SHOJI

"Thank you for agreeing to this," Shoji said as he tore a hole in the fabric of reality with his bare hands, pulling back the tapestry of science and logic to expose a roiling mass of eldritch horrors and unknowable sensations lying behind the thin, fragile curtains protecting mankind's sanity.

"It is no problem," Izuku said. "I will be a hero, and it is a hero's job to assist in any way they can."

"Yeah, well, my parents insist I bring someone over, even though last time I tried, Tokoyami's eyeballs melted. I'm hoping you'll be a bit more durable, or failing that, fixable."

"I am very fixable," Izuku agreed. "Should I bring anything? I have never been to a friend's house before."

"You'd best not. Material objects from this side of the divide have no identity to hold themselves together."

Shoji stepped forward, and Izuku stepped after him. For precisely fifty-two point six centimeters, distance had fixed proportions of one centimeter per centimeter. Beyond fifty-two point six centimeters, a centimeter could be a mile, or a Watt, or even a tarantula. Up became down became sideways, red tasted like scratchy nylon and jazz felt yellow. I would go on, but I've got blood leaking out my nose.

For an eternity and an instant, Shoji led Izuku through the unknowable madness. The swirling cosmos of rubber ducks and Schrodinger cats parted to reveal a suburban home, its neatly trimmed lawn and picket fence stretched across a Mobius strip.

As they approached the door, Shoji said, "Whatever you do, don't look my parents in any of their eyes."

The moment the door opened, Izuku beheld a veritable ocean of eyes, sliding along the walls, peering out from under the oven, and swinging from the ceiling fan.

"Welcome home, Shoji!" a motherly voice bubbled out of the sink. "And you brought a friend! Who is this?"

"Hello," Izuku said, holding out his hand, "My name is Izuku Midoriya. It is a pleasure to meet you."

The tablecloth shook his hand. "Why do you only have two eyes, child? Did something happen to you?"

Shoji facepalmed. "Mom, we talked about this."

"Really? I thought that happened two years from now."

"Should I have more eyeballs? I was under the impression that it was most optimal to have two." Izuku's skin parted as eyeballs grew out of his arms and chest. "Is that better?"

"Ooh! I really like the color! Why don't you boys have some dessert? They're fresh out of the dishwasher!"

A chair scuttled over with a stack of miniature plates, still steaming hot, sitting atop a giant oatmeal cookie. Izuku took a huge bite, chomping ceramic and pastry alike.

"Well? How are they?"

"I think I tasted a W. Was that cinnamon you used?"

"You've got good taste!" The curtains triumphantly held a bottle made of cinnamon with glass dust inside.

"What a mad banquet of darkness," Shoji muttered. Then he shook himself. "Great, now I sound like Tokoyami."

498

A/N: I had a ton of fun with this one. Was annoying to get the blood off my keyboard though.