Chapter Text
Downtown Musutafu is one of my favorite places in the world. Only second to Tokyo and, for work purposes, behind Hokkaido.
Between the sprawling park in the city center and the quaint shopping district, it has everything I could need or want. Honestly, some could say it has… too much.
Exhibit A, in support of that belief, is standing a meter to my right. If I didn’t have a clear view of him in my periphery, my first thought would be that this dude is riding my ass and not even offering to buy me dinner first.
He’s loud, obnoxious, and always on the scene when I get there. At all times, he’s within reach; because, when he starts the fires… I get called to put them out.
Working in a field that has absolutely nothing to do with your quirk isn’t abnormal anymore. Water quirks like mine are a dime a dozen, and I’m lucky enough to be gainfully employed. While every day at the ‘office’ isn’t ideal, I can’t complain too much when I spend all day doing something I both love and am naturally inclined towards.
The occasions when I do complain, it’s because of one person doing one specific thing.
“I think you’re a fucking pyro, and being a pro hero gives you easy access to set shit ablaze,” I growl at the red-eyed menace standing beside me. Letting out a huff, I watch the hair in front of my eyes rise and fall back down.
One downside of having a quirk called “Fire Extinguisher” is that my hands aren’t free when I’m working—ever. My arms and hands act like spouts turned on high, similar to Backdraft, but with less raw power. The water comes from slits in my hands and fingers that open and close with pressure.
Trying to fix the unruly hair on top of my head while also using my quirk is a mistake I only made once. It doesn’t matter that I was only seven; some lessons don’t need to be learned often, only hard and with a face full of water.
Grumbling out something that sounds similar to “always doing these loose-ass ponytails,” Bakugo shuffles closer and reaches out toward me.
“No, no. NO! Explosion Murder, whatever your name is, don’t you dare touch my—”
I’m too slow getting the words out, or he’s too quick grabbing the back of my head. Either way, before I can finish the objection, he’s tugging the mass of tangles into submission. With a surprisingly firm grip, I’m impressed the hold he has is tight, but not aggressive or painful.
I feel the small tug as my current hair tie is wiggled free from the frizzy curls that develop from the back-spray of water. This feels easier than normal; after most shifts, I spend at least five minutes jumping up and down doing a wiggle dance to free all the tangled hairs from the band.
“Hold fucking still—damnit. One more wrap… there we go. Looks so much better than befor—fuck! Don’t kick me, asshole.”
Turning my attention back to the burning building that, surprise-surprise, Bakugo came into contact with, I try hiding the smile tickling the corners of my mouth. “Don’t say dumb stuff you know is going to get you kicked, then.”
Either he’s decided to exhibit some self-control and not rise to chomp on the bait, or I’ve made a point, because all I get in response is a scoff and a toe scuff on the concrete.
The flames are under control for the most part, and the building is completely evacuated, but the radiating heat still feels scorching.
Long ago I gave up looking good on the job, now opting for a hood that stays wrapped around my neck until the flames get unbearable and a face slathered in heat protectant balm that’s specially formulated not to clog the output points on my hands.
Another day as a firefighter in what seems to be the most disaster-prone city I’ve ever heard of. As much as I love to rag on Bakugo, this instance really wasn’t his fault. A little commercial building fire is preferred to a villain trying to bring the city to its knees with lightning strikes.
To be clear, I would never tell a soul that I don’t think Dynamight is in the wrong; if he ever knew I felt this way, I’d never hear the end of it.
The two of us aren’t friends, and calling us colleagues isn’t exactly true either. I show up to put out fires that inevitably start when he’s around, but our “relationship” ends there.
High school was a decade ago, and UA heroes saturate the market, keeping to themselves and not going out of their way to socialize with those of us who work on the fringes of agency politics.
Personally, I understand why heroes tend to stick together. What they went through during the war must’ve been damaging in ways the average person can’t understand.
Stigmas haven’t helped them either; they went from risking their lives to repairing their reputations. Endeavor did long-lasting damage to the hearts and minds of civilian citizens.
That is one of the small reasons I decided to forgo the traditional hero route. Technically I have my license—as required by the country to work using my quirk in this capacity—but I took it at the same time I was completing my search and rescue training with the department.
Growing up, my household was staunchly anti-hero.
My mom came from a small village, and my dad an even smaller one. Both of them had quirks that helped maintain our family farm. Mom keeping the crops well-watered, and dad using his earth-based quirk to rotate and till the soil.
Neither of them had any desire to leave the village, but my brother and I always wanted greater things. I see quirks as a gift; they should be used to help others, not be kept locked away. These beliefs developed when I was eleven years old and our neighbor's house caught fire in a storm.
Running out of the house between claps of thunder and gusts of wind, my brother and I raced down the gravel-packed lane to do what we could to help. My water quirk, combined with my brother’s “dirt tornado” quirk, were enough to smother the fire, but neither of us had any power in helping to restore what was already lost.
We chose that day to seek out careers that helped others. My brother is Pro Hero Dust Twister—no matter how hard I tried to convince him Dust Bunny was a better name, he wouldn’t go for it.
“You look stupid when you’re trying to think,” breaks me out of my memory loop, and I remember why this man is the bane of my existence.
A loud sigh escapes my pursed lips. Unfortunately, any reaction is a good reaction to Bakugo. Over the past seven years of working around each other, I’ve learned that the best way to get under his skin is to not react. Today is not my day, however, and his gun has been loaded with ammunition.
Like a dog with a bone, Bakugo zeroes in. “Must’ve been thinking about something really important there. Kicking puppies or murdering honey bees—”
A scandalized gasp leaves my mouth. I wear my “Save the Bees” headband at least once a week and he knows that. “Fuck you. No, seriously. Fuck you. I was thinking about my family, not committing atrocities that’ll doom our planet.” Looking pointedly at him and then turning my head to look at the waning flames, I hope he gets the message.
“I didn’t do it on purpose!” he grumbles, arms rising in exasperation. “Fuck's sake, Acqua.”
I’m saved from responding when a call comes over the radio from my supervisor: “All clear, Acqua. Got another call for the other side of town. Report to the van.”
Clearing my throat and deactivating my quirk, I respond with a quick, “Understood, reporting now.”
Pulling a napkin from my pocket, I wipe the balm from my face, knowing I’ll be short on time to reapply in transit. Turning to face Bakugo, we make awkward eye contact but don’t speak words out loud. Some things don’t exist in the perimeters of our relationship, and gentle goodbyes are one of those things.
Giving a half-hearted salute, I take off toward the truck. Another day, another fire to put out.
What I wouldn’t do for a tall drink of water.