Chapter Text
“You can’t become a hero,” All-Might told him bluntly, one sunny spring day when Midoriya Izuku was fourteen years old. “It’s dangerous enough for those who do have quirks—without one, you’d only be putting yourself in danger.” He turned away, unaware of the tears rising in Izuku’s eyes as his heart sank like a ball of lead in his chest. “My advice is to become a police officer instead. It’s not as glamorous as being a hero, but it’s necessary. You could help a lot of people that way, you know.” And then he was gone, leaving Izuku alone and numb on the empty rooftop.
Izuku went straight home and spent the following week in a fog. By the time he emerged on the other side, he was sitting in front of his school counselor as she tapped her pen impatiently, waiting for him to give her something to work with. The last time he remembered talking to her, he’d told her he wanted to go to UA, and she had sighed and told him, for the twentieth time, that maybe he ought to set his sights elsewhere.
Now, he pressed his lips together. “Criminal justice,” he said. “I want to become a police officer. Where can I go for that?” In all likelihood, UA’s Genderal Education program would have a good track for that. But if he wasn’t going to UA to become a hero, then he’d rather not go at all. It would hurt too much.
She gave him a pinched look, but did not laugh or tell him to think smaller. After weeks of him insisting on heroics, and then one more week of blank silence, she gave up the fight and finally started scribbling on forms.
And Izuku, while far from happy, could at least be reluctantly satisfied. All-Might had told him to become a police officer, and Izuku couldn’t possibly disappoint him. Who was he to say that the greatest hero in the world was wrong?
“Become a police officer.” It was advice given in good faith and, less than three years later, taken in good faith. Izuku studied for the exam, passed it with a respectably high score, and submitted a copy of his diploma and his test results with his application for police training.
Less than a week later, a polite letter arrived in the mail, expressing gratitude for his interest, and regret that they would be unable to accept his application.
The panic attack and its aftershocks had more or less subsided by the following day, at least enough for Izuku to leave his room and pull himself back into something resembling a human being. He dressed in his best clothes, wrestled his tie into something presentable for once, and paid a visit to the address listed on the application paperwork. There, receptionists ran him in circles before he finally sat down in the office of someone at a reasonable level of authority.
He would forget the man’s name as soon as he left, but he would never forget how skilled a speaker he was. It was almost impressive how easily he talked Izuku in circles, toward the exit door again and again before Izuku finally applied blunt force.
“Was I rejected because I’m quirkless?”
The man behind the desk seemed taken aback by the directness, then disappointed that politeness hadn’t forced him out the door already, then resigned.
“You seem like a bright, clever young man,” he said. “Any place of employment would be fortunate to have someone with your drive.” He folded his hands and leaned forward. “But the fact of the matter is that police work is a very physical, hazardous job.”
“I can do the work,” Izuku insisted. “I passed the exam—they said my score was in the ninety-fifth percentile—”
“Do you think criminals and villains will stop to ask you about your test scores?” the man asked him.
“No, but—”
“We are not heroes,” he went on. “But we are still officers of the law, and as such, we must still be able to keep up with them. A quirkless officer would only become a liability, one more civilian that the heroes must protect. I am sorry to be so blunt with you. I am only saying this so that I may save your life.”
Police officers aren’t authorized to use their quirks, Izuku thought. Police officers already need the protection of heroes. But he clamped his teeth around his own bitterness, bowed and thanked the man for his time, and left.
He didn’t break until that evening, while his mother was out running an errand. In the privacy of his own room he screamed and wept and hit things, tore down academic awards and study schedules and the one medal he’d won in his high school’s martial arts club. He cursed and sobbed until he was left exhausted in his ransacked bedroom, glaring tearfully up at the single remaining All-Might poster on his wall.
“They didn’t want me, either.” he hissed. The laminated smile seemed to mock him.
By the time his mother came home, his room was cleaned, his tears dried, and Izuku was on their battered old computer searching for job openings.
At the end of the day, Izuku wanted to make the world a better place. He wanted to protect people, or at least help people. And if you really thought about it, mopping floors and wiping glass and emptying trash bins was very helpful, wasn’t it? Even if he would have to move to Kiyashi Ward to do it, with all the troublesome costs that came with finding a new apartment and moving in and living on his own. At least he had work.
The ink was still wet on his employment paperwork when his mother got a call from abroad. His father was serving her divorce papers.
It was a hurried affair. Mom signed the papers, and the paychecks deposited in her bank account shrank to the alimony pittance agreed upon by the court. She could live on it—frugally.
Resentment curdled in the pit of Izuku’s stomach. He could have stayed home, helped to support her, if only he could have gotten a job in Musutafu. But hardly any of the positions he’d applied to locally had offered so much as a call back, and those that did respond were firmly in the negative. With a new apartment and living expenses, he’d have enough trouble supporting himself without worrying about his mother’s shrunken income.
It was one more bitter pill that the world was forcing down his throat, and Izuku couldn’t do anything but choke it down and carry on.
Fortune was a funny thing.
His first job out of high school was a bust; the cleaning company had been forced to downsize, and Izuku was one of the first on the chopping block. It wasn’t quite as catastrophic as it could have been, thankfully. He’d found another company close by, one that paid better since it served hospitals, among other places. His first day was just a few weeks away, and he had to make his funds last.
Today was still a busy day, even without work; he was behind on laundry, his apartment needed a thorough cleaning, and the fridge hadn’t been stocked in two weeks. He’d been living on rice, bread, and mayonnaise since last Saturday, and today was the day to finally go shopping for some real food. He already had a list with prices and a budget; if he followed it, then he could buy groceries for the rest of the month, with enough wiggle room for a treat here and there, if he was good. There might even be enough to set aside and save, eventually.
He could do this.
With these thoughts running through his head, Izuku joined a small crowd waiting at the crosswalk for the light to turn. He had his phone out, tapping aimlessly through news articles that he barely read, and hardly noticed that the crowd was growing behind him as more people joined it. The light turned, and there was a general jostling as people moved forward to cross. Izuku stumbled along among them, feeling a little like a cow in the middle of a herd.
The crowd began to disperse on the other side as people split off in different directions. With the store only a block away, Izuku reached into his pocket to check his wallet.
It wasn’t there.
There was a split second in which he felt nothing but cold, as if someone had shoved a hose into his mouth and sprayed liquid nitrogen down his throat. He stood frozen with one hand in his pocket, grasping at nothing. The crowd had almost entirely scattered, everyone leaving so quickly that Izuku couldn’t possibly choose one to pursue.
That had been his food money for the rest of this month, until he could work again and get paid. He had some left over, but no amount of frantic mental math could produce a way to make it last enough to feed himself. He would have to go hungry—or worse, ask his mother for help.
There was no warning, beyond a split second of burning behind his eyes. In the middle of the sidewalk alongside a busy street, Izuku burst into tears.
People were staring, he was sure. But Izuku was past caring, and even if he weren’t, there was no way to stop the tears or muffle his voice. So he stood there, sobbing like a child, in public, because this felt like rock bottom but he knew deep down he could always get lower.
He couldn’t do this. He should have known all along he couldn’t do this, and now he’d have to take food out of his mother’s mouth just to keep from starving. And after that—what if it happened again? Of course it would happen again, because he was a useless, quirkless idiot with stupid dreams and no one wanted him around and eventually he’d have to move back home after his mother had gone to all the trouble to help him find an apartment and pay fees out of her own pocket just to get his start.
All of it had been for nothing, because he couldn’t do this. How could he ever have thought he could do this?
“Um,” a voice said awkwardly. “Hey. Excuse me?”
Izuku jumped, choking on a sob, and hastily scrubbed the tears off his face so that he could at least see who was talking to him.
It was another kid—another young man roughly his own age. He was awkwardly avoiding Izuku’s eyes—not that Izuku blamed him for that—as he held out Izuku’s wallet.
“You, uh, dropped this. In the street. Crowd must’ve bumped you.”
Relief washed over him like warm water as Izuku almost lunged to take his wallet. A litany of garbled thank-yous was halfway out of his throat when he got a good look at the stranger and stopped in his tracks.
Izuku was a man of observation and details. He had to be, to survive this long. Navigating school life, Kacchan’s perilous attention, and the turbulent halls of his old high school had been an exercise in watching and judging. Reading someone’s intentions in their body language and facial expressions could be the difference between getting beat up and escaping with his belongings intact.
So he noticed things like the stranger’s refusal to meet his eyes, the tremors in the hand holding out his wallet, the subtle shifting of his feet that told Izuku that he wanted to leave as soon as possible.
(He noticed other things as well: the patched clothes that hung too loose on his body, the unkempt hair that needed a cut, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the dark circles under his eyes, the—)
Izuku sighed.
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice still wobbly from crying. “I know you took it. Thanks for giving it back.”
The would-be thief’s eyes flashed with alarm, and he shoved the wallet back into Izuku’s hands and ran. Izuku watched him vanish into the crowd, and kept his wallet close throughout the rest of his errand.
The following month, two weeks and one paycheck into his new job, Izuku found himself in the city again. There was a new spring in his step; things were a little less desperate now, and he had worked out his entire food budget and found enough money to splurge a little on lunch. He kept a hand on his wallet and a weather eye out, detaching himself from the crowd as best he could at the crosswalk. Let it not be said that he didn't learn from past mistakes.
It was luck, or it was the fact that Izuku was actively looking for it this time. He scanned the crowd quickly and spotted a familiar hunched form with a head of messy hair. Dark blue eyes, dull with hunger and fatigue, met his for a moment. The eyes widened, and the pickpocket backed out of the crowd and started walking away quickly.
Izuku wasn’t sure why he did it. He never had been good at minding his own business, or making sensible decisions in general, but this sort of took the cake for him.
For some reason he hurried to catch up and said, “Wait.”
And for some reason, the almost-thief listened.
Still holding onto his wallet, Izuku did a few quick mental calculations. “There’s a restaurant a few blocks down,” he said. “They make good tempura udon. Let me buy you lunch?”
The pickpocket gaped at him for far longer than was probably appropriate. Izuku twitched under his stare, suddenly wishing the sidewalk would open up and swallow him.
“Didn’t I try to rob you last month?” the pickpocket said carefully, as if he thought Izuku was slow.
“Yeah,” Izuku said, his voice high-pitched with embarrassment. “And if you want to turn down free food, be my guest, but—”
“No,” the pickpocket said quickly, and winced as if in embarrassment. “No, uh. Sure. Fine. Whatever. It’s your money.”
The walk to the restaurant was silent and awkward but thankfully quick, and to Izuku’s relief his impromptu lunch partner didn’t immediately order the most expensive thing on the menu. In fact, he waited for Izuku to order first, and then picked something a handful of yen cheaper. It was a surprisingly considerate gesture, and Izuku wondered whether he ought to thank him, before the moment of opportunity slipped by.
Izuku half hoped that their shared lunch would pass in silence until it was over, but the pickpocket only made it about five minutes before asking, “So what’s your deal?”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” said Izuku.
He rolled his eyes. “C’mon. I robbed you on the street and just barely changed my mind.”
“Well, I figured you weren’t doing it for fun,” Izuku said. “I can fit this into my budget, sort of.”
“Only sort of?”
“I’m a janitor, I just started last month and I’ve been living kind of hand to mouth lately,” Izuku said, flushing with embarrassment. “I’m not exactly rolling in cash right now.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m doing this. It just felt wrong to do nothing. You look more tired than I feel.”
He snorted. “Yeah, well. Kinda hard to get your eight hours of REM on a park bench.”
Izuku winced. “Oh.”
The silence stretched again until the food arrived—katsudon for Izuku and their basic udon bowl for his new acquaintance. The stranger tucked in with an enthusiasm that was just on the wrong side of polite, but Izuku simply pulled his bowl out of soup-spatter range and indulged in his favorite meal. Not as good as Mom’s, but still good.
Having decent food in his belly seemed to loosen up his new acquaintance a bit. “It’s not so bad,” he said, almost startling Izuku with his abruptness. “Gym owner across town owes me a favor, so he lets me stash my stuff in a locker and use the showers for free. He knows I’m not the kind of guy who shits on the locker room floor or steals stuff from customers.”
Izuku must have made some kind of face, because the young man glared at him. “I don’t,” he said forcefully. “I’m not an idiot, I’ve got a good deal with him and if I pull anything like that, I’m out on my ass. I do what I have to do to eat, but I know better than to screw people over when they’re being helpful.”
“Oh,” Izuku said. “That’s… good to know.”
“Yeah.” He smirked. “Your wallet’s safe, don’t worry.”
It was meant to be a joke, probably, but Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. “Can I ask… why’d you give it back? I mean, not that I’m not grateful! I’m just wondering… if things are as bad for you as you say, then…”
“I mean… the crying, mostly.”
“Oh.”
The would-be thief pulled a face. “I… look, I don’t want to do this, okay? If I could make money any other way, I would, but my credit’s nonexistent and I don’t have a home address or a phone, and picking pockets is safer than most of the stuff you can do for payment under the table. So I figure, if I’m gonna do this, I might as well stick to people who won’t miss it too much if it’s gone. And I dunno, you looked sort of well dressed so I went for it. But then before I could walk away, suddenly you were having a panic meltdown in the street.”
Izuku winced. “I wasn’t in the street.”
“Whatever. I figured if losing one wallet’s worth of cash was the end of the world for you, then I should probably try taking it from somebody else.”
Izuku was silent for a while, taking all of that in. “Well, thanks,” he murmured. “That cash was my whole food budget for the month, so.”
“Shit, really? And you’re still buying me lunch?”
“That was last month,” Izuku said. “I have more breathing room now, ,and I always leave some money for treats. This just means no more treats until after my next paycheck.”
The other man held his gaze briefly. Just for a split second, there was something almost open in his expression, before he went back to his half-finished food.
Izuku opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened it again.
“You know,” he said, and he wasn’t quite sure why his mouth was forming these words, but it was and his brain was too slow to stop it. “I, uh. I have a couch.”
He blinked. “Uh. Good for you?”
“It’s not much,” Izuku said, stirring his food with his chopsticks. “But it’s no park bench.”
His new acquaintance choked on his soup. “What.” His outburst turned a few heads, but thankfully no one was interested enough to keep watching.
“I’m just saying—”
“You don’t even know me. You don’t even know my name! You don’t know a damn thing about me, who I am, where I’m from—”
“Do I need to?” Izuku murmured.
This stopped the other man’s tirade short. “Do you—uh, yeah, I think you do, if you’re offering to let me sleep on your damn couch.”
Izuku sighed, hunched over his bowl as he waited for the people around them to look away again.
“Just—why would you even say that?”
It was meant to be rhetorical, Izuku knew. It was an expression of disbelief, not a question that needed an answer.
And yet…
“I wanted to be a hero, when I was a kid,” he said quietly. He was surprised at how much it still hurt to say out loud. “But hero school didn’t want me. So then I thought I’d be a cop instead. But the police academy didn’t want me either. So then I tried to find any job at all, but nobody in my whole city wanted me. So I had to come here, and move out so I wouldn’t be a drain on my mom, and take whatever crappy job I could get, and whatever garbage people throw at me when they find out I’m quirkless.”
Izuku winced as the word left his mouth, sneaking a glance at the other man just to gauge his reaction. None of the usual disdain or pity was present on his face. He looked shocked, more than anything else. Izuku wondered what he would be once the shock wore off.
“So, uh,” he went on awkwardly. “I know I’m not homeless, and I’m lucky and stuff. But I sort of know what it’s like to need help. And… you look like you need help.”
His new acquaintance stared at him for a moment more, then put down his chopsticks. He sighed, rubbing his forehead irritably as if warding off a headache.
“Fuck,” he said, muffled into his hand. “Okay. Let me back up for a sec.” He drew his fingers through his messy purple hair, pursed his lips, and said, “My name’s Shinsou.”
Izuku triple-checked his math, and… it was doable. Not exactly comfortable, but doable. His new job paid better than the last, and it was enough to cover extra food.
He spent the first week cautious and wary and walking on eggshells. This whole thing was, objectively, a bad idea: inviting a stranger into his home was bad enough, let alone one who had just stolen from him. And yes, he did give it back, but it crossed Izuku’s mind that it might have been a ploy to gain his trust. And even if the change of heart was genuine, who was to say that it wouldn’t change again?
Of course, Izuku did have one advantage: he had no valuables and next to no money in his apartment. Everything he owned of value was back at his mother's place, and he only ever withdrew cash right when he was going to use it. The most expensive things he kept were his phone and his laptop. His laptop was old and battered anyway, and he guarded his phone by keeping it on his person at all times.
They circled each other for a few weeks, both of them wary; Izuku could tell that Shinsou had similar misgivings about his own intentions. But as time passed, things settled. Shinsou slept on his couch and ate only as much of his food as he needed. As people went, he was easy to coexist with.
Eventually, leaving the apartment for a full shift stopped feeling like a gamble.
It was rare that Izuku ever encountered a patient when doing his rounds. The wing where he was usually assigned housed long-term resident patients, all of whom were taken elsewhere from their rooms when it came time for Izuku to come in. Usually mealtimes, or hours set aside for crafts and activities. Cleaning hospital rooms was a touch more labor-intensive and personal than it was in the offices; he wasn’t just mopping floors and wiping down surfaces, but disinfecting everything and changing out sheets, as well. It paid decently for a reason.
So it was a bit of a surprise when Izuku entered one of the rooms on the fourth floor and found himself face to face with the patient occupying it.
“Oh!” he said, surprised, at the exact same time as the woman sitting on the bed did the same. The sheets were neat, but not hospital-neat. This particular patient always made up her own bed, even knowing that the sheets would be changed for her. It was a nice gesture, and Izuku was finally putting a face to the name posted outside her door.
He had seen her before, not in her room but in passing. She was about his mother’s age, a little thin and sickly-looking with sunken cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. From what he had seen of her she seemed polite and unobtrusive, never smiling but not quite frowning either. It wasn’t often that she met anyone’s eyes, but in the few glimpses Izuku caught of them, they were pale gray with a constant faraway look, as if she were thinking herself into better places than a hospital.
She had a kind face. Izuku hoped she had visitors, besides clumsy janitors that forgot to knock before entering.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, horribly embarrassed. “I should have knocked—I’ll leave you alone, just a moment.” Hastily he began to back out of the room again.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m supposed to be out right now, but I wasn’t feeling well, so I came back. I hoped you’d be done.”
“Oh.” Izuku hesitated. “Do you need me to get a nurse, or a doctor, or…?”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, that won’t be necessary, thank you. I just needed to rest for a little while. Would you be all right with coming back in… twenty minutes? I’ll be out by then.”
“Oh, that’s fine!” Izuku replied. “I have other rooms to clean, so I can circle back later. Again, sorry for barging in."
“Don’t be sorry,” she replied. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look upset, either. “I’m always happy for the company. I don’t get very many visitors.”
“I… see.” Izuku buried his discomfort deep as he backed out of the room. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with what she was saying, of course. there was just something terribly sad about a woman living in a sterile white room, calling a janitor accidentally barging in “company”.
When his shift finished, Izuku tracked down his supervisor on the pretense of asking about his work schedule. As supervisors went, Okamoto was probably the least troublesome he’d ever had to deal with. She was an even-tempered woman who didn’t go out of her way to condescend to him, and she wasn’t above indulging in a bit of gossip. If anyone was safe to probe for information through small talk, it was her.
Her eyebrows jumped when he brought up the woman in Room 419, and she gave a quick glance around as if to make sure no one was listening in. “I’m kind of surprised you’re asking me this, Midoriya,” she said. “Tanigawa’s got the same shift as you, and she says you never shut up about heroes.”
“What does that have to do with her?”
“Didn’t you read her name plate?” Okamoto asked.
“What, Todoroki Rei?” Realization clicked into place. It wasn't an uncommon surname, but... “Wait. Todoroki—you mean she’s related to Endeavor? As in, the number one, Flame Hero Endeavor?”
“Not related,” Okamoto said with a glint in her eye. “Married. She’s his wife.”
“Endeavor’s wife?” Izuku struggled to control the volume of his voice. “Why hasn’t it been in the news? I mean, not that heroes and their families don’t deserve privacy, but… the top hero’s wife… if she’s sick enough to be hospitalized, I would’ve thought the news would at least mention it.”
“She’s not that kind of sick,” Okamoto said, keeping her voice down. “She’s a long-term psychiatric patient.”
Izuku’s jaw dropped. “What? Why? How did she—?”
Okamoto shrugged. “Nobody knows. At least I don’t, she’s been here longer than I have. Apparently he checked her in almost fifteen years ago and hasn’t been back since. I think a couple of her kids come by once in a while. Hardly anybody knows she’s here, and nobody outside her immediate family is allowed to visit.”
“That’s horrible,” Izuku said softly. “For the wife of a hero… of the top hero…”
“Must be a tough life,” Okamoto said. “Lots of pressure, lots of attention. Maybe she snapped somewhere down the line. Heroes are public figures, you know? If that's what happened, I’m not surprised Endeavor never let it reach the media.”
“That…” The words stick in Izuku’s throat. “That doesn’t sound very heroic. Just… abandoning your wife in some hospital.”
She shrugged again, looking a little uncomfortable. “I figure he has his reasons. And this place isn’t so bad—she’s got a better deal than Mad Bertha in the attic, you know?”
“Excuse me!” A sharp voice cut into the conversation before Izuku could think of a reply. One of the nurses stood at the nearest bend in the hallway, glaring at them. “I’m sure neither of you are paid to stand around and gossip like hens.”
“Midoriya’s off shift, Raichi-san,” Okamoto informed her. “So technically he’s not being paid at all, right now.”
The nurse’s eyes narrowed. “Then he has no reason to be here any longer, does he?”
Izuku pursed his lips and left without argument to gather his things and head home. One nurse’s annoyance meant little to him; the people in his life who were irritated with him considerably outnumbered those that weren’t. But the worry and discomfort that had started swimming in his belly after his brief encounter with Todoroki Rei had only gotten worse. He wondered at Okamoto’s casual tone and only mild discomfort with what she was talking about.
But… she had a point, didn’t she? Endeavor was the top hero in all of Japan. He saved thousands of lives. He protected people, and to think that wouldn’t extend to his own family was absurd. He must have his reasons.
Exactly, Izuku thought as he rode the train home. He was the top hero, after all. A man like that ended up belonging to the world, the way All-Might had. Maybe that was something Endeavor himself regretted, never getting to visit his sick wife.
Except…
Fifteen years, Okamoto had said. Endeavor had only been number one for a little over a year.
He got home lost in thought, barely noticing at first that Shinsou was nowhere to be seen. His strange roommate's bedding was folded up on the couch, his small bag of belongings still stashed at the foot of it, but Shinsou himself was gone. The only thing out of place was on the kitchen table: a newspaper cut to shreds and a few neat piles of coupons. An uncomfortable smile crossed Izuku’s face when he saw them. The last time he’d let Shinsou tag along for grocery shopping, Shinsou had brought similar stacks with them, and proceeded to earn the cashier’s hatred until the end result was three bags of groceries while the store, somehow, owed them five hundred yen.
He wondered vaguely if extreme couponing was a quirk.
After a few minutes of puttering in the kitchen, Izuku sat down with a ready-made dinner and browsed his phone for news. Musutafu was quiet, thank goodness. Edgeshot and his team stopped a robbery in a high-profile bank in Tokyo. The Wild Wild Pussycats responded to a landslide in the mountains that buried half a town, with no casualties in the end. There was Battle Fist taking down a gang of villains single-handed, Chargebolt and Cellophane saving a residential block from some villain’s battle robots, Froppy paying a surprise visit to the children’s ward in Hosu General, Uravity and Nejire-chan doing a joint interview together…
Izuku kept scrolling until he found an article on Endeavor, which didn’t take long. The Flame Hero was in Shikoku, rooting out some villain mastermind responsible for a series of attacks on government buildings. He thought back to his wife, sitting alone in her hospital room, and his heart gave another painful twist. He wondered if the Flame Hero ever thought of his wife when he was away.
He was washing dishes an hour later when the door opened, and a tired-looking Shinsou came yawning into the kitchen.
“Hey, Shinsou,” Izuku greeted, eyeing him curiously. “Did something happen?”
Shinsou grunted and went about fixing himself a bowl of instant miso soup.
“Go anywhere interesting?” Izuku asked, hoping he didn’t sound too nosy.
“Gas station,” was the reply.
“Oh.” Izuku paused. “Were you… at the gas station this whole time?”
“Yep.”
“...What for?”
“Cashiering.”
It took Izuku a moment to realize what he meant, and to spot the nametag pinned to his shirt. “Oh. ...Oh! You got a job?”
“Yup. Only place that doesn’t harp about… stuff.” Shinsou leaned against the counter. “Figured I’d earn my keep. Now that I can.” At Izuku’s confused look, he added, “You’d be surprised how many doors open up once you have an address to put on job apps. So… thanks.”
“No problem,” Izuku replied, his spirits lifting. “I’m glad I could help.”
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”’
“Not much, I just had something to eat and read the news.” Izuku grinned. “UA’s Trouble Class are all licensed heroes now. It’s been interesting.”
Shinsou paused, one hand on the saucepan handle. “You follow the Trouble Class? What am I talking about, of course you follow the Trouble Class.”
“It was bound to happen. One of my childhood friends was in that class.”
“Shut up, no they weren’t.” Shinsou gaped at him. “Seriously? Which one?”
Izuku hesitated for a moment. “Cluster Bomb,” he admitted. “I know, I know, he was only in that class for a year and a half. But All-Might was one of their teachers, and after they got attacked on that school trip, at the start of their first year? I was hooked.”
“I can’t believe a guy like you knows Cluster Bomb,” Shinsou mused. “I can’t believe a guy like you is friends with Cluster Bomb.”
Izuku turned off the sink and went to dry his hands. “I haven’t talked to him since before high school started. We’re not really friends, anymore.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
“Not really. He was a pretty crap friend, actually.”
Shinsou barked out a soft laugh.
“I had some favorites though,” Izuku went on. “In the Trouble Class. I liked Uravity a lot. And Red Riot, I loved how Red Riot talked about power and quirks and manly spirit and stuff. I liked Comet Tail, especially after he really started using his fire and ice together. Froppy,” he added, remembering the article he’d seen. “Froppy was so awesome back then.”
“Just back then?” Shinsou asked.
“Well, no, she’s still cool, just—I don’t know. It’s weird to think about.”
“What is?”
“I saw an article about her today,” Izuku said. “It wasn’t about a fight, or a rescue. It was about her visiting a children’s hospital. And that’s great! Don’t get me wrong, I love when heroes do stuff like that. But…” He pursed his lips. “Did you ever follow the Trouble Class?”
“A... little bit,” Shinsou replied hesitantly. “I remember Froppy. Why?”
“She dominated her second Sports Festival, and she barely missed the podium in her third,” Izuku said. “She got interviewed a couple of times, and she was just… so tough, and confident, and sure of herself. She’s an amazing fighter, but now it’s like the only time the news talks about her is in fluff pieces. Or that one time she helped save those shipwrecked cruise line passengers, and the news only mentioned her playing clapping games with kids to keep their spirits up.” He sighed, frustrated. “She’s a good hero, but the news only ever talks about her being cute. I don’t know how she feels about it, but it feels like it should be insulting.”
Shinsou turned off the stove and poured his heated soup into a bowl. “Damn. You really are invested, aren’t you?”
“Yeah…” Izuku stared at a point in the distance, chewing at the corner of his lip. “It’s just… they were my age. And sometimes I couldn’t help but feel like I could’ve been one of them, if only… if I’d just…” He let the thought trail off there. “Sorry. I’m probably not making any sense.”
From across the kitchen, Shinsou stared at him, frowning as if in thought. “You are,” he said. “It makes a lot of sense.”
“I guess everybody dreams about being a hero at some point,” Izuku said, with a forced laugh.
“Yeah,” Shinsou answered, laughing along. “You got that right.”
"It was just dead in the water, for me," Izuku said. "Because I didn't have the one thing... I mean, I've never felt like I needed a quirk? Just to... to live. To exist. But everybody else disagrees. It's like if I'd just had a quirk, they would've given me a chance. Any quirk at all."
Shinsou didn't answer, and the conversation petered out to silence.
At the end of his shift, Izuku put his supplies away but kept his uniform and nametag on. The last thing he wanted was his cart slowing him down, but he saw the way people looked at his uniform and let their attention slide off of him, slick as oil. No one paid attention to the cleaning staff, and that was an advantage that Izuku felt no guilt for using.
Sure enough, the other passengers on the elevator politely ignored him, moving aside to let him off whether they were visitors or hospital employees. Izuku wove between them almost effortlessly, until he found himself in the quiet hallway outside Todoroki Rei’s room. Steadying his nerves, he knocked.
There was a pause, and then a cautious, “Come in.”
Izuku opened the door slowly and stepped through. “Hello, Todoroki-san, I hope I’m not… intruding…?”
It was purely by chance, that Izuku happened to be looking in the right direction to see the woman’s face as he stepped into her room. Had he looked anywhere else, had he taken more than a split second to find her face, he wouldn’t have seen the way she watched the door with fear in her eyes. She blinked and it was gone, replaced by surprise, but the tight line of her shoulders did not loosen.
There was no mistaking it; she’d been afraid until she saw who he was.
“Oh,” she said, confused and wary. “It’s you again. Did you need something?”
Izuku opened his mouth to reply, and realized in that moment that he had no idea how. He hadn’t thought of what he’d say to her. He hadn’t thought anything past “She looks lonely, maybe I should visit her.”
He felt a little foolish now. This woman didn’t know him. He didn’t know her either, beyond Okamoto’s gossip, and the worst way to get to know someone was to learn the rumors about them.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said. “But you said before that you don’t get many visitors, so I thought I’d… visit. Once my shift was over.” The woman blinked, and he pushed forward clumsily. “I mean! If you want. I don’t want to force you to—if you’d like me to leave, just ask, and I’ll leave you alone. I’m so sorry, this must be so inappropriate, I didn’t mean—” His words trailed off into stammering, and then stopped entirely.
He noticed, then, that her tense shoulders had loosened. She hadn’t completely relaxed, but she looked more curious than wary.
“It’s all right,” she said, studying him. “As long as it won’t get you in trouble.”
“I think I’ll be fine,” he said. “Oh! Sorry, I forgot. I’m Midoriya Izuku. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Todoroki-san.”
Just for a moment, another spark of wariness flashed in her eyes. “You as well,” she said after a moment. “I’m sorry, this is just—terribly awkward.”
“No, that’s my fault, I kind of… jumped into this,” Izuku admitted. “I do that sometimes, making decisions without thinking. It’s just, I know a little about what it’s like to be lonely. And how much it can help sometimes, to have people to talk to.” He swallowed his nervousness. “I like to be helpful.”
For the first time, her face softened. “I see. That’s very kind of you.” She glanced to the lone chair in her room. “Would you like to sit?”
“Oh! Yes, thank you.” Encouraged, Izuku pulled the chair up and sat down.
“If it comforts you, I’m not entirely alone,” she said. “My son and daughter visit from time to time, when they can. But all my children are grown now. They’re all very busy.” She paused. “My youngest sends letters, sometimes.”
Her youngest—Endeavor’s youngest son and the only one of his children to follow him into heroics. Todoroki Shouto, the ace of UA’s Trouble Class, now the pro hero Comet Tail.
“That’s good,” Izuku said. “I’m going to visit my own mother soon. I try to see her whenever I can, now that I’m out of the house. She’d worry, otherwise.”
Something about the woman’s bearing softened. “All good mothers worry for their children,” she said. “Tell me about yourself, Midoriya-san. Do you often stop to talk to lonely people out of the goodness of your heart?”
Embarrassment made his ears warm. “Sometimes, if it’s needed,” he said. “Like I said, I like to be helpful.”
“Well, I suppose your in a good line of work for it,” she said, a little awkwardly as if she only realized that it was unkind as she was saying it. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right.” Izuku laughed a little. “It’s not where I would’ve seen myself. And it’s not—it wasn’t my first choice. But I’m making the best of it.”
He couldn’t tell if it was the right or the wrong thing to say. The lingering dregs of tense wariness finally drained away, but she looked sad.
“Yes,” she said. “I suppose we can’t always choose the hands we’re dealt.”
“Is there something you’re passionate about, Todoroki-san?” Izuku asked.
“I used to study history,” she answered, and a wistful look crossed her face. “I was in school for it, when I was young. I’d go back and finish my degree, if I could. I wanted to study abroad, see the world, but… well… things don’t always turn out the way we expect. Or the way we want.”
It felt so familiar that Izuku could feel his own words bursting at the back of his throat. I wanted to be a hero, his mind screamed. I wanted to save people with a smile—
But.
Okamoto was right about one thing. Heroes were public figures, and their families often bore some of the weight of that attention. If Todoroki Rei wanted to talk about the heroes in her family then he would let her, but he wouldn’t steer the conversation in that direction otherwise. Not when she was starting to look more at ease.
“I… went to a high school with a focus on justice and law,” Izuku said, settling for half-truths. “I was going to become a police officer. I took the exam and everything. But when I tried to apply for training, they, ah. It didn’t work out.” He swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. It may not have been his first choice, nor what he truly wanted, but the rejection had hurt. Even now, it still hurt. “Looking back, I could’ve gone into quirk science, if I’d thought ahead. I’ve always been interested in quirks.” Todoroki went strangely still for a moment, and Izuku was afraid he’d wandered into an uncomfortable topic. “It’s because I don’t have one,” he said, and she sat up straighter in surprise. “The world revolves around them now, but I was born without one. They’ve always fascinated me.”
“I… see.” She was looking at him differently now, as if she was seeing him in a new light. Izuku only hoped that it was a good one. “It’s a worthy field of study, I suppose.”
Izuku wondered if he would have been turned away from that, as well, if some professor or dean would have told him that he couldn’t possibly understand quirks if he didn’t have one himself.
“I had… some choices,” he said. “But here’s where I ended up, for better or worse.”
“I suppose it’s selfish of me to say,” she replied. “But if things had turned out differently, then I wouldn’t be sitting here now, having a nice conversation with a very kind young man.” Izuku grinned. “I do mean that, Midoriya-san. Thank you.”
When Izuku finally said his goodbyes, with a promise to visit again soon, it occurred to him that Todoroki had not smiled once since he walked in. But as he left, there was no trace of the tension and wariness, nor the strange split-second fear he’d seen when he first walked in. She still looked thin and tired and sickly, but she also looked at ease, and perhaps he could settle for that.
The next time he visited Todoroki Rei, he brought cookies.