Chapter Text
Nulla.
There is a folder. And it is on Midoriya’s coffee table.
He sets down a paper cup of steaming coffee along with his keys on the wood adjacent from it. He takes a minute to stare at the manilla in silent contempt.
It’s funny in a way. He lives in a penthouse 40 stories up, with cameras peppering his premises in a 24 hour vigil. There were no blind spots within the small corridors that make up the building, because even though Midoriya was not a particularly paranoid individual, Nezu was. And Nezu was the very one who recommended this complex to him, “for more reasons than the proximity to the school”.
Of course, these extra “reasons” did not help the case that the folder was real and present and on the wood grain of his table. Intentionally misaligned with the edge, skewed in such a way that wouldn’t be visible if you squinted.
The folder was tangible, and it was currently on his table.
His first instinct is to take a picture, which he does, and his second is to call the cops. The third would be to open it, and between calling and waiting for detectives to arrive and explaining the situation, and sliding his fingers between the papers, he knew which one would cure his curiosity faster.
So, likewise, beside his better judgement, he opens the folder casually, like it’s a morning newspaper. He scans it with the regards one would give to paperwork: uninterested and half focused.
Inside is pages worth of printed text
and between these lines, he realizes, are memories.
His memories.
Written in a book-like fashion in detail he wouldn’t be able to describe to anyone. Things he’s nearly forgotten are brought back to him. Kind summer days, bogs, bugs, and Bakugou.
What scared him more than anything, though, was the following 332 pages.
Written with small lettering. Generic font. And spite.
“Every detail is correct.” Midoriya slaps the folder onto the desk space in front of Detective Tsukauchi, who is tugging at his eyebags and looking at a paper in front of him through reading glasses that Midoriya still hasn’t gotten used to seeing him with. Midoriya shucks his jacket and drapes it over his chair, before pulling it out and settling into it.
The edge to his voice is obviously not lost to the detective, but at least he has the respect to not blatantly mention it.
Tsukauchi looks at Midoriya through the gap above his glasses, and raises an eyebrow. He takes up the folder, but does not open it. Holding his stare. “What is this about?”
“Memories, Tsukauchi. that is every memory I have from my fifth year of life, jott down in excruciating detail.”
The detective leans forward in his chair, setting down the papers and interweaving his fingers.
“And I didn't write it.”
I.
The meeting with Detective Tsukauchi didn’t go anywhere, but if he were to paraphrase the general details, he would say something like this:
“We can check the security cameras of your building and keep a lookout, but there’s not much else we can do due to the lack of information or an immediate threat.”
Which is fine, because Midoriya sort of expected how this sort of situation was handled. It was creepy, sure. and intimate, fine. But, addressing it at face value, there was no threat other than any one he could imagine laid sandwiched between the lines of the act. For all he knew, this could be a crazy fan, or someone with a strange sense of humor.
Still…Rubbing elbows with the top 50 hero ranks and their subsequent rankers tended to attract all sorts of bad apples. He would not be surprised if this was a threat that wasn’t fully spun quite yet. A trap still in the process of being set.
Of course this train of thought eluded to no theories regarding how the knowledge of his intimate experiences fell into the hands of a complete stranger, and neither did it address that he handed that all to the cops to read through. The fact it was a necessary evil did nothing to quiet the
uncomfortable swell in his guts that he felt, knowing his life was rooted through like some old bookshelf. And in all honesty, he worried the author might continue with sequels to the story
It had to be a quirk, but what? There were few rules regarding quirks, but the ability to sift through memories from years ago? Not only jotting down the visuals of his experience, but what he felt when it was playing out as well?
It made no sense.
To have such an impossible quirk, there would have to be impossible consequences, right? Where would someone even begin when hypothesizing the drawbacks?
He grabs his leather work bag from the backseat of his car as it pulls into his UA parking spot, because after everything, it is a workday.
Or, was. Now the exciting part is long over, and he’s headed back to the school in order to straighten out some things with the grade book, and hammering out the final few cruxes in his lesson plans for the next week. Unfortunately this meant that after his brief meeting with Tsukauchi, he had to drop by his apartment to gather a few notes he made on what to fix. This made it rather late in the afternoon by the time he arrived at the school.
Actually, the sun would be setting in no later than 45.
Midoriya ran his fingers through a knot in his hair as he walked through the old and familiar hallways of the school. He knows he is one of the few people left on campus now, somewhere between a handful of teachers and even fewer students working overtime. The school was barren.
This is actually to say the clack of his own shoes begins to bother him, in a way. Because these walls look off, and the chatter of the students seems awfully dull, and there is—
“Young Midoriya!”
He swivels too fast, catching the sight of All Might coming out a door. Midoriya smiles, and returns the wave All Might is giving him.
“Hey, you’re still here?” Midoriya asks, like the question at a base level isn’t completely stupid. like little phrases like that weren’t different questions wrapped in a less-invasive bubble wrap of social convention.
“Yeah, I had to do some billing.” All Might points over his shoulder with his thumb, to a room Midoriya only now recognizes Now that he’s got a look-in. ”I heard you ran from campus as quickly as you could. Anything happen?”
All Might begins to walk in the direction of Midoriya’s classroom, which Midoriya realizes a moment too late.
Oh. He’s walking with me.
Right, before he trips over his own tongue. He has to mention he did not run, and that was an over exaggeration by All Might. Maybe he packed up quickly. Maybe he answered goodbyes with terse ‘see you tomorrow’ ‘s. But he did not run. Precisely because it was not a big deal. This? It was not a big deal. Just something odd. Something that would be a closed case in a couple of days.
”Yeah. An interesting case I can’t seem to wrap my mind around. Either way it will probably be straightened out by the end of the week.” Midoriya waved it off with more confidence than he felt. Too sure that the security cameras would have caught something, or the detectives would notice some strange detail and it would all unravel. “Crazy fan or crazy enemy.”
Still, his brain entertained the idea…
The intricacy of the quirk used to peer into his life meant it was very much unlikely to be anything more, which also implied the entrance into his apartment was either with advanced tech or with the assistance of another individual's warping quirk. Because of this, he wouldn’t be surprised if this was a multi-person job. Villains where their plans were as well carried out as this instance? It’s hard not to notice the pattern of them having henchmen. Which meant it wasn’t a spur of the moment prank.
No. The more he looks at it, the more he’s sure. This was planned.
“Sounds difficult.” All Might says, but he doesn’t pry further; Midoriya concludes he must’ve heard the cadence to his voice and knew there was little he could do to help, nor was there much he could do to pry the information out.
And as much as the lack of pressure to spill stung, he felt a strange sense of pride in that longing.
Because, well. It was different now. And All Might knew Midoriya wasn’t some middle school kid anymore. He was a real hero. And sure, Midoriya would go to All Might for advice sometimes, but he had enough experience under his belt to not need his assistance in everything. He’s dealt with obsessed and strange fans before. And really, why concern All Might with these trivial things when he knew he could handle it?
Not to mention, things like this happened on a biweekly basis. there was no need to sweat it.
He stops on the linoleum tile in front of his classroom, smiling at All Might. Trying to shrug the tension off while still keeping himself on edge.
“Thanks for walking with me.” Midoriya says simply, reaching for the door handle. Like their ‘chat’ didn’t merely consist of shoes on tile and an itchy silence.
All Might nods and waves, he says something that Midoriya doesn’t catch. Midoriya attempts to open his door, which is locked, because of course it is. He makes a show of fumbling with his keys that he is glad no one is there to witness, and breaches the wall of his classroom in the most socially acceptable way.
II.
Bakugou is sitting on his desk. This is to say, in his way, and in his mind immediately. He has 75% the sense to get pissed, and the rest to sag in relief. Of course, his mind wins over his nature this time, and he shuts the door with a crisp slam.
“The door was locked.” He grits out to a Bakugou who is already wickedly grinning towards his general direction. Stripped of his hero suit in favor of a white one-size-too-small shirt and jeans. Midoriya wonders if this choice is predisposed, but refrains from considering it further. “And the papers you are sitting on are important.”
Bakugou, with an air of nonchalant venom respectfully slides off the desk. “What’s got your boxers in a-“
“Not now. I seriously need to get work done.” Midoriya hisses, like he doesn’t like the act of being pried open. Something he knows Bakugou will do, the curious bastard.
Bakugou hums as Midoriya breezes past him to put his briefcase on his desk, and begins organizing the papers he left out in a hurry. He feels Bakugou watch him, and sees him shift on his feet in his peripheral.
“This used to be much more fun when you’d freak.” Bakugou rests his hand on the edge of his desk, eyeing Midoriya as he sits down heavily in his chair. Bakugou begins to lean against the spare space he’s found. Pressing the outside of his thigh into the hard edge.
Midoriya knew what he was really asking. Hm. Less-invasive conversational bubble wrap.
Midoriya scoots closer to the desk, his hand becoming entrapped within his hair as he holds his forehead. Unknowingly palming the fading scar. A spontaneous visit from Bakugou like this was a savory, yet seldom pleasure. He would not frequently go out of his way. Find a gap in schedule.
He wanted something, and Midoriya couldn’t help but selfishly wonder if that request included him.
He eyes Bakugou, who was impassively looking down at him in a near scrutinizing way. Eyes red. They would be scary to Midoriya if he wasn’t who he was.
Like spilled wine. Bakugou’s reddened expression cued nothing but remorse.
Midoriya concludes that this meeting is not one of frolicking.
Something has happened.
”yeah, I know the far left window is broken..” a throat clear “..now.” Midoriya says as he leans back, playing the game. Fiddling with a pen. His gut churns with disappointment as much as it feels the weight of unreported words.
“There’s a new villain. A big one.” Bakugou scoffs. Cutting straight to the chase. This does nothing to lighten Midoriya’s worry. “Churning up cases we can’t solve.”
He’s suddenly aware of the thing he’s had yet to mention. Pressing against his eyelids like a bulging, pulsating migraine. But he does not speak. He forces Bakugou to fill that silence.
“I need you.” He says, and in any other context his tone would be considered lustful. But, in this one, Midoriya frowns.
“No you don’t. All of your sidekicks who manage to pass your stupid tests carry more brute strength than I could ever hope to achieve.“ Midoriya says this into his palm, staring intensely at the rows of desks. Brows furrowed in thought.
If Midoriya looked, he would see Bakugou shamelessly look hurt. Because he did that now. And that utterly unsettled Midoriya for more reasons than one. So he kept his eyes trained on nothing at all.
“I caught you at a bad time.” Bakugou states, inching away just a little.
“No, Kacchan.“ Midoriya dismisses. The stupid nickname slipping from his lips as easily as it always has. “You just don’t need me like you think you do.”
“We never do anything together.” Bakugou argues, and Midoriya feels the cold satisfaction of being yearned for, before it’s quickly replaced by staggering guilt.
“So you purposely fail your duties in order to make an excuse to call for backup?”
“Izuku it’s not like that. I’m serious.”
Midoriya levels him with a glare. Despite the current position of Bakugou standing over him, Midoriya feels Bakugou underneath his heel.
Whatever happened that morning escapes him as his mind automatically prioritizes the mess in front of him, as it always has. He swivels in his chair to face Bakugou, taking him in to a normal degree. He sees the stress in his shoulders and the darkening of his lower eye. He is not blind to these things, but rather, confident the other should be able to handle them.
But, of course, he is not able to. That is why Bakugou must've caved in seeing Midoriya. For better or for worse, unable to keep himself away.
So, just as it always was, then. Bakugou wanted something to a surface degree, just to give himself an excuse to touch Midoriya. To be able to write off their relapses into old-new habits as one-offs, knowing neither really considered them that way. Like alcohol, and evenings Midoriya could never quite remember the full extent of the pleasure that occurred, but still tried nonetheless to recall it.
Forbidden things that weren’t much of ‘forbidden’ at all, like food and sleep and self care.
Like asking your best friend for help on a miniscule problem, when you have an army of sidekicks at your disposal.
Okay. Midoriya kind of got it. Redness began to spill onto his neck with a heat that always led to no-good.
“You could always just ask me if I want to go get coffee.” Midoriya manages, voice quiet.
“You know you can’t deal with the press.” Bakugou leans down and in, and he is smiling again. Their faces are more than a foot away, but Midoriya cannot help but feel antsy at this supposed closeness. Intensified by the fact that for most of the year, they are halfway across Japan away from one another. Small glimpses like this? Midoriya cannot help but read too much into them.
And it is in this glance that Bakugou knows he’s won. Midoriya knows he’s showing it somewhere, somewhere Bakugou is keen to notice, because he leans back and detaches from the desk. Tracing the edge with two fingers as he pulls away. Intentionally.
“I’ll message you with details.” Is all Bakugou says, as he wiggles open that window. As he leaves Midoriya with a frustrating ember that overtakes his face and abdomen.
As Bakugou unknowingly leaves Midoriya with more problems that he can possibly juggle.