Since Deku started traveling by rooftop, he was seeing a lot more action. Izuku's mornings were now filled with stories of Deku's endeavors, and Deku, as always, spoke unabashedly.
Izuku heard of his fight with a man with a Water-Whip Quirk, and his subsequent escape from the Hero Eye-Bags. He heard of Deku's first time stopping a mugging, as well as the time he stopped a robbery before they got through the door. Izuku was glad Deku trusted him enough to confide these things in him, though he did wish he was more sensitive to some of the more brutal details. He also wished Deku paid more attention to his assailant's Quirks. As it was, the only descriptions he got were in the context of a fight, where Deku wasn't as concerned with how a Quirk worked so much as how to combat it.
Speaking of combat, Deku was starting to take it seriously. The first few fights he told Izuku about were pretty sparse with detail. Deku recalled what his foes looked like, as well as how he eventually defeated them, but when Izuku asked for more he was met with an "Oh I was thinking about other things at the time" or just a simple "uh… I dunno." Finer details came to Deku better in the shower, where Izuku could point out specific scars and inquire about them.
Izuku didn't realize some wounds went deeper than the skin until he leaned on his foot and Deku yelped in pain. Izuku interrogated him and found that he had twisted his ankle (likely when kicking a mugger with a rock-like body). Izuku sat them down and had a long talk.
"You can't just expect me to believe that we put a little bit of padding under your shirt and suddenly all of your problems are gone. Look, these things are gonna happen, so will you please let me know when they do so you don't do something reckless like, oh I don't know, kicking with a twisted ankle?"
Deku made a horrible excuse about giving it his all even when he was hurt, to which Izuku told him how foolish that was.
Izuku found the notebook with Deku's costume sketch and turned to the second page. He labeled the top: 'Possible Costume Flaws', and interrogated Deku for anything else that was (or might eventually) bother him. By the end, they had a medium-sized list, including a soreness in his wrists and scrapes on his knees and elbows.
Before they went and bought anything, they emptied the suitcase they were keeping Deku's costume in and visited the nearby garbage dump to see what they could scavenge.
Izuku found a few old blankets and clothes to use in place of sports tape. Deku found two knee pads that were both of different make, but similar enough that they wouldn't feel odd on his legs. He also found a single elbow pad, but it was far too small and sparkling with pink glitter.
They discovered an assortment of other things they may be able to use and threw them all into the suitcase.
Deku lugged it back to the apartment and heaved it onto the dining table.
Izuku ripped strips off of an old blanket and wrapped it around his wrist to compress it. He put on one of Deku's gloves to keep it from unraveling. Deku moved his wrist around to test the feeling. It wasn't as good as actual sports tape, but it was better than nothing.
Deku strapped the knee pads on and pulled his greaves over them. They were barely noticeable under the baggy pants.
Izuku made a new sketch of Deku's costume on the third page of the notebook, changes and all. In the top corner, he marked it with a little 'Mk. 2'. When they were putting everything back into the suitcase, Izuku also laid in the notebook and a pen.
"If you start having any other troubles, whether you think we can fix it with your costume or not, I want you to write it down. We can't prepare you for everything, but we can at least improve it over time."
"Sure thing, mom."
"Deku, I'm serious. Keep fresh ink on these pages. I want to help you, and you're not going to burden me by asking for help."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it… and thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, what's the damage today?" Izuku said as he took out the hoodie. Deku pointed out the newest cuts from the previous night. Only two were big enough to warrant repairing, so Izuku grabbed his sewing kit and got to work fixing them.
As he sat and worked, Deku recounted how he got them: "I was looking down that street that goes by the supermarket –the one with the sandwich place attached to it– and there was this big dude in the parking lot just flippin cars. And I was thinkin 'that's not right' and I strolled over to ask what he was doin, and I guess he was havin a bad day cause he starts tryin to flip me like a car. And I thought, 'that's not nice, this guy needs to learn some manners.' So I kicked his ass."
All the while, Izuku would make the occasional line of inquiry. Deku would stop and think back, trying to remember: "Hm? Yeah he was super strong. I mean, he'd have to be, to be able to flip cars like that. No, I couldn't really see his muscles, he was covered in spikes. Well, not really spikes, they were– like porcupine spikes. What's that? Yeah, spines! That's what they were!"
Once Deku's story had concluded and the hoodie was patched up, they ate a full dinner. They spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at the dinner table.
Izuku had received a reply to a job application, and they wanted an interview the next day. He compiled a list of faux interview questions and asked Deku to read them out for him. He then asked Deku to take it seriously after he made up a few silly questions like "do you take hot showers or cold?" and "do you clip your nails going pinkie to thumb or thumb to pinkie?"
The practice didn't make Izuku any less nervous, but it did help him feel a bit more prepared. At least enough where he could fake his confidence at the real interview.
-=0O0=-
His interview was at the Mustafu Family Diner, a small restaurant several blocks from the apartment. Izuku had dressed in the nicest shirt he had, a long-sleeve viridian pollo. He had spent the morning getting his hair in order before deciding it would forever remain an untamable mess and threw it in a messy bun.
He showed up fifteen minutes early and went up to the young girl managing the front. She brought him to a back room that bordered the kitchen and what Izuku assumed was the owner's office. There were a few chairs along one wall, so Izuku took a seat and waited.
He was sitting there for nearly twenty minutes when the door to the owner's office opened, and out walked a man with slicked back oily hair and a wide crooked grin. He introduced himself, shook Izuku's hand, and ushered him into the office.
The man took his resume and placed it neatly on the desk. The questions began immediately. Izuku was familiar with several different strategies interviewers used. Some went for a more rapid-fire questioning, while others asked long, complicated questions with multiple parts. Others asked strange or completely unrelated questions. This man asked all kinds.
He dealt with the usual "where do you see yourself in five years?" and "what could you offer us that no one else could?"
But there were also odd and specific questions like "do you know your blood type?" and "do you ever hold in anger until it explodes?"
Izuku could derive little rhyme or reason from the man's questions; he seemed to be making them up as he went along. Long after Izuku's faux smile fell from his face, he struggled to keep a pleasant expression for the length of the interview. More and more questions came, until the man asked:
"Was your mother or father Quirkless?" Izuku froze. He was expecting it – a question of his Quirklessness – but it had never been asked in this way before.
He felt himself starting to panic. Did he admit the truth and let the man see him as a mutation – a mistake – as so many others had? Or did he lie? Did he say he came from a long line of Quirkless people? Would that even sound better? Did it even matter?
Izuku reminded himself to keep breathing. He was panicking. He should just get it over with. It wasn't the first time an interview ended with a question like this. After so much time, Izuku had grown accustomed to the responses he got. So many let him off easy with a "we'd prefer someone with a Quirk that can help out in the workplace," and others had flatly told him "we need someone who is useful." this man had asked about his parents. He already knew Izuku was Quirkless.
"N-no," and a stutter. The first in the interview. Izuku wanted to run out the door right then, but the next question followed soon after.
"Do any mental issues run in your family?"
Izuku's breath hitched. Of course he knew about the institution as well. Now Izuku was certain the man was checking just how much of a mistake he was. He took a moment to steady his breath. He answered truthfully.
"No." He tried to keep his voice firm, but it wavered under his nerves.
Izuku hated this. He hated laying himself bare for people like this to judge. He hated how nothing he said or did would matter after they knew about his past. He hated knowing they had probably already made up their mind. And there was nothing he could do but sit and hope for the best.
The man hummed, and there was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Izuku sinked in on himself under the man's gaze. "I see," he said after far too long, "well, I think that's all the questions I have for you. I imagine you remember the way to the front door."
He hasn't even asked Izuku if he had any questions. Still, he had to try: "If there's anything else you need from me sir; information, o-or documentation–"
But the man raised his hand, "thank you, but I have all I need."
And Izuku knew he didn't have the job. He wanted to smack himself for thinking that. Of course he didn't. He stood up and, setting his face in stone, shook the man's hand and gave him empty thanks. He slipped Izuku's resume into a desk drawer and pulled out another sheet of paper; some unrelated form that he deemed more worth his attention.
He turned before the man could see the pinpricks of tears in his eyes. 'At least I tried', he thought to himself. 'At least I could say I really tried.'
His hand gripped the doorknob. It didn't move.
He tried again. His hand only shook as if it were fighting against itself. His eyes widened. 'Oh no.'
"Deku," he whispered under his breath, "don't."
His hand gripped harder.
"Please," his voice was so light even he could barely hear it. "Let's just go home."
Deku turned around, and Izuku resigned himself to his fate. "Hey." The man looked up at him. "I don't know if you just have a bunch of free time or whatever but you didn't need to waste mine jumping through all these hoops just to hear what you already knew."
The man, with his brow scrunched up in offense, opened his mouth to respond.
"You already knew I was Quirkless, you wouldn't have asked that otherwise. And you knew about– …about the institution. You wouldn't have asked about that either. I wouldn't have to explain this to any decent human being." And with that, Deku spun around, walked out, and slammed the door behind them.
Izuku and Deku left with their hands placed comfortingly in their pockets. If they had looked back, they would have seen the hinges from the door had splintered out of the frame.
When they had walked a distance away and were alone, Izuku leaned on a wall to catch his breath. His eyes were dry, but his cheeks were still damp. He wiped a sleeve across his face to clean it.
"That was reckless," he said when he could speak.
"I know," said Deku quietly after a pause.
"And stupid."
"I know,"
"And I asked you not to. I told you not to."
"I know, and I'm sorry,"
"You didn't need to do that. I didn't need you to stand up for me there. I had that handled."
"I just wanted to help,"
"Help with what?" Izuku snapped, "who exactly did you help there? He wasn't going to give me the job anyways, I was on my way out already, how exactly did that help?"
"At least I did something," Deku said under his breath.
"What was that?" asked Izuku, who didn't quite hear him.
"I said at least I did something. You just wanted to walk away! How many more people was he going to belittle like that until he even considered that maybe he shouldn't?"
"Does it matter? One more step out that door and it wouldn't have been our problem anymore."
"'Not our problem?'" Deku parroted, "he's the one with the problem! And hey, maybe that wasn't the right solution, and maybe I messed up, and I'm sorry, but he had a problem that was causing other people – namely us – trouble. At least I did something."
"If it were as simple as saying 'hey, you shouldn't do that,' then don't you think someone else would have set him straight by now?" Izuku asked incredulously.
Deku was quiet for a while. Izuku wondered if perhaps he had been too hard on him. He probably wasn't going to get the job anyway, so he really hadn't lost anything.
"...He shouldn't have been that harsh," Deku uttered in an uncharacteristically soft voice.
"No," Izuku reluctantly agreed, "he shouldn't have."
"And he shouldn't have gone out of his way to waste your time like that."
Izuku sighed. "No, he shouldn't have."
It was silent between them for a long moment as they walked back home. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"You're right, you shouldn't have, but thank you for the apology. And I know you weren't trying to make things worse." Another beat of silence came between them, and Izuku searched for something to say. "I know my chances were slim to begin with, but now I'm definitely not getting that job."
"Probably for the best. I mean, did you see those uniforms?" Deku had the audacity to snicker, "beige on pink? I wouldn't want you to be caught dead in one of those fashion disasters." Izuku felt a smirk grace their face.
"Stop smiling, you idiot," he said with a smirk of his own, "I'm gonna look like a grinning madman."
"You are a grinning madman."
Their grin only grew.