Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Izuku is being weird. Well, weirder than usual. I don't know when it started, since I had been keeping myself busy with practicing my quirk ever since… well, for the last few months. But I do know that it has something to do with why his dumb ass hair is looking even more like a rat's nest than usual.

Normally I wouldn't care enough to notice the nerd's hair, but since our current seating chart has me directly behind him, I've gotten into the habit of zoning out while staring at the back of Izuku's head. It's relaxing, okay? With the color and the length, it's easy to pretend that it's just a slightly overgrown lawn in a field where I'm all alone and free to relax and let my mind wander.

Except now it's starting to inch past the collar of his shirt, and with the extra length it no longer looks like grass, but is starting to form proper ringlets at the ends, curling into itself where it grows past his ears. It's irritating.

The most irritating part is that I don't know why it's gotten so long. Auntie Inko is usually really good about making sure Izuku takes care of himself and looks presentable. There's no sense of familiarity or realization telling me that the geek is meant to be growing his hair out at some point, so I can only assume that this is some sort of… phase, that whoever I was never knew about, but why is Izuku going through a rebellious phase at eight years old? I don't even think the kid knows about rebelliousness.

Maybe Auntie Inko is sick and just hasn't been able to cut his hair yet? But she seemed fine the last few times I've come to visit. Better than fine, really. She's been oddly insistent on spending time with me one-on-one, offering to teach me how to make spicy katsudon and curry, and how to sew and fix the holes in my clothes that my quirk sometimes causes. It's… nice. And I definitely would have noticed if Auntie was sick. So, what's going on?

Izuku must be able to feel my glare on the back of his head, but it's not like I don't glare at him pretty much all the time anyway, so he just looks back at me for a moment and smiles before going back to scribbling away in his creepy notebook. I know that's where he writes all his notes on heroes and quirks, in the hope that it will help him be a hero one day, and it's probably a sign of his intelligence that he writes in them so religiously, but seeing him scribbling down notes and muttering as he follows me around all day still makes me feel like a lab rat in all the worst ways.

Wait. I narrow my eyes even further, which is impressive considering how narrow they already are. Izuku has been writing in that notebook of his during the day recently, hasn't he? It used to be only in the evenings, while we watched the hero news at Auntie's house, or sometimes during my quirk practice, when he saw me do something new with my explosions. Sure, the nerd would occasionally have a thought or idea that he just had to write down before he forgot it, but he didn't used to write constantly.

I'm cursing myself now for not paying attention to the people around me for the last few months. How long has he been doing this? What triggered it? And what the hell is he writing in that notebook of his??

For the next several days, I try to get a peak at the nerd's notebook to no avail. He's surprisingly good at sliding it away just fast enough for me to miss it and directing the conversation onto

something important enough that I can't ignore it to bring the topic back to his notes. It's incredibly aggravating, but this brat always is, so I should have expected that. As the weekend approaches and Izuku invites me over to hang out as usual (I agree without even a token protest at this point, for the sole reason that I actually genuinely enjoy spending time with Auntie Inko), I consider the possibility that I might have to spend more time in Izuku's presence than usual if I want to find a chance to snatch his notebook without him noticing…

Yeah, right. I scoff to myself, shoving my hands in my pockets and continuing to ignore whatever dumb thing Izuku is geeking out about beside me. If I don't manage to get my hands on it in the next couple weeks, I'll just tell the idiot that real friends don't keep secrets and he'll be jumping all over me to show me what he's written. Fucking easy.

With that plan in mind, it's easy to set Izuku's weirdness aside for the sake of enjoying my weekly visit with Auntie Inko. The pretext of me coming over to hang out with Izuku is flimsy at best, but I do make sure to spend a couple hours watching reruns of All Might's fights with him or occasionally talking about support gear or hero costume designs, just to make Auntie happy that her creepy son has at least one friend. She's an angel, okay? It's not her fault her son is so lame.

After my obligatory Deku-sitting is over, I usually join Auntie in the kitchen to help prepare lunch. Today, however, she's in front of the hall mirror, fiddling with her hair. I approach for a closer look.

She usually has it half-up in a bun, with the lower layers loose, and it's odd to see it all down for once. She holds it up with a green-black four-pronged hair comb that blends in very well with her hair color, but at the moment she only has a brush and a small length of pink ribbon in hand. I squint up at her.

"What are you doing, Auntie?"

"Oh! Katsuki." She smiles at me, and I don't smile back, but I also don't scowl like I usually do when people look at me like a kid. "I was just thinking of doing something different with my hair. It's been a while since I braided it." Despite my wishes, my eyes can't help but wander to her long, soft-looking hair. It falls perfectly straight, sliding over her shoulders in smooth sheets and ending just above her shoulder blades. It looks soft, and slippery, the kind of hair that can be difficult to work with because it doesn't have the kind of texture that allows for more complex up-do's-

I jolt slightly when I realize that my hand had been inching toward my own blond, coarse hair, and quickly return it to my side, but Auntie Inko is watching me with Izuku's stupid eyes now, looking at me like she's dissecting me and seeing what makes me tick. I hate it. Normally I can't see how much Auntie and Izuku have in common, but right now it's obvious.

"I don't think I can do it myself." Auntie says abruptly, and I glare at the ground in silence. "It's been a while, so I'm out of practice. Would you mind giving me a hand? Braiding hair can be good practice for hero work, you know. It helps build finger dexterity." I wish I didn't know things, wish I didn't understand what I looked like from the perspective of an adult. I wish I didn't know when I was being manipulated or looked down on or patronized. I wish I didn't know.

"Okay." I agree, because I know anyways, and I miss this thing I've never had but still remember, and maybe because a part of me loves Auntie Inko and wants to please her, but I tell myself it's just because explaining why I don't want to help would be more trouble than just agreeing and getting it over with.

She sits on the floor while I sit on the couch so I can reach her hair, and I brush it carefully while she explains a basic three-part braid. My fingers itch to create something more complex, but it

would be strange to do a waterfall braid when I've never even touched long hair before in this life. My clumsy child's fingers force me to go slowly and start over twice, but like everything I do, I make sure to do this well. In the end, Auntie Inko has a basic braid, perfectly straight and without a hair out of place, tied off with a slightly-lopsided pink bow. (Sue me, tying a bow is hard while trying not to drop the whole damn braid! Auntie needs to buy some proper hair elastics.)

Auntie thanks me and praises my skills, and Izuku echoes her with several amazed compliments when she shows him my handiwork, but I'm lost in thought until the end of lunch, when Inko invites me to help her in the garden.

I'd forgotten. I know but I had still forgotten how soft hair could be. Kaa-san has hair like me, and Tou-san's hair is cut short and mostly neglected (like much of Tou-san's daily routine). Auntie Inko uses conditioner, and fancy oils, and her hair is long and fine and feels like silk between my fingers…

I liked braiding it, I decide, halfway through repotting a basil plant. Maybe I'll ask if she'll let me practice another braid on her next week.

It takes me until I'm once again staring at Izuku's dumb head on Monday morning for the penny to drop. At first, it's the usual thoughts of fucking nerd keeps muttering and dumb ass teacher always playing favorites and god I'm bored before I notice that Izuku keeps brushing his hair out of his eyes. I hardly notice the first time, but after the fifth time he's gotten his hair in his eyes that morning, I can feel my eye twitching in frustration.

It's when he gets sauce in his hair from his sandwich at lunch that I finally snap.

"What the hell, Deku!" I growl, and he flinches into his food, getting even more shit in his hair. "If you can't keep your hair out of your fucking face, get a haircut!"

"Ah, s-sorry, Kacchan." He said, brushing his hair out of his face, smearing sauce across his cheek like a moron. "I'm still not used to it, I guess."

"Obviously, stupid." I scoff. "If it gets in your way like that, you need to do something about it. You already look like a mess, you don't need any more help with that." He takes the napkin I shove at him and wipes his cheek when I gesture aggressively toward it. He's smiling, which just serves to piss me off more. It's always a sure sign he's not actually listening to what I'm saying and is just putting words into my mouth in his weird fantasy world. "Dekuuuu…" I warn.

"A-ah!" He snaps out of it. "Right, um. Well, I want to grow it out, so… Um. Maybe you could help me pull it back?" And he pulls a hair tie out of his pocket and looks at me hopefully.

I stare at him. Because, just, really? Seriously? He just happens to have a hair tie? Then why hasn't he been fucking using it all morning? And why does he need my help to put it up? It's not like it's that complicated, and he's not actually unintelligent for an… eight-year-old. Okay, yeah, he might not be able to pull his own hair back, but he's still way too prepared for this. What…

My eyes narrow and Izuku starts to sweat, his eyes just a little too steady on mine, giving away the fact that he's acting. If he were behaving normally, he would have looked away in embarrassment by now from holding eye contact so long.

"Deku." I say, suspicions rising. He's been growing his hair out for a while, and just as it gets long, Auntie Inko decides to teach me how to braid hair? Right. I might be a self-absorbed asshole but I'm not actually eight years old. "Just what is in that notebook of yours?"

The nerd goes ghost white. Gotcha. Ignoring his spluttering and evading, I'm already standing up and heading around the table to find out for myself. I'm actually a little impressed when the nerd has the balls to take his bag and run, even when I've made it clear that I am done waiting for answers. That doesn't mean I'm not going to pound him into the dirt when I catch him, though. He's obviously done something I won't like if he's this desperate to hide it from me.

Despite all the practice he gets running from me, Izuku still isn't as fast as I am (seriously, what's with this kid's abysmal physique? Genetics are really unfair) and I catch him halfway to the gymnasium building. (Presumably to hide the notebook among all the poorly-organized equipment. Not a bad strategy, actually, but pointless when he can't outrun me. Conditioning is important, kids.)

It's a matter of minutes to wrestle his bag away from him and pin him down to keep him from running off and hiding from my questions. (The nerd is still smaller than me, even though we're both the same age, and all I have to do is pin his arms underneath his torso and sit on him.) I toss his bag to the side after pulling out the notebook I'm looking for, and open it to the first page to peruse it from the comfort of my new Deku-throne.

Immediately, the first page has me regretting every decision I've ever made, in either life. There, written at the top, are the words "Kacchan Behavior and Analysis." Granted, it's written in Deku's shitty eight-year-old handwriting, and behavior is misspelled, but it's still disturbing enough that I almost shut the notebook right there.

But this is exactly the sort of shit I should have expected, so I grit my teeth and continue.

The first several entries are really obvious. Kacchan has blond hair and red eyes. Kacchan likes spicy food. Kacchan can do a handstand for 20 seconds 30 seconds a minute a long time.

Then, a few pages in, questions start popping up between notes on my favorite color and what kind of weather I like: What does Kacchan dream about when he wakes up so suddenly at sleepovers? Why will Kacchan play with my hair but won't let me hug him? What does Kacchan mean when he says people are Extras if they don't have a name? Everyone has a name…

And then, the format changes from random observation and questions and abruptly switches over to a much more organized-looking format about 15 pages in. At the top of this new section, underlined and circled, is the question: What made Kacchan cry?

"I didn't cry." I growl instinctively, only to punch Izuku in the leg when he starts to protest. "Shut up, nerd. I'm reading."

This new section includes dates and timestamps, and seems to be a nearly complete log of everything I've done for the last four and a half months. Starting from the week after I didn't cry, Izuku has written down every detail of my life from my sleep cycles to who I talked to. Every detail is examined, every snarl analyzed, and every silence dissected. After seven weeks' worth of – "being a fucking creep, Deku." "So mean, Kacchan!" – Izuku seems to have started writing out his own thoughts on the problem.

…Still no idea what's wrong with Kacchan. He seems normal – he fights with the same people as always, has his bowel movements at about the same time every day ("What the fuCK DEKU.") but there are moments where he gets… sad? Angry, but in a quiet way. Like he's thinking about something and it's making him angry? …

From this point on, the entries and observations are much more pointed. I'd be impressed by Izuku's obvious development if I wasn't so fucking horrified.

…Today Kacchan didn't even talk back to our substitute teacher. Was it because she seemed so gentle and nice? But Kacchan seemed even angrier than usual, and yet he stayed quiet…

…At recess some of Kacchan's friends said the girls had cooties and kept running away from them. The girls chased them all off the jungle gym and then kicked Kacchan off because it was "girls only". He's usually king of the jungle gym, but he didn't even argue! …

… I told Kacchan his shirt was cute today and he didn't even punch me…

…Today Kacchan was reading and… …Kacchan got chocolates from a girl today… …A baby on the train started crying when Kacchan glared at him… …Kacchan said… …Kacchan is… … Kacchan was…

…Kacchan always looks so sad when Kaa-san smiles at him…

That actually manages to startle me out of my angry skimming. My brow furrows. Do I?

… He comes over on the weekends just to see her, so I thought he liked her, so why does he always look like he wants to cry when she talks to him?...

That stings, and I complain about Izuku "spying on Auntie and me from the living room, weren't you, you creep?" to distract myself. His mortified wiggling is amusing enough for me to keep reading. A couple entries down a phrase catches my eye.

…I talked to Auntie about Kacchan today…

God dammit, Deku.

… She said that sometimes people say that girls and boys should play with different toys, or like different things, but that's not always true. Boys can like playing with dolls and girls can like sports, but sometimes people don't think they should and they can make people feel bad for liking certain things. She asked me what kinds of things I think Kacchan likes, and I told her that I've been writing down everything he says he likes so that I can be a good friend and remember. But she said that there are probably things Kacchan likes that he hasn't said he likes… but if he likes something, why wouldn't he say so?...

A few more entries observing me, each one more analytical and better at reading me.

…Kacchan looks out the windows a lot in the spring time, and he walks home slower when the trees are flowering. Does Kacchan like flowers?... …Kacchan hates talking to the girly girls in class, but he doesn't mind the tom-boys? But he likes Kaa-san, and she's girly… …Kacchan gets upset when babies and animals like me, or don't like him. Does Kacchan like babies? Or just hate being disliked?... …Kacchan sometimes hums when he's focusing on something, but he gets upset when he notices himself doing it. Is he embarrassed?...

One entry simply reads: I asked Kaa-san not to cut my hair anymore. I stare at that entry for a few minutes, reading back through the last several entries in the hope that I can figure out where the decision came from. His notes are very stream-of-consciousness, and it's hard to pinpoint any exact conclusion, but nestled in a paragraph about how I'd reacted to Auntie Inko spending more time teaching me to sew, I see the sentence: Kacchan likes soft things, but he doesn't want to be seen as soft.

Huh. I blink down at the notebook, feeling odd. That's… pretty damn close to the truth, actually. I press my lips together, letting out a slow breath through my nose. If I had to put it into words, and I'd been avoiding thinking about this for months, thanks a lot Izuku, I would say that while I…

longed for the things that felt familiar to me, that I can only assume were integral to whoever-I- was, I don't really… wish that I was still… them. Whoever I was had a sweet voice, long soft hair, was loved by babies and animals, always had flowers in her pockets -their pockets. Oh, forget it.

I was a woman in my past life. I… don't like to think about that, so I'm going to ignore it as much as possible, because I don't feel like a woman right now. I feel… I don't know. Like me. My body doesn't bother me since those first couple years where being a fucking baby was weirder than any genitals could ever be. And now… well, I had pretty much won the genetic lottery in this world. I'm stronger, faster, smarter, and better looking than pretty much everyone I'm going to meet as far as I know. And… I have the feeling that, the same way I look at soft things and wish they suited me, wish that I was soft and sweet and gentle, Whoever-I-Was used to look at people like me, people who were intimidating and sharp and obviously powerful, and wished she could be like that.

So I guess I'm doomed to be unhappy in every life, huh? Never satisfied, grass is always greener and all that. My chest aches, but I'm not going to cry. Not here, not about something like this that doesn't matter.

"Kacchan?" the muffled word has me blinking not tears back and taking a shaky breath. "I think class is starting…"

I close the notebook, not bothering to read the rest of Izuku's stalkerish nonsense, and toss it in the dirt. Standing up and brushing myself off, I wait for Izuku to get shakily to his feet (his legs are probably asleep from my weight. Ha.) before I catch him by the collar and spin him around so his back is to me. His yelp is followed by a wondering "Kacchan…?" as I run my fingers roughly through his hair and yank it mercilessly into place, twisting the front into a quick two-strand braid since it's too short to reach the ponytail otherwise.

"Give me the damn hair tie, Deku." I order, and he quickly hands it over. I tie it off and step back to examine my work as Izuku's hands come up to feel it in awe. I nod in satisfaction. "There. Better."

Izuku's scrambling to put his things back in his bag and brush the dirt off of them, but I'm already halfway back to class and not interested in hearing his whining, so I tune him out and let my eyes wander over the little white clover flowers blooming in patches among the grass.

By the time the two of us reach middle school, Izuku's hair is past his shoulders and forms perfect loose green ringlets starting just past his collarbones. With his big round eyes and soft cheeks, the boy gets mistaken for a girl hilariously often, and he always turns bright red when it happens. I can never decide who's more of a dumbass – Izuku, for not just cutting his hair already and instead stubbornly insisting on keeping it long and having me braid it almost every day, or the guys who keep confessing to him, thinking he's a girl despite his obviously male school uniform. Maybe I'll just call it a tie.

The third confession of our first year of middle school brings along a new set of problems, however. The third year that approached Izuku had, upon being told Izuku was male, simply said "that's fine. I don't mind, and two guys can still do it, you know?" Which lead to this situation.

"Kacchan, what did that senpai mean by do it?" Izuku blinks big green eyes at me and I roll my eyes and open my mouth… Only to shut it with a snap, as I realize that I had been a woman in my past life. I frown down at my body, feeling oddly betrayed, before looking back up and meeting Izuku's still-confused gaze. And… Oh damn, I still haven't found out what the hell is up with

Izuku's mysterious Dad. Does he even have a male role model he can ask about this? I pinch the bridge of my nose, ignoring Izuku asking me if I'm okay, and worrying that we were going to miss our train home. Right. This is fine. I knew this was going to happen eventually. Puberty was a bitch in any life, right? No one could escape a little bit of trauma.

"Alright, come on, Deku." I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him along behind me toward our usual train. "You're coming over to my house today."

"Um, okay?" He frowns. "Why, though? You don't usually like it when I come to your house." Because you always snoop around all my shit, I think but don't say. He knows what he does anyway, the little shit.

"Because apparently it's time for us to Suffer." I say, by way of explanation. Izuku begins to provide a lot more resistance to my dragging. Cute, I think mockingly, continuing to drag him along. Wimp.

"What? I don't want that." He protests. I roll my eyes.

"Oh shut up. Aren't you always going on about bonding and all that shit? Nothing brings people closer than shared trauma."

"Kacchan, no."

"Kacchan, yes. Now shut up and come on – best to get it over with."

Mitsuki was surprised to see her idiot son's shoes when she got home from work. Usually the brat was over at Inko's with her son until dinner rolled around. Spotting Izuku's red sneakers neatly arranged next to her garbage brat's loafers, she felt a grin split her face. My cute little godson is here!

"Izuku-kuuun!" She sang as she skipped into the living room, only to stop and take in the strange scene there. Her darling husband Masaru was sitting in the armchair looking uncomfortable and exhausted. Izuku was so red he looked like a Christmas ornament with his face buried in one of her nice throw pillows, and Katsuki was looking down at his crotch as if he thought his penis was going to rise up and bite him.

"What, did you catch them watching porn or something?"

Chapter End Notes

Surprise! Izuku's just as much of a creep as Bakugou is always saying. But he means well. He probably has hair samples from all his friends taped into the back of that notebook somewhere, let's be real.

Meanwhile, I didn't include it, but there's a whole page in Izuku's notebook dedicated to keeping track of how many pencils Bakugou goes through. His baseline average is one pencil every two weeks, from breaking the lead and then over-aggressively sharpening it down to a nub.