Chapter Text
I confused a sense of purpose
With grabbing the future by the throat
While the museum of my memories
Was just some blurry photographs
When I was younger I was serious
Now everything’s a joke
But my friends detect a sadness
At the end of every laugh
Which has left me with a tricky sense of humor
And I keep getting further led astray
Every punchline takes on another dimension
When you realize that the time flies either way
— T.Z. Goldsmith —
If you were to ask Izuku Midoriya's classmates or teachers to describe him in a word, there would be little debate among them.
Disruptive would come from a few teachers, without a doubt. You'd probably get a dozen answers minimum of annoying or a synonym thereof. Maybe troublesome or incessant or chatterbox or loser or useless or even villain, and another that he doesn't even like to think about. Above each and every one of those voices, however, there would come a single, gruff answer: Deku, a childhood nickname from when his best friend misread Izuku. It sounded so much like Dekiru, though, with its 'you can do it!' attitude, that it stuck. Nowadays, the connotation is far different.
If, on the other hand, you asked Izuku Midoriya to describe himself in a word, he'd likely say "pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis," a word he learned to pronounce a while back as a joke, on the slim chance an opportunity to use it were to arise. After all, planning for every outcome is a hero's duty, and he has to fill his free time somehow. When he isn't filling his Pro Hero journals, that is.
If forced to answer truthfully, he would have to go with: "Funny." Nobody makes Izuku laugh like Izuku can, which is pretty damn lucky, considering he's his own best friend. Not that anyone else has offered.
On the bright side, it means less crowd work.
Perhaps the greatest lesson he's ever learned from his best friend is that if you already spend your days as everyone's punchline, just think of a different one so you can laugh too! Because if there's one thing in the world Izuku Midoriya knows how to do, it's that.
When he laughs, loudly and often, his grin pulls back even more than it does up, flashing almost every tooth, and his eyes squint so tight you might think they're closed, like there's always a joke nobody else seems to get. Even his resting face wears a wry little smile that makes most people question if he's ever really serious, or knows what the word means, for that matter.
It's not like he tries to be disruptive or irritating. Well, that second one isn't entirely accurate, but that's under extenuating circumstances, and directed toward those who drew first blood, so to speak.
When class is in session, he's focused on learning. That's what school is for, right? Even if it wasn't, it's not like he'd ever do anything to damage his academic reputation―not intentionally anyways―because U.A. only accepts the very best students, and that's where he's headed; he promised himself as much a long time ago. Some of the world's greatest heroes graduate from U.A. More importantly, All Might graduated from U.A.
Izuku has always operated under the belief that learning is meant to be fun, but apparently it's supposed to be unbelievably dull, so says every school he's been in since the third grade.
It's maddening.
The material itself is interesting! He knows it is, because it's been his regular schedule for years to read a few chapters more than he has to, to always keep well ahead of the syllabus, to do his boring teachers' jobs for them, in case he happens to zone out, which, if he's being honest, is an inevitability.
Not that he isn't trying like all hell to stay focused on whatever mundane assignment this lumpy-haired goober is droning on about. At this point the school board should call it quits and replace the faculty with cats― no, kittens. They could wear those adorable little shoes that make them walk all weird too. Yeah, at least then homeroom wouldn't feel like such a waste of time, and they'd probably explain the material better too.
"Something funny back there, Midoriya?"
Aw crap. And things had been going so well. Over a whole month without making so much as a single chuckle during class, the longest he's ever lasted, down the drain. Done in by a tiny snicker. What's he supposed to do? Sprint out of the room every time he makes a peep so no one has to suffer through the horror of hearing him breathe? Because that wouldn't be disruptive at all, Izuku muses bitterly. The system is rigged. Other students frequently wiggle in their chairs, crack their knuckles, squeak their shoes along the floor, sniff, cough, clear their throats, and make a plethora of other noises, as living human beings tend to do, so what's the big deal?
"That's different. They aren't doing those things on purpose," Ms. Gizen had once explained to him, to which he'd almost burst a blood vessel. How she'd been able to hear him snort over the sound of a band saw whirring is a mystery he's no longer willing to expend his finite mental vitality trying to solve.
"S-sorry, Mr. Taikutsuna," Izuku mumbles as he shrinks in on himself, peering out from under his messy head of curls, their color as light as sea foam. What parts rest in shade abruptly darken into black under their own shadow.
The raucous laughter that surrounds him post-scolding only serves to twist the knife as Mr. Taikutsuna does nothing but playfully ask them to settle down. Try as he might to think of something funny in the hopes of getting to participate, or to at least strip his classmates of any possible emotional ammo, the embarrassment overwhelms Izuku.
He's usually so much better at this! And he hates the way his brain seizes up when Kacchan is around. Too much combustible conditioning, he supposes. Pavlov's bombs.
Chuckling at the thought, it adequately serves to divert his attention, until he sees Kacchan in the next row of seats, fists starting to tremble. Any hope Izuku had of salvaging the day dies.
"Well, now that everyone's had their fun, we can get back to work. Oh, and Midoriya, can I trust this won't happen again?" Mr. Taikutsuna asks accusingly, looking wholly unimpressed at the so-called 'troublemaker'. He shuffles papers around without much thought, and Izuku nods quickly, his head still tucked firmly between his shoulders.
"Uh-huh." Mr. Taikutsuna sounds anything but convinced, and Izuku, brow furrowed, has to wonder why a question with no right answer had been asked. Clearing his throat, the teacher continues.
"Now, class, someday soon― sooner than you think― as you move forward on your academic journey, your time here at Aldera will come to an end. Yes, yes, I know, we'll miss you too," says Mr. Taikutsuna. "Most of you..." he quietly tags on as an afterthought, loud enough for Izuku to hear.
"I'm supposed to pass out these career aptitude tests to help you better prepare for your future. It's important to give yourself options. You never know what's out there, and," he pauses with a smile and a shrug, letting the papers slip through his fingers as he leans his weight against the worn desk. "who am I kidding― you all want to be heroes, don't you?"
The classroom erupts into cheers, shockingly louder than the previous roaring at Izuku's expense. Each and every student, save Kacchan and Izuku, proudly show off their impressive quirks. Fire, Stone, Spikes, Telekinesis, Wind, Smoke, so many awesome abilities in their dinky, forgettable middle school class alone. Sure, a couple are lackluster on the surface, such as Finger Lengthening or an Eyeball Extender, but he genuinely believes they could be used effectively for hero work given enough training and the right strategy.
Izuku, meanwhile, can show nothing. Not without incurring the wrath of his classmates, his teacher, and worst of all: Kacchan, who it seems he's already on thin ice with today. For what reason, Izuku hasn't the vaguest idea.
The guy just acts so explosive to him. Wording 100% intended.
Kacchan stays quiet for the complete opposite reason to Izuku. Being decisively the top student, he simply has nothing to prove (although Izuku would secretly argue he's only stuck in second place behind Kacchan because of how hard he sucks at PE. Boy, does he suck at PE.)
Both try to ignore their class's thunderous yells and cheers, to varying success. It's not as though Izuku is ashamed of his heroic dreams. He's happy to tell anyone who'll listen, but that demographic is very close to zero. No, Izuku is silent because it's crucial he avoid any unnecessary attention in the middle of what has already become a painfully stressful day, but with the help of Midoriya Luck (™), it, of course, blows up in his face in a spectacular fashion.
"Shut your mouths, you buncha extras! Your dumb asses would end up as sidekicks! Hell, you probably won't make it into any hero schools to begin with!" Kacchan leans back to rest a leg against his desk, voice stentorian and soaked in well-earned arrogance.
So much for keeping quiet.
"Me? I'm going straight to the top! U. Fuckin' A. you shitbag D-listers! I'll rise above All Might himself and be the most powerful hero anybody's ever seen!" he clicks his tongue, "But at least you fuckers know not to even fucking ATTEMPT the U.A. exam. You'd be a waste of their damn time, an insult to the motherfuckin' institution."
The teacher makes a noise for him to tone it down, but Izuku can tell he barely cares about Kacchan's attitude and language, as he instead focuses on studying a student application. Wait. Oh please no. Okay, it'll be fine. There's plenty of students in this class. It could be anyone.
"Midoriya, you're trying for U.A. too, aren't you?"
If Kacchan was tense before, now he's livid. He bolts up so quickly, his chair makes a horrible scraping sound against the floor as it shoots back into the desk of some poor, uninvolved student sitting behind him. Turning slowly, the frozen look on his face starkly contrasts how his hands twitch with rage, low and predatory, as though they can't decide whether to close into fists or open for explosions. The indecision has his knuckles popping and fingers contorting.
This would no doubt be inaudible over the whooping and hollering from before, but Izuku's classroom has turned unnervingly silent, and it's as if the open air sucks any moisture from his mouth and throat, leaving him unable to talk properly. Not to say he'd have the courage to speak up regardless. Not to Kacchan, never to Kacchan.
With other bullies, getting a beating after a good laugh was still worth the trade, since it's bound to happen sooner or later anyhow, but with Kacchan, what could very charitably be referred to as "fights" were especially harsh by comparison, both physically and emotionally. After all the years they've known each other, it's more than clear to Kacchan what buttons to push.
If there were ever a contest for the single most depressing social realization of his life, Izuku would handedly choose the fact that, despite years and years of escalating violence, Kacchan is still the closest and only "friend" he's got― aside from himself. (Duh). Sure, Kacchan can be a jerk, but at least he talks to him. He isn't afraid.
The room swallows up the teenage racket so thoroughly, Izuku wouldn't be remiss to think he'd gone deaf, were it not for the whispers surrounding him. Last time, there was laughter. Had it been mortifying? Obviously. But now, the best comments are dismissive, almost offended.
"My older brother told me about U.A.'s entrance exam when he tried to get in. Does Midoriya really think he stands a chance?"
"This would be funny if it weren't so sad."
"Who does this idiot think he is? He'll never be a hero, not in a million years."
The worst comments, though? The ones that twist Izuku's stomach and numb his extremities, like his blood has been sucked out through a straw? The ones he's spent the better part of a decade trying to convince himself don't hurt? They take a far more frightening― no, frightened turn.
"Shush! What if he can take your quirk away for good?"
"I wanna laugh, but I don't wanna piss off a future villain."
"Loser kid with evil quirk fails to get into U.A.? That's a villain origin story if I've ever heard one."
"You ever see that look in his eyes when he laughs? I seriously think this dude might be a psychopath!"
Izuku lacks the wherewithal to think of a comeback, or rather comebacks, because his childhood friend is staring him down with what must be the most hateful look imaginable. It corrodes through every layer of desperately forced levity and denial of hurt he has, and without any defensive tools, Izuku crumbles under his gaze until his spirit is left naked for Kacchan to twist and bend as he sees fit.
The one saving grace for Izuku is the peace of knowing he's never been broken. He can't allow himself to be if he truly cares about his dream. And he does, more than anything. Nevertheless, his will cracking and splintering can be excruciating.
When Kacchan stomps toward his desk, parting the sea of uneasy murmurs, it's not to tell Izuku how worthless he is using every derogatory term in the dictionary, nor is it the kind of vicious beat down he's grown accustomed to. It's a single word, stuffed to the gills with loathing.
"No."
Then it's over. Kacchan steps away, class shortly concludes, and Izuku is left stitching his threadbare heart back together with the same frayed string he's used for years. It seems like everyone's already left, or is filtering out, and the worst might be over, until his notebook is snatched away and thrown out the window before he can get a single pleading word in.
As much as it digs at Izuku, with Kacchan, this sort of behavior is par for the course. Funny as it is, he's startled more by the casual littering than the blatant cruelty. Doesn't his "friend" want to get into U.A.? You never know what might end up on your permanent record!
"Wouldn't want someone like you spying on heroes, now would we? Just doing my part as the future number one," Kacchan says with a twisted smile.
His hand clamps around Izuku's neck with a few errant, explosive pops, and slams the back of his head against the classroom wall. Kacchan's other hand lets off larger sparks as he dangles a finger dangerously close to Izuku's face, tickling his chin.
"I'm sure you understand. Right, Deku?"
Izuku wants to nod so badly, wants to breath normally and be left alone, but there are some fights he can't run from. The only move he has left is to close his eyes and try to tune out what's happening.
"Right, Deku?!" Kacchan asks again and tightens his grip, managing to lift Izuku a couple inches off the ground before letting him drop, whose stonewalled look naturally reverts back into a nervous, shaky disaster.
It's only when Izuku opens his eyes again that Kacchan throws a fist right at his face, knocking him back against the wall until all he can see is a nonsensical spread of colors and his own blurry hands trying to keep him steady on a blurry floor. For all the crunchy noises he can hear when he scrunches his face, and throbbing pains surrounding his eye, the swelling knot on the back of his head is easiest to focus on.
"Y'know, if you really wanna be a hero, how about you go ahead and kill yourself now? It'll save me the hassle of having to arrest your dumb ass later."
Izuku could only wait for his eyes to refocus and repeat a personal mantra.
I'm not a villain. I'm going to be a hero.
I'm not a villain. I'm going to be a hero.
I'm not a villain. I'm going to be a hero.
... Right?
[15 Years Ago]
To say Shouta is anxious would be as if to say boiling magma from the earth's core is a little bit hot. A blunt man by nature, these things should be no trouble, and they aren't, except now, because Emi makes everything so complicated, but so simple.
Ugh. He's a mess.
Easy though it might be to tell himself it's completely normal to hide on the roof of his girlfriend's apartment complex and roleplay the same uncomfortable conversation with one of the local cats over and over, and definitely isn't him avoiding the reality of having to have said conversation, that simply isn't the case.
He's being a coward. This is not how sidekicks should behave, much less fully-fledged Pro Heroes. How will he ever be able to call himself one if he can't end a single, stupid relationship?
Because it doesn't feel stupid, even if it sounds stupid, he grumbles into his capture weapon. Shouta steps away from the scraggly, patient cat that’s spent the last twenty minutes as an uncharacteristically quiet Ms. Joke, and hops his way down the fire escape to meet his doom.
Steeling himself into keeping a neutral expression, he wraps his knuckles three times against the cheap wood of her door. There are several silent seconds before he hears a muffled "come in!" from the far end of the apartment. On any normal night, this would be the part where Emi bursts out and pulls the wiry young man off the ground into a bone-crushing hug with a surprising show of strength. Surprising for people who don't know her, that is.
Tonight, he turns the knob and steps past the threshold of her doorway without incident, which might as well be a massive neon sign that says SOMETHING IS WRONG coming from Emi Fukukado, but Shouta has more than enough on his plate to note it as anything more than a passing curiosity.
"Well look what the cat dragged in," she says weakly, giving it her best thin-lipped smile.
Emi is a natural beauty, Shouta thinks; while she certainly puts more thought into her appearance than he does―which is to say more than literally none at all―she is equally unconcerned with how that appearance comes across to anyone else. She wears what she wants, when she wants, where she wants, and that's one of the reasons they get along. Two people being who they are unapologetically.
So, walking in and immediately seeing her look as frazzled and self-conscious as she does now, curled up on the couch like a duck's egg, feels like a cold glass of water spilling down Shouta's back.
If only it were a normal cup of water, then he could at least blame one of Emi's dumb pranks and not his own trepidation.
Then it hits him.
She knows.
How? How does she know? Shouta shuts his eyes, frantically searching his memories for a clue as to how Emi could've found out. He can come up with just three possibilities.
His now-former boss letting it slip was exceedingly unlikely, as they understood the importance of an underground hero keeping their cards close to the vest.
One of his friends might have told her. That's a two person list, outside of work acquaintances. Not exactly rocket science to figure out the culprit. Hizashi couldn't keep his mouth shut if he had a lifetime supply of duct tape and super glue. Though, Shouta cannot recall ever bringing up his relationship status to either Hizashi or Kayama. He is not a phone person, unless out of necessity. Or a sharer in general, for that matter. Especially not about something like this.
The last and most probable option is that Shouta remains far more transparent with his intentions than he'd like to believe; at least to a keen eye like Emi's, sharpened over time he is uncomfortable with reflecting upon, given how it might interfere with the logical choice ahead.
He can't start second-guessing himself. Not Now. Meaning all he has accomplished trying to solve the 'how's and 'why's has amounted to him standing in the doorway, feeling utterly foolish.
"We need to talk," they both say, bringing Shouta back from the land of the outwardly incompetent. He gives a resigned sigh and moves to sit in the chair opposite Emi, but thinks better of it and leans against the wall.
"Do you wanna go first or...? Because if you're not..." Emi trails off. She realizes Shouta wouldn't be answering her half-question anytime soon and holds out a fist to compromise. "Rock, Paper, Scissors for it?"
He can tell she's trying. She always tries. He just wishes that she could― how does she put it? "Read the room"? For once in her life.
"We're breaking up," Shouta says curtly, biting the bullet.
The quicker this is finished, the quicker they can move on with their lives. She has the audacity to look shocked at hearing the news.
Shouta is all for a good ruse if the situation calls for it. It's another one of the reasons they fit. But at a time like this, it feels disrespectful. First she knows, then she suddenly doesn't? Yeah, right. The whole situation becomes an even bigger pill for Shouta to swallow now that she’s doing one of those jokes.
Emi should know by now when to quit pushing his buttons, lest Shouta's defense system initiate the final protocol in its database. Locking up and disengaging.
"Rude," Emi says, releasing a held breath and brushing off his comment like it was a joke.
Her false-shock fades into a groan. She sounds strikingly worn out. "Whatever it is that's got you worked up, save it. I don't know what sorta boyfriend-imposter you are, taking your day out on me like that, but I'm really not in the mood. So, if you could please just return my Shouta to me, I'd appreciate it, because the last thing I need right now is a low-key heart attack."
"Emi," Shouta interjects before she can start mumbling, and he speaks in as decisive a tone as he can. "It's over."
She blinks, scans his features, takes in his worryingly-sincere gaze.
"Hold on. You don't mean... seriously? I haven't― you're serious? Shouta, this isn't funny. Are you actually being serious?" Each repetition of her 'serious' question is answered by his expression alone, and each time she looks all the more distressed. "C-Come on, babe, I thought I was supposed to be the kidder. We're gonna discuss this first, right?"
Shouta has trouble meeting her wobbly smile. "There's nothing to discuss. I'm..."
"I swear, if you say 'I'm sorry', I don't think―" her voice cracks, but she coughs through it. "So, what? You're― you're just tired of me? That's it? Adiós, sayonara, see ya’ later?"
When Emi scoffs in a room so often bursting with her laughter, it suddenly feels both too big and too small. One hand poorly massages her temples in disbelief. The other tenses around a knee, bunching up the baggy fabric of her sweatpants.
"Look, we have to be realistic about this..." Shouta says regretfully.
"Don't you dare give me that, Shouta Aizawa," she fires back in defiance. "I may be a fool, but I'm no fool."
Shouta knows that better than anyone. He wants nothing more than to voice it, however, he must maintain composure. He can't fall prey to her goading.
“I’m moving back to Shizuoka Prefecture. I've already accepted a Sidekick position in Kashiyaku with Dream Catcher. I've learned a lot from Mudform, and I'm grateful for her guidance, but even she agrees I can do the most good down south.”
Her face twists with emotion and Shouta feels his body turn to lead at the sight. Emi's smile isn't meant to waver like that. He has seen it before, but this time it's his fault, and it kills him.
A dull frustration radiates in his chest, though. Shouta leaving is in her best interest. Why can't she understand that? He unconsciously mirrors the hurt look on her face. Emi gives a sardonic huff.
"Uh-huh. Your career. That's definitely what this is about. What a joke," she says with a mirthless chuckle and a shake of the head. "This'll sound crazy, but I actually believed you were better than this. Weird, right?"
Keep calm. Don't get emotional. She's trying to get a rise out of you, Shouta reminds himself. The more she denies truth, like he's somehow lying, the harder it is to stay quiet, but he manages.
It is a given that aspiring Pro Heroes are married to their career. Hoping to maintain a relationship is illogical, doubly so if the other person is in the same boat. Besides, with how long humanity has existed, relatively-speaking he and Emi haven't known each other very long anyway. They're a fling that would have burnt out eventually.
Silence dominates, aside from the creaking of Emi’s couch when she shifts to hold her head in her hands, a palm for each eye. He knew from the start this wasn't going to go well, but had never imagined it getting out of hand so quickly, couldn't have expected the numb feeling he walked in with would flare up so viscerally.
Muffled noises escape from her throat as her shoulders start to bounce. Shouta has to stop himself from reaching out.
"We both know this never would've worked anyway" Shouta struggles to reassure her. "It was stupid to think otherwise. We're just too different. Lesson learned."
“Lesson— what!? ‘Lesson learned’?! Are you KIDDING me!?” Emi's head snaps up, revealing a manic amusement.
What sounded like weeping were merely suppressed giggles. Giggles that soon break out into cackling.
Shouta’s eyes narrow.
“Am I kidding you? Emi, I've never been anything but honest with you,” he ducks into his scarf, conscious of his volume. "You'll look back on this someday and realize I made the right call."
"No! You do not get to decide what's best for me, you selfish BASTARD!" she spits.
Bastard. The word repeats in his head as belly laughter fills the apartment, like dipping his heart in acid. After everything Shouta had shared, he'd never expected to hear that used against him. Not from her.
Emi Fukukado, surprising to the bitter end, it seems. Shouta tunes out her desperate attempts at backtracking the insult. She already made it abundantly clear how she feels.
Hands digging into her scalp, green hair fans out between Emi's slender fingers. Her red-rimmed eyes keep squeezing shut as she quite literally cries from laughing so hard, before they snap open again. She looks hysterical.
“Shouta," she barely gets out with what little unused breath she can salvage, "I’m pregnant.”
Shouta is stunned.
Unable to reconcile the knowledge that their entire relationship had been a joke to Emi—so flippantly chuckled away—Shouta clings to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it did mean something to her, and that this is simply her shot at being vindictive.
He can accept that. If he must. It is a pitiful consolation, but it'll have to do. Shouta laments how his (very recent) ex could be so manipulative. If she’s willing to lie about something like this, maybe she isn't so ‘unapologetically herself’ after all. Maybe he’s never even met the real Emi.
The longer he stands there, silent, the further she descends into bouts of laughter, tears streaming down her face. In the back of his mind, it almost sounds like the sobbing he first mistook it to be, but Shouta is strong enough to refuse his subconscious's bait.
Hidden behind a head of messy hair, his eyes sting. And if his scarf at all dampens, no one has to know. With a click of his tongue and a twist of the door knob, Shouta Aizawa's exit is swift and uneventful. Counter to everything he felt about their relationship.
“Goodbye, Ms. Joke.“
“Get the hell out of my house, Eraserhead,” Emi says, voice wet with sniffles as her outburst winds down into snickers and muted convulsions.
He does as she asks, wrapped in chaotic emotion, thoroughly unaware of the choice Emi Fukukado found herself facing, uneasy and alone.
There are some things high school heroics don’t train you for.
Relationships rank at the top of the list, second only to parenthood.
It's fine. Everything's fine. Kacchan had the good grace to hit him squarely, not too much swing, so with any luck the bruise will blend in with the bags under his restless eyes.
Sleep and Izuku have a love/hate relationship. That is to say, Izuku tries to bring sleep flowers and chocolates and sing it sweet serenades, and sleep tells him to shut up and that it thinks they should take a break and see other people. Sleep got the car in the divorce. The real tragedy is he can't even sleep around as payback.
Izuku has lots of time to think of silly analogies when he's stuck staring at the ceiling.
The discussions he and Kacchan share are a common enough occurrence that Izuku by no means has tears left to shed. Not anymore. Still, that doesn't make them any less exhausting than they've ever been.
He found this park bench a little over a week ago, tucked under just the right amount of shade, ideal for times such as these, when he can't muster the energy to go home to Mom and pretend everything is a-okay. It's his new Fortress of Not-Solitude, seeing as it's at the edge of a moderately popular but peaceful park. Having people nearby makes for a less lonesome time moping around than if he went and barricaded his bedroom door like in the not-so-good ol' days. Then again, if your problem is not having anyone close, having to see a bunch of people relatively far away only serves to taunt the heart.
A cough comes from off to the side. Izuku kicks his knees away from his chest and plants his feet back on the ground, ready to bolt in case Kacchan or his cronies came back for more. Frankly, the fact that he's been so zoned out as not to notice someone walk right up to him is— well it doesn't improve his self-image.
To his left stands a boy wearing a middle school uniform Izuku doesn't recognize, hair flared back, shoulders drooping like wax, with an unimpressed look on his face. He is notably taller than Izuku, but equally thin, and for all the night troubles Izuku experiences, this stranger looks like he hasn't slept in... Ever. It is, however, difficult to tell if he'd win the nonexistent blue ribbon for "best insomniac" outright, or if the dark rings beneath his striking indigo eyes are only accentuated because he doesn't have a tousled mop of minty curls to shadow them.
He's also standing very close. Almost uncomfortably so.
"You're in my brooding chair."
It takes Izuku a few awkward seconds to realize the boy is talking to him. No one else is around. Ouch. Left fumbling five words into the conversation. Smooth, Izuku. Real smooth.
“O-oh, sorry..!” he says quickly, throwing himself from the seat.
The other boy holds up a hand for him to stop, with a look on his face as dull as childproofed rubber despite Izuku's squirming.
“I didn't say you have to leave," he cuts in, falling onto the opposite end of the bench with the weight of someone who has just come from running a marathon, hard, before staring vacantly into the distance as he slides off his small backpack.
It impacts the ground with a startling amount of mass.
"Oh! Thanks!" Izuku brightens up after momentarily flinching at the drop of the other boy's weirdly dense bag.
"I guess there's enough melancholy to go around, huh?"
It gets a laugh from himself, but not from the other boy, so he counts it as a half-win.
Izuku sets his own—perfectly average—backpack on the ground and cautiously sits back down, eyes on the other boy, who continues to appear unfazed by all the staring. The silence is soon filled by a question Izuku opens his mouth to ask a number of times before he finds the words.
"Uh, what’s- what’s in the bag?"
The boy does not hesitate.
“Toffee, mostly. Why, d’you want some?”
Izuku sputters at this for two reasons.
[1] The boy is still looking at nothing.
[2] He is utterly unclear on which half of that answer he should to respond to. In the end, he doesn't get to pick either, as the other boy keeps talking.
“So who’s keeping you up?”
Huh? Oh, the eye. It must pass as close enough for normal tiredness in the shade. Good, good. The fewer visible injuries the better. It's a lot easier to hide bruises and burns from Mom than it is to think of an excuse. Maybe he can wear sunglasses once it starts to yellow.
The boy leans to fiddle around in his pack without bothering to look and— yep, that’s toffee. He throws the piece into his mouth as if getting his hands all the way to his face would be more effort than the world’s weight in toffee is worth.
“I- my friend, Kacchan, he— sorry, why do you have a big, heavy bag of toffee?”
The boy pauses, slowly swivels his head to look at his backpack, grunts noncommittally, and turns to look at Izuku for the first time since sitting down. With half-lidded eyes and a long-suffering sigh, his low voice manages to grate out a sentence.
“It’s more like a small, heavy bag, but I guess I see your point.”
It's said so deadpan, Izuku can't help but giggle, clamping a hand over his mouth a second too late. Strangely, the boy doesn't look angry, just confused. Both of them remain quiet, aside from the clinking of the boy's caramel drop against his teeth.
There is a limit on how long Izuku can stay silent once something has caught his interest, and it's not an especially generous limit, at that.
"I really like your hair," he says unconsciously, wanting to stick his hand in the lavender locks. Izuku imagines they're really, really soft.
The boy almost chokes on his toffee at hearing the offhanded remark. His eyes widen in a single blink, expression frozen, except for a rising blush that finds its way across his cheeks. In spite of, or perhaps because of the juxtaposition between his overall demeanor and his sudden inability to take such an ingenuous compliment, the boy ends up revealing an underlying thread of disproportionate innocence that Izuku can only describe as:
Cute.
"I. Uh. Thanks?"
Izuku's sly grin begins to return from its hiatus upon seeing those small hints of bashfulness on the boy's otherwise stoic face. Interesting. He's never gotten quite that kind of reaction from anyone before, and he hadn't even been trying to say something funny!
"You should get some ice for that," squeaks the boy as he points at Izuku's eye, desperate to change topics. Izuku balks. Evidently Kacchan's handiwork isn't as well disguised as he thought. The boy was being polite by ignoring it earlier, he supposes.
"Oh, don't worry, that's just- I- it's from a friend of mine. It's fine," Izuku curses himself for how jammed up his mind gets when forced to think about Kacchan. Add to that actually having to talk and you've got yourself a recipe for an overwrought Izuku Midoriya.
“Your friend did that?” the boy asks with a quirk of his brow, head tilted to inspect either damage or honesty. It comes across based more in curiosity than comfort when he’s rubbing at his own tired eyes and combing his (ostensibly soft) hair back with his off hand. Izuku is quick to answer with another tumbleweed of words.
“Y-yeah. Sometimes he’s, uh- Kacchan can be a bit, um, much? B-but it’s fine! I mean, it’s- I start a lot of 'em too, y’know? Fights, I mean. ‘Cus I’ll— I’ll butt in, if there’s somebody else he’s...” Izuku seems to have trouble finding another word for ‘bullying,’ but eventually regains his admittedly tilted footing. “—messing around with. O-or, I know h-how much he hates when I, uh, talk to myself, but sometimes I can’t help it, so, um. We both have things to work on. I-it’s a two way street."
The way his eyes dart in every direction, surveying for the fastest escape route, just in case, only to settle in his lap the moment he doesn't have to talk about this 'Kacchan' anymore speaks volumes to the other boy.
“What about you?” Izuku asks guilelessly, shifting to sit cross-legged facing this mystery boy, who's caught off guard by the question.
“What about me?” He replies with a grimace, as though the question itself came prepackaged in a blender with spoiled egg salad and cough syrup.
“Well, why’re you here?” Izuku clarifies, undeterred and patting the weathered wood of their shared Melancholy Bench.
“I’m not about to tell you that," the boy says, making a face.
“I told you that,” Izuku replies, like fairness alone automatically amounts to a good enough reason for the other boy. To Izuku, fair’s fair is a good enough reason, even if that’s not how other people play most of the time.
“Right. That was very stupid of you. Don't go talking the strangers,” the other boy responds flatly with a lethargic wag of the finger.
Izuku huffs at this. He gathers his gusto, picking up every piece life tore to shreds earlier in the day. Finally, he takes a deep breath and sticks his hand straight out.
"Then let's not be strangers! Izuku Midoriya!" he announces, voice a smidge too loud.
The other boy gives him a hesitant look, unsure of Izuku's sincerity and wary of his spirited attitude. Eventually, for however brief a time, he's able to squelch those anxieties, and moves to shake Izuku's hand. The attempt is intercepted when Izuku meets the stranger's palm not with a mirrored greeting, but a closed fist, thumb extended.
"Hey. Hey look," Izuku says, doing a poor job at keeping himself composed as he points to their impromptu, two-person hand puppet. "It's a turkey!" He laughs.
Really, truly laughs for the first time all day, and at an impossibly childish gesture to boot. Izuku Midoriya is many things; indolent he is not— but the cherry atop this unexpectedly fulfilling day? He makes someone laugh. Someone that isn't him.
... Okay, technically the boy gives a minute, nonplussed smile, alongside a shake of his head, but still! That pretty much counts! Booyah! Chalk another one up on the board for Izuku! He's already up to one and a half! That's more than he's gotten since, gosh, what feels like forever!
He's still laughing, but goes in for a real handshake this time, feeling oddly dwarfed in the loose grip of the stranger's palm.
There is a light in the boy's eyes, and although it's a change imperceptible to most, the weary fog clouding them lifts, if only a little.
He knocks Izuku on the shoulder, not unkindly.
"Hitoshi Shinsou. Pleasure."