"You met Eraserhead?!" Midoriya nearly shouts, practically vaulting himself over the table in his excitement.

"Not so loud!" he hisses. They're at a tiny café somewhere between Midoriya's place and his, tucked away in an empty corner. Midoriya's sandwich lies forgotten on its small porcelain plate, while his own coffee cools in his hands, neglected.

"Sorry," whispers Midoriya, shrinking back into his seat. He grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "But that's so cool! I can't believe you met him in person! What did he say? Did you get to ask him about his quirk? Or wait, oh my god, did you get to show him yours? What did he say about it? Does he have any ideas about what we should do? Man, this is so cool, I'm so happy for you! Hey, did you get to ask if he really —"

"Uh —"

"— I mean, most people say it's true, but if you weigh the evidence against it —"

"Midoriya."

"— then again, if you take into account the nature of his quirk, I suppose it could make sense that —"

"Midoriya."

"— that he — what?" Midoriya breaks off, blinking at his surroundings as if he's noticing them for the first time. The intensely focused, calculating look on his face falls away into something acutely embarrassed, and he rubs his reddening neck, chuckling nervously. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

The corners of his mouth lift of their own accord; Midoriya's happiness is infectious. "It's all good," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "And no, I didn't really get to ask him any of that, but I did manage to ask him about . . . about being a hero." It's not quite the entire truth, but the rest feels almost too . . . visceral to share. Two nights ago was the first time he'd laid his soul out so openly to anyone, Midoriya included. He isn't keen on repeating the experience.

It doesn't matter, though, because Midoriya's eyes light up again, and he sits up enthusiastically. "Yeah? What did he say?"

Hitoshi takes a sip of his coffee as he searches for the words. "Mostly what you'd expect from a pro-hero like him, I guess. Hero work is dangerous, obviously, and he admitted people with stronger and flashier quirks are way more favored, but . . . but he also said it's not impossible. He said the quirk doesn't make the hero." He grins, then, a broad, full-toothed grin that matches Midoriya's. "Granted, he also said it would be a hell of a lot of work, and I need to figure out the limits of my quirk and be realistic about my expectations or whatever, but that's a given. As for the second part, I think we're covering that pretty well."

Midoriya leans back in his chair, sighing in amazement with a look of star-struck awe in his eyes. "Man, that's so cool," he repeats reverently. "I wish I could have been there."

Absently, Hitoshi's hand comes up to his throat. "It's probably best you weren't." The skin around his neck is now a mottled, kaleidoscopic mess of small blue-and-purple circles and faint scratch marks, only partially hidden by the collar of his shirt. It hadn't looked nearly as bad when he'd gotten home that night, just a bit swollen and red, but his mother had nearly screamed the whole neighborhood awake when she came to wake him up the next afternoon, immediately hauling him to the doctor. After a rather uneventful appointment and a promise to return immediately if his throat got worse or any new symptoms arose, he finally made his way to the police station.

Eraserhead, as it turned out, had already submitted a report, but the officers were glad to take down any extra detail he was able to provide, and after some well wishes, they sent him on his way. His mother, loathe to let him stray from her side after what even he had to admit could have been his last day alive, took him to the shopping district to run some errands and pester him (fruitlessly) to wear more colorful clothes.

This afternoon is the first time he's been on his own since the incidence. He had considered wearing the new scarf his mother bought him yesterday to avoid any unwanted questions, but the weather hasn't been cold enough to warrant one for a while, and it's not like anyone talks to him, anyway. People can think what they like, as far as he's concerned. He nearly died for these bruises, so he might as well show them off. All the better if it scares off the ruder folk.

"Oh, yeah, I guess so." Midoriya's quiet voice draws him back to the present, eyes falling to Hitoshi's neck. "If even you couldn't get away, I would have been completely useless. Sorry."

Hitoshi smacks himself internally. Shoot me in the fucking mouth. Goddamn idiot. That wasn't at all the point he was trying to make, but of course it's the first thing Midoriya thinks of. Though his own quirk is often more trouble than it's worth, it's got nothing on how much misery being quirkless has brought Midoriya. He knows there are pieces missing, key details that Midoriya skirts around or just flat-out doesn't tell him, but he's gathered enough from their conversations over the years to surmise that feeling useless and unnecessary is a significant part of the package. But how is he supposed to explain that he's just glad it was him and not Midoriya? That the idea that it could have been Midoriya getting the life squeezed out of him in some dark alleyway — could still be Midoriya, some day — is enough to make his stomach churn and his mouth go dry? But worrying about his safety, coddling him and babying him just because he doesn't have a big, strong quirk — he hates it when people act like that towards him, almost as much as he hates the whispers that follow him around school, the side-eyed stares and abrupt silences that seem to accompany him everywhere. He would be the biggest hypocrite in the world if he did the same to Midoriya.

So he grits his teeth and swallows down the words wants to say, words that are too honest and too vulnerable for a casual Sunday lunch in a sunlit café. "Nothing to be sorry about, it was my stupid own fault," he says instead, shrugging with a nonchalance he doesn't feel. "I met that villain earlier the same day, actually, on my way to school. They were mugging this old guy, I think, or beating him up. It didn't look good, whatever it was."

The outrage in Midoriya's expression matches his own from two days ago. "That's horrible!" he exclaims. "What did you do?"

Given the subject matter, it would be in poor taste to smile right now, but Hitoshi finds himself wanting to do just that. Midoriya is probably the only person in the world who would assume Hitoshi took action instead of turning a blind eye — or worse, joining in — and he takes a brief moment to appreciate the fact he somehow tricked the universe into getting Midoriya to be his friend. "I, uh, I threw a rock at their face, you know, as one does —"

"Of course," agrees Midoriya, nodding sagely.

"— and I told the old man to run. We got away and called the cops, but they'd already gotten away by then, so it was pretty much useless. Then, because I have the best luck in the world, the same villain jumps me when I'm doing groceries later, and because I am a complete dumbass, I throw another rock at them, which of course hits them right in the throat because why the fuck not, so instead of provoking them into talking like I meant to, I completely ruined any chance I had at winning that fight." Evidently, the frustration from that night has yet to run its course, because he's breathing heavily and glaring at Midoriya's sandwich as though it's the reason he fucked up so astronomically. "Didn't even manage to run away," he mutters. Then he shakes his head, forcing the bitter thoughts out of his mind. "You would have been smarter about it, I'm sure." He meets Midoriya's wide eyes with an even stare. "Having a quirk didn't help me at all. You're good at analyzing situations and dealing with problems as they come, and I bet your judgement would be great in a fight. At the very least, I think you and I together could have taken them easily." This coffee is way too sweet, he notes, taking another sip. "Still more glad you weren't there, though."

Midoriya looks like a tomato about to catch fire, flustered and jittery and running his hand through his hair. His eyes are flick to Hitoshi's face and away again. "Ha, that's — th-that's not — I'm not — I mean, that's very kind of you to say, but — but I'm not — I don't think I could have done anything better —"

"I do."

Somehow, Midoriya flushes even brighter. "If-if you say so." Searching for something to do, he finally starts on his sandwich, while Hitoshi hides his smile in his coffee cup.

It's almost funny how easy it is to fluster Midoriya. More often than not, the barest hint of a compliment turns the boy into a stammering, red-faced mess. It's kind of endearing — and more than a little bit depressing, if he thinks too long on it. So he stops.

"Oh, right." He snaps his fingers as remembers what he wanted to discuss. "Hey, Midoriya, can I test something? Don't respond, just nod or shake your head." Midoriya, cheeks bulging with sandwich, can't do anything but nod anyway.

"Midoriya," he continues, "put down your sandwich."

Midoriya looks at him, puzzled, before swallowing and laying the half-eaten sandwich down on his plate.

Hitoshi stares. "No way," he breathes, "no way. That actually worked?"

Midoriya blinks at him, then at the sandwich. "Oh, wait, was that . . . was that the test? Oh no, I'm so sorry! I thought you just wanted me to put my sandwich down for some reason; I had no idea that was part of the test!"

"Oh." Hitoshi deflates. "So it didn't work? You didn't feel like I was making you do it?"

Midoriya scratches his head. "Well . . . no, not really. Sorry, Shinsou."

"What are you apologizing for?" he says sullenly. "I'm the idiot who actually thought he was making progress."

"Aw, no, come on! We've made a lot of progress!"

Hitoshi ignores Midoriya's earnest gaze in favor of staring moodily at his coffee. "Like what."

"Like . . . oh, remember last month? We tried to see if you could make me jump any higher than I could on my own, and it didn't work. We learned you can't make people do things beyond their physical limitations. That's progress, right?"

"If eliminating possibilities counts as progress, sure."

"Er, w-well — oh yeah! Before that, we tested the questions-versus-statements hypothesis and figured out it's easier for you to use your quirk when you start with a question since it lets the other person's guard down. Remember?"

"Whoop-de-doo," he grumbles, swirling his coffee in his hands. "They still have to respond. I need to figure out a way to get rid of that necessity, or at least work around it."

Recognizing defeat, Midoriya sighs, returning to his sandwich. "We'll figure it out somehow," he insists. "We're still trying for U.A. after all, aren't we? If we make it in, I'm sure there'll be loads of people who can help you figure out your quirk!"

"Yeah, I guess so." Hitoshi takes another sip from his coffee. "Oh yeah, that reminds me — I was looking at their website earlier this weekend. There isn't much information on there aside from a brief history and general description of their heroics program, but they listed a few others that might be a good way to get our foot in the door."

"Oh, yeah, I saw that too! It's kind of disappointing they don't have more detail on the what the school is like, or, well, anything about the entrance exam, but I guess that's to be expected for an elite institution like U.A. They did have a few links outlining their other courses, though, like Business and Management, Support, and General Education."

Hitoshi nods, draining the last of his coffee. "About that. I was thinking it would be a better idea to apply to the general department instead."

"What? Why?" Midoriya finishes off his sandwich and pushes his plate to the side. "I thought we were aiming for heroics."

"We are, but I've been thinking about what Eraserhead said, and he's right. We've got to be realistic. People like you and me will have a major disadvantage trying to get into a school like U.A. without any practice, so I think it would be best to focus on actually getting a spot in U.A. first. Once we do that, we can worry about transferring."

Frowning, Midoriya props an elbow on the table, drumming his fingers against his chin. "I mean, I see what you're saying, but . . ."

"But what?"

"It's just . . . I mean, we're already so behind. Can we really afford to wait even longer?"

"Midoriya," he says, laying his arms flat across the table. "You're overcomplicating things. All we have to do right now is get in. We can worry about things like the hero course once we're there." He claps his hands on the table before rising from his chair. "One thing at a time, Midoriya."

Following his cue, Midoriya gets up from his seat and pushes it in, stacking their plates and cups to leave them ready for their server. Calling out a thank-you on their way out the door, the pair of them exit the café and begin heading down the street. It's fairly quiet now, with only the occasional car and light chatter from the people around them filling the silence. It's not until they reach the intersection that Hitoshi notices all the muttering is directed at him.

His arm twitches at his side, longing to tug his collar higher, but he stifles the instinct. "Got a problem?" he calls instead, lifting his chin defiantly. The movement makes his neck ache, but it's worth it to see the rude couple staring at him turn away self-consciously. He blows a drooping tuft of hair away from his face, shoving his hands in his pocket. "Thought so," he mutters under his breath.

"Shinsou." A tug on his sleeve catches his attention, and he turns his head to see Midoriya looking at him, eyebrows pinched with concern. People begin swarming around them as the walk signal changes. "Be careful on your way your way home, okay?"

"Ha. Sure."

"I mean it. And–and don't listen to anybody else. They don't know what they're talking about. I think what you did was really brave."

". . . Sure."

A small smile on his face, Midoriya straightens out his jacket and bumps his shoulder against Hitoshi's. "Text me when you get home, okay?" Nodding absently, he watches as Midoriya heads for the crosswalk, only just making it to the other side before the signal changes back. From across the street, Midoriya waves at him. "See you later!"

Hitoshi raises his own hand in response. "See you." He waits until Midoriya disappears around the corner, then begins the slow journey back to his apartment. The sound of traffic and pedestrians blends into the background as he ambles his way home, each step heavier than the last. Before he knows it, he's staring at his front door, key in hand.

"I'm home," he announces as he opens the door. Removing his shoes, he hangs his jacket up next to his uniform and heads into the apartment proper. His mother is seated at the table, glowering at the notepad in front of her and twirling a pen between her fingers. She looks up briefly to wave at him, phone tucked between her cheek and her shoulder, before returning to what seems to be a heated conversation with the person on the other the line. With nothing else to do, he gulps down a glass of water in the kitchen and heads to his room, closing the door behind him.

There's still a good while before sunset, but Hitoshi flops onto his bed anyway, sinking his face into his pillow. He hasn't even been awake ten hours and he's already tired. Sighing, he rolls onto his side and shuts his eyes, focusing on nothing but the heat of the blanket under his feet, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind outside. It's not enough to distract him from the dread pooling in his gut, weighing him down like sandbags tied to his limbs.

School tomorrow is sure to be a fucking blast.


A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I know this is a really slow chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Next time we'll start heading into canon events, so look forward to that! And even though I'm sort of really bad at responding, I do take your feedback into account, and it's really encouraging, so I'd love it if you'd let me know what you think of this chapter! Thank you for your patience, and I'll see you next time!