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When she was a child, Mitsuki thought Inko was the perfect woman.
It didn’t take her long, after meeting the older girl, to realize Inko was everything Mitsuki was not; Inko was kind, gentle and patient. Under her pleasant exterior, however, she hid a surprising resilience and iron will; she could put Mitsuki in her place with just a few well-chosen words, a feat that even Mitsuki’s own parents could not accomplish. Of course, as they got to know each other better, Mitsuki came to realize that even someone like Inko had flaws. Inko saw the best in people, and that left her vulnerable; she was sensitive and kind, in a world not at all forgiving of such vulnerabilities.
But that was perfectly fine, young Mitsuki decided as she lay in bed one night, because – she could protect Inko.
It was the decision of a child, Mitsuki now knows; for all that she scoffed at Inko for being naïve, she fell into that same trap. For all her lofty promises, for all her judo belts and background checks, in the end there was nothing Mitsuki could do to protect Inko from illness.
The last months of her almost-sister were like some nightmare Mitsuki could not wake up from; seeing her best friend, being able to touch her, and yet already feeling the grief of her loss. But somehow, what hit her hardest was not Inko’s death. Instead it was being cut out of Izuku's life; losing contact with Inko's son, the child she adored, the little boy that resembled her so much...
But Mitsuki could not afford to fall apart; she had a son of her own, a career, a life, and so she gathered all the photos, the mementos, the gifts, and locked them away, because seeing Inko’s face was too painful.
Thinking about Inko was too painful.
And perhaps for the rest of her life Mitsuki Bakugo would have stubbornly protected herself from any reminder of her best friend, except that a few short years later she met Rei Yukiyama.
It wasn’t that Yukiyama was anything like Inko; far from it. But as she watched the woman enter the classroom, looking around nervously, Mitsuki found herself thinking of her best friend for the first time in years. Because she could almost see Inko in that moment; could picture what her friend would do. She would excuse herself from their conversation, and approach this woman with a kind smile, and ask about her child, and invite her to sit with them. By the time the teachers had finished speaking and it would be time to leave, Yukiyama would be at ease. Perhaps she'd laugh as they exchanged numbers; maybe they'd all agree to meet up for coffee.
Except Inko was not there anymore to make new friends, and so Mitsuki took a deep breath and did what Inko would have wanted. She walked over to introduce herself and offer any help Yukiyama might need.
And after that, Mitsuki came to realize – thinking about Inko was painful, yes, but it was still somehow better than pretending she had never existed. It still took her time to gather the courage, but eventually, one day when she had the house to herself, she unlocked the cupboard, retrieved her albums, retreated to the safety of her bedroom and let it all out. She sobbed as she finally allowed herself to grieve; grieve the best friend she had lost, grieve the life Inko never got to live, grieve all the moments they lost out on because of a cruel twist of fate.
When her husband and son returned home from their camping trip, the mountain of tissues had been disposed of, the albums returned to their rightful place on the shelf, and Mitsuki felt lighter than she had in years.
And so, a few years later, it is only with mild trepidation that she retrieves a few pictures of Inko, tucks them safely away in her bag, and with a final fortifying breath heads out to meet up with two other mums.
She spots Yukiyama almost as soon as she enters the café, sitting alone at a corner table. The woman is reading something on her phone, but when Mitsuki approaches, she looks and smiles.
“Bakugo!” the woman greets her, and glances at her phone when it buzzes. “Sorry; Katsumi just texted to say she’s running late, but she says we can go ahead and order. Her treat.”
“Oh,” Mitsuki nods as she slips into the seat opposite. “…Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine. Someone’s probably tried destroying a water treatment plant, or attempted to take over TV Tokyo with an army of squirrels…” Yukiyama laughs at Mitsuki’s expression. “Katsumi works in heroics. Unexpected crises are a dime a dozen in her line of work.”
“Oh,” Mitsuki relaxes a bit. The waiter comes by to take their order, and once he’s left, she attempts to make conversation. “Is she a hero?”
“Semi-retired,” Yukiyama confirms. “She works for her husband’s agency, although after her second son, she took a more… administrative role. Long story short, she pretty much runs a hero agency.”
“Takeshi is still the head,” Iida states as she drops into the seat next to Yukiyama. “I need a drink.”
“What was it today?” Yukiyama asks, curious and quite obviously used to such occurrences, as her friend waves over a waiter. “Villain attack? Natural disaster?”
“Bunch of idiot teenagers,” the woman groans. “Some of our sidekicks decided to have a Who can make the biggest fireball contest. In the cafeteria.”
“Ooh,” Yukiyama winces. “Please tell me you read them the riot act.”
“They’re grounded. All of them,” Iida huffs. “The youngest was twenty-one – how is my teenage son smarter than supposed adult professionals?!”
“Because he’s a goody two-shoes and we all love him dearly for it,” Yukiyama laughs. “That sounds like the exact thing my teenage sons might do.”
“…Would it be easier for you if we rescheduled?” Mitsuki offers, uncertain.
“Oh no, I need some time off,” Iida smiles.
“Unless of course it would be easier for you, Bakugo?” Yukiyama adds.
There is a part of Mitsuki that wants to agree. Her memories of Inko are precious, treasured because of the bitter awareness that there will be no more shared laughs, no more petty disagreements or shoulders to lean on. She guards them closely, and the idea of sharing them is hard enough, harder still when faced with these strangers who never once met her closest friend…
But Inko deserves to be remembered.
“It’s fine,” she lies as their drinks arrive, and she takes a moment to take a deep breath and steel herself. Then she nudges her coffee away and opens her bag. “…I brought pictures.”
The two women opposite her – who, it should be noted, are middle-aged professionals with successful careers – squeal.
Once she removes the first photograph, however, she is gratified by their behaviour. Iida wordlessly moves their drinks to the furthest corner of their table, to ensure they can’t spill accidentally.
“Oh my – this is her in highschool, right?!” Yukiyama exclaims as soon as the picture has been set down. She momentarily makes as if to pick it up; then she tucks her hands under the table. “She looks so young!”
“Look at her hair!” Iida adds. “It’s the same shade as Izuku’s! It must have gotten darker when she was older!”
Mitsuki blinks, surprised by the implications of this statement.
“…You’ve seen pictures of her?”
“Of course we have – Hisashi has several around his house,” Yukiyama nods. “But she’d older in them – I don’t think I’ve seen any from before they started dating.”
“Izuku has a few, too,” Iida adds softly and offers her a bittersweet smile. “He had a framed picture of her he brought every time he came for a sleepover. So he could kiss her goodnight.”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” Yukiyama sniffs. “It was somehow both absolutely adorable and completely heart-breaking.”
Mitsuki quickly grabs a napkin. Of course, imagining any child saying goodnight to a picture of his mother is heartbreaking, but… Somehow, it is still better than the alternative. Inko adored Izuku from the moment she found out she was pregnant, and Mitsuki cannot bear imagining a universe in which he forgot about her existence.
If there is any sort of afterlife, Mitsuki does not doubt for a moment that Inko was there for every goodnight. Even if she cried every time.
“Good,” she manages once she has regained some semblance of control over her emotions, thought her voice still shakes. “Inko… Inko adored Izuku. I learnt more about pregnancy from her than in prenatal class. She spent… Spent half her pregnancy sewing him a quilt…”
“…Various shades of green, with an orange border?” Iida asks softly as she pulls out a packet of tissues. “I saw it a few times. Knowing Hisashi, it’s currently locked up in a secure vault in Switzerland.”
“She must have been very talented.”
“Yes, she was,” Mitsuki smiles. “She made one for Katsuki, too - I should have a picture somewhere… She was the one to teach me to sew – patience of a saint, because of course I was not an ideal pupil. Never thought I’d enjoy it, but…” she surprises herself with a laugh. “Somehow, I turned it into a career – that’s how I met Masaru…”
“And of course she cooked,” Yukiyama adds. “And baked. Kurogiri showed me her old cookbook, once…”
“Wait,” Mitsuki blinks, surprised. “You know Kurogiri?!”
“Of course!” Yukiyama nods. “He’s been with Hisashi since… since… Help me out here, Katsumi…”
“He was already there when I met Hisashi,” Iida shrugs. “Nobody came out and said it, but from what I gather, it was Inko that first took him in.”
“Well that makes sense,” Yukiyama smiles. “Kurogiri adores her.”
“…She did,” Mitsuki slowly nods as the two women stare at her. “I just… I didn’t think he’d hang around.”
“Of course he hung around!” Yukiyama exclaims, as Iida pulls out her phone. “Hisashi and Izuku are his family! And Inko too, obviously…”
“Not for much longer,” Iida smiles as she pushes her phone over. “That’s him at the Festival, with his girlfriend and her teammates. I’m almost certain they’re going to get engaged soon.”
With shaking hands, Mitsuki accepts the phone and stares at the screen. Because there, sitting at a table with four adults and a young child, is him. Kurogiri. And as she stares at the picture her eyes start to water, and Mitsuki starts to laugh.
And she sobs.
It was their last big fight. Mitsuki had (quite rightly) pointed out that Kurogiri was a random stranger. That he could be dangerous. That Inko had a young child and a husband that worked long hours, and she needed to be more careful about the people she let into her home. Inko had patiently listened to all of Mitsuki’s arguments, and at the end of it all set her cup down, nodded and stated, “I appreciate your concern, Mitsuki, and know you mean well. However, this is MY home and MY decision, and I have chosen to give him a chance. You do not have to like it or him; however I can assure you that if you EVER call him any names again, you will no longer be welcome in my home. Am I clear?” And Mitsuki, who knew that tone all too well, had immediately sat down and meekly agreed.
And now, as she stares at the man in the picture – the child Inko had taken a chance on, the child she had opened her home to, the child that had grown up to prove Inko right one final time…
Mitsuki has never been so happy to be wrong.