Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's dark and cool tonight. 

Izuku loves his friends, and he loves training to be a hero, but he's also taking full advantage of the freedom of Golden Week, of spending the week at home rather than at the dorms. He's been going on jogs, making sure that any newly-built up rubbish on Dagobah Beach is cleared once more, and he's trying to get his homework out of the way for the sake of being able to scrape together extra time for analysis. And it's been working as well. He was able to do a fully in-depth piece on Kamui Woods and the Lurkers this afternoon, and it was glorious. After the last while in school, it's more than good to have the change of pace.

(He still dreams of a hulking monster, of his Sensei crushed and screaming and Asui with wide eyes, so very scared, just like he dreams of ponds so far below, or slime in his nose, against his eyelids, his lips, his ears, and his fingers scrabbling at nothing but thick, foul resistance-)

And he loves his Mum with all of his heart, but she's been worried about him, worried about his place in UA because he destroyed his hands in the Sports Festival, and he understands why, but Izuku... Izuku knows no better, even though he's sort of certain that there must be something, surely, but Todoroki needed-

Well it doesn't matter. It's done, and it's over. (His hands hurt, ache, burn, because those scars go down to the bone, to his marrow and soul, and it was worth it, however it still hurts-)

But to be out in the fresh air, slightly chilly but mostly just crisp, with the faint stars half-covered by city smog far above, is more than wonderful. A relief and welcome break. Of course, the city around him is busy, this area of Musutafu always is, karaoke bars and izakaya and yatai and the last remnants of hanami in two of the most local parks, but it's nice to lose himself in the anonymity and bustle of it. In the bright lights from lamps and lanterns, the chatter of teenagers and couples and groups of friends, the salary men going home or the young families getting their dinners. It's bright and cheerful and full of life, oh-so easy to lose himself in.

Until, of course, he notices two very large men whispering amongst themselves in the mouth of an alley. And Izuku tries not to be prejudiced, because anyone can be dangerous or innocent, doubly so in their world of Quirks, but there's something very... threatening about the look of them, and surely there's no harm to getting close enough to listen to what they're saying, or watching that they're doing, is there? Not really. If anything, it should be expected of him as a hero student, shouldn't it? (Perhaps Izuku is justifying that to himself, but he hates the thought of something happening to someone, particularly if him being even just a few steps away might make all of the difference.)

Approaching the vicinity of the two men, Izuku makes a very casual show of reading the menu on the nearest yatai, clearly keeping himself occupied. He can just make out something about some brat with daddy's money, and how the other one's going to loop around, before the two men split up, one of them lingering at the mouth of the alleyway.

Izuku wouldn't try to judge someone, but that feels very much like something bad, so he's probably not in the wrong to want to at least follow them into the alley.

The first man is already looming over someone who, whilst taller than Izuku, is shorter than the aggressor and certainly slighter than either of them, not to mention that they're quite pale from what glimpses of skin Izuku can see, albeit it's only chin or wrist.

Izuku can't stand the sight of this, of someone being so blatantly threatened, of the low, growling words of the criminal. Doubly so when he still has the images of his teacher and classmates sunset-shattered across the back of his mind, glazed church glass, sanctuary fractured. The image of that Nomu, truly, has stuck with him. And he loathes it as he perhaps never has anything before.

Izuku is on the nearest man before he can think twice about it.

He smashes a knee against their back, right over their kidneys, and they buckle, crying out. The person they were leering over dodges the crumpling body easily enough, and Izuku would commend their reflexes in any other situation, except he's rather busy smashing his elbow against their temple to have them completely upon the ground. Now there's just the second-

"You fucking brat!"  Izuku whirls in place, and so does the would-be victim, the other shorter man already shifting forwards, one of his hands raising out of his pocket, pale with bitten nails, but Izuku is there, still no need for One For All as he simply crashes a punch into the man's stomach, and promptly kicks him across the head on the way down.

Well, that was certainly his adrenaline rush for the day.

He doesn't even get the chance to turn to the only person still standing and check if they're alright before they're grumbling a rather unimpressed dismissal,

"I could have dealt with them myself."  Izuku doesn't disagree, because that might well be true, this person might be good at self-defence, or have a Quirk that they could technically use, or less legally use, but that really isn't the point.

"But you didn't have to."  They falter almost imperceptibly, before ducking impossibly further into their own hood,

"Don't expect me to thank you or some shit."

"Of course! It doesn't matter either way, I'm just glad you're safe."  There's a mutter too quiet for Izuku to truly make out, although the tone is notably unsavoury, but he genuinely doesn't mind much. He really wasn't after gratitude or anything. Particularly when he was only out and about for a quiet night regardless.

"Do you want me to walk anywhere with you or anything?" he checks, because he doesn't want to just walk away but also isn't really sure if there's anything he can do for this person. 

"Fuck no."  Damn, that's almost vitriolic. But, honestly, it's a bit too taken aback to really be anything that harsh.

"Fair," Izuku admits, and can't help but wave cheerily to the person.

He should probably ring the police for the two thugs, but he doesn't really want to have the hassle of it, particularly when it will only worry his mother more and possibly involve his teachers being contacted during their break (one that Aizawa-sensei, at the very least, definitely needs-), so he makes do with flashing one last hint of smile at the stranger before bounding out of the alley and tapping the nearest stall staff on the shoulder, asking them to get the police to arrest the two men knocked out in the alley because they tried to mug someone, please, before hurrying off again. Hopefully that'll be enough for them to not be inclined to track him down at all or anything. That really is not what he wants to deal with right now. Or ever, really.

What a night. Not quite as calm as he was expecting, but there's something bright unspooling in his chest, content with the knowledge that he did manage to help someone, even if it wasn't exactly the most chivalrous attack or the warmest of receptions. It was worth it all the same.

It's actually only two days later when Izuku has snuck out at night once more, or rather has been claiming to meet up with some of his friends for the evening which may or may not have been a lie, because he just needs to breathe.

(His room feels too small, now, filled with the face of his saviour and predecessor and... And the man- Or, rather, the hero, who had grinned when he came to the USJ, yet he had lost that smile for a time, and it's so hard to see All Might in the same way with his conflicting views of the half-shattered, vulnerable Toshinori and the sight of All Might fighting the Nomu, the knowledge that they were attacked for the sake of hurting All Might... It had been a lot. More than a lot, even. It hurts, in fact, viscerally, viciously so.)

He's wandering the busy streets once again, luxuriating in the simplicity of it, the low hubbub. There's a confidence to being out like this. He's far enough away from home that, combined with the Sports Festival and the shifting light, he isn't recognisable as the boy that used to be Quirkless, and it gives him an anonymity that he never had growing up. So he lets himself smile when he sees a little kid who is clearly up past their bedtime slumped upon their father's shoulder, or when an older couple running one of the stalls press their hands together, all affectionate smiles and soft gazes.

And of course, because he has questionable luck at best, both good fortune and poor, Izuku finds his mysterious not-victim again in amongst all of this.

He doesn't even take much time to think before he's heading towards them.

They're skulking around the shop window of some gaming place (and Izuku really had been meaning to check how much of his savings he could put towards Animal Crossing, actually-) and are hunched over, peering at some new console. It looks like they must be really thinking hard about it, because they don't move at all for the full twenty seconds that Izuku half-watches them as he crosses amongst the throngs of people in the street, heading for the quieter, set-back shopfronts, most of them closed.

Perhaps his stranger catches sight of his reflection in the window as he approaches, because their hood shifts as though looking at him, something changing in their posture, and their voice carries just enough to be clear over the crowd now at both of their backs.

"Ugh, you again."  Izuku perks up immediately, beaming at the hooded stranger for all that they're both facing the console and, from the very little beneath their hood that he can see in their taller reflection, they're wearing a face mask today as well, because he wasn't entirely expecting to also be recognised.

But regardless, Izuku falters, and his Quirk flickers upon his skin and within his bones without his own bidding. 

He's facing Shigaraki. But maybe Shigaraki isn't all he's facing.

Chapter Text

Izuku falters, and his Quirk flickers upon his skin without his own biding. 

Chapter Text

It's far from rocket science to figure out how to meet up with Shigaraki again.

For starters, there's only one consistent place they've found each other before, and it's simple enough to take the weekend off to be at home with his Mum rather than in the dorms, and to sneak out, albeit with a note on his desk so that if she happens to check in he won't be completely missing with no rhyme or reason. He doesn't want to worry her anymore than he already has been. But, equally, this is something that he very much needs to do.

This time there is undeniably intention to seeking out Shigaraki, to knowing that he actively wants to meet up with a villain, and, sure, it has been harmless so far, but how is Izuku to know if he isn't being taken advantage of, truly?  (He feels like he knows Shigaraki in some sort of way, like he can trust him in this aspect if perhaps nothing else, but he also knows that first impressions, or second, third, fourth, can be misleading, can be misjudgements and mistakes...  Izuku aches to be right about this, somehow.)

As such, Izuku finds himself in downtown Musutafu once more, wandering amongst the crowds until he comes across that game shop once more. If he happens to pass a yatai selling various teas and picks up a cup of matcha then, well, it's both an indulgence and the very tiniest rebellion.

"Gross."  The voice doesn't startle him, because he was expecting the other teen's arrival and had watched his approach.

"Better than the taste of blood," Izuku returns, thoughtless, and he almost regrets it when he sees the way that Shigaraki's shoulders shift, a hunch and almost-shrug all at once. He doesn't quite feel bad either, but he doesn't exactly feel good about it. Izuku doesn't want to hurt Shigaraki, not in any sense, no matter what side of society they may be on (no matter that he is All Might's successor, or that Shigaraki wants All Might dead-). 

"Fucking fair or whatever, I guess."

"I should hope so," Izuku returns, slurping some of his tea as obnoxiously as possible, even though it distorts the taste a bit. It's worth it to have Shigaraki huffing.

The surrealism of the moment, just like last time, hits Izuku in a tsunami wave all at once, and he snorts as he lowers his takeaway cup once more. 

"I'm glad you came here too," he murmurs, genuine in a way he wasn't sure he should have been. But Shigaraki is shifting, not uncomfortable but acknowledging perhaps, his warmth abruptly a tiny bit closer, and his mutter is barely loud enough to cross even the decreased distance between them,

"I'm surprised you did."  Izuku is too. It's as simple as that. Yet here he is, and here Shigaraki is beside him.

Oh, fuck.

"This isn't exactly tenable, is it?" he murmurs, far more melancholy than he intended to be, with more weight than he even realised he had dragging upon his chest. He isn't even sure how so much emotion snuck its why into his very core, winding ivy-like between his ribs.

"What, this side quest?" The older teen doesn't give Izuku long enough to confirm, because he's already snorting,
"Because no, fuck no, it's not."

"We- we could meet somewhere else. Somewhere better."  The offer isn't unconsidered, two moments too late for it to be anything but racing-thought through, and yet Izuku says it so quietly, like an oath and a terror all in one. The lack of instant dismissal bolsters him at least a little. And Shigaraki's rather low-toned return only helps,

"Which means you want to." 

"Do you really have to call me out?"  Izuku grumbles, half-belligerent but also a little bit joking, and there's something like a eyeroll in return, but also a less-than-impressed mutter that might just be something like an agreement or perhaps a commiseration. Something along the lines of a 'me too'. 

It gives Izuku a hope that he perhaps shouldn't have.

He lays in bed later that night, and finds himself without nightmares for the first night in some time. Oh, it is still far from a truly restful sleep, too full of tossing and turning and odd glimpses of half-remembered thought for that (like me like me same different akin-), but it's a more peaceful night than he had expected to have. Doubly so with the weighted knowledge of what he intends to do tomorrow.

(Is it folly or heroism to want to know more about a villain? Because it feels… not natural per se, but perhaps inevitable, a thing of fate, because villains, before now, have been a twisted vision of personal demons and childhood bullies and figures that those much greater than Izuku himself could fight. This villain, Shigaraki… He is surely Izuku’s villain, is he not? His equal and opposite.)

But he loses himself to rest all the same, quieting his mind as best he can with rote memorisation of old, well-worn analyses, and he fights the urge to think upon urgent, current matters as much as possible. It can wait until the next day.  (Until he allows himself the dangerous indulgence of actively meeting up with a villain for a second time, but that's a matter for the next day as well. Tonight's Izuku can simply dream of red eyes that aren't full of hatred.)

As such, Izuku waits until the morning to look up what bothers him. He's not really expecting to find much information, not in a short time frame, with the perhaps overly-specific search terms, and before he returns to school in case the searches ring some sort of alarm bells. He'd rather not have to look Aizawa-sensei in the eyes and lie about why his interest in Shigaraki has suddenly been renewed. He isn't sure he even could.

He was expecting it, but it's still a little frustrating to be at a loss all the same. By the time he's scrolled through no less than five result pages of at least four different search parameters, most of them based around 'disintegration Quirk' and excluding 'USJ' or 'UA' because that only reveals articles about something that Izuku knows far, far too much about. And whether it's because of the specific Quirk or something else, he finds very little of use at all.

That being said, there's a single old article. It's an upload of a small local publication, one from thirteen years ago, buried amongst several other articles in the same webpage, about how there were several buildings and people that had disappeared into dust and nothing at all, a series of events posited to be the result of a disintegration or dehydration or even some sort of decay at the atomic level. Nobody was apparently sure, and the lack of eye witnesses had left little to no hint at all, with poor CCTV footage for only one of the events, and nothing at all for the rest. A lack of survivors will do that. And, after there had been no leads and, after a short time, no more incidents, it had been put dropped entirely. The country as a whole had far more issues with a period of unrest across the Sea of Japan, with a threat of descending war.

Now, Izuku is a realist. Shigaraki can't be that much older than him, definitely a year or three, but he can't be as old as twenty, which put that one article right around whenever the villain's Quirk was likely to have manifested. An uncontrolled, highly-destructive Quirk...  Well, Izuku can acknowledge his own experiences with an insane Quirk. He was lucky, in many ways, that his power (is it even really his, yet? it still doesn't feel like it, feels too much like the sparks of a dream he can barely dare reach for-) at least only hurt him, and never the world around him. Not directly at least.

(Izuku will never, so long as he shall live, forget the expression on his mother's face when he came home after the Sports Festival, with his hands ruined and his determination solidified. Her worry had been suffocating, but it had been heart-breaking too. Izuku never wanted to hurt her.)

But he only has so long until he's due to meet Shigaraki, and only so long that he feels safe looking things up related to this (he takes a mental note of the names of those who were confirmed dead, particularly of the family, because that little boy would have been Shigaraki's age, and the chances of a villain still using the name he was born with... well, for one who is clearly oriented upon things like killing All Might rather than making an individual name for themselves, it wouldn't be logical to voluntarily offer such a vulnerability-)  so Izuku finishes up, closing his searches, breathing deeply.

He's okay. He's alright, no blood or panic or fear to be found here, and he's going to go to eat a snack, probably, followed by an extra-long workout tonight because he woke up feeling sluggish today and only had time for a short jog before he had to leave for the library, and it's left him feeling a bit antsy, admittedly. It's amazing how much exercise has come to help him relax.

He could definitely do with relaxing more right now. But it isn't really an option, because he'll be late if he doesn't leave now, but equally the shopping centre isn't far enough away for him to really be able to jog there. He'll have to get his adrenaline rush from arguably-inadvisable actions instead.

It's all of ten minutes later when Izuku is entering the shopping centre, very much not enjoying the crowds right now, throngs of too-loud people with far more energy than the streets of downtown evening Musutafu, and he certainly doesn't like half that much. He feels suffocated. Not only that, but Izuku feels just a little like a fool. Like he's being reckless, stupid, ridiculous, all of the possible words to articulate his idiocy.

Yet here he is.

It is, quite obviously, a public place, and if not for how they have already been out in pubic several times, Izuku would certainly fear the very notion of putting other people, innocents, in potential danger, for all that, equally, if he had still been concerned as much as he probably should be, it would be better to meet in public rather than risk meeting the older teen, of all people, in a quieter place where it would be far easier to be attacked or taken. Yet here he is either way, with almost no allowance of a care either way.  (Something, deep in his chest, wants to trust the other teen with shatter-bright eyes and sharp words, but Izuku is All Might's successor, is one of the somehow-top students of 1-A, and has been this man's target just one too many times already, arguably twice, to completely dismiss the very real risks to this. He's giving in to the cat-like curiosity with enough prey-learnt caution to hopefully survive the encounter.)

Izuku, both naturally and upon agreement, heads straight for the comics and graphics novels section of the bookshop, flipping through a remake of an old pre-Quirk franchise. It seems like a series that Shinsou might like, actually. His phone case has cats on it after all.

"Wannabe."  The tone is casual. Casual enough that it has something like the beginning of a shiver tracing frost up Izuku's spine.

"Surely that's not the nickname you're actually going with?" he replies, not a thought to the words, and he can't help but stiffen a little, both at his own flippancy and at how there's the warmth of another person behind him, taller than him and yet hardly looming over him at all. Almost like Shigaraki feels just as wary as him. Which, well, probably isn't likely, per se, but is possible. (Then again, after the last few days, the last few weeks, Izuku thinks he might just know that to be a truth; Shigaraki is human too, no two ways about it.)

Izuku doesn't have the time to think upon it anymore, because there's the light brush of what feels more like knuckles than fingertips against his shoulder, and the warmth is moving away.

"Well then, what's your username, player two?"

"Not wannabe, that's for sure," Izuku returns, a tiny bit sharp-edged, for all that his amusements creeps in a little too much. (He refuses to question the fact that he's talking just as easily with a villain as he would with his friends, beyond the fact that his heart is beating just a little bit too fast. If he thinks about it too much, he might just ruin it. And who knows what ruining this odd sort of truce would lead to?)

"Then obviously it should be my choice."  The demand, rather than sounding spoilt or arrogant, has a teasing sort of imperiousness. When Izuku glances up from the comic that he was thumbing through, he finds red eyes full of curiosity above all else. Perhaps there’s a touch of glee as well.

"If I have veto power," Izuku bargains. Somehow he finds himself flashing a very brief, toothy smile in return, surprising himself a little. Judging by how Shigaraki very briefly stills, almost a twitch given how genuinely short-lived it is, he is as well.

There's a flash of fingertips then, and it doesn't so much as occur to Izuku to flinch away before the comic he was holding has been taken by a thumb and three fingers, the other barely curled just enough to not turn the whole thing to dust. (The reminder is... uncomfortable. Not awful, not quite triggering per se, but it is a disconcerting thing to be so abruptly reminded of. Izuku isn't sure why he's here, with someone only a few years older than him yet with so much blood on his hands, nor is he sure why he genuinely wants to be here still.

There's no logical reasoning, not that Izuku is conscious of at least, beyond the very faint possibility of getting information, but how he would report such a thing anyway... No, Izuku isn't sure he could justify any of this, except there's something about Shigaraki, about the weight upon him and mania within him that, whilst not necessarily a perfect mirror of his own self, is undeniably a distortion-match. A familiarity and a kinship. One that Izuku has never quite found in a person before, not like this.)

"I suppose that might be acceptable. Maybe," Shigaraki grouches, flipping through a few pages of the comic, scowling in disdain. Izuku huffs, but doesn't protest, pulling out the second volume of the same series because he really does think Shinsou would like them.

It's odd, yet easy, how they fall into silence then. It's not even uncomfortable, not like it had been the other night. No, they both simply glance through some comics, Izuku resolving to text Shinsou about the ones he noticed even as he swaps out what he's looking at for a familiar classic instead, a remake of an old pre-Quirk thing. Of course, the character wasn't left as Quirkless, because that wouldn't be socially acceptable, obviously, but it's nice to still see, to imagine what could have been. To let himself believe in what might one day be possible. (It doesn't matter now, he has a Quirk, has a place in UA, yet it does still matter, somehow. He's still Deku, in too many parts, and the scars upon his mind and skin and soul will never let him forget. He had been helpless to let himself have any other hero name, any other status of being. He has been Deku for as long as he can remember, after all.)

That's when Izuku looks up, and he sees a child where there is a teen. A tiny, shivering figure, red eyes and pale hair (tiny, shivering, green eyes and dark curls-), in a big world full of people who might just hate them for something they can't control-

(A child whose touch destroyed, whose family may or may not have supported him; a child who had nothing but an ancient biology, whose mother tried but never quite really supported him at all. What must it have been, to not dare to touch others for the fear of what he might do? To know that his power might hurt his loved ones or his friends or his favourite belongings? Izuku knows better than to compare trauma, knows it isn't truly comparable at all, yet he cannot help but wonder if it's worse to have an absolutely destructive Quirk or no Quirk at all.


Either way, he has no doubt it was beyond awful. Their society isn't a kind place, not to people who don't have Quirks, or who have Quirks construed as villainous, and Izuku has no doubt that whatever happened beyond general discrimination, that discrimination itself must have been hideous. Izuku's certainly was.)

"I'm sorry for what the world's done to you," Izuku intones, low, grave, not quite having meant to say the words yet helpless but to say them anyway. They're heartfelt, either way.

But being heartfelt doesn't make them well-received. No, Shigaraki freezes, grip going tight around the comic in his hand, and it's only Izuku reaching out, snatching it away, that stops the thing from being disintegrated. (His own lack of fear, should he think twice about it, would be a marvel and a concern all at once.)

"We can't ruin things that belong to the shop!" Izuku rushes out, already going to tuck the comic back away in the shelves, his own alongside, and he almost misses the words that are spat in return, not angry per se but certainly disgruntled, off-guard,

"You can't just fucking say shit like that."  Admittedly, this confuses the younger teen a bit, because he thought it was perfectly reasonable to ask Shigaraki, villain or not, to maybe not destroy things right in front of him in public?

"I know you're not exactly the most moral person ever but it's still illegal to disintegrate a shop's goods!"

"That isn't-"  The taller boy huffs, sighs, scowls, finally snapping out a more coherent,
"Ugh, just fuck off."

A pale hand lashes down, slamming upon the comics, fortunately palm-first, and Shigaraki spins on his heel, audibly snarling out some sort of wordless curse.

He continues spitting and growling as he stomps out. There's a drama to his figure, a gravitas to the way he strides out of the shop, one that drags Izuku forward, almost helpless against the orbit of it. 

It's his choice, however, after a few seconds of following the ever-louder ranting, to speak up, to reach out in the easiest way he currently can.

"Shi- Oh, come on. Please, calm down, or at least quiet down, you're making a scene. I'm sorry if I overstepped, okay? Genuinely. That wasn't my place to say, but I was- I don't know, I was probably projecting or something, and I'm sorry. Please just stop. We can't make a scene here, we can't, come on."  He's babbling, barely keeping his tone just below the volume of Shigaraki's own discontent, and he reaches out physically too, grasping at one of the clenched fists-

His scarred fingers curl around dry skin and protruding knuckles, and both of them freeze.

There's at least one family staring at them, Izuku realises, the weight of the gazes enough that he can't think upon anything else until he turns his head to them, forcing a slightly strained smile that has the father ushering his children away. Without thought or agreement, both of them move, shuffling closer together. Izuku doesn't let go. Shigaraki doesn't shake him off.

No, they move closer together, and they let themselves relax. It makes far less of a notable scene than their furious energy from only moments ago. (And if neither of them feel a particular need to draw away again, then it's a private thought which neither of the pair will acknowledge right now, and likely not later either.)  Of course, they also fall silent, Shigaraki's anger and Izuku's fear all lost to a stillness. A tableau where the brand of Izuku's touch is all they focus on. (Perhaps, truly, some of those emotions are the other way around, because Izuku has always raged for others wronged by the world he lives in, and Shigaraki might just fear what could come of the truth about him being revealed to even one person, of being vulnerable-) 

Without another word, Izuku tugs very gently upon Shigaraki's fist, as careful as approaching a stray cat, delicate, and pulls him towards a set of benches along the balcony-like walkway of this floor of the shopping centre, out of the way of most of the people. It's more visible than he would like, but Shigaraki still has his hood up despite storming off (Izuku really wishes his mouth kept up with his mind sometimes, and vice versa-) and they're in damn public anyway. It's a bit too late to care, in a few too many ways.

They sit down then, and Izuku lets go. He breathes. And before he can figure out what to say beyond apologising again, because he meant what he said but he didn't actually mean to say it, and he knows he shouldn't have said it, not now at least, maybe one day, a future day, there are low, rasping words that interrupt his spiralling thoughts:

"So you realise that we can't do this? That what we're doing right now is stupid and dangerous? We don't have the stats for this."  Izuku breathes in deeply, once, twice, thrice, yet still finds his words stumbling, scraping over his tongue,

"I- I mean-" He cuts off, crossing his arms and hunching over a bit, because he really just wants to say the right thing, but his mind is nothing but blind panic and regret. (He doesn't regret this whole thing, but he regrets this. Loathes it.)

Shigaraki speaks for him though, too much weight in his voice for anything but full attention:

"You're the Ninth, Midoriya Izuku." He doesn't even have the chance to question that statement, to worry over Shigaraki's knowledge of such a thing, because he already knows his response to that,

"Well maybe right now I'm just Izuku. And maybe you're Tomura, not Shigaraki."

Neither of them have anything to say to that, because Izuku is right, but he can't be right. They can't afford him to be.

(Both of them, staring at each other, read that mirrored thought in shadowed eyes, and Izuku's hand has gravitated around Shi- around Tomura's arm once more. Even through the hoodie, it's tight with searing, warm heat.

They're in trouble, and neither want to get out of it enough to save themselves.)

Chapter Text

Against both Izuku and Tomura's better or worse judgements, they meet up again.

It's two weeks later. Well, just over actually, because it's a Wednesday rather than the weekend, but it's near enough. Izuku has hit a lull in schoolwork this week post-internships, and it gives him enough room to very briefly stop by downtown Musutafu one evening when he's meant to be buying some extra groceries for his Mum, taking another weekend at home, and he doesn't have the chance to actually spend any time with the hooded figure lingering along the fringes of the crowds, but being able to brush past him and request the central plaza of the same shopping centre as last time after school on Wednesday (same place, after school, Wednesday, be there; sure, whatever-), and then he's gone again, picking up his mother's favourite five kernel Chinese moon cakes, perfectly innocent. Unremarkable.

To himself, he acknowledges the fact that Tomura shouldn't know when exactly his class' lessons end, but that he does, and Izuku moves on with that knowledge a too-light weight in his chest. It... It is what it is.  (They are what they are, and Izuku has no delusions about changing that fact for either of them.)

Four days later, Izuku is settled upon a bench, phone in hand, scrolling through the news, skimming an analysis article that he nearly scoffs at because this person couldn't even identify Kamui Woods' tree species correctly, honestly, who would think he was made of birch? The shades are all wrong, not to mention that the grain of birch bark is completely different-

"Move, wannabe."  Izuku can't even protest the nickname again before he's on his feet and following the retreating back of his villain through the crowds.

"What flavour?" The demand takes Izuku by surprise, too abrupt for him to formulate a response with any speed.
"Chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla."

"Oh, uhm, strawberry?"

"Go and sit your wannabe arse down somewhere then," Shigaraki snaps, for all that there's no heat to the words, nor any effort to his glare. Still a little confused, Izuku does just that, settling upon one of the picnic-style benches, watching Shigaraki (should he be calling him Tomura now? it feels like it would be a reminder for the better, but he doesn't want to overstep, not again-) as the older teen queues up in front of a smoothie and milkshake shopfront, scratching at his neck occasionally or shifting his feet. Izuku can almost hear the grumbling complaints.

Tomura, meanwhile, is indeed grumbling under his breath, very much hating having to wait behind a family of screaming children that are clearly ungrateful little brats. One of them is saying that they want ice cream, rather than a milkshake, and the other is apparently just screaming for the sake of it, and their parents are trying to placate them and he really doesn't have the patience-

From the corner of his eye, Mido- Izuku shifts in his seat at a bench, fingers rapping atop the surface in an idle gesture that definitely doesn't have Tomura's own hands twitching, digging into his neck the tiniest bit more, until it stings and he draws away again, lest Kurogiri notice tonight and ask what agitated him. Being able to order distracts him well enough from there.

Huffing under his breath five minutes later, Tomura snatches up the two milkshakes and the straws alongside, dumping them upon the table that Mi- Izuku is sitting at.

"Here," he snaps, already stabbing the shorter teen's drink with one of the straws, taking an idle satisfaction from the resistance and push of it. 

"Ah, thank you!"  Despite everything, Izuku looks genuinely delighted, looking over at Tomura with wide, bright eyes and a matching smile.

It takes him a long moment far too long to respond, and he scowls when he does,

"Whatever. Gonna make me fuckin' skint at this rate."

"Oh! If you need me to, I can pay next time!" he chirps, completely honestly so, because he really doesn't want to cost Shigaraki- to cost Tomura any money that he can't or doesn't want to pay.

"I don't need you to, brat."

"Well then, I want to," Izuku insists. Tomura's scowl only worsens though, growing fiercer,

"Shut the fuck up, I just said I don't need you to."

"Fine," Izuku pouts.  (His eyes are oh-so bright, pretty, jewel-tones in heaven-aurora light, and Tomura doesn't notice, of course he doesn't-)

Neither of them address the fact that they're already nigh-on agreeing on a next time. It- it doesn't mean that there will definitely be a next time or anything. It's just a turn of phrase. A nicety. And- and Izuku is the hero student, so of course he would offer.

(He's the hero student, so he shouldn't be here at all, sitting opposite the villain. They both know that, in this moment, their relative roles are being pushed at least a little to the wayside. They- they have to be Tomura and Izuku to survive this. To be able to look each other in the eyes, and to find light and dark and the grey in between within their hearts.)

Both of them drink their milkshakes for a fair time. There are things they both want to say, need to say, words that press upon their tongues and breaths that catch in their throats, the lingering, weighted knowledge of how much is going unsaid despite the situation they are currently in together, yet there is very little room to say them at all. Or, perhaps more accurately, very little desire.

Is it so bad, really, to want some temporary peace first?

They can't let it last forever, however, and Izuku is the one to break the too-comfortable quiet, words sombre yet wry all at once,

"Neither of us have done well out of society, have we?"  He keeps it open, no pressure to share secrets or details, but it's still a blatant request for shared acknowledgement.

And there's a long few moments of silence, of Shig- Tomura sitting utterly still, nary a breath to be seen or heard, fingers tight enough around his milkshake cup that it starts to crumple slightly. Izuku almost begins to consider himself lucky it doesn't get destroyed under five fingertips.

Until, of course, the older teen grumbles something completely unintelligible, possibly wordless in the first place, and jerks a nod.

"Fucked up our spawn stats."

"Definitely," Izuku returns, a bitter edge that he loathes creeping into his own voice. There's commiseration there, understanding, and neither of them have room for sympathy here, not when there's so much blood and grief and raw-nerved understanding between them.

"Do-"  He huffs, shifts in his seat, falls quiet again. There- there really isn't much more to be said. Not about that at least. And, judging by the way that Tomura eyes him, gaze laden with more than even Izuku can completely fathom, the older teen knows as well.

Fortunately, then, it is Tomura who speaks up next, albeit several minutes later.

"If we really are going to meet up more, we need better dialogue."  Izuku pauses for half a breath, gaze brightening once he fully parses just what that means, taking it in, and he nods, because this meeting up system is far from tenable.

"Any suggestions?"  The pause then is longer, more hesitance to it and tension with that, but then 

"I do have one thing in my inventory. Untraceable."

"That sounds pretty perfect. What's the catch?"  There's obviously something wrong with this option, if Shiga- Tomura hasn't immediately insisted upon it, and Izuku is wary. More than, really. If the literal criminal is faltering over it, then that can't bode well, surely?

"Your paladin morals will probably say no."

"Try me, then. The worst I can do is say no."  They both realise, after half a moment, how that sentence is either a lie or a very, very questionable truth. And they both know that Izuku hasn't been corrupted like that, certainly not this quickly. (Not ever, perhaps, but that remains yet to be seen-)

"A Nomu. One of mine, not- Whatever," he dismisses abruptly, words storming onwards, the quietest of tempests in their busy surroundings,
"It can deliver notes to a person remotely, if one of its teeth is in a location. Tapping the tooth four times can let you send one back." The words are caught between clinical and immaculately wrong, something neither a tremble nor a hesitation to them.

"One of the monsters." Izuku's own words are blank at most. Bland. Dead-hearted, one might say, and it would be a well-deserved description indeed.

"Yes," Shigaraki returns, almost casual. Izuku sees the tension in his shoulders though. It's faint, but it's there.

"I-"  Izuku can't quite process that, not yet, even for the sake of helping the other teen relax, so he slurps up more of his strawberry milkshake. (He doesn't notice it, not for a long few seconds more, but he hums a little, content, and Shigaraki notices before Izuku himself, and if that obvious happiness has him relaxing in a way that he certainly didn't mean to, then so be it.)

The monster has already been made, hasn't it? Whatever disgusting way those things are created has already happened. And Izuku- well, he can't exactly change that, can he, but maybe if he and Tomura get closer, maybe in some way he can change what might happen in the future? It's a bit of a stretch, yet the thought is a quietly glorious one. It's a hope. 

Of course, there are still the practicalities of the matter to consider. Because Izuku doesn't want to risk UA, doesn't want to risk anyone but himself, yet he, selfishly, oh-so selfishly, wants this too.

Which leaves him with questions rather than answers. He can only wish for luck that they'll be listened to.

So he shuffles his thoughts, settles them, sweeps away the discontent of lets himself focus on what else needs to be assessed, and as such questioned.

"You could use it to follow me, or track me, or send something dangerous."

"The only reason I have this Nomu to myself is because the Quirks didn't combine as predicted, and it can't track its own teeth. And it's specifically a messenger."  Izuku hums, thinks, nods soon enough,

"And what guarantee would I have that you don't have anything else that could warp to where one of these teeth is?"  

"None except my word." Tomura shrugs, sharp, earning a simple half-smile,

"Alright then."

Tomura visibly falters, suspicion to every suddenly-tense plane of his body, eyes too narrow and bright all at once. Izuku would almost laugh at how he looks like he's about to leap out of his seat if not for how the reality of that would make him- Well, that doesn't matter.

"Just 'alright'?"

"Alright, as in I'm thinking," Izuku clarifies, offering a far looser shrug of his own, quietly glad when it has the older teen losing some of that blade-sharp tension,
"But I'm... I'm open to it, I guess."

"Right," Tomura snorts, but he turns his attention to the strawberry milkshake rather than pushing or prodding at Izuku, and that's enough for him.

And he ends up concluding, as he slurps up the last of his own drink, that it's worth a try, surely. He can't take the tooth to his dorm, not yet at least, but if he puts it somewhere just outside of UA, somewhere accessible, inconspicuous...  Well, it will suffice. It will have to. It will still be safer than this which, for now, is all that Izuku can really ask for. More than, even.

"If you can accept that I won't take it right into UA now, and likely not any time soon, then, yes, I think that sounds like a good plan unless something better comes along."  Those red eyes go slightly wide, a flash of lightning through the sunset-storm clouds, and there's a very tiny, slow curve of a smile, more teeth and sharpness than anything soft, yet it's a remarkable expression all the same.

(Something, low and deep in Izuku's chest, where his most vulnerable, dark heart double-time beats against his spine, shifts, slips, and falls just a little. It grows warmer.)

"I can work with that, wannabe." Tomura's words are light. Both of them begin to truly lose their tension then, an agreement found and both of them settling alongside it. The world around them seems to slip out of focus, just a little, the faces of the crowds blurring out just enough to be disregarded. Just enough to feel safe. Able to relax.

"You called me a side quest before, and honestly even that was an improvement on wannabe," Izuku snarks, promptly being rewarded by an eyeroll.

"Sure, whatever."

"Oi, I mean it."  He kicks out, catching Tomura across the shins,
"Wannabe just reminds me of bad things."

"Ugh, fine. Quest it is."

Izuku falters, admittedly, because he wasn't really expecting to actually be given another nickname, let alone one that he likes, but he certainly won't complain. (He wasn't expecting to be listened to; he has no idea how much Tomura did or didn't consider the fact that Izuku said it reminded him of bad things, however the fact that it wasn't instantly dismissed, nor simply refuted... Izuku, sometimes, is struck by just how miserable others' treatment of him can have him feeling. Or, in turn, how absolutely amazing it is to feel listened to, no matter who by.)

So, he'll beam at the older teen, thoughtless, bright, boundless, and allow himself a single moment's thought before he replies.

"Deal, Arc."

"Arc?"

"Arc," he affirms, smile softening yet no less present. Tomura doesn't protest, to both of their relatively mild surprise.

(Tomura sees that expression, the hope and vibrancy and shadows beneath it all, and he... he doesn't know what to make of it. Except, perhaps, that his skin doesn't itch, no, it settles, something in his chest falling into a bed of freckles and bright eyes and a knowledge that he is not alone. No, Tomura has found someone similar to himself, remarkably so. Terrifyingly, wondrously so. He wonders, vacantly, deep within himself, which of them it is most likely to be the death of.)

"So you'll let me give you a tooth?"

"Yes," Izuku confirms, clear as can be, the blinking of a shop's neon light nothing in comparison to the sheer vibrancy of his gaze,
"Just don't expect my responses to be any time but the evening, or maybe early morning."

"Fine. I guess I can put up with the load time."   There is, perhaps, an unspoken addition to those words, perhaps even an unthought one, however neither of them acknowledge it, intentionally or not. (It's worth it; you are worth it.)

The abrupt scream of a child, fortunately delighted rather than terrified, pushes Izuku out of his descending reverie, and he settles back into their conversation without a second thought:

"Is loading time more annoying in games or real life?"  It's an idle question, only half-serious, and it matches the way that Tomura's eyes gleam, just a little.

"Games."

"Really? I thought most games were better than Animal Crossing for load time, surely they can't be that bad."  He earns himself an eyeroll with that final comment, Tomura leaning in closer, leering just a bit, that gleam ever-brighter,

"Of course that's what you play."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Izuku squawks, a tiny bit offended yet mostly just warm from the laughter threatening to simmer up within his chest.

Judging by the slight change in Tomura's expression, it might just creep out a little.

(Izuku is right about that, to say the least, because it isn't quite a giggle nor a snicker, something low and bubbling, yet it seeps into the space between them with all the sweetness of the strawberry milkshakes they have both been drinking, and Tomura drinks it in with much the same begrudging enthusiasm, revelling in something that he can rarely indulge in yet finds himself relishing in either way. What an oddly lovely thing.)

"You clearly have extraordinarily bad taste in basically everything, Quest," he snarks, in place of letting his expression soften anymore. It works well enough as a distraction at least, because Izuku leans in a little too, that laughing edge to his tone still there even as his indignant exclamation bursts forth,

"Rude!"  Tomura smirks,

"So is your face."

"That literally makes no sense."

"Shut it, NPC. You make no sense."

"Neither does your gamespeak," Izuku retorts, kicking out at the older teen's shins once more,
"Yet here we are."

"Says the Animal Crossing lover."

"Are you going to hold that against me forever now?" he grumbles, slumping into himself. Tomura, shamelessly, nods, that smirk still in place to match his succinct reply:

"Yes."

The shorter teen huffs, one and then again, before straightening a little once more, eyes bright,

"So have you actually never played it?"

"Once," comes the notably derisive response, hands beginning to wave as he goes on, recalcitrance slipping instead into a rant,
"The villager NPCs were fucking annoying, and it wouldn't let me kill anything, so what was the point? And it took too long to establish anything of actual use, not to mention-"

"The point is that it's relaxing!" Izuku interrupts. (Months, weeks, perhaps days ago, he wouldn't have dared, or would have at least been very wary, over such casual protest, such easy indignation against Tomura's opinion, doubly so when there are vulnerable civilians all around them, utterly unaware of the dual danger within their midst; yet in this moment, he doesn't think twice about refuting the older teen, about teasing him or arguing over a game.)

"Except when you get too many sea bass in a row," he goes on, still too noticeably amused to come across as truly petulant,
"That's just annoying, but it's mostly relaxing."

"Whatever, noob," Tomura dismisses, waving a hand, a casual flick that seems perfectly relaxed. Izuku doesn't so much as flinch.

(To the unknowing world around them, to the noisy crowds and bored shop workers, the two teenagers sitting at a bench in the shopping centre are nothing more than unremarkable. One has his hood up, but in a world of Quirks such a thing is far from notable, and the other has bouncing curls and scars upon his hands, but in every day, to passer-bys, there is no thought given to the Sports Festival and this young man's more than passing resemblance to one of the most memorable first-year competitors.

No, the pair are simply another part of a crowd of faces, smiles and laughter or tired determination, just people. Nothing more. There is no thought to a villain or a hero, successors in great chess fields played by hands too large for any life to survive. It is a thing of rare beauty, to be anonymous as such, a luxury neither have been commonly afforded. Here though, right now, they take full advantage. They need to. Even if part of that need is simply being able to grin at each other, too toothy and too bright for what they each are.)

"Maybe you're the one who needs better taste."

"And maybe you're the one who needs to shut up and be ready to just figure out where to hide your damned tooth," the older teen returns, tone not quite as acidic as his words themselves might warrant. Izuku, only a ted belligerent, doesn't so much as deign to roll his eyes, digging his nails in around the rim of his empty milkshake cup, just below the plastic rim, thoughtlessly focusing upon the resistance of it.

"For all you know, I might already have a plan."

"Do you?"  The half-snorted challenge has the shorter teen shrugging, grip giving way somewhat,

"Most of a plan. A trial one, at least."  Tomura considers him for a long moment, those eyes heavier than bones or popping hands, 

"Guess that'll do. I'll leave it-"

Izuku sits bolt upright, barely keeping the movement casual enough not to attract more than a single askance glance from a man with a pram walking past,

"Leave it?"  He gets a pale eyebrow raised in return,

"You really want to risk meeting up again?" Izuku understands that, he does, but he isn't stupid either, and has very much got his own opinions upon the matter,

"No, Arc, but I think we can pass each other in a street again safely enough, and it's better than risking this tooth going to the wrong place and ending up a danger to our secrecy entirely."

Tomura doesn't reply, not immediately, and both of them know why: the realisation of what they're consciously, actively planning hits hard and sudden once more. It's a tidal thing, yet with renewed tsunami strength each and every time. They're gambling with their lives, frankly, and both of them are agonisingly aware of the fact. (It isn't only their own lives of course, it is also each other's, and that, in some ways, already feels worse.)

And, somehow, both because of and in spite of all this, it would be completely unthinkable to walk away from each other today and have that be it. No, something in all of this needs to happen, to be done, that much is far too obvious, and who are they not to see it through?

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Arc, come to mine today?

Bet it's ugly. But sure, whatever.

Okay so maybe it's not so ugly.

Thanks!

Shut up.

Nope.

Where even are you, to be talking like this?

Brought it to a park.

Huh.

It's actually easier than typing in the message box.

Told you AC's load times are shit.

Hush. 
Until you can convince me to buy another game, then you won't have any right to complain.

Shut up and play the damn game, Quest.

Ooookay.  
:)

Izuku settles back into bed only half an hour later, back at UA from where he'd gone to take a jog around the local park, the same park that he has hidden his gifted tooth in.

And he has his Switch out again already, glad that he decided to buy that Animal Crossing game only a week after first mentioning it to Tomura, because it was fun to drag the older teen around his island this afternoon, doubly so when he was sat on a bench in a park, all fresh air and blue skies and the distant clamouring of children. And had a fr... and his villain to play with.

And they're still playing together again now, Tomura busy complaining about the fact that Izuku managed to hybrid-breed the green mum flowers already because, really, aren't there like two or three steps to getting that particular hybrid? Izuku, for his part, had just used the smug emotion and started bashing Tomura's character over the head with a net.

It's fun, easy, light. It's everything that Izuku didn't know he needed.

Did you ever realise that heroes can fail?

I know it. They're human, too.
And some of them aren't good people, I'm sure, but if they do a good job then how can I begrudge that?

You For fuck's sake Doesn't it make you angry?

Not really. It's just, you know. It is what it is.

Whatever.
I'm going to be gone for a bit. Work.

You  I guess I don't want to know?

No.

I'll check as often as I can, then.   Tomura is just about ready to leave when a final note pops through, one that he doesn't want to reply to. (No matter that he has something like warmth flickering to life in his chest.)

Be safe.

Izuku cannot wish Tomura good luck, not for whatever he might be doing under his role as villain, but equally he has been talking, sporadically, to the older teen for... oh, for around a month already, which is far longer than Izuku had thought.  (It's more than a little disconcerting to think about, because in all truth they never should have started talking in the first place, should never have shared strawberry milkshakes and Animal Crossing and something approaching smiles, yet here they are. And Izuku, well, he genuinely doesn't like the thought of Tomura getting hurt.

He likes the thought of Tomura killing somebody even less.)

Izuku watches the news carefully that week, or rather even more carefully than usual. He doesn't hear about any deaths of heroes, which is undeniably a bit of a relief. (He doesn't know if Tomura has ever actually killed anyone after the possible-family and two random strangers as a young child with an uncontrolled Quirk, but he isn't blind to the very real possibility. The older teen certainly tried to kill them, with a conviction that had been undeniable at the time. No, he hadn't so much as flinched when the Nomu smashed Aizawa-sensei's head into the concrete once, twice, hadn't faltered at the awful, wet crunching noise, the blood, the-

It's impossible to know, without Tomura's own admission and even the, if his lack of wince had been that he simply didn't care, desensitisation, or complete and genuine malice. Because Izuku thinks that he might know some element of the truth, but it would be beyond dangerous to assume that he truly knows. That he could possibly understand.

Except, maybe, he can, just a little; after all, he was raised by empty rooms and cruel words and explosions-fists-nails digging into flesh, was raised into a person of scars and half-dead stars.)

But nothing turns up. Not that's publicised, anyway, and none of the major heroes, ones who turn up enough on social media and more traditional outlets to be tracked for activity and locations, disappear or go into hospital for something untelevised. Nor anything that Izuku would know to be caused by Tomura.

That isn't all that Izuku thinks about though. No, he has other things to consider, because society has long-since taught him the wrong side of itself. And from what he knows and has supposed about Tomura, there was even more than he ever thought or knew about.

Izuku is a naturally curious person. Beyond that, alongside it, he has never been oblivious. He has been naïve, and he has been a child. Now, however, he is older and wiser and so full of hurt that it has his scars throbbing from rise to fall, and he knows that heroes aren't perfect. He knew it the first time that a hero refused to sign an autograph for a Quirkless child. It was only reinforced with the frailty of society's pillar, with the sins of the number two hero, with the sight of his precious sensei nearly dying at the hands of somebody that Izuku... Somebody that Izuku is warring with himself over.

Their society just isn't good. The Heroics Industry is... It's what Izuku always dreamed of, except it isn't. Saving people, helping them, is what he has always dreamed of, and he has looked up to heroes, particularly All Might, for a long time. For as long as he can remember.

Izuku loves some heroes still, of course he does. He adores All Might, and admires Aizawa-sensei, and is incredibly grateful for all of the heroes at UA, and many of those beyond, who save people every single day, just like he wants to. (Izuku knows he would not be himself if not for aspiring to join the ranks of those that help others; he knows that, if he does nothing else in his short, often-miserable life, he needs and wants and craves saving others. Protecting them. And, no matter what, that is what heroes do, it's just that some do it more truly, more skilfully or more whole-heartedly, than others.)

And so Izuku thinks, reflecting upon the stories he knows of both his own past and Tomura's. Of things he has heard in the news, or of stories passed along in forums and whispers and rumours. 

(Izuku has always looked into heroes, into the statistics and incidents surrounding them. It wasn't until a few years before UA however, when he was maybe thirteen, that he began to look into the bad as well as the good. When he saw the destruction rates for heroes, and civilian lives lost, villain lives lost, the economic impacts of half a street of shops being destroyed because even if their expensive villain insurance paid out, assuming it was in an area where such a thing was even affordable in the first place, that often wouldn't be enough to cover the cost of rebuilding, re-stocking and restarting a business entirely, and some agencies don't cover enough for rebuilding structures that it does any good at all-)

Some people suffer because of heroes, but mostly because of how the Hero Industry is structured, and Izuku doesn't like that. In fact, he hates it. Maybe, just maybe, there might be something he could do about it.

Got back today.   The note comes one afternoon, four days later, although Izuku wasn't able to check yesterday so perhaps it arrived the day before, but that doesn't matter. No, he takes the tooth with him, and decides to attempt to climb a tree that he's been eyeing up for the last week.

He definitely has a twig and some leaves caught in his hair, and one of his wrists is all scraped up where he caught it on the edge of a branch, but he's alright and grinning by the time he's settled up in the canopy, and he pulls out the sticky notes he has been keeping with him at all times, even though he's fairly sure that the cutesy Tom Nook faces aren't quite Tomura's cup of tea. Nor is the sparkly red gel pen. That doesn't matter though, not really, because Izuku is too preoccupied with writing a return note to so much as giggle over it. No, he's worried.

Did you get hurt?

Not particularly.   He hisses to himself when the return note arrives, several minutes later, a wordless, displeased sort of thing, scribbling out an incredibly hasty response.

Which means yes. 

It means not particularly.

Have you been treated?   Izuku presses, thoroughly unimpressed with the casual disregard for Tomura's own health.

Yes.

I'm glad, then.

Whatever. AC?

I actually got that Diablo game-thing. Pretty sure you said you liked it? Might even be good enough for you put up with mp with me.

Ugh, doubt it. But guess I'll try.   Izuku, frankly, will be content enough with that for now

Wanna play at a cat café I know? I can leave today.
It's two streets south of our last meet-up place. I can wait just outside if you need.

Fine. Don't bother waiting.
An hour?

Two please, but sounds good!!

Izuku packs his Switch away in his smaller, less notable backpack, a grey thing patterned with the faces of half of the top ten heroes, and a new notebook with it mostly just for the variety, a few pencils alongside, and sets off for the afternoon, glad that they don't have to get permission to leave the school during the weekend if it isn't going to be overnight. It makes this a lot easier.

Then he's on his way to Nekomanjuu, and he has a smile far brighter than intended on his face.

He spends half an hour in the cat room before he moves on to the eating space, settling in a corner where he could run to either of the exit doors or crash out of the window, and nobody can sneak up behind him either. He's safe, tucked away here, and he can wait in peace, flicking Diablo III open to try and get another level up before his- before Tomura arrives.

And so he does. It's only another ten minutes or so later that a tall figure, all navy hoodie and black jeans, offering up a rip across the knee that looks more like a genuine tear and less like a fashion statement. Somehow, it's kind of cute. Or endearing at least.

"Quest."  His tone is gruff, but it isn't dismissive, nor is it cruel, and that's good enough to have Izuku's smile back in full force already. It doesn't fade when Tomura flops down next to Izuku, abruptly and unrestrained enough that their knees end up pressed together. Yet neither of them can be asked to shift away from that contact.

"You alright?"  The shorter teen doesn't want to annoy Tomura by asking the same question so many times, but also he very much wants to be sure. (Is there hypocrisy in his regard for other people's health but disregard for his own? Certainly. Does Izuku care about that fact? Honestly, not at all; he's mostly too busy just being worried about others.)

"Yeh. HP's basically back at full."

"That's good to hear."  The words are more of a relieved huff than he meant for them to be. 

Tomura doesn't seem to judge him for it though, because he only shrugs, already pulling out his own Nintendo, one of the grey ones, the back without the stickers that plaster Izuku's. The sight of ashen grey against those fingertips should perhaps be disturbing, but the shorter teen can only continue to grin, helplessly so, excited to be here and play together. (If Izuku were entirely frank with himself, and should he give himself the time to actually think about it, he would realise that the sight of the bitten nails bothers him more, the raw edges of skin and jagged nails, than the thought of what might happen to him or others if five fingertips clasp upon his own skin-)

"So, what are we playing?" Izuku starts, only a tiny bit teasing. It earns knuckles tapping against his leg, something akin to a reprimand yet far too physically gentle for it. 

"You lured me here under pretences of Diablo Three, Quest."  Now that's a bit more snappy. Izuku still couldn't even come close to flinching, no matter that Tomura keeps on talking, still-sharp,
"Don't back out now."

"Wasn't planning to," Izuku laughs, as much noise as coherent words, genuinely upbeat and bright.

(Tomura, without quite knowing why, has to resist the urge to lean closer, to lean forwards, a stronger scent of pomegranate settling something in his chest-)

"Log me on to the Wi-Fi," Tomura requests, although it's more imperiously demanding than anything else, and he's already on his feet again, shoving his console into Izuku's hands.

"And if I say no?"  Tomura pauses, standing over Izuku with furrowed brows, hair hanging around his face in a pale visage that should perhaps verge on haunting, but is simply him. Nothing more, nothing less. (Izuku, even with a villain who featured in his nightmares, time and twice again, standing over him, doesn't feel unsafe. Doesn't worry. Why would he? Tomura is his villain now, and here, now, there's no reason to fear him at all.)  He can't even fear the threat that follows,

"Then I won't buy you one of those disgusting matcha things." 

"Deal," Izuku chirps, already flicking through the settings to the network, the cafe's password in easy memory.

It's not even twenty minutes later that Tomura is spitting and snarling, thoroughly unimpressed as an opponent nearly knocks out all of his HP in a quick succession of blows, although Izuku, despite his significantly lower, just about manages to interfere in time.

"Fuck you!"   The barista gives them a very disapproving glance, and Izuku winces, flapping a hand apologetically even as he elbows Tomura with the other arm,

"Shh! You'll get us kicked out," he admonishes, although it seeps into the edge of a laugh anyway. He's just a bit too distracted, and Tomura pulls ahead of his character, headed towards the centre of the landscape.

"Whatever, Quest."

"Hush, Arc," Izuku retorts, frowning when two more opponents turn up at once, and Tomura's character is long gone. Not ideal, when he's busy being under-levelled and out-numbered.
"Come back me up over here unless you want me to die."

"The more you ask, the slower I'll get over to you."  But Tomura's character is already there, casting one of his very few buffs, giving Izuku the chance to set his character further forwards again, continuing his attack.

"Thanks."

There's a dismissive noise, a shrug, and Tomura's character turns away, clearly focusing his attention elsewhere even whilst he stays close,

"Shut up and use your recharge skill, there's too many to take otherwise. You're a noob."

"You're the one helping me grind."  The protest is token, brighter than it is petulant.

"Because you're fucking useless right now."  Izuku jolts in place, hand shifting, and he mistimes the move, using it too early. It's only Tomura's intervention that stops both of their characters dying.

"What the fuck?"

"Just- don't call me that. Please."  Izuku doesn't mean to sound quite so vulnerable, to have such a waver to his tone, but he can't help it because for all of the blood between them, at least Tomura didn't- has never-

"What, useless?" Izuku flinches the tiniest bit. It's all the answer that Tomura could possibly need.

"Sure, whatever. Quest."

It's a casual-fronted agreement, one veiled in nonchalance and easiness, the slip of frost over ground, and Izuku shivers into the acceptance of it. It feels, just a little, like stepping out into sunshine on a winter's day: he is cold, chilled to the bone, but there's that thaw-sweet promise across his face.

Perhaps, given that, it's no surprise that he leans even further into the warmth offered to him. Neither of them are very conscious of how they gradually shift to sit closer and closer together, gravitating into that body warmth, the gentle heat of it all, until their shoulders brush with every half-dozen breath, then every other.

Finally, their shoulders are pressed together entirely, just like their knees. Neither of them are particularly inclined to move further away.

It takes a fair while before either of them speak again, except, of course, for the very occasional request for back-up or a move or a shift.

"Do you not want to know why?" He didn't intend to speak. For all that the words have been upon his tongue for the entire time since their last exchange, he didn't want them to spill over, to undoubtedly ruin the soft, steady peace that had settled over them, a peaceful heartbeat of sorts.

"Yes."  Izuku doesn't quite flinch, doesn't even draw into himself, but there's a tension to him, a slight hunch, one only alleviated when Tomura continues talking with a tiny shrug that rocks them both,
"But you didn't offer it up, did you? You shut up about me, so I shut up about you."

"Oh."  That's an entire world hanging between them in that weighted moment. Yet it is nothing, absolutely nothing, against the press of their shoulders,
"Uhm, thank you."

"Don't thank me, Quest. Izuku. It's basic decency."

"I really shouldn't be getting that from you," Izuku murmurs, and he tries to make it light-hearted, tries to make it soft, bubbly, bright, but for all of his intentions, he rather fails at that. Instead, it's caught somewhere between resigned and melancholy.

It takes a fraction of a second for either of them to really take it in, a falter, a pause in time that stretches far too long than it has any right to.

It snaps when the older teen tenses, shoulders arcing with a lightning that normally belongs to Izuku and his Quirk, except here it is unseen.

"Not me alone, no," Tomura snaps, and it's not as harsh as it could be. As it should be.

He pushes to his feet a moment later, heedless of how he abandons his character to die, scooping up both of their mugs and going to get refills or treats or something, Izuku doesn't know. (He is caught up in the breathless ache of his being, of the slow sink-in of those words, and how there was something... not kind nor caring, but perhaps tender-taut, verging upon understanding. Kindred spirits indeed.)

Izuku has regained something of his breaths by the time Tomura comes back. Although, when he sits back down, they are no longer pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee. (Izuku mourns it before he so much as processes their position.)  No, there's a little gap between them, enough space that their arms don't quite brush when the taller teen picks his console back up.

"Here."  With only a very quiet murmur of thanks, Izuku accepts the drink, blowing at the steam from the fresh tea, glad that he had saved and closed the Diablo game. Instead, the screen's selector hovers over Animal Crossing.

"Wanna swap?"

"Sure. Whatever."  The faint music that had been slipping from Izuku's Switch becomes the slow, welcoming tune of a sunny island, a world and a whim away from the reality they both face.

After a half-breath of thought, Izuku forces himself to breathe, to stay steady, and he reaches out.

Shigaraki- no, he is Tomura, in every sense and fashion, frowns at him, except it's as soft as anything else, hesitant more than angry. Neither of them speak, but both of them know what Izuku's gesture says. It's more trust than he has dared to offer someone else since he was a child, and it's more trust than Tomura has been offered since much the same age.

He takes Izuku's hand.

It's a loose thing, fingers interlaced and palms straying far away enough that thumbs aren't in danger of brushing, but their fingers are entangled, and it has them both still and silent. Utterly breathless.

There's an entire world around them, and it's one filled with both of their sides, with villains and heroes and people who should perhaps be called the very opposite, a world of discrimination and hatred and ignorance.

Here, in this moment, that does not matter. None of it does. They are two people, two young, aching souls, whose entire beings are centred around an affection foreign to them both, and it is a centre-point, an anchor, a pivotal axis from which everything they know and are begins to spiral out-down-up-beyond. They hold each other's hands, and it is an entire galaxy of a moment. A sanctuary and a condemnation for them both.

Chapter Text

Their day cannot last forever though, no matter how perfect their moment may have been. No, they draw away eventually, a curfew and a lack of suspicion each of their calls back to their relative places, and that's the end of it. 

Well, for then at least. Izuku will go back to the dorms in time for dinner, will eat beside his friends and find a genuine smile on his face, yet an ache in his chest. He will do homework, which is more revision than anything else, sitting around Iida's floor-level table that he regularly pulls out for them all to sit at. It's productive, and full of chatter, and... And Izuku wishes life was always this simple. As simple as pointing out a fly for Tsuyu then laughing when Iida gives he an exaggerated lecture on the cleanliness of eating random insects; or as leaning over to peer at Uraraka's scribbled maths equations that have gotten mixed up, struggling to read the algebra but finally picking out the x that she's misplaced somewhere, and her beaming at him in thanks; or as Todoroki, halfway through Tsuyu reading out an except for Heroic Law and Ethics, suddenly perks up, and offers a truly bizarre theory about how the law might be why Miruko is actually a deer.

Izuku loves his friends. He loves them an awful, awful lot, even if he's only known them for a few months, and he hates knowing how their opinions of him might change in the future. He has so many secrets, too many secrets. Too many big, life-changing secrets, from Quirklessness to a Quirk that was never his to a... a friendship with someone who has tried to kill them all. And they, oh, how could they forgive him?

(Izuku could never help being a Deku. It wasn't a choice, it was him, through and through, from his double-joined toes to his muttering to his all-round wrongness, and he was taught it with every stranger and once-friend and teacher he met, with every half-panic attack breath he took. But this? Choosing to meet up with Tomura, to call him by his given name and to drink the matcha tea the older teen buys him and to, of all things, hold his hand...  If being a Deku was unforgiveable, then what would this be? What would it make him? Traitor, monster, villain, worse-)

Izuku loves his friends. He will smile, he will laugh, he will work by their side. He will hope, with everything that he has, that they will forgive him when his secrets come to light. That he will not have condemned them, nor himself. 

Izuku has always been a thinker. A planner and a worrier and an analyst; most people don't realise that this expands beyond Quirks, that he has learnt (through burning uniforms and reaching fingers and snide, snap-snarled words-) how to read people, to assess a room, a situation. He needs to think now, because his world is going off-kilter.

He expects everything might just be about to tip on its head, and that he might not be the only one bloody-templed by the end of it all.

Which means that he needs a plan, and he needs it now. Maybe- Maybe that plan will be one he builds with Tomura, if they both think that there are problems here to be solved, and... feelings that need to be addressed. That need to be felt. (All he wants is for things to be easy, but Izuku's life has never been easy, and perhaps now isn't the time for easy. Now- now is the time for fighting and facing up to the truth and forcing himself to see past his own perspective, forcing Shigaraki to see his own side as well. For making something out of blood turned to ashy nothing.) 

So Izuku sits down at his desk, in his dorm room in UA, and he slips his mind into analysis and code until he thinks of nothing except the statistics, the politics, the morals. How to balance the corruption of the hero industry against the discrimination faced by so many people in society (by people like him, like Tomura, except that doesn't matter right now-), how to counteract kindness with reality and vice versa.

Chapter Text

Until, perhaps half an hour later, Izuku looks up, call it instinct, and happens to notice something very familiar out of the archway between rooms and then beyond the café window: dark hair, coils of pale fabric-alloy, the hint of stubble and hunched shoulders. A figure reaching for the door of the café. 

Oh. Oh no, one of the only people Izuku trusts is here, and he would surely lose all the trust that Aizawa-sensei has in him if the man sees this. Izuku... Izuku doesn't know what to do.

The immediate answer, apparently, is to not breathe, until a hand pushes firmly, carefully, against his chest from a slightly awkward angle, more the heel of a palm than anything else, and it shocks his breathing ack into something that it needs to be, in-out-repeat, but Tomura is already gone.

(Tomura has left without a word, no, he left with a single action, but that means a lot to Izuku. He has been faced with lies and false platitudes for over a decade; he knows the rhythm of pacification and pity, has waltzed to its tune with a stumble in his step, and has suffered for it time and again. So to instead have a decision, a touch, an active choice...  Izuku can trust in it. Can put his faith in the honesty of a palm against his chest, far more than any promises of "I won't hurt you" or "I like you" or "Don't worry, Zuku, we'll be friends forever" or- or-

Izuku cannot trust words. But he can trust Tomura for his actions, he is sure. He can trust in the older teen's ability to hurt, and his ability to help, and above all of that, his ability to think, to listen and retort and think once more. He can trust Tomura.)

It takes less than two minutes for Aizawa-sensei to pay for some time at the front counter, or to walk into the room and notice Izuku immediately. There's the faintest tinge of what might be pink across his cheekbones, but he simply nods to Izuku before shuffling over to the corner diagonally across from his student. The one with the second-best vantage point and exit routes. Izuku is far from surprised.

But it's also awkward, and he was here to be with Tomura anyway, as much as he loves the matcha tea and cats and quiet of this particular café regardless, so he waves at his teacher as he leaves, trying to seem sincerely cheery in the movement. He must manage up to a point, because the man nods to him again, eyes warm, both hands and his entire lap buried in a veritable mound of cats. Izuku is a tiny bit jealous, actually.

Although that doesn't really matter for now, because Izuku is just glad that he doesn't seem to have aroused any suspicion (the thought of his teacher catching him sitting next to Shigaraki Tomura, shoulder to shoulder and playing games... it's a hideous one, truly, horrific. Terrifying. Izuku, well, he needs this, in the sense that he can't picture a future without Tomura in it; in the sense that Izuku truly allows himself to be all and any part of himself, except he can be ugly around Tomura, unkind or curious or excited, and none of it matters. He doesn't have to hide. Which, frankly, is such a bitter-tinged irony, one that isn't lost on Izuku. It changes nothing though.

As he steps outside of the cat café, Izuku lets his eyes rove over the street, taking in the people, the shops, the shadows, not looking for any specific things but just something.

There's an alcove. It's a good ways down the street, out of any actual sight of the café because Izuku can't see anything in said alcove from this distance, only just enough to tell that it isn't a full alley, a deep enough recess that someone could tuck themselves into it. And, when Izuku starts to walk down the pavement towards it, he finds that, as expected, there's a figure tucked into the shadow from the overhang, scrolling through a phone, far from obtrusive for all that Izuku recognises the top of the dark hood now that he can see it. It doesn't take another thought for him to be crossing the street and make his way along the pavement, not so much as pausing in front of Tomura. No, he keeps on walking at a steady pace. He knows that the older teen will follow him without issue.

Choosing where to stop now isn't too much of a challenge, thankfully. There's an internet cafe down the road and around the corner. It has a few cubicles for pairs or small groups to game together; it will work well enough for some more private plotting. Equally though, they don't want to push that look too far.

"An hour, please," he asks, not too loud, and pays before Tomura can even step into the internet cafe too. He faintly hears the familiar rasping voice asking for two hours. That's good. It means they won't match should any sort of suspicion fall on them, for any reason.

Izuku is already heading for one of the smallest group cubicles, one meant for three people but that is tucked more comfortably close to a corner and staff exit. He has no doubt that Tomura will follow him easily enough. He's managed so far after all.

"We need a different way to contact each other."

"Definitely more immediate," Izuku concurs as he logs onto the computer he's sitting at. Tomura grumbles a little, before speaking up more clearly,

"Do you have Concord?"

"No, but I can get it, if you think it's secure enough," he challenges, although there's a more teasing edge to his smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Tomura rolling his eyes, fingers flying over a keyboard almost as quickly as Izuku's, albeit he keeps his pinkie fingers raised, tilting his entire hands at slightly odd angles to keep any chance of accidentally brushing against the keyboard at a minimum. (That level of... not care, per se, but painstaking caution towards the easy destructiveness of his own Quirk says more to Izuku about Tomura's disposition than any snide words or fierce glare. Tomura is far too aware of his own power to be any sort of true monster. Of that, Izuku is sure. When it comes to Tomura, he's sure of a surprising number of things.)

Izuku spends a fair twenty minutes researching Concord, reading articles about servers and channels and account settings and, most importantly, how it has end to end encryption and double-factor authentication for logging into accounts. Nothing too unusual or extravagant for what is ultimately a form of social media, but still secure enough that, with this their ever-building secrets, they should be safe.

"I'm setting one up."

"About time," Tomura shoots back, face lit up in a harsh blue-white glare from whatever game he's playing on his computer, keeping himself busy whilst he's waiting for Izuku's research to be satisfied. (The fact that he did wait though, that he allowed Izuku to satisfy both his curiosity and his caution, means a lot. It's more than he would have expected, or dared to hope for, from a lot of people.)

"Want to try adding me?" he asks, instead of bringing it up.

"I suppose I could," comes the snarky reply, but Izuku can already see a darkmode Concord tab being clicked open on the older teen's screen.

"Twilight, underscore, hare, two, both words capitalised. The animal sort of hare, that was," he tacks on, a little sheepish but mostly just finding himself to be getting excited. It's nice to think that they might have a little thing, all of their own. A safe place, virtual or not.

Tomura seems to pick up on at least a little of that, because something in the lines of his face soften just a little, a subtle thing made all the sweeter for it,

"And your account number?"

"Five, four, five, zero."  Some tapping follows, and Izuku waits, not letting himself look over again just yet.

"Got it. You'd better add a profile picture at some point."

"Sure," Izuku replies, though it's as much a laugh as a coherent reply, because of course that's what Tomura chooses to pick up on.

Sometimes Izuku is reminded of just how very young they both are. It's a bittersweet thought.

But it doesn't matter right now, not when he's poking around the Concord server that Tomura is literally building around them, a few channels under three different categories popping up, and he can't help but beam at one titled 'better than a tooth', undoubtedly meant for general notes to each other, and another one called 'not an alley again'. Not all of it is quite so cryptic, of course, but it's still a little list of their... their relationship. At some point, Tomura, under his username, posts a string of emojis shaped like steaming cups of matcha tea, followed by a curt 'disgusting'. Izuku cannot help how he snickers at that.

The six minutes it takes him to poke round, pulling up an image of dango and managing to make it another emoji, is well worth it.

By now, however, Izuku's hour is close to running out. Neither of them particularly want to address today's close call in any actual detail, doubly so now that they have a more immediate and direct way to talk, not to mention more discrete than physical notes and carrying around an entire tooth, or having to leave UA so much to be able to even talk. They should be safer, like this. For now, that fact is enough for them both.

It's an odd and slightly thrilling novelty, to be able to sprawl out over one of the common room sofas, phone in hand, and message Tomura. Of course, a small part of him curls tight in shame, in fear, but he's being sensible. He's subtly keeping his screen to himself, nobody is talking about any locations or training or weekend plans, and any and all of his geo-locators are switched off. To be able to snicker at a grumble of Rex having had the audacity to actually ask to leave Tomura's island, as though he doesn't get showered in far more gifts than any other villager, is a heady sort of joy.

Despite their far too close of a call only hours ago, Izuku feels strangely safe.

It's easy, like this, to tell Tomura more and more. Of course, they keep anything potentially incriminating to their notes, out of the reach of the internet and Nedzu's firewalls, but discussion of light-hearted, casual things, those that really would be shared with a close online friend, is completely fair game and all the more delightful for it. (It feels more than a little like being free.) It's no surprise at all, with that, for the younger teen to actually fall asleep that night with his teeth not yet brushed, one sock still on, and his phone still in hand. Nor is it a surprise that he is left with no less than five annoyed messages before, finally, a single 'goodnight, Quest'. It will give him a smile to start the next day with upon waking up to it.

Of course, even with his discussions with Tomura, Izuku also starts up some independent plans. Things he should have already done, but never thought or dared to.

Well, that fact doesn't matter now. Dwelling upon it serves no purpose beyond incentive to be more proactive now. With that, several things are set into motion, or at least planning. It may or may not take pilfering a good amount of a new invisible ink that some of the second year Support Course students are developing during a routine visit to Hatsume, and it may also require purchasing extra notebooks and the ingredients to an old pre-Quirk invisible ink too. His most sensitive plans and secrets and ideas get written in the latter, and it's easy enough to plan out his notebooks and page spaces to make it look like, at any reasonable investigation, all of his notes are in the Support Course's invisible ink, only to be revealed by certain light frequencies.

Nobody would think that Izuku has added further surrounding notes in a pre-Quirk ink, let alone one that is another code all together, and relies on a different reveal again. It's an extreme and deliberately length to have gone to, admittedly.

But Izuku isn't ready for more transparency than he is already offering Tomura, and certainly isn't prepared for any truth on the particular matter of Tomura coming to light with his friends. No, far better to keep that to himself.

(He's undoubtedly growing more paranoid. And with good reason too. They are not safe like this, regardless of the fact that they are safer in general with being able to talk more easily. Izuku... He wants to keep Tomura safe, he wants to keep everyone safe, and it's far too much of a balancing act to try and make that work. Izuku knows that what he wants verges upon impossible, even more so with what he wishes for society, for the changes that surely need to happen.)

That determination, of course, doesn't make the matter of secrecy and independence itself any easier. Trying to look into starting a charity and finding how lengthy a process, not to mention how supported it needs to be, makes it both difficult and long-term. More immediately, of course, Izuku starts up a forum page, encrypts and buries it as much as he can with his admittedly still largely low level of skill, and starts to whisper word of it amongst the very few Quirkless people he knows, and even a few that he doesn't, those who dare to speak loudly and publicly about their Quirk status. It will spread further by word of mouth, typed or otherwise, he knows. Things like this, what he hopes will become a sanctuary, are always shared and coveted, hoarded by communities like theirs.

Call it survival, and you'd be right.

Plans like these and studying for his upcoming exams are what keeps Izuku from meeting up with Tomura in person for the next while. They chat, and sometimes Izuku will go and sit in that same tree in the park near UA, scribbling out notes, statistics and plans, things that he has found or theorised or analysed regarding the Public Safety Commission, the Heroics Industry. Sometimes he disproves Tomura's theories, or vice versa, but neither of them truly begrudge it because at least it means that they're both making progress. And better progress than either of them would have been making individually, at that. (Not to mention that their progress would have been... very different, to say the least, one a thing of dust and rage, the other of heroic shackles, neither what they needed to be-)  So it's worth it, even if sometimes they snap and snarl at each other in jagged scrawls and torn paper, ink-blotted words filled with agitation, and just a little fear too.

They have both been lied to, time and again, by too many people to bear counting.

That doesn't mean that they've lost all faith though. Or Izuku hasn't, at least. He still looks at Aizawa-sensei and sees a hero, a man who gives his heart and mind and body to saving, teaching, protecting others; he still watches his friends train and laugh and study, and knows them to be good people with good intentions, who will do good things with their lives no matter how long or short; he still looks at Toshinori and sees All Might, the pillar of their society for literal decades, and a man who has failed in so many ways, both big and small, yet who still ends the day with a smile for others, trying oh-so hard to do whatever he can to make things better for people.

All of Izuku's heroes have suffered, are still suffering, from the system that they have all been born into. Tomura has. Izuku himself has. And that fact (because it is a fact, written in subtle words and blood-seeped undertones and stories of ghosts that should have lived, dammit-)  hurts to realise, to piece together in the fractures of hearts he will never know. It's here now, though, and there is no purpose to denying it.

Their world is not a good place, all too often, and it's a fact that Izuku mourns, heart constricted by the iron-wrought cage of his ribs, but it cannot be helped. Not yet. Or, rather, only in small ways, in forums and research and dreams for what might be better in the future. It's overwhelming, an Atlas-sky stretching wide, vast, unknowable before him, too much to know the true depths of yet. It's a lot. Too much, perhaps.

He isn't alone though, for all that he is still planning independently from Tomura. He isn't alone, and Izuku likes to think that he might never have to be alone again, not when he has someone he can be himself with, not when they share such parallels in heart and mind and hopes. 

Chapter Text

The week before Izuku's final exams is, frankly, more than a little bit stressful.

His classmates are stressed out, their teachers are either tired or too-bright grinning, and the school is full of people with their noses buried in books or revision notes, or those stressed out or laughing over the upcoming exams. Of course, not everyone is fazed, but most of the Hero Course is at least concerned about their practical if nothing else. Of course, the rumour flies around that it will be fighting robots. Izuku is... unconvinced. It seems too simple. And, given that things this year are very much different to previous years (Izuku is far from blind to the fact that it is partially because of Tomura; equally, he is not blind to the realities of Tomura's situation and that, whilst he certainly isn't innocent either, is still violent in ways, he also wasn't the instigator in the attacks that have taken place-)  it would only make sense that the exam would reflect that.

Izuku has an unpleasant feeling that this might be some sort of team fight against... maybe other students, or even the teacher, or who knows what else. Co-operation of some sort will probably be the focus, surely. Maybe there could be a reconnaissance element, or having to be in larger groups where they share roles to reach an end goal.

Either way, he prepares what he can, as much as he can.

Tomura ends up being his biggest reprieve. He's in a lull of his own affairs, apparently, beyond his research, and so whenever Izuku needs a break he slips out his phone and starts spamming the older teen with memes or questions or just matcha emojis.  (The snapping replies for the latter is well worth it, honestly. It makes Izuku feel all bubbly, full of snickers and giddiness, particularly when the anger or disgust slips into a casual "you must not be alright if you're being stupid enough to send those to me". It's a grumpy message, no question to it, yet there's a subtle, simple tone beneath it that Izuku understands well. The blatant opening to either say he's fine, or to turn it into a joke, or even confess that he's not alright, if he wants, is something that he hadn't expected to be offered, yet there it is, white against black, several times that week. It helps. More, perhaps, than it really should. Izuku is grateful either way.)

It's most of the way into the week, when Izuku is having a particularly rough day with the end of the week coming which means that the exams are coming too, that he goes to bed with nerves roiling in his chest.

In fact, he falls asleep to Tomura's voice.  (And it's the best sleep he's had in weeks.)

Neither of them make mention of it the following morning. Izuku flushes at the very thought of it, because he spent the night caught in soft words that rasp like sheets being pulled up the bed, or fingers smoothing over skin, like safety, and he slept damn well because of it, something that he'd needed desperately. Tomura didn't have to do it. Didn't have to help. But he still chose to, still actively decided to try and help Izuku when he could have just hung up, or stopped the moment that Izuku wasn't hyperventilating anymore, but he didn't. 

He stayed. Most people in Izuku's life don't.

But that isn't his focus of the day. No, he spends Friday studying voraciously with his friends, getting help from their teachers wherever they need it, spending three hours on Practical Heroics, fighting in opposing teams to try to reach a flag hidden in the urban landscape. It's good practice. Satisfying. And Izuku can't help but wonder how similar, or not, it may be to their final exams.

Despite their previous issues with being able to meet up, Izuku and Tomura do manage to organise something: they meet up on the weekend. It's a bit of a rushed thing, decided only on Thursday, two days before, because Izuku was originally just going to spend maybe an afternoon at his Mum's house for an attempt at a break before the academic exams. But then she asked him to stay overnight, and Izuku immediately decided that it would be a waste not to make some time for Tomura too. (Being helped by him later that Thursday night certainly hadn't hurt-)

So he messages the older teen with a time and a building in the 'not an alley again' channel, just to get an eyeroll emoji and a somewhat grumpy sounding,

'Don't spawn late, Quest, else your matcha will be cold.'  It has Izuku grinning, even as he sends some thumbs-up and probably three too many All Might emojis. But Tomura doesn't instantly cancel on him for it, so it can't be too bad.

In fact, it makes Izuku look forward to meeting up even more. Their silly spats can be just as fun as playing games or talking about random things, even if it's about Izuku's natural inclination towards using too many All Might-themed emojis. It's light-hearted. Easy.

It feels more than a little like being... friends, if not more. (If not so, so much more. If not two teens who hold hands and lean into each others' space, with his gaze catching upon the tilt of a half-smile, the shift of padded fingers, the light and shadows and tumbling thoughts in eyes the same colour as blood-jewels-sunsets. Or sunrises, perhaps. A thing of beginnings and better-to-come. It suits the Tomura that Izuku knows far better.)

Izuku is able to slip out of his room not long after he and his mother go to bed. It was genuinely nice to spend an evening with her; they went through his Literature and Biology revision notes together. Admittedly, they had to mostly ignore the topic of his practical exam, or just his Heroics subjects in general, but that's alright. It's worth it for being able to have a peaceful, content evening together.

(He... Izuku has an abyss in his guts sometimes, a Charybdis-dragging agony, in the knowledge that he will never see eye to eye with his mother, or rather heart to heart. He just- He just hopes that she will be able to forgive him one day, for all of his choices. His sins, his dreams. Because Izuku doesn't know what he would do with his life if he wasn't trying to be a hero, not when none of the alternatives feel right,  but he also doesn't want to lose his Mum over it. He loves her, he really, truly does. He adores her. She has done so much for him over the years, and she worries. Izuku doesn't want to make her worry more. He just- He can't help who he is.)

Regardless, he simply throws himself out of his window, fingerless gloves and a pair of boots he keeps in his wardrobe providing good enough grip that he can ricochet off of the building opposite, then a lamppost by the street, before he lands onto the pavement in a slightly messy stumble that Aizawa-sensei would have frowned at him for. And possibly made him run extra laps for.

Look, Izuku's excited, what can he say?

It's more than worth it when he gets to their rooftop, nigh-on jogging up the fire escape, feet clanging on the metal in a way that even his typically light footsteps can't completely negate. That's alright though. It just means that Tomura's gaze is already upon him when he peeks over the edge of the roof, pulling himself up from where the top of the fire escape if, almost a full floor below.

(Izuku doesn't know it, but Tomura's gaze catches on the shift and play of his broad shoulders beneath the thin hoodie, the grasp of his scarred fingers upon the lip of the roof, the breeze-ruffled curls that tumble against skin. On the moonlit gleam of his eyes as he smiles over at the older teen. It has something in Tomura's chest tripping over itself. It... It's warm. It's like coming home to somewhere kinder, somewhere softer, than he has ever had before. He needs it, wants it, cherishes it.

He will protect it, will protect Izuku, no matter what.)

"Hi," Izuku offers up, not quite shy but perhaps a little too-tender. Tomura doesn't even roll his eyes or scowl, only nudging a takeaway cup of what is inevitably matcha tea towards him. Izuku doesn't miss the light in those red eyes. (It's something soft-bittersweet-warm, Izuku thinks. Knows. He revels in every part of it.)

"Quest."

"You almost sound grumpy, Arc," Izuku teases, but he's already flopping down beside the older teen, scooping up the tea to cradle its warmth between his chill-aching hands. Tomura is a welcome brand of warmth along his side. And even though he visibly bristles at the dreaded implication that he might not be grouchy, Tomura doesn't move away. It has Izuku grinning even more.

He loves being here. Like this. Where things are easy and moon-bright and simple. Where he knows that he's safe.

When his hands aren't as sore anymore, Izuku props himself up on one elbow, angled towards Tomura, and finally begins to sip at his drink. It's the perfect just-bitter taste. Like so many things that he likes.

"You got hot chocolate?"

"Don't be absurd," Tomura snap-snarls back, except it's half-hearted at best, too molten around the edges, and there's a hint of marshmallow at the corner of his mouth when he takes his next mouthful of his own drink. Izuku isn't fooled. If anything, it makes him melt into the entire moment more.

"You're not getting a taste."

"Aww," Izuku pouts, for all that his eyes are glimmer-sparking brighter than stars. (Tomura is enchanted, entranced, helpless before such a pretty sight that he can barely comprehend, because Izuku's cheeks are slightly blush-tinted from the chill of the wind, and it's a dawn beneath the hundred bronze suns of his freckles, and there is something more gorgeous any ocean or emerald or aurora to his eyes, and he... He is no side quest. Not anymore. He is something more, different, other. Izuku is beyond anything else Tomura has ever known.)

"You sure I can't?" he adds on, shifting to sit up more, their shoulders brushing together. Izuku doesn't miss how Tomura lists ever-so slightly into his warmth. 

He is fully and happily aware of how Tomura generally tends to feel cold, undoubtedly because of how damn skinny he is (there's a reason that Izuku has a habit of shoving snacks at him under the guise of sharing, and of messaging him around meal times to talk about what he's eating-), and also of how he himself runs warm. Several of his friends have a tendency to drape themselves over him because of it. It isn't as wonderful as the tiny, incremental movements that Tomura will make over the course of a meet-up, slowly shifting further and further into Izuku's space in the most delightful way.

"You definitely can't get a taste of my drink."  Izuku doesn't scowl or pout this time, simply shrugging a little and sipping more of his own, not wanting to pester,

"Fine, fine. Thank you for my matcha tea."

"Whatever, Quest."  Izuku doesn't take offence at the grumpy tone, not at all, because he knows the slight lilt to Tomura's voice, because it matches the slight twitch of his lips, the way that he hunches in slightly closer.

The chill of the night around them fades away with each moment that they sit still like that, shoulders pressed properly together by now, and Izuku puts his tea down without even really registering it, that same hand coming up to gently tug Tomura's unzipped jacket further across his chest. He doesn't move away afterwards.

Equally, Izuku doesn't hesitate as he leans in closer, but he does think. 

He thinks about the press of fingers and palm suddenly at his waist, heat and pressure and heady delight; he registers the scent of chocolate from the ever-closer lips, warm air shifting, sharing; the crowds below are no quieter than before, yet they're overwhelmed by his own riotous heart, the half-unsteady pound of Tomura's heartbeat beneath the splay of Izuku's fingers, the tugging fist at Tomura's collar, knuckles to pulse-point.

Then they're kissing, and Izuku doesn't want to think at all.

No he sinks, settles, drowns into the kiss. Tomura's lips are dry, rasping, oh-so gentle, and his heartbeat is thundering just as rapidly as Izuku's. It's warm like stars and supernovas and the most fragile of candle flames. It feels like sanctuary.

They're not safe here, they both know it, but they feel it: secluded, moon-night-star-witnessed, nothing but unknowing people below and emptiness above, consumed by the knowledge and presence and feeling of nought but each other. It's a tiny piece of heaven far greater than either of them have ever known before, and neither of them hesitate to absolutely revel in it.

It doesn't last forever, of course, because nothing this good ever could, but they only draw back enough to press their foreheads together, maybe in a way that's a little cliché but it feels so right, so natural, close enough that Tomura can barely even count Izuku's freckles anymore, 

They both know that they can't stay like this thought. Izuku is probably beginning to push his luck with how long he's been out, and the last thing Tomura, or truly either of them need, is for Kurogiri to warp into existence right in front of them.  (Oh, what a foolish game they are playing, and if not for how very aware of the fact that they are, neither doubt they would be dead to it already. It's no game, not truly; it's just a series of calculated risks, of leaps, bounds, tiny steps and turnarounds, whatever it takes to remain close and careful. To not completely condemn each other.)

"You're dangerous, Quest," Tomura murmurs, and they have yet to draw away from each other enough for Izuku not to be able to feel the words more than hear them. He can taste chocolate more than matcha, now.

"We both are, together," he offers up instead. One of his curls falls from where it had been caught between their foreheads, forcing Izuku to blink twice. It feels like Tomura might smirk just a little at that.

"Deal," the older teen mutters regardless. Izuku can't help but smile at that, a tiny, oh-so soft thing, shifting only enough to brush another, blink-brief kiss to the corner of Tomura's mouth, before he takes a deep breath and leans back properly.

Even as he does so, however, the fingers that had been fiercely curled into the colder teen's collar (Izuku isn't sure when his hand being settled over Tomura's heart turned into a tight hold upon his clothing, keeping him close-) loosen, slide up, soothing over a pale neck and settling at the nape of Tomura's neck, threading gently amongst the thin, soft hair there, beyond delicate. Cherishing.

(Something, in Izuku's bones, against his sternum, buried in his marrow, aches and writhes, all agonised affection for this soft, twisted heart that he holds between his such-scarred hands. How did he get so lucky in such a curse as adoring his enemy?)

Chapter Text

Izuku gets a message not long after he wakes up on Friday, a simple thing in their main chat channel.

'Murder them today. Take that as literally as you'd like.'  It makes him grin, not matter the arguably concerning implications, because it's even better than a good luck message, in his books; Tomura believes he can and will do well in his practical exams. So Izuku can believe it too.

It becomes harder to believe, unfortunately, when he stands in amongst all of his class, and he gets told that he is going to be paired up with Bakugou (his once-friend, his bully, the person he has feared more than anyone except himself-) up against All Might (the person who denied his dreams, who granted them, who offers him smiles and soft looks and a broken heart-) and he has to try to actually win in this scenario.

Izuku does indeed still love his teachers, his heroes, however he is very much uncomfortable with this idea. He- He isn't sure he can work with Kacchan. He is sure that he can try. He knows that he will, rather. Yet, with that being said, being willing to try something certainly doesn't mean that he will succeed in it, doubly so when Kacchan is involved. He doesn't tend to like Izuku succeeding. Aizawa-sensei's chiding and careful eyes have made him a little bit better, sure, but that will never change the fact that Kacchan hates Deku.

(Sometimes, now, Izuku begins to think that he might not be a Deku. Maybe. It's a dangerous thought, scandalous in a way, something that tempts fate in a way that Izuku fears in and of itself; he has spent a decade being the Quirkless, useless burden. To be something else... To have possibly-maybe-perhaps have been something else all along... It's almost unthinkable. Enough so that Izuku has barely acknowledged it even within his own mind. He has, in contrast, acknowledged that there is more to him than Deku; Tomura would not deign to associate with Deku, would not kiss him beneath moonlight and above crowds. He talks to Quest, to Izuku, and Izuku likes to think that makes up more of him than Deku, now. Hopefully.)

Aizawa-sensei is staring at Izuku when the pairing is announced, despite the way that Kacchan is yelling, hands popping already, and it's that fact alone which gives Izuku the determination to say nothing. To be resolute, and try damn hard.

Maybe he won't be able to get through to Kacchan. But if he can't, then Izuku can at least win by himself. He can make Aizawa-sensei proud. Plus Ultra, right?

(Izuku, in other worlds, would protest the horror of this; in others, he may be friends with Kacchan. In some, he would know that Aizawa-sensei would not want him to put himself at this sort of risk for the sake of this exam, not like this, not when things could be better, different-)

Izuku gets punched in the face.

It doesn't start there. It starts with a tense bus ride where Izuku tries to talk to Kacchan, to see if they can actually put some plans together, some sort of strategy. The clear answer is no. Izuku tries again, when they're away from All Might, just in case that was the reason that Kacchan wouldn't reply, although he doubted it heavily, and he's proven right in the latter when nothing changes. No, he tries twice, a third time. Then Kacchan spins around, hands still sparking, and punches Izuku straight across the cheek.

It burns, and something in his neck cracks uncomfortably, and it hurts. He hasn't been caught by one of Kacchan's explosions near the face in a very long time, and this one may have been partially dampened by the fist it was surrounded by, but it hurts worse than Izuku remembers.

He doesn't follow Kacchan, after that. It doesn't seem worth it, really. Although, along the same lines, there's a chance that Kacchan might have a decent strategy, regardless of his insistence upon simply overpowering All Might, of all people, (Tomura couldn't, even with warp gates and an abomination at his side, so what will one fifteen year-old with fury and instinct do?)  so it must be worth at least watching from a distance, to see if things can be worked out. Alternatively, Izuku can just run to the exit by himself. 

His running is slightly lopsided, he's sure, and there may or may not be a concussion pushing every thought and sensation slightly out of place, but he manages well enough.

He is able to watch from a rooftop as Kacchan is practically decimated, thrown around like a ragdoll as he snaps and snarls and sends off attack after attack. Izuku is conflicted. Every instinct screams to help-protect-save, because no matter what he does to Izuku, Kacchan is still someone who needs help. (Something deep in Izuku's chest, talon-tight around his ribs, aches with the barely-registered fact that the more Kacchan lashes out at him, the more he feels that the other teen needs help, because there are things that are wrong, that need changing, if this is the way things have settled between them.)

The sight of Kacchan crying out, albeit in a half-growl, when he gets grabbed by a massive hand, tight around his shoulder in a way that threatens dislocation with just the wrong twist, is sickening. 

Izuku is leaping down before he can stop himself, but he thinks on the way, in the two seconds he has, and in those few blinks, he is flipping, an axe kick that catches All Might across the forearm. It isn't the elbow hit he wanted, because the hero is already moving, reacting, but that's alright, because it still gives Kacchan the opportunity to wriggle as he blasts his way out of the grip that had been holding him up.

Ducking under the other hand that swipes out for him, Izuku lands only slightly messily on the ground, already pivoting to run away, because he helped, so surely he can just run for the exit now, because Kacchan will probably distract All Might without even meaning to-

A brutally strong arm swipes out for him, and Izuku throws himself forwards into a roll that isn't enough. 

He's sent careening into the corner of a building, and it shatters agony right through him, lightning-arcs along his spine and acid through his marrow. Everything is lost to it. It takes him far too long to move afterwards. He barely registers hitting the floor below the wall that he was thrown into. He barely registers anything at all.

After a time, one that he hopes is relatively short because there's a vague recollection of being in an exam, of needing to hurry, move, quick, Izuku curls further into himself, probably failing to hold back a whimper at the absolute explosion of agony through him. Sometimes, just sometimes, he hates his own inability to leave things damn well alone. He- He would really like to just pass this exam and to go ho- Well, to go. (His thought was that rooftop, those few minutes, that press of a hand at his waist and lips against his, but that single instance could not become his home, could it? His sanctuary-)

But Izuku is here to win-pass-save, so he doesn't uncurl but he does push himself onto his front, onto elbows and knees, the twinges sparking through him akin to lightning. But he- he can manage. He has to.

He's on his feet in a haze, and moving in a pulse-throb daze. It hurts. Izuku, however, has been in pain time and again, admittedly few things as bad as this, yet that won't stop him. (He knows agony like his own heartbeat, because so often they shift in time, in tandem, a rhythm he can waltz to in staccato-steps, every breath a thing of ivy and thorns. And when agony is a better friend to him than the boy he once exalted, it is so easy to slip into its arms and live beside it, in spite and because of it. Within Izuku, determination always triumphs.)

The exit is far away. Or it feels like it, at least, when he can barely stand up, let alone throw himself from rooftop to rooftop, his Quirk skittering upon his skin. Izuku does it anyway. He can hear explosions and a booming voice and wind pressure fierce enough to topple buildings, all of it far too close for comfort, but this is the direction to the exit so he has little choice. Detouring further around the fight would take too much time and energy that he doesn't have.

Finally, the lit-up gate is in sight. The fighting still sounds close, far closer than he would like, all clouds of dust and smoke just a few streets away, but that's alright now. Izuku is stumbling up to the gate, through it, sinking as carefully as he can to the ground (it's not careful enough, not when he nearly screams from the beyond-pain of it, fingers digging too-tight against the ground-), barely registering the sound of an announcement overhead.

They won. It is a hollow, bitter victory, but it is still a victory, still a pass.

Izuku just wants to go home.

That night, he leaves for his mother's house, and very much doesn't head straight there. He's had to deal with Recovery Girl shouting at All Might, and Aizawa-sensei's too-heavy looks (Izuku misses the apology he is offered when it's spoken to his sleeping body, and that is a shame, for it may have swayed things, changed things, another perspective to be found-), and being able to hear Kacchan still spitting and snarling about all of it really doesn't help.

Nor does the knowledge that he was nearly paralysed from a broken spine.

But it isn't that bad, really, because he wasn't, it was just a few fractured vertebrae, and Recovery Girl has healed most of everything up, although his back is still sore and apparently somewhat fragile, and the other, smaller wounds he has, including the result of the punch to his face, have been mostly left alone. It makes him look a little pathetic, covered in small plasters and bits of gauze and bruises, but it's alright.

He just hopes that Tomura won't flip the moment that he sees him.

It was a futile hope, apparently. To a point, at least. Because to be fair to Tomura, he doesn't start ranting and raving at the sight of him, when Izuku slips up onto the roof that they're meeting on today, back twinging slightly as he does so. 

No, Tomura just sits bolt upright, scowling instantly, fingers gouging troughs in the rooftop.

"You're hurt."   Izuku manages a crooked approximation of a smile in silent reply as he might best to sit down somewhat gingerly beside the older teen.

"I was too tired for Recovery Girl to heal everything, so she just dealt with the spinal injury."

"She what."  Izuku winces at the overly flat tone, not in fear but in something skirting remorse. He doesn’t want to worry anyone.

"She dealt with the spinal injury. Oh, and the concussion. You know, the major stuff."

"And no villains attacked you today."

"Uhm, nope? Just the exam." Tomura scrutinises him for several seconds, blatantly both digesting the words and assuredly taking in Izuku’s various visible scrapes. At least most of the lingering bruises are covered by his clothing.

Finally the older teen speaks, an edge sharpening in his words,

”An exam with who?”

”I mean, I was partnered up with Kacchan against a teacher,” Izuku shrugs, not really wanting to bring All Might into this. Although Kacchan frankly isn’t a much better option either. He’s tired. 

“Kacchan as in your childhood bully?”

”Ah, yeh.” Izuku can’t disagree with that, won’t lie, but he also cant help but shift slightly, reluctant. Tomura simply narrows his eyes,

"And your HP was low enough that you needed spinal injuries healing but your face is still, what, scraped up?"  He reaches halfway up as though to touch the patch of gauze and medical tape beneath Izuku’s slightly swollen eye, but Tomura stops short, whether due to his own Quirk or Izuku’s injury itself. Izuku kind of wishes he would just touch him anyway.

"Burned over a cheekbone fracture,” he explains in lieu of tilting into the hesitant fingertips. They clench into a fist a moment later anyway,

"That Bakugou kid is a piece of fucking shit."

Izuku flinches.

It's the first time he has flinched away from Tomura in... in a long time, actually. He doesn’t mean to. Doesn’t want to, and immediately wishes that he hadn’t. But it’s the red eyes and the anger and the too-loud swear words, and nothing but instinct on Izuku's part, learned response.

He reaches out to Tomura in the next breath, because it has nothing to do with him, not really, not in the ways that matter, and Izuku couldn't stand if he made the older teen blame himself for something like this. If he reinforced the villainmonsterbadevil chant in his half-twisted mind.

Tomura allows it, but only just, for he tenses in a way that clenches at Izuku's heart. It hurts almost as badly as shuddering against the base of a building, trying to figure out if his back is broken.

Still though, he doesn't pull away when Izuku intertwines their fingers, and that says more than anything else, because if he was self-destructing in any true way, he would surely keep his Quirk-laden fingertips away from Izuku's oh-so fragile skin, from where he can idly tap at one, two, three freckles in repetitive turn. It's a far better habit than scratching at his neck, not to mention that it fills Izuku with warmth beyond measure. The unconscious affection feels like being cherished. Like he's worthy of adoration.

Izuku squeezes Tomura's hand for half a breath, gathering strength from the physical connection, from the presence that he sinks into without thought or hesitation. Words begin to occur to him, as much as he loathes the conversation topic. The conflict it has caused between them. He- he needs to speak them though, he's sure, so he forces a moss-grown stone tongue to grate against his teeth, to murmur a truth that both hurts and soothes him to speak aloud:

"I- I've forgiven him. I did a long time ago."

Tomura seems unconvinced, perhaps, or simply unimpressed. Disbelieving? It's all in the glaze-blank haze that shifts over his eyes, the valley-furrow of his brows and unpleasant twist to his mouth. (What would it taste of, today? Hot chocolate, or dust, or anger? Something bittersweet?)  And whilst it takes a few very long seconds, Tomura does reply, gaze heavier than Atlas' sky. Somehow, beneath that, it's still kind in a certain way. A Tomura sort of way. (It's hot drinks passed by bitten-nail hands, and eye rolls when a cute character reminds him of Izuku in an apparently annoying way, and their shoulders brushing together in a safe place he picked out for them-)

Chapter Text

Tomura... Tomura isn't sure what to do. Of late, it feels like his days have been consumed (and his very being alongside-) by Izuku; where once before he was a thing of hatred, rage, malevolence, now there is matcha tea and messages and lips that taste bittersweet against his own to drag him back to life.

It's odd. Tomura has never once before wanted to kiss someone. He would never have so much as allowed most people to touch him, let alone reach out to meet their hand in turn. Izuku, however, appears to be an exception in all things, which would feel cliché if not for how absolutely true it is. Izuku is not the only one to look critically at their society, but he is undoubtedly the only one of their sort of age and who is also taking in the opinions and knowledge of a villain; he isn't the only person who has spent most of their life being ostracised and bullied and loathed for things that he could not control, but to have begun to come out of that and be so utterly good (not righteous or black-and-white moralled, yet so good regardless-) is something extraordinary. Something that Tomura cannot fathom, but can very much find a certain sort of awe towards.

And Izuku is pretty. No, he's stunning. Tomura isn't the type of person to notice such things, because there are no stats for appearance, yet with every time he has met up with Izuku, the more he has found his gaze catching upon shifting muscles and soft-sweet curls that shadow over constellations of gilt-edged bronze and the gestures, the scars, the hold of broad hands. (He has always been pulled in by those eyes, that gaze, by the forests and oceans in their depths, places of secrets, of safety. They have Tomura breathless far too often.)

So Izuku is something rare and precious. Something that Tomura intends to fight for even if it might mean fighting for him looks like sneaking around, exchanging subtle messages and snatching little glimpses of affection.

Even if fighting for Izuku sometimes means fighting against him.

It wasn't nice to do. Far from it. Tomura took exactly no joy from seeing the rising desperation in those green eyes because it was an ugly expression to see (not like he did when Izuku had gone so molten-eyes at Tomura's fierce declaration of not forgiving Bakugou, all slumped shoulders and a tiny parting of those bittersweet lips, so full of fear and relief and rage and hope-). An expression that, at some point, he has stopped wanting to see.

Tomura does not want to argue with Izuku. But he can and will, if nobody else if going to try and force him to see sense, to look after himself. Tomura is selfish. He knows it, and has exactly no shame over it, and part of that is needing Izuku to understand his perspective on this, no matter what odds it may put them at for now. (He bitterly hopes that he hasn't ruined things between them by daring to be so vehement, but he has faith in his Quest to be critical, intelligent, independent enough to come back to him regardless of their difference or disagreements, take something from their argument, to learn from Tomura's tempestuous fear. To value himself a little more. If he's worth Tomura's time and attention and... and his heart, withered though that may be, then Izuku is worth a lot indeed. He just needs to realise it.)

Now, Tomura is left to pace his room or play games or kick around in the bar, bored and frustrated. (Worried.)  Until his Sensei summons him via Kurogiri.

And things are fine at first, pretty words and violent promises, asking about how Tomura's recruitment efforts are going. It's easy, or simple, rather, to tell of trips out into the city at night that had failed to have anyone coming back to join them (he knows better than to lie to his Sensei, has learnt that in blood and harsh words-) but how Giran has been bringing a few maybe-decent people in. People who should be good for the next attack Sensei is planning for some time during the summer. (Tomura is already steeling himself for just what the realities of that may look like. He is sure that Izuku has been too. They're both far, far too aware of the precarious razor-edge to their situation. Their choices.)

Sensei isn't entirely pleased. He never is though, really. ("Do not fail me, Tomura, do not reduce all of our efforts to wasted investments." -- "Do not disappoint me." -- "You will do your best, won't you?" They are painful words to hear, because Sensei is the person who has done everything for Tomura everything but love him, protect him and here he is, betraying the man in tiny ways every single day, in heart and mind and body. But Izuku sees him, not just whatever he wants to see, and even with their opposing paths, he doesn't flinch away from Tomura, doesn't try to change him; their teaching and learning is a mutual thing, an ebb and flow, give and take. Neither of them have the upper hand. Not when they're intertwining their fingers, palm to palm. It isn't... it isn't like this. It isn't being asked to do something that is the only thing he's good for except he's good at games and at analysing situations and planning things and at kissing Izuku breathless, yet is very much something that might push away someone that he genuinely cares about.)

Sensei has someone that he needs killing.

Tomura does not contemplate saying no. (He does, however, contemplate how Izuku will react. If he will be disgusted, horrified, disappointed, or impossibly accepting. Somehow none of those possibilities quite seem right.)  Instead, he accepts the small folder that he is gestured towards, undoubtedly some sort of profile on the HPSC member that is to be his target, and listens to his Sensei's closing statements before finally leaving the dim room full of medical paraphernalia.

Mortality hits hard and sudden. Sensei is- Sensei is so much more powerful than him, has lived for so very long, has done so much, taken so many Quirks, and Tomura doesn't have to like the reality of that power disparity to be painfully aware of it. So if Sensei can be reduced to this, to machines and scars and wheezing breaths, then what does Tomura's fate look like? Where will his path lead? He never wanted to run the underworld, he just wanted to ruin Heroics society. (To change it, to make it better-)

But there is no time or space for mortality right now. Izuku is in class, and the older teen doesn't know what to say to him either way. The timeframe for the HPSC target is still a few days away.

Tomura heads back to his games without second thought or hesitation. Better to drown out the world and his own mind with a distraction than to go and attract attention, particularly when he should, if anything, be happy to have been trusted with work from his Sensei. (He is, in many ways; he basks in the approval, in the chance to prove himself further. Yet other parts of him rebel in twisting guts and dreading thoughts-)

The presence of the folder abandoned on his desk is a millstone upon him, no matter how much he does on his island in an attempt to distract himself. Tomura can only hope that his frayed bonds with Izuku, with the little hero, his Quest, will not be condemned by the realities of his own path.

He can only hope that, if Izuku finds his actions reprehensible, he will also find them forgivable.

(Tomura is not sure what he would do, now, if he lost Izuku from his life, in any capacity other than their opposing positions at least. Because it takes so much out of him to even contemplate many of his own actions of late, to contemplate further... deviations from the expectations upon him, let alone to go through with them, and whilst he would like to think that he would continue to attempt his own solutions if Izuku walked away from him, he cannot honestly say for sure if he would.

Tomura likes to think himself strong. He is not, however, omnipotent, nor is he inflexible. He has swayed to his Sensei's whims time and again, does so even now, and part of that is an inevitable thing, because Sensei is... Sensei is his, and he is Sensei's, and he has nothing except what Sensei has given him...

Well, things aren't quite like that now. Not entirely. He has Izuku, and everything that Izuku gives him, be it affection or a different perspective or hope for things to change in a different way, for the genuine betterment of more people than those that would die of it. He has kisses pressed to his lips, and a hand that doesn't falter to find his.

Izuku does not fear him for his Quirk.

It is a miracle, and a blessing, and utterly down to Izuku's very nature. He is things light and bright and darker than Tomura himself, so full of emotion and intelligence that it's absurd, and he understands, or failing that then he tries to. It is not a dismissal, not an attempt to change him, not an assumption about him. It is simply Izuku, staying at his side.

The world that Tomura has learnt will never accept him has at least one person who has done nothing but exactly that.

If Sensei's orders drive Izuku away from him (if Tomura's compliance drives him away) then Tomura isn't sure what he will do. How he will continue as he now is.

If he even could, or if he would fall into the darker depths of his Sensei's plans.

For now, Tomura will hope, will wish and pray and bathe himself in what soft, grey-tinged light he can, and he will be patient. Because he might not be able to change himself or his path, nor may Izuku, but that doesn't mean that they are beyond grace. It just means that they have to try even harder for it. And, perhaps, Tomura could work on a plan of his own.)

Chapter Text

They go a few days without speaking much, sending the odd good night or reminder about lunch. It's not as though they're still fighting (there is no good reply to the bitter-aching truth, and no easy recovery from such vicious tension between people who care too much to let such a thing go completely-) but things are still undeniably a little tense. It's fine though, really.

Then Tomura leaves a message saying that he'll be gone for a day, and not to waste intelligence stats on worrying so, of course, Izuku is immediately worried. He can't help it. It's in his nature, and more than that it is in his heart, when it comes to Tomura. (Tomura is his, in the ways that matter, and sometimes that hold they have upon each other is one of bruises and bloody nails, because sometimes being loved is being hurt, and they have both been hurt by those that have loved them before, yet somehow this is different, because if it is selfish then it is selfish in the most selfless way, for the sake of the other as much as themselves. 

They are each other's now, and that makes everything so much better and worse and too much all at once.)

So Izuku spends the day half-distracted. They're only doing review after their exams, a week of the teachers addressing the major weak points across the classes and preparing them for the next term, although the latter is primarily focused around explaining their summer homework, something that is a project for several of their subjects.

He doesn't not focus, because this is school and he both needs to do well and to not attract attention. It's part of becoming a hero, of making his mother and mentors proud of him. He cares about it. 

He just also cares about Tomura, and Tomura is the one who must be doing something dangerous in some way right now whilst Izuku is sitting in class, chatting with his friends and eating lunch and pretending that he can stand the sight of his once-friend (Tomura promised-) when he feels restless, like he needs to be on his feet, thinking and fighting for his- for Tomura. It's a day that passes far too slowly.

But pass it does, and he can retreat to his dorm room easily enough.

With only a little attention to it, he sets to sketching out some diagrams for one of his most recent analyses, and he waits. 

Izuku, generally speaking, would consider himself fairly patient. However, when anxiety is gnawing along his spine in shudders, prompting him to wrap a blanket around himself, it's hard to to truly be calm within that patience. (If the blanket is a pale grey-blue sort of tone, all sea mists and pre-dawn skies, one that he only bought a few weeks ago, then it's not because it reminds him of Tomura. It's not. Really. Or not entirely, at least; it's also very fluffy.)

Admittedly, he takes his first full breath of the day, or so it feels, then, at just past midnight (and he really had intended to sleep earlier, but they left things off so... not-right between them, and Tomura had been gone since before Izuku things his very genuine 'good luck and be as safe as you can' message had been sent, and then he got caught up in analysing Jirou's Quirk anyway, quiet music playing through his headphones, and he barely even noticed-), a message pings through to their server, and his heart leaps into his throat, a wild, throbbing things.

Arc: [I'm back and fine. No HP lost]  

There's too much unsaid in it. Equally, Izuku knows that now, not to mention over their server, is hardly the time to ask for more.

Instead, he doesn't hesitate to send a string of emoji reactions that are probably far too overexcited, but he really couldn't care less. He's just so, so glad that Tomura is okay.

[Want to meet up tomorrow?] he asks, in lieu of the half-dozen other things he wants to say or do. No, he restrains himself as they arrange a café, closer to town centre than UA for sensibility's sake, and a time. Izuku doesn't even really think before, as he goes to sign off, he flicks through the default emojis for a green heart and sends one along with his final [good night, Arc] message.

The realisation of his own actions only hits when Tomura takes a few too many seconds typing his reply.

But before the younger teen can begin to feel the need for panic, Tomura's message is sent, and it's nothing except an eyeroll and a blue heart. It settles something in Izuku's chest that had been throbbing, bloody-frantic like a bird flying against the bars caging it, feathers and bones alike snapping. 

(Tomura had only been worried about him, or at least had been speaking to reflect that, not his own vindication at the brutality of heroes, and Izuku had known it in that moment just as well we does in this one. But he has idolised All Might and Kacchan for far longer than he has even known Tomura, let alone valued him or his opinion. It can make things hard to acknowledge, sometimes, let alone accept.

And Izuku really hadn't been lying about their abilities or desires to change each other's paths. They are both martyrs for very different causes, and it is as inevitable as their growing adoration for each other.)

With things approaching being settled between them both again, alongside the knowledge that Tomura is safe once more, Izuku slips into sleep more easily than he had expected. If there is a little blue-green stain seeping across his heart and mind, tinging the edges of his dreams, then it simply has him waking up the next morning with a tiny smile on his face, shoulder relaxed and no tension pounding at the back of his head.

He's glad things are mostly alright between them again.

Then again, maybe he spoke too soon, he fears. Because things start off well, really well in fact, Izuku absolutely beaming at the sight of Tomura lounging in a booth seat, a beanie pulled low and a mask on as well, although it's tucked beneath his chin so that he can sip at the bubble tea on the table. Opposite it, there's another cup, this one a pale green with cream stiped around the sides. It has his favourite popping tapioca pearls in it.

It's a peace offering, Izuku can tell. He didn't need one, but he still very much appreciates the gesture, the sentiment behind it.

"You didn't have to," he murmurs, slipping into the seat opposite.

"Yet I did it."

"Thank you then," Izuku replies, tone still just as soft, before taking his first sip as he knocks their ankles together. It's enough to have something in Tomura's expression softening slightly, some of the harsher lines in his face fading into crinkle-edged eyes, twitching lips.

Things aren't perfect, not anything like, but they're better, and that's all they truly need.

They spend a quiet half an hour together like that, sipping their drinks with ankles interlocked, and it settles a half-feral beast within them both, something hurt and protective all at once that is finally, truly soothed. They both know each other to be capable, competent, careful, there's no doubt about it, but concern has no time or space for such logical things, not when there are bruises and shadowed eyes and twitching fingers to be focused on instead. And as much as both of them understand that, understand each other, it doesn't make things easier.

(They are kindred spirits, equivalents and opposites, and whilst it is what has brought them together, it is also what threatens to tear them apart. It's not like Izuku and his mother, where their intrinsically opposing choices and comprehensions of each other are things that, for the sake of an evening or a few days, can be ignored and pushed aside, their focus on the surface and on distractions. Izuku and Tomura don't have that luxury. No, so much as a shared glance says far too much to ever be ignored, not for more than an hour or two at least)

This latter fact is doubtless why, when they move wordlessly on from the café, Tomura's mask pulled up once more, little fingers intertwined, they tacitly head for somewhere relatively private. They need the time. The space and quiet. Neither of them give into the tension threatening to rise again, not just yet. Better to enjoy their calm while they still can.

A wise decision, because it doesn't last for long once they have wandered deep into the woods of the nearest park. Izuku's heart staccato-throbs, an extra half-beat with every breath, not wanting to address the tension between them, yet fully aware that it needs airing out loud. The sooner it is vocalised, the sooner they can get back to the way that they normally are. The way that they should be. Already, Izuku finds that he misses that.

They unlace their fingers when they slink to a stop in a clearing, the sounds of any other people long-since faded. They're safe here, or as much as they are anywhere in public.

"Your HP is all back now?"

"Yep, and no lingering status effects," the younger teen returns, his grin a  tiny bit too melancholy to be fully teasing, but still managing to catch something fully amused in it. Tomura might only snort in reply, yet he also bumps their shoulders together as he moves away to poke a toe at a tree root, not looking at Izuku. (It's an odd moment, a tableau of a dozen different things, but most prominent of all is how dappled light from the not-quite-sunset seeps through the canopy in soft-edged swords, pillar-shards of brightness framing the older teen's slender form in a way that surely should not seem so fitting, not like this, not with Tomura, yet it does-)

"I killed someone yesterday."

Neither of them move for a long, jagged moment. Izuku's breath turns into thorns in his throat, fists suddenly tight, as he attempts to process those words, even a fraction of the reality behind them. The weight. He comes up entirely short, he's sure.

There are too many thoughts in his head to give voice to, so in lieu of that he drags in a breath that tastes of rusted iron and dread, and pieces together syllables far too calm for the tempest in his- in his everything:

"Was there a particular reason?"

"I was asked to. He was part of the HPSC-"  Izuku abruptly remembers the news story of someone who hadn't turned up for a major conference this morning, someone who hadn't been located yet, but who is certainly dust scattered to the wind or piled in a hidden room or bag.
"-and wasn't a very good person, by society's standards. He stopped accepting Sensei's bribes, or rather kept accepting them but didn't actually act on Sensei's orders. So he warned, didn't listen, and now he's dead."

The words are too toneless. Izuku is used to Tomura ranting about idiot opponents or gesturing over his favourite game mechanics, or speaking soft-calm-slow to him when he's panicking. This is wrong. And the person to blame is all too obvious.

"I hate him."  It would be an idle comment if not for how the words end up more vitriolic than anything else that Izuku can remember saying in his life. And he means every syllable.

"Hate's a strong dialogue choice."

"I do though. You shouldn't have had to do that. He shouldn't have- I hate him. It. For you."  The sentiment is clear even if the words end up all over the place, and it has them both frozen in place for a long moment.

Finally though, Tomura's eyes narrow, shoulders hunching, tensing, twitching,

"Heed your own words, Quest. These are our paths."  And that- that's true, Izuku can admit, but he doesn't have to like it. (Idly, vaguely, subconsciously, he acknowledges that this must have been how Tomura felt only a few days ago, all rage and righteousness and such aching helplessness that he burns with it, sick, barely able to think beyond the awful river-rushing haze of it.)

"Can't you see how wrong that is?"  Tomura flinches, and Izuku steps closer immediately, because he didn't mean that Tomura was wrong, no, never-

The older teen is already speaking again alongside a too-casual shrug, jerkier than it should be,

"Not in my world, it's not. It's what Sensei-"

"Then can’t you see how manipulative he is?" Izuku challenges, posture rising, curling in, shifting up. 

"He isn’t!" Tomura spits, and Izuku thinks there might be vulnerability beneath the vehemence,
"I’ve chosen to do all these things! I’m not some fucking saint!"

Izuku breaths deeply once, twice, yet still finds his initial words tripping over his tongue in the sharpest of sword edges, leaving him tasting blood, sick with it all,

"But that doesn’t mean you’re pure evil either! You're not some bloodthirsty, mindless psychopath," he returns, as firm as he is wavering in the face of Tomura's twisted expression and glinting eyes,

"Oh, I'm not, am I?"

The thought of Tomura truly blaming himself for his Sensei's orders is more than a little sickening for Izuku.  (It makes him want to yell, or sob, or wrap his arms and heart and words around the older teen and simply never, ever let go, except perhaps to fight All For One off, but none of those options help. Not right now at least.)

Perhaps his horror can be his meagre excuse for his own decision then, when he steps closer once, twice, a third time, until he can stare up into those eyes (sunsets and sunrises all at once-), and feel Tomura's too sharp half-breath almost as much as he hears it.

Then Izuku raises one arm, bumping his wrist against Tomura's lax hand.

"Go on then, make me bleed." When Tomura doesn't move, Izuku reaches out with his other hand, curling a delicate hold around pale fingers, and guiding them up, letting them curl just over his skin, their body heat shifting, seeping together.

He lets go, and he waits.

Trembling fingertips settle upon his skin (this hand murdered a man, only yesterday, yet it is one of the most delicate, most careful, caring touches Izuku can ever remember-), and the one being hurt is not the one who flinches away first.

There's no feeling of victory, however. No triumph when Izuku ignores the static-numb pain and sluggish bleeding in favour of speaking quietly, earnestly,

"There, did you enjoy that? Did you like my blood, like knowing that you hurt someone?"  Tomura's mouth falls open, and it's a testament to the desperation dripping acid through his veins that Izuku doesn't even think about kissing him again.

No such thoughts could even be entertained in the next moment though, because Tomura's expression is twisting into an objectively ugly expression, eyes flaring.

"Go away."

"To-"

"Go the fuck away!"  Izuku hesitates, falters, not wanting to leave the older teen to his own thoughts and situation, to the faint dusting of grey over his fingertips. (Oh, Kami, what has Izuku done to him? He- That was-)  But Tomura is all hurt-conflict-stress, and right now, in this moment, Izuku doesn't seem to be the thing that's going to help, as much as he loathes the very idea of it.

So Izuku turns away without another word, with a heavy heart and bloody arm, and he walks away from the one person in the world who best understands him.

He can't save Tomura. No, Izuku can condemn him further, can entrench him in emotions and conflicts and blood, he can adore him utterly, but he cannot save him. Their mutual condemnation is only a shallow comfort.

In his room the better part of an hour later, treating and wrapping the five small wounds on his arm, Izuku realises the enormity of what he did. Even if he didn't entirely force Tomura to hurt him, he instigated it, literally asked for it in a way very different to his childhood hurts. (He hopes that this won't scar, not only because it would raise questions, because that could be dealt with, but so that Tomura will never be stuck with a ridged reminder of his own actions.)

And for all that it was cruel of Izuku, and that the younger teen regrets that fact, he also doesn't, can't, regret the point that he tried to make. Tomura isn't innocent, probably isn't even good, not fully or truly, too deep in the clutches of his Sensei for far too long for that, but that doesn't make him evil either. If he can care for Izuku the way that he seems to then there is more to him, better in him, than his Sensei could ever imagine, let alone hope to stomp out.

Tomura doesn't have to be a good person for Izuku to so unflinchingly adore him.

(There are probably other words for what is beginning to ink-blot over the surface of his heart, the core of his soul, for the purple-blue tones, all lilac and indigo and dusky skies, but Izuku doesn't want or dare to think more about that, particularly not right now.)

He could and should be productive tonight. He has things to investigate and analyse and write up. He just- he just doesn't have the energy or inclination to do any of that at all, so in lieu of anything actually useful, he curls up on top of his covers, put some music in the background, and lets his sobs tear at him. Izuku cannot think, cannot breathe or hope or process, not beyond the way that his shoulders jump and his heart seems to slip further into shards with every gasping agony. Clenching his hand around his injured arm doesn't help (no, it reminds him of his foolish choices and the way that Tomura had looked, betrayed and hope and relief and rage, and it was Izuku's fault-), but the hurt of it doesn't really matter either, so he simply clutches the hoodie-covered bandages (Tomura wore this, once, before offering it to Izuku on a cold day, and never having received it back) without falter, and lets himself fall right apart.

It doesn't last forever. Izuku doesn't generally let himself cry about the important things in his life, because it's hardly productive (but it's logically cathartic, says a voice that sounds like Aizawa-sensei, but Izuku ignores that-), and he forces himself up, out of bed, and goes to splash his face with water, running a hand through his hair, generally making himself look less like he just spent half an hour sobbing his aching heart out.

Aizawa-sensei still frowns at him, eyes narrow but far from unkind, when Izuku knocks sheepishly on his door.

"Kid."

"Uhm, hi Sensei. I know it's really last minute but I've run out of new notebooks and I had something I wanted to start and-"  A raised hand pauses him, and there's something fond-warm in those dark eyes,

"Sure, kiddo, as long as you only go to the konbini down the road, and you're back within... forty minutes. I'd rather not come traipsing after you, but I will if I need to. If you need me."

"Yessir."

"Good kid."  There's a pause, perhaps even a hesitation, where the hero opens his mouth.

"Midoriya, kid, I-"  Izuku, smiling with a slightly-frantic goodbye, is already gone, halfway down the corridor once more. He can't listen to the apology from the man that falls quietly into the space he leaves behind, not right now, not when his head is filled with so many other things. He'd much rather sink into denial that the exam and its consequences never happened, even if he does feel more than a little awful for putting a burden upon Aizawa-sensei's shoulders over that fact.

He stops briefly by his own room, picking up his wallet, and sets a quick pace to the shop. If, in lieu of having to face people, his friends and classmates that care about him and will ask him what's wrong, whether he's alright, Izuku simply jumps down from his balcony onto the grass below, managing to not stumble despite how everything about him seems to drag, slump, sink, every limb and thought weighted beyond Atlas' burden, then it's so that he can hold himself together.

His bed is calling him again already. Equally though, Izuku refuses to give in to himself, not like that, because he needs- he needs to be better, or needs to try better, something along those lines.

Even if he can't save Tomura, Izuku can do right by him.

For the sake of that, in the name of the person who understands him best, Izuku finds  two nondescript notebooks, or nondescript for him at least, one All Might-themed and the other no different from most of his fairly cheap school and analysis notebooks, and buys them without hesitation. As such, he goes back to his  dorm with five minutes to spare, two notebooks in hand. He has something to do. And he will do it for Tomura.

Chapter Text

Izuku knows that he looks physically and emotionally exhausted the next day, because his friends tell him in no uncertain terms no less than three times, albeit alongside several offers of making him breakfast or something, but Izuku laughs it off with the technically-true excuse of getting caught up in a project, normal enough that his friends only laughingly scold him for it. And he manages to wrangle his way out of the common room to go and find All Might instead. He has something to give his hero.

"Izuku, my boy! Come in, come in," Toshinori beams, although there's a glint of something worried in his eyes. Izuku offers him a crooked grin within a thought, and no matter how forced it is in part, the effort gets it somewhere. Good. He doesn't want to start this off on the wrong foot.

"Hi, Toshinori-san. Sorry to bother you." His expression is sheepish, only for the hero to wave him off with a soft sort of grin,

"You never could, my boy!" Do you want some tea? Nedzu gave it to me, so I can promise it's good."  The teen almost hesitates, before actively reminding himself to relax. It's just Toshinori.

"I- Yeh, that'd be nice, thank you."

They settle down then, falling into idle chatter whilst they wait for the tea to steep. Izuku pulls out his notebook but does nothing else with it. Not yet. He needs to work up to it, and ideally to calm down a little too. (Doing this feels so... risky. So much like exposing a part of himself that he hasn't really shown anyone, not truly, except for Tomura. And that... well, that isn't exactly going brilliantly, not right now. However, that fact is exactly why Izuku wants and needs to do this, craves to make something, anything, better. Really, there's no better place to start than this. He just needs to gather his confidence. For the sake of Tomura, of himself, of all the children like them, that's not truly so hard to do.)

Finally, three mouthfuls of tea drunk, Izuku shifts his tea cup into only one hand, moving to place the pulled-out notebook onto the coffee table. All Might's eyes, Toshinori's eyes, upon it feel like a condemnation and a saviour all at once.

"I had an idea, a while ago. And I- I can't do it by myself, not yet at least, so I thought I might- I thought I would ask you for help."

"You can always ask me for help, Izuku. Always."  The teen smiles far more genuinely at that, no matter that he's sure that All Might's reaction to the full truth regarding Tomura would not be so easily positive, so thoughtlessly supportive.

Fortunately, that isn't the point right now (but oh, how Izuku fears that day, because he cannot imagine a world where they would be accepted, but he can imagine the rejection, the fear, the disgust, a hideous reflection of what he once experienced at four years old except this time it was his choice-), so the teen instead gathers his wits, his words, tasting victory and terror upon his tongue in the same breath, anticipation lining his bones.

"I want to start a charity. An active one. Proactive, even. But I can't do it alone."  It's far more coherent, steady, than he himself was expecting.

Which is probably good, judging by the somewhat flabbergasted expression on his mentor's face. ("You don't see how fucking messed up that shit is-"  It doesn't matter. And either way, Izuku's own morals are proving far more grey, and probably his decisions alongside.)

Admittedly worried enough that a half-dozen protests or dismissals or explanations river-rush through his mind, washing over any lingering excitement, Izuku shifts in his seat. Takes another sup of tea rather than pressuring or rushing All Might. At least that fact seems to pay off when, after a time that is surely far shorter than the eon it feels like, the man speaks up.

"Why me, Izuku? I'm already part of several charities, and I have no doubt that a few years down the line you could start or sponsor one yourself."

"It wouldn't be the same. Partially legally, because the process is fairly involved, at least to get it properly set up for being registered, and socially too."  Izuku drags in a deep breath that barely settles him like he needs it to,
"You're All Might, and you've never started a charity of your own before. I'd be happy to do a lot of the work! And to liaise with your PR team and anyone in your legal or financial teams either. I just- I could help people, like this. They shouldn't have to wait."

Every single word of it is the truth. Slightly tailored in places, yes, but nothing other than the heart-heavy, hope-fierce truth.

Something in that fact must win Izuku's idea some favour, because the last of Toshinori's blatant uncertainty fades away to thoughtfulness. Consideration.

"And these are your notes?"  That's easy enough to nod too; it's joined by the hesitant twitches of a smile over the primary colours with an undeniable fondness. Nostalgia, even.

"I'd be honoured to look them over, my boy. I can't guarantee anything, but you're already well on your way to being a great hero, so I'm happy to see if there's anything I can do. Would you mind me sharing this with my agency, if needs be?"  The answer to that is more than obvious; Izuku agrees without issue.

(Part of him, low in his guts, all instinct and learned fear, wonders if Toshinori would still say that he's going to be a great hero if he knew. If he could even begin to fathom the treachery, no matter how well-intentioned, that Izuku is... is indulging in.)

"Thank you," he tacks on, yet more earnest again,
"Really."  He knows, understands all too well, that this might fall through at some point. The point, however, for now, is that he is trying, and one day that won't be enough anymore, but for the time being he can head off for the last day of classes satisfied.

Izuku has taken another step along his path, but this step was all his own. He hopes Tomura would be proud (hopes he will have the chance to tell Tomura-); either way, he knows that he is damn proud of himself for once, and it's a very good feeling.

They don't talk to each other for two days. Izuku hadn't realised how much they messaged each other until his phone is quiet and still, the absence of notifications more notable at this point than their frequent presence. Odd, how quickly things change.

(It is this realisation, of all of Izuku's complicated thoughts and feelings over those two days, that has his mindlessly scrolling back through their conversations when he has a quiet few minutes, gaze lingering over teasing back and forth, or discussion of games, or those simple little hearts they sent each other. It's a twisted sort of comfort.)

Given that it's finally the end of term, Izuku spends most of his time packing and moving his things for the summer, then settling back in at home. (If he stops by the park where the Nomu tooth is still hidden, slipping in into his pocket and bringing it with him to his home, then it's a decision that is both calculated and heart-worn. Heart-weary.)  Once he's home, it's nice, to spend a quiet evening with his mother, watching silly telly programs and not thinking about real things too much.

It's even nicer when, the next afternoon, he gets a ping for a game request. There's no hesitation to slipping on his headphones and loading Diablo up. (Quietly, privately, no matter that the calm sweetness of Animal Crossing is his preference, Izuku is glad for the game choice. The hustle and reliance will make it easier to speak, he thinks. Hopes.)

"Hi, Arc," he offers up, only a little shy around the edges. There's a few moments where all he can hear is breathing, the final one heavier, more of a huff, than the rest, before a rasping voice has a shiver down his spine, more pleasant than not,

"Quest."

It's not until they're a solid ten minutes into gaming that the older teen speaks up once more, with a tone that is not as begrudging as the words may otherwise seem:

"I'm not saying it."  However, Izuku does not falter, only considering the words, the sentiment behind them, before he replies,

"Would you mean it if you did?"

"Yes," comes the instant, steady reply. There is no hesitation to it. No lie.

"Then that's good enough for me," he decrees, as much of a decision for himself as it is anything else.

And before Tomura can try to refute that, he goes on:

"I'm sorry I pushed so hard."  It's sincere, for all that Izuku's voice remains fairly casual, almost light. Hopefully that fact comes across well enough, because Tomura simply grumbles something vaguely incoherent at him.

Neither of them are going to change for the other. Their knowledge, their opinions, their ideas all may change, but they will not. And that's perfectly fine for them.

(They've both spent years surrounded by those who would try to change them. To sway and influence and twist them. Too many times those people have succeeded, leaving little warps and stress fractures and the tiniest of hairlinrs cracks through them both, things of tongue and teeth and talon, to leave them scarred. Scared, at times. All too often, those forced changes still ache. They are still remembered.

So, no, Izuku will never ask Tomura to change; fortunately, he feels safe in being afforded the same sort of sanctuary in return.)

They've played multiple rounds of their game with nothing heavy discussed when Tomura, seamlessly after a play comment, makes a very simple statement indeed,

"You shouldn’t have let me hurt you. Shouldn’t let anyone hurt you, actually."

For a long moment, Izuku cannot breathe, air caught vice-awful in his throat.

(He cannot actually remember having been told that. He must have, at some point, when he was young, but he can't remember it, can't remember how warm it makes his heart, nor how there is frost shattering along his spine, dread and tenderness all at once. Why... why is it Tomura, wonderful, twisted Tomura, who he has to hear that from?

Izuku is frankly grateful that anybody has told him that at all. At least he knows that Tomura means it, that his own sentiment and care is reciprocated very genuinely.)

"I- I guess," he finally manages, a croak more than anything coherent. Tomura sighs, and Izuku is grateful that it seems more exasperated than actually annoyed or upset with him. He isn't sure how he could deal with derision or thinking that Tomura was literally pissed off with him over this, not when it's so hard to even begin to process,

"Don't guess, Quest. I get it if you don't know it yet, that's... not fine, but it's fine, but don't not try. Got it?"

"Got it." The younger teen returns, half-joyful at first, until reality hits him again, the knowledge of what he's going to have to do
"But, Arc, it's going to-"

"Then learn to be more careful," Tomura snaps back.

Izuku would roll his eyes if he was more flippant and less frustrated,

"Because that's so easy."  The snide lilt to it comes from a negative place, not a cruel one, and Tomura clearly picks up on it because his voice softens, not gentle but perhaps considerate. Understanding.

"It would be easier if you tried, Arc. If you were taught."

It takes Izuku a minute to truly be able to reply to that, just long enough for them to be starting yet another round on Diablo, settling into the game for familiarity where he otherwise lacks it, not used to having to voice these conversations outside of his own head,

"A- Eraserhead has tried."

"Sure."  It's not a dismissal, nor a disregard, but it's the tiniest disbelieving around the edges all the same, something that is even more pronounced when he goes on,
"And All Might?"

"Arc-"

"Has he?" The older teen cuts in to Izuku's protest, the simple question nigh-on scathing yet somehow still with that gentle core, the part that that both wants to protect Izuku and yet not break his heart either. 

(Izuku fears that, when it comes to things like this, those two things may just be inevitable. Because for all of his awareness to the realities of their world, he still idolises some of the people who have hurt him, and acknowledging their shortcomings is difficult. When it comes to All Might, someone that he is meant to be emulating, aspiring towards, to look at him critically is even harder. Not impossible, something Izuku has done before, but still difficult indeed. Uncomfortable.)

"I guess not really. He just- He can be a bit oblivious sometimes, but he tries hard. Means well."

"You can't deny that All Might's manipulating you too then .Maybe he doesn’t even know it, but he is."  Izuku almost flinches. Perhaps he would have, if the very same thought hadn't occurred to him only a day ago. 

"You still don’t think if it as your Quirk, do you? Has he even realised how fucked up you are in the head?"

"I haven’t told him," he deflects, too casual for what it is, for the way that he had half-flinched. Tomura neither dismisses nor truly addresses it, words too flat to be a question,

"But isn’t he meant to save everyone."

"He’s done his best, and he’s getting better."

"Sure."  The word is far too disbelieving, even within its single syllable. It aches to hear.

"He is. He really is," Izuku insists, and he does mean it, because it's true, except in some ways it also isn't,
"But you’re not entirely wrong."

It’s not a satisfying conversation for either of them.

But it isn't all they have to deal with, and it's enough, for the time being, to have had the conversation at all, to have reached a consensus upon the matter. Even if it is an uneasy one. Uncomfortable. Anything, particularly with this, is better than nothing.

"I think we need to do something about a certain department, if it has people like who you were talking about the other day. And it protects a lot of heroes who don't really deserve that protection," Izuku offers up, both by way of distraction and peace. It's accepted without hesitation.

"Oh?"  There's something wolfish, sharp, to the way that Tomura says that, and Izuku hopes he can sense the eyeroll it earns.

"We already knew they were corrupt. But if it's to this degree, and has that much impact on other people, because we both know that the industry is- it's messed up, then we need to change it, don't we?"

(Izuku does not know it, but Tomura has thought it several times before: he is a revelation. A revolution. He is an angel whose wings are spread wide, with no knowledge of whether they are falling or flying but it does not matter when they are so clearly trying, and so utterly stunning in that effort. He is a thing of sunshine and shadows and enlightenment. A revelation indeed.)

"I think you already know my opinion, Quest."  It's Izuku's turn to be wolfish then, his tiny grin as much teeth as the vicious thorns thriving in his blood, the thrill of a future chase settling into his bones, of fighting for what he knows with earthbound certainty is right,

"Then is that a plan?"

"It is, Quest." There's a jolt through his chest, relief and gratitude and glee. It matches Tomura's tone when he continues speaking,
"A deal, yeh?"

"Yeh," Izuku murmurs, far too gentle-tender-delicate again already for them to be planning to take down an entire government organisation.

He smiles, soft and sharp all at once, and he has hope.

Chapter Text

Being on his summer holiday is a wonderful thing for Izuku. And for Tomura too, by proxy.

It helps a lot that they now have somewhere private to meet up. Although the first time that Tomura had taken Izuku by the hand and led him along street after street, headed for the border area between the slums, the industrial areas, and the poorer residential areas, the younger teen had been confused. Willing to follow, to find out, to trust, but confused all the same.

(And so four days into the holiday, they had arrived at a vaguely dilapidated building, in amongst several more, equally dilapidated buildings, and they had slipped into a tiny alley-gap between two of them, all shadows and marred concrete and, set a fair ways back from the main road, a set of concrete steps to a door set into the side of one building. Said door creaked, low and ominous, when Tomura unlocked it and pulled it open. But the room inside was fairly clean-looking, a big soft-looking day bed, with enough cushions to be as comfortable as a sofa, set before a coffee table, one with controllers and newspapers and a notebook on it, a whole pot of pens next to it. They're all Izuku's favourite brand.

"Is this for us?" He had asked, hesitant in the best sort of way, all full of burgeoning, dawn-bright awe.

"Just us," Tomura had confirmed, tone low. Soft. 

Their hands are warm, fingers twisted together, and Izuku is quite sure that he has come home, the truest one he may ever find.)

With his mother working and his friends as an excuse, Izuku has been able to spend pretty much all the time he likes with Tomura. It's a welcome change. Doubly so after the last few weeks where they've had their spats and silent periods, both needing the time and space from it to recover, to think, to settle. One advantage, at least, is that it has made the time they've been spending together since far more precious. And even more appreciated.  (It is odd in a way, because Izuku has never not appreciated being able to sneak his time for Tomura, but it was an exciting thing before, and it still is in a sense, however now it's far more a thing of quiet joy and utter gratitude. One of revelling in having each other.)

Being able to slip away to their little space, their pseudo-flat is, frankly, amazing. Izuku couldn't be more grateful for it. 

To simply be able leave his home and slip across roofs and through alleys is absolutely wonderful, doubly so when he can use the key that Tomura gave him to get into the little flat, and as often as not he finds said older teen already there, sprawled over the day bed, game controller in hand. And when he is there like that, there is always room for Izuku to wriggle under one of his arms, pillowing his head on a bony shoulder in a way that is far too comfortable and warm for what it is.

Sometimes, if Izuku is really lucky, or Tomura feeling particularly soft, he gets a kiss dropped atop his curls.

Spending afternoons or early mornings like this is a little slice of bliss that he didn't know he needed so badly. And he likes to think that, judging by how Tomura relaxes more day by day as well, he isn't the only one. (To be able to settle so close to each other, to sink into each other, is a blessing. It feels like freedom, like peace, like sanctuary.)

Of course, they do more than curl up together. They begin to slot their plans together, taking up the desk pushed against one wall with notes and pens and papers strewn over its surface, a few organised piles amongst the mess when Tomura gets too fed up with Izuku's chaotic notes. It's honestly pretty fun to be able to bump their hips together, all in a playful-sweet-teasing way as Tomura huffs and puffs about the mess, for all that he also is careful not to tidy away anything that Izuku is actively working on, or to separate things out by their topic and relation, so nothing is actually messed up.

It's strangely domestic, and all the more bittersweet for it.

In amongst that though, they do genuinely work hard on their projects, both individual and shared. Izuku continues to liaise with All Might's publicity and financial departments about the charity (and the look on Tomura's face when Izuku had finally confessed about that had been something so beautiful and heart-breaking all at once-)  and things begin to fall into place for it. The Helping Hand Foundation. A simple name for a goal that is both very simple and very complex. (And, perhaps, part of the name is both a tiny jibe and a tiny homage; Tomura's best-known for his hands after all.)  To end discrimination is, frankly, an impossible job for one single charity, even one headed by All Might, his team, and Izuku. But if it starts it off, if it helps, then they'll take it.

Izuku, quietly, hesitantly, is actually proud of himself. It's a vaguely foreign thing still, something he rarely indulges in, rarely feels the need for, but it's nice to have a little glow in his chest, another star in the constellation of good things he has found of late. (There are more shadows too, of course, because of that growing light, but there are moments where Izuku can ignore that well enough. And the confirmation text from Toshinori that the charity is getting the go ahead from his team is one of those.)

There are other projects, too. There is putting file after file into something approaching a dossier of sorts. Well, multiple dossiers, actually. In several formats. Things that could be posted on social media, things that could be sent to main media outlets. Some files, even, are for Nedzu, and a few more prominent information-based heroes, both Underground and Aboveground, that Izuku and Tomura have, after a good deal of debate, had been able to agree on as somewhat reliable. It was another difficult conversation, but at least it was one focused on facts and numbers. Looking at survival rates and villain treatment and apprehension rates is far simpler, far more objective, than the nuances of their mentors, pathways, burdens.

So to be able to start putting things together into coherent documents that could, feasibly, be publicised?  It's something of a relief.

It's even more of a success.

Quest: [Okay so if I were to say that I wanted to go to a cat cafe?]

Arc: [I'd say fine but not one that your teacher might be at]
     : [I ain't dealing with that shi hassle]

Quest: [hhhhhhh]
         : [Yeh, no, neither]
         : [But there's one on the opposite side of town that I think should be good - I know roughly where Eraserhead probably lives!]

Arc: [right]
     : [cause that's not at all odd to know about your teacher]
     : [and a hero]

Quest: [It's just logic!!!  >_<  ]

Arc: [sure]
     : [you gonna send me the address or what?]

Quest: [Thank you!!!]

Arc: [no arguing with me about payments though]

Quest: [But Arc!!]

Arc: [no]
     : [you owe me a kiss]

Quest: [...deal <3]

Arc: [don't be a sap, brat]
     : [and you don't get to complain when I buy you a whole entire second matcha this time]

Izuku wakes up to find that he's gripped his sheets fiercely enough in his nightmare-tight grip that there are tears developing in it. He can barely breathe, still, all hitching and gasping and awful, horrific shudders, an utter agony.

"Izuku, baby?"  Oh. That- that must be why he just woke up, mustn't it? (He was halfway through noticing the blood on his hands, choking on the bile-blood-something in his throat, all hot terror and rage and the haze of a fight, of knowing that he has just failed-killed-won and the result was blood on his hands, death on his soul-)

"Izuku?"

"Mmfine, mm'wake," he manages, hoping that his panic-dragged slur sounds just like a sleepy murmur.

"Can I come in, honey?"

"Uh-"  Saying no would just make her worry; equally, Izuku is sweaty, and only half-breathing, and his eyes are surely wide still. He must look a mess.

He makes the hasty decision to wipe at his face with his sheet and shove it to the side, glad that the worst of the rips and sweat can be dismissed so easily, already scrambling onto his feet, ignoring the way that his knees try to give way beneath him as he half-falls to his door, pulling it open in an abrupt movement that he can just about use to lean upon it.

He's glad that he doesn't stumble in the face of his worried mother.

"Izuku- Oh, baby, you look ill, are you alright? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine, Mum, thank you. Sleepy," he tacks on, smiling lopsidedly in a way that hurts. It feels too much like a grimace.

"Are you sure, baby? You seem a bit flushed." One of her hands comes up, probably to settle on his forehead, check him for a fever, but Izuku cannot control how he flinches back from the hand suddenly in his face.  (If it was Tomura, he thinks, he would not have done the same, and if anything that it only makes things worse, because what sort of awful, messed-up person does not cringe from a villain, a murderer, but recoils from his own mother? From someone who has never hurt him with anything other than well-intentioned words at least; she loves him, and he flinched from her.)

He barely gathers his coherence quickly enough to see the flashing emotions over her face, the fear-confusion-concern. The faintest hint of what might just be horror.

"Honey, are you-" She's so worried, she cares so much, and Izuku doesn't really know what to do. So he lets words tip over his tongue that he barely thinks about, barely processes until they're hanging in the just-tense air between them,

"I'm sorry, Mum. Not awake enough to really process anything."

"To tell the difference between me, and- and one of those villains? Those monsters that hurt you?"  There's an edge of something angry there, of rage, but Izuku knows, even as he fights the urge to flinch again, that it's protectiveness and fear all rolled into panic. He can relate, unfortunately.

"Mum-"  But she's shaking her head, frowning in the most mournful way,

"Izuku, baby, no. No! You can't-"

"Mum, please."

That silences her. Izuku isn't the type to ask for things, never has been, not since he found her crying over their finances one day when he was six. Not since asking his Dad to stay made him leave. And for all of their differences and difficulties of late (for all of Izuku's secrets, and Inko's attempts to protect him-), they still know each other incredibly well, have still been each other's sole support, sole family, for nigh-on a decade.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that could change that fact.

No matter how hard things get between them, no matter how Izuku shies away or Inko presses too hard, they are still mother and son. They still care about each other. Which, frankly, is probably why, in one gut-knotted moment, Izuku nearly breaks. Nearly tells her everything. Nearly tells her far, far too much.

But, as much as he loves his Mum, she will never understand. That isn't Izuku's teenage angst talking, not even his trauma; it's reality, logic, as best he knows it. She's a civilian, she has never had to fight for her life, and Izuku would never, ever wish it upon anyone, let alone his own mother, but he has had to. He has had blood on his hands, has tasted it on his tongue. Has nearly choked on dust as a giant abomination tried to murder his teacher. Has been told, for ten years, that he is a burden, a freak, better off dead. Has held the hand of someone he adores, the Quirk-laden fingertips, to his own arm, and not flinched when it bled.

So Izuku doesn't tell her about how he's betraying his friends, about how he is planning to expose a corrupt government organisation, about how he is falling in love.

(It hurts, bitter-sharp-aching, to realise that one of the things she would be happiest about, one of the things she has promised will happen to him, will be glorious and wonderful and beautiful, is happening, and he can't even tell her. He wishes he could. Oh, how Izuku wishes that he could ramble on and on to her about this pretty boy, all pale hair and bright eyes and rasping voice, who he adores so much. How he wishes that he could tell her about the way that Tomura kisses the crown of his head when they're sidled up together to play games or lean over to pore over documents and articles. The way that he always tries to listen to him, no matter how different their perspective on something.

But he can't tell his mother anything about the boy who, in another universe, Izuku would be hoping to marry, years down the line. No, all he can do is swallow down the words, far too sweet though they end up, honey cloying in his throat, and try to smile at the woman who always has, and always will, love him.)

"I had a bad night, kay? But you know I don't like to worry you, not if I can help it, and it was just a bad dream. I've had them for years already."

"I know, baby-"  And she does, because he used to wake her up sometimes when he would sob himself awake from dreams of Deku-acridsmoke-graspinghands.  Used to hold him while he sobbed, until he noticed the bags under her eyes and learnt to muffle himself.
"-but I'm your mother. I want to be here for you."  Izuku wishes that things were different. Oh, how he wishes.

But that is not the world he lives in, is not the reality he is faced with. Izuku, as always, will do the best he can with what he has; will try to be the best hero he can. Even if it means protecting his mother from his own faults and issues:

"You don't need to, though. I'm fine, really. Or managing, at least," he amends, expression undeniably sheepish,
"And UA are getting us all set up with counsellors after the summer, now that we've had the preliminary sessions to decide who we wanted. It helped."

"Did it though?"  And Izuku can hear that the question isn't meant to be disbelieving, isn't meant to be harsh, but for too many seconds he still falters, still struggles not to swell indignantly at the seeming accusation towards UA. He knows, logically, that it isn't. That she's just concerned. But UA has been a sort of sanctuary of its own for him; he has friends there, teachers that believe in him, a chance at his dreams, no matter how much those dreams are a smudged sort of thing now.

"It did. They care, Mum. More than any school ever has before."  That, at least, slumps her shoulders, lets her frown slip away,

"I- Then I'm glad for that at least, darling."

They smile at each other, and they both know that neither of them are actually happy, that it isn't truly enough. But it's all they have.

Arc: [buy me something on your way]

Quest: [Absolutely not!! :P  ]
         : [What do you need?]

Arc: [something sweet]

Quest: [Sure!! ^.^/  ]

Arc: [I'll pay you back]

Quest: [Noooo!! I already owe you seven matchas and three sets of sweets!!]
         : [And a katsudon!!]

Arc: [literally shut up]

Quest: [So mean  :(((((  ]

Arc: [no smiley face needs that many lines you weirdo]

Quest: [*your]

Arc: [....]
     : [shut it]
     : [<3]

Quest: [!!!!]
         : [<3]

For all that Izuku has been using his friends more as an excuse than a legitimate reason to leave the house, he's been looking forward to this shopping trip. He's been looking forward to their summer trip too, even if it's nearly halfway through said summer. As much as he will miss seeing Tomura every day, spending a week on training, he knows, will feel good. Will feel right. 

(Izuku's path may be a thing he sees with blood and gilded rust, but it is still the path he is treading, and he wants to help people, to be good, and training is the best way to do that. And the physical exertion always helps make him feel better.)

So when the day for the class shopping trip arrives, Izuku is excited. He hasn't told Tomura where he's going or what he's doing, of course, just given him a simple statement of 'friend stuff' with a smile. They both know better than to pry into or give details of their respective groups and activities; it's unnecessary pressure to even truly begin to discuss such things. No, better for Izuku to mention 'friend stuff' the day before, pressing a kiss to Tomura's cheek, and then to go and spend the night in a big sleepover at Yaomomo's house prior to the actual shopping. It's a fun night. It's actually his first sleepover since he was little, and it goes... well. They watch films, and eat popcorn, and chatter happily. It's fun.

So is the next day. There's lots of food, and giggling, and even a bit of food throwing until Iida reminds them all that this is Yaomomo's home, which tempers the excitement just enough for them to get through the rest of the meal without hassle.

The shopping, too, is fun. They have lists to get through, of course, but when they're in a group, giving advice and finding the ugliest options and helping to carry things, it's less of a chore and more of an adventure.

Chapter Text

Arc: [Don't hesitate, Quest.]

It's in the proper punctuation and the lack of context and just the instinct of it, the weight of knowing Tomura and knowing himself and knowing their paths. And it has him full of dread, but he doesn't have enough time to overthink because they're already leaving the shopping centre, stepping out into the big, bright plaza, and they're being attacked before he can think.

It begins ominously, although arguably it already had, with how the sun is blotted out, not by clouds but by warp gates, all too familiar and all the more horrifying for it. Kurogiri. (Tomura, no, Tomura, please-)

Chapter Text

It isn't until they're all in hospital that Izuku breaks.

He's in a big ward room on the Heroics floor of the hospital second-nearest to the Kiyashi shopping centre, several other people from the class with him. Even those who aren't in the beds are here, not visiting per se but rather lingering, now that their more minor injuries have been treated. And it was nice, at first, to have the safety of his friends, the company of them.

Then he realises that Tomura still hasn't messaged him, and it's been hours, and he can't say a single thing about how worried he is about it. He can hear about how one civilian and two villains are dead, about how Yaomomo's arm is broken in one place, fractured in another, or how Aoyama got a long, jagged cut on his face that, whilst it should heal fully with no scarring, was very much upsetting. There were cracked ribs for both Ka- Bakugou and for Iida. Ashido had two broken fingers and a Quirk-caused vertigo. Shouto was suffering from the beginnings of hypothermia, still not using his fire enough. Sero dislocated one of his elbows, despite the fact that his are reinforced as a result of his Quirk.

Izuku is stuck in this room, surrounded by bandaged classmates and the knowledge of the people who have died, his own injuries still aching (and almost solely Tomura's doing-), and he knows that he cares for the second hand of the other side more than he cares for himself.

He doesn't even realise that he's breaking, when it starts. He doesn't notice his own hitching shoulders and tangling hands. No, he's too caught up in the way that his thoughts race, spiral, rush, and the dread swelling in his heart reaches tidal proportions, completely overwhelming, overwrought-

"Deku-kun?"  He barely registers the gentle call, if he was more coherent would have maybe heard the surrounding words too, but none of it is enough, it's hardly on the edges of his wavering awareness, coherence.

A hand on his arm jolts part of him back into the moment, into the room around him, except he doesn't want to be here. (He wants to be with Tomura, curled up playing stupid games, kisses pressed to his hair, an arm around his shoulders, with everyone else he cares about safe and healthy and happy; he doesn't want to be curled up in hospital sobbing because how did his life go so wrong?)

"Midoriya, hey, you're fine, it's all fine, just breathe-"

"Deku-kun, we're all okay, please, don't worry-"

"Mido, hey, hey, please don't cry, it's all okay now-"   Izuku loves his class. He really, really does; they're all such good, kind, wonderful people, and they care so much about each other and him and just people overall and they- They're going to make wonderful heroes.

No matter what Izuku does or how the world changes, they are going to be so, so good.

But they're praising him for his fight, for distracting such a dangerous person, for his strategy, for so many things that he doesn't deserve. He is a traitor, no matter his intentions. He knew this was happening. He told Tomura nothing, and he knows with absolute certainty that nothing he said or did was the direct cause of the attack, but he still had those few seconds of warning. What if those had been the few seconds where one of his friends died? The thought is unconscionable and absolutely terrifying.

And, awfully, blessedly, he feels very similarly about the idea of Tomura having potentially died in this situation. But he can't tell his friends that. He can never, ever tell them, not when they are so proud of him for surviving his encounter with the older teen, and they're right, of course they are, but they don't know everything, how could they, and it hurts so, so much-

Izuku fears he might not be a good person, now.

Both Izuku and Tomura know that this can't go on (not the deaths, the separation, the lies; none of it). It just can't. Equally though, they can't say that right now. Not yet.

It takes them two full days to be able to meet up again, and Izuku finally manages to slip away from his house to slip into their little flat, shutting and locking the door behind him. Then he's turning around to the sound of Tomura's rasping voice, to see those red eyes and know he's home.

Izuku doesn't have time to think about it, not when his abruptly-heavier tears are being wiped away by the gentle back and forth of thumbs whose nails are no longer bitten raw, the warm press of Tomura's otherwise loosely-fisted hands against his cheeks. The utter care and affection are already almost too much, then he leans down, oh-so slowly, to just-press a lingering kiss to Izuku's forehead, just above his eyebrow, and he can't help how he sobs with it.

It's all too much. Too much terror, too much waiting, too much relief, too much-  Izuku can't think it. Not again, not yet.

That's fine though, because Tomura is scooping him up, careful, silent, eyes never leaving him, and Izuku curls into him without hesitation. He loses moments, blurred, to steps and a heartbeat and great heaving breaths that hurt, that don't catch air, and Tomura's arms around him until there's soft bedding beneath them, a blanket being pulled over them, and Izuku is surrounded by the heart-breathing-solidity of the person he adores most in the world.

They're safe.

The full truth of it hits hard and sudden, fierce enough that Izuku's hands find clutching grips wherever upon Tomura they can, anchoring onto the arms around his waist, with barely enough wherewithal to try and not let his short nails dig in. He's exhausted, and overwrought, and he never wants to hurt Tomura again.

Judging by the dampness pressed to the back of his neck as they fall asleep, Izuku isn't the only one.

~~~

Izuku actually wakes up, later, to his phone alarm going off. He may or may not have set an alarm to go off three hours after he was due to arrive at the flat, just in case exactly this happened, or something along similar lines anyway. He probably slept for a fair little bit over two hours. Even better, Tomura must have as well, considering that he's sleepy-mumbling against the nape of Izuku's neck.

He feels far too good, right now, in this moment, for what the last few days have been.

Tomura is holding him, secure, a little sanctuary of their own, and his every breath is a bit ticklish but mostly very wonderful thing against Izuku's neck, his forehead pressed lightly against Izuku's curls. Logically, they must be tickling at his nose. Yet he still presses even closer. In fact, one of his arms shifts tighter, not uncomfortable but simply drawing Izuku impossibly further into him. They're breathing in tandem.

"My alarm's going off, Arc," the younger teen comments, albeit it's marred slightly by a drowsy slur. The way that Tomura grumbles again is far from impressed.

Eventually they do drag themselves up though, rubbing at sleepy dust and slumping into each other's sides. Izuku pillows his head against Tomura's shoulder, flicking through his phone just long enough to set another alarm for the latest time he can risk leaving to get back to his house again, and to make sure his Mum hasn't already noticed him missing and messaged or anything.

The fact that she hasn't gives them the time that they need to have a conversation that has been hanging Atlas-burden heavy over them both since the first moment Tomura sent his message, or they met eyes on the battlefield, or-

It's already long overdue.

And this conversation will not become an argument. It won’t. Calling them both stubborn would be an understatement, but stubborn is what they are, and they have had more than enough of arguing of late; they have both acknowledged their flaws, their realities, their paths, and they know that getting angry about it only hurts more. So they will take deep breaths, and stay as rational as possible, and if holding hands helps that, then nobody else is there to judge.

They refuse to hurt each other anymore, not if they can help it. 

"You know, probably better than anyone, that I'm a villain,” Tomura starts, once they're both sitting properly upright again, and Izuku’s heart aches already.

"Techincally, yes,” Izuku allows, nodding, because legally, Tomura is; he has killed people.

In heart, in soul, however? Izuku is less sure. Tomura is very soft with him, and to label someone that can be so considerate, so thoughtlessly kind, a villain, also feels wrong, right down to Izuku’s core.

"Que- Izuku.”  The absolute gravity in Tomura’s words drags Izuku in, until their shoulders are pressed together once more,
"I permanently scarred your teacher. Your blood has been on my hands multiple times now. I'm a fu-”  His voice had been rising, had been heightening and straining, but Izuku tugs at his hand, just once, even as Tomura is already drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, his voice a thing of defeat when he finishes his thought,
“I'm a villain."

Izuku won’t lie to him by denying that, won’t lie to himself either, but he will frown ever so slightly, an abrupt thought catching him off-guard.

He asks it without much thinking any more about the fact, because suddenly the need to know is burning hot and bright in his chest, a conflagration of his heart,

"But do you want to be?"

"What?" 

"Do you want to be a villain?” Izuku presses, insistent but not harsh, a delicate press of sure fingers,
“If you could, tomorrow, just go up to Him and say that you didn't want to be a villain anymore, would that choice be afforded to you?"

"No."

"Then how is that your choice?"  There's no gasp, no open mouth or shocked 'oh', but there are clenched hands and a lowered gaze. Izuku can see the blaze there that matches the pyre in his own chest.

He aches with the sight, even as he sympathises with it. (He's only ever wanted to be a hero, to help people, but he knows now that he doesn't want what it truly means to be a hero. He doesn't want to be a figurehead or a scapegoat or a jaded, disconnected person who is still very much kind but who simply can't help because they don't even know that they don't understand-)

It's a shame that there aren’t any easy solutions to their problems.

But Izuku has never been one to give in, let alone to give up, and he knows all too well that Tomura is someone of conviction too, so it will be fine. They will make it fine. Their plans for changes, for trying to improve society and Heroics and discrimination, are going to help, are going to start things off, and Izuku honestly, genuinely believes that things will continue to improve from there, if they set it up right, and ensure that the people with power are good people. Ones who won't sway to corruption or too much bias. Or at least to opposing bias.

They're trying their absolute best, they really, truly are, and they can only hope that it will turn out for the best as well. And if it doesn't? Well, at least they will honestly be able to tell themselves that they did all they could, and that it was worth it.

To have found each other like this? Anything would have been.

Post the shopping centre attack, their summer training trip has been cancelled, and Izuku is having to go to UA three days a week for training. Honestly, he quite likes it, no matter their overarching disappointment regarding the trip, because it keeps him busy outside of Tomura, and provides yet another excuse to spend time with Tomura too. He can only fabricate so many outings with his friends, particularly after the attack and-

Well, the point is that he can only do so much with what reasons he has available. So to be able to stay an extra hour or two for either genuinely doing extra training or to go and meet up with Tomura is yet more of the break he needs. Because, no offence to his Mum, but things are getting tense between them again. It’ll be when he comes back home with bruises from sparring with Kirishima, or when he spends his evening with notebooks spread out over their table, analysing his friends’ Quirks and support gear, or when he drops a plate and uses a burst of green sparks to be able to catch it in time. All the little reminders of his pathway visibly stress her out, and Izuku hates it for both of them.

(Why she can’t just try to understand, to support him, he doesn’t know; even Tomura, directly opposed to him, knows better than to fight him on it, at least now that they’ve each said their pieces and come to an accord. And if Izuku were to think completely objectively about it, the fact that she has no relative experience to relate it too makes it far, far harder for her in comparison to, say, Tomura, or his teachers, or his friends, to comprehend his passion, to fathom how every part of him constantly whispers that he needs to help, protect, save-

Inko loves him. He is her baby boy, her son, and she will always love him above all else. But sometimes love isn’t enough, and sometimes it can even make things worse. He just wishes that it didn't seem to be heading in that direction with his Mum.)

And so Izuku’s summer goes on. It’s a blur of affection and research and training, of half-tense meals with his mother and laughter-filled games with Tomura. He spends time with his friends, bothers Aizawa-sensei with ideas about people’s Quirks, gets sent to bother Power Loader for the ideas about their support gear, and steals kisses from Tomura to win games or stop spats before they can start. If he also asks oh-so sweetly for kisses whenever he has to leave, to go back to his house (whether here or there is home, now, Izuku isn’t truly sure-), then it only warms his heart even further to see the tiny smile it leaves on Tomura’s face after those kisses have been granted.

(To be so easily offered affection, to only have to ask or lean in for Tomura to be rolling his eyes and kissing him, gentle, careful, like Izuku is something utterly precious, is something he is beyond grateful for and amazed by. Tomura makes him feel oh-so cherished.

Being together is becoming an ever-more natural thing by the day. It is less being lovers and more being partners; it's knowing that this person is the other half of him, the good and the bad and the warped, things that got twisted along the way, whether for the better or worse, and that when they're together, there's just the tiniest ounce of perfection to be found.

Just the tiniest bit of precious, precious happiness.)

One morning, close to the return of term, Izuku wakes up with an idea burning in his mind. His phone is dead, so he reaches instead for his Nomu tooth.

Quest: [Would you be free all night tonight? Until the morning?]

Arc : [I don’t think I want to know, Quest.]
     : [But yeh, sure.]

Quest: [Then I’ll need to check something, but I’ll see you this afternoon! <3 ]

Arc : [See you]
     : [<3 ]

Iida wanting to study together and offering to have Izuku over for the night is a convenient excuse, and admittedly a full-on lie, but the teen packs a bag for the night, almost all of the notebooks he takes with him are his research rather than his study notes but his mother wouldn't know because he has made effort to make them all look the same, and he has pyjamas, toiletries, a phone charger. He's wearing one of the hoodies that he's stolen from Tomura. He has everything he needs.

And he gets to dump his over-full bag beside the day bed in their little flat, and know that there is no need for alarms today, to rush home before his mother can wake up. He has an actual, entire night free to simply enjoy. There is no pressure, no rush, no worries. For just one blissful night he can forget about the world outside of these four walls, about the realities of their situations, and instead he can be greeted with a smirk and a kiss, and he can know that right here and now, he's safe. 

He will spend an afternoon playing games, and an evening talking over the top of island walk-throughs with Tomura, and then a night curled up in his Arc's hold. It's nothing short of perfection.

~~~

Izuku wakes up warm. He's under ridiculously soft blankets, and his pillow smells like Tomura, and there's an arm slipped around his waist. Hot breaths pool against the nape of his neck to match the forehead pressed amongst his curls.

Oh, yes. He's with Tomura. (He's safe. Achingly, unquestionably safe. Perhaps he should fear the hand against his belly, or even the teeth near his throat, yet there's nothing but contentment to be found in this moment. Well, a little bit of panic too, but only of the flustered sort. Tomura, somehow, impossibly, has become Izuku's safe space, not his tranquility per se but his security, his sanctuary, and he has never felt it more strongly than right now.)

Maybe things aren't perfect. He will have to leave after lunch, today, and they may not be able to arrange another night like this for a long time. But maybe that will be okay. Even without time spent together like this, it will be okay. Or okay enough for them to make do, at least, as long as they have each other. Even if they lose everything else, it's having each other that matters most.

Although, frankly, Izuku suspects (no, he knows it, with as much certainty as the eart of mountains-)  that they have no place at this world, doubly so at each other's side. It is not a kind place, not a welcoming one, and no matter what they do, how they change it, what victories they may claim, it will never change enough that they, the opponents, the unloved-cherished-burdened ones, the monsters of men for what paths they have walked, for what barriers they have crossed, will never know true peace.

Even worse, what if they do survive to see the betterment of their changes, and then they are forced apart?

Izuku has noted that idly before, but has never allowed himself to dwell on it. Yet right now, held in a sleeping Tomura's oh-so gentle hold, it feels impossible to distract himself from it.

Because people will be worried, will be angry, will be confused; some people will not like the changes they make, or the fact that there are changes at all, and they will blame Izuku and Tomura. Heroes and villains alike will call them traitors. And, in many ways, that won’t be something they can deny or argue against because, of course, they have had the best of intentions in this, or rather the most personal, simply drawn together by coincidence and understanding, but the fact that they have then conspired against the government… Well, people will call Izuku a villain, a corrupted hero, and that would break him, but not to the same degree, now, as losing Tomura would. And no matter what they do to support people with discriminated Quirks, or those who have become villains not because of choice but of necessity, for survival, it will never change the fact that they are the Quirkless freak and the blood-mad villain, unfit for each other or for the world.

Their changes will not better their own lives. Not directly.

Izuku and Tomura do not belong here together, in this world they are trying to improve, and they never truly will. And there's no way for them to fix that.

Chapter Text

Quest: [Hey, Arc, think we could play Animal Crossing together this weekend? <3 ]

Arc : [you need better taste, Quest, but, sure, okay]

Quest: [You enjoy it too!]

Arc : [prove it]
     : [actually don't]
     : [you'll start pulling out a bunch of charts or something bizarre]

Quest: [ :((((  ]
        : [Thank you though!!  <3 ]

Arc: [ ... <3 ]

Chapter Text

"Gross, you taste like matcha."  Izuku draws back just enough that he can look into Tomura's eyes, to make sure that it's obvious that his eyeroll can be seen, fond as it is,

It isn't what they should be spending their time doing. They should be planning and plotting, be actually trying to make progress with their goals whilst they're together and can speak freely, but surely spending twenty minutes curling into each other first won't hurt?

Actually, it helps. It helps a lot. Izuku hadn't even realised how tense he was, how much his heart had ached and his guts knotted, desperately aching to just be here, be with Tomura. He's home in this sanctuary of theirs, and oh, how he never wants to leave. Because he loves his friends and his teachers and his Mum, but this, right here, like this, is absolutely what he wants and needs more than anything else. What he craves.

Eventually, though, Izuku's stomach rumbles, and Tomura squeezes the arm that he has curled around Izuku.

"Did you eat before getting here?"  Izuku, half-smiling because he can't help but love when the older teen worries about him, shrugs a little too carefully,

"Had a protein bar an hour or two ago."

"Because that's good food," Tomura returns, sharp along the edges for all that it's molten in the centre. Izuku's tone matches it,

"It's better than the nothing that you probably ate."

"But you do a frankly disgusting amount of exercise, Izuku."

Dammit. The younger teen really can't argue with that, because Tomura is unfortunately very much correct to say it, but that doesn't mean he has to like it, even as he huffs, wriggling against the older teen,

"Okay, okay."

"More than okay," Tomura returns, already prodding Izuku in some vague attempt to get him to actually move.

For now, Izuku instead shifts himself impossibly further into Tomura for several seconds, paying no particular heed to the way that the older teen grumbles at him. He knows full well that Tomura doesn't actually mind.

However, he does shuffle himself away again before the older teen gets too fed up with him, and can't help but flush a little at the brush of knuckles over his shoulder and lips to his temple.

Nor can he help but keep on smiling, even more strongly so, when Tomura flicks the kettle on, pulling out two ramen pots with grumbles about nutrition and stamina stats. It's just... It's good to share this sort of idle domesticity again. It feels right.

They do put their attention back onto schemes again whilst they eat. Izuku asks Tomura about being labelled as a for-now-anonymous founder of the charity and, for all of his half-hearted protests about what the name of a villain being associated with a charity will do (all of which are appeased quickly enough by the reminder of All Might's far heftier socio-political weight-), the gleam in his eyes is unmissable, and Izuku knows, understand, exactly why. The chance to be a part of the reason a solid, irrevocable, undeniable part of the reason, for children who they were once like (Quirkless, villainous, a curse and a burden either way-) is something beyond dreams. And doubly so, surely, for Tomura.

It's not the sort of thing a villain would normally be able to do.

That is far from the only thing that they need to try and figure out today, however, so neither of them hesitate to move on to other topics now that food has been eaten and the anonymous naming of Tomura has also been settled.

They pick out a list of celebrities together, and social media platforms, and begin to consider specific wording of several of the messages they want to spread. Tomura sets to adding Izuku's currently-handwritten list of articles and research papers to his own main a document, a small caption beneath each of them. It's odd, to be trying to plan a social and political revolution. An enlightenment.

It's both odd and incredibly difficult to try and form stepping-stone arguments. To tell tales of how people with blatant mutations are not freaks but are useful, as people to undertake specific jobs, from actors to construction workers to zoologists. And that people who are useful are surely worth equal rights. To try and say that those with villainous Quirks are just strong and if they're strong then surely they could be heroes instead of villains? And a lot of heroes have another passion or profession, so why couldn't those people with destructive or manipulative Quirks just have those alternate professions in the first place? And if Quirkless people are useless because they can't change their size or create swords at will, what sort of threat are they? Someone who isn't a threat isn't even worth trying to discriminate against; why not just let them get a job and live out their life?

Frankly, they're awful compromises, full of abysmally flawed logic, but it's the only sort of logic that they expect will get through to a lot of more bigoted people, no matter how much they might both genuinely despise the twisted opinions that they're trying to write it with.

(They hate it like they hate what they've had to research. For the sake of their work, they each looked into what the bigots of the other's demographic believed, and it meant that Tomura had the dubious pleasure of reading how Quirkless people are literal animals that need culling, or Izuku how people with dangerous Quirks will snap one day and need putting down if they do. It's a frankly horrific thing to have to read through page after page of.

But knowing your enemy is always essential, even if they are people with awful beliefs, or even if the enemy you're not currently targeting isn't actually an enemy anymore. No, they are so much more-)

It's a productive few hours, for all that it's far from the length of time that they would like to have, both to spend together and for getting through the various things they're trying to do, but for now they spend a fair ten minutes putting together a list of things that they'll each try and get done, although Tomura insists that Izuku put his schoolwork at least partially ahead of everything else which, yes, is sensible, however the last thing that Izuku wants is to feel like he's leaving Tomura to try and balance all of this by himself.

What they do is certainly an odd dance of sorts. A to and fro wherein they have to try and respect each other's paths whilst meanwhile keeping things secret, subtle, and also protecting each other as much as possible. They both have obligations that simply can't be pushed to the wayside.

Equally, though, they are rapidly becoming each other's highest priority, no matter that the fact is sometimes rather indirectly evidenced.

Case in point, Izuku drags himself away far, far sooner than he would actually like, pressing kisses to Tomura's knuckles and cheek and, finally, when hands settle at his neck, oh-so tender, and guide him back to Tomura's lips, they're both smiling into the kiss, something soft and sad and sweet all at once.

All Izuku can think is that he loves his Arc.

He doesn't expect Tomura, who has not been told that he is loved in over a decade, at least not truthfully, to say that word to him, to perhaps even realise what it is.

Oh, he can expect Tomura to feel it, because love is just as human an emotion as anger and Tomura is no sociopath, but that isn’t the same.

So he’ll keep his own realisation a tacit thing, spoken only in actions, and he shall hope for the day when they can both say it to each other. (It isn’t really a hope. And call him foolish or presumptuous or simply blind, but he’s sure that Tomura is at the very least beginning to feel for Izuku with the same sort of oceanic depth and breadth as Izuku does for him. There’s something irrevocable, ineffable, inevitable, about it. They will love each other. No matter what the world has and will throw at them, they will love each other.

And that breaks his heart, even as it makes him smile... His Tomura, his hero of a sort, his wretched, aching heart and soul and other half. They're opposites, bound across a mirror, yet they're daring to reach across that barrier, even as the jagged shards of what they've broken down catches bloody shards upon their wrists- If they tear apart to be together, then so be it.)

They aren't able to meet up for another week after that. But when they do, it's for an early morning, one where Izuku gets up to go for a run that's just a bit shorter than usual, settling onto a swing to wait for his Arc, kicking his feet, watching as one of his laces gets looser and looser the more he does shifts back and forth or he digs his toes into the wood-chip ground.

There are footsteps, quiet as they approach him, and it has Izuku already smiling as he looks up.

And oh, what a sight he's faced with.

There's pale hair caught by the breeze, flooded golden in the just-dawn light (oh, what a dichotomy that is-), and perhaps Tomura has not been a friend before, but here, now, Izuku can do nothing but adore him, whole-heartedly and ragged-mindedly. They don't belong together, except they do. They really, truly do.  (Izuku is... caught, astray and yet, to his own mind, not adrift. No, he feels present and grounded in a way he so rarely is, for all that he is also marked-palmed with how tight he clenches his fists around the chains. This feels right, and it shouldn't, but, oh, how it does. Perhaps... perhaps he could make it right. He just needs to figure out how.)

The image is not ruined but is certainly disturbed by Tomura's expression twisting slightly, a too-soft attempt at a scowl.

(Izuku does not know it, but Tomura's heart is absolutely melting, stuttering alongside his breath, because, oh, his Quest. His Quest is just stunning, utterly beautiful in the way that his freckles are golden in the light, his eyes a thing of stars, aurora, entire forests, his entire being haloed in the way that he knows matches Izuku because the younger teen is his personal angel-hero-heart, and like this, with this, everything about his appearance is the very epitome of what he is to Tomura right now, no matter the leggings or exercise top, earphones still looped around his neck. His curls are storm clouds, frayed with lightning, and Tomura wants nothing more than to bury his hands in them. To kiss his Quest again and again-)

"You dragged me out so early, Quest."  It doesn't really achieve the grumpy tone that it's clearly meant to have. Izuku's smile is soft and bright in return,

"Was it worth it?"

"Sure, whatever," the older teen grumbles back, except he's slightly flushed and he's already curling such a delicate touch around Izuku's neck, the base of his thumbs a gentle, firm pressure against his pulse-point, fingertips sinking into the edges of curls, and leaning down to kiss him.

Izuku smiles into it, into the delicious thrill of chilly air and of the fact they're out in a park, even if it's so early that nobody is around, and Tomura's hood is up and will stay that way. It's still just risky enough that it's exciting without being actually nerve-wracking. 

Not to mention that Tomura's hands are wind-chilled, and so is his nose where it brushes against his freckles, but their shared breaths are oh-so warm, a reminder of the way their hearts are both beating that tiny bit too fast, so very wonderfully.

Oh, Izuku loves Tomura so, so much.

It would be impossible not to, really, not when he's so well understood, when they've gone to such absolute lengths for each other and fully intend to continue to, because they are the most important thing to each other, even if both of their individual and joint care for changing society results in it being such a high priority.

They want to be together, wholly, truly, unreservedly. It's as simple as that.

Chapter Text

Tomura is terrified. It's as simple as that and yet far, far more complicated.

Once he does this, there's no going back. No changing his path again.

But the point is that he is changing his path, stepping firmly to the side just like Izuku is, close enough that they can reach across the last of the distance to hold hands. Even just the notion of it... Tomura craves it, he can admit. Needs it in a way that he never needed violence or All Might's death, and he had pursued both of those with a bloody-minded determination.

(Izuku was a goal and a kindred spirit and a hero that he did not know he wanted and needed, yet now Tomura could not fathom letting him go.)

Of course, Tomura is still very much willing to resort to violence, particularly when it's beyond the sight of his blood-weary Quest. (Izuku has seen far too much bloodshed at Tomura's hands, and he will tell the younger teen of this, but there is certainly no need to shove unnecessary hurts in his face. Hopefully never again, in fact.)  And even more so when it's in defence, albeit somewhat indirect, of said Quest.

This will help their cause, and that's enough for Tomura.

(Izuku had asked how they would deal with this, and he had not pushed when Tomura promised to deal with it. No, he had placed his trust in the older teen, no matter that he could surely see the rusted weight of the bloody promise in Tomura's gaze.

Tomura, in that moment, had loved Izuku even more for it.)

Now is not the time for love, however. No, quite the opposite. Because perhaps Tomura loved his Sensei, once, as much as he knew how (he worshipped him, idolised him, wanted to make him proud, but is that really all there is to love, surely, there's more, there's Izuku-), because the monster man was his saviour and teacher, the person who understood him best, except he didn't. He pretended to. He made Tomura feel like he was, and had to be, like his Sensei.

And maybe Tomura is a villain, a murderer with a dangerous Quirk that he has used before and will use again, but he is also Izuku's Arc, and he knows which matters more to him.

It certainly isn't Sensei's version of him.

Hence Tomura even being here, now, like this. He knows his Sensei well, knows far too much about him really, and it's therefore a given that he would know the man's weaknesses alongside everything else, even if the man didn't ever think they would be seen as that. It's a given, too, that he would know how, when the man has sent out lots of grunts to cause general havoc for a day or so, it means that Sensei must be spending an evening in one of his healing sleeps, the reason that he can bas functional as he is most days, despite how genuinely ruined most of his body is, Quirks and medicine working in overdrive.

And it's with all of this that Tomura creeps into the building attached to Doctor Garaki's warehouse when he knows his Sensei is deep into one of those very same seven-hour miniature comas. The medical paraphernalia are loud in the stillness. The room, as per usual, is pitch black beyond the blinking lights of that exact same equipment. Tomura, for once, for the first time in a long time, is truly glad to be in here, for all that he has no relish for it either.

He, despite the... the almost-dozen people who have died at his hand, one for each of his Quirk-laden fingers, hesitates. Falters. Feels bile rise up his throat, dread curling, coiling, serpentine in his stomach. He- he's really going to do this, he thinks.

No, he knows. It's for Izuku, after all; for them.

Yet that doesn't make it as easy as Tomura wishes it was. He's always been ordered to kill before, or it's been an accident. Never before has Tomura murdered under his own intentions.

Perhaps (undoubtedly, assuredly-) that's why he reaches out a too-steady hand, not directly to his Sensei's throat, but instead curls his deadly fingers around plastic and air, around the only thing keeping his master-monster-almostfather alive right now, and he tightens his grip.

He doesn't let go until there's nothing to hold.

Arc: [Can you still come over for the night?]

Quest: [I'm leaving in half-hour - need to pack up and everything!]

        : [You alright?]

        : [You don't normally use so much punctuation?]

Arc: [my HP's full if that's what you wanted to know]

Quest: [Make it twenty minutes.]

        : [ <3 ]

Arc: [ <3 ]

Tomura has barely let himself into their flat, dumping far too heavy of a bag upon the floor said flat, when the lock clicks back open, sparks still fading over Izuku's skin. The zip of his bag has a sleeve poking out of it.

It's only been fifteen minutes.

"Arc- Tomura."  Oh, curse his Quest, perceptive and oh-so kind as he is. Tomura once thought Izuku dangerous for it, and he still thinks it. Knows it.

It's evidenced in how Tomura crumples. Not even ten full seconds into Izuku being with him, he is on his knees, a supplicant to their god except he knows that they are equals, no matter what. No matter how he curls into himself, then into Izuku's butterfly-light touch, into the- the love he cannot doubt is there. The love that they share, and that he needs so very desperately right now.

(Sensei never loved him. He provided for Tomura, rescued him condemned him, wanted him to be his successor, but he never loved Tomura.

Izuku feared him, mistrusted him, fought him. And Tomura isn't sure if there's truly a thin line between love and hate because if he and Izuku had loathed each other whole-heartedly, then they never would have tried, let alone reached this point. But they did try, they did fight and compromise and do whatever they could for each other, and now they're here. Now they are in love.)

Words slip around Tomura in tandem with Izuku's arms, all of it cradling the older teen close and careful, protecting-soothing-cherishing him, carving a single, heartbeat-guarded piece of sanctuary for him. A home, a safe place, within his Quest's arms.

"I killed him. Sens- All For One. I- I watched him die."  There is far too much sorrow in the latter, far too much weight in the subconscious choice of words, yet there is no pity or recrimination, no praise or congratulations, only understanding in that way that Izuku so good at.

He knows, Tomura is sure, why this is a thing more of grief than exaltation or ecstasy. It is, after all, both finding freedom and disregarding the place he has called home for so long. The person he once worshipped.

The sacrifice-victory, such as it was, is worth it, of that Tomura has no doubt. But that doesn't stop if from being so hard. From hurting so much.

At some point, when his dry sobs creak into nothing more than jagged breaths, Tomura is scooped up, effortless in strong arms no matter that his legs drag far too close to the floor, the sort of thing he might tease Izuku about on a normal day, but right now he's being gently deposited in amongst soft fabric, a pillow that smells like them beneath his head, and Izuku is climbing over the top of him to drape himself along the length of the older teen's back, all warmth and weight.

Tomura, helpless, no desire to resist, lets himself fall asleep like that.

He wakes up to a barely-audible background noise of breathing and Animal Crossing, Izuku's weight pressed differently against him yet the weight itself is all that matters. Even if it makes it a little hard to breathe.

"Hi," Izuku breaths, absolutely tender. Something else in Tomura gives way, soft-warm-sweet. Perhaps it should be sickening, but, well, he's always had a sweet tooth.

Instead of attempting to articulate any of that, he grunts quietly back, still not truly coherent enough for verbalising even the simplest thing. At least Izuku doesn't seem to mind, judging by the smile on his face.

And by the even-softer smile offered up when Tomura brings a gentle hand up to brush knuckles along his neck, shoulders, throat, all wordless affection that says more than any slip-stumbling syllables would in this moment.

As if to prove exactly that, the younger teen leans into every tough, that smile still there as he murmurs a quiet,

"You're welcome."  It's sincere, such an easy acknowledgement for an unspoken though, and it warms Tomura impossibly further through.

His Quest feels like a miracle; like he's holding a star.

(He knows the pain that goes into creating such a miracle, and if it were not a disservice to the person that Tomura adores so much, perhaps he would say it. Except it's Izuku, and he wouldn't do that to the younger teen. Not intentionally, at least.)

Speaking of miracles, Izuku is shifting up and closer, just enough to be able to press an oh-so gentle kiss to the corner of Tomura's mouth, no pressure or expectation to it. No, it's simply pure affection, all I'mherewithyou and Iadoreyou, and Tomura doesn't weep those dry, aching sobs again, but nor does he smile, merely tightening the arm slung low over Izuku's back, just a little. Another wordless acknowledgement between them.

Tomura idly, distantly, wonders when they grew to be able to have such tacit communication. When opposition bled to wariness, to discussions, to understanding and fights and finally, then, to this. To such knowing of each other. So much awareness and comfort. Familiarity.

He finds it absolutely impossible to begrudge.

Quite the opposite, really; it's everything he wants. Everything he needs. Far, far more than he ever could have fathomed, let alone presumed to have deserved, to be given so freely.  (This relationship is not free, not truly, there is far too much weight upon them both for that for the death upon Tomura's hands and the betrayal upon Izuku's every action, but their adoration of each other? That has no price or payment, no prerequisites to be filled for the sake of it, only the open knowledge that they have chosen each other above all else. One of the few burdens they themselves have chosen to carry. That choice, and the reward of it, makes the weight completely worth it. Izuku is worth it.)

Tomura doesn't think that he's been corrupted by the light, his own actions of the day before far too telling, because that was no self-defence or mercy-killing, not truly, not even close.

He murdered his Sensei, undeniably so, and it might have been with a racing heart rather than cold blood, but it was murder all the same. He won't sugar-coat it.

Actually, he doesn't need to, not when Izuku's affection has candyfloss half-choking him in the best sort of way, sweet with such aching wonder. Enough so that Tomura huffs, half-fond, half to calm himself down again, and lets his thumb trace idly over the slip of bare skin where Izuku's shirt has ridden up at some point. It's warm, and soft from the little bit of muffin top over the strong muscles beneath, and it's perfect. Utterly so.

"Are you feeling any better?"  The words are gentle, no pressure to them, and it's that same fact which lets Tomura shift in a vague approximation of a shrug, debating how frank to be. The answer, after a moment, is obvious:

"Still pretty shi- shoddy. You've helped."  And Izuku's grin shouldn't be so bright and tender all at once, so completely and clearly happy to have been able to help Tomura, yet it simply is.

How did Tomura end up with his own personal sun?

(The answer, of course, is that he is less a sun and more akin to a hearth, because, yes, he could burn everything around him, but he never would given any sort of choice. In lieu of such thing, he is kind, safe, giving. A place to return to, to rest weary bones. To thaw an ice-shackled heart. Izuku is something meant for love, and nothing less.

Tomura wants to give him that, in any capacity that he can.)

He can't spend that much more time with Izuku though, not today, because the younger teen has to get to his mother's home before lunchtime... Tomura still isn't sure what he thinks of her, because he's sure that she isn't good for Izuku, but Izuku loves her, and wants her in his life no matter how difficult things seem to get between them, how little she understands. (And Tomura is sure she could try harder, that Izuku certainly deserves it from her, but he is, admittedly rather begrudgingly, aware that he is overprotective, that he thinks of the things that he has and would do for his Quest and honestly believes everyone else should do the same, but still. The woman is Izuku's mother, isn't she? Tomura just wishes she could support him better.)

They have a few more hours of freedom left and, for once, there's not actually too much more left to do. Not urgently at least.

And, Tomura thinks only a little bitterly, he's going to have a lot more free time now that he doesn't have anyone to answer to beyond himself. Well, Izuku too, but that's an unofficial thing. He isn't even sure if the younger teen himself has realised it. The answer is probably not, knowing Izuku's abysmal self-confidence. 

That doesn't matter right now. No, they linger for a little longer, both quite content how they are, before finally they drag themselves to go to the bathroom, put some more comfortable clothing on than what they slept in, grab snacks and drinks, before settling back onto the day bed, rearranged so that Izuku is sitting in the vee of Tomura's legs, back to chest, the older teen quite pleased to be able to hook his chin atop Izuku's curls, arms pressed just-tight around Izuku's ribs. It's warm, and safe, and they can feel the reverberations of breathing and heartbeats in the most perfect, grounding way.

It's what both of them need, right now.

And they lose themselves in a near-silent half an hour of Animal Crossing, neither of them wanting to really think or do anything quickly just yet, preferring to potter around digging up money or planting flowers or exploring an island. It's the right decision, judging by how they gradually relax further and further into each other.

They will move onto other games, later. Ones where they can work together, be it through puzzles or animated fights that feel far from real, and where they can laugh and banter and strategise together, in a way that feels so very natural to them both by now.

For now, however, it's enough to not truly have to process much beyond each other. Beyond the way that their hearts slowly fall into synch, a half-heard, half-felt thing that echoes through Tomura's ribs, right against Izuku's spine, then back again, or in how their breathing deepens, slows, settles into something so very far from sobs or panic attacks. It's better. It brings them both an incredible amount of quiet joy, the sort of thing that reminds of watching a seeping-blooming dawn from a rooftop, of seeing each other in that light and knowing this is right.

There is no doubt about it now, nor any going back. They are each other's, an Arc and a Quest, never the same but sometimes oh-so similar, and they love each other regardless and because of it all.

Chapter Text

Izuku returns to UA with only a little begrudging annoyance.

But he needs to go back, for now. They aren't ready for the next steps in their plans, doubly so when their final move has yet to be decided. (It's a looming issue, storm clouds gathering so far upon the skyline that is shown in a red morning rather than imminent darkness, and they have considered a few of the most likely options but none of them seem right, too many problems lingering-)

It's odd, in a way. He just spent a night wrapped up in the embrace of the person he adores most in the world, tucked in their little flat, the space scattered with their notes and games and messages, a mish-mash of post-it notes pasted up above their desk, far too many (never enough of them-) signed off with little hearts. It's a patched-together space, an homage to their odd balance of interests and intentions, a compromise found in concrete, soft furnishings, papers strewn everywhere and in neat piles.. It's theirs. Them, even.

And yet here, he is, crossing the gates of his school and half expecting, as always, for them to slam shut before him, to refuse the traitor entry. Yet they do not, and instead he's left to wonder along their usual pathways, his bag still hooked upon his shoulder, tucking his chin into the thick collar of the hoodie he's wearing. (It smells like Tomura, like cuddling upon their day bed or barging shoulders as they play a game against each other, like absolute adoration-)

"Hi, Deku-kun!"

"Oh, hi, Uraraka-chan," he returns, a little surprised but mostly bright-toned all the same, glad that there's enough of a breeze that it works well as an unspoken excuse to keep on breathing against the soft fabric. It smells just a little sweet. (Izuku will never not adore how Tomura, someone raised in amongst nothing but blood and dust, someone whose situation is so very bitter, loves sweet things so much, will always take the option of hot chocolate over matcha and always add enough marshmallows that the drink ends up looking more like frothy cream after a few minutes rather than actual chocolate; yet, despite that, he saves the sweetest dango for Izuku just because he knows that strawberry is his favourite flavour-)

"You alright?"

"Yeh, thanks. Tired," he laughs, hoping it will make any slight oddities in how he's acting less questionable,
"You? Were you training?"

"I was!"

Izuku listens, genuinely happily, as she starts to ramble about how she can ricochet off of multiple walls in quick succession now, and does he have any further suggestions for her mobility? Because her sickness limit is slowly rising, even when it comes to herself, but it's not really enough yet-

"You'd have more power behind your hits if you deactivated your Quirk right before you hit things, but that doesn't really help manoeuvrability-"   Izuku, for all of his faults, for all of his twisted loyalties, has never stopped wanting his friends to do well, wanting them to be the best heroes they could possibly be.

"So I suppose maybe consider support gear for it? Small air jets would be of benefit, and whilst more likely to technically malfunction, they would be more controllable and less likely to be used against you than some sort of lasso or grapple hook. I think you're making good progress with your Quirk itself, and pushing yourself much further would only hinder it, probably? Or, well, I know it has for me," he tacks on, sheepish, and gets a soft hand patting his shoulder in return.

"You've improved a lot, Deku-kun."

"We all have, really," he smiles, very genuinely overjoyed at the thought.

He's so very proud of his class and how far they've all come. No matter his role, be it today or in three months' time or in three years' time, he is so, so proud of them and how far they've come.

(They have worked through oh-so much. So many of them had problems in their childhood, and every single one of them have nearly died since this school year started, a truly horrible thing, be it the USJ or, for far fewer of them, Stain's attack, or the Kiyashi shopping centre attack and hadn't that been fucking horrific, and they have all attended the mandatory therapy, most of them more voluntarily alongside, but still.

Izuku just wants all of his friends and loved ones to be okay. To be happy. And he knows that it might take all that he is to try and help ensure that for them, but he will give all of that.)

And despite a lovely evening with his friends, despite a good dinner and watching telly together and getting some homework done as well, despite everything that Izuku still likes and loves about living in the dorms... It isn't right, anymore. It isn't what he wants, not most in the world at least. The feeling only gets impossibly worse as he heads up to his room alone, a cold lift rather than concrete stairs and a keycard door rather than using the key from the chain he keeps tucked beneath his shirt, always warm from being hung over his heart. His pre-bed routine is wrong too, no bumping hips as he brushes his teeth alongside Tomura. Then, even worse, there's settling back into a cold, just-him bed. It feels wrong. Far too wrong for how little he's slept alongside Tomura, and, well, Izuku just wants to be curled up in the curve of Tomura's body, or to be draped over a steady rise-fall-repeat, all barely-warm hands and hot breaths. 

Izuku misses his Arc.

Quest:   [Mind giving me a set of AC apple trees?]

Arc:  [I gave you some last week Quest]

Quest:   [hush]

        :  [But yes, you did. I'm sorry, I accidentally planted it on an island but I'd already eaten the fruit so I had to leave it!!]

Arc:   [you're a fool]

     :  [sure]

Quest:  [Hee, thank you!!]

        :  [ <3 ]

Arc:  [ <3 ]

    :  [you're spoilt]

Their plans are truly starting to fall into place, now. They've decided what sort of accounts they're going to target with what information; they've also decided to set up their own accounts to post upon, although, of course, not with any actual names attached. Some of them, they leave blank and empty, ready to post to and possibly hack followers into them when their long-awaited day comes, the others they start to post on, one or two for memes and little videos, another for Animal Crossing, a fourth for Diablo. They won't get absolutely massive followings by the time their plans come to fruition, but they'll get something.

Every little bit helps. And the better it works, the better the effect will be, and the better their society will, hopefully, become.

They can only try.

It's exciting, in a very much nerve-wracking sort of way, to know that they're getting close. Doubly so when they know that they need to hurry up and form an actually sensible plan for what happens after. It's just so, so hard to know what to do. What will be best for them, for society, for their allies and friends, particularly when everything settles into the progress that they're hoping for, and beyond that. What about twenty years' time when legal reforms have been enacted, and people have begun to change, when society is finally evolving, what place will it have for them? What if they only serve to impede progress, in that long run? What if they themselves become a reminder of the issues, a rallying point for people to protest against their changes?

It's unconscionable. An absolutely sickening possibility. They haven't worked this bloody hard for it to come down around them, not now, not in ten, twenty, thirty years, not ever.

On that note, Izuku wishes that he could do more whilst he's at school. But, equally, he would rather let Tomura shoulder the majority of the burden (how light and heavy that burden is all at once, how dichotomous, because it is feathered with hope yet it drags like Atlas' sky, boundless and weighted-) than to risk all of it being exposed, to have their plans ruined over his own stubbornness. He wants to be a hero. But maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to constantly be the one responsible for everything.

He trusts his Arc.

That, at least, is enough for him; Izuku wants Tomura to know that fact, to believe it, to trust in himself because of it. It's why, before he leaves the next time, he pauses at the door, turning back to press his hands to the taller teen's chest, revelling in the heartbeat and breathing there, and doubly so in the hands that thoughtlessly come up to settle at his waist, pulling him just a little bit closer.

"You know I trust you, right? That you're going to do a brilliant job, and you can always message me and I'll come if you want me to."  There's a pause, half a breath where it seems like Tomura is going to huff and puff and roll his eyes, not necessarily dismissive but brushing off the molten softness.

But he doesn't. (And isn't that, in and of itself, such a wonderful little show of how far they have come? They have fought, have shed each others' blood, and they have collapsed into each other in their worst moments; but to consciously lower their barriers, offer ever-softer truths of themselves, in a calm moment where it isn't needed in some way? It's another step further. Something more precious again.)

No, Tomura only reels Izuku another quarter-step in, until their chests are pressed together and he can curl in, around, hunching close to press his face into mad curls and take quiet joy from Izuku breathing against his throat, scarred fingers curling into his top. And he, after several long moments, finds the words he seems to want to offer into their contented little quiet,

"Thank you. You're, you know, doing good too," he offers up, coughing slightly under his breath, drawing another deeper breath, hand shifting to settle more comfortably, slipping just beneath Izuku's top, along the back of his hips, all freckles and smooth skin and utter faith,
"Don't know how you're doing it, really."

"Neither." Izuku offers, still tucked in against Tomura,
"But, well, it's for us, and for kids who are like us. It just has to be done."

(Izuku doesn't know it, perhaps wouldn't even be able to comprehend it, but that final statement alone is a testament to his absolute strength, in Tomura's eyes. He said it oh-so simply, as though it took nary a thought or resolution, yet it is worth far more than that. Izuku doesn't seem to realise how remarkable he is. How his casual commitment is absolute dedication, how he never settles for less than his own best, never gives up, gives in, even when perhaps he should.

Tomura knows Izuku's struggles better than to say he does it easily, but he does do it simply. It's thoughtless, for him. And that fact adds yet another layer, one of impossibly-many, to Tomura's towering-tall list of reasons that he adores-admires-loves Izuku. His precious Arc.)

And, yes, Izuku still has to leave then, but he does it with a warm heart and the heat of his partner still branded around his waist, against his head, the brush of lips against his freckled forehead, knowing that he will return.

Quest: [Wanna meet up like two hours earlier?]

Arc:   [i mean sure]

    :  [any particular reason?]

Quest:  [Figured I'd just eat at home.]

Arc:   [...]

    :  [at home?]

Quest:   [Ah. Uhm]

        :  [You don't mind, do you?]

Arc:   [no, you brat, I don't mind]

     :  [just bring some more noodles then]

Quest:   [Siryessir!!]

Arc:  [weirdo]

Quest:  [Your weirdo]

Arc:  [...you can have that]

Quest:  [See you soon then!!  <3 ]

Arc:  [don't get into any fights on the way]

     :  [no saving strangers in alleys]

Quest:  [Not unless you're going to be there ;)  ]

Arc:  [don't be late]

Quest:   [I won't!!]

        :  [ <3 ]

Of all times, it occurs to Izuku when he's out on a run. It, of course, being the solution to their issue, although calling it a solution is perhaps a tad overly positive.

Being on a run is always a good time for Izuku to think. He loses himself to the left-right repetition, the thud of his feet and heart, how his breath drags in, out, again, forced steady by nothing other than the movement of it. It's a rhythm. A beat. It seems to bring everything down to simple points, to the reverberation of every step, all wind-chill on his cheeks, hands loosely curled in their still fairly-new gloves because Tomura got annoyed with him for letting them get cold and achy, trees and pathways and the occasional other early-runner. 

Regardless, he nearly stumbles when it hits him. Enough so that he actually forces himself to pause, to keep on breathing just as steadily, moving into a series of stretches because he doesn't want to seize up but oh, shit.

That's their way out. Their way to be together, no matter what.

It's a thought of desperation just as much as it is hope. Izuku would do anything and everything to be with Tomura, except go outright against his morals and goals, and he knows the same is true for the older teen. They have not changed for each other, and yet they are attempting to change the world for each other. But it won't be a world that welcomes them.

They have both realised that fact before, but neither had been able to think of a solution at that moment. Now, though, Izuku thinks he might have one, and it breaks his heart.

He does not want to be the reason that Tomura dies.

Equally, however, he knows that he could not live on without Tomura, not now, not even to see what good they may have, hopefully, wrought upon the world. And Izuku is far, far too sure that Tomura feels the same, that he too needs Izuku. The thought of being driven away from each other, of one being imprisoned or killed, separated from each other with no recourse except things that might damage what they have worked so hard for, to fall back into the clutches of the system and the people and the society that they are still, now, fighting to escape… It’s unthinkable. A genuine nightmare.

But a peaceful end, one met together? That sounds like a blessing. A miracle.

Izuku could do with a miracle. Maybe he even deserves one, and even if he doesn’t, he knows that Tomura would reach for one in his stead, would give Izuku all that he possibly could, whether that meant being bloody-handed or kind to do so, and whilst only one is favourable, both are flattering. Someone willing to fight for Izuku is a rare, wonderful thing.

Maybe it would be selfish of them, to leave this world before it could ruin them even more, but Izuku just- he just wants to be happy. No, not even that, he just wants to be loved. And if loving Tomura means dying with him, an idea of Izuku’s own and a decision of them both, then so be it.

Izuku has never feared death after all, only life.

And, well, they were always going to be martyrs, weren't they? 

Chapter Text

They write the equivalent of love letters for each other.

In some ways, it might seem silly. A fruitless exercise. That being said, it does actually have a point, beyond just making Izuku cry quietly, and Tomura go very silent for a long while (it's something they curl up together for, when they have just decided to go ahead with it, Tomura wiping at tears for a long time, Izuku curling close and warm in return, so much faith in each other-), because it's a bit like Izuku's diary for all that he still hasn't really mentioned it beyond the occasional aside comment.

But the letters do have a point.

Because they are doing all of this for each other, for the most part, but they also want to be remembered in the best way possible. No, it's more than that: they want to be believed. Even if, now, they won't be here to see that.

(They both know how hard it would have been to survive this; even if they left entirely, nowhere in the world would be somewhere that made it possible to not hear about, hopefully, complete political and social change in Japan, the sort of change that will hopefully spread in perhaps even the smallest ways to other countries.

Nowhere would they be able to not hear whatever twisted truths and awful lies are said about themselves. And Izuku... Izuku might not survive being called a traitor, and he knows that it would haunt him to his deathbed if he had to actually know that people believed that of him.

It would be even worse if people decided his love for Tomura, or Tomura's love for him, was a farce. If it was a manipulation. If people tried to deny that they didn't fall in love in the way that they did, by coincidence and common ground and sheer bloody-mindedness. Because they have done all of this with the best intentions. Maybe the best of intentions that they knew of weren't the best of all of the possibilities, maybe they were smoke-grey and nebulous and born of scars more than sense, but it was still their best.

Izuku doesn't know how he'd bear to hear people try to desecrate that.)

This world has been cruel to them; is it any wonder that it seems so much more sensible to leave it, so long as they do it together?

{Tomura's kind of lovely.

That's such an understatement, honestly, and it's a bit of a lie too; or, not a lie, but not the full picture, either?

Tomura isn't good, not in full. He has good in him, and bad, but we all do; it's not his fault the bad in him was what that awful creature tried to make all of him. He failed. All For One, that is. He absolutely failed, because if Tomura was all-bad, was actually evil or even just a sociopath, he wouldn't have hesitated to kill me in that alley the first night, or on dozens and dozens of occasions since. The fact that he had the room in his heart and mind for our conversations, then for me full stop, shows how much All For One failed but, more than that, it shows how Tomura really does still have that good in him.

His hands are bloody. I know it. I forced it on him, once. It was cruel of me, frankly, because I know how much he hates when we have to hurt each other, and he never said it but that look in his eyes- I just- He looked heartbroken  I hurt him more than he hurt me, then. 

That isn't the point. This is meant to be a love letter. But our hurts are part of our love, particularly for us two; we've both been raised to be hurt, and to hurt others, and we know that far, far too well. It makes it feel better, I think, when we're good to each other. We're meant to hate each other. We're really, truly supposed to. But we love each other - how absolutely amazing is that?? Out of everyone on this planet, we found each other, and then chose each other.

The statistics must have been so low. If I had time, I think I'd have liked to have actually tried to figure it out. I bet there are some research papers out there about the likeliness of falling in love, or of meeting people from your past, and-  Well, it doesn't matter. Not as much as Tomura, and talking about him. He's the most important thing to me, now, I think. I don't know what that says about me, or about him, but it's still true. And please don't think that I'm saying that our cause is less important; it's not, it's a different sort of important, and it's intertwined into us, now, it's what really brought us together at first, and it's part of what has helped keep up together when we began to fray around the edges, but ultimately it isn't what really meant the most to us as, well, you know, us. 

He's soft, though he doesn't like to admit it. He's thoughtful. Tomura just does things for me, without hesitation, without even expecting anything about it, anything for it. He won't ever let me repay him for what he gives me. Unless I offer it in kisses or cuddles or gaming time. He never says no to that, even when we're meant to be working.

Tomura, funnily enough, doesn't like bitter things. He likes strawberries and mochi and hot chocolate; he still buys me matcha tea, and he still kisses me when I've been drinking it, but he complains about how bitter it is. Then kisses me again, regardless. He's so soft. Grumpy, grumbling, but soft. He'd glare at me for saying it, but he also wouldn't try to deny it.

I've never had anyone be as soft with me as he is. He isn't the only person who loves me, don't get me wrong, but he puts me above all else, even himself, and I don't want him to do that, because I can't bear to see him hurting because of me, for me, I don't want him burdening himself for my sake, but I think, by now, we've kind of learnt how to balance it out, so that I'm not taking on everything for him, and he's not taking everything on for me. We balance each other out.

We do it in every way, honestly. I'm always hot, and he's always chilly, and he reaches things for me but I get to tuck under his chin, and when we've had to fight, we've been able to do it oh-so easily, because I look at him and I see Tomura, my Arc, and that hurts, but the point is that I know him. I know how he moves and breathes and thinks, and if he's going to feint right but swipe left, and he knows that for me too. Even if we're breaking apart in that moment, we still know it. Just like how we know that neither of us want to be hurting the other. It makes things better and worse all at once, honestly, but I wouldn't change it. Not when we get to hold each other afterwards. Not when I get to press my ear over his chest and suddenly everything feels alright again.

Tomura has given me life. I always had purpose, to some degree, because I never gave up on being a hero, but I've had fun and dreams and intentions since spending time with Tomura more than I've had in a long time; it doesn't mean that I don't have fun with my friends or my Mum, or that I don't feel loved by the people that I love, it's just... It's different.

Tomura understands me. It sounds like stupid teenage angst, however I can promise it's not. We have very different upbringings, and have overlapping but ultimately varied morals, and have very different situations, but we're also equals and opposites and kindred spirits; we've had too many expectations, too many hurts, too many people who just aren't what we need, whether through intention or not.

He isn't the only person I love, but I love him differently than a friend or a teacher or my Mum; he's my other half. I'm his. We're an Arc and a Quest, a shared sanctuary, and I love him. I adore him. I didn't know I could feel like this about someone, honestly, because I've never even really had crushes before, and I have a feeling Tomura hasn't either, but that just makes the fact that this happened even more amazing.

Tomura, Arc, my hero, my other half, I love you so, so much. That will never change, no matter what happens, got it? 

I love you. }

[My favourite of Izuku's freckles is the one just above his left eyebrow, the one that's slightly paler than the rest. It looks like pure gold. I don't think he's even realised it's the one I kiss most often. But my favourite set of freckles is along his right collarbone. They peak out is he's wearing baggy clothing, and he's stolen enough of my hoodies to have lots of it, and they look like the Canis constellation, and it reminds me of before Sensei, and of Izuku. He's like a puppy one second and a damn wolf the next. And he's always as bright as stars. Fuck, this is far too sappy. He'd laugh if he knew.

I don't think I'd mind.

I stopped swearing for him, believe it or not. At least out loud, or when I'm talking to him directly, which, given that I barely talk to anyone else now, means most of the time, really. I don't even swear at games, now, which is stupid. Well, it's not. That Bakugou kid traumatised him, you know? A lot of things did, but that little bast- bully did more than anything. Izuku has literal physical scars from him.

If any of you dare to pity him for it, I'll come back just to make you change your mind, understood? He's beyond strong. Far stronger than me, or anyone else I've ever met, and he's kind anyway. It's terrifying, sometimes. How he does it, I don't know.

He's such a good person, and this world has tried, time and again, to fuck him over. He's stunning for the fact that he's still good. He looks like an angel, you know? He's not even just beautiful, he's just good. 

But he is beautiful, don't get me wrong. I'm not the type to really or notice, appearance isn't a stat for a reason, but he's just- Like, he's pretty, right? He has those soft curls, and his eyes are always oh-so green and they look like a lot of pretty things but it's better than all of the rest of them put together. Ugh. This is hard. Not because it isn't true or something, don't you dare think that, it's just weird to articulate.

His sparks are bright, and sometimes he just tilts his head enough for his hair to shift, and it falls over his eyes in that really specific way that just half of his eyes are in shadow, and his eyelashes just blend into it all because they're so long and dark. 

Or there's the fact that he always wants to help, but eventually he learned that he could ask for things and I'd try to give them to him, even if I grumble about it because I'm not a complete sap. We play Animal Crossing more than anything else because he loves it so much. And it's nice to just have something, you know, light-hearted and stuff, rather than all the violence. His island is so aesthetic but so abysmally messy too. He's always messy. You should have seen the absolute state of our notes before I got too antsy about them and tried to organise them. It was hideous. Don't get me wrong, he knew where all of it was, probably still remembers, but it was disgusting to look at. 

It's kind of endearing too, somehow. Don't ask me how, I don't know, but it is.

His rambling is too. He just chatters away, and his brain is so quick, it's no wonder that his mouth struggles to keep up.

Is it crass to say that he can always keep up with a kiss though? Fuck it, maybe, but it's still true. He just defaults to affection? He doesn't hesitate to let me touch him, or vice versa, even though my Quirk is so dangerous. He just leans into me, and it isn't even just because he's touch-starved. He trusts me to literally cuddle with him? Don't know why he does, or how, really. He knows what I've done. He knows not all of it was for us.

After I killed Sensei, he just picked me up? Literally just picked me up and put me to bed and draped himself over me and made me feel like I wasn't a complete monster for it. Not sure how he does it, honestly. How he looks at me, can openly acknowledge that I'm a villain, and still reach out first, can still want to talk to me and trust me and be close to me.

I chose him over everything else. I won't regret it, I know. It's Izuku, my Quest, and we've done so much to get here together that anything would be worth it now.

If anybody tries to disrespect him from here, make them pay for me? Make them learn to be better, to be more like him.

The world would be a good place, if more people were like my Izuku.

He really is the best thing I've ever known; he has made me the happiest I think I've ever been, and certainly the most truly content I have ever been in my life; every tear and drop of blood and moment of uncertainty that it took to get here, to his side, has been worth it.

I love my Quest more than anything else on this planet. I will never falter in that, regardless of what happens to us, because Izuku is... he is a magic all of his own, he has made this place a home, and he's a wonder that I will forever cherish.

Izuku, Quest, you're my entire heart, got it? You have my entire heart. It's yours, in death, life, and beyond, never doubt that.]

"I don't like it," Tomura offers, measured rather than upset. Izuku still half-flinches, curling and wilting into himself for all that he doesn't draw away from the older teen. It both soothes and breaks Tomura's heart. It isn't healed by Izuku speaking either, more's the pity,

"I mean, I don't either. It feels weird to even suggest it and I'm sorry-"

"Don't be." Tomura snaps, tone softer than silk within half a breath as he goes on,
"Never, ever be fucking sorry for trying to give us options, got it? You're doing your best, and that's more than I'll ever ask of you."  Izuku pales, flushes, before finally leaning forward slightly, swaying further into the older teen's orbit (into their joint gravity, the warm weight of them both, together-),

"Ah."

"Brat, I get why you suggested it," he replies, unable to keep all of the sigh out of his voice, but tempering it, letting Izuku know it isn't directed at him, with a hand reaching up to trace the constellations in amongst his freckles,
"And I want to think more about the abroad option, but I know why you've said it. I- I'm not upset or whatever."

He steps forwards in turn then, drawing Izuku in close, or closer rather, so that Tomura can wrap arms around his broad shoulders (they will likely never grow broader, nor will they wither with old age-) and breathe against his hair, the two of them quiet for a long minute.

Izuku does speak up again, a time later, when Tomura's weight seems to be starting to grow heavier, both of them relaxing more by the moment, the words a not-quite forlorn murmur, too much strength in them for that sort of resignation,

"I'm still sorry we're in this situation."  The snort Izuku gets for that is far from surprising.

"I am too, but I don't think either of us should be. It's what it is, and I think we've done what we can."

"We have," Izuku concurs, breathing deeply once, twice, thrice, voice losing a little of its steadiness,
"We really have."

Tomura only holds him tighter, pressing a kiss to the crown of his curls, and Izuku sinks into it all. At least, no matter what, they will have each other. They'll make sure of it.

It starts on an otherwise-innocuous Sunday morning. (It ends all of half a week later, on a far less seemingly-innocuous Wednesday, but that isn't relevant yet. The world isn't ready.)  Exactly nine major media stations and companies across Japan, along with a further five across the world, find plain packages upon the desks of a head editor or the like. Free information is a blessing to them all, something not easily overlooked, no matter the political complications.