Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 10:05am

"Objection! The prosecution is leading the witness."

"Your Honor, is it considered leading to ask if there was any suspicious activity in the area?" Dan retorts. "The witness saw the defendant in the area, it's within my right to ask whether or not the defendant conducted themselves in a manner aligning with the claims of the defense."

"You asked if my client looks like the type to carry a gun," you tersely reply.

"Prosecutor, please keep your questions relatively unbiased," the judge sighs. "Proceed."

The whole trial is a joke. The prosecutor, Dan, is one of your classmates from law school—though how he managed to pass the bar, you have no clue. He's terrible at cross, he knows nothing about procedure. The only reason he got the degree is because he comes from money.

You remind him about that every time you're in the courtroom together.

"In the case of Lido v. Shizuoka, what did the jury find?"

"The jury found the defendant, Aoi Lido, not guilty, on the charge of attempted battery," the foreman says.

You look at your client with a smirk, nod, and then smile kindly at the twelve citizens who gave up their time to help an innocent man go free. The judge agrees with the jury's assessment, bangs her gavel, and court is dismissed.

"That went quickly," your paralegal, Hana, says. "New record?"

"Must be," you shrug.

"Congratulations, Y/N," Dan says, coming to you from the other side of the room. "Another criminal, free to roam the streets."

"If he's a criminal, prove it," you say. "Oh wait! You already tried, and failed."

"How do you sleep at night?" he tsks.

"Melatonin works wonders. You should try it some time," you say. "Alright, Lido, let's go."

You grab your purse and sling it over your shoulder, and head to the doors. Hana and your client scurry after, ready to be out of the courthouse. It's always so stuffy, never with enough windows. The building smells like dust and smoke.

Breaking through the front doors, you inhale a deep breath of clean air and smile. The sun warms your skin through the fabric of your suit, and you feel the power circling through your veins. It's like a high, winning a case. You never get over the feeling, not only having helped someone, but having checked the systems at large.

You hold them accountable.

They fucking hate you for it.

"Thank you, Ms. L/N," Lido says, circling the steps to face you. "Thank you so much."

"It's what I do, kid," you smile. "Keep my card on file, but don't go looking for trouble."

It's what you say to most of your clients, though you're positive they won't. They were never looking for trouble in the first place. Kids and teens who ran away from home, and don't know where to turn, where to get their next meal, how to make a quick buck. Older men and women who return from fighting overseas, only to be met with homelessness and addiction. People with mental health issues that you can only begin to sympathize with, all of whom are stereotyped and targeted by pro-heroes.

Yes, those heroes who have their faces plastered on the covers of magazines, the ones who do interviews and go to hospitals to visit sick children.

Those heroes. The ones who pretend to care about the people of Japan, but don't.

The ride back to your office with Hana is easy, as it always is. Your wins aren't rare, and the further you continue your career as a villain defense attorney, the better you get.

Villains come to you from every corner of Japan, seeking representation. As you gain clients, you increase your pro-bono work, which brings in more clients. It would be easy to get overwhelmed, to start forgetting the laws you'd studied in college, but your quirk keeps everything intact.

Photographic memory. You remember everything. Anything you read, write, see, hear, smell, touch, or taste, it all gets stored somewhere in your brain for later.

So, yeah. You're a damn good attorney. It only took you three years to start your own firm (brag). Of course you'd hired other lawyers to work in your office, covering other sections of law, but you love what you do, so you enjoy taking on most villain defense cases yourself.

"Just drop off the files, you can head out," you tell Hana as the two of you head into the office.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" she asks.

"No, it's okay, thank you."

She nods, and you hold the door open for her. While she goes, you collect the mail and then head to your own space. While most of the attorneys you work with prefer going home, or to a bar, right after they win a case, you like to get the paperwork over with. Sending documents to anyone and everyone, making calls, contacting whoever about whatever. The grunt work.

Hana calls out her goodbye as she makes her way home for the rest of the day. You tear open the envelopes containing bills and coupons and junk. None of it matters much, but you go through it anyway.

How many minutes or hours pass, you aren't sure. Typing away, scribbling down notes, you don't pay attention to the time. All you know is the sun is setting, soft orange light leaking in through your sheer curtains.

A knock on your door makes your head snap up.

"Hi, sorry," the man starts. "I don't mean to bother, um... Are you busy? I can come back."

"Who are you and what do you want?" you ask, tired.

He shifts his weight between his legs. "I'm looking for a villain defense lawyer," he says.

"Well, you've come to the right place," you sigh, leaning back in your chair. You motion to the one across from your desk. "Sit. What are you being charged with?"

Once the man is in the chair, he says, "I'm not the one being charged. It's for murder."

"Murder?" you repeat, brow lifting. "Are they your family?"

"No."

"Friend?"

"No."

"How do you know the defendant? What'd you say your name is?"

"I didn't," he says. "Midoriya. Izuku Midoriya."

"Alright, Midoriya, how do you know the defendant? What's their name?" you ask.

His jaw clenches and he frowns, as if he's deciding whether or not he should tell you. Whatever Midoriya's deal is, it's certainly piqued your interest.

"The man's name is Yuto Sato," he says. "I know him because... because I arrested him."

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 6:34pm

"What do you mean you arrested him? Are you a cop?" you ask, voice getting defensive.

"No, I'm not a cop!" Midoriya says quickly. "I'm a hero."

"That's worse!" you shout, standing up from the desk. "What are you doing here, are you trying to ruin my reputation? Get the fuck out!"

"Please, you have to help him," he says, standing as well. The action makes you glare at him more, because he's so tall it forces you to look up at him. Whether or not he does it to make you feel small, you don't know, but you'd expect just as much from a pro.

"Why are you so concerned with a man you got charged with murder?"

"It's complicated."

"Like hell it is," you snap. "Tell me, or get out."

He sighs, but nods. "Okay," he says, "I arrested him because those were my orders from the HPSC. But... once I looked into his case more, I realized there were too many inconsistencies to be coincidental."

"So now you want to help him," you say flatly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because no one innocent should go to prison," he says.

"That's the first time I've heard a pro say that," you scoff. Ignoring the confused look on his face, you continue, "Who are you?"

"I told you, I—"

"No, not you. Hero you."

"Oh," he says. "I... I'm Deku."

So that's how you know his face. It's hard to tell, sometimes, because you remember so many faces. Too many faces, honestly. So, sometimes it’s tricky to place a person; especially when said person wears a disguise most of the time.

Either way, it makes you frown.

"You expect me to believe the #1 hero of Japan, and the darling of the HPSC, wants to help set a murderer free?"

"He's not a murderer," Midoriya snaps. It takes you aback. "Aren't you the one who's supposed to champion innocent until proven guilty? Look, I'm here because I heard you were the best. If you're not gonna help, just say it."

The outburst is not only unexpected, but genuine. The way his cheeks flush pink, the way his brows crease and his lips tug into a frown... You know human behavior. You know lying.

And Midoriya’s not lying.

"Fine," you sigh. "Here, I have paperwork you'll need to fill out on Sato's behalf. If you don't know it off the top of your head, it should be readily available in his arrest record. Get it back to me by tomorrow, and I'll schedule visitation at the prison."

"We can go see him?'

"I can go see him. The right to an attorney and all. You, though, will not be allowed to step within ten feet of the prison while I'm there."

"But you'll help?"

"I need to talk to Sato, review his case, see if it's within my right as legal counsel, but... yes, I should be able to help."

Midoriya—Deku—grins at your agreement. When you hold the paper out to him, he takes it quickly and scans it.

"Okay," he nods. "I'll be back with this tomorrow. Thank you. Thank you so much."

You give him a small smile as he leaves. When you hear the doors of the building close, you let out a sigh and rub your eyes with your fists.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 9:52am

”Hey, Y/N? Some guy is here, saying he has forms and such for you,” Hana says, knocking on your doorframe.

”Tall? Green hair, green eyes?”

She nods.

You sit up in your chair. “Let him in.”

Less than a minute later, Midoriya is walking into your office with a manila folder in hand. He sits in the chair across from yours without invite, and he slides the file over to you.

”What’s this?” you ask.

”The form you had me fill out, plus a few other documents I thought might help build your case,” he says.

You carefully open the folder and take out the thin stack of papers, shuffling through them. As soon as your eyes sweep over the first inconsistency, you see what Midoriya means. Sato is being accused of a string of murders, all committed with his quirk. However, two of the five murders he's being accused of, there is photographic proof of him being in a different place. At one scene, they discovered DNA evidence under the fingernails of the victim that was inconclusive when compared against Sato’s.

"And they don't suspect him of having a partner?" you ask.

"No, whoever's doing this is acting alone," he says.

"This is great, really great. Undeniable proof," you say, nodding. "How did you get it out of evidence?"

"What do you mean?"

"Surely, it must've been difficult to have its removal approved. Does your boss really like you or something?" you chuckle.

"I mean, not necessarily. I just took it," he shrugs.

Your head snaps up and you look at him with wide eyes. "What?"

"What?"

"You just took it? Like... without approval?"

"Yeah? So?"

You drop the folder and bring your hands up to your face, attempting to hide the frustration that swells up in your chest. There's no way he doesn't know court proceedings. There's no way he doesn't know how to gather evidence.

Does he really want to save this man?

"If you're not bullshitting me," you start, "then this is a huge mistake."

"What? What do you mean?" he asks, confusion lacing his voice.

"Without approval from the Commissioner, you're not allowed to just hand evidence to a defense attorney."

"So?"

"So, everything you just handed me, save the form I gave you, is now inadmissible in court."

Midoriya's face pales. "What?"

"It's illegal for me to have these without the approval of the Commissioner, before officially becoming Sato's legal counsel. Evidence illegally obtained is inadmissible in court."

"You're joking," he tries.

"I wish," you shrug. "So, Deku, tell me... Do you really care about saving a supposed murderer's life?"

"Yes," he quickly says.

"Alright," you nod. "Then you need to help me figure out how to replace this. Because you just threw out the best evidence we had.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 1:35pm

Midoriya walks into Todoroki's agency with a foggy mind. He spent all morning trying to figure out how to undo the giant fuck-up he caused. How could he not have known it's illegal to bring a defense attorney privileged information...?

That's the excuse he's going with, anyway. When his bosses ask where the files are, or how you'd gotten your hands on them, Midoriya plans on shrugging and saying 'oops.'

"Midoriya? What are you doing here?" Shoto's voice rings throughout the office space.

"I need your help," he says lightly, B-lining to the man's suite. Todoroki follows with a brow raised in question.

The two men sit down on either side of the wooden desk, and Midoriya runs a stressed hand through his hair.

"How much do you know about the legal system?" he asks.

"That's vague. What part of it?"

"Legal proceedings, trials, defense attorneys. Anything."

"I know a fair amount," Todoroki shrugs. "Why?"

"I..." his voice trails, and he clears the lump that's suddenly formed in his throat. "I fucked up. Big time."

"Oh? What happened?"

"The HPSC was following this man, Sato, building a case against him for the murders of five people. They asked me to assist in the arrest, and I agreed without looking into it. Afterward, though, I did, and... and I think he's innocent."

"If he's innocent, it'll be proven. There'll be evidence to support his claim."

"That's the problem," Midoriya groans. "That's my fuck up, I... I went to a defense attorney to see if she'd take on his case. She agreed, so I took her evidence I thought might help, and—"

"Now it's inadmissible," Todoroki finishes for him. He nods. "So... What exactly do you need to know?"

"Anything. Everything. I can't do something like this again. I need to know how I can help."

The corner of Shoto's mouth ticks up in a thoughtful smirk. "You’ve always been one to take on a challenge, haven’t you, Midoriya?”

Izuku shoots him a sheepish smile, bigger than anything he’s been able to muster over the past 24 hours.

”You know me,” he says lightly.

”I do,” Todoroki responds. Standing from his chair, he walks over to his bookshelf and scans the titles quickly. Once he finds what he’s looking for, he pulls the book and walks it back to the desk.

”What’s that?”

”A law textbook. Nowhere better to start than right in the middle of things,” Todoroki says, sitting back in his chair and flipping the cover open. “Now… How much do you know about what happens after we arrest the villains?”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 2:13pm

You pick at a piece of lint on your skirt as the line rings. You fiddle with the hem, where a thread is coming loose, and wait for the answer. Sato's arraignment has been postponed, thankfully, so there's time for you to be there when he's given his initial bond post. You just need to become his attorney, first.

Finally, on the fifth ring, the line connects.

"Shizuoka Correctional Facility."

"Hi, this is attorney Y/N L/N, and I was hoping to schedule a meeting with a potential client of mine, last name Sato."

"Visitation hours are Monday through Friday, ten to three," the man on the phone says.

"Can you put me down for tomorrow at noon?" you ask, and the man huffs.

After giving him your information for approval, you hang up and roll your eyes. Prison guards are always so fucking rude.

"You get a new case?" Hana asks, peaking into your office. You beckon her in and nod as she sits across from you. "Is it the man from earlier?"

"Sorta," you sigh. "Murder case. Looks like they're going for the death penalty."

"That'll be rough. Definitely a media frenzy. Do you think you'll finally get talked about on a true crime podcast?"

"I fucking hope not."

Hana pouts. "You're no fun."

You give her a sarcastic smile.

"What do you need me to do?" she asks.

"Can you start looking into these cases," you say, grabbing a stack of folders. "It's brutal, so don't push yourself. If you need a break, take one."

"I'll be fine," she says, grabbing them.

"Look for inconsistencies. Two of the five murders, he was out of Shizuoka, but we'll need more than that to convince a jury to release him."

"On it, boss," Hana salutes. Then, she heads out to her desk.

It'd been your dream to be a lawyer, ever since you'd found out what law school was. A profession dedicated to helping people? Plus the pay, and the fact that your quirk makes the job nearly a hundred times easier. So, you set your sights on law and didn't look back.

At first you considered constitutional law, fighting court cases to establish the true rights of every citizen of Japan. Then, there was marriage law; you could help victims of domestic abuse, you could help those who were underprivileged in the eyes of family court. And then you'd discovered being a district attorney, a prosecutor. Sending those who commit heinous crimes to prison, getting justice for those who the legal system often failed.

But when you started law school, you were given access to cases. Real court cases, and all of the documents that had been submitted as evidence.

With photographic memory, you remembered everything. Every law, every statute, every sentence, every loophole. You saw it all, you absorbed it all. That's when the awareness settled in.

Because you found the inconsistencies like no one else. And you called them out.

"Wait, if the defense wasn't given an opportunity for cross, isn't it grounds for a mistrial?" you'd asked one night during criminal law.

"Yes, but the attorney didn't motion for a mistrial until the next day. It wasn't within the timeframe," your professor replied.

"But that's not fair, they were taking testimony from eight people that session. It was already too much to—"

"That's being a lawyer, Ms. L/N," he said. "It's sink or swim, out there. If an attorney cannot keep up with proceedings, they should give up their license."

"But precedent is set in Kan vs. Chiba, they allowed—"

"Ms. L/N, exceptions are made when there is reason for them to be made."

Which you might've understood, but it was the lawyer's first case at his own firm. Leniency is granted to others all the time for less, so why couldn't the judge have given him sway then? Why couldn’t the defense attorney be given the same exceptions as the prosecution?

Because the whole system is corrupt. You discovered it soon after that conversaion occured. More criminal cases, more inconsistencies, more unfairness. More bias, speculation, and underhanded deals between officials. None of the evidence mattered, if the prosecutor was attractive or charming.

And who were the defense attorneys? Slovenly con-artists who liked to make a quick buck sending teens and addicts to the slammer.

So, you changed your consentration. You started to advocate for the villains and criminals the way your friends advocated for the victims. What they could never grasp is how you saw the bad guys as the victims. As those who had been failed by the system.

But you saw it all.

The orphanages; the group homes; the abuse; the drugs; the easy money; the fun; the lack of routine; the lack of home; the lack of safety, and love, and care.

You saw how the system would manipulate its rules to send more underprivileged peoples to jail under the guise of public safety. When in reality, all they wanted was free labor and tax cuts. They wanted to avoid building cost-effective living. They wanted to avoid taking any responsibility for the role they played in turning victims into villains.

Izuku Midoriya, Deku, whoever he is. He came to you and asked for help. He asked for you to save a man from death row.

How can you refuse?

Chapter Text

Thursday, 10:02am

He's running late.

Midoriya meant to get to your office at 10:00 on the dot, but traffic was horrible, and now he's running late.

The light in your office is on. He can see it as he walks through the parking lot, heading to the glass-panelled double-doors. You're here, which is good. He hoped you wouldn't be gone to see Sato yet, so it's his lucky day.

When he pulls open the door, the receptionist looks up and smiles at him.

"Hi, can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm here to see Y/N L/N. She's helping me with a case," he says. Then he points in the direction of your office. "Can I?"

"She's prepping for an interview right n—"

"Oh! For Sato?"

Before the receptionist can answer, Midoriya heads for the back room. The woman calls after him, but he figures it's better to ask for forgiveness. Oops.

"You're going to see Sato? When? Can I come?"

Your head snaps up, and you look at him with wide eyes. It takes you a second to register what he's asked. "Yes, at noon. No, you can't. I already told you—"

"What if I promise to stay in the car?"

"I'm not keeping the meter running—"

"I'll drive."

Your lips press into a line and you sit back in your chair, crossing your arms.

"What are you doing here?" you ask. "You're a hero. You're the number one hero at that... Again, are you trying to ruin my reputation?"

"Of course not. I'm trying to help," he says. "Isn't it good? Y'know, being seen together. Working together."

"No, not at all." Your voice is flat, and it makes him frown. "If I'm seen working with you, my clients are going to think I'm setting them up. If the HPSC sees you working with me, they're going to make a stink about me corrupting you or some shit."

"They won't—"

"Yes, Midoriya, they will," you say. "When's the last time you saw a pro-hero work with a villain defense attorney? Because the last case in the history of Japan was Blackstreak, and that was over two decades ago."

"Who's Blackstreak?" he asks.

"Exactly."

"Okay, but I want to help. It's my fault for not reviewing the case first."

The guilt has been eating him alive. It was never supposed to be complicated like this. When he'd defeated All For One, when he'd defeated Shigaraki, it was all supposed to get easier. He's the top hero in Japan.

So why is it that he feels more used now than ever before?

He'd nearly given his life for his country. He’d given everything for the people he loves.

In return, they manipulated and lied to him.

”Please,” he says. “Let me fix this.”

You sigh, leaning forward to prop your elbows up on your desk. He sits down in the chair across from you and watches as you consider his plea.

”Did you do what I asked? Did you look into other avenues of securing the evidence?” you finally say.

”Kinda… I saw a friend of mine. He knows a bit about law. I had him walk me through the whole process, so I don’t screw up again,” Midoriya says.

”That’s good at least.”

He nods. “I’ll get the information for the video companies to you, so you can get that bit, if nothing else.”

”I need to figure out how to get the DNA evidence submitted by the DA, or find a way to get it myself. While I go visit Sato, you look into it. Remember, though, you aren’t a paralegal, you aren’t a lawyer, and you aren’t a cop. Restrictions apply. Do not lose anymore evidence for me, or Sato’s chances go out the window,” you say.

”I won’t. And I will. I mean, I will look into the DNA, I won’t lose the evidence.”

”I knew what you meant,” you say with a small smile. Midoriya feels his cheeks heat up a bit, nervous by your presence.

You. He knew about you long before stepping into your office.

The top villain defense attorney in Japan. Hated by the Commission, pro-heroes, law enforcement, prosecutors, and citizens alike.

He never got the appeal. Kacchan said you were hot, but that was all. Kirishima tried to look for the silver lining. Kaminari, Ochaco, and most of the others chose to bite their tongues.

Because why the hell would you spend your life getting the bad guys off death row? Why the hell did you care if a murderer got a fair trial? They were bad, and the heroes were good. The world was black and white. You were in the wrong.

And then he arrested Sato.

An innocent man is being charged with murder, and Midoriya had been a factor in his sentence. Izuku aided in putting a man’s life in the balance.

Saving him in time is his only goal, now.

The best way to complete his goal? By finding you. By recruiting you, asking for your help. If anyone could get a man out of prison on one of the highest charges in Japan, it’s you.

”Would you really wait in the car?” you ask, breaking him from his thoughts.

”Yes,” he says shyly.

”You really feel responsible for him, don’t you?”

”I do.”

You sigh again, though this time without frustration. If he’s right, he thinks you may be relenting.

”Okay,” you say. “You can’t talk to Sato, and you can’t be an official part of the defense. But… How would you feel being called as a witness?”

”A witness?”

”Yes. You saw the inconsistencies firsthand. If I call you as a witness, you’ll be able to testify regarding the evidence you saw.”

”Okay, I can do that. No problem.”

“You’ll also be cross examined by the prosecution, so I’d have to prep you for it. They won’t be kind.”

”That’s okay. I can handle it,” he says.

“Everything will be called into question. There’s a high chance your approval rating will go down. Blackstreak was forced to retire early… You’ll be putting a lot at risk by testifying.”

”It’s worth it,” he says firmly.

Your brows raise in surprise, and an easy smile crosses your face.

”Midoriya, you may be the first hero I can actually respect,” you say.

And some feeling that's a lot like pride swells in his chest, though for what reason, he doesn’t know.

Chapter Text

Thursday, 11:54am

You let Midoriya drive you to the prison. If you couldn’t place him without his costume on, surely others won’t be able to. Besides, a free ride is a free ride. You have your own car, but… whatever.

”Here,” you say, turning to him. He puts the car in park and turns to you. “This is the number for a friend of mine. While I’m talking to Sato, call him and tell him I need to meet with him. Tomorrow, Monday, or his soonest available time.”

”Who is it?”

”His name’s Sen Lito. He works a lot of faulty evidence cases, so he may be able to give us a few pointers. Take notes.”

”Will do,” he nods, taking the post-it note from you.

Situating your bag over your shoulder, you leave the car and make for the entrance of the prison. Shizuoka Correctional Facility. Reserved for the so-called worst of the worst.

The doors are heavy and lined with steel. A metal detector arches up overhead, ready for you to step through. A prison guard sits on a stool, reading a magazine. When he registers the clicking of your heels, his head lifts from the page.

”Morning,” he says, closing the magazine and standing. “I’ll need your ID, and to search your purse.”

”Of course,” you say. Digging through your bag, you get your ID from your wallet before passing him the items.

”Step through,” he motions. You cross under the metal detector as he looks through your belongings. “You have an appointment?”

”I should, I called yesterday.”

”Which prisoner?”

”Yuto Sato,” you say.

The guard’s lips press into a line, but he doesn’t say anything else. Finally, he hands you your purse.

”Stop by the window, an escort will take you back.” Promptly, he sits back down and starts to read the magazine again. You try your best not to roll your eyes.

You’re asked to store your belongings in a locker, but you’re allowed to take a notepad and pen back with you. A guard leads you through the winding cement halls, and you grimace at the heat and the stench. Summer may be coming to an end, but it’s still hot, and they don’t rush to crank the air conditioning. No wonder everything smells like BO.

”He’ll be in shortly,” the guard says, opening the door to a room. You nod and enter, sitting down at the metal table in the center.

Minutes later, he’s brought in.

A skinny, pale man with purple hair and a dejected look on his face.

The guard cuffs Sato to the metal table, makes sure the room is secure, and then leaves. Privacy is finally granted.

”Yuto Sato,” you say. “You’ve won the attention of a very important man.”

”Who are you?”

”I’m Y/N L/N. Villain defense attorney.”

”I’m not a villain.”

”I know,” you say. “It’s my job to tell the world you aren’t what they say.”

”So, who got you to come? My parents? My friends?” he scoffs. “None of them have reached out since my arrest, so that’d be a fucking shock.”

You give him a sad smile.

”Someone who cares,” you say. “Now, we’ll only have an hour to talk, so let’s rip off the bandage and get it over with, yeah? Let’s start easy—“

”I never agreed to your help.”

”Are you telling me to leave?” you ask. “I have no qualms proving my credentials, if that’s what you’re concerned with. I may be a bit young compared to some of my colleagues, but my track record is impressive.”

Sato clenches his jaw. You wait for him to gather himself. It’s always overwhelming, getting arrested.

”No. I’m not telling you to leave, it’s just… It was presumptive.”

At this, you laugh a bit. Then nod. “You’re right,” you say. “Would you please allow me the honor of representing you in court, Mr. Sato?”

He gives you a flat look.

”Not the time for humor, either. Got it,” you say, nodding. “In all seriousness, I need answers. Answers only you can give me. I assume you’ve never been arrested before.”

”No, I haven’t.”

”So, I’ll have to walk you through the process as well.”

The next hour is spent goading answers out of Sato. Where he was, who he saw, what he did, how he got where, why he left Shizuoka, and why he was here in the first place. Does he want to plead guilty, not guilty, or no contest? Is there anyone who might want to frame him? What does he do for work? What was his childhood like? Anything and everything.

"So, you'll be pleading 'not guilty,'" you confirm, and he nods. You scribble the answer down onto your notepad, and continue. ”Tell me honestly, and I don’t mean to offend. I have to know,” you say, voice low. “Did you kill them?”

”No,” he sighs. “No I didn’t kill them. Any of them. I… I don’t think I’ve ever even seen these women before.”

And it hits you.

Why it hadn’t been your first thought, you don’t know.

But you realize if Sato didn’t murder these women… someone else did. Someone else who is still out there, planning their next attack, using Sato’s arrest in their favor.

”I’ll come back Monday or Tuesday,” you tell Sato as the guard comes back into the room to get him. “Remember what I said.”

He nods.

Don’t say shit to anyone.

Back out where the sun seeps into your skin, you B-line to Midoriya’s car.

”Hey, I called—“

”Not now,” you interrupt. “I have a new job for you.”

”Okay, what?”

”You need to find the real killer.”

Chapter Text

Thursday, 1:03pm

”I need to find the real killer?” Midoriya repeats, and you nod.

”You can’t help in most aspects of this case, but the one thing you’re able to do that I can’t, is build a case against someone else,” you say. “If you can find the real murderer and build a case against them, I can use your documents as evidence. The charge wouldn’t immediately be dropped, but a strong enough case could sway a jury into thinking there’s reasonable doubt.”

He thinks about what you’re asking. It’s more than helping you with the case, now. Looking into other avenues behind the back of the HPSC is one thing, but… he’d also be forced to come clean to his friends. Friends who he’ll have to rely on if he wants to build an even somewhat decent defense.

Ochaco could survey the streets. Kaminari could access surveillance systems. Kacchan could help him with interrogations. Each of his friends has a valuable skill that makes them an asset to this case.

But would he be able to convince them to help? The only one of his friends with a neutrality to villain defense attorneys is Todoroki, but even his influence can only get him so far.

”I’ll try, but I might need your help,” he finally says.

”Help build a case against someone else? That’s like, the complete opposite of what I do,” you say, shaking your head. “I prove people innocent. Not guilty.”

”But…”

Midoriya cuts himself off, unable to say the words. Unable to voice his own insecurities.

But what if he’s wrong again?

What if he builds a case against the wrong guy, and the whole cycle restarts? What if he has another innocent arrested because he’s too blinded by the guilt he feels at Sato’s imprisonment?

”Building a theoretical case against someone else isn’t enough to put them on death row,” you say lightly, pulling him from his thoughts. “It serves as doubt. If the jury is able to doubt the prosecution’s claims that Sato is guilty, then it’s a win. If the HPSC wants to arrest the other guy off of your hypothetical case, I’ll review it.”

”You will?”

”It’s my job, Midoriya,” you chuckle. “Now, I need to get back to my office. There’s work to do.”

So, he takes you back to your office, drops you at the front, and watches as you go inside. Every movement is confident, self-assured. You’re the best, and you know you’re the best.

He felt that way for a time. Once, nearly a decade ago now. When he’d first gotten to #1, when he’d first opened his own agency. Before the HPSC sank their claws in him. Before bureaucracy changed him for the worse.

Midoriya feels like a fucking pawn.

Because he’s had his eyes open for two or three days, and already he understands you more than he ever has. He understands the qualms you have with the legal system, and the problems heroes create when they try to fix things without forethought. Only days ago, he’d listened to the others scoff and sneer at the way you got some kid off of his battery charges. Now, he gets it. For the first time, he sees in a way that is truly unbiased.

His world is grey.

Black and white, good and bad, light and dark, it all blurred together into a messy fog of grey. Like the sky before a storm, it’s uneven blotches of colorless meaninglessness.

Who is good, in this world?

Midoriya thought he was good. He thought he did what was the best for Japan. He thought what he did was enough to create a balance in the universe.

Midoriya thought his friends were good. Risking their lives to secure justice for victims. Giving their all for the same people he did. Same with his former teachers, mentors, allies, and partners.

Now he’s terrified.

If he looks into other cases, the ones him and his closest companions have worked on, how many faults will he find? How many inconsistencies, and loopholes, and exceptions made for those with a better image?

And if he looks into them, and begins asking questions… who will brush his concerns under the rug? Who will suggest he keeps turning a blind eye to these cases he once called justice? Who will suggest he stop looking into the predatory practices he’d known nothing about?

Midoriya drives to the one person he knows will have his back. Whether or not she agrees with him, she’ll listen.

Ochaco and him may have their differences of opinion, but she’s been there for him since UA. Surely, this won’t be different.

When he pulls up to her agency, he quickly runs inside to where her office is. None of the other staff pay him much mind, used to him running in and out of the building at different times. They don’t stop to tell him she’s gone, so he knows she's in.

”Izuku, what are you doing here?” Ochaco asks, looking up from whatever paperwork she’s filling out as soon as he steps into the room.

Midoriya shuts her door behind him and sits at one of her chairs. He runs a nervous hand through his hair.

”I need your help,” he says, voice strained with fear. Because no matter his opinion of Uraraka, you don’t know someone until you know them. All of them, all of their opinions and beliefs and ideals.

”Okay…” her voice trails as she sits back in her chair.

”Is this… No one’s listening, right?”

”Of course not,” she says lightly. “Are you alright?”

”No,” he says honestly. “I think… I stumbled into something messy. And not great. With the HPSC.”

”What’s that?”

”I think they’re trying to frame an innocent man for murder.”

She’s taken aback by this. “What? why would they do that?”

”I don’t know, I’m still figuring shit out.” His use of shit also takes her aback. “They used me, Ochaco… They used me to arrest him, and I fucking fell for it. Have you ever looked into the cases the HPSC assigns you? Because I haven’t. I don’t know why I even felt compelled to look into this one, but… what if there are others? What if we’ve been arresting innocents this whole time?”

”Izuku,” she whispers. “I believe you, but… you sound a little paranoid. I doubt the HPSC is lying to us on such a wide scale.”

”Have you looked? Because I’m scared to.”

”No, I haven’t. Maybe we should together,” she suggests. “Let’s figure this out once and for all, y’know? Put your suspicions to rest.”

”And if I’m right?” he asks expectantly. Hoping she’s come up with some well-rounded plan in thirty seconds.

Ochaco’s lips press into a flat line. “If you’re right, then we have bigger fish to fry,” she says. “How’d you even get onto this?”

”Like I said, I looked into the guy’s case and spotted too many inconsistencies.”

”And that alone prompted you to start second guessing everything the HPSC’s ever done?”

”Well… Not exactly.”

Her brow quirks up as she waits for him to answer. Where is his paranoia stemming from?

”I went to see a defense attorney.”

”You didn’t…”

”I did,” he sighs. “I didn’t know where else to go!”

”So you took your suspicions that should go to HR, to a villain defense attorney? Do you know the smear campaign the HPSC could go through if anyone found out? Not only will the public second-guess everything heroes do, but they’ll also think you’re sympathizing with villains—“

”They’re not villains,” he says quickly. “Not all of them.”

”Izuku do you hear yourself? Three days ago you agreed with Bakugo when he said not enough villains receive the death penalty.”

”I’ve since gained nuance.”

”Nuance?” she says skeptically. “Which attorney did you even go to?”

Midoriya doesn’t respond.

”Izuku…” she presses.

He sighs. “I went to Y/N L/N.”

Ochaco closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.

”You went to the top villain defense attorney in Japan, and told her that the HPSC used you to arrest an innocent man?”

”Not in so many words,” he lies.

”Did you steal evidence for her, too?” she bites.

He doesn’t respond.

”You—!” Ochaco cuts herself off with a frustrated groan, leans forward onto her desk and lets out a string of fake sobs.

”It’s not like it’s admissible, anymore,” he grumbles.

”Yeah, I figured. So, what? You came to me thinking you could ask me to help you… do what, exactly?”

”Mostly to share my suspicions,” he says shyly. “But… I also need your help building a case.”

”A case? Against the HPSC?”

”No,” he shakes his head. “Against the real killer.”

”Who’s the real killer?”

”That’s why I need your help,” he smiles guiltily. “I’m not really sure.”

Chapter Text

Friday, 2:19pm

You’re sitting in your office when they arrive.

On his own, you couldn’t place Deku. But standing next to another hero? It’s obvious.

”Is this the third or fourth time I’m asking if you want to ruin my reputation?” you scowl. “What’s Uravity doing here?”

”You know I’m right here, right?” she asks. “I can answer for myself.”

”Then answer,” you say.

”I’m here because Midoriya somehow got it into his mind that you know more truths about the HPSC than we do,” she says. “And I think he’s wrong.”

”Most of you heroes would,” you sigh. “So, what? You’re here to make sure I don’t corrupt him any more?”

”Basically.”

At least she’s honest.

“Fine. Come in, sit down, we’ll make this quick,” you say.

Midoriya lets Uravity take the chair while Hana brings in a second. He thanks her before sitting down next to the hero woman.

”What’s your name?” you ask her.

”Ochaco Uraraka,” she says.

”Okay, Uraraka. How much has Midoriya told you?”

”Pretty much everything.”

You nod. So, no secrets. Got it.

Turning to him, you give Midoriya the updates you’ve gathered in the last 24 hours.

”So, I called Lito back because he couldn’t meet. He said it's sure the evidence is inadmissible on my end. The only way it'll be submitted at this point is if the prosecution enters it, but since it negates the case they built, it's highly unlikely. My paralegal, Hana, is looking for other avenues to obtain the information, but again, it's not likely she'll find anything of use," you tell him. "The best chance we have is if you're able to pin it on someone else."

Uraraka scoffs. "I thought you wanted the real killer? Leave it to a villain defense attorney to pin a crime on someone else."

"The Hero Commission did it first," you point out. "What's so different when I do it?"

"Ochaco, stop," Midoriya whispers. "I came to her. Not the other way around."

"I'm not offended," you interject. "We all have our interpretations and biases. None of us are immune to the rose-tinted glasses of our world."

"It doesn't make you mad when your profession is called into question?" she asks, not believing you.

"I get death threats on the daily," you chuckle. "Debating the validity of my occupation is not the most offensive thing to happen to me."

"You get death threats?" Midoriya asks, sticking to the wrong part of your sentence.

"It's neither here nor there."

"So, you don't feel any guilt pinning a crime on a different innocent? You only care when they pay you for your services?" Uraraka asks.

You shrug. "Sato's case is pro-bono. 50% of the cases I take on are. Only white collar detainees I expect an upfront payment from. And, no, I don't feel guilty. Like I explained to Midoriya, it's only to serve as doubt. It'd be great if you got the right guy, this time, but anyone will do."

"It'd be great if we what—?"

"She didn't mean it like that," Midoriya tries.

"Actually, I did," you say.

Because, truly, if the heroes did their jobs right in the first place, this wouldn't be an issue.

But, the pros are human and fallible. You're only able to avoid the mistakes you do because of your memory. Their quirks don't bar them from misinterpreting information, or misreading, or skipping over a crucial word, or not knowing a key phrase.

They don't make the heroes go to law school.

"She's impossible," Uraraka says, shaking her head.

You shrug once more. "Maybe, but my re-offending rate is better than every attorney in this country. Do you know why? Because my clients are innocent, and your lawyers cannot prove otherwise. I don't do this to release violent criminals back into the world. I do this because the HPSC doesn't know the difference between the abuser and the abused. It's why they fail so many victims, not arresting their perpetrators because those are the ones who have bright futures. And while 90% of attorneys in the country fight for the prosecution's idea of a victim, who fights for those the prosecution set up to fail? Those born in a system that pipelines them straight to prison?"

Your words hit Uraraka somewhere personal.

You memorized her speech, during Shigaraki's war on UA.

Who saves the heroes? she cried to every citizen of Japan. Who fights for those who fight for you?

"Who fights for those who have never had someone in their corner? Not even the law."

Loopholes upon loopholes upon loopholes. All to keep a class of people readily available for them to chew up and spit back out.

You don't fight for frat boys who date-rape people. You don't fight for CEOs who make millions by withholding wages from their workers.

You fight for those who have been accused of stereotypical crimes. Robbery, assault and battery, murder, drug use or sales. Most of which were never committed by your client. As decided by the jury, at least.

So, Uraraka relents.

”We need to find the actual murderer, then. Not just pin it on someone else,” she sighs. “If Sato’s innocent, someone else is guilty.”

”That’s what I asked Midoriya for help with. He’s very stubborn, you know.”

”Trust me, I do.”

”I’m right here,” he says.

”Yes, we know,” you say. “So, do you have anything for me? Or did you just want to introduce me to your friend?”

Midoriya’s face flushes.

“He was humoring me,” Uraraka says. “I wanted to come interrogate you a bit. You know, make sure you’re not running to the media with… accusations.”

”I’ve known about the HPSC’s corruption for a long time. I don’t need to run to the media, I just beat them in court.”

She bites back whatever snarky comment she’s about to say, and it makes you smile a bit. While you think Uraraka’s a bit misguided, or perhaps a bit naive, you respect her for standing up for what she believes in, and yet giving you the decency to have an open mind.

”Look, I don’t mean to be down your throat about the ways of the HPSC, but my whole job is holding them accountable, and making sure they do their jobs right. So, don’t take it personally.”

”It’s hard not to,” she says.

”Then I guess you know how it feels,” you say. You don’t mean it in a bitter way, or to throw it in her face. It’s just the truth of the matter.

”I have to see a couple more people,” Midoriya awkwardly cuts in, “but I think I’ll be able to find you something by the end of next week.”

”The sooner the better,” you say. “Since Sato’s officially accepted me as his counsel, we go to court on Thursday for the first round of jury selection. It’ll probably take the next seven to ten days. His arraignment was this morning, so his bond's been set, along with the date of the trial. It starts in six weeks.”

”So, we have a month and a half to build a hypothetical case, framing someone for the murders you and Deku think Sato is innocent of?”

”I know he’s innocent,” Midoriya states.

”Yes,” you simply say. “Again, it doesn’t have to be real. It should be, but that’s not my problem. My problem is creating a story the jury finds more realistic than the prosecution’s.”

”What will you be doing in the meantime?” Uraraka asks.

”Building a case of my own. Interviewing and prepping my client. Getting his story straight.”

”And once we build a case, then what? We just hand it to you, and it’s accepted? What’s the difference between that and just handing you the evidence like Izuku did? It’s all be inadmissible.”

”No,” you shake your head. “Two reasons: First, Midoriya knows what he’s doing this time. Second…”

”What?” she presses.

”There’s a loophole.”

”A loophole?”

”It’s not illegal to obtain evidence as a citizen of Japan. If a citizen finds evidence, they can give it to whoever, whenever, without going through any red tape.”

”So?”

”So,” you start, “Deku and Uravity aren’t building me a case. Midoriya and Uraraka are.”

Chapter Text

Friday, 3:00pm

It's silent in the car.

Midoriya taps his thumbs nervously against the steering wheel, waiting for Ochaco's commentary. It takes ten minutes for her to speak.

"I still don't trust her," she says.

"That's fair," he says. "But... you'll help, right?"

"Of course I'll help," she sighs. "If you're right, and Sato really is innocent, we should do what we can to get this sorted. But you know we'll need to ask the others for help, too, right?"

"Yeah, I figured."

"Do you think Bakugo would?"

"No," he says honestly. "But he'd help if Kirishima helps. Who will only help if Kaminari helps, who will only help if Jiro helps..."

"I'll talk to her," Ochaco says. "It'd be good to have someone with recon skills on our side. She can keep an ear out for any whispers. Shinso might be good, too, considering he's a vigilante."

"Yeah, but I haven't heard from him in years. He's deep underground."

"So, what, we'd have to ask Aizawa about it?"

"Probably," Midoriya shrugs. "Which is a whole other problem, considering his ties to the Commission."

"He was a vigilante first," Ochaco points out. "His loyalty might be a facade."

"So what do we do? You talk to Jiro, and then... what? What am I supposed to do?"

Ochaco gives him a look that makes him groan. Yeah, he knows what he needs to do. He just doesn’t particularly want to do it. Midoriya figured maybe he could push it off, but of course not. There isn’t time.

So, he drops Ochaco off at her agency with the agreement of meeting on Monday. She’ll be talking to Jiro this weekend, the first of many dominoes that will have to fall if they want to succeed.

Meanwhile, Midoriya takes off in the direction of Bakugo’s agency.

He won’t agree with what they’re doing, but the seed needs to be planted. Blindsiding Kacchan is a recipe for disaster. So, even though Midoriya knows the blond will refuse to help this time, it’s what’ll guarantee his agreement later on.

Kacchan has a one-track mind. As long as Midoriya's actions align with Kacchan's opinions, he'll join.

"Is Dynamight in?" he asks the secretary as he enters.

The young man clicks something on his computer, checking Bakugo's calendar most likely, and then nods.

"He's available. Do you want me to alert him you're here?"

"No, it's okay," Midoriya says, taking off in the direction of Kacchan's office.

Employees hustle about the agency, carrying stacks of files and papers. Some are in their hero costumes, others aren't. None stop to greet Midoriya, though he doesn't expect them to. In fact, he's more than fine with them leaving him alone.

He knocks on the doorframe, causing Bakugo's head to snap up from something he's writing.

"What, Deku?" he snaps.

"I need your help."

"With what?" Kacchan groans, placing the paper in a folder and sticking it into his file cabinet. "Aren't you supposed to be #1? Standards are going way down."

"It's not that," Midoriya says nervously, closing the door. Bakugo raises a brow and watches him curiously as he sits in one of the chairs in front of his desk. "We prove villains are guilty, right?"

Kacchan doesn't respond, staring at him blankly.

"What if... What if we had to prove one was innocent?"

"You've been watching too many courtroom dramas."

Midoriya shakes his head. "I'm serious."

"If we had to prove a villain's innocence, we'd be defense attorneys."

Izuku lets out a loud groan, finding Bakugo more impossible than usual.

"As heroes, where would we start?"

Kacchan crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, looking at Midoriya suspiciously. A tense silence falls over them as the blond's eyes narrow.

"Why?" he finally asks.

"Why what?" Midoriya plays dumb.

"Why do you want to know? This isn't hypothetical, obviously. So... fuck is it? Why do you want to know about getting villains out of prison?"

Izuku chews at the inside of his cheek. He swallows the lump growing in his throat, the one making his mouth extremely dry. "Because... what if I messed up? What if I disagree with the HPSC's case? What if there's an innocent man, waiting for trial, waiting to be sent to death?"

"Is there? Or is this a fucking exercise the Commission wants us to do?" Kacchan asks. "Am I supposed to say you should blindly follow them, as our bosses? This isn't being fucking recorded, is it?"

"No," Midoriya says quickly. "Not recorded, not an exercise... and no, not a hypothetical."

He stands from the chair and starts nervously pacing the office space. The blond watches him with a scowl.

"I... I arrested a man for murder. But I think he's innocent."

"So?" Bakugo grunts. "If he's innocent, it'll be proven."

Is this not verbatim the conversation he had with Todoroki? He'd said something along those lines, too. As if it isn't their responsibility to make sure they have the right man for the crime. As if being held in a jail cell awaiting trial doesn't mean shit, because he'll eventually get out.

Midoriya's face contorts, all of the frustration, guilt, and anger he's felt over the past three days coming to the surface, being directed right at his best friend.

"So, what? We arrest innocent people now and say fuck all when it's our mistake to undo? Because it's not a part of the job description, or something?"

"Of course not, idiot, but it's not our job. Red tape prevents heroes from crossing sides. Too much shit would come out, and it'd be a whole thing."

"Okay, so, because reforming the system is too much work, we just accept what happens?"

"Why the fuck are you talking to me like this? Are you accusing me of arresting innocent people?" Kacchan asks, voice rising, standing from his own chair.

"Have you?" Midoriya shoots.

"Like hell I have!"

"I didn't think I did either!" he snaps back. "When's the last time the HPSC told you to arrest a villain, and you walked through the case as if it were your own? Because I was fucking naive about it. I trusted them."

"It's not naive to trust the Commission," Kacchan sighs. "But, you're right. I don't look closely at the cases they give me."

"If you did... what do you think you'd find?"

Midoriya's voice is so small, now. Again, he's terrified. What will he find, the deeper he goes? Is Kacchan not the man he'd once thought he was? Are any of his friends? Ochaco agreed to help, but doubt clouds her every move.

His trust depletes by the second.

"I don't know," Bakugo says honestly. "But then what? We go to the HPSC to complain about the HPSC, nothing happens, and things stay the same. Except, after an accusation like this, they'd blacklist us from the industry. And then... what? What help can you be, benched on the sidelines?"

"So we don't go to the HPSC."

"What do you mean?"

"What if... What if we didn't go to them."

"And build a case going against them behind their backs? What'd you even do with it?"

Midoriya swallows the persistent lump that continues to choke him.

"Take it to a defense attorney," he says nervously.

Kacchan blinks once. And then again.

And then he starts to laugh.

"Yeah, that's fucking rich. I thought you said this was serious."

But when Midoriya doesn't say anything else, the realization dawns on Bakugo. He is being serious.

"No."

"Kacchan, please—"

"Who?" he asks. "Wait, don't fucking tell me. You went to the chick, right? What's her name again? Y/N L/N?"

No response is needed.

"So you go to this L/N woman, and then what? Give her proof of the Commission being corrupt? That's a fucking get-out-of-jail-free card if I've ever heard one. Every case that's been won over the past two fucking decades will be called into question."

"Maybe they should be," he shrugs. "If innocent people have gone to prison—"

"If innocent people have gone to prison, then the system failed them in more ways than one. It's not your fault, nor your responsibility."

"Heroes should be held accountable for the parts they play. I'm willing to take on the risks."

"Are you?" Kacchan asks pointedly.

"I have to be."

Because you get death threats, doing what you do. And if you can take those with a grain of salt, he can get through this. He can lift his weight, carry the burden of proof on his back for as long as he needs to. Midoriya will give up his title, his status, his clients, his loyalty, all of it. He will give it all up, making sure Sato's given a truly fair trial.

Innocent until proven guilty.

A mindset barely anybody takes on, anymore. Nowadays, it's guilty until proven innocent. Between social media and general corruption, the title of 'villain' is attached to anyone accused of a crime, no matter how big or small.

"Well," Kacchan starts suddenly, "it'll be much easier to become #1, if you're out of the way. So, don't let me stop you."

"Thanks," Midoriya says flatly.

"Just... Don't be fucking stupid about it. Right? Play the system. Don't play alongside it."

"I need help—"

"Not from me you fucking don't," Bakugo grunts, sitting back in his chair. "Good luck with everything, but keep me out of it."

Izuku purses his lips and nods, the reaction expected. Because until Kirishima and Kaminari join, the risk is bigger than the reward.

"Thanks, Kacchan." This time, when he says it, it's sincere. He turns to leave the man's office.

"Stop fucking calling me that," he grumbles from behind. "We're not 14."

Midoriya doesn't bother responding, heading back out to his car. He gives a slight wave to the secretary as he leaves the agency, climbing into the driver’s seat. The inside of the car’s been warmed, sitting out in the sun, and the feeling causes his muscles to relax.

For a reason he isn't sure, he takes the long way home. Driving around helps to clear his mind, but he's so tired, he sort of just wants to be in his bed. So, when he takes a left turn, rather than a right, it surprises him a bit. Because, where is he going, if not for home?

It isn't until he sees the building that he understands his own subconscious actions.

The light in your office is still on. A fading amber glow, like that of a single lamp, illuminating the small room you use. The sun has started to set, the sky painted a dusty blue. Midoriya pulls into the parking lot, now so familiar with the area. Besides a single car he thinks might be yours, the lot is empty.

He parks, gets out of the car, and walks up to the double-doors without thought. It isn't until his hand wraps around the metal bar to pull the door open, that he hesitates. Why is he here? What is he doing? He doesn't have any new information for you, so he'd just be a bother. You probably don't event want to see him. He's persistent in his efforts, but do you find them annoying? Should he just go home?

Before the overthinking freezes him completely, he tugs at the door, opening it.

"Y/N?" he calls lightly, hoping that he doesn't startle you.

There's a bit of shuffling in your office, and he waits for you to push your door open further. When you finally do, still in the same skirt and blazer as earlier, you look at him with furrowed brows.

"Midoriya? What are you doing here again? It's late," you say.

"I know, I just... I couldn't go home."

What he means, he's not sure, but he couldn't. It feels wrong, to go to his comfortable apartment, sleeping on his comfortable bed in his linen pajamas, while Sato's in a cell.

Midoriya swears a smile tugs at your lips, though it's such a small reaction he doesn't have time to confirm whether or not he's imagining things.

"I get it," you say. "Come in. I'm working on jury selection and interview prep."

He nods and takes large strides toward you. Toward your office, he means.

His footfalls are soft, stepping on the soft carpet. You step back and hold the door further open for him. Closing in on the light, he can see you a bit better. Barefoot, hair pulled messily out of your face, looking about half as put together as he's seen you before.

"Should I start planning on seeing you multiple times a day?" you chuckle.

"No, I don't mean to bother."

"You're not," you say, shrugging.

Papers are laid out, scattered across the floor. A mug of pens sits on the corner of your rug, within reach. You move to sit back in the center of the room, one of the few spots not littered with files and documents, aiding you in the fuck-up he caused.

"Sorry, I take up more space when I'm alone," you say sheepishly, grabbing at some of the sheets. He watches as you stack and paperclip them together.

"No need to apologize. I do some of my best work on the floor," he jokes, moving to sit next to you, careful not to crush any of the papers. "How can I help?"

"Uh..." you think, eyes flitting between each of the papers. When he looks at them, the words blend together and jumble in his mind. So, maybe he can't be much help. "We can start working on your interview prep, if you want?"

"A bit soon, isn't it?"

"Sure, but there's not much else you can help with," you shrug.

"You said jury selection and prep for Sato's cross."

"Are you familiar?"

"I'm a quick learner," he tries. "Tell me what you're looking for, what questions you need to come up with. I'll do it."

You stare at him for a moment before nodding.

"Okay," you relent. "For jury selection, we start with voir dire. It's a time for attorneys and judges to ask potential jurors questions and eliminate them from the jury based on potential biases that can be seen as a conflict of interest. So, go through these files—" you hand him a thick stack of papers "—and look for biases. Highlight them."

You pass him a neon-yellow highlighter.

"Anything that can be interpreted as a bias?"

"Anything," you nod. "If a juror has a history with villains, they're out. If a juror has a son with purple hair, they're in. Find people who will ensure a win for us. They're the ones I'll fight for, and the ones the prosecution will fight against."

"Got it," he says.

As you work on interview questions, scribbling on your legal pad, he combs through those who've been sequestered for the first round of jury selection. Men and women who have more room for bias than he'd ever imagined. He picks them apart, highlighting each area that can be seen as a bias, using a black pen to write his reasoning for it. Because for whatever reason, he's scared that you'll look at one of his highlighted answers and think he's a total dumbass.

Neither of you speak, no matter how much he wants to. The room is filled with the gentle scraping of pen on paper, the rustling of pages being stacked, the gentle mumbling coming from your throat. He's sure you're unaware of the noises you elicit, and he can't help it when he finds himself turning to watch you.

Your brows are furrowed, gentle creases lining your face. You bite your lip, frown, sigh in frustration, and sit straight.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

You rub your eyes with your fists. "Yeah. Just... tired."

"Wanna call it for the night?" he asks.

"Can't," you mutter. "I'll be behind. Feel free to dip whenever, though. Don't let me stop you from leaving."

Midoriya shakes his head. "Like I said, I can't go home. Not yet."

You nod and close your eyes, sucking in a deep breath.

"Here," he starts, "let me help. Maybe I'll think of useful questions."

You shrug and hand him your legal pad, questions written out in cursive that takes him a moment to read.

"What about his alibi for the two murders he was out of Shizuoka for?" he asks.

"I'm getting answers to questions directly involved with the case together on Monday," you say. "Right now, I'm worried about building character. The prosecution will do everything they can to call his past into question, and like all of my clients, it's not pretty."

"What are character-building questions?"

"If he's ever done volunteer work. If he's an otherwise law-abiding citizen. If he fosters puppies, helps walk old people across the street, goes to church on Sundays," you list. "Stuff that makes Sato seem human."

"He is human?"

"The justice system tends to forget."

"How do you do this?" he asks bluntly. "It's depressing."

"It is," you agree. "But... When you win? It feels like a fucking win."

"Do..." The words catch in his throat, but he needs to ask. He has to know. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

"Yeah, if you're asking me that, you're definitely not," you chuckle, looking back down at one of the papers.

"I'm serious. If the HPSC is really as corrupt as you say... and I work for them..."

Your smile falls, and your attention leaves the page.

"Midoriya," you sigh, "I see 100% of the failures of the justice department. You see 100% of the wins. Like I told Ochaco, all humans have bias. But it doesn't mean that 100% of the wins are corrupt, and it doesn't mean 100% of the failures are intentional. If you do your job to the best of your ability, if you take your honesty and empathy into your hero-work, then you are not a bad person. I assume Deku's #1 for a reason."

At that, he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"When I go into court, I frame the HPSC as low as they frame my client. It's not fair, but it's the job. A lot of embellishing, and a lot of hyperbole. Do I see the corruption of the HPSC? Yes. But I also watch defense attorneys get truly atrocious people out of their charges. In the legal system, no profession is beyond corruption."

"It shouldn't be this way."

"No, but it is," you say flatly. "We roll with the punches."

So, Midoriya stays in the office with you until midnight, going through your questions, building the jury pool. Todoroki's information helps prevent him from asking you stupid questions, though there are still times where he breaks the silence to search for clarification.

All the while, he thinks of what you said. What the system is like, and your job. His job.

You've only confirmed what he has already known. The world is not black and white. Everything is good, and everything is bad, and at the end of the day, no one really wins. He is one of many pawns, as are you, as are the victims and villains and the common people. So long as the systems at large win.

Now when he looks at you, he understands the appeal.

Face hardened by reality, but still beautiful. He can admit it, now. You are beautiful. Tired, with dark circles under your eyes, with those creases permanently sunken into your skin. But still, so pretty. As your eyes skim the papers in front of you, a single strand of hair falling in front of your eyes, he fights the urge to reach out and touch you.

Intelligent. Blunt. Vicious. Exciting.

Someone with a moral code that rivals his own.

Unexpected.

You are so, very unexpected. Not the woman from the HPSC's briefings over their biggest threats. Not the woman he used to watch on tv with the others, judging your victories as if they were a personal loss to him.

And even then, you were the one to absolve him of his guilt. When he felt guilty for his judgements, presumptions, and biases. When he felt guilty for his prejudices. You'd been the one to say all of those fancy things about corruption and bias and intention. You didn't try to make him feel worse for his assessment of your job. You didn't try to fight Ochaco, or push her straight into this awkward grey space the two of you take up.

You are nothing he thought you were.

It only pulls him to stay on this side of the law.

Chapter Text

Monday, 2:27pm

Your stomach growls loudly as you review the interview tapes from your meeting with Sato. He gave you two solid alibis, but “home alone” doesn’t typically cut it for most members of a jury.

So, you took the information of people he considers enemies—or at least not allies—and you called the local surveillance companies to get footage within a five mile radius of his house and the murder sights.

”Sorry, I’m early,” Midoriya’s voice rings out.

”You say it like you have an appointment,” you sigh, looking up at him. He carries a bag and wears a sheepish smile. When you motion for him to sit across from you, he does without hesitation. “What are you doing here?”

”I brought lunch,” he says, placing the bag on your desk. “Thought you might be busy. If you already ate, though, that’s fine.”

Your stomach grumbling answers for you. He smiles, and you start to laugh a bit.

”Good guess,” you say, leaning to grab the bag. “What’d you get?”

When he names your go-to order from your favorite restaurant, you glare at him.

”Are you stalking me? Knowing when I’ll be hungry, and knowing my favorite meal? Either you’re a very good guesser, or you’re a freak.”

”I’m an incredible guesser,” he says. “Deductive reasoning, you know? What’s the closest restaurant in your office, and when I mention you to the cashier, do they know you.”

”How many poor cashiers did you mention me to?” you ask, taking out the first to-go container.

”One,” he smiles. “Like I said, I’m an incredible guesser. And apparently, you know what you like.”

”What does that mean?”

”It means I mentioned you and didn’t have to say anything else. She said ‘the usual’ and nodded in fear.”

”In fear?” you ask, eyebrows shooting up. The amused smile refuses to fall from your face.

”You have quite the reputation,” he says.

Your mouth waters when you open up the container and the scent of the food fills the room.

”Thank you,” you say. “How much was it?”

”Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “My treat.”

”No, you don’t have t—“

”You’re taking Sato’s case pro-bono, right?”

”Yes,” you say.

”Then I do have to,” he says. “You’re doing me a favor.”

”I’m doing Sato a favor,” you point out.

”Because I asked,” he argues. “Just take the free food and say thank you.”

You laugh once more and thank him, accepting the meal gratefully. For a moment, while you eat, you let your mind fall from the impending trial.

”I realized last night,” he starts, “you’ve never tried any of my cases.”

You shrug. “I tend to focus my time on heroes who don’t have clean arrest records.”

”It might be good to expand your scope. Not all of my arrests are clean, apparently.” Midoriya's words are clipped and bitter, and it makes a frown tug at your lips.

”If I had the manpower to, I might, but… it’s complicated.”

”Complicated how?”

”Legal jargon and red tape,” you sigh. None of which would make sense to him. He asks the same questions you were asking in law school, so you keep your answers as simplistic as you can.

”Are there any loopholes?” he asks, making you smile a bit.

”There always are.”

”Anything I can help with?”

”You are a very persistent man,” you say, shaking your head. “No, not really. It’s also about how thin I’m willing to spread myself.”

”Do you see anyone about it? Not to pry, or whatever, but… You’ve been doing this for seven, eight years now. It must be hard on your mental,” he says.

”I do, and it is, but like I said. Wins are wins.”

”That implies losses are losses.”

”Well, I suppose it’s good I don’t have many of those,” you wink.

Ignoring the look of pity that flashes through Midoriya’s eyes, you continue to eat. The conversation shifts to something easier, and for a while you forget why he’s here.

Wait… Why is he here?

”You really came all this way, just to bring me lunch?”

”I mean, I don’t live far,” he says bashfully, a small blush settling over his cheeks. From the contrast of his green hair and eyes, the red tint is prominent. “But yeah.”

”Is everything okay?” you ask. “Is there… something else going on?”

Because before today, you would've bet your entire life savings that a pro-hero and a defense attorney could never, ever be acquaintances. Like, literally ever. Much less friends. Much less someone who would buy you lunch. So, again, why is he here?

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You lawyers and human behavior.”

”So, there is?”

”It’s been hard, going to work and seeing everyone, knowing what I know now. I’ve been feeling sort of paranoid, I think.”

“Do you see anyone for your mental health?” you ask, figuring if he can be intrusive, you can too.

”I used to, but not anymore.”

”Maybe you should go again,” you shrug. “It’d be helpful. At least while you’re figuring things out.”

”Yeah…” he says, voice trailing.

”Midoriya, if you can’t go home, and you can barely see your friends, maybe it’s time to take a step back. Let me work on this for a week, let Uraraka work on your other case on her own. Take a breath. Rest.”

”I can’t,” he sighs.

”You can, and you may need to. It’s okay to take a break. This whole situation does not rest on you. The HPSC gave the order, and now it is time for me and my team to step in and do our jobs. The burden of this case is not something for you to carry alone.” You pause for a moment, thinking. His green hair is messy, his eyes dull and dark. Midoriya's clearly exhausted, clearly taking on the brunt of the emotional labor of this case. Standing from your desk, you turn to your bookshelf and search for one of the titles you have. “Do you know the story of Atlas?”

”No,” he says softly.

When you find the thin book of Greek Mythology, you pull it out and hand it to him. He takes it, looks at the title, gently flips through the pages.

”Read it,” you say. “The weight of the world does not rest on your shoulders. You do not need to lift the sky alone.”

Midoriya subconsciously drags a finger down the smooth cover. He stares at the book, but looks so faraway.

”I know,” he finally says. “But it’s so hard not to make it personal.”

”You feel used, and maybe you have been. I’m not the one who can make that call,” you say. “There’s going to be emotions that come from that. But don’t let resentment for what happened taint everything you’ve done for Japan.”

”How can I stand up on stage, give interviews, and call myself a hero when I feel less like one every day?” he asks.

”When a hero stops feeling like a hero,” you start, “it means they’ve reached enlightenment.”

”Funny,” he deadpans.

”I’m not joking. Do you know how it feels to be accused of failing murder victims? Of failing your country because you fight against heroes? The first attorney I ever worked for said something similar to me,” you say. Thinking back to him, your memories are fond. “He said, when a villain attorney trusts the words of a criminal over the words of a cop, it means they’ve reached enlightenment… I think the sentiment stands, don’t you?”

”I don’t think that’s the case.”

”It’s not something to take literally. Again, it’s the sentiment,” you clarify. “It means you’ve stopped blindly following the system. You’re open to critiquing it, and demanding change.”

Midoriya sits with your words for a moment, and you watch as he processes. It’s a lot to handle. He’s coming to terms with what you’ve known for a decade, in less than a week.

”If you’re overwhelmed, take a step back,” you try again.

He shakes his head. “I won’t be able to do that.”

”I figured as much.”

Persistent. Very persistent.

”Then, tell me how to help you,” you say. “How can I help make this easier on you? I can be less blunt about things. Sugarcoating is a specialty of mine.”

At this, he looks up at you and grins. You notice how it doesn't reach those glinting green eyes of his.

”Nah, no sugarcoating. Let me be more hands-on. Once I get a few more of my friends on board to help with everything, I can come here more often. I know I’m not a lawyer or anything, but I’ll do what I can.”

He’s incredulous to you. Midoriya’s coping mechanism is being helpful.

”More often? You’ve been here every day,” you laugh.

”I’ll take time from the agency, I have enough vacation saved. I can run errands, or spy on people, or do whatever.”

Shaking your head, you stare at him in awe. All you can think to say is, “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Monday, 6:00pm

Ochaco opens the door before he can even knock.

”Come on,” she says quietly, motioning for him to step inside.

He follows her into the sitting room, heart beating in his throat. The text she’d sent had been ominous at best.

Jiro and Kaminari sit on the couch, tension filling the room. When they hear the approaching footfalls of him and Ochaco, they sit up a bit straighter.

Ochaco: We need to talk. Now.

She sits in the open chair, and Midoriya stays standing, unable to stop moving. He shifts his weight between his legs, wipes his hands on his jeans, waits for someone to break the horrible silence. It's thick. Much too thick. Hard to breathe, and heavy. The exact scenario he was originally trying to avoid.

”I want to hear it from you,” Kaminari finally speaks. When has he ever sounded so serious before?

Izuku clears his throat and nods.

“Yeah, okay… I… I think the HPSC used me to arrest an innocent man. And I want to do something about it,” he says.

”You want us to help you frame someone for murder,” Jiro says, expression unreadable.

”I want you to help me find the real killer.”

”Behind the Commission’s back,” Kaminari snaps, standing from the couch so he’s at eye-level. “They already arrested the guy. You’re asking us to risk our jobs on a hunch.”

”I’m asking you, as a friend, to help me free someone I’ve wrongfully arrested.”

For a moment, the room stills.

Friendship. Accountability. Everything seems to circle the drain, washing away in this moment. Who will stand with him, and who will stand in his way?

Then Denki sighs and sits back next to Jiro. Her gaze sticks to her lap, unable to look Izuku in the eye.

”If you don’t want to help, I get it,” he says. “A week ago, I wouldn’t have, either. But… things changed for me. So, I’m doing this regardless. All I need is a bit of help.”

”Midoriya,” Kaminari says lightly. “Of course I’ll help you, bro. Ever since UA, I’ve followed your lead, it’s just…”

”We’re concerned,” Jiro says what her husband can’t. “From what Ochaco’s said, you seem… out of it. We want to make sure you’re in the right mind, deciding to do this. If you’re clear headed, we’ll help. But if this is some sort of episode, we need to help you.”

”I’m not out of it,” he bites. “I'm not having an episode, thank you so much. Of course I’m fucking paranoid. How could I not be? They lied to me.”

”That’s not what I meant—“

”No, but it’s what you’re all thinking, right? That I misread something in the file, went to a lawyer, and now she’s corrupting me or some shit? That I'm blowing this out of proportion, even after the HPSC—”

”Midoriya,” Ochaco snaps, “nobody’s thinking that. We aren’t your enemy. We’re on your side.”

”We just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, and you know what you’re asking us to do,” Kaminari says. “That’s all.”

Izuku runs a shaky hand through his hair, his chest tightening. For once, he wishes he was Kacchan. He wish he could explode.

How embarrassing, and pathetic. To snap at his friends in such a way. At least they're kind enough to stay sitting, to keep listening to him. Watching him closely, brows knitted in concern.

”I’m sorry,” he says. “I… I’m sorry. I know you’re on my side.”

”This really has you shaken up, doesn’t it?” Jiro asks, voice laced with sympathy. Or maybe pity.

He nods.

”So, tell us what you need,” Kaminari says, sitting forward on the couch.

”Preferably, I need your help finding the real killer, like I said,” he says. “But… anyone will do. As long as we have something that’s convincing enough to cause doubt in Sato’s case.”

”Okay, that shouldn’t be too hard,” Jiro says.

”Thing is… we can’t do it as heroes. We have to act as us, citizens of Japan. Without the aid of our agencies, or the police, or the HPSC.”

”That sounds a little harder,” she mutters.

“I’m gonna be split, between the case and helping Y/N—“

”Who’s Y/N?” Kaminari asks.

”Y/N L/N,” Ochaco answers for him.

”As in the defense attorney?”

”The one and only.”

”Dude,” Kaminari laughs. “Are you trying to get fired?”

”I didn’t know what else to do!” Izuku defends himself. “She’s a good lawyer.”

”Yeah, I’m sure she is,” the blond giggles.

”Shut up, Denki,” Jiro grumbles. “So, you’re helping her? With what?”

”On Friday I helped with jury selection and interview prep. Today I brought her lunch and—“

”You brought her lunch?” Kaminari cackles. “This guy. Taking sleeping with the enemy to a whole new level.”

”I’m not sleeping with her, and she isn’t the enemy!”

”Ignore him, the electrocution has stunted the development of his frontal lobe,” Jiro sighs.

“Uh, no one else is going to question the fact that Deku’s playing errand boy for Japan’s top defense attorney?”

Midoriya takes Jiro’s advice to ignore him.

”Just, help me build a case,” he says. “I also need Kirishima and Bakugo’s help. Kacchan said no, but I think he’ll change his mind.”

”Leave him and Red up to me,” Kaminari says.

”You’ll have to catch me up, but I can start working with Ochaco on our case,” Jiro nods.

”Do you have connects to any vigilante groups? Shinso might be useful, too.”

”Yeah, sure. I can find him.”

And so the first part of the plan is set.

Everyone agreed to their respective roles, as Midoriya hoped they would. As he needed them to, really. Because same as it’s always been, without his friends, he’s helpless. Without their aid and support, he’d never be able to help you.

“There’s more,” he says nervously. “It wouldn’t mean anything for you guys, but… I’ve agreed to be called as a witness to testify against the prosecution.”

”Midoriya—“

”I’ve accepted that I’ll be forced into early retirement,” he says, cutting Jiro off. “I don’t expect Deku to survive the trial.”

”Come on, man, you don’t have to do all of that,” Kaminari insists. “It’ll be enough, finding the right guy.”

”But if we don’t, it’s the easiest way to ensure Sato gets out.”

”We will. We have to, now. No way in hell I’m letting you give Bakugo #1 that easy.”

For the first time tonight, the tension leaves Izuku's shoulders, and he smiles. Because if his rivalry with Kacchan is enough to spur his friends on, then maybe it’ll be enough to keep him going. Ironically, for the first time since graduation, the competition means something to him, again.

”So, tell us what you know. Who’s Sato? Why do you believe in his innocence? How were you used? Spare no details,” Jiro says.

His eyes flicker to Ochaco, and she nods, so he does. He tells them everything, even what he remembers of his time with you. What’s relevant, anyway. He doesn’t mention his mental health, or yours, or the fact you’re in therapy and he isn’t. He doesn’t mention the story of Atlas, or that you told him to take a break.

He notices how he sounds more coherent, and less paranoid than before. Not mentioning his fears, his anxieties, his theories, or his ramblings, he’s able to tell them why he thinks the HPSC might need to be changed.

”I agree,” Jiro nods. “There are small things I’ve noticed, but never thought much about. If this is how loopholes and exceptions are being exploited, something should happen.”

“Let’s work to build this case quickly,” Ochaco says. “I still don’t think the best way to implement change will be airing out the HPSC in court during a public trial. The Commission will get defensive, the public won’t know who to trust, and heroes will be back where we were during the war.”

”It’ll hold them accountable, though,” he says.

”But at what cost? Villains will take advantage of the situation and use it to manipulate the media, just like they did when we were 14. We need to think about this from all sides.”

Izuku bites back his words. Because she’s right, and he’s just angry. Hating how there’s no perfect solution.

”Okay, so we figure something out,” he nods. “Come to my place this time next Monday. We can take some time to think on things. Is that okay?”

”It should be,” Kaminari says. The women nod.

Suddenly, his need for air increases tenfold, and Ochaco’s house is much too small. He gives them all a sad excuse of a goodbye and leaves before they say anything else.

Stepping out into the warm night, he sucks in a shaky breath.

He doesn’t want to go home.

Despite having seen you earlier, and having worked with you for nearly four hours, he wants to return. He’s restless, unable to shut down.

But… he shouldn’t go back. Not tonight, when you most likely have better things to do. He’s worried he’ll start bothering you, and then you’ll stop letting him come around.

So, he drives to the park.

The sun is set, and the park is empty. No children play on the swing set, no wind blows through the trees.

Getting out of his car, he walks over and sits on one of the swings, rocking back and forth lightly. The chain creaks above him, years of rust withering away at the metal.

He’s come here to think since childhood, and now is no different. Midoriya could go see his mom, around the corner, but honestly, he just needs the time to be alone.

As the world swallows him whole, he wants to be alone.

Maybe not entirely. He wouldn’t mind if you were here, so he can bounce his insecurities off of you, and you can remind him that it isn’t his fault. That it can't be, when it's so systemic.

But it's not your job. It's something for a therapist to do, if he ever bothers to schedule an appointment.

You gave him Greek Mythology.

So, he stands from the swing, goes back to his car, and grabs it. Dusk isn’t the best of lighting, but it’s enough. Back at his seat, rocking back and forth, he opens and reads the story of Atlas. The Titan cursed with the burden of holding up the sky, the heavens.

By the time he finishes the short story, a tear is rolling down his cheek. Eyes blurry, sniffling, he sits back and wipes his face off with the back of his hands.

You don't have to hold the sky alone.

It was never supposed to be the responsibility of mortal men to bear a weight so large.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 9:15am

Today, when Midoriya walks into your office, you barely spare him a glance.

”I got you a coffee,” you mutter, pointing in the general direction of one of your side tables.

”How did you know…?”

”I’m an incredible guesser,” you smile. Finally, you pull your head up to look at him. He wears a grey hoodie and jeans, despite the fact it’s warm outside. His dark circles are worse than they’ve been, and he just seems… tired. You frown. “Are you alright?”

”Arriving to a free, surprise coffee? I’m great,” he grins, walking over to where the paper cup sits. He grabs it and sips it gratefully.

”You’re dressed for November in September,” you say.

”Your office is cold,” he responds, sitting in his usual chair.

”One of these days I’m gonna be in a meeting, and you won’t be able to just stop by.”

”I was thinking about that,” he starts. “We’ll also be working together. I think I should get your number.”

”It’s painted on the front door.”

”Your cell,” he clarifies. “Does Hana call you on the office line?”

”I write Hana’s paychecks,” you say pointedly. “But fine. Sure.”

You go to grab a sticky note, but Midoriya just hands you his phone instead. Shooting him a look, you take the cell and quickly enter your number.

”Work related only,” you say.

”Sure thing,” he says, but you don’t believe him in the slightest.

Still, you don’t fight against it. Why? You don’t know. But you don’t.

”So, what are you doing here today?” you ask.

”Came to give you updates before I go to the agency,” he says. “Ochaco and I got two of our other friends to help. We’re working on getting three others.”

”Any of them your friend who knows about the legal field?”

”No.”

”Fix that,” you say.

He nods and immediately moves to text someone. Maybe the friend, perhaps Uraraka. Either way, you smile and look back down to whatever paper you’d been working on minutes ago. Now, though, you can’t seem to find your place which is weird because you never forget your place. You can’t. That’s like… the point.

”What are you working on?” Midoriya asks, and it seems to jog your memory.

Annoying.

”Jury selection starts Thursday, and there are a few things I have to submit to the judge. Plus, the DA offered a plea deal, which I have to formally reject. I'll finally be able to post his bail, though, which will make Sato feel a bit better.”

”But, what if his bail is expensive?”

“Not to brag,” you start, “but I can handle it.”

”You’re going to post his bail?”

”Well, not me personally. My firm will. Since Sato’s family cut contact after his arrest, he won’t have the means. I’ve already prepared for it.”

Midoriya turns a sick shade of green, and for a second you think he’s gonna pass out in your office or something. What a headline that would be.

JAPAN'S #1 HERO UNCONSCIOUS IN FIRM OF Y/N L/N!

”Midoriya, are you—“

”His family cut contact with him?” he interrupts.

Your jaw hangs slack and your eyes widen a bit.

”It’s going to be okay,” you try. “He’ll get out of this, and he’ll be okay. Midoriya, it’s not your fault. It’s okay.”

He takes another sip of coffee, leg starting to bounce. You watch him nervously.

“I didn’t know that you weren’t aware. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said—“

”No, I need to know. It’s important I know.”

”Why don’t you step out for a second? Get some fresh air,” you suggest.

He nods, standing, setting his cup and keys down on your desk. Without another word, he turns and leaves.

As soon as the front door shuts, you grab your phone and type in the number. You hold it to your ear as it rings, waiting impatiently for the answer.

”Uravity Agency, how can I help you?”

”Hi, is Uravity in, at the moment? This is attorney Y/N L/N, there’s an important matter I need to discuss with her. Can you put me through?”

”Um… of course. One moment.”

You’re put on hold. As music plays through the speaker, you keep your eye on the door, making sure Midoriya doesn’t come in and overhear.

“L/N, you can’t just call—“

”I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important,” you interject. “Midoriya’s here, right now. I’m really worried about him. Is he sleeping? I don’t know your relationship, but—“

”We’re just friends, so I’m not sure. What’s going on?”

”I mentioned Sato’s family situation, which is pretty bleak, at the moment, and I thought he was gonna puke.”

”Yeah, he can’t take his mind off this thing. It’s eating him alive,” she sighs. “I’m tied up in meetings all day, but I’ll see if he can come over tonight or something.”

”I can keep my eye on him until then,” you say. “I just don’t want him doing something drastic.”

”Too late for that. He announced to everyone that he’s going to be testifying against the HPSC and retire Deku.”

Oh… So… Well, that may be your fault.

”If he’s a zombie, I’m not putting him on the stand. I’ll figure out a new plan B. Deku’s not retiring any time soon.”

”I appreciate that,” she says honestly.

”Sorry for bothering, Uraraka. Thanks for your time. I won’t call again.”

”No,” she sighs. “Sorry, that was bitchy. I guess this whole thing has us all on edge. You didn’t deserve that. I appreciate you telling me about Midoriya. It means a lot that you care.”

”It’s hard not to, when he’s who he is,” you admit. She hums in agreement, and you figure it’s just the way he’s always been. “We’ll talk soon.”

”Sounds good,” she says.

When Midoriya walks back in, he looks much better. You give him a small smile that he returns.

”Sorry,” he says.

You shake your head as he sits. “No, don’t be. It’s okay to take a moment.”

”I read the story you gave me, last night,” he says. “I think… I think I need your help.”

”With what?”

”Sorting out how I feel. I don’t need to talk it out or anything, but… help me understand. How do you do it? How do you compartmentalize? How do you leave it all here, and not take it home with you?”

”You want me to tell you what I do…?” you repeat, unsure. Tell him how you cope? It’s not like it’s super private, but still…

How do you cope?

If you really flex your quirk, you can close your eyes and picture your life from day one, without a single detail left out. Every conversation, every feeling, every look, all of it is somewhere in your mind.

So, leaving it at the office has never been an option. You can’t.

”I believe in my clients,” you say lightly.

When you think about the tragedies that have led up to their meeting you, when their cases start to seem more and more impossible to win, you remind yourself that they are innocent. They are innocent, and they will soon step out into the light, and they will never have to worry about sleeping in a prison cell again.

Because when you believe in your clients’ innocence, you can picture a better life for them. Ones where they go on to achieve their dreams. Get high-paying jobs, or start families, or make huge groups of friends. It’s never that easy, but it helps to think of it that way.

”I create an image of a future I hope they’ll be able to achieve.”

And, if you’re being honest with him,

”When I’m at home, I also drink a lot of wine.”

This makes him laugh. The sound makes the hollow of your chest feel warm, where the media says your heart should be. But then it thuds, and you’re reminded you do have one. Man, even the rumors have started to convince you. That it’s missing, or made of ice.

And maybe it is, but for a moment, the cold exterior around it thaws and a softness for this man in front of you settles in.

Because you’re fond of his sensitive strength. One where he wears his heart on his sleeve, but doesn’t shy away from reality. It’s endearing. He’s just so… genuine. Not someone who fakes what he feels, or tries to hide.

”When’s the last time you took a break?” you ask.

He shrugs.

”Yeah, I can’t remember either,” you say, picking up the document and putting it into its respective folder. It’s not wholly true, of course, you do remember the last time you took a break. But, for Midoriya’s sake, you stand from your desk. “Let’s go.”

”Go where?” he asks, standing as well.

“Away. Out of the city. Somewhere we can breathe.”

He follows you quickly, coffee and keys in hand though you’re going to drive this time. You call out to Hana that you’ll be back before lunch, and hold the door open for Midoriya.

In your car, you roll the windows down and turn the music up, and try to drown out his thoughts for him.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. The silence is broken by the rushing of air and pounding of the songs, yet everything still feels heavy.

You fight the urge to reach out and grab his hand. To lean over and rest yours on his knee, or thigh, or something.

”Have you talked to Ochaco today?” you ask, clearing your throat.

”No, I haven’t,” he says.

”Maybe you should do something with her. Or another one of your friends. It could help.”

He shrugs.

Sighing, you throw on your blinker and pull over, parking your car along the curb.

”What’s going on?” you ask, turning to him. “Not that it’s a problem, but why are you here, Midoriya?”

”I already said—“

”You’re not here to help me. You came to sit and chat. Which is fine, but… tell me the truth,” you say. “You don’t see your friends half as much as you see me, from what it sounds like.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but you don’t push any further. You don’t need him snapping in your passenger seat.

”Stop sitting in the hurt because you’re comfortable with it.” Your voice comes out hushed. It’s something else your boss had said to you. “You can be okay. Choose to.”

“Choose? Like I’d choose to feel like this.” Midoriya’s voice is quiet and bitter.

You shrug. “Really? Why not go out with your friends? Why come to my office every day? You love hero work. You know it’ll make you feel better to be at your agency.”

He doesn’t answer.

”Have you called a therapist yet? Gotten an appointment scheduled? Gone to see your own family?”

”No.”

”Why not?”

”Because you’ve been making me feel better,” he says so quietly you almost miss it. His cheeks heat, and he can’t look at you, gaze planted on his lap. “I like getting to see you.”

His confession causes you to blush, too.

”I know I should do all that other stuff, but… I just want to separate myself from it right now, you know?”

”Coming to me is better?” you chuckle, raising a brow.

”You’re the only person who hasn’t second guessed my suspicions. You say it how it is. And right now, I really need that. Even if it’s hard, it’s refreshing.”

This makes you frown.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “It sounds pretty isolating, being in a position like that. But, you know your friends love you, right? It’s not hard to see. Ochaco was damn near ready to bite my head off.”

”I know they do,” he says. “But you know how it is. The friend of my enemy is not my friend.”

”Do you think they might feel that way, too?” you ask. “You’re helping me, after all.”

”Maybe,” he says, brows furrowing.

”Midoriya…” you sigh, voice trailing. The only thing to do is tell him. “I’m not letting you testify, anymore.”

”What?” he asks, head whirling.

”I’m not going to call you as a witness. This case is too much for yo—“

”No, it’s not.”

”Yes, it is. You cannot—“

”Please—“

”You cannot get on the stand if you’re one of the walking dead. It’s too much, and I’m calling it. Nothing you say will change my mind,” you say, voice growing stern. He stops arguing and listens with wide eyes. “I’m not letting you give yourself for this case. You’re spiraling out of control.”

“Spiraling?” he snaps. “I’m not spiraling. I’m fine.”

”How many hours of sleep did you get this past week?”

His lips press into a line.

”I’m not spiraling.”

”How many, Midoriya?”

”Twelve.”

”A night?” you ask, eyes wide. That’s way too much for men—he might be in a depressive episode.

”No,” he grumbles.

And it hits you.

”You’ve slept two hours a night for the past week? Are you serious?”

What the fuck are you supposed to do?

Because this is bad, but you’re not his friend. He’s just some guy who came into your office and asked for your help. Just some guy who you sort of enjoy spending time with. Just some guy who bought you lunch, and who you bought coffee for…

Okay, so, maybe you’re friendly. But what? What are you supposed to do? Call his mommy? Stay the night at his place, out on the couch, like you’re some at-home nurse? Recommend he takes melatonin and doesn’t kill himself?

”I’m fine,” he repeats.

You don’t believe him in the fucking slightest.

Admitting it is weird, but you care about Midoriya. A lot more than you’d expected to when he first came to your office and asked for your help. So, you care about him, and the two of you are friendly, and what?

You’ve watched every movie there is, and each one that comes to mind tells you to take him home with you.

But that’s a line you cannot cross.

If you do, then… what?

That’s always the question, isn’t it. What? What, what, what, what, what?

Billions of images come before you without meaning, and everything starts to get to be a bit much, and you have to tear your eyes way from Midoriya’s face and look back out to the street. You’d driven to the pier along the eastern coast.

Birds soar overhead, a gentle wind rustling the leaves of all of the foliage. People walk about, families, friends, couples, some who have their dogs with them. Bikers, skateboarders, children with balloons and sweets and smiles bigger than anything you can muster at the moment.

”I’m worried about you.”

”Don’t be,” he says.

”But I am. So, what do I do? Tell me.”

The top villain defense attorney in Japan, and you still can’t properly comfort someone. But, he’s asked you for help. You need him to lead you, this time.

When you turn, he’s already looking at you.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 10:23am

Izuku's already looking at you, when you finally turn back to him.

“You…” his voice trails as he searches for an answer.

How can he say being with you is enough in a way that won’t make you kick him out of the car? Because being with you is enough. When you two don’t talk about the case, or even when you do, he doesn’t feel as shit. He just likes hearing your voice, and the smart things you say, and the way your expression changes from hot to cold in less than a second. He likes the way you bought coffee for him this morning, not even sure if he’d be there or not. He likes how you tried to write your number on a sticky note.

In fact, Izuku likes a lot about you. Even if you’re a bit commanding, he likes how decisive you are. You know what you want.

”Can we go on a walk?” he asks, eyes flickering out to the pier.

Yours follow, and your shoulders relax and you nod.

”Of course we can,” you say, turning the keys in the ignition, climbing out.

He follows you, waiting for you on the sidewalk. When you get to the curb, he holds out a hand and you take it, using it to steady yourself as you step up onto the concrete. He frowns a bit when you drop it, but wipes it away quickly.

You may think it’s warm out, but the breeze is nice, and in the shade it’s relatively cool. Neither of you speak, walking from the pavement to the wooden dock.

The breeze picks up the sea, misting you and him as you cross further above the water. You suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He does the same. It helps to relax the tightness in his chest, helps to ease a bit of his leftover anxiety.

At the end of the pier, you stop and look out at the horizon. For a moment, he follows your gaze, but he can’t help it when his eyes flicker down to you, next to him. When you look up at him, he doesn’t turn away.

”If mortal men could do the work of gods, there would be no reason to worship them,” you say.

“No, there wouldn’t be,” he agrees.

”Take a week. Work with your friends on your case, and in your free time, do something for you,” you say. “I’ll call you with major updates.”

He swallows the lump in his throat, but finally nods.

”Okay,” he says.

You smile and look back out at the water. He can’t stop watching you. So out of place, wearing business clothes amidst a crowd in sundresses and swimsuits, but still so vibrant.

Maybe it’s the way your face lights up when you smile, or the fact that the sun peaks through the clouds and hits your skin in a way that makes you seem to glow.

He forces himself to look away.

One week. He can do that. For himself, and for you. Because he doesn’t want you to worry about him. If you aren’t worried about the trial, then why should he be?

That’s what he’s telling himself, anyway.

But, really, he doesn’t want you worrying about him. You have enough on your plate as it is. So, if you think him taking a week off will help him—which, in turn, will make you feel better—then okay. He can take a week off.

”Do you like the beach?” you ask suddenly.

”I do,” he says. “You?”

”No,” you smile. “I don’t like the sand. But… I like right here. Looking out at the ocean. Breathing in the salty air. Feeling the mist on my face.”

”Sand is a mess,” he chuckles, nodding. “Do you wanna go back?”

You shrug. “No.”

The answer surprises him a bit. But you turn to him over your shoulder and smile, and his own grows bigger.

So, the two of you stand next to each other, looking out at the water for something that feels like forever. Absorbing the last bits of time with you he can, before walking away for a week.

Quitting has never been a part of Izuku's vocabulary. He just doesn’t do it. But… absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever.

Some corny justification like that.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 6:21am

It's stupid, how much you think of Midoriya.

During his absence, you can't seem to take him off your mind. Even during the final resolution conference with the DA, he consumed nearly each and every thought. You think of the hours spent together, the information you've learned in such little time. How much he's been forced to learn.

You promised to call him with updates, but you haven't fulfilled your end of the bargain. Some of it's how busy you are. The first round of jury selection is halfway through, and you lost some key players. The prosecution did, too, though. So, you can't complain much.

But... You also can't bring yourself to do it. To hit the call button, and become someone who's available for him.

Every time your thumb hovers over his contact, your heart crawls up into your throat and you sit frozen at your desk, or at your kitchen counter with a glass of wine.

You miss him, a lot more than you'd ever care to admit. His self-deprecating determination is worrisome, but also charming. The way he'd throw everything away for a mistake he played so little part in. It's charming, but... it pulls you to protect him.

If it was anyone else, any other hero, you wouldn't give a shit about their mental health. You'd put them on the stand regardless, and have them detail every flaw they've caught in the HPSC. You'd get your client off in less than a week. It would be so easy, ending things this way.

And Midoriya complied.

So, why don't you just end it? Nip it at the bud. Call Deku as a witness, stir the pot, ruin his life...

Yes. That's why.

Because it's Midoriya's life you'd ruin. Not just anyone. Not just some hero. Him.

Your doorbell ringing makes you sit straight. You sit at your kitchen table with the daily crossword and a cup of coffee, and you aren't expecting any visitors.

So, you stand hesitantly and make your way to your front door. Still in your pajamas, long pants and a tank top, hair pulled into something messy you slept in. As you make it to your foyer, you can see the outline of his body.

You pull the door open quickly.

"I know addresses are public record, but—"

"I couldn't wait until Tuesday," Midoriya interrupts. He looks down at you, eyes flickering to take in your appearance, and a small smile graces his lips. "Good morning."

"Come in," you sigh, stepping aside. "Do you want coffee?"

"Please."

You nod, locking the door behind him, then lead him to the kitchen. Once there, you grab a mug from a cabinet and pour in some of the drip.

"How do you usually take it? I guessed last time."

"I'm not picky," he says, sitting down at your kitchen table. So, you make it for him the way you take it.

You walk it over to him, at the table, and sit back down.

"You couldn't wait two more days?" you ask. "Did something happen?"

He shakes his head. "No, things are going well on my end, actually. It's not about the case, to be honest."

You sip your coffee to clear the lump from your throat. Why is he here, then? If not for updates on the trial, what?

"I'm glad," you say. "You look better."

"I've been sleeping again. It's helped. And, I've been seeing my friends more often. Outside of the context of this whole thing," he says.

You nod, smile a bit, take another sip of coffee. The question hangs unasked in the air. He knows you're wondering what he's doing here, at your house. Why he looked up your address in the first place.

Not that you exactly mind, but...

"What can I do for you, Midoriya?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "Just wanted to see you."

Your lips part in shock, an unsubtle blush creeping up over your face that makes him smile. Almost robotically, you shut your mouth and nod.

"Okay."

It's the only thing you can think to say. He wanted to see you? That's it? So, he just... came over? Like it's that easy?

You suppose it is really that easy.

"You do the crossword?" he asks, nodding at the newspaper in front of you.

It takes you a moment to process his question and respond. "I do."

"Every morning?"

"Every morning."

"Well, let's see..." his voice trails as he reaches over and grabs the newspaper. You let him, watching him curiously. "Four down: 90s actress known for her roles in Friends and Scream."

"Three letters?" you ask, and he nods. "Cox."

Midoriya checks the answers at the back of the paper. "Good job," he smiles. "Okay, next is... Eight across..."

He continues reading out the different hints, quizzing you on the answers to the daily puzzle. Although you're able to answer them all, it's with a bit more difficulty than usual. Not as automatic. You blame it on the fact that the green-haired man is a distraction. His presence leaves your mind and body buzzing.

You tell yourself you don't like it.

"Correct again," he says, now fully grinning. "Are these even challenging for you?"

"Some are. But, this one has recycled questions."

"Oh, yeah, you have photographic memory, right?"

You nod. It isn't something you've talked about with him, before. Nor has he discussed his ambiguous 'strength quirk,' but yours is decisively less secretive. It's part of your marketing strategy, after all.

"Sounds convenient," he says, sitting back in the chair. He grabs his mug and brings it to his face, and you take in his appearance. Messy hair, significantly less prominent dark circles, joggers, a t-shirt. Everything about him is so casual.

"It is," you say.

"What's your favorite memory?" he asks.

"My favorite? Out of every second of my life, you want me to narrow it to one?" you chuckle, starting to think back a bit.

"Fair enough... What's your most recent favorite memory?"

It comes to mind too quickly. Way too quickly.

The image of him, standing next to you on the pier, droplets of mist landing on his face. Staring out at the sea. Asking him to pull back. Helping him hold the sky, for a bit.

"Winning my last case," you lie, clearing your throat.

Midoriya doesn't believe you. You can see it on his face.

But he doesn't press for more. He doesn't ask you to expose yourself so completely to him.

"That's a good one," he nods.

"What's yours?" you ask.

He thinks about it for a bit, drinking more of his coffee. As he does, you stand and move back to the pot.

"Are you gonna want another cup?"

"Sure," he says.

You measure out the water and grounds, pressing the brew button.

"I think my favorite memory has to be the UA school festival, my first year," he says.

"Oh, yeah! Your class did the concert, right?" you ask over your shoulder.

He grins, a faraway look in his eye. "Yeah, we did."

As the coffee starts to drip into the pot, you turn and move back to the table.

"I watched the recording. It looked like a lot of fun," you say.

"It was great. It was mainly for the other classes, but we got clearance to bring a guest. She mattered to me more than anyone."

"Who's that?"

"Her name's Eri. She was the one Overhaul used to make the quirk-cancelling injections. She was seven, at the time, and didn't know how to smile," he frowns, the memory hurting like it just happened. "So, we asked if she could come to the festival... It helped her remember how to be happy again."

"That is a nice memory," you smile. "I can see why it'd be a favorite of yours. What happened to her?"

"Eri? She healed. She learned how to control her quirk," he says. "Actually, she's in the U.S. now, about to finish up college..." Midoriya shakes his head. "Time flies."

"That it does," you agree. 

Pushing thirty, and feeling the same way you have since you were nineteen, twenty. It's so weird, looking in the mirror and expecting to see the same face you'd gotten through undergrad with. Before law school bent you over and screwed you repeatedly. Before opening your own firm, and the hard lines of stress and frustration left permanent marks on your skin.

"Do you ever..." you start, voice trailing as you think. Midoriya watches you with an easy smile. "Do you ever think it goes by too fast?"

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I still feel like a teenager," you chuckle. "Like, when do I wake up and have it figured out? Isn't that adulthood? Suddenly, things fall into place and life starts getting easier. When does my brain catch up to my body?"

"I think it's another lie we're fed," he says. "I think it's to prevent us from exercising free will."

"Like what?" you ask, gaze reaching his.

Midoriya sets his coffee down on the table, fully turning to face you, arms resting on his knees.

"Like the fake red tape that prevents you from calling."

"It's not fake," you try, but your voice comes out so weak it makes him grin. "There are boundaries."

"Boundaries that I'm more than willing to ignore, if you are."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm tired of pretending that you aren't the only thing keeping me sane these days."

You force yourself to look away from him, down at the placemats you've used since moving in. They aren't interesting, but you pretend they are because his confession is too much for a conversation before the sun has risen.

"I'm sick of the whole, hero-lawyer wall you keep putting up."

"Midoriya—"

"I'm over second-guessing my feelings because of who might say what."

"You're only attached because of the case—"

"That's a bullshit excuse."

"But your career—"

"Another excuse," he says, shrugging. "I know I like how I feel when I'm with you. I know I like to listen to you talk, and that when I leave, I'd rather turn around and go right back to your office. I know I like how you look, right now, and I want to see it more often. And I know you feel the same. You might be the expert in human-behavior, but I know my way around an interrogation room."

"And when the trial ends, and the excitement fades, and my hours at the office keep me away from you, then what?" you ask, unable to help yourself. It's your job, arguing the other side. "Because this isn't normal, for me. Normal is twelve-hour work days. Normal is not having the time to text, or not wanting to see you because I see too many fucking people in a day."

"You'd rather give it up, than try to make it work?" he asks.

"You'd rather give everything up, than not?" you softly respond. "Because even if you don't testify, if anyone finds out Deku is with the top villain defense attorney, the public will freak and the HPSC will push you out. Everything comes crashing down. Then what? You're at home all day every day, and I'm taking long hours at the office? Or, say you can continue hero work. What if you're called to testify against me? Or for me? It's a conflict of interest."

"Fake red tape," he repeats.

"I'm not even sure how I feel," you say honestly. Because, sure, there's a lot you like about Midoriya. But... you've known him for two weeks. Less than. "You have to understand, when I started law school, I accepted not getting married or having kids. I accepted the fact that it wouldn't be fair for me to drag someone into this... The thought of being alone doesn't scare me. The thought of hurting you, does."

"I came to you, first," he says. "You're not dragging me into anything I haven't already signed up for."

"It'd be hard. It'd be work. Our friends wouldn't understand."

"That's not my problem."

"Can I think about it?" you ask, sighing.

"Of course," he nods. "But if you thought I was persistent before..."

"Yeah, I figured," you deadpan. It makes him grin, and a wave exhaustion crashes through you. Why does the ball have to be in your court?

It's not a good idea.

He's sort of right, about the fake red tape. Most of it consists of hypotheticals you continue to come up with, but it doesn't actually break any rules or laws. Defense attorneys aren't barred from sleeping with heroes. It's just frowned upon.

It's frowned upon, and carries the weight of a million different social consequences.

Because there aren't rules or laws. There's no precedent for it. Blackstreak only aided an attorney, didn't date the guy.

But social contracts are social contracts.

So, there are consequences nonetheless. Your clientele would go down. His caseload would, too. Paychecks would deplete, and what would be left? You, him, and the remnants of a life before the other changed everything.

He's willing to accept the aftermath, but are you? Is Midoriya worth everything you've dedicated your life to?

How he's decided you're worth it, you don't know. He looks better, but... you still don't trust he's fully stable. Voicing your concerns, at the moment, is a recipe for disaster, so you don't. Instead you try to figure out why he's doing this, why he's pushing to cross a boundary you aren't sure you even want to uphold anymore. 

Chapter Text

Monday, 5:55pm

Even as Midoriya readies his apartment for the others, he can't stop thinking about you.

They're getting here at six, to discuss everything. You'll arrive by seven to introduce yourself. To tell them what to do, because none of them have a clue where to start. It'd been Ochaco's idea, to have you come talk to them. He was more than happy to take up the offer.

Kacchan's the first to arrive, of course. He doesn't bother knocking, letting himself into the space.

"I'm grabbing a water," he grunts, moving to the kitchen.

Midoriya nods to himself as someone raps on the door. He moves, opening it to everyone else.

"We called Bakugo to hold the door for us," Kirishima says loudly, pointedly, to the man in the kitchen.

"You were too slow," Bakugo grunts, coming back into the sitting room.

The others file in, greeting him softly as they do. All of them carry bags and backpacks filled with notebooks, their personal devices, and anything else they might need. Ochaco, Kaminari, Jiro, Todoroki, and Shinso.

"Long time, no see," Midoriya says.

"Good to see you," Shinso nods. "Odd circumstances, though."

"I know. Sorry 'bout that."

The vigilante shrugs and makes his way further into the living room.

The first hour is spent catching Kirishima, Shinso, and Kacchan up. After Midoriya runs through everything he can remember, the group divides and conquers. Jiro and Shinso look into underground villains and anything that comes with. Kaminari and Ochaco work on reviewing surveillance from the night of the murders, searching for something to lead them in a new direction. Todoroki, Bakugo, and Midoriya work on reviewing the evidence he didn't have thrown out.

By the time you arrive, they still have next to nothing.

He's quick to get the door, after you knock. The others set down their stuff and sit up, stretching out a bit.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," you say lightly, looking up at him.

Midoriya steps aside, letting you in. As soon as you step through, your eyes land on the group of heroes already staring at you.

Kacchan's arms cross over his chest. Kaminari's gaze flickers between you and Midoriya. The others seem hesitant, save for Ochaco.

"Hey L/N," she calls.

"Hi," you say again. "Hi, everyone. It's nice to meet you all."

If you're nervous, Midoriya can't tell. You make for the sitting room, slipping your bag off your shoulder. Setting it on the ground, you grab a stack of files from your purse, passing them to the others one by one.

"What's this?" Ochaco asks, flipping it open.

"Potential suspects," you say. "People who may have a reason to frame Sato. It'll give you a place to start, at least."

"How'd you get this stuff?" Kacchan grunts, flipping through the papers.

"Does it matter?" you ask, quickly bending down to grab something else. Before the others can respond, you're passing out more documents. "These are my typed-up interview notes. You lot might interpret something in a way I don't."

"And that's a good thing?" Kaminari asks skeptically.

"Of course," you nod.

"Oh, so you don't want us blindly agreeing with you?" Kacchan scoffs.

Your expression hardens, jaw clenching, eyes flickering to Midoriya for the briefest of seconds.

"No," you say. "I don't. Review the information. Pick it apart. Build your case."

"Will do," Ochaco breaks in. "Thanks for this."

You give her a small smile and nod. "Alright, I'll get out of your hair. Have a good night."

Grabbing your purse, you move to the door. Midoriya's quick to follow, brows furrowed and extremely confused as you throw it open and step back out into the hallway.

"Where are you going?" he asks, closing the door behind him.

"I can't do this," you sigh, turning around to look at him.

He frowns. "They'll come around to it."

"It?"

"Us."

"Us?"

"Working together," he says. "Or, if you've thought about it..."

You shoot him a look and shake your head.

"You like book and movie comparisons," he says suddenly. "This is just like that one, right? Pride and Prejudice. None of her friends liked the guy, either, and they made it work."

"Are you comparing me to Mr. Darcy?" you ask, and he can't tell if you're offended or amused. "This is not a Jane Austen novel, Midoriya. It's not the same."

"Why not? I'm finding it strikingly similar."

"Are you leaving out the part where they only end up together because Mr. Darcy does something worthy of gaining the Bennets' respect?"

"You're getting an innocent man off death row," he points. "That's pretty worthy of respect."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "What am I doing here?" you mutter to yourself.

"What are you doing here?" He decides it's a very good question. "If you're not thinking about it, why'd you come?"

Shoulders slumping, the fight seems to leave you.

"If you really want me to stop, if you really want space to think about it, to convince yourself not to do this, then fine. I can leave you alone," he says.

"No. Don't do that," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Then what do you want me to do?" he asks lightly. "If I have to wait, I'll wait. I just need to know I'm not alone in this."

He steps to close the distance between your bodies, resting his hands on your shoulders, where his thumbs are able to drag against the soft skin of your neck. It doesn't escape him, how you lean into his touch.

"You're not alone," you admit. "But... I don't know what to do."

"We give so much for others," he says softly. "Why can't we be selfish, for once? Why can't we do what feels good?"

"Because we chose selfless occupations," you say, smiling sadly.

"To hell with them."

"Midoriya—"

"I'm serious."

Because he's never felt this way before. It isn't Sato, or the case, or the trial. It's not because he's in some manic-depressive episode. The way he feels when he's with you is what he assumes others feel, being with the person they know is going to be it for them. Like when his mom told him she knew she'd marry his dad, the night they met. Like when movies talk about love at first sight. Like when his friends debate whether soulmates are real or not.

"I want to do something for me, for once," he says, hands moving slowly down your arms. "No matter the consequences. No matter the outcome."

Maybe he doesn't care if he retires early, now. Maybe he's done being a hero. Why shouldn't he be? He's done it for long enough. He could run his agency the way Nighteye did, keeping in the background for the most part.

"But I care about the consequences," you say, looking down at the ground, though when his hands grasp yours, you don't pull away. "Don't throw away your career for me. It's not a favor I can return."

"I'm not asking you to," he says quickly. "It can be casual."

"Casual?"

"If that'd make you feel better about it. Low stakes. It doesn't have to be... public."

Why the fuck is he offering this? Midoriya doesn't do casual. He can't. What can he say? He enjoys exclusivity. But, like he felt when he was 15 and dating for the first time, he'd take scraps if that's what you're willing to give him.

"Casual," you repeat, biting your lip.

"I want to see you." Among other things. "Let's try, at least."

You consider his proposition. He watches you anxiously.

"Alright," you finally say, nodding. "Fuck it."

"I'll bring you dinner, tomorrow. To your place. What time will you be home?" Midoriya asks before you can change your mind.

"Six," you say, pulling away from him. "I have to go. I'll see you then."

He watches as you leave, waiting until you turn out of sight before heading back into his apartment, having forgot about the others inside.

"Everything okay?" Ochaco asks, breaking him from his internal celebration.

"Yeah," he smiles, nodding. "Yeah, everything's great."

"Alright, Lizzie Bennet, back to work," Kacchan grunts.

Midoriya's face heats. "How—"

"Those three had their ears glued to the door," Jiro says, pointing at the blond, Kirishima, and Kaminari. "Tell me you didn't forget how nosy they are."

He did, but it doesn't matter. Really, he can't bring himself to care. Kacchan can tease all he wants, but it doesn't affect him. Nothing could, right now.