Murasaki Hebiko was one of two students in his homeroom with mutant Quirks. Part of his job description—in addition to supervising more than half of all the General Heroics classes—was basic Quirk counseling and running a third year elective course on Quirk analysis. He'd set up a fifteen minute session with every General Heroics student during lunch in the first few weeks of school. Murasaki was the last of the sessions.

"Have a seat, Murasaki. And feel free to eat your lunch. I promise I won't keep you here long. You know why you're here?"

Murasaki sat in the chair on the other side of his desk, the snakes in her hair swaying with the movement. Her purple slitted eyes crinkled when she gave a small, fanged smile.

"Yes. Hane-chan told me."

Haneyama Aoi was the other student in his class with a physical mutation. She had plumes of crested blue feathers instead of hair, and her nose was a sharp, blackened hook, much like a beak. Izuku was glad they'd found a friendship. Mutant heroes had a uniquely difficult time rising in the ranks. He was happy they'd be able to confide in each other when things inevitably got tough.

"Good. Do you have any questions for me before we get started?"

"Actually, yes. Um," she hesitated, looking uncomfortable, "Why are you the Quirk counselor if you don't have a Quirk?"

Izuku laughed. He'd had to answer this question to more than half of the students he met with.

"Well, Quirks fascinate me. I've been analyzing them for a long time, and I'm pretty good at it. Analysis is a big part of the work I do. It keeps me alive."

"Oh. That makes a lot of sense. My sister is a third year in one of your Quirk classes. She said—" Murasaki turned a deeper shade of purple, "Well, she said you're handsome, but she said you're class is the best! I want to take it when I'm in third year."

Izuku smiled tightly. He'd noticed all the attention he got from his third year female students. It was strange—not to mention inappropriate—and it made his male students snippy with him. He'd have to ask Aizawa what to do, but something told him Aizawa would be completely useless in such a matter.

"Anyway, let's get started. I know you've been struggling a bit with practical application in class. Have you had any breakthroughs you want to talk about? Or any concerns you have?"

"Well, my Quirk is so dangerous I have trouble using it on my classmates. I don't want to hurt them."

"That's a valid concern. Let's try to work around that. Are you more concerned about poisoning your classmates when you bite them, or the biting itself?"

"Well, both. They go hand in hand. When I open my jaw wide enough," she paused and opened her mouth as wide as it would go. Izuku couldn't help but be unnerved by the gaping maw before him as she unhinged her jaw. She spoke again, with her mouth still widened, "The venom just comes out."

"So, don't bite people," Izuku said, simply. Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

"But that's my whole Quirk!"

"It's not. It's just your Quirk's most straightforward application."

"I don't understand."

"Have you heard of snake milking?"

"Yes," she said hesitantly.

"Have you ever harvested your own venom?"

"My parents did it when I was younger. When my Quirk came in I was just drooling venom all the time."

Izuku nodded, fascinated. Murasaki had one of the strongest Quirks in the class, and it was without a doubt the most lethal.

"According to your records, your venom is a simple neurotoxin that paralyzes your enemies, and only life-threatening in large quantities. I've talked to Powerloader about the possibilities of weaponizing extracted venom as a means to subdue enemies. I think it would really help you."

"That would be great!" Murasaki beamed, her fangs glistening with excess venom. From what Izuku has observed during school hours, she wasn't one for smiling. He figured she'd probably scared one to many people with the sight of her fangs and learned her lesson. That reminded him of the other point he needed to make.

"Murasaki, can I ask why you chose General Heroics instead of the mainstream course?" After seeing her break the grip strength machine by locking her jaw around it during the Quirk Assessment, he had no doubt that she could've held her own against some of the exam robots. Had she taken the test, she would have succeeded.

He knew what kind of answer his line of questioning would yield. He just had to wait for her to bring it up so he could assess what level of self-deprecation he'd be dealing with. Her face fell.

"Heroes aren't supposed to be scary-looking."

"Alright. First of all, you're not scary-looking. That said, my job as your teacher is to prepare you for the world of Heroics, so I'm going to be honest with you." Izuku took a moment to heave a large sigh. Here it comes, the hard truth.

"Mutant Quirk discrimination is very real. I don't doubt you've experienced it before."

Murasaki nods and keeps her eyes low, as if she's ashamed of something she has no control over. Izuku's righteous anger rises from the pit of his stomach.

"While I have no say in the things that happen out in the real world, if you ever experience anything at UA that makes you even the slightest bit uncomfortable, please come to me. I'll deal with it personally."

"Thank you, Sensei. You're a bit scary, you know that?"

"Intimidation can be beneficial. That's something you can use to your advantage with your looks. Eventually, you'll learn to turn it on and off. I'm here to give advice and help you mold your image as a hero. So is the Management course, but they can be a bit overbearing."

"Alright. I'll meet with Powerloader sometime soon. Thanks for the advice."

"Anytime. Enjoy the rest of your lunch period!"

They part ways outside the classroom. Izuku turned left to finish the lunch hour in the teacher's lounge. Izuku was having a good day. No, he was having a good week. That wasn't something too optimistic to point out, right? Admittedly, it was unusual for Izuku to be feeling so chipper. He couldn't remember a time when he felt like he was in the right place at the right time, but somehow every day he spent teaching at UA felt just like that. Lucky, he thought as he moved down the hall with an uncharacteristic spring in his step.

For Izuku, being recognized as a hero was a constant battle for approval, but being a teacher? That was as easy as breathing. It was odd, feeling so well-placed, but he could get used to it. At twenty-five, Izuku finally felt like he found his place. He opened the door and stepped into the lounge, lost in his sunshiney thoughts. He was flying high. He felt—

Izuku froze. He felt—

He felt like that good cheer and all that pep in his step and every smile that'd flitted across his face during his foolishly optimistic week had come crashing down on his head with a suffocating weight.

Sitting in the lounge, manspreading across the couch like he owned it, was All Might. Smiling, skeletal All Might. The untouchable hero that very nearly killed his spirit.

And all of a sudden, Izuku is fifteen again, sobbing on a rooftop and clutching his chest.

His chest—

His chest was...collapsing. His lungs were drying up like bitter prunes in his chest. There's no air. Not in his lungs or in the teacher's lounge, that suddenly looked so much smaller.

He had enough presence of mind—it's a shred of sanity left, really—to know he's having a panic attack. He's clutching at the high neck of his hero suit, tugging the suffocating fabric away from his skin. He was trying to breathe goddamnit. All Might was suddenly in front of him.

He's so tall.

He's so tall that Izuku must've gone back in time. He must've really shrunk. He was fifteen again and even though he's shriveled and sickly he's still larger than life.

No, nevermind. He's not fifteen, he's twenty-five and at work and he has collapsed in the doorway of the teacher's lounge like an absolute idiot and All Might was standing over him and that made everything so much worse.

All Might was kneeling before him and asking if he was alright. His bone thin fingers stretched toward Izuku, pausing awkwardly in the air before drawing back slightly, and then finally grasping Izuku's shaking shoulder. It's probably supposed to be comforting but it felt like a shackle.

"Quirkless." All Might's voice still sounded the same. Booming. Unreal. And somewhere inside him, Izuku knew All Might was just saying his name, but in the throes of panic it sounded more like a jeer, an accusation.

Somehow, it grounded him enough to get himself standing. He took a deep, shuddering breath and vacated the lounge on wobbly legs. He found Aizawa, uncharacteristically awake, and told him he was sick and he had to leave.

"Midoriya," Aizawa said, in that calm cadence that never wavered no matter what he was feeling. It was too much for Izuku and his unraveling sanity.

"I have to go. I have to go. Ask Midnight to sub for me."

It was all he could manage to say before he left the campus, dialing Shindo's number by memory only to have it go straight to voicemail. He does this three more times before he gave up. He was probably working. Izuku should be working, but he tucked tail and ran away like a loon. Aizawa would be mad. He would most likely demand an explanation and pretend not to be concerned. Concern was by far the worst emotion Izuku could ever see in anyone's eyes.

Katsuki finished his patrol much later than expected and it threw off his whole night. Katsuki was a stickler about his schedule. It was inevitable that his schedule got shifted from time to time in his line of work, but he always felt a little thrown when he hadn't eaten dinner by 9:30. He liked to be in bed by 9:30 most nights. He didn't want to spend over an hour cooking, no matter how much he enjoyed it, and risk ruining tomorrow by getting too little sleep.

That's how he found himself picking up a shitty burger at the pub near his agency. His hair was still wet from the hasty shower he'd taken at the agency, and he was looking less than impressive in his gym sweats, an old All Might shirt, and his shabby socks and slides. This would be the worst possible time to run into Deku. So, of course, that's what happened.

Katsuki's waiting for his shitty to go box, and somehow Deku hasn't noticed him sitting three bar stools away from him. As if that weren't concerning enough, he looks like shit. His head was tipped down and his shoulders hunched. It was like looking at one of those missing persons composites where they took a picture of a kid and aged it up. It was eerie to see an older Deku holding the same pose he held when he was a kid, trying to hide from him and the rest of his middle school classmates. This time, though, Deku was clearly inebriated, which made it all the more pathetic. Katsuki narrowed his eyes, having his own internal battle on whether or not he should move across that insurmountable three bar stool divide and make himself known. Deku wouldn't appreciate it. He knew that much without having to think too hard on it. That didn't change the fact that Katsuki actually wanted to talk to him. To make sure he was okay, or at least coherent enough to get himself home.

His one-sided staring contest was interrupted by the bartender placing his bagged takeout box on the counter in front of him.

Now or never, I guess. Katsuki took a deep breath and moved into the stool next to Deku. Katsuki didn't speak. He didn't want to be the one to break the silence. Let Deku come to him.

Deku looked up from his drink—something dark that smelled like rubbing alcohol from where he sat—with hazy eyes. The recognition was immediate. Like whiplash, Deku sat up straight, threw a generous wad of yen notes on the bar top and hastily leapt off the stool he seemed fused to only moments before.

"That's my cue to leave," he said, his voice a jolly slur.

Katsuki watched him go on shaky legs, only waiting a beat before he grabbed his sack of food and followed him out.

Deku looked surprisingly spry for how drunk he was. He wasn't walking in a perfectly straight line, but he seemed to march with an almost angry purpose. "Deku, slow down," Katsuki said. Deku made no reply; he only sped up.

He caught up easily, doing his best to keep a respectful distance between himself and Deku, but Deku kept veering off and bumping into him every now and then. Every time Katsuki put a steadying hand on his shoulder, and every time Deku shook it off like it physically burned him. It left a bad taste in his mouth. It made him remember that Katsuki has burnt him before.

"Leave me alone," he grumbled.

"You've been drinking. Just— let me make sure you get home safe."

"I literally live like ten minutes from here. I don't need you. I'm not useless," Deku snapped, leveling Katsuki with a glare that could give Katsuki's a run for its money. He started to walk faster, clearly trying to ignore the fact that Katsuki was walking next to him. Eventually, Deku slowed down, unable to maintain his furious, drunken march down the empty sidewalk. Katsuki wanted to start a conversation, but he figured it was a bad idea to draw attention to himself. He managed to walk him home—despite Deku's vehement and numerous rejections to the idea along the way.

He lived on the first floor of a section of nice apartments on the corner lot of a quiet street. It really was a short walk, and Katsuki was a little shocked that Deku actually let him walk all the way up to his door.

"You can go now," Izuku said, pulling his keys out of his pocket and crankily jamming the right key into the lock after two tries.

"Are you okay?" Katsuki blurted. Every time he saw Deku again he was introduced to a new side of him. This one worried him.

"You have everything. Why can't you just let me have a little peace?"

"What are you on about?" Katsuki said, just outside the threshold of Izuku's apartment. Izuku flung the door open and walked through it, leaving the door wide. It was hardly an invitation inside, but since Deku continued to yell at him from his living room, Katsuki stepped in and closed the door from prying eyes.

"You! You keep inserting yourself in my life again and again and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of feeling like this."

Deku walked into the kitchenette. It was separated from the living room by an unassuming kitchen island that Deku proceeded to throw all of his belongings on with angry little flourishes.

"Like what? I thought we called a truce."

"A truce is agreeing to be civil when we're thrown together. Not walking me home because you think I'm drunk and pathetic." Deku was waving his arms around like someone bordering on a mental break. He pulled a bottle of cheap vodka out of his freezer and haphazardly uncapped it.

"I don't think you're pathetic—Deku, why are you drinking that? Jesus—You told me I didn't know you anymore and I'm trying. I don't get it!"

"I shouldn't have to lay my trauma at your feet for you to fucking get it. You were there," Deku said between wincing swigs of alcohol.

"I didn't—" I didn't realize what I was doing to you.

"Didn't what? Think about what you were doing? Didn't give a shit? You probably don't even remember."

"I—"

"Of course you don't remember. You're so self-centered. And even after everything I still saved you. What a fucking waste," Deku said, rubbing his eyes. He'd put the bottle of vodka down, which was only mildly comforting. Katsuki was at a loss for words. If there was a word for being sad and angry at the same time he couldn't think of it now. How much had Izuku had to drink already? He didn't seem that drunk—just livid and spiteful and itching to hurt something.

"You don't mean that." Katsuki couldn't even be mad, he was too hurt. No one ever spoke to him like he was trash, a waste, worthless.

Is this how Deku felt all his life? Useless? Katsuki couldn't shake the feeling that he was only experiencing a fraction of the pain he'd inflicted on Deku when they were kids. Maybe it was selfish to keep showing up in his life. Katsuki wanted to be there, by his side—be with him, some unwelcome voice whispered in the back of his head—but Deku wanted nothing to do with him.

"I don't. But I should."

Something like relief and guilt pinched in his gut. Deku was too good of a person to hate him. No matter how angry and flawed Deku had become, the kid he used to be was still in there. Even if it was buried under hostility and bad coping mechanisms.

"I'm sorry," he said, the word uselessly hung between them and fluttered to the floor. What could sorry do to undo years of the ugly, tangled up emotions between the two of them. Deku was silent for a time, and it chilled Katsuki to the bone. There was nothing pleasant about that silence.

"For what?" He fixed him with a cold stare.

"For everything."

Deku scoffed. "You don't remember a thing."

"I remember you cried when I started calling you Deku. I'm sorry for that."

"Useless. Quirkless. Defenseless Izuku. You're only sorry now because I don't let that shit fly anymore," Deku said, he ran his hand on the rim of the bottle in front of him before he took another angry swig. Was that true? Katsuki didn't give much thought to the reasoning behind the things he'd been feeling in the last few months—he just felt them.

"That's not true. I don't think so anyway." He moved hesitantly toward the counter that separated them and took the bottle out of Deku's grasp.

Deku was silent again. The pauses in conversation felt so suffocating he found himself scrambling to speak, to fill them up.

"I see you now and something in me feels empty. Your life is so full. I never realized how dull my life was until I saw yours." Katsuki thought of a comet again. The only colorful thing in the dark sky. A screaming ball of light that torpedoed straight into his soul. And then he thought of the person he was looking at right then. Deku was less like a comet and more like the meteor that fell from the sky, leaving a gash in the earth, fire and chaos in its wake.

Deku was hugging himself, hunched over like he would physically split in two if he let go. Selfish, he thought. Katsuki was hurting him still, this time with earnest words and affection—or the closest he'd ever come to expressing affection. And even in knowing that Deku was falling apart in front of him, he kept going. So fucking selfish.

"I see you now and I think of all the things I know about you and all the things I don't and it makes me so angry because, you're right. And that's my fault."

Deku looked so exhausted. His eyes were shiny, but no tears escaped. He'd gotten better at keeping them at bay and something about that really bothered Katsuki. He wanted to move closer, to comfort him, but he didn't know the first thing about being soft and kind and comforting.

"What could you possibly want to know about me that badly?" Deku's voice was so small, broken.

"How'd you get your scar? And what's your beef with All Might? Why'd you move away?"

"Don't you have enough?" Deku asked, sounding like a little boy again despite the deep baritone of his voice. Katsuki didn't understand his question.

"You did this before. When we were kids. You knew so much about me and you used it all against me, took so much that I wasn't my own anymore."

"I'm sorry." Katsuki wondered how many times he'd have to say that before Deku believed him. He was starting to feel like he was ready to say it forever, on his knees, if that's what it took. Maybe Deku could see that in Katsuki's eyes because something in him changed. It was like he suddenly realized that he wasn't the only one hurting—like he realized that Deku could hurt Katsuki with his words too. And Deku wanted him to hurt.

"After everything… what you and All Might said to me that day, I begged my mom to put me in a new school. To get out of Musutafu. Even though we were broke and it was halfway through the school year already and I felt so guilty for asking, I had to get out. I was—" He took a deep, shaky breath, like he was trying not to let out a sob on accident. "I was determined to get out one way or another no matter what she said."

Katsuki lacked the context to make sense of everything he said. More questions bubbled to the surface.

"All Might talked to you?"

Deku nodded and his shiny eyes skimmed over Katsuki's incriminating shirt. The fabric practically burned where All Might's larger than life smile rested on his chest. For the first time since he'd started speaking, Katsuki thought that maybe he didn't want to hear anymore of what Deku had to say.

Don't be a fucking coward. Don't back out now because it hurts to hear it.

"He told me I couldn't be a hero without a Quirk. Just like everyone else." He laughed so bitterly that he sounded a little hysterical. In that moment, if someone told him he was a villain, not someone who'd clawed his way to a respectable spot in the hero rankings, Katsuki would've believed it.

"And you." Deku's voice was so cold, Katsuki felt it bite his skin. "I saved you. After years of you calling me useless and singeing holes in my uniform and blowing up my notebook. After you told me to kill myself, I saved you. And I still got yelled at." Deku's eyes were glazed over, like he was reliving the past instead of leaning tiredly on the counter in his hero-salaried apartment.

Katsuki didn't know if he was more horrified by the fact that he'd ever said something so vicious, or the fact that he didn't remember ever saying it. He was crying now, fat tears flowing silently down his cheeks. He didn't like facing the person he used to be. He moved ever closer to the broken man in front of him, leaning across the counter to reach out to him—he'd hardly realized how close they were, unconsciously moving toward each other the whole time they spoke. Or maybe it was just Katsuki moving toward him, pulled into orbit around him, both unwilling and unable to stay away. If it weren't for that damn counter between them he'd probably chest to chest with him by now. There was always something between them.

"I'm so sorry, Izuku." It was nearly a whisper, but it would be hard for anyone not to hear the pain and longing and regret in his voice. Deku looked up out of the haze at his given name. When was the last time he'd called him by his real name? Over twenty years ago probably.

"Are you happy now, Kacchan? Can I go on with my life now?"

I shouldn't have to lay my trauma at your feet.

He did it anyway because Katsuki pushed. So goddamn selfish.

"I want to fix this." He was pleading. Katsuki never begged for anything in his life, but he was begging for Izuku's forgiveness and he couldn't find it in himself to feel embarrassed about it. He wanted to touch him, to wipe the tears that finally spilled over his lower lids and onto his scarred and freckled cheeks, and make him feel safe. He knew that was a disastrous idea, but he was selfish, terrible, and desperate. He rubbed away a tear that stubbornly clung to Izuku's cheek, testing. When Izuku did nothing, Katsuki allowed his hand to cup his cheek, his fingertips edging near his verdant hairline in an achingly affectionate gesture. His hair was grown out just long enough for the sides to begin curling again. Izuku sniffled, closed his eyes and turned his head away from Katsuki's palm.

"I think you should go," Izuku said, a breathy whisper.

"Yeah. Right," he said, a little dazed because even with the stupid fucking countertop between them they were so close and Deku's cheek was warm in his palm. Things were starting to come into focus for Katsuki. He was a selfish, disgusting excuse for a human being, but he could still change. He wanted to be selfless for Izuku—he had so much to make up for.

"Um, I don't want you to be alone. You should call Shindo. Or Uraraka."

That was considerate, right? He hated Shindo but he couldn't deny that he was a better friend to Izuku that Katsuki ever was. He would just have to live with the burning jealousy in his gut. Izuku gave a half-hearted smile as he walked Katsuki to the door, most likely more than ready to have him gone, "I'll be fine. I'm tough."

"Don't drink anymore, please."

Izuku nodded and said, "I won't. I don't usually. I just had a bad day." Izuku opened the door for Katsuki. He passed through it without another word. He'd already said far too much for one awful night.

"Hey, Kacchan," Izuku said, his soft voice permeating through the cool night air. Katsuki looked back at him. He was leaning against his door, almost hiding behind it. He waited for Izuku to speak, his hands in his pockets.

"I think I needed this. I'll never thank you for bulldozing your way in here and making me spill my guts, but it feels good to have it out in the open, to let go of some of that anger."

"I'd hardly call that bulldozing. You left the door wide open."

Katsuki wanted to feel good about that, but it was a far cry from something he should be proud of. Still, it felt like an olive branch. A real truce, not just playing at one. Izuku remained silent, leaning further on the door, as if to close it.

"Izuku, can I see you again?" Now that he knew how profoundly hurt Izuku was by Katsuki's careless nickname for him, he could never say it again. Truthfully, it felt good to call him by his first name. Intimate, even. It sent a thrill up his spine. Like those lab rats that kept pushing a button to feel something, he wanted to keep saying Izuku's name. Izuku looked down, frowning slightly.

"I need space, Kacchan." The door closed, another wall between them.

Right. Time and space. Comets only come around every once in a while. He just hoped his comet didn't burn out.