they open the door, not even bothering to look up as he waves them inside, “what did you do now, you little mon-”
“Nao,” Sansa’s quiet call cuts through whatever Tsukauchi was about to say.
Tsukauchi’s head snaps up sharply, eyes immediately narrowing in on Midoriya.
“Izuku,” Tsukauchi’s up and rounding his desk in the next second, the exasperated and scolding tone of before nowhere to be found. “What happened? ”
“Goro brought him in,” Sansa says before Midoriya can open his mouth, reaching over to uncuff Midoriya with quick, sure hands. “Had a lot to say in the process.”
Tsukauchi’s expression immediately goes thunderous.
“Are you okay?” Tsukauchi asks after a tense moment.
“I’m fine,” Midoriya flashes a small smile in Tsukauchi’s direction. “We all know Goro’s a heavy-handed prejudiced dick.”
“Your head?” Tsukauchi asks.
“I didn’t get this cut at the protest that’s for sure but, well,” Midoriya shrugs just a bit, “you know I’ve had worse.”
There’s a dark sort of knowing in all three of their faces then that takes Shōta a bit aback despite the already infuriating conversation subject.
It also slots a few very important puzzle pieces the rest of the way into place.
“Doesn’t make it any easier to deal with though,” Sansa points out quietly.
“Eh,” Midoriya shrugs as he flexes his wrists and hands from where Goro had obviously had the cuffs entirely too tight. “It honestly kind of does these days. They all say the same things, over and over again. It’s rare for anyone to get really inventive with their slurs or say something I’ve never heard before. Kind of boring by now if I’m being honest.”
Shōta really isn’t liking the picture he’s beginning to piece together in his head.
“Besides,” Midoriya’s smile sharpens again, “I’m never really unprotected these days.”
Midoriya reaches up and taps at his right ear and the various earrings that sit there.
“Sensei commissioned the best of the best for me after last time, you know?” Midoriya tells them. “Everything from a locator beacon to vital sign monitoring.”
Shōta has a sneaky suspicion as to just who Midoriya’s Sensei is and anything that drives Nedzu to go to such lengths for someone like this more than likely isn’t something Shōta is going to enjoy finding out about.
“Not to mention these babies right here?” Midoriya reaches up to tap at one of the ruby cuffs that sits at the top of his ear. “Full video and audio, all of which is constantly being stored and backed up. Officer Goro isn’t wiggling out of things this time. Sachi-san will have his badge before his shift is through.”
Shōta can’t argue with that and so it seems neither can the other two.
“He’ll be lucky if that’s all she does to him,” Tsukauchi mutters darkly as he moves back around his desk to poke at the keyboard of his desktop for a moment. “And that she’ll get to him before I will.”
“Aw,” Midoriya practically coos then, abruptly turning the dark mood around with obvious skill, “Nao-san I knew you loved me!”
“How dare you slander me like that?” Tsukauchi makes a surprisingly immature show of shuddering and gagging just a bit. “Keep on and I’ll add that to your record too.”
“Too late,” Midoriya chirps sunnily. “Death Arms beat you to that a few years back. Of course it went nowhere and then he had to deal with Sachi-san so he … retired shortly afterwards but …”
Midoriya just shrugs as he trails off, head tilted to the side and face creased in a cheerful smile like he’s not just been injured by an officer and is still actively bleeding from the wound.
Shōta kind of wants to grab him by the root of that ponytail and shake him just to see how he reacts.
“You know, Izu-kun,” Sansa says, “you really should get cleaned up some before you go to your chair.”
“Yeah,” Midoriya grimaces a bit, reaching a hand up to press against the side of his face that’s tacky with quickly drying blood. “Didn’t bring my bag to the rally so I guess I’ll hit the bathroom before we get back to our regularly scheduled processing.”
“Excellent,” Sansa actually claps his hands together. “Eraser can show you to the nearest bathroom and then escort you back to holding.”
There’s a pause.
“Absolutely not!” Tsukauchi squawks, puffing up and going just a bit wild-eyed. “I know what you’re doing Sansa and I won’t have it!”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Sansa says calmly even as he ushers a now grinning Midoriya towards the door.
Shōta, more than willing to play along again, goes too without even having to be herded this time.
Tsukauchi’s rounding his desk again, eyes wide, by the time Sansa winks at the two of them and then shuts the office door.
The door rattles for a moment, there’s a surprisingly high-pitched screech on the other side, and then things go ominously quiet.
Shōta takes a moment to come to terms with the fact that Sansa engineering a moment where Midoriya, who Shōta is willing to bet knows his way around the entire building, and Shōta can be alone is Sansa’s equivalent to starring Tsukauchi directly in the eyes and knocking a glass off of the counter.
He absorbs that realization and then does the only wise thing he can do at this moment.
He moves on.
Shōta turns on his heel and heads towards the nearest bathroom.
Midoriya follows along behind him without even having to be asked.
~~~
Shōta finds himself leaning up against the bathroom wall as Midoriya scrubs the blood from his face and then starts blotting gently at the freshly bleeding wound on his forehead.
“I normally pack a first aid kit,” Midoriya catches Shōta’s eyes in the mirror and shoots him a wry little smile. “But backpacks and rallies don’t tend to mix all that well and I wasn’t actually intending to get arrested today so I left it at home.”
“Do you normally intend to get arrested?” Shōta can’t help but ask.
“I like to think of it as being less averse to being handcuffed than most people,” Midoriya replies.
Shōta arches a brow and just looks at him.
A beat.
Shōta has the distinct pleasure of watching a deep flush unfurl across Midoriya’s face.
“Not like that!” Midoriya squeaks out, bloody tissue falling from his hand and into the sink as he whips around to face Shōta. “I mean not, not like that either. I tend to take it on a case-by-case basis since it’s all about tru- and that’s not what we were talking about which is a relief honestly because you don’t actually know me so I doubt you’d be interested in my se- in the intimate details of my personal life.” Midoriya squeezes his eyes closed, face twisting in a pained sort of grimace. “And I am going to stop talking now.”
Shōta blinks.
Takes a moment to admit to himself that he is more than a bit charmed, and then reaches down to flip open one of the pouches on his utility belt.
He pulls out his travel size first aid kit, flicks it open, and then takes a second to pull out a few alcohol swabs and a bandage before he closes it and then slips it back into his pouch.
He rips open one swab, tosses the wrapper in the trash, and takes a few steps into Midoriya’s personal space.
Midoriya doesn’t move, seemingly frozen in place as he just stares up at Shōta with those big eyes and his flushed face.
Shōta steps close enough for their chests to brush, reaches his free hand up to hook a finger beneath the point of Midoriya’s chin, and tilts his unresisting head back.
“I could stand to hear a bit more actually,” Shōta murmurs as he wipes gently at the cut on Midoriya’s forehead.
“About which subject?” Midoriya asks, voice sounding just a bit breathless as he lets Shōta move him about without even blinking. “My arrests or my thoughts on being handcuffed?”
Shōta pauses, leans forward enough to blow gently across the cut, and then runs the pad of his thumb across the point of Midoriya’s chin.
The bathroom door bursts open before Shōta can answer, Tsukauchi entering like a whirlwind and whisking Midoriya away after tossing a glare in Shōta’s direction.
Left behind in the bathroom, the unused bandage still in hand, Shōta smiles.
~~~
Tsukauchi, as it turns out, has doubled down on Shōta and Midoriya not being alone in the same room together.
Which doesn’t actually stop either of them.
Shōta makes it a point to drop back by the station on an even more regular basis than before on the off chance that Midoriya has been arrested again.
It works.
Shōta sees Midoriya a handful of times more in the weeks that follow.
During each encounter they get a few minutes to actually speak to one another before Tsukauichi inevitably swoops in and ushers one of them away but each conversation leaves an impression on Shōta.
Shōta even manages to get his hands on one of those coveted cookies sometime during the second week when Midoriya gets picked up for another public disturbance charge that doesn’t stick.
The taste of that cookie alone would have made the entire situation worth it if nothing else did.
Except, as it turns out, Shōta’s interest in Midoriya doesn’t actually seem to be waning with exposure like most things tend to do.
Because Shōta picks up new puzzle pieces every time they talk and slowly but surely a picture is starting to come into focus for him.
And each one keeps him coming back for more.
~~~
“I’m quirkless,” Midoriya, Izuku, says one evening when Tsukauchi hasn’t arrived to interrupt yet and Sansa has so kindly agreed to delay him when he does.
He says it simply, calmly. Obviously at peace with it for all that it’s something Shōta knows has been weaponized against him for years now.
Offers it like a way out that Shōta has no intention or interest in taking
“I know,” Shōta admits.
That was one fact about Izuku that Shōta had managed to piece together on his own through a variety of context clues and observations.
The smile he receives when that’s all he says on the subject is blinding.
~~~
Shōta learns, through shouted comments, hurried asides, and stolen moments, that Midoriya, Izuku as he insists Shōta should call him, really is an absolute menace.
Honestly, thanks in no small part to Nedzu’s patronage, that might actually be his official job title.
Midoriya Izuku, Professional Menace.
Shōta thinks that sounds about right.
It suits him.
~~~
“Most people don’t think a null can accomplish anything,” Izuku says it like it’s a universal truth but the fire in his eyes is hot enough to scorch Shōta from a distance. “That certainty makes it easy for them to be cruel. But then that belief, that conviction that quirkless means worthless, makes them sloppy, makes them blind. Vulnerable. That’s where I come in.”
His smug little grin is sly and sharp.
“They want to be bigoted, discriminatory, assholes?” Izuku keeps going, just a shade off from outright vicious. “That’s fine. I’ll go to the stores and the hospitals and the restaurants. I’ll attend the rallies and the protests and the charity events. And I’ll put myself front and center each and every time as a target. Because I can take it. I can take anything they can dish out. And then, once they think they have me cowed, it’ll be my turn to show them just how hard I can bite back.”
The kitten that Shōta had once compared Izuku to is long gone by now.
Izuku is, Shōta has realized slowly over time, much more akin to a crouching tiger.
And all that realization does is make Shōta’s fingers twitch and his palms itch.
“Well,” Izuku goes a bit bashful then, “me and Sachi-san and Nedzu-sensei as well of course.”
The sheer quantity of the arrests on Izuku’s record are beginning to make more and more sense to Shōta.
But, despite the puzzle pieces sliding together one by one, Shōta’s interest just continues to grow.
~~~
Tsukauchi finally corners Shōta a few weeks into his new routine.
“I’ve known that boy since he was seventeen and falling apart in all the wrong directions because of all the wrong people,” Tsukauchi says, something violent and guilty lingering in the corners of his expression. “I’ve watched him grow into a better man than most in that time and now, even after all these years, he barely trusts me.”
Shōta blinks, surprised.
Because that’s not how he would personally describe the relationship between Izuku and Tsukauchi.
“He plays at it well with the nicknames and the jokes,” Tsukauchi explains, obviously able to feel Shōta’s skepticism or something. “But we both know that he doesn’t, not really, not where it actually counts. And I can’t really blame him. I wasn’t as … supportive or understanding as I should have been in the beginning and there were other more … personal factors at play too. That’s on me though.”
Shōta can practically smell the long and tragic backstory of Tsukauchi and Izuku’s relationship but, as Tsukauchi seems to realize, the only one Shōta’s interested in hearing it from is Izuku himself.
“You care about him,” Shōta settles on saying because it’s obvious to him in every interaction between the two that he sees.
“Like the annoying and worrisome little brother or nephew I never wanted but somehow ended up with,” Tsukauchi says instantly. “I spend half of my time wanting to strangle the kid but I’d die for him in a heartbeat. Not that I’d ever tell him that.”
Shōta has his own opinions about the situation but he also respects the fact that it’s not, technically, his business.
“I didn’t want the two of you to meet,” Tsukauchi continues with a weary sounding sigh. “No matter how Sansa pushed for it or how many ominous emails Nedzu dropped in my various inboxes. But it looks like it was all for nothing now. May the gods help us all.”
“Ever going to explain why?” Shōta can’t help but ask.
“I figured you two would either end up absolutely hating each other,” Tsukauchi finally says, “or you’d end up married within a year. Still can’t decide which option is worse but either of them spells stress for me.”
“Well,” Shōta says after a moment’s pause, mouth curling up at the corners. “I certainly don’t hate him.”
In the end, despite the serious turn their conversation had taken before, Tsukauchi’s exasperated groan is still a deeply satisfying thing to hear.
~~~
But alongside all the other bits and pieces Shōta has been picking up about Izuku, he learns that, most importantly of all, Izuku is, at his core, achingly, heartbreakingly, ... good.
~~~
“I wanted to be a hero for a long time,” Izuku admits, eyes intense as he shifts to stare at Shōta, the cuffs on his wrists rattling just a bit as he does. “When I realized I couldn’t, that the world wouldn’t let me even try … I went off the rails a bit trying to find some other way to just help. Nedzu-sensei … well if it wasn’t for him there’s no telling where I’d be now.”
There’s a darkness lingering around the edges of that statement that they’re both aware of from different angles.
Izuku from personal experience with rooftops and sidewalks that look too close and yet too far away all at the same time.
Shōta from empty shoes on silent ledges and the aching, bloody aftermath of it all.
And both of them from the feel of Nedzu reaching out a paw in their direction during their darkest hours.
The clawed patron saint of seemingly lost causes who was always willing to trick and bite his way to victory if necessary.
“It’s not what I dreamed I’d be doing with my life when I was a kid,” Izuku says candidly. “But it’s worth it. All of it. The rallies, the protests, the arrests and fights? It’s slow and it’s painful, but for the first time in decades we’re making progress and I’m a part of that. So to me? That makes it all worth it.”
“I get it,” Shōta says.
Because he does.
Really and truly.
They sit there in silence for the next longest while.
It’s good.
~~~
Every bit of time, every stolen and snatched moment, Shōta has gotten to spend with Izuku has been so good.
~~~
Shōta wonders how long it’ll be before Nedzu gently maneuvers Izuku into getting a teaching license and making UA his official base of operations.
Given the fact that Calculate, the Numbers Hero and their resident analysis expert, is set to retire in the next few years, he suspects it’ll be sooner rather than later.
UA is a Hero School after all.
Is, in fact, the Hero School.
There is, in Shōta’s opinion, nowhere else more suited to Midoriya Izuku.
Shōta’s actually looking forward to being the one to convince him of that fact.
~~~
Eventually, as was bound to happen, Shōta is actually on the scene for one of Izuku’s numerous arrests.
An otherwise peaceful late afternoon Quirkless Alliance Anti-Discrimination Rally goes wrong thanks to the untimely arrival of a number of heroes and counter-protestors.
Shōta gets a front row seat to the honestly glorious sight of Izuku spear tackling the hero Prototype off of a perfectly peaceful protester.
It all ends up devolving into outright chaos from there.
~~~
Later, once the rally has been officially disbanded and the streets are practically flooded with officers, heroes, and EMTs, Shōta gets a moment to locate Izuku in the thick of it all.
He’s sitting in the back of a patrol car, hands cuffed and lip bloody, but otherwise in seemingly good spirits.
“Traffics going to be a nightmare,” Shōta says as he leans into the open door of the car. “Going to be a long ride back to Tsukauchi’s loving embrace.”
“San-san is driving me tonight,” Izuku grins up at him. “If I’m lucky he might even stop for boba on the way.”
Shōta huffs out a laugh, reaches into the car to tug at the end of Izuku’s braid, and then turns to wade back into the crowd.
He’s in the middle of a scrum of other heroes and first responders, standing grim but resolute at Sansa’s side, when he hears it.
“-ucking quirkless mutts,” Prototype sneers, not even bothering to lower their voice at all. “Waste of our time being here at all. Should have left them to get what they deserve. Especially that little green freak.”
Shōta goes still.
He blinks.
Turns towards Prototype.
“What,” Shōta hears himself say calmly, “did you just say?”
“You fucking heard me,” Prototype snaps, clearly still embarrassed by how easily and completely Izuku had put them into the ground.
“Yeah,” Shōta says with a small but decisive nod. “That’s what I thought you said.”
~~~
The hand Sansa plants on the back of Shōta’s head is gentle but it is also quivering.
Mainly because Sansa hasn’t stopped laughing for the past ten minutes and doesn’t look to be near to stopping anytime soon.
Shōta doesn’t actually care though.
Instead he just ducks down into the back of the car with practiced ease, tucking his body down and onto the seat so that Sansa can slam the door closed behind him safely, completely unbothered by the way his hands are cuffed together.
This is, as Snipe is so fond of saying, not actually his first rodeo.
“S-Shōta?” On the other side of the car’s back seat Izuku gapes at him in surprise. “W-What’s going on?”
“Well,” Shōta says as close to sunny as he’s capable of being as Sansa finally slides into the driver seat and turns the engine over, “apparently punching a hero in the face is still considered assault even if they’re being a bigoted dick and you’re also a hero. Who knew?”
The fresh round of hissing snickers Sansa lets out is honestly kind of validating.
But nothing beats the wide eyed awe of the look that Izuku levels in Shōta’s direction.
“So,” Shōta says as he settles back as best he can against the seat, body turning just a bit so he can face Izuku, “come here often?”
A pause.
Izuku laughs, bright and sunny, and practically launches himself across the space between them, hands already somehow uncuffed.
Shōta meets him halfway, his own cuffs now dangling from a single wrist instead of both as he brings his arms up to wrap around Izuku’s waist.
“Think Tsukauchi will be willing to put in an extra chair in your corner of the station?” Shōta asks softly. “I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need it in the future. And maybe you can help sweet talk Gushiken-san into taking me on?”
“If he isn’t then you can share mine,” Izuku promises with a grin. “And Nedzu’s had you on her protection list for years now.”
Before Shōta can even fully process that statement, Izuku leans forward in Shōta’s hold and kisses him.
Shōta keeps it soft, aware of Izuku’s split lip, one hand sliding up Izuku’s back to toy with and then start unwinding the end of his braid.
But then one of Izuku’s hands snakes up to tug sharply at Shōta’s own hair and all thoughts of being soft and gentle abruptly disappear.
Neither of them notice when Sansa twists around to snap a quick photo of them on his phone, a maniacal grin pulling at his muzzle as he texts rapidly for a few moments before he tosses his phone aside, puts the car into drive, and gets them on their way.
Sansa does, however, end up taking the long route back to the station.
And, much to Tsukauchi’s frustration, they do stop for celebratory boba.