Stendhal comes back to the apartment with a cake and a package wrapped with green ribbons. He sets them down in front of Izuku, who is in the process of bandaging his bruised knuckles from a day of training, and smiles. Izuku looks at the gifts, then back to Stendhal, his tiny brow wrinkling with confusion.
"Sorry it's late," Stendhal says. "Happy birthday."
Izuku's eyes go wide, then fill with tears. He offers the man a shaky little smile, though his fists tremble where they have gone tight around the roll of bandages. A scab on his knuckle splits and begins bleeding.
"Thank you," Izuku says, and waits silently while Stendhal goes to get a knife to cut the cake with. He holds the present loosely in his lap, staring down at the ribbons without really seeing them. He thinks about the party he and his mom had talked about having when he turned five. It's probably a good thing that they never got to throw it, since he is pretty sure that no one would have come, anyways.
"Here, I'll get you a piece," Stendhal says, making Izuku jump. He hadn't noticed the man return.
He waits quietly while Stendhal cuts him a piece that is way too big. Izuku doesn't bother to say that he can't eat that much, and accepts the paper plate. The frosting is red and blue, drowning the white cake beneath it. He hasn't had this much sugar since Stendhal started training him.
"How did you know about my birthday?" he asks, dragging the tip of his plastic spoon through a glob of icing on his plate. Stendhal settles cross-legged in front of him and takes a bite of his own piece. Izuku notes that there are dark stains on the sleeves of the man's ragged shirt.
"It wasn't too hard to find the information. I just checked the public registry."
"Oh." Izuku takes a bite of the cake, and can't help but giggle at the way the sugar makes his taste buds tingle. He ignores the creeping feeling of Stendhal watching him as he takes another bite. He has gotten used to the man's strange interest, the way his dark eyes will track every movement.
He makes it through half of his slice before Stendhal says, with thinly veiled enthusiasm, "Are you ready to open your gift?"
Izuku nods, and despite his uncertainty and the lingering sadness that he didn't get to spend his birthday with his mom, he can't help but feel a little excited at the prospect of a present. He sets his plate aside and starts in on the gift, careful with the ribbons but tearing the wrapping paper apart with childish excitement. He hears Stendhal huff out his strange laugh as he watches.
Izuku's eyes go wide as he sees the flash of yellow inside. Almost reverently, he pulls out the contents of the package. An All Might hoodie, just a couple sizes too big, sits in his lap. Its vibrant colors seem to light up the dark, colorless room. A huge smile spreads across Izuku's face.
"Thank you," he says, and he means it this time.
"I thought a future hero like yourself might like it," Stendhal says, leaning back with a satisfied smile on his face. Izuku blushes, still pleased and a little surprised every time Stendhal says such things with such casual confidence. After almost a year of all his friends saying that he would never be a hero, it was nice to have someone who believed so full-heartedly that he would.
"We don't even know what my Quirk is," he mumbles, ducking his head to hide his smile.
"I have a pretty good idea what it might be," Stendhal says. Izuku's head shoots up so fast his neck cracks. His eyes are wide, his mouth agape, and Stendhal wheezes out another laugh. "You wanna know?" he asks, eyes glittering.
Izuku nods, leaning forward eagerly. His heart is hammering inside his chest, so loud he worries he might not be able to hear what Stendhal might say. The man's grin is far too wide for his narrow face, but Izuku no longer finds it strange.
"My best guess is that you have an Analysis Quirk."
"Analysis?" Izuku asks, lips pursing with thought as he tries to remember what the word means. He frowns. "How do you know?"
"You think I haven't seen those notes you're keeping on me?" Stendhal asks, arching one thin brow. Izuku blushes, mouth opening to apologize, but Stendhal waves his words away before they can make it from his mouth. "It's fine for now, but things like that can be dangerous. Make sure you destroy them when you're done."
"Okay. Sorry." Izuku chews his lip, then asks, "How am I supposed to be a hero with something like that, though?"
"Don't look so disappointed, kid. If you can be taught how to use it properly, then Analysis can be extremely useful in pretty much any situation."
"But how?"
Stendhal rolls his eyes. "You're a smart kid, Izuku. If you can read an opponent's movements, if you know what their strengths and weaknesses are and know how to combat them, you will have a good chance of winning — or at least surviving — a fight with that opponent, no matter how powerful they might be."
Izuku considers the man's words. It makes sense, and even if Stendhal is a bad person for what he did to Izuku, he can't deny that the man seems to know a lot about combat and heroes and villains. Something warm unfurls inside Izuku's chest, and even if he's not sure whether Stendhal is right or not, it's still exciting to think he might have a Quirk that can be used to become a good hero, if he has the right training.
Stendhal can give him the training he needs.
Izuku takes a deep breath and smooths out the fabric of the hoodie. There is a single drop of blood on the white from where his knuckle had split open and bled. He stares at the familiar colors and wonders why All Might hasn't come to save him yet.
Hello! First let me say, thank you for your patience! I know it took a while to get this chapter out. I've recently moved in with my significant other, and started a new job, and I'm back at school. So I don't really have a lot of free time at the moment.
That said, here's a friendly reminder that reviews feed an author's soul. ;)
This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Topea Utopia, who has given me some super cool ideas for this fic. This chapter is for you. Happy (late) birthday!