Chapter Text
._._. Izuku’s POV – Tokyo General after the Noumu Attack ._._.
Like clockwork, he returns to the same dream he has experienced since the Sports Festival. He is not startled by it anymore. It is almost calming in the beginning.
Izuku stands atop an endless body of water. The water mirrors him eerily well, his reflection stretching out from where his toes meet the surface. Only ripples flaw the copied form. A vast, bright sky stretches above him and kisses the water at the furthest Izuku can see. A couple of fluffy clouds reflect upon the water, gradually crawling along their path.
And as soon as Izuku feels himself relax, his shoulders slip and his breath comes easier, the sky darkens to night. If he tilts his head back, stars litter the sky in different colors, sizes, and brightness. They twinkle. They shoot and curve across the sky. They erupt and birth anew in the night. If he tilts his head forward, he sees only himself somehow illuminated in the dark water; the bright lights vanished.
His reflection wavers as the water undulates. It is not easy to continuously stand still. His body gets too twitchy.
He has knelt down and touched the water before; he has attempted to push his hand through. And yet, his reflection pushes back at the same force, refusing his entry in the unknown. Sometimes, he just sits and stares at the night sky. If he stares at the dark water for too long, a fear begins to creep into the back of his mind. He knows he cannot fall through, but the fear tells him something might fight its way out. So, he will keep his head turned towards the show of lights.
Nevertheless, he knows pretty stars or splashing water is not why he keeps having this dream. They will show up, and he will question his sanity again.
Like stars descending from the sky, seven lights surround his reflection in the water and disturb the surface. The eighth light always phases in slowly, hovering in a haze as if it is not meant to be there yet. The lights huddle around his figure like wandering whisps from a campfire, staring at him. Trying to tell him something. But the words never form.
A bright light blinds him.
Izuku jerks backwards, falling onto his butt as he roughly rubs at his scalded eyes. Black dots dance in his vision as if to dab up the white, slowly clearing his vision. He squints and risks looking back at the glowing water.
“What?” he mouths in confusion. Never has Izuku tried to talk in this dream, but even his words come out soundless.
The brightness was not from a singular entity, but from eight additional lights, dimming and forming silhouettes on the other side of the water. The sheer force of their presence knocks away the rounded lights that surrounded Izuku. But, like magnets, the glowing silhouettes absorb his lights, the similar colors coexisting in the same space together. They crowd him—
No. Not him.
He gawks.
It is Izuku’s reflection staring back at him. They have the same color of hair, the same curliness to it. They have the same freckles that form diamonds on each cheek. The same roundness to his face.
But…
His hair is long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail. Wilder too. A long scar curls around his cheek and disappears under his chin. And his eyes… He knows his own face, his own facial expressions.
Desperation and loss have never been burned into his eyes like this before.
Izuku would say that he looks older, aged, but the words do not fully capture this version of him. It is not enough. He…
He looks weathered. Eroded.
For a moment, they stare at each other, unmoving and unchanging in the undulating water. Trying to understand what is in front of one another. Then, the eyes of his reflection slowly widen in realization, and Izuku can feel his eyelids move in unison. As if his reflection is controlling him.
His mouth opens. He falters. And a waterfall of words spills from his lips. Not a single sound is made. And after a while, his reflection seems to notice. Confusion rewrites his face. Frustration scratches it out.
A familiar but heavily scarred fist slams into his. Skin just barely separated by the surface of the water.
The action sends a circle of weak waves outward. Izuku wants to jerk backwards, but his reflection holds him in place, hunched over the water. His mouth moves a mile a minute until it just stops. Another fist hits the water, and water lurches upward, spraying Izuku in rain. His eyes wince. As the water drags down his skin and drips back into the sea, it feels like it is trying to drag him with it.
His mouth moves slowly this time, repeating the same string of words like a broken record, hoping Izuku can piece the question together.
‘Is Kacchan alive?’
Even through the waves, Izuku can see—feel—the tears sting his reflection’s eyes.
Tightness constricts his throat.
Izuku does not know how to answer.
Izuku flinches violently in his hospital bed.
His foot is still elevated in the hanging cradle, so he cannot move much. His recovery restricts him from rocketing out of the bed and pacing across the floor.
He covers his mouth with his hands, hoping the pressure prevents any sound from seeping out. His breathes stutter out heavily, his heart thundering in his chest. It is in his head. It is all in his head, just like All Might said. These dreams, and even these new developments, of eight lights are all in his head.
Izuku tries to calm himself, holding his breath and breathing out slower, scrunching his eyelids closed and focusing on staticky darkness behind them. It is all in his head.
‘Is Kacchan alive?’
A punished whimper breaks free from the smothering cage of his fingers.
Why would he dream of such a question? Why would his subconscious torture him with his childhood friend’s actions? And his own? He already feels immensely guilty for choosing between friends. Is this his punishment?
He could have done it, could he not have? He did not have to make a choice of one or the other. Izuku could have dropped everything and taken a taxi to Yokohama the second he saw the video. Then, once he was sure Kacchan was all right, he could have taken the train to Hosu. He could have made it. If only he made the effort. If only he did not second guess himself that night. If only he did not spend hours calling and leaving voicemails and checking the news and scouring local emergency alerts. If only he was a better hero. A better friend.
“Midoriya?” a voice calls in sleep-laden confusion. Todoroki stretches a sigh as he wakes. “Is that you?”
Izuku presses harder on his mouth, his body shaking as his mind screams to get himself under control. He swallows a dry tongue, and sparse spit drags down his throat.
“Mmhmm,” is all he can manage. Silence drags for seconds, minutes, and he tries again. “I moved my leg wrong. Everything’s fine. Sorry I woke you.”
“Okay…”
Todoroki shifts six times before he falls back asleep.
Izuku stays up.
._._. Present Day – Early June ._._.
Like two sides of a coin, when Izuku’s life took a turn for the better, his childhood friend also turned over a new leaf.
Kacchan is strong, defiant, and tenacious. He has been told he will make a great hero since his quirk manifested, and Izuku agreed with each note of praise. It is not a topic of debate. Katsuki Bakugou will be a name to remember, and that is merely a fact.
However, as admirable as he is, Izuku cannot say he ever planned to add “kind” to his list of qualities. Izuku has seen Kacchan act polite to teachers and other adults, but he is never kind, and definitely not to peers he deems lesser than. To Izuku, his “kindness” has always been synonymous with “tolerance.”
“Which seat is mine?”
Midoriya points.
“Thanks.”
“Th-thanks?”
The day after Kacchan’s mysterious absence from middle school, he voluntarily thanked him for the first time in their childhood friendship. Sure, Aunty Mitsuki and various teachers have chided and told him to apologize, but Kacchan has never done it out of his own volition. Not to Izuku.
The occurrence was especially jarring since… The day before Kacchan’s mysterious absence from school, the boy tripped Izuku into the school pond because he was trailing after him and his friends on the way to the hero merchandise store for the release of new All Might trading cards.
“It is your birthday, right?”
Kacchan gifted Izuku a birthday cake with a flavor combination he never tasted before but instantly loved, and he spent the day with Izuku and his mom at the Musutafu Hero Museum. It took Izuku quite a while to wrap his head around that day. That Kacchan tolerated his “uselessness” for an entire day. That Kacchan gave him a gift after a decade of dismissal. The only logical reasoning Izuku could come up with was that Aunty Mitsuki forced him to do it. But then why would she not come herself?
It took months for Izuku to work up the courage and try the flavor combination again, visiting the same café Kacchan did and ordering a cupcake version. He still loves it. It still baffles him.
“This one’s all yours. If you can get this far, you can figure out the rest yourself.”
As much as Kacchan denied it, Izuku was not so delirious that he could not see his childhood friend act as the perfect aide for Recovery Girl in bandaging his injuries after his tournament battle with Todoroki. That Izuku could not identify the notes of panic in Kacchan’s stiff brow and disgruntled scowl. And when he grilled Izuku on why he used his quirk the way he did, Izuku came out of the conversation with a whole new way to approach One-For-All. He opened a door.
Izuku never thought Kacchan and he could be friends, never expected it. All Might saw the potential of Izuku’s future when Kacchan branded him useless for the entirety of his past. To prove his worth to the closest definition of victory, of greatness, in Izuku’s life and surpass him has always been a goal of his. And that chance began. Izuku acquired a quirk to help him stand on his own two feet and follow his lifelong dreams. He can feel it in his bones; he knows, with this change, he and Kacchan can be rivals. They will be rivals. They will fight tooth and nail for the top spot. He knows it.
“That was your first fucking try. You reacted fine; you just need practice. Quit the self-depreciation, and let’s go again.”
But every instance of kindness, every moment of support in Kacchan’s own way, made him wonder. Made him subconsciously expect it. The ridiculous chance to befriend his childhood friend.
Kacchan was the first person to find out about the origins of his quirk. Kacchan was the first person he told when he figured out how to improve his reaction time with One-For-All; the first to test the idea on and iron it out.
Kacchan was the first person he called when he helped stop a villain during his field internship. The first to confide in and vomit his insecurities about Iida and the hero killer.
“Midoriya. Breathe.”
Kacchan knew everything about him, and Izuku told him everything so easily. All Might was right. Having someone to talk to other than the man he wants to live up to and one day surpass helps him breathe a bit better.
A friend.
Izuku knew Kacchan was guarding a secret close to his heart. The change in the boy was suspicious and shocking—his newly acquired patience, quietness, self-deterioration, interest in Izuku’s wellbeing—there had to be something behind it. At first, Izuku thought it was related to the sludge villain. Then, he thought it was related to One-For-All. And, maybe, both contribute to his change, but they are not secrets. Izuku, and anyone who consumes news media, knows about the sludge villain event, and Izuku knows how Kacchan learned about One-For-All. If that were it, then Kacchan would not act guarded.
He thought, since he could confront Kacchan about his knowledge of One-For-All, if Kacchan could be a pillar of support for him and Izuku could be the same for the other, then the secrets would dwindle between them.
The worst part about being lied to is realizing that, in Kacchan’s eyes, Izuku is still not worth knowing the truth.
Kacchan was adamant about steering clear of the hero killer. He was adamant about Izuku’s safety even when he relented to Izuku’s plans to visit Iida. He took Kacchan’s caution to heart. Honestly, he was only up so late, scouring the internet for more information on the hero killer in case Iida was looking for the man and did find him. Looking for weaknesses or detriments. And finally, he stumbled upon something new.
In a Heroddit thread about a clash between vigilantes, Izuku realized it was his childhood friend getting stabbed and drugged by a serial killer on a grainy video passed around the internet.
Izuku is not dumb. No matter what his middle school classmates may say, he knows he is not dumb. He saw the similarities between Ground Zero and Kacchan’s fighting styles. He saw the similarities in their appearances. The injuries that followed the vigilante of Musutafu’s protection. The strokes of long nights painted into Kacchan’s face and body.
It was too confusing. Why would Kacchan, someone with a powerful quirk who looked down on those with lesser or no quirks, masquerade as a vigilante assumed to have no quirk? Why would he do something that could jeopardize his sole dream of becoming a pro hero—the number one hero?
But it was a single explosion that forced Izuku to accept it. He may not know Ground Zero, but he knows Kacchan. He knew Kacchan.
That was the gut punch of it. Harder than anything Izuku has ever witnessed. The explosion spread from the phone between his fingertips, under his skin, and into the tissue, so that later, when Izuku came face-to-face with Kacchan the next school day, he was insulted that the boy could not see his burn marks. That to him, Izuku was unchanged. Unaffected by his care and his betrayal.
Izuku knew Kacchan guarded a secret, but he did not expect it to make him feel so betrayed that he could not breathe. How Kacchan was almost stolen from him. How, for nearly 12 hours, Izuku was not sure if he was even alive. How none of his calls went through, his texts left unanswered. How it tore him to choose between running to Kacchan’s last known location or visiting Iida in the morning. How relief drilled bitter tears in his eyes when Miruko told him Kacchan sent her. How angry he was when Kacchan asked him why he was bandaged.
How could he not trust him? Talk to him? Say anything?
“I just want to make sure my friend is okay. Why can’t you understand that?” Izuku had asked.
Because Izuku is the only one who thought they were friends.
._._.
Heroddit
h/uncannyvigilante
u/dbsdbs · 1h
[GZ] Update: This is harder than I thought.
…I got to give Ground Zero props for being hard to find even though we’ve practically drawn up a missing person’s portrait in this tag. I designed my search based off of what we know, and I already exhausted everyone on the list. Didn’t think it’d be this hard, but now it’s getting harder with my new schedule… I’m going to widen the age range on my search. That’s the biggest unknown I have. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll widen the height range next.
I’ll get back to you all in a week.
92k upvotes · 876 comments
…
[Recent Comments]
revelryinthedark · 11m
Why are you doing this?
553 upvotes · 20 replies
|| [Best Replies]
|| dbsdbs · 10m
|| Because it’s fun and I’m awake
|| 2k upvotes · 1 reply
||| revelryinthedark · 8m
||| Jeopardizing a guy’s identity and future is fun?
|||| dbsdbs · 7m
|||| I’m not going to out him. I’m only making sure he’s alive and reporting that. My search extends to the recently deceased too
||||| revelryinthedark · 6m
||||| I don’t like this…
|||||| noragrets · 4m
|||||| stop being buzzkill or I come for you nest
||||||| dbsdbs · 3m
||||||| *Next, dumbass. Chill out.
._._.
“Morning, Deku!”
Uraraka taps him on the shoulder before bouncing into step alongside him.
“Did you finish question three on the math homework yesterday? I think you texted the group you were having trouble,” she asks, her cheery smile turning nervous. “I really wanted to send a pic of my solution, but Iida sent that extra-long paragraph about plagiarism and student conduct and yeesh.”
Izuku laughs, nodding.
“I think so! It took me a while though. Yuuei classes definitely live up to their name,” he says.
They continue along the path leading up to the school.
“I wonder how much of the material we’re learning now is going to be on the end-of-term exams? Will the things we learn the day before be on the test? Urgh, just thinking about it is making me feel queasy,” Uraraka worries and wraps her arms around her stomach.
“I don’t think Mr. Aizawa would be that cruel…” Izuku trails off. “Well, actually, he might. I mean, considering how he tested us all in the beginning of the year. And all of our teachers, except for Present Mic, really like pop quizzes. There is also the physical portion of the exam too—”
“Deku, you’re making me feel worse,” Uraraka cuts him off, gripping her stomach harder.
Izuku’s eyes widen as he straightens up, waving his hands around awkwardly.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to! I mean, you heard at lunch—everyone says the physical exam is a repeat of the entrance exam, and you did amazing. I would’ve failed if it wasn’t for you. I’m probably the one who’s going to fail, haha! Ha. Oh. I’m going to fail,” he rambles, nearly falling into despair himself.
Uraraka shakes her head furiously.
“Begone evil energy! We’re both going to pass. Say it with me!”
“We’re both going to pass!” they shout near the school entrance doors, garnering confused and annoyed looks from passersby.
They look at each other. Uraraka standing hunched over and clutching her stomach, looking as if she will puke any second now. And Izuku who is trying to smile in the face of despair, his fists pumped in the air in a show of confidence, and breathing a little too heavily.
She breaks first.
“Look at your face!” she bursts into laughter, falling into a shaky squat and smacking her hands into the ground to steady herself.
Izuku cannot help but be infected by her laughter, doubling over himself.
“Sorry,” he barely gets out, not even sure why he is apologizing.
She wipes the tears away, taking the hand Izuku holds out and popping back up with a shaky smile.
“Psyching ourselves out a whole month before the test… We’re ridiculous,” she huffs, shaking her head.
“Just a little bit,” he replies with a shy smile.
She smiles back, and they continue towards their classroom. Izuku has probably thought this a million times, but he is so grateful to have Uraraka as a friend. She has a certain kind of optimism and determination that Todoroki nor Iida have. One that radiates from her and uplifts those around her. He wishes he could be more like her. These are the types of qualities a hero should have.
“Oh!” Izuku exclaims. “I wanted to pick your brain now that I have you. I mean, I don’t have you—that’s a weird statement—well, so is ‘pick your brain,’ but that’s really not the point. You’re an amazing person. You’ve helped me constantly, and people gravitate to you and everything. You must have tons of friends.”
Uraraka cocks her head to the side, bewilderment on her face.
“Hmm…” she hums as they walk past the empty first-year classrooms of the Support Department. The students are always in the garage until the last minute. “I wouldn’t say I have a ton of friends, but the ones I do have I love very much. Why?”
Izuku fiddles with straps of his backpack.
“Have you ever had to confront a—ack!” Izuku stumbles as his backpack is yanked backwards. He most definitely stepped on Uraraka’s foot.
“Wha?” he starts to say, but she smooshes a finger to his lips and points into an open classroom door with two students occupying it.
His eyes widen when he realizes just which two students are there.
“Sorry for manhandling you,” Uraraka whispers barely audible words as they hide and peer into the room. “But Bakugou and Iida? The little Mina on my shoulder told me not to miss this.”
Almost like a spell, Ashido’s name floats from one conversation to another.
“So, you’re the reason Ashido’s getting on my nerves,” Kacchan accuses. He leans against the whiteboard, sipping what looks like one of the protein shakes Kirishima likes to bring in every morning.
Iida rolls his shoulders back to stand taller.
“I was reminding her, Kirishima, and Jirou that their behavior is not permissible as students representing Yuuei. I do not know what reasons you’re referring to, but if she was apologizing for her actions, then they were appropriate,” he explains in a steady voice.
“Huh.” Kacchan sips his drink before pulling the travel cup away to stare incredulously at it. Almost as if it is better than he expected.
“I vaguely remember Asui started something on the bus to the practical training arena. You didn’t make her apologize. Oh, and Kaminari called me a piece of shit. That really hurt my feelings,” Kacchan complains sarcastically. He levels Iida with a dry look. “I don’t need brats sobbing at me about being disliked.”
The class president’s shoulders sag a bit.
“R-right…” Iida trails off to swallowing audibly. “It’s just that—”
“Don’t tell me you’re next.”
“Bakugou. Please.”
They stare at each other, and Kacchan frowns. He squats, balancing on his toes, and sips his drink.
“Shoot.”
Iida takes a moment to figure out his exact words. Well, not really. It is Iida he is talking about. Izuku reckons he already knows exactly what he wants to say, but he is having trouble saying it.
“I may have… overreacted… more for a personal reason rather than what actually transpired. I apologize for that. I was also quite rude to you before when I didn’t understand your actions when the villains attacked our class. I am embarrassed to say I was at war with my duties as Class President and my harsh judgement of you, Bakugou, and for that, I apologize. I despised your presence in our class because it questioned my meaning of a true hero. We are both heroes in training, and I couldn’t believe it. But over this field internship, I… think I understand you a bit more, and I should’ve never been so hostile towards a fellow classmate. I am sincerely sorry.”
Iida bows deeply. And because he faced the ground, he missed the scrutinizing look Kacchan threw his way, only for a second. He sighs, rising from his position.
“Stand straight, Class Pres,” Bakugou says. “A little glaring never hurt anyone. Don’t lose sleep over it.”
“But all those thoughts—”
“I can’t read your mind,” Bakugou says with a raise of his eyebrow. “I can tell you all my happy thoughts to make you feel better.”
“But—”
“Stop feeling guilty over something you didn’t do.”
“Right. Yes. I suppose.”
Uraraka and he scurry into the next class over to hide as their classmates exit the classroom together.
“This was actually good.”
“I think Kirishima would be happy to hear.”
“Pass.”
“Bakugou…” Iida’s chiding voice trails off as they turn a corner.
._._.
Izuku returns to clear skies and water. But he is alone with his rainbow of lights.
._._.
The hefty man laughs. And Izuku means loudly.
“It’s just an imposter guys. It’s cool,” he says, turning back to the cash register and shoving money into his drawstring bag. His friends return to raiding the convenience store, grabbing anything that catches their eyes.
Izuku noticed the broken glass of the store’s window and the lack of alarm bells ringing. The store was dark, but the light of the drinks refrigerators dimly illuminated three people briskly walking past them. A quiet robbery on a barren street.
He wanted to wait. The plan these past couple of attempts at vigilantism is to wait for Ground Zero to show up. But he never can. He was not built to stand idly by when someone is in trouble. And each person says the same thing.
Izuku has no clue how they figure it out so fast. He is not that much shorter than Kacchan. He bought the exact same hoodie, and he already owned the same black face mask. So how do they know he is an impersonator?
Izuku clears his throat awkwardly, standing a little taller and balling his hands into fists.
“I’m going to have to ask you to stop robbing this store. Please,” he says, instantly cringing at his words. Why in the world is he minding his manners?
Someone snorts, and the entire store erupts in laughter.
“Please!” the shorter man mocks, leaning onto the counter to find purchase.
“I’m crying! He said, ‘please!’” the woman giggles by the assorted chips.
“This is someone’s livelihood. You can’t rob them,” Izuku tries again.
“Dude,” the shorter man sighs. “You must be new. Just so you know, Dead Zero was a scary guy not a talker.”
“Why don’t you run along now before you get hurt? You’re so cute with this, I don’t want Oki to beat you up,” Izuku hears the woman say in a patronizing tone, but he has not turned from the shorter man whose words run ice through his veins.
‘Is Kacchan alive?’
“He isn’t dead,” Izuku states in an even tone.
“Oh, for the love of—” the hefty man rounds the cashier’s counter, dropping the bag of money and stalking towards Izuku. “Take a fucking hint, you dumb shit.”
“Oki, calm down! He’s harmless,” the woman tries.
The man, Oki, ignores her and makes a grab for his hoodie. Izuku ducks. He feels the crackle of One-For-All thread into his strength and fuel this emotion buzzing inside his body, and he swipes Oki’s feet out from under him. The man crashes into a display of cans, floundering out of shock.
“You’re dead!” he shouts, scrambling to his feet.
But before he can get his bearings, Izuku grabs the man by his shirt and chucks him over his shoulder and through the broken window.
“Holy shit!”
Oki skirts against the pavement of the sidewalk, rolling into the street. He grabs at his shoulder and curls in on himself. It could be dislocated. Izuku turns to the two accomplices. His skin is buzzing.
“Can you return the money you took from the cash register, please?”
The woman makes a last ditch effort, dashing for the drawstring bag Oki dropped, but Izuku grabs her arm firmly, stopping her in her tracks.
“Wait!” the shorter man exclaims, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t hurt her. I’m putting it back, see?”
Izuku nods stiltedly.
“Call the police too.”
._._.
Izuku thought it was a good plan. If he wants Kacchan to admit his secrets, then he needs to trap him. He needs to make sure Kacchan cannot weasel his way out of it in any way. Therefore, confronting him when he is Ground Zero is the best course of action. Kacchan has been masquerading as Ground Zero for over a year. If he did not stop after the Night Stalker incidents or the Build-A-Beaver Workshop scandal, Izuku doubts he will stop after the events that occurred in Yokohama. Ground Zero will return, and Izuku will be there to catch him in the act.
But it has been three failed attempts so far.
Everyone is convinced Ground Zero died that fateful night in Yokohama. And as a result, an influx of Ground Zero impersonators rose from the ashes to take his place. Somehow, people think it is their responsibility to keep the memory of him alive, even if it means putting themselves in harm’s way.
It is going as well as one thinks. Horribly! The impersonators are not heroes. They are not trained to use their quirks, and most of them refuse to do so to be like Ground Zero. They do not know how to aid an injured person or de-escalate a dangerous situation. They are fans, and they are a danger to themselves.
As much as he hates the idea of his childhood friend destroying his chances as a pro hero, a small part of him wants Ground Zero to quickly return, if only to safely put the impersonators to bed.
Izuku sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging a bit. This whole ordeal, the weird reoccurring dreams, the weirder dream, All Might’s new training regime, and studying for the end-of-term exams? The stress of it all is making him more exhausted than All Might’s 10-month beach cleaning and training.
Someone taps his shoulder just after Mr. Aizawa dismisses the class for lunch.
“Hm? Oh, hey, Tokoyami. Is there anything I can do for you?” he says, masking his weary voice with cheerfulness.
His classmate looks stiff and unsure, absentmindedly picking at the skin around his thumbs.
“Can I talk to you? Alone?” Tokoyami nearly whispers.
Izuku stands up immediately, feeling more alert.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, this is about a… mutual interest.”
Tokoyami flips up the collar of his shirt.
Izuku quickly scans the classroom. Most of his classmates have already hurried to lunch. Ashido and Kirishima already manhandled a grumpy Kacchan out the door. Uraraka, Iida, and Todoroki are talking conversationally at the door, waiting for Izuku, he supposes.
He swallows the building tension to pull on a quick smile.
“Uh, guys, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria!” Izuku calls towards his friends.
“Oh, are you sure? Are you two okay?” Uraraka asks, cutting off her reply to Iida.
“Yep!” Izuku chirps back, wincing at his voice.
“Hm. All right. But don’t loiter for long, or you won’t digest your lunch in time for fifth period,” Iida warns them before they leave.
Izuku waits a minute after everyone has left but them. His mouth twitches.
“A mutual interest,” he repeats.
Izuku scrutinizes the small, decorative pin with the initials, “GZ,” inscribed on it, unveiled on the underside of Tokoyami’s shirt collar.