#Ryouta how dare you call my metaphor terrible

[frowerssx2]

Cracks of anxiety-A Hatoful Boyfriend fic (new):

My side of the Hatoful Boyfriend art trade with the lovely @donuts4evry1. I truly hope you like the updated version of the story.

(Please note that this has only been checked by me (who has dyslexia) and Grammarly, so please let me know if there are any grammar or punctuation mistakes)

Everybirdie will be in their human forms.

………………….

Tonight was the launch of the second Le Bel Christmas party. After the first was literally blown up by the Christmas obsessed hybrid children Miru and Kaku, Sakuya had a lot to prove.

Everything must go as planned tonight.

Everything must be perfect and so, Sakuya had it all planned from the very last detail and second. First, he must stand in front of his luxurious golden mirror within his bedroom, and let the tailors expertly fit him in a figure-hugging dark blue tuxedo with golden flower stitches. He must stand here like a scarecrow so he could be transformed into the image of wealth and perfection. 

“Is the outfit to your pleasing Master Sakuya?” asked one of the tailors. In reaction, Sakuya shifted this way and that, his sky blue eyes looking for any imperfections. Nothing must be out of place. Everybirdie attending knows who he is and what title he carries. 

He cannot allow any of them to judge him harshly. 

“That it is” Sakuya simply said with a tone as flat and empty as a piece of paper, stepping off the little fabric stool with the elegance of a Swan. He then looked towards the two tailors and for a brief moment, he wondered if he should thank them for their service.

But what was the point? 

Wasn't it their job him in the clothes they created? 

If anything, THEY shouldn't be thanking him. After all, he was the heir of the Le Bel family, a noble of great privilege, wealth, and responsibilities, plus like his father always said:

"It was not the bulb of a light you admired, but the shade and pole that holds it together"

And so, Sakuya blanked the two tailors just like he was taught and silently put on his black gloves before leaving the room, ignoring the angry glares the two commoners gave him...

He was above them both; he should not need to thank them for their paid services. That was not the noble way, that is not what he was taught. But yet, as left the room, Sakuya felt a heaviness in his heart that threatened to overwhelm him. Politeness and respect is the most important thing within the noble and high-class community but yet, it is never given to those of lower birth, even though they too, worked for their worth and wealth...

Suddenly, small black cracks ran up the marble walls surrounding him. 

Sakuya easily recognized them. How could he not when he has seen them his entire life? As these cracks were created by his own imagination and always formed whenever he dared to doubt his rightful place within the world. 

How he hated them.

He hated how these cracks made him feel worthless while they threatened shatter everything he has ever known. With an experienced ease, Sakuya forced himself to bury the thoughts of the lower class and how they are treated. After all, it was not his responsibility to question it or care.

"Do not waste energy on worrying for those who do not hold a pure bloodline"

Remembering that sentence from his father, Sakuya took a deep breath and stood in front of the grand doors that lead to the grand ballroom of the mansion.  

“Ladies and gentlebirds, it is with great honour that I present to you: Sakuya Le Bel Shirogane, the heir and the sixth generation of the Le Bel family” the announcer called out, and with that, the doors opened and Sakuya stepped forward as polite claps echoed throughout the large room. Moving slowly, never allowing his eyes to wander downwards, Sakuya walked down the stairs, the tail of his tuxedo following gracefully behind him. His footsteps were soft and proud as everybirdie within the room watched him with burning and judgemental eyes, all of them looking for any imperfections and daring him to make a fool of himself.

However, he would not give them the satisfaction. 

He shall not break nor allow himself to look like a fool.

He shall walk down the stairs and ignore the imaginary cracks that were forming underneath his feet due to his anxiety.

He was a Le Bel, he did not feel just ridiculous emotions.

He knew how to behave perfectly, shoulders back, back straight, walk with nothing but pride and elegance.

His thoughts were not important:

He will not let the whispers of his thoughts overwhelm him no matter how loud they were speaking, because he did not hear them:

“Why must they all be so eager to see my failure? What pleasure would it possibly cause them?”

“Why is it so important that I please these strangers?”

He did not question anything:

Why were his thoughts no longer whispering?

“Why must they judge me so? How can they possibly look upon me as if they know me while they do not?”

So why was he?

 *Crack*

 He must empty his mind of these ridiculous thoughts:

“But are they truly ridiculous?”

*Crack!*

In response of hearing those whispers full of disgust: Sakuya pushed himself off the banister, straightened his posture once more and continued his journey down the stairs. Easily ignoring how his breathing had suddenly got quicker as the eyes on him began to feel hotter and hotter. The pressure of it all caused the cracks from before to run up the stairs like if he was suddenly trying to walk on delicate glass.

Like to punish him for daring to think that, Sakuya’s foot suddenly slipped on a step edge and he went flying into the stair banister. Winded, Sakuya watched as the black cracks covered the banisters surface, each of them shining brilliantly to mock him.

“How dreadful”

“The stupid boy can’t even walk down stairs without failure”

“He cannot possibly hope to continue the great legacy of his father”

But he would not give in to it.

He still held his pride and grace, a simple slip has not suddenly removed that.

“Welcome everybirdie, to the traditional Le Bel Christmas Party. Please, make your way to the dining hall” Sakuya politely said once the climb down the stairs was finally over. Remembering not to raise his voice so it would become an unflattering shout. After all, somebirdie as important as him should not need to shout to be heard. Taking a breath to calm himself, Sakuya moved to lead his guests to the room he gestured to so he could politely show them all to their seats like a good host should, remembering to leave the seat at the head of the table for himself.

Where he could sit and finally breathe...

Sat here at a table brought no pressure. Nobirdie expected anything from him here; they were all too interested in their own conversations to care about him. That was until the food came and suddenly, the oldest and richest of the birds, took the time to repeatedly glance towards him.

Unlike commoner's meals, the noble community had a certain way to eat. One must not spill, one must not slurp or burp, one could not speak when their mouth is full of food, there were no elbows on the table, there was no acknowledging the waiters, not even when one of them was Ryouta Kawara. Sakuya hired him after the other boy explained that he was struggling to find work. But now, Sakuya was struggling with the pressure of pretending that he did not exist. That Ryouta, his friend, and a hard working young man who did everything in his power to look after his ill mother, did not deserve his acknowledgment.

Sakuya was under watchful eyes after all,

Eyes that were pathetic enough to care how he ate, how he sat in his chair, and who he talked to.

Eyes that would judge and radical him if he did the slightest of things wrong.

Deep down Sakuya simply couldn’t understand why they were like this.

Why was his method of eating and being sat at a table so important?

Surely that wasn’t his role as a Le Bel. Surely they should care more about the deeds and achievements he has done instead!

Why must they judge the little things that did not matter?

Why must it be responsibility to outshine them all in everything included eating?!

Sakuya continued to eat his foods in tiny amounts so he didn’t have to open his mouth wide like some disgusting frog, even while the cracks of his anxiety covered the table, even while his breathing could no longer hide the fact he was feeling just an emotion.

But he will not break,

This is where he belonged, this is who he was meant to be! If he let the pressure consume him then he would become an embarrassment and a disgraced son. Keeping his cool, Sakuya ate his meals, forcing himself to leave the correct size of the delicious food so the noble and respected birds would not think him greedy or fat. He then lead everybirdie to the main ballroom where they entered the truly incredible Christmas wonderland Miru and Kaku created that successfully impressed them all. But yet, Sakuya could not speak of the truth. He couldn’t tell the adults who he was going to be working within two years that he sort help from two children. That would only make them all speak to him like if he was a child himself, that he was not worthy of his title. After all, as a Le Bel he had to hire the most skilled and most expensive services Japan offered.

Anything else would be a disgrace and a disappointment.

That knowledge did not make lying any easier though, as the frustration of remembering to speak of the same lies over and over again, caused him to question why he needed them in the first place.

Miru and Kaku were very talented and skilled children capable of creative brilliance. Why couldn’t he praise them?

But, like always, Sakuya’s thoughts and opinions did not matter and so, he buried them all so he could go around the ballroom to greet and talk to his guest. The action soon becoming the worst thing he could have done as he had to remember everybirdies names, jobs, and responsibilities. He even had to remember not to let his anger at their forgetting details about him tempt him into an angry rant. This ballroom was not the council room in the school and these birds were not his underlings. He could not yell or lecture them.

No matter how he believed they were being hypocrites.

No matter if they were only interested in what he is and not who he is.

After two hours of hiding his expressions and being nothing but polite and slightly amused. Sakuya wanted to distress. At first, his eyes naturally wandered over to the forgotten piano in the corner of the room, however he was quick to fix it as he looked over to the dance floor.

A waltz will no doubt calm his nerves and so, he remembered to choose a girl who fitted the idea of the perfect woman a noble like himself, should desire...

A girl of a slim waist, small breasts, blonde hair, and blue eyes.

Never a man...

As a noble Sakuya could not let foolish desires like that destroy his bloodline or tarnish his family name.  

That is what his father told him...

So, Sakuya danced with the gorgeous female, ignoring how a pair of brilliant red eyes watched him but while he successfully did that, he could not do the same for the rest of the eyes.

He was surrounded by them, it was like if he was in an ocean that had the colour of a rainbow, each time he came up for air, the sea pulled him down and overwhelmed him. Forcing him to doubt and question every movement he did.  

Making him fear that he was moving in a way that either made him look like an unbalanced and confused flamingo, or too feminine.

Within seconds, the floor was littered with the cracks of his anxiety:

*Crack* *Crack* *Crack* *Crack*

Each step Sakuya took felt like he was stepping on delicate ice cracks

*Crack!*

A new crack breaking each second he danced, the feel of the girl in his arms feeling so wrong, the pressure of the eyes watching him too much to bare...

When suddenly, the cracks grew in size and strength and he couldn’t breathe.

It was all too much but he couldn’t allow himself to have a panic attack! He simply couldn’t! He should be able to handle this pressure! But, if he did not take a moment to collect himself and allowed himself to breathe then he shall collapse due to stress.

That type of embarrassment was not an option.

 With that in mind, Sakuya gracefully ended the dance with the unknown girl so he could go to a secluded corner. There he could tap his fingers against his hip with closed eyes. Like this, he could pretend that he was alone in the school's music room and playing the piano. It only took him a few seconds to become fully relaxed and capable of a normal breathing pattern once more. When he opened his eyes he looked towards the empty piano in the corner...

 ........

.....

...

.

 The piano was no longer alone as Sakuya stood beside it, his brilliant shy blue eyes looking upon its beauty with a gentle and soft smile. He could already hear its beautiful song. He could already imagine how his fingers would caress the soft keys of the piano that would make it sing oh, so beautifully...

Sakuya’s eyes widened when he realized the song that he heard was not in his imagination but reality. As his hands just moved on their own accord.

Immediately, Sakuya stumbled backwards as if burnt, the cracks of his anxiety now suddenly surrounding him like a powerful and unforgiving shadow, only leaving a path to the piano. To the only source of comfort within this room.

Why?

Why did he automatically come here?

Why must his instincts mock him so?

The fight to be perfect,

Sakuya took another step back, watching the imaginary cracks darken to pitch black. The sight of it making it rather difficult for him to breathe and stand as he was now suddenly overwhelmed with the pressure of everything:

The fight between responsibility and joy,

The temptation to break the rudeness and disrespect the high society forced upon him,

The fight between being himself or the son who caused pride and glory to his family's name...

Sakuya could no longer carry the crushing weight of the pressure or the expectations...He couldn’t press on when his anxiety and stress were threatening to make him crack.

He needed to escape it all...

He needed to breathe...

And so, he quickly left the ballroom to go to an empty balcony.

There, he was free to pace while feeling useless as the cracks grew and grew, his chest hurting because of his heavy and fast breathing. Everything was falling apart and he didn’t know what to do. He has never felt so much stress or pressure before.

Why weren’t the cracks leaving him alone?! Why were they worsening?!

His place was within the middle of the ballroom entertaining guests and not in the corner playing a piano like some commoner!

“Why are you denying everything your heart is obviously calling out for?”

It was not the question that made Sakuya freeze like a stone stature but rther the voice that held a familiar French accent that asked it. Within seconds, Sakuya turned to look at his half-brother of low-born blood, Yuuya Sakazaki, standing in front of the closed doors of the balcony, dressed in his own black tuxedo.

 “What are you doing here?” Sakuya asked in a low and dangerous voice, twisting his expression into an angry if not murderous frown.

How dare he be here! He wasn’t invited!

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were on the very edge of having a panic attack...Sakuya, isn’t it obvious that your anxiety is caused by your desire t-” “-Don’t start speaking just foolish notions! I order you to leave! This is no place for mongrels of low birth like you! I shall give you five seconds to leave before I call Albert and get him to drag you out and throw you in the Koi pond!” Sakuya screamed, his imagery cracks of anxiety now on the very edge of swallowing him whole.

“Allow me a few words before you force me to become an unwelcomed visitor to the Koi”

 *CRACK!!*

“How dare you demand that request while trespassing! Albert!”

“Sakuya, please! You’re drowning!”

“I am doing nothing of the sort!” Sakuya screamed in anger but then:

 Sakuya’s eyes widened as he watched cracks appeared underneath his and Sakazaki’s feet, all of them tearing in two like ugly strands of thin string:

Sakazaki had to go; he was making the damn cracks worst...

“Sakuya, deep inside you know that this is not the place for you-” “-how dare you!-” “-You know that you should be on a stage, playing piano and losing yourself in the world of music while others look at you in awe and not in judgment”

Sakuya couldn’t say anything to that as he wondered why Yuuya words were so similar to the hush whispers of the thoughts that have been haunting him all night

But he couldn’t listen:

“It is time to ask yourself one simple question Sakuya: do you want to live your life to be an identical copy of your father and surpass him in every way or do you want to live your life for yourself?”

Even if it was impossible not too...

“-Of denying yourself of what you truly desire? And for what? To be respected by others who will forget your name and face by tomorrow? To follow your father’s footsteps when it shall only lead to your unhappiness?-”

“Aren’t you tired of all of this? Of all the unneeded and pointless pressure? Of strangers judging your every move-”

Sakazaki, needed to shut up...His spoken words were now too close to the thoughts Sakuya must not listen too...

As Sakazaki spoke, Sakuya legs began to wobble as the only thing he could focus on was his voice and the fact that the cracks that surrounding him were now pooling across the floor like spilt water, leaving no see able surface but their darkness.

“Why carry your father’s legacy instead of building your own?”

“-Haven’t you once asked yourself if there is another road you can follow?”

Of course he has...

Because that is what Sakuya’s father told him to do...

That is what he was born to do...

If he wasn’t everything his father wanted him to be, then what could Sakuya possibly be?

He had no other road to follow, no other direction but the one that was created for him.

Sakazaki words and his own desires were filled with nothing but idiotic and pointless dreams.

“You have the choice to make the world know your story and cheer your amazing talent and obvious love for music. You can leave this place, you can start your own story and achieve everything you want”

 Sakuya could no longer handle it and the cracks of his anxiety pooled over the entirety of his surroundings until he could see nothing but darkness.

His legs buckled, his body following suit as his world spun but, before he could hit the floor in an unflattering manner, arms wrapped underneath his arms, held him up and dragged him onto the bench on the balcony. The next thing Sakuya knew, he was looking into eyes that were awfully familiar to his own.

“Breathe...Please” Sakazaki pleaded in a low whisper that sounded awfully guilty, but he had every right to be.

This was entirely his fault after all...

“I didn’t mean to land all of you like that but you know what I said is true. Your future is a road only you can create”

“But...But if I leave all this behind then...Who would I be?”

“You” Sakazaki answered slipping a leaflet into Sakuya’s hand with a soft smile

“But allow me to give you a little push in the direction you are too frightened to take”

If he did then he would have to leave everything he has ever known behind.

With shaking breath, Sakuya slowly lifted up the leaflet to read it:

[There shall be a schools talent show on 6th of March, anybirdie who thinks they have a talent please sign up! Any talent that does not cause any physical harm shall be allowed. To sign up go to the staff lounge and speak to Professor Nanaki]

“Stop hiding within your fathers shadow Sakuya and finally make things about you, about what you want, and show the world what is truly wonderful about you” Sakazaki spoke while Sakuya sat there in silence wondering if he should take this leap or not.

Was he ready for just a big step?

What if something went wrong?

“A wolf can hide within a herd of sheep by hiding within their white wool coat without their pack knowing, little brother”

 Not knowing what that sentence could possibly mean, Sakuya looked up to ask but the words got stuck in his throat when he saw that Albert was dragging Sakazaki away. He decided to let Albert do his job and lead Yuuya out of the mansion, if he didn’t then he would have to explain why and that would only cause him to collapse due to stress again. After a few calming breathes, Sakuya slowly stood up and walked to the balcony’s railing, by now, Sakazaki had already been thrown in the Koi pond and was currently shaking the large fish off his fingers.

The sight of it made Sakuya laugh for the first time that night and it...

It felt wonderful,

It felt like him...

In that moment, the imaginary black cracks caused by Sakuya’s anxiety slowly melted into manageable thin cracks as that emotion was slowly replaced by hope.

A hope that somewhere deep within him, Sakuya had the courage to walk down his own road....

 Later that night, Sakuya was laid in his queen sized bed underneath his silk blankets and on top of his mattress that was as soft as a cloud staring at his beautifully designed ceiling.

He couldn’t sleep as Yuuya’s sentence kept repeating in the young nobles mind:

“A wolf can hide within a herd of sheep by hiding within their white wool coat without their pack knowing, little brother”

He just couldn’t figure it out.

What did his half brother mean by that?

Sakuya knew it was some type of hint. Something that would help him decide if he truly wanted to go down his own road or not but...

“A wolf can hide within a herd of sheep by hiding within their white wool coat without their pack knowing little brother”

What was Sakuya missing?

He had to ask somebirdie who he trusted, somebirdie who wouldn’t judge him for his lack of knowledge...

“Huh, well that’s a terrible metaphor” Ryouta Kawara said to Sakuya the next day as they walked to school together like they always did after Professor Nanaki asked Ryouta to walk him to school after that one time he got lost in the snow and almost froze to death.

“It’s a metaphor?”

“Yeah, um, how do I explain this? Um...” Ryouta paused there to pull his thinking expression that has always been sort of cute “Okay, so, say you’re the wolf”

“Okay?”

“And me, Hiyoko and Oko are your pack because we know you and are your friends”

“Okay?”

“The metaphor is saying that you can do something without us knowing by hiding within a crowd, hence the herd of sheep and hiding in their coat thing. Or basically, you can do something without the people who know you, knowing by hiding in plain sight by the means of a small disguise” Ryouta explained

 But now, what Sakazaki said and did now made total sense. He gave Sakuya that leaflet about the schools talent show so Sakuya could compete in disguise and see if playing the piano in front of an audience was truly the life he wanted without anyone knowing!

“Truly?”

“Yeah, though like I said, the metaphor isn’t the best at explaining that. Who said it to you?”

“Oh, Anghel was babbling his usual nonsense to me and that metaphor was the only thing that sounded like ordinary Japanese” Sakuya easily lied.

“Thank you...Yuuya”

Word Count: 4,118

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This Fanfiction is also on:

Archive of our own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36159193

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14016100/1/Cracks-of-anxiety-A-short-Hatoful-Boyfriend-fic

Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/frowerssx/art/Cracks-of-anxiety-902606689?ga_submit_new=10%3A1644706691&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1

[ohmytheon]

Karma in Retrograde (15)

title: Karma in Retrograde

summary: When Dabi is hit by a de-aging quirk, he’s turned back to a 16 year-old U.A. Gen Studies student with self-esteem and parent issues, a destructive quirk, and no memory of the last five years. To help the Dabi of the past, present, and future, he is placed with Class 1-A. There, they must all face the question of whether he can change or if his destiny is already set in stone.

– Chapter 15: Ryouta gets a new wardrobe thanks to Aizawa that causes various reactions and gets beat up by Mina. Sort of.

Lanni notes: One of my favorite things about Ryouta is that he's both somehow hyper-aware about some things and also completely oblivious to others. Also, his budding friendships with the others mean the world to me. He's got a different one with everyone and they're all changing. This is definitely a more slice of life chapter after the heaviness of the one before. A little lightness in this emotional rollercoaster. I was rolling while reading some of the parts that Misty wrote. This was freaking fun to write. The song for this chapter is an English rendition of Hey Kids!

Tonight they'll don their masks, the kids that tear it down. And all these scheming lies will soon evoke the end. Turn up the temperature, Entice that golden taste. Give it some flavor, flavor, flavor. Just wanna hold your hand.

After they returned to the dorms, Ryouta immediately excused himself to the relatively safe confines of his room. Shouto tried to appear impassive, but he got the feeling that his brother wanted more of an explanation. They’d thought he was dead. Had it been just the lack of contact? Had he started to give off behavior that suggested he might do something to himself? Those horrific scars and staples flashed in his mind. He had done something to himself. They wouldn’t have been far off to think that.

Finally alone in his room, Ryouta couldn’t help but feel a little, treacherously, relieved. Reuniting with Fuyumi hadn’t gone terribly. It looked like she wasn’t angry at him, didn’t even blame him for the things that she really should. (How like her.) That was more than he had dared to hope for. Something like that seemed like it should have made the overall situation easier to handle. Yet when he thought about sitting down to have a long, proper talk with his twin, the lump in his throat remained. Hurried goodbyes with her promising to return were emotional in their own bittersweet way, but they were nothing compared to the prospect of climbing the metaphorical mountain that was communication.

Perhaps it was cowardly of him to delay the inevitable so readily. He was fine with that. The day had been overwhelming as it was. He wouldn’t say it - he didn’t want them to think he was too emotionally fragile to handle it or was going to back out (as if he could) because he had hit some sort of invisible limit - but it had been a lot of talking. Genuine discussion. Everything seemed to pass by in a tired haze for the rest of the day, his mind still trying to process what had just happened. It was fortunate that nothing important happened, because even if a hurricane full of sharks spontaneously hit the school, he couldn’t guarantee that he would have been able to pay attention.

Aside from himself and Shouto making an attempt to talk about what had happened, floundering, giving up, and changing the subject and a few more taunts from Bakugou that had him considering just buying a hat and getting it over with, nothing truly significant happened the next day either. That suspicious calm was brought to a screeching halt when he was called to see Aizawa the next morning.

Ryouta approached Aizawa’s office with a nervous feeling in his gut. He tried to remember what he had done over the past several days, sibling stuff aside, in an effort to figure out if he had done something wrong. Not that it mattered if he found anything or not. His entire existence was wrong. Arguing with Bakugou and failing to complete all of his work with Iida at once, while bad, paled in face of the fact that, at the end of the day, he was a villain. The staff of U.A. didn’t need any further reason to get rid of him. Wracking his mind trying to think of something that may have pushed them over the edge was merely self-inflicted torture.

He felt the urge to delay upon Aizawa’s door entering his line of sight and immediately squashed it. Whatever lay ahead of him, he would face it head-on and accept it with as much grace as he could muster. It was the bare minimum. Rather than slow down, he increased his pace. A few seconds later, he announced his arrival with a single sharp rap of his knuckles against the wooden door.

“Come in,” Aizawa called. His voice gave nothing away. Ryouta tried not to read into it.

It felt like the doorknob should have given some hint as to the nature of the meeting. Instead, Ryouta wrapped his hand around the cold, meaningless steel, the same as always. He opened the door with a quick twist and stepped inside the room. The motion was made less fluid than it could have been by his proceeding to hover by the door. “Sir. You wanted to see me?” It felt like a stupid question to ask, yet he couldn’t think of anything better.

Aizawa nodded. He began to move as if looking around the room for something, only to pause, his gaze catching on Ryouta’s face. It was a struggle not to fidget under that scrutinizing gaze, made even worse by the teacher’s absurdly strong poker face. He tried to search his expression for signs of disappointment or anger and came up with nothing. After a few heavy seconds, that was finally changed by the slightest of downturns to the teacher’s lips. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Ryouta shrugged. “Is it?” He tried to keep his voice steady - not too uncaring, not angry, frightened, or amused, and certainly not impudent. This time, he wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, but asking a genuine question. That didn’t mean that he wanted to sound desperate either.

That incalculable stare lingered for a few more seconds before Aizawa answered. “No, you’ve been doing well.”

The relief that came washing over him was almost strong enough to be tangible. It was accompanied by the sense of something warm buzzing in his chest. He was reluctant to call it pride, as not fucking things up (more than they already were) was a truly pathetic thing to be proud over, but he wasn’t displeased. More importantly, Aizawa wasn’t displeased. He said that he had been doing well, even with the incidents with Bakugou and Endeavor and the lesson and the general soul-crushing awkwardness. That was…good.

“Oh.” Although it was better than it had been a moment ago, Ryouta’s posture remained tense despite the good news. He forced himself to relax some more before walking across the room to sit in the chair in front of Aizawa’s desk. Hopefully, the action didn’t look as difficult as it felt. “What is it then?” He tried to ignore how much shorter he felt than the homeroom teacher sitting across from him.

A gaze as blank as Aizawa’s had no right to feel like it was staring into his soul. Yet, when the homeroom teacher opted to watch him for a moment longer before responding, he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable notion that it was doing exactly that. “You don’t have any clothes.” Immediately, impulsively, Ryouta glanced down at his dress shirt, which prompted Aizawa to add, “Of your own.” He did not look back up. Suddenly, that unreadable state didn’t sound so bad.

Ryouta tried to force down the embarrassment threatening to overtake him. Circumstances meant that he didn’t own anything of his own, but at least he could take some comfort in knowing that he hadn’t been asking for charity. Sure, it was stupid of him not to immediately realize what Aizawa was talking about, but it was too late for him to do anything about that. “Ah.” He slowly rolled his eyes upward and forced his gaze to drift back over to Aizawa, prompting him to continue the conversation like a normal, functional person who understood that there was no point in dwelling on minor slip-ups.

Rather than continue speaking, Aizawa reached under the desk. He retrieved a large plastic and unceremoniously plopped it between them. “You already have your uniform, but you need casual clothes. Tell me if I got the wrong size or there are any other problems.” With that, he gestured for him to take the bag.

It took a moment for Ryouta to spur himself into action. He stared at the bag and took care not to open his mouth until he knew what he was going to say. “Th-Thank you,” he eventually managed. That was a mistake. He snapped his jaw shut the moment he caught the stammer, his eyes briefly widening in a moment of raw mortification. Don’t get weird, he told himself. Be grateful, but don’t make him think you’ll expect more. “You didn’t-”

Aizawa cut him off with a dismissive snort. “Someone had to.” His tone came off as factual rather than accusational or pitying. Ryouta let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The hero gestured to the bag a second time. “Now, get going.”

“Right.” He reached out to take the bag, however, just as he began to lift it up by the plastic handles, he hesitated. “Thank you,” he repeated. This time, there was no stammer. The entirely unwarranted bubble of pride that threatened to well up over that was combated by his lingering shame over it having happened in the first place. Ryouta wisely opted not to tempt fate any further, finished removing the bag from the desk, and hastily returned to his room to inspect its bounty.

Besides being colors that he didn’t typically opt for, they looked like the right size and, more importantly, they looked comfortable. Ryouta had never taken fashion very seriously. As long as they fit him and he didn’t waste time pulling at them, clothes were clothes. He spent most of his time at U.A. in his uniforms. At home, shorts and a t-shirt was the best option. A lot of his clothing ended up burned or destroyed anyways, especially when he was forced into training with his father. He’d owned a few casual outfits, but nothing special. These would do.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he glanced at the clock and turned back to the bag of clothes. As soon as the time registered in his head, he snapped back to look again and swore, “Oh shit!” as he jumped to his feet. He’d gotten so distracted by his original panic over being called to Aizawa’s office and then the relief at not being in trouble that he’d completely forgotten that he was supposed to meet Uraraka and Midoriya at Gamma Gym. The speed in which he changed into his athletic uniform and shoved a change of clothes in the bag Yaoyorozu created for him would have impressed Iida.

Ryouta would confess to not being very strong and only fast in short bursts, having learned early on that dodging was easier than attacking, but he could run for long distances. He’d figured that out the hard way when his father had started his endurance training. By the time he made it to the gym, he was a little out of breath, bursting through the doors with, “Sorry I’m late!” before doubling over with his hands on his knees.

When he lifted his head, instead of being greeted by Midoriya and Uraraka, it was Mina and Uraraka who were currently stretching.

“Hey!” Mina called out, waving a hand. “We were wondering if you chickened out.”

“Uh, no, I just got distracted.”

Mina smiled. “I’m just teasing.”

Uraraka pulled herself to her feet and stretched her back one last time. “I hope you don’t mind that Mina joined us today. Deku had something come up.” She fist pumped Mina and the two girls laughed, the sign of an inside joke. Ryouta had never had one of those with any of his classmates. He’d had a few with Natsuo. In a way, now he was the inside joke of Class 1-A. “She knows how to kick more butt than Deku anyways.”

“No, yeah, that’s cool,” Ryouta quickly replied. “Cool, cool, cool.”

Setting his bag down next to theirs, he stretched and kept his attention elsewhere as the two girls talked. After learning more about hand-to-hand combat in the hero class, Ryouta had been forced to admit that he sucked at it. Aizawa had warned them that they needed to practice outside of class, but he also knew that he needed help. Since he’d been partnered with her in class and she was nice in a way that didn’t feel fake, Uraraka had been his safest bet. Midoriya had been with her at the time and had eagerly offered to help as well. Apparently, both of them had once been terrible at fighting.

Once he was done, Uraraka explained a few drills that she’d learned while interning with Gunhead. They were simple, but more interesting than Ryouta had expected. Endeavor had never focused on physical fighting during his training. It was all about strengthening and controlling his quirk. Ryouta’s quirk had to be stronger, faster, last longer, more focused. Everything else came second. It left him relying on his quirk more than anything else and put him at a disadvantage when he couldn’t even control the damn thing fully.

“I’ve learned more since then thanks to Kirishima and Mina,” Uraraka finished, “but I figured we could just start here and go from there.”

“And you’re sure this isn’t a waste of your time?” Ryouta asked again.

“Oh, it’s no problem!” Uraraka reassured him. “It’s good to review the basics every now and then to make sure my form is still good.”

Mina nudged her in the side. “Plus, she feels bad about kicking your ass so thoroughly in front of everyone.”

Ryouta shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not her fault that I never really learned how to fight.”

That seemed to catch their interest. He tried to smother a flicker of irritation. Throwing any sort of hints about what it was like for him growing up was a quick way to get questions that he had no intention of answering. He’d already let far too much slip when he’d been so tight-lipped before. Shouto must have been equally vague about his past or completely silent on the subject.

Everyone couldn’t help but wonder how the household of the then-number-two hero could produce an up-and-coming hero and a villain.

“Come to think of it,” Uraraka said slowly, “Todoroki relies mostly on his quirk too.”

“Who needs to fight when you’ve got all that power?” Ryouta lifted his hands, palms up, and gazed down at them. He didn’t call up his flames like he wanted to out of concern that it might make them uneasy. It was easy enough to picture them though. When he dropped his hands and looked back to them, their eyes flickered up to his and he knew that they’d been thinking about his quirk as well. He coughed. “You two ready to show me the ropes?”

Uraraka formed her hands into fists and gave him a confident smile. “We could do some drills and work on your form and then see how you use them against an opponent. Drills aren’t worth anything if you forget all of it once you’re in a fight.”

“Better give it your all,” Mina told him as she punched the air playfully. “I won’t go easy on you.”

Well, this was going to be interesting. He was taller than both girls but had no doubts that they could take him on. He had to be stronger - he’d started to gain actual muscle when he was thirteen - but they were better at this than him. The idea of a fist fight was so beyond him that he’d never thought to practice hand-to-hand combat until that class. He didn’t have a quirk meant for punching. That said, it was starting to occur to him that there were ways to use his quirk that he’d never considered before either.

Learning the drills themselves wasn’t that difficult. Ryouta worked on his stance, which would ground him better and keep him from getting tossed around as easily. Next, he practiced different kinds of punches before adding on dodging until it built into something along the lines of a violent dance move. They went at it like that for a while, working up a sweat. It wasn’t that difficult for him to do, as his temperature ran hot due to the nature of his quirk, but even the girls got really into it.

At first, when he’d realized that it was Uraraka and Mina, he had worried that he’d be too self-conscious. However, they were so laser-focused on what they were doing that he fell into it as well. It reminded him of when he and Fuyumi would get sucked into a book and lose hours together. Before he knew it, nearly an hour had passed and he knew a lot more than he had when they started. It wasn’t a lot, seeing as how he couldn’t learn everything there was about fighting in an hour, but it was a start. Aizawa would at least be able to see that he had put in the extra effort to catch up.

“Do you think you’re ready to put what you’ve learned so far into practice?” Uraraka asked.

Ryouta wiped the sweat off his face as best as he could and glanced over at Mina, who was lightly bouncing on the balls of her feet, like she wasn’t tired at all. He was definitely feeling the burn of his muscles and the first hints of being worn out. Still, he knew that he could last a long time. The kids in the hero course had endurance that would put most of the world to shame, but he’d learned to run on fumes years ago. He could burn and burn until there was nothing left in the tank and still keep on pushing.

“Sure,” he finally responded. He took a swig from his water bottle and tossed it back into his bag before languidly getting into a stance. Staring back at Mina, every inch of his body was screaming to tense up, but he kept himself relaxed, conserving his energy. If he lasted longer than five seconds, he’d be happy. Uraraka had done her best to teach him a few moves, but it would be different using them against an opponent that was actively fighting back and moving fast.

Despite the fact that she was about to kick his ass (or perhaps because of it), Mina wore quite a cheerful expression. She moved first, rushing forward and reaching to snatch him by the wrist. Fuck, she was quick. Ryouta fell back into his usual routine of dodging out of habit, sliding out of her reach. He slammed his right foot down behind him to strengthen his footing and then swung a left hook. She dodged it by twisting to the side, his fist sailing past her head uselessly, and then landed a precise hit in his side that forced him to stumble back.

“Gotcha!” Mina laughed.

“You left yourself wide open when you tried to attack,” Uraraka pointed out

Doubled over with a hand on his side, Ryouta managed to say, “I noticed.” When he stood up straight, his ribs stung, but it wasn’t terrible. He had a feeling that Mina hadn’t hit him as hard as she could even though she had said that she wouldn’t go easy on him. He would’ve really been bruised if she had. Still, despite being hit, he wasn’t mad or upset. In fact, as adrenaline seeped into his veins, he felt kind of, well, excited. Neither one of them were acting afraid of him and were actively encouraging him.

This time, Ryouta moved to attack first. Mina easily dodged his first attempt to hit her and then blocked his next attack. When she attacked, he blocked the first punch, but then caught her second with his hand, just as he’d done with Bakugou. It was a hard punch, but compared to a punch powered by an explosion, it only stung a little. He hooked a foot behind her ankle and shoved hard, tripping her and knocking her off balance. The thought that he didn’t want to actually hit her flashed in his mind, but then that was the whole point what they were doing here. She’d taken harder hits than he could manage with his fist alone.

Before he could follow through with a takedown, Mina used her momentum to do a backflip, using one hand on the ground to spring back onto her feet. The move was so graceful that Ryouta could’ve almost believed that it had been planned from the start. He inadvertently paused to gawk for a few seconds. There was no way in hell that he could manage a flip at this point. The mere idea of gymnastics made his mind attempt to jump through hoops.

She didn’t give him any time to recover from his shock, getting in a quick jab against his chest. When she went to hit him again, he snatched her by the wrist and pulled on her hard so that he could get her in a semblance of a hold, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He was stronger than her, judging from the way she jerked against his grip. His brief moment of pride was cut off when she hooked her foot around his ankle and kicked out, knocking his feet out from underneath him. Both of them fell backward and he hit the ground hard with her landing on top of him. It knocked the air out of his lungs and he loosened his grip on her enough for her to slip out. Before he knew it, she had him flipped on his stomach and an arm pinned behind his back.

Breathing heavily, Mina asked, “You give?” She was breathless, probably from the rough landing. He wasn’t exactly good cushion material.

With his face pressed against the mat and his arm pinned high enough to be just shy of being painful, Ryouta nodded his head and gound out, “Can’t really breathe.” Satisfied with his answer, Mina let go of his arm and rolled off of him so she could flop onto the mat. Ryouta rolled onto his back and sucked in a gasp of air as his lungs began to cooperate with him again. He took a few seconds to breathe before pointing out, “You didn’t go all out on me.”

“No,” Mina admitted, “but you wouldn’t be able to learn if I just floored you in a few seconds.”

“It felt like it was only a few seconds.”

“You did good,” Mina told him. Uraraka came over and helped her back to her feet as Ryouta sat up. When Mina held a hand out to him to do the same, he waved dismissively and pushed himself to his feet. It struck him that his refusal might’ve come off as rude, but brushing off help had been ingrained in him. It had taken him a while to accept Fuyumi’s help with changing his bandages, but it had made it a lot easier when he had.

“I did better than in class, at least,” Ryouta conceded, rubbing his lower back. Even though he’d landed on the mat, it had been more painful than the punches she’d landed on him.

Uraraka glanced at her phone and groaned. “Ugh, it’s almost time for dinner.”

“Ugh?” Mina questioned. “You love food.”

“I know,” Uraraka complained, “but Iida, Deku, and I are having a study session during it for Present Mic’s exam.”

Ryouta picked up his gym bag and started for the locker rooms. “Good luck with that.”

“You’re so lucky that you don’t have to take it,” Uraraka said as she and Mina did the same.

“That’s because I’ve done it already,” Ryouta pointed out. Seeing as how he’d finished his first year at U.A. and had been a month into his second, it had been decided that he wouldn’t have to take the final exams for the regular classes. He was already repeating being sixteen; he didn’t need to repeat his first year too. It gave him time to work on the hero course, which he was severely behind on.

They split up at the locker rooms, Ryouta going to the boys’ side. He took a quick, hot shower, the warm water soothing his muscles. This training felt different from his quirk training. He was tired and sore, but not worn thin and beaten up. Where he’d puked plenty of times and felt weak, he now felt hungry and ready for dinner. All in all, he felt good. Yeah, he was still leagues behind them in terms of combat, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was actually improving. He was changing. It felt good.

Having clothes that he could call his own was nice too. He didn’t mind wearing Shouto’s old clothes, but it was weird having to borrow clothes from his little brother. After putting on the outfit he’d gotten from the bag of clothes Aizawa had given him, he toweled his hair dry and walked back out to the gym where Mina and Uraraka were already waiting on him.

“You rea-?” Uraraka cut off the second she raised her eyes from her cell to him. They widened briefly before she furrowed her brow and bit her lip, looking like she was trying not to make a face. “Oh, um, new clothes?”

Ryouta hiked the strap of his bag further on his shoulder. “Yeah, Aizawa gave me some clothes so I don’t have to keep borrowing stuff.” He tugged on the hem of his shirt. “I mean, I usually don’t go for things this colorful, but it’s whatever. They’re not bad.”

Mina’s mouth was open as she stared at him, but strangely, she looked positively delighted. “Aizawa picked out those clothes?”

“Maybe?” Ryouta hadn’t really considered it. Getting handed a bag of clothes, having some small detail about him noticed, had combined with the fear that he’d done something wrong and forgotten to make a powerful distraction. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. They’re probably from a bargain store, but that’s fine with me.”

“And you like that outfit?” Mina asked.

“It looks fine to me. Doesn’t really matter. Clothes are clothes. All that matters is that they fit and are comfortable.” Ryouta looked at the two girls, self-consciousness creeping up on him. “Why? Is it…? Does it look bad?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his discomfort becoming stronger by the second. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing!” Uraraka quickly replied. “I mean, well, it’s just, um...a different look.”

Ryouta frowned. “Different good or different bad?”

“Just different,” Uraraka told him. There was a smile on her face, but it looked tense.

“Hey, it’s free clothes,” Ryouta said. Uraraka bobbed her head in understanding. She’d talked about her financial difficulties, so she of all people would be able to understand. “I can’t complain.”

Mina clapped her hands together, a bright smile on her face and still utterly delighted. “I think it looks fabulous.” Ryouta’s cheeks warmed. He didn’t even know how to respond to that. Fabulous was not a word he would have ever thought to use to describe himself. Was she being sarcastic? No, she looked and sounded genuine, which was weird. “But a few people might say something else about it.”

Rolling his eyes and starting for the door, Ryouta said, “If you’re referring to Bakugou, I don’t care. He’s going to say something no matter what I wear. It’s not a big deal.”

It really wasn’t. To be honest, over the past few days, Bakugou had been kind of tame. The coming final exams had proven to be a great distraction as they were more worthy of his time than insulting Ryouta. It was strange, but he’d noticed that, despite coming off as a hothead ready to fly off the handle, Bakugou was really serious about school and his work. Iida had told him that he was third in the class. It was surprising. His tormentor was kind of...a nerd. It had started to change Ryouta’s view of him. This kid truly wanted to be a hero.

“I still wish he wasn’t so mean, but, you know, he has a hard time letting things go,” Mina said, the smile fading from her face, as she walked at his right.

“He doesn’t have to,” Ryouta pointed out. “I’m fine with him hating me.”

“I don’t think he hates you,” Uraraka mused, which made Ryouta snort. He was pretty sure on a scale of one to ten on how much Bakugou hated him, he was at a solid thirteen. “He hates looking weak and you - well, Dabi - made him feel it. I know it sounds weird, but as awful as the whole kidnapping was, he’s becoming a better hero for it. I mean, he’s even starting to get past his issues with Deku.” She shook her head as they stepped outside. “Not that it was a good thing at all! It just made us all think about what we’re doing here and what kind of heroes we want to become.”

“And he’s gotten a lot better,” Mina added. “He can be kind of an ass. He still calls me as Raccoon Eyes sometimes when he’s in a bad mood.”

“But you don’t have raccoon eyes,” Ryouta interjected.

Mina smiled. “It doesn’t bother me. He’s given dumb nicknames for everyone. It’s like this thing.” She looked over to her right at Uraraka. “What did he call you?”

Uraraka blew a raspberry. “Round Face.”

“That is dumb,” Ryouta said with a snort.

“The thing is, all his...Bakugou-ness aside, he’s one of my good friends,” Mina continued. A mischievous glint that instantly made Ryouta wary appeared in her golden eyes. “But sometimes I think it’d be funny to give him a taste of his own medicine. We play pranks on each other all the time, but never as much with Bakugou. It’d be nice to really pull one over him.”

“You’re flirting with danger, girl,” Uraraka joked.

Mina winked. “What’s wrong with a little danger?”

“Most people try to stay away from it,” Ryouta said.

“Do I look like most people?” Mina laughed and Uraraka giggled with her.

“Uh, no? Most people aren’t pink.” Ryouta wasn’t exactly sure what kind of response she had been expecting, but apparently, his was good enough as the two girls laughed again. Even though he wasn’t a part of their group and he couldn’t exactly consider them friends, seeing as how he’d been stuck with them by force, it was nice of them to make him feel included. He still felt like he was on the outside - he didn’t know if he would ever be able to feel any different - but it wasn’t so bad. Neither Uraraka nor Mina had to come to the gym with him today, but they’d done it. They must’ve taken Iida’s declaration to heart.

That thought lead to another surprising, but not upsetting, one. Aside from Uraraka’s reaction to his outfit, which was another matter entirely, they hadn’t seemed particularly uncomfortable around him either. While it was true that they could have just gotten better at hiding their discomfort, that just signified more effort to make him feel welcome. Ryouta didn’t know if he should feel touched by the kindness or guilty about the inconvenience. He settled for glancing down at his feet and trying to find something else to think of as a compromise.

His solution came to him as he turned the corner into the common room. Granted, it wasn’t necessarily the one he wanted, but it certainly distracted him from any ill-fated attempts to figure out his companions. They were immediately greeted by a choking, wheezing sound. On a couch sat Midoriya, a cup of water which he had apparently partially inhaled in one hand, the other covering his mouth as he stared at Ryouta. Beside him was Iida, who, despite firmly pounding his choking friend on the back and continuously asking if he was okay or needed medical attention, also kept glancing at him.

The worst, by far, was Shouto. He all but jumped out of his seat and eyed him for a heartbeat before scrubbing his eyes with a hand and groaning. “I’d forgotten about this,” he grumbled.

Those words broke the stunned silence that the reaction to their arrival had generated. “Forgotten about what?” Ryouta asked. His brother lowered his hand and eyed the ceiling, looking for all the world like he didn’t want to be the one to explain.

Since Midoriya had stopped choking, Iida decided to lift the burden from his shoulders. He shot up like a springboard before starting to speak. “I am not admonishing you as you are not violating any dress codes or offending anyone. We were merely caught off guard. I, at least, did not expect you to enjoy…” Iida paused the chopping gestured his hands had begun making for a moment to stare at his shirt. “Kawaii. ”

He heard a small noise from Uraraka, followed by a gentle slap as she pressed her hand against her mouth. Mina reached forward to pat him on the shoulder. “Aizawa gave him some clothes,” she said, the earlier glee still lingering in her tone.

“Of course,” Iida said, although the soft wheeze that emitted from the still red-faced Midoriya signified that ‘of course’ may not have been the best choice of words. “I’m sorry! I did not mean to imply that they are bad! The… contrast of the bold colors and pastels…”

Ryouta tuned him out and looked down at his clothes. He wore a diagonally striped blue open-front shirt with pale yellow cuffs and, underneath that, a hot pink u-neck with a print of a yellow cat and the word ‘kawaii’ (or he thought it was meant to say ‘kawaii’, as it was written in english and had come out as ‘hawaii’ instead) with a claw-mark through it. His pants were a fairly bright pastel orange and his shoes simple black flip-flops. All in all, it was a comfortable ensemble that served its purpose.

“I think it’s fine,” he said. Even so, he could feel his self-consciousness begin to well up again, along with the feeling that he was repeating himself and would be for a while.

“That’s what I forgot,” Shouto murmured. Ryouta turned to glower at his brother, only to pause when he saw the faint signs of amusement on his face. Oh. The simultaneously alien and precious notion that his brother may be trying to playfully tease him wasn’t one that he knew how to respond to. He remembered such behavior from Natsu, but not as much from Shouto. Especially not this Shouto. His mind felt caught up trying to process the fact that it was somehow happening.

He was promptly reminded that the rest of the world did, in fact, exist, by Midoriya finding his voice. “I was a little surprised, but I don’t think there’s necessarily anything wrong with it,” he said. “If you’re comfortable, you should wear it! Right, guys?” Midoriya flashed Ryouta an encouraging smile before turning it to everyone else in the room. He was met by a somewhat reluctant chorus of agreement and somewhat uncomfortable smiles.

There was definitely something off that he wasn’t catching onto. Even so, he nodded decisively and said, “Thank you, Midoriya. You have a decent sense of style, so I trust you.” Midoriya visibly brightened at that, although he could swear that he saw Uraraka struggling not to cringe out of the corner of his eye. He would have shot her a confused look if he wasn’t afraid of drawing his attention to it. Was something wrong with Midoriya’sclothes? He’d liked most of his outfits so far, his ‘shirt’ shirts were really funny, although his shoes were vaguely familiar in an unsettling way.

“There really isn’t anything wrong,” Mina piped up. ‘No matter what some people say,’ while left unsaid, was communicated easily through the encouraging look she shot him. “I really like the shir-”

“Oh.”

The sudden interruption drew Ryouta’s gaze back to the hallway, where Yaoyorozu Momo stood, staring at him, as seemed to be the trend for the afternoon. Her expression, however, was one of solid dismay, her hand held up to her mouth and her eyes wide in horror. It faltered as agitation flickered across her features before finally being replaced by something harder.

She marched into the room and began to speak in a voice that, for all its gentleness, held an unwavering undertone of firmness. “I don’t know who did this, but I expected better of my classmates. You know how we’re supposed to behave. This is…” she shook her head, looking almost disgusted. By the time she came to a stop in front of Ryouta, he was already very confused. What she said next did not help. “Ryouta, if you tell me who-”

“Aizawa, apparently,” Shouto interrupted. He probably imagined it, but it sounded like his brother was tempted to laugh.

The color began to leave Yaoyorozu’s face in short order. “ Oh,” she repeated. This time, the word was swimming in shame, although there was also a fair amount of lingering horror as well. She took a few steps back and looked at the wall, ceiling, floor - anywhere but Ryouta’s face. That was when it clicked.

“Did you think I was pranked?” he asked incredulously. Yaoyorozu’s head drooped and the guilt in her expression intensified, which immediately made him regret his words. The Yaoyorozu family was pretty rich. He supposed it wasn’t too ridiculous for her not to understand things like thriftiness and think that giving people brightly colored outfits was a cruel prank. She didn’t mean anything by it at the very least. He opened his mouth to apologize, only for another new arrival, doubtlessly attracted by the slowly rising clamor, to make her presence known before he could speak.

“What’s going on?” Asui said, her brows furrowed and head tilted slightly.

“Ryouta’s bad fashion sense almost killed Midoriya,” Shouto said.  Ryouta immediately snapped his head around to glower at him. His voice was a perfect deadpan, but this time, there was no mistaking it. That absolute little shit was definitely laughing.

“Now you’re just being an ass,” he snapped. His voice wavered as he spoke. It wasn’t a bad waver. Although it was beginning to look like he was going to have to repeat himself until everyone had seen him and knew how he got his clothes, which was undeniably irritating, and didn’t like how people kept looking at him yet refused to explain what was wrong, it didn’t feel bad. Despite seeming like it should do the opposite, Shouto’s apparent amusement in the situation was making his self-consciousness slowly melt away. It looked like he might be aware of it to some degree as well.

Shouto looked him in the eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Someone has to tell you the truth.” This time, Uraraka wasn’t able to keep herself from letting out a small snicker. He heard a small ‘thwack’ as Mina smacked her on the arm, which, despite a choked attempt to apologize, only made her laugh harder. Somewhere in the midst of this, Asui gave a neutral, “I see.”

Ryouta rolled his eyes and huffed before looking back at Yaoyorozu. She still looked guilty and was fiddling with her hands. He also noticed that Iida was sitting stiffly and had a blush lingering on his face, likely admonishing himself over something or other. Midoriya kept shooting him concerned glances. “None of you did anything wrong,” Ryouta assured them. “I guess I just… don’t care about clothes that much.”

Naturally, that was when Bakugou showed up.

“Holy fucking shit!” he exclaimed before falling into a fit of laughter that seemed to startle everyone just as much as his choice of clothing had. He had both hands over his mouth in an attempt to muffle his guffaws and was doubled over, as if he physically couldn’t stand straight. His face was even turning red as he tried to restrain himself. His laughter was the only thing to be heard, everyone else having gone very silent with various unsettled looks on their faces. Ryouta wore a blank expression as he watched Bakugou with a completely unimpressed stare.

Midoriya nervously glanced at Shouto and then Uraraka before venturing, “Are...are you okay, Kacchan?”

“Okay?” Bakugou shot back in between laughs. “ Okay? Shut the fuck up, Deku, this is…” He finally stopped laughing, but was forced to refrain from speaking so he could take a few breaths. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Sighting, Ryouta repeated himself for what felt like the hundredth time, “Aizawa got me some clothes of my own.”

“You’re telling me that our homeroom teacher, pro hero Eraserhead, who once expelled an entire hero class, went out and bought you clothes” - Bakugou pointed an accusing finger at him - “and he bought you that? And you just wore it without complaint?”

“I highly doubt that he bought them himself,” Ryouta replied defensively, folding his arms across his chest. Surely he had better things to do. Then again, it made him wonder who had bought them. Maybe he’d just asked for donations and people had put clothes they no longer wore in the bag. It would explain the random variety of colors and styles. “And why wouldn’t I? I’m not a complete jackass. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. They fit. They’re comfortable. They fulfill their function. They’re clothes. What else is there, Saggy Bottoms?”

The muscle by Bakugou’s right eye twitched, probably at the nickname, but at least he was confident enough in himself to not immediately pull his pants up. He did sag his pants a ridiculous amount. In the back of his mind, Ryouta knew that he’d pick at his clothes later, trying to figure out exactly what was wrong with them, but he was resisting out of sheer stubbornness for now.

“I don’t know,” Bakugou finally replied, still sounding incredulous. “Maybe that they look good and not like you dropped acid and went shopping in the kid’s section?”

“They’re not that bad,” Mina jumped in.

Bakugou shook his head. “No, no, don’t defend this disaster just because you like bright colors.”

“And Aizawa was the one that got them, so this is really on him,” Uraraka added.

“Maybe so,” Bakugou said, like that was a door he would open on another day. “But Dabi over here willingly put them on and thinks it’s perfectly fine.” He started to snort as he tried to resist the urge to start laughing again. “He looks like he’s going to a rave. At least it matches his hair.”

At that moment, Kirishima walked in with Kaminari behind him. The first thing he noticed as Bakugou laughing. “What’s go-?” His eyes landed on Ryouta and widened. “Whoa, um, wow, okay I was not expecting this.”

“Can you believe that the guy wearing this outfit grows up to kidnap me?” While Bakugou cooled down, everyone else wore distinctly uncomfortable looks. Uraraka shifted on her feet. Deku coughed. Shouto glowered in that way that made the room drop a degree. No one said anything though and Ryouta could understand why. It was up to Bakugou how he dealt with that part of his past. If he chose to be glib about it for whatever reason, they would let him do it. No one had the right to take that choice away from him. “I’m honestly kind of pissed, now that I think about it. How the hell could I have ever been-?” He cut himself off and narrowed his eyes. “Whatever. That’s tacky.”

What was it that Uraraka had said about Bakugou? That he hated looking weak and Dabi had made him feel that way? There was no way in hell he was going to admit that in front of everyone. Ryouta would’ve done the same thing as him: denied any sort of weakness or fear until he died or maybe even taken it to his grave. Having information pried out of him that he’d never willingly given away before was already awkward enough.

“Dude,” Kaminari said, his face filled with as much delight and mirth as Mina’s had been. “That outfit is electric!”

“No!” Bakugou shouted, letting off a mini explosion in his palm, to which Kaminari just laughed.

Kirishima shrugged his shoulders, by far the most neutral out of all of them, although he still looked surprised. “I don’t know, man. I mean, that outfit is, uh, loud, but if you feel comfortable wearing it and don’t care what anyone else thinks, that’s pretty manly.”

“No,” Bakugou said again, much more emphatically, “no, no. You do not get an opinion in this.” He pointed down at Kirishima’s shoes, which were unmistakably crocs. Ryouta raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t realized that people still wore those. “Not when you refuse to throw those things away.”

“You’re just jealous that you can’t rock them,” Kirishima retorted.

“Just leave them both be, Bakugou,” Mina said in a dismissive tone. She really wasn’t phased by him at all, talking to him like she would anyone else. “At least we don’t wear different versions of the same shirt practically every day.”

Ryouta eyed the other boy. “Now that I think about it, do you own any t-shirts that aren’t black with a skull on it?”

Bakugou glared at him. If it was possible for steam to come out of a person’s ears like in cartoons, Ryouta was fairly certain he would be doing that right now. “I’d rather do that than wear an outfit you could see from space.” He stood up straight and swept the room with a glare that dared anyone to protest. “I’ll be in my dorm giving my eyes a break from this. Thanks for making my week brighter.” And with that, he stomped to his dorm, leaving everyone confused about how to feel.

Well, in a sense, that was the most positive interaction that Ryouta had ever had with Bakugou, so he couldn’t exactly be mad about it. Yeah, he was a little disgruntled, but he was mostly feeling awkward about being the center of attention for so long. Was he going to have to do some sort of fashion show for the class so they could get whatever this was out of their systems? He was not doing that, but if they had this reaction every time it put on a new outfit, it would get old fast.

Mina laying a hand on his arm nearly made Ryouta jump out of his flip-flops. She pulled it away so fast that it was almost like he’d only imagined her touching him. “You okay?”

Ryouta blinked. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” For once, he wasn’t lying. He glanced at Shouto, who had eased up again now that Bakugou was out of the room. Every time the two of them were near each other, his brother would tense up, as if he had to remain vigilant in case a fight broke out, even if it was somewhere as mundane as the bathrooms in the morning while brushing their teeth. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

Around them, everyone began to disperse again. Uraraka had meandered over to the couch to sit with Iida and Midoriya, probably to start their study session. Kirishima and Kaminari had gone to the kitchen. Yaoyorozu moved to speak with Shouto about something, distracting him and leaving Ryouta with just Mina.

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah. If it’s not my hair, it’s my clothes,” Ryouta said, “but honestly, it’s a lot better than what it could be. I’m, you know…”

Bakugou could pick on him for a lot worse things than his looks. There was the fact that he was a villain. That would have gotten under his skin a lot more. He didn’t like it when Bakugou referred to him as Dabi, but that was the name he knew him by from back then. It was a name that he had apparently chosen for himself. What a shit ass name.

Ryouta shrugged his shoulders and added, “Like you said, it’d be nice to pull one over him so he knows what it’s like, but it’s not like I can do anything.”

Mina grinned and he couldn’t help but notice that that devious glimmer was back and stronger than ever. “I have an idea.”

@mistystarshine notes: Agreed that this was a fun chapter to write! As I read Lanni's chunks, I. Was. Howling. Of course, the story wouldn't be half as much fun without you readers. We're almost at a thousand kudos, which... holy cow! I love you guys so much!

Now we get to the fun part of my notes. We have fanart! The first piece is directly linked to this chapter. Have a reference of Ryouta in his horrible outfit, made by the wonderful @ccyans! You should also admire this titan of pastels for designing the outfit. We just put the vision into words.

Next, we have some memes by @wellthengetouttathesoupaisle! They were inspired by discord shenanigans, but believe me when I say that you don't need context to enjoy them.

Finally, we have been blessed with some ship art by Pseudowinner! Would you believe me if I said that Lanni and I didn't drop any spoilers for this chapter? (Aside from asking Ccyans for permission to use the wonder outfit, of course!) Getting this right before a chapter with so much interaction between them made me grin.

To anyone who's interested and didn't catch it before, you can find the discord here! We'd love to have you!