"The beef one tastes like shit."

Yellow eyes peer down at the packet of instant ramen in the stranger's hand, reaching down to the shelf to pick up a packet of chicken flavoured ramen, with different branding, and hold's it out towards the two-toned teen. "This one is the best you'll get at this shop." There's a brief smile, the only evidence of it behind his dust mask being the way his eyes squinted just slightly, and he turns away.

Shouto looks down at the two packets in his hands, the interaction having ended so fast that he didn't really have a chance to respond. He hadn't wanted to make Fuyumi cook for him, and he himself didn't have enough time to cook anything what with all the work that came with being in the Hero Course at Yuuei. So, he had stopped by at a corner store on the way home to try and pick something up, and ramen had seemed like the best option. Easy to make, easy to eat – it probably wasn't the best nutritionally, but once in a while wouldn't hurt, surely. He just had to make sure his father didn't find out – which would be easy, since the man wouldn't be home for another week at the least. Finally placing the beef flavoured ramen back on the shelf, he moved to get a bottle of chocolate milk from the small refridgerated section, and he moves back to the counter.

The yellow-eyed stranger is being served before him, one bandaged hand clutching an energy drink, the other wrapped around the handle of a crutch he hadn't noticed before. Briefly, Shouto wonders about what injury the other had to warrant the mobility device – there were no visible casts or supports, maybe something to do with balance? He pushed the thoughts away – it was none of his business. He's spent long enough looking at the crutch for the teen to notice, and when he moves his gaze away he finds himself staring directly into those luminous-yellow eyes. They remind him of a cat, though didn't have the same slit-shaped iris, wide and curious.

"Dislocated kneecap."

The question is answered even before he gets a chance to ask it (not that he would ever ask something so invasive to a stranger), and he nods at the answer. Really, he isn't used to people randomly talking to him unless it was some reporter trying to learn something about his father. But this teenager hadn't asked anything about Endeavour, and genuinely seemed to be enjoying making pointless small talk with him. Even if he had yet to say anything.

"Does it hurt?"

He doesn't need the others laughter to tell him that it was a stupid question – but it did help to solidify the fact. Of course it hurt, it was an injury, that was what injuries did. Looking at it now,he can see how the other is favouring the left leg over his right, how his posture was slightly tilted because of it.

"Eh, is alrigh'." Shouto can hear an accent now, one he pins as definitely foreign, but the strangers Japanese was perfect. They had been living here a long time, then, at least a few years. He still isn't sure why he's so interested – strangers rarely garnered this much of his attention – but there was something about the teen that was drawing him in. "Chocolate milk and chicken noodles, that's a combination if I've ever seen one."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." He looks back to the items in his grasp, stepping forward to place them on the counter after the stranger had paid. "I don't really have time to cook tonight, so." A halfhearted shrug, now-free hand fishing around in his bag for the right money. The movement jostles his jacket just enough to reveal his uniform, and he can feel the strangers eyes boring into them.

"Yuuei, right? That's cool."

The response isn't what he had been expecting. Usually people were a little more excited, a little more energetic, when they found out he went to Yuuei. It did, after all, have one of the best Hero Courses in the country (and the other courses were certainly nothing to sneer at).
"Hero Course?"

"Ah, yeah – First Year."

Usually, by now, people had recognised him. He was used to being known as the son of the Number Two Hero, but ever since the Sports Festival people had started to recognise him for being him. It had been a little unnerving at first, for the press' questions to be about himself and not his father, but the questions always garnered the same response: no comment. Yet, this stranger hadn't mentioned anything about quirks, or the Sports Festival, or his father. It was refreshing, not having to live up to any prior expectations people had of him, even if just for a few minutes. Finally paying for the items, he drops the ramen into his bag and opens the milk to drink right there.

The stranger was still there, lingering, and it took him a moment to realise that the other was waiting for him. Usually, he wouldn't have bothered to continue the conversation any further – would have gone home to finish off his work and try and get some training done. But he found the others company nice, in a way different to his friends in class 1-A, and decided that he could finish the work in the morning. Joining the orange-haired teen by the door, he held out a hand.

"I'm Shouto, by the way."

Those yellow eyes seemed to stare at Shouto's hand as if it were alien, and he couldn't help but notice the slight flinch the sudden movement garnered. Eventually, after tucking the unopened energy drink under his arm, a bandaged hand reached out to grab his, shaking it briefly before dropping back down to his side.

"Neirin. It's a pleasure."

Their friendship wasn't one Shouto had expected to develop. There was a café near the shop they had initially met, and the pair went around once a week (though there were times where Neirin would cancel hours prior with no reasoning). During their time together, the young hero-in-training noticed a few things about the other.

One, was that he never got rid of the crutch. Even if it had been long enough for the injury he had to heal, the mobility device still remained. He didn't ask about it again, though he could tell Neirin knew he was curious. That was another thing – Neirin was ridiculously attentive, could always seem to guess what Shouto was going to ask him. It was, in truth, a tad unnerving. Even if they had spent a few months meeting, there still wasn't all that much he knew about the other.

He was Welsh, that was the accent, and had moved to Japan when he was five. He had tensed when Shouto had asked about family, and gave a muttered response about staying with relatives before quickly diverting the subject. He never saw the other eat, but he seemed to drink coffee like it was water (that and energy drinks, so he assumed the others diet wasn't very nutritious – the way he always seemed to be swamped by his clothes was also a pretty good indicator).

They didn't talk about quirks, or heroes, or school – instead choosing to converse over lighter things, like some new book, or a television show neither of them had watched but had evidently heard too much about. Shouto appreciated the break, the benignness of their conversations – for a few hours a week he wasn't Shouto Todoroki, son of Endeavour, he wasn't training to surpass All Might. He was just a teenager, having coffee with a friend.

His friends from class had started asking about who he was texting, Momo especially fast to ask whether or not this stranger was a romantic interest. He brushed her questioning off, along with everyone else's – he enjoyed Neirins company, but didn't know nearly enough about the other to consider a relationship (he didn't know if the yellow-eyed teen was gay, either). Besides, relationships were a distraction, and something his father would never even entertain the idea of. They had asked to meet him, obviously, but Shouto had declined. It was, perhaps, a little selfish, but he needed something away from the world of becoming a hero. Plus, he didn't think Neirin would appreciate him showing up with a bunch of strangers to their weekly meetings.

"I can't come next week."

Neirin looked up from his coffee, brows lifting slightly, prompting Shouto to explain his reasoning. He usually gave a reason for his absence.

"I've got a training camp, with School. We leave tomorrow, and I won't be back for a week or so."

Shouto swears he can see fear flash across his friends face, before it was replaced with the normal unassuming expression. He watched the other pick up his drink, fingers bent awkwardly along the handle as if it were painful, and take a long sip. He paused for a moment, as if considering something, before nodding.

"Alright." He hummed, placing the mug bag down on the table. "Let me know how you get on, yeah?" He's a little reserved as he speaks, something Shouto wasn't used to – Neirin was usually so confident in his words. Shouto wanted to pry further, wanted to know why the other seemed so put out over him going away (he had never been bothered about Shouto skipping a week before).

The phone buzzed on the table, and Neirin grabbed it before Shouto could even have a chance to glance at the screen, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth as he looked at the caller. "Hang on, I have to answer this." Gives an apologetic look, before standing up from the table and walking out of the café. Once he's sure Shouto can't hear him, he answers.

"I see you've made a friend."

His stomach drops at Shigaraki's greeting (or, non-greeting), and it takes a large portion of his self control to not immediately snap at the other. "What do you need?" He knows he's cutting it close with the tone he's taking, but luckily his superior doesn't comment on it.

"I have a task for you. Get back to the bar." A pause, and he can practically hear the other mans grin through the phone. "Don't worry, you'll be seeing him again soon."

He doesn't move the phone from his ear until he can hear the familiar beep of the other hanging up, his eyes screwing shut. Whatever Shigaraki wanted him to do, he can already tell it was going to be bad. Taking a moment to compose himself, the teen returns to the café. He downs the last of his coffee in one go, quickly explaining that his 'family' wanted him back home, and promptly left.

It doesn't take him long to get back to the bar, he's had the route memorised for years now, and there was no challenge to navigating the city. Walking in, he's greeted by Shigaraki and Kurogiri – which was to be expected – but also the Vanguard. He only glances over the group, he didn't work with them much (or anyone, for that matter) but he's vaguely familiar with the members.

"What task do you have for me?" He tries to get straight to the point whenever he was given a job – Shigaraki tended to ramble.

"Very eager, aren't we? Sit down."

He doesn't even consider disobeying, finding the nearest empty seat and falling into it, still looking at Shigaraki expectantly.

"You're aware that we're planning to kidnap Katsuki Bakugou from the Yuuei training camp at the end of the week, yes?" He knows the question is only a formality – how could he not know, it was all anyone had been talking about, how they were going to convert the winnder of the Sports Festival to a Villain. If you asked Neirin, it was a pointless endeavor – no way that kid was going to join the villains. He had too much fight in him, it would take too long to tame him for the kid to be any use. He nods anyway, his stomach twisting itself into a knot. "You're going to accompany the Vanguard. You can do whatever you like, kill as many as you can – just don't touch the targets. See if you can put the Todoroki kid out of action for us."

This was his punishment, then. Not as violent as he had expected, but it was going to hurt nonetheless. He had thought he had done a good job of hiding his relationship with the hero-in-training from Shigaraki, but it seemed he had eyes everywhere. Neirin wouldn't be surprised if Kurogiri had followed him more than once. Biting back the sharp reply that sat just on the tip of his tongue, the teen nodded. He would never dare to disobey his superior, and he immediately pushed any familiarity he held towards Shouto to the back of his mind. He was a villain, after all – he couldn't go making friends with future heroes.with future heroes./p