#well ao3 crossposting *is* gonna happen so i might as well make editing for that eventuality easier on me

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

in which buggy doesn’t sleep well, missed breakfast food so much in prison, tells tall tales, and schedules a—not a date. a… day to catch up with an old… person. shanks. whatever.

the next part to this story, which is a follow-up to this one, which was itself a second take at—actually, here’s a tag for all of the near miss stories & related talk, go there if you want the context. (i’ve linked to the chronological order sorting of the tag, so you should see the “thinking about near misses in east blue” post first.)

Buggy was still mad at Galdino hours later, when he got fed up with his feet being tripped over in the dark and the rest of him (sitting up in the rigging, sulking hiding just sitting) had gotten cold.  But given the very limited space on the Red Force, it was either bunk with someone or sleep on the deck, and Buggy was not about to do that.  The men—ugh, now Galdino had him doing it!—were way too excited about following Buggy’s every move, he shuddered to think what they might do at night.  Assuming he could even get to sleep with all of them hovering like that.

So if he was bunking with someone, there was really only the one option: the only other guest on this ship who’d treated him like a human being.

But he wasn’t happy about it.

Galdino paid him no mind, using a borrowed mirror to inspect himself as he prepared for bed, applying a thin layer of wax along the edge of his hairline.  When he was done with the mirror, he silently held it up so Buggy could look himself over.  He used pretty long-lasting makeup, the better to survive bloody fistfights and brackish ocean spray—and some of it had even survived the sterilizing baths they dunked you in when you arrived at Impel Down!  Buggy would write to the brand, to tell them to use that fact in their advertising, but that degree of longevity probably wasn’t a huge selling point now that Ivankov and his ilk had escaped the prison.

Anyway, nothing had happened today that could really mess it up.  His face was fine.

…it could use a touch-up, though.  Just to solidify the linework on the crossbones, make the edge of his lip really crisp.  Buggy touched the corner of his lip, considering, and very much against his will recalled how it had felt for someone else to touch that part of his face.

It had been a long time.

Not so long that Shanks’ hand was the first to touch him since Shanks, mind you.  But a long time all the same.

He scowled, and threw himself into bed.  Touching up his makeup—and who, exactly, would he be doing that for?!  That kind of thinking could wait until morning.  When, hopefully, he would have recovered his sanity in full.

As he was drifting off, Buggy heard Galdino roll over and say, softly, “You may think of that guy as some dope you used to sail with, but fact is he’s an Emperor.  One who’s taken an interest in you.  I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“And who asked you to do that?” Buggy muttered into his pillow.

“No one,” Galdino acknowledged.  “But if I’m hitching my wagon to yours—and it sure looks like that’s what’s happening here—I want to make sure we aren’t about to ride off a cliff.”

With that grim visual in his head, Buggy sunk into an uneasy sleep.

The next day dawned warm and bright.  Buggy had thoughtlessly picked a bed that sat under the one small window in the room, right where an early morning sunbeam would shine in his face.  He groaned a protest, but unfortunately, once up he was up.  Leaving Galdino to sleep his fill, he stretched, grumbled, and made himself presentable.

(This did not involve touching up his makeup in any way.)

A handful of Red-Haired Pirates were also up and about, though Buggy couldn’t tell how many were early risers and how many had been on watch overnight.  A few nodded at him with the bleary eyes of hungover men.  Uneasy at the acknowledgement, however small, Buggy ducked into the mess, praying that there would be something hot to eat at this hour.

Prayers were answered in the form of the ever-grinning Lucky Roux, who was setting out large pans of a few types of porridge under warming lamps, with toppings (both savory and sweet) laid out in small bowls.  Buggy opted for oats with some dried fruit and syrup on top, something that would fill him up and leave a sweet aftertaste.  Though he might go back for the rice porridge later if he could get a soft-boiled egg to go with it… oh, eggs.  He’d missed eggs.

There were also two steaming pots of liquid sitting to one side, one a tisane that smelled oddly familiar—after a moment, Buggy remembered the hangover cure Rayleigh had sworn by, and had to bite back a nauseous stab of nostalgia.  He went for the other, not caring what it was so long as it was hot.  It turned out to be awfully bitter, so he stole a bit of the porridge syrup to sweeten it.

Loaded down with food and drink, Buggy set himself up next to the kitchen, facing the rest of the mess.  No one would be able to sneak up on him but Roux, and the day a man that size could—

“Any special requests?”

Biting back a shriek, Buggy spun to see Roux poking his head through a small window between the kitchen and mess.  “I’m no short-order cook,” he said with a grin, “but this early I’m happy to make people what they want, so long as I have the ingredients on hand.”

What Buggy really wanted was a hot dog.  Fuck, he missed bread.  And meat.  But he didn’t want a cheffy take on it, he wanted the greasy sausage and halfway stale bun you got when you bought a hot dog at a boardwalk.  Since that wasn't likely to happen… “Over-easy eggs and toast?  Oh, and ham, or bacon, whatever meat you’ve got.”

“That, I can do.”

Buggy dug into his oats, watching other men slowly creep into the mess in varying states of wakefulness and dress.  The most tired looking came straight to the kitchen, where Roux already had plates waiting—the night watch men, then, being rewarded for that unpleasant duty.  That was smart, Buggy thought, reluctant but firm in his admiration.  If he ever got a really top-tier chef in his crew, that’d be the way to get people to do the worst chores: give them good food after.

“Building Snake says we're making landfall this afternoon?” one of the night watch guys said to another.  Buggy tried to lean in without making it obvious that he was eavesdropping.  “Seriously, that soon?”

“We need to resupply if we're gonna keep housing these guys for much longer,” the other replied, glancing over at a cluster of Whitebeard Pirates around one table, Marco’s distinctive tuft of fiery orange hair poking out of the center.  “We buy goods today, give all of them shore leave so they aren't in the way while we load up tomorrow, and if the winds favor us we offload the clown and his troupe the next day.”

Buggy twitched.  What now?

“Oh, did Rockstar find the Buggy Pirates already?” Roux asked, handing the pair of men their plates.  “When’s he gonna learn he doesn't have to work so hard to impress us?”  The three of them shared a laugh over this overachiever who’d apparently found Buggy’s ship in under a day. (The hell were they doing so close to the Calm Belt?) Leaning down to hand Buggy his requested dish, Roux said, “Only three days from your crew!  That must be a relief, huh?”

Ignoring the startled looks on the night watch pair’s faces as they ran off—yes, Buggy had been here the whole time, so good of you to finally notice—Buggy grabbed the plate and breathed in deeply.  Eggs soft as silk, bacon just the far side of well-done, toast triangles gleaming with butter… god damn, but it was worth being awake at this hour to get quality food.  “It’ll be nice to be home,” he said around a mouthful, “but I’ll miss this.”

Roux burst into big, booming laughter.  “You guys!  Always so appreciative of good food.  I’d expected to rate higher than prison fare, but I’m flattered to hear I’m also better than your usual!”

In the middle of stabbing the yolks of his eggs with a sharp corner of toast , Buggy squinted suspiciously up at Roux.  “What do you mean by ‘you guys?’”

“I mean Roger Pirates, of course!”

Buggy blinked.

“Shanks is always happy to eat whatever, but he can’t hide how much happier he is when I make his favorites.  And that Silvers Rayleigh…” Roux shook his head.

Buggy nearly choked on an egg.  “You’ve met Rayleigh?!”

“Oh sure, about ten years back?  We’d barely been on the Grand Line six months, just hit Sabaody and were debating whether to move forward to the New World or stay in Paradise a little longer, and suddenly Shanks was running off to talk to this old man.  Of course I had to feed him, if just to prove to the guy that I deserved my job.  He really—”  Roux sniffed the air, spun around and yelped, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

So that was how they had Rayleigh’s hangover cure on this ship.  “Sabaody, huh…?”  Buggy wouldn't have thought he’d end up there, with how often world nobles visited the place.  Did Rayleigh have a death wish?  Or was he just old enough at this point to escape notice?  Buggy snorted.  Lucky him.

A storm of feet came thundering from out on the deck, drawing the attention of most of the room—until the mess door flung open to reveal a cluster of men in ragged Impel Down uniforms.  They spotted Buggy and cried out, “Captain Buggy!  There you are!”

This got eye rolls and looks of annoyance all around, which Buggy almost wanted to join in on.  Seriously, did these guys need their hands held on the way to the bathroom too?

“Here I am,” he said dryly, sipping at his drink.  “Don’t you people remember what mealtimes are?  Where else would I be at this hour?”  Ignoring their responses (“Of course!  Captain Buggy’s so smart!” “So logical!”), he edged a little closer to the wall, having a feeling he was about to get crushed.

The men did flock to his side the second they were able—attempting to offer choice bits of food to him, like he didn’t clearly already have something better on his plate—but their devotion was thankfully balanced by respect, and they didn’t sit so close he couldn’t breathe.

They were still totally incapable of keeping their mouths shut, though.

“Captain Buggy, will you tell us of another of your adventures?”

Buggy bit back a grimace as pirates less enamored with him gave his group a dirty look. Yeah, he wouldn’t want to be in tight quarters with them either, if he were hungover and not a Buggy fan. But how could he ignore their request? “Sure! Anything for you guys!”  What stories hadn’t he told yet…?  “Have I told you the story of… how my crew acquired our fiercest member, Richie the Lion?”

“A lion?!”  “No, Captain Buggy!”

“Alright, then.  It all started when my brave crew was exploring a jungle island, years ago…” The actual story of how they’d gotten Richie was nothing special—it was really the story of how he’d met Mohji, a mistreated performer in an East Blue circus where Buggy had hidden out until the first time someone mentioned his nose, at which point he wrecked the place.  But who here would know if he adapted the story of a day he’d spent on a jungle island with Captain Roger and Shanks? (…besides the obvious person, of course.) So he wove a tale of cleverness and might, of Captain Buggy spotting a dangerous beast that had a crying child trapped up in a tree and tricking it into pursuing him instead, only for the lion to be instantly tamed by his sheer power… and of course, Buggy being richly rewarded for the rescue.

“And that’s why we named him Richie,” Buggy concluded.  “After the riches and fortune he brought me that day.”

“How touching!”  “How bold!”  “How amazing!”

How exhausting.  “Now,” Buggy said, mopping up a smear of egg yolk with his last corner of toast, “are you satisfied for the moment, or do you need another—” Glancing up, he nearly choked on his bite.  Shanks was standing in the midst of the men, sipping from a steaming hot mug and watching Buggy with an amused smile on his face.  That fucker definitely remembered being stuck up a tree with a lion clawing at their feet.  “Shanks!  W-what do you want?”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he said, glancing down at the man sitting across the table from Buggy.  It seemed the men had been so captivated by Buggy’s storytelling that they hadn’t noticed Shanks either; now that they had, they quickly moved to accommodate him.  Taking the suddenly empty seat, he set down his mug—Buggy’s nose wrinkled up, it was the hangover tisane—and leaned his chin on his fist.  “If you’re taking requests, how about when we first met Oden?  That’s a good story.”

“I—that—” Like hell Shanks just wanted a story.

Lucky Roux got Buggy’s attention, and held out a plate clearly meant for Shanks; it was the same kind of breakfast he’d favored as a child, down to the diced tomatoes perched atop the eggs—originally a deterrent to keep Buggy from stealing his food, at some point it had become a highlight of the dish for Shanks, the freak.

…maybe he did just want a story.  For all that he was an Emperor now, Shanks didn’t seem to have changed much as a person.  Buggy passed the plate along to Shanks, and tried to relax. “That is a good one.”

Turning to the men watching this exchange wide-eyed, Buggy barked out, “Now, who among you swabs recognizes the name of Kozuki Oden, once heir to the shogunate of Wano?!”  This got a couple of looks of recognition, but mostly confusion—except for, from the far side of the room, a few angry grumbles.  Buggy laughed.  “Don’t tell me the Whitebeards still hold a grudge?  Just because our crews fought for three days, and Oden chose to come with us in the end?”

This garnered a far more impressed reaction from the ex-prisoner crowd, and some narrow-eyed looks from the Whitebeards.  Oh, they definitely still held a grudge.  But Shanks was smiling ever so slightly, and that was enough to make Buggy smirk and say, “Well, feel free to offer corrections if you think I’m telling the story wrong.”

And then he told the most overblown, exaggerated version of events he possibly could.

Some of the Whitebeard Pirates threw out corrections—and insults against Buggy’s memory and honesty—but Buggy gave as good as he got, Shanks occasionally chimed in with falsely innocuous comments like “that’s not how I remember it” to their corrections, and the story was all the better for the pushback.  That was the thing with lying: the larger lie sounded more believable when someone objected to small details, because your audience assumed that everything that hadn’t been corrected must be true.

For all the insults and slander tossed around about dead men, the mood in the room was significantly lighter by the time Buggy finished the story.  Most of the Red-Haired Pirates had left, their duties for the morning calling, but the former prisoners and Whitebeard Pirates lingered to hear Buggy out until the end, with Oden and his family sailing off on the Oro Jackson, Whitebeard’s men calling out fond farewells and complaints at his disloyalty in equal measure.

Even Marco the Phoenix was convinced to speak up at that point, saying, “Pops never forgave Roger for that, yoi,” with a slight, sad smile.

“For stealing Oden?” Buggy snorted a laugh.  “If you wanted him to stick around, you should’ve gone to the last island yourselves!  That man wanted adventure, and we were going on the greatest one imaginable.”

Marco protested—Oden had been like family to Whitebeard, didn’t that mean something?—and with the story complete and the breakfast hour long passed, the crowd began to disperse. (They’d learned yesterday that people who lingered in the mess tended to get roped into dishwashing duty, whether they were crew aboard the Red Force or not.) A couple people still remained: Shanks, who’d spent so much time egging on the Whitebeards that he’d scarcely touched his food; Marco, going back for a third or fourth cup of the not-tisane; and a few especially devoted ex-prisoners, staring starry-eyed at Buggy.

“The last island…” One of them breathed.  “Captain Buggy, what’s it like?”

Buggy blinked.  “Laugh Tale?”  He glanced at Shanks, who was watching him with a perfectly neutral expression, then down at the bitter dregs left in his cup.  What to say? Buggy flushed.  He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lie about this.  “I, uh, I don’t know.”

“What?!”

“We didn’t go,” Shanks said, getting a grateful look from Buggy and surprise from the rest of the room.  “Buggy got sick, and I stayed behind to look after him.”  This won Shanks some undeserved admiration from Buggy’s fans—what a sacrifice he’d made, and for Captain Buggy’s sake!  Yeah, right.

…well.

Well.

What other reason could he have had, to stay behind?

Galdino’s (terrible, awful) words from yesterday popped up in Buggy’s head.  Gah, surely not that!  Surely he hadn’t—not back then.  Surely he didn’t now, for that matter!  Buggy grimaced.  It wasn’t like he could just ask, not around all these people.

Not around them.  But maybe…

“Shanks, I—”

“Listen, Buggy…”

They blinked, dumbfounded.  After a moment’s silence, Shanks gestured for Buggy to go ahead.

Buggy scratched at an itch along his jawline.  It would be nice to be back on the Big Top, where he could get something like a clean shave again.  But before that… if he could just get the question out.  He gritted his teeth.  Why was asking for things so hard?  “Yesterday, you said you’d like to sit down and catch up if you weren’t so busy. If you really meant that… I hear tomorrow’s gonna be a shore day, at least for people who don’t have a real role on your ship, so I was thinking…” Buggy shrugged.  “I dunno.  Maybe we could do that? Can you spare an hour for me?”

“Yeah!”  Shanks grinned, so wide and bright Buggy could hardly bear to look at it.  “Yeah, I’d love that.  But forget an hour, I can give you the whole day.”  When Buggy frowned, puzzled, Shanks explained, “I was about to ask you to spend time with me.”

Buggy laughed under his breath.  “Figures.” All those nerves for nothing!  If he’d just kept his mouth shut a few seconds longer, Shanks would’ve asked, and then Buggy could’ve looked like he was doing him a favor by giving him exactly what Buggy wanted. Oh, well.  Turning to the men hovering behind him, Buggy snapped, “You hear that?!  You boys are gonna have to find something else to do tomorrow, I’m gonna be too busy to hang around telling you stories of my greatness!”

“Yessir, Captain Buggy!” (“Wow!  An elite captain-to-captain meeting!”)

“And if any of you dare to follow or interrupt us, you’ll live to regret it!  Spread the word!”

The men disappeared obediently.  Buggy let himself bask for a moment—god, but it was nice to be listened to.  Even if they did take it to extremes.  And even if they only did it because they thought Buggy was a pirate on Captain Roger’s level, and not just a kid the guy had taken a liking to.  And even if… with a little sigh, Buggy turned back around.  Gathering up his dishes—even if he managed to avoid dishwashing duty today, clearing his place was the least he could do—Buggy glanced up at Shanks and froze at the look on his face.  That fond little smile… heat rushed to Buggy’s cheeks, and he groaned, shoving a hand in Shanks’ face.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?” Shanks laughed, pushing Buggy’s hand out of the way, still looking at him like…

“Like—” Buggy remembered Galdino’s words and violently shoved the memory down.  He remembered a similar look on Shanks’ face, years ago, and violently shoved that memory down too.  Getting to his feet, he floated his stack of plates through the kitchen window and bolted.  “Just don’t!”

But even as he left, he knew Shanks’ expression hadn’t changed.  He was still looking at Buggy like he liked him.

And Buggy had just agreed to spend the day with him tomorrow.

What had he been thinking?

[serenlyss]

Don’t Thank Me Yet Chapter 2

Rating: M (guns, casual murder, torture, violence, ptsd, dissociation, blood, injury) Pairing: ritshou Summary: “Alright then. I’m Shou,” he says, introducing himself more properly this time. “I’m an esper, like you, the first in existence to be forcibly awoken by Claw’s crazy torture machines. They kidnap kids with potential latent psychic powers and break them, over and over, until either their powers emerge or they die. It doesn’t matter either way to them.” His expression hardens as he speaks, clear distaste and outright malice evident in his tone. “I could really use your help here, you know. A partner of sorts, someone to watch my back. What do you say?" Ritsu hesitates. He isn’t a fighter by any means, and the psychic powers now churning beneath his skin are still very new and frightening. It’s all very overwhelming, but Ritsu can’t help but feel a sort of sickening hope at Shou’s promise for revenge. It did have a sort of dark draw to it. In which Claw is a lot worse than they seem and Shigeo isn't able to find his brother after he's kidnapped. Crossposted to AO3: Chapter 2

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

Here's chapter 2! My idea for the time being is to update every Wednesday if I can, but I'm also doing summer term which means not a lot of writing time left over so those updates may get a bit sparser near the end! At the moment I have almost 5 chapters out of 8 at drafted, so hopefully that will help me have some extra time to make sure everything ends up polished!

Thanks to my beta readers @shutupeleven​ and @soapipia​ for helping me edit this chapter! Your help is much appreciated my friends!

Shou pushes the door of the empty house open with his powers, letting it swing open noisily in front of him. He tightens his grip on the arm around his shoulder, feeling the weight of his partner heavy against his side. His other arm is wrapped around Ritsu’s waist, offering as much physical support as he can. “You still with me, dude?” he asks, making his way over to an old couch in the area of the house that’s been designated the med bay.

He can practically feel Ritsu rolling his eyes at his dramatics as Shou helps him sit down on the couch, wincing as his sore body protests every movement. “I’m not gonna die, Shou, I’m just a little banged up,” Ritsu replies, leaning his head back against the top of the couch with a sigh. “You know I’m more durable than that.”

Shou flashes his friend an amused grin, extending a hand toward a shelf at the back of the room. His red-orange aura appears around his hand and stretches out with an invisible thread to encircle a beat-up cardboard box on the middle shelf, levitating it to his side.

Ritsu carefully shucks off his jacket, which is at this point destroyed beyond repair and covered in his own blood, and discards it to the side of the couch. Shou gives him a quick once-over, taking stock of his injuries. Most of them are clean cuts, inflicted by the window he’d crashed through during their unfortunate brawl. “Guess I’m still not so good at putting up barriers under pressure, huh? Even after all the training you put me through, my reflexes are still slow,” Ritsu sighs.

“It comes with years of practice and muscle memory. You’ve only had a few months to develop your powers, give it some more time,” Shou replies, reaching out a hand to turn over Ritsu’s arm and address the cuts there. Ritsu flinches as his fingers press into a particularly bad cut, earning an apologetic glance from his friend. He continues, “Things got a bit out of hand, anyway. There wasn’t supposed to be a fight, but I guess we weren’t so lucky today.” He reaches deftly for a cloth and dabs an antiseptic solution onto it, pressing it against Ritsu’s cuts. “If everything had gone as planned, we would’ve just killed ‘em all and disappeared, but one of their guys was able to see through my invisibility. Can’t tell you how, but it’s something to keep in mind for the future, I guess.”

Ritsu hisses out a pained breath as the cloth comes into contact with his open wounds, clenching his hand into a fist. Shou continues as though he hadn’t moved at all, and he might have been afraid of coming across apathetic if he isn’t aware of how well Ritsu knows him. “God, that stings. I keep thinking I’ll be used to it next time, but that never happens,” Ritsu grunts, gripping the arm of the chair tightly beside him.

Shou huffs out a short laugh. “Yeah, it never really gets any better, even after years of fighting,” he agrees, gently wiping away the blood that had seeped from Ritsu’s cuts and stained his skin bright red. “Look on the bright side, though: Once these are all healed up in a few days, you’ll have some more badass battle scars to show off!” He flashes Ritsu another lopsided grin, trying to lighten the mood.

“Ah, yeah, I guess espers do heal pretty fast, don’t we?” Ritsu murmurs in response as Shou wraps his arm in clean white bandages, though he doesn’t sound nearly as excited about the scars as Shou does. He already has plenty, after all. He opens and closes his hand experimentally. “My brother’s gonna have a fit when he sees them.”

“It’s one of the perks,” says Shou, moving up to Ritsu’s face now. “You went out shoulder-first, though, so luckily the damage was contained to mostly one arm.” He dabs away a trail of blood that had run down his neck and soaked into the collar of his black shirt, leaving a dark stain behind. “How’re your powers treating you? Feel any better about using them?”

Ritsu hums, closing his eyes for a moment as Shou wipes the cloth over a cut on his forehead. He doesn’t answer right away, and Shou doesn't press him to hurry up. “It still takes me way longer than you to do anything,” he says at last, letting his eyes blink open as Shou moves to push Ritsu’s shaggy hair out of his face with one hand, “but I think I’m getting better at controlling them. I’m still nowhere near as strong as that first night, though. It’s taken a lot of work to get to where I am now.”

Shou nods, pleased. Any progress is good progress, in his eyes. “Well, of course you’re not as good as I am, I’ve had these powers for years,” he replies, tone coming off cocky. “Even though Claw forced them on us, they’re still a part of us, and always have been. Not to mention, they’re good reminders to keep us focused on what we’re fighting against.”

“I could never forget, anyway,” Ritsu says back, voice quiet and grim.

Shou smiles at him, sympathetic, and lets his hand linger on Ritsu’s cheek a moment after he’s removed the cloth from his face. Then he pulls a bandaid out of the box and unwraps it, covering a small but persistently bleeding cut on Ritsu’s forehead. “Yeah, me neither. Still, I am grateful to them for bringing me such a strong and dependable ally. I’ve got Ootsuki and the rest, but they don’t know Claw as intimately as we do. Plus, you’re way smarter than they are.”

Ritsu cracks a small smile at this, and Shou takes it as a victory. Ritsu isn’t nearly as comfortable expressing his thoughts and memories as Shou is, so he sometimes finds himself guessing what words will work as a form of comfort in what situation. “Don’t thank me yet, we haven’t finished what we started,” Ritsu reminds him.

Shou pats his knee to show he’s heard, dropping the stained cloth into a trash can beside the couch. “We’ve come a long way these last few months. Especially you. You’ve changed a lot since the night I found you,” he comments, voice edging on fond.

Ritsu hums, glancing down at his bandaged hand with eyes that stare at something far away from where they are now. It’s not unusual for Ritsu to space out like this, but Shou can’t find himself getting used to the way his gaze fogs over and he falls deathly still and quiet, his soft breathing the only thing rooting him to the living world. He can only imagine what kinds of memories he sinks into when he falls into these moods, if he thinks of anything at all. Ritsu’s unwilling to parse the details of his kidnapping and captivity, subsequent torture, or anything else he experienced in Claw’s awakening lab, and Shou doesn’t want to pry too far, as curious as he is to compare his own experiences against another survivor.

He gives Ritsu a few minutes, moving to address the glass cuts on the bottom of his one bare foot. He’d lost his shoe when the Claw esper had thrown him through the window, and the broken glass had been quick to bite into the soft flesh of his sole. Shou suspects his shoe is probably still back in the base, no one left alive inside to take it for themself. Perhaps Ritsu would be able to retrieve it later, when they inevitably went back to blow the place up entirely. It wouldn’t do to leave it vacant and let Claw send more of their scientists to start work back up again, after all. Shou gently covers his injuries in the same white bandages that now litter Ritsu’s body. The dark-haired boy doesn’t flinch, or acknowledge his existence at all. It’s more than an little worrying when Ritsu falls into trances like this. Once he’s finished bandaging Ritsu’s foot, he decides to break the spell. “Ritsu,” he says, soft and careful.

Ritsu blinks when he hears his name called, knocked out of his reverie by Shou’s curious voice. He’s frozen for a moment, and his eyes dart back and forth as he reorients himself in the present moment. “Sorry, I spaced for a bit there,” he murmurs, reaching up with one hand to push his bangs away from his face. He stares down at his lap, dark lashes hiding his half-lidded eyes. “Did you finish?”

Shou raises an eyebrow at him, faintly amused, and hopes it covers the concern he feels underneath. “Yeah, you’re all good. It’s your turn to do me now,” he says, gesturing to his own bedraggled appearance. He’s not nearly as bad off as Ritsu is, but his hands are cut up and there’s a gash on the back of one of his calves. “What were you thinking about?”

Ritsu lets out a breath, pushing himself to his feet and swapping places with Shou. He doesn’t meet Shou’s gaze, eager to do something with his hands. “Just… stuff,” he replies, and it’s a terrible way to cover up the fact that he’d spiraled into a realm of unpleasant memories.

“Mmhmm, sure,” Shou replies, not convinced in the slightest. He hesitates, wanting to confirm his own suspicions but still conscious of the fact that Ritsu has boundaries that Shou doesn’t, and his traumatic memories are one of the things he doesn’t really talk about. He bites his lip, debating back and forth for a moment before he finally decides to just rip the metaphorical bandaid off. “You were thinking about the night I found you, right?” he asks.

Ritsu freezes for a split-second, not long enough to be noticeable unless you’re really paying attention, like Shou is. Busted. Ritsu chuckles dryly, but there’s no humor in it, and he doesn’t smile, just copies Shou’s earlier actions of wetting a clean cloth with the disinfectant liquid so he can return the favor. Shou rolls up the leg of his pants, granting access to the cut underneath, and doesn't say anything else. He knows that if Ritsu doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t.

“It happens sometimes. My memories of that night are… foggy,” Ritsu says after a moment, his words carefully chosen. “I remember being locked in this weird pod, and I remember you picking me up in the forest, but in between that it’s just kinda… hazy.” He presses the cloth against Shou’s leg, and Shou squirms, grimacing at the sharp sting that shoots up his calf. Ritsu grasps his ankle with one hand, holding him steady. “Don’t move,” he chastises.

Shou grunts, trying to take his mind off the stinging by focusing on Ritsu’s words. “I’m not surprised. You were exhausted to the point where you could barely stay standing. You’d lost a lot of blood, too, from whatever torture they put you through.” He shakes his head, clenching his teeth at the memory. “I still can’t believe they got those machines to work on someone with your kind of power. Before you, I was the only one.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, glancing away. “The great son of the leader of Claw, the first successful attempt at forcibly awakening a person’s latent psychic power. Can’t say if it was worth the cost, though.”

Ritsu frowns at this, Shou notices, as he tightly bandages his injured calf to keep it from bleeding any further. Shou’s not shy about talking about his own experiences in Claw’s awakening labs, and he bears plenty of scars from his time there, whether it's the singed skin on his back and arms or the thin lines that litter his torso and legs. Memories that will never disappear, etched for eternity into his flesh. He shows his scars proudly. They’re evidence of his ability to survive, to overcome. He takes great pride in recounting the stories of how they got there, stories he embellishes with all the flourish and drama he can muster.

Ritsu isn’t like that, though. He hides his insecurities behind carefully-crafted layers, like the psychic barrier he uses to protect himself from corporeal harm. Going through one would only reveal another, and then another, too many for any one person to break through by force. He covers his scars with gloves and long-sleeved jackets, even in the searing summer heat, even though Shou has seen them all and knows most of the stories behind them.

Ritsu swallows, clearly uncomfortable. He never had enjoyed when Shou brought up his father. “I remember being on the ground when my powers came to me,” he says, and Shou tries to hide his surprise. He’s avoided speaking about anything regarding the awakening lab in the past, unsure if he was ready to face what happened. Perhaps it was just an easier topic than trying to parse Shou’s family trauma. “They’d been torturing me nonstop for two days, trying to get me to break, to force my psychic powers to awaken and protect me. It worked.” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “Shou… back when you found me, the night I broke out of that place, you killed two scientists.”

Shou’s breathing stutters in his chest. He remembers it well, the way he’d shot them to death to keep them away from Ritsu. “Yeah, I did,” he replies, uncertain why Ritsu would bring it up now, a month later.

“You’ve killed a lot of people,” Ritsu continues, eyes still diligently focused on the task at hand.

Shou tenses up. Where is he going with this? “Yeah, I have.”

Ritsu just nods, falling quiet for a moment, as though this isn’t a revelation to him. Shou supposes it probably isn’t. Ritsu isn’t stupid, after all, and he’s see the way Shou handles a gun. Not to mention all the Claw bases they’d demolished in their short partnership.

“I think,” Ritsu begins, wiping away the blood that clings to Shou’s calf and ankle, “that I also killed a lot of people, when I lost control of my power.” He speaks slowly, choosing his words with care. “I don’t remember the details, but I know that some of the people in that lab tried to stop me. It was like I wasn’t even in control of my own body, but I still remember doing it, faintly.” Then, quietly, he adds, “I didn’t want to kill them.”

Shou hums as he listens to Ritsu speak. “You were only protecting yourself,” he says with a frown. “Besides, they deserved what was coming to them. It’s their own fault for getting involved with Claw to begin with.”

“How can you say that so easily?” Ritsu asks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Sure, they were members of Claw, and the stuff they did was terrible. I’m not saying it wasn’t, but they… they were still people, in the end.”

Shou’s frown deepens. “So what?” he snaps, harsher and angrier than he intends. His shoulders lift subconsciously, and he feels suddenly defensive. “They hurt us, Ritsu, really badly. That kind of damage can’t be healed by time or therapy or counseling. It’ll never go away, not ever.” He crosses his arms, drawing into himself when he would normally sit with open posture. “They broke us in a way that can’t be fixed, so I think it’s justified if we break them back. Compared to what they did to us, killing them is mercy.” He scoffs, looking away. “Anyway, it’s not like it matters anymore. They’re already dead, so there’s nothing left to talk about.”

Ritsu doesn’t answer, lips turning down in a disapproving frown. Shou notices belatedly that his hands are shaking. The sight of it sends a little shock of regret down his spine: he hadn’t meant to get defensive. In the four months they’ve stayed together, they haven’t butted heads very often, and the times they did were usually over things so small and trivial that they really didn’t matter in the end.

“Like I said, you were protecting yourself,” Shou mumbles, attempting to backpedal. “That must have been why you were so tired when you finally made it up the hill. Once everything was said and done you could hardly keep yourself standing. Adrenaline, probably.” He feels silly, like he’s rambling, but he’s desperate to change the subject now. “I basically had to carry you to the car, and you fell right asleep as soon as I told you to. Higashio hit a pothole halfway back, but you didn’t even react. You did end up leaning on my shoulder, though, somehow,” Shou says as Ritsu’s finishing up cleaning a cut on the side of his neck. “You slept the whole way back. I was pretty impressed. I had to levitate you all the way to the bed, ‘cause you wouldn’t wake up.”

Ritsu flushes pink as Shou speaks, setting aside the rag and grabbing a long band-aid from the box. His hands stop shaking.

Shou’s surprised to see Ritsu blush, and he can’t help the grin that comes to his face as the sour mood seems to lift a little. “Oh? Are you embarrassed? What’s wrong, Ritsu, you lean on me all the time now!” he teases, grateful for the chance to talk about something less heavy. Teasing is easy, even if the implications of their earlier conversation still hang thick in the air.

“Oh, shut up,” Ritsu retorts, but Shou’s teasing only makes his blush darken. It brings Shou a giddy kind of satisfaction to see Ritsu loosen up a little like this. Ritsu continues, “I don’t remember ever getting in the car. Guess my mind was too overloaded.”

“Trauma can do that to a person,” Shou agrees casually, leaning back on the couch as Ritsu finishes his work. “There’s a ton of stuff I blocked out of my memory growing up.”

Ritsu sighs, sitting up and taking a seat on the couch next to Shou. “That’s not a good thing,” he points out, fixing his dark gray gaze on Shou with a frown. “How do you even know that if you don’t remember what you’ve forgotten?”

“Well, it’s like you said. I remember what happened before and after, but my memory just kinda leaps forward in time. There’s an empty space that I know is there because it doesn’t make sense otherwise, but no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to figure out the missing pieces,” Shou explains with a wave of his hand. “They’re not important memories, though. I can live without them.”

Ritsu just stares at him with that same look, wordlessly telling him that his experience isn’t normal or desirable, as though he doesn’t already know.

Shou gulps, glancing away. Ritsu always has been pretty good at seeing right through him. “You know what they say, ignorance is bliss,” he says, though his words are lacking his usual confidence all of a sudden. Clearing his throat, he shifts in his seat, restless. “Er, was there anything else you wanted me to tell you? I don’t mind, you can ask me whatever you like.”

Ritsu shakes his head. “Ah, that’s okay, thanks. I remember everything that happened afterward,” he replies, but it’s clear to Shou that there’s something there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, barely held back by Ritsu’s unwillingness to step out of his comfort zone.

It’s been four months since they’d first partnered up, and Shou has grown somewhat accustomed to the little habits Ritsu uses to subtly express his emotions, like the way he avoids eye contact when he’s feeling vulnerable, or how he’ll fidget when he’s nervous or contemplative. Right now, he’s doing the former, eyes looking anywhere but at Shou as he piles the first aid equipment back into the box in preparation to store it again.

Shou stands and snaps the box up with his hands before Ritsu can, folding it shut and crossing the few steps over to the shelf at the other end of the room. “If you have something else to ask, you should just ask it,” he says. He doesn’t look back at Ritsu, if only because he knows his friend is less likely to ask if he feels like he’s being stared at.

Ritsu chuckles softly at this, leaning back in his seat. “I’m never going to be able to sneak one past you, am I?” he says.

Shou just shrugs, sliding the box into its place on the middle shelf. “I guess you could say I’ve gotten pretty good at reading you,” he replies, though it’s only somewhat true. Much of Ritsu’s mannerisms and habits are still a mystery to him, especially the ones that stem from his experiences with Claw. “So, what’s on your mind? You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” Ritsu says without hesitation, and it puts some of Shou’s doubts to rest. He takes an audible breath, then asks, “When am I going to be able to see my brother? It’s been four months. He probably thinks I’m still missing, if he doesn’t think I’m dead. I want him to know that I’m safe.”

Shou pauses, his hands hovering on the box’s cut-out handles. For a long, silent moment, he just stands there, hands held in front of him. Then, he turns and walks over to where Ritsu is sitting, crouching in front of him and offering him a rehearsed smile. It’s meant to be reassuring, but Shou’s never been very good at that. “You’ll be able to see him soon, I promise,” he says.

Ritsu must pick up on his false persona, because his eyes narrow, and his lips turn down in a frown. Shou knows immediately that he’s fucked up. Ritsu’s glare is dark and biting, sending a shiver down his spine. Shou forgets sometimes how terrifying Ritsu can be, until that anger is turned on him instead of an enemy.

Ritsu stands up hastily, hands bunching into fists at his sides. “Don’t make me a promise you don’t intend to keep,” he snaps, tone harsh and angry.

Shou flinches, already regretful.

Ritsu pushes his way past him and disappears around a corner, and Shou hears the door of his room close behind him with finality.

Shou lets out a soft groan, leaning his forehead on the couch cushion in defeat. He hadn’t meant it like that. He really does have plans to let Ritsu talk to Shigeo, just… not yet. It’s still dangerous, there’s still a chance that Claw could realize their mistake in mixing them up and go after Shigeo instead, and he really doesn’t want Ritsu’s interference to be the reason Shigeo ends up in the same situation the two of them are in now. He knows that being away from his brother is the thing that Ritsu finds the most undesirable about their arrangement, but he just can’t think of a way for the two of them to meet without jeopardizing one or both of them in the process. Ritsu is too important to their mission, too important to him, to risk him falling into Claw’s grip again.

You’re so selfish, he berates himself, clenching his hands into fists. Ritsu isn’t your pawn, you can’t control him.

Shou has never been one to stifle or repress his own feelings and emotions, and because of this, he can’t deny that he cares for Ritsu in a very personal way. It extends beyond the bounds of their self-determined mission, morphing into a feeling that’s a bit deeper and more potent than he’s willing to delve into with the way things are. He frowns. These are dangerous feelings, distracting and unappreciated. If he lets them run wild without putting a cap on them, he’ll end up doing something he regrets. He can’t afford to let such things interfere with the goal he’s worked toward for more than three years now, so he recognizes them, acknowledges them, buries them. There’s no place for such wants here.

I should apologize, he thinks, pushing himself to his feet slowly. He owes Ritsu an explanation, needs to repair what he’s broken with his careless words. He hopes that Ritsu’s cooled off enough to let him.

He walks to the door in silence, footsteps light, treading on his toes before his heels so his steps don’t echo. It’s a habit he’s picked up from years of sneaking around enemy bases and sabotaging them from the inside. He pauses just outside, listening, but there’s no noise on the other side of the door. He reaches out tentatively, gives the door a little knock with the back of his hand. If Ritsu doesn’t want him there, he won’t answer, and Shou will leave as though he’d never knocked at all.

Luckily for him, Ritsu isn’t so angry that he’s forcing Shou away. “What do you want?” comes his muffled voice, his words ice-cold. It’s an invitation. A harsh one, sure, but it’s better than being outright ignored.

“Can I come in?” Shou asks.

“You can do what you want,” Ritsu replies dismissively. His words are biting, lined with sharp thorns, but Shou can read the quiet consent within them.

Shou lets out a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding, cracking the door open and stepping inside. Ritsu’s laying on the dingy bed on his side, facing the wall, and he refuses to look up as Shou enters. Shou can see the angry pout on his lip from across the room, and he might have found it cute if he hadn’t been its target.

He hesitates in the doorway, then moves to the far wall and grabs the folding chair set up in the corner, dragging it over by the bed. He leaves a respectable distance between them as he sits down, clasping his hands in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he says, never one to beat around the bush. “You will see your brother again, I just don’t know if it’s safe yet.”

“You never do,” Ritsu sighs in reply, and it’ll be a lie if Shou says it doesn’t sting. Ritsu shifts onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. His shaggy black bangs flop to the side, showing his forehead. “I know you’re just trying to protect me, but I’m getting restless. My brother’s out there, somewhere, wondering where I am, and I can’t even get a message to him to let him know that I’m even alive. I’m frustrated, and frankly, I’m running out of patience. We’ve been at this for months, and that’s just in the time I’ve been here. You’ve been fighting for over three years, but it feels like nothing’s changed.”

Ritsu’s expressing his feelings, a rare occurrence, but Shou can’t bring himself to appreciate the effort. His heart drops, a ball of worry and anxiety forming deep in his stomach. “Things have changed, though. The number of Claw bases is going down all the time. My father is on his last nerve, I can feel it-”

“How much longer is this going to take, Shou?” Ritsu demands, sitting up and meeting Shou’s gaze for the first time. “Another month? Six months? A year? I don’t… I don’t know if I can go that long without contacting Shigeo, at least.” He crosses his legs on the bed, gaze turning to stare down at his lap, angry, persistent.

Shou’s mouth goes dry, and he feels a rare stab of guilt in his chest. “I don’t know,” he admits, voice soft, and he lets it reflect his feelings of vulnerability and insecurity, if only for a moment. “I feel like it won’t be much longer, but I can’t tell you for sure. I don’t know how much more it’ll take.” He rests his elbows on his knees and lets his face fall into his hands. He swallows, his words heavy on his tongue. “If you’re having second thoughts, it’s okay. I’m not gonna make you stick around, after all. You can go back home whenever you want. I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he admits after a moment of contemplation.

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he feels a wave of dread come over him. He doesn’t want Ritsu to leave. He wants him to stay his partner, wants them to trust each other. He wants Ritsu to be there when he finally shoves it in his dad’s face that he was wrong all along about world domination, but he can’t make him go along with it if he doesn’t want to.

Ritsu turns to him with wide eyes, momentarily shocked into silence, then his expression softens some and he says, “I’m not gonna leave, Shou.”

Shou looks up, catching Ritsu’s gray-eyed gaze for a moment before his friend looks away again. Ritsu fiddles with the edge of his sleeve, agitated. “I just… really miss my brother. I don’t want him to worry about me the way I worry about him.” He runs his fingers over the scars on one hand, marks and lines that Shou knows intimately, because he’d tended them when they were fresh. Ritsu runs his fingers over them, and says, “You’re my best friend, Shou, my partner, and I’m not going to abandon you. My brother is going to need me, but you need me, too. I’ll just have to come up with a safe way to contact him without alerting Claw, that’s all.”

Shou can’t help but let out a laugh, breathy and relieved, and the tension he’s been feeling melts away a little. “Yeah, alright. If anyone can figure it out, you can,” he says. It comes across a bit fonder than he intends, but there’s nothing he can do about it once it’s left his mouth. “Thanks for sticking by me, Ritsu. I know I’m not a very good friend, and I kinda suck at relationships in general, but it really means a lot that you have my back,” he adds, genuinely happy that Ritsu won’t be going away after all.

Shou catches the beginning of a blush on Ritsu’s cheeks as he glances away, hiding his face from Shou in a familiar way. “Don’t thank me yet,” he reminds him with a little smile. Shou knows he’s been forgiven.

Ritsu opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can, there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” he says instead, turning toward the door.

Higashio opens the door, stepping into the threshold. “We’ve located a Claw base about thirty miles outside Seasoning City,” he says, all business. “We’ve confirmed its location after following an unmarked vehicle there. We’re ready to strike at any time, leader.”

Shou and Ritsu exchange a knowing look. There’s really no debating it. Shou turns back to Higashio and grins, feeling a familiar anticipation building up in him. He stands up, and Ritsu follows at his side.

“Let’s not waste time, then.”

[blacknovelist]

A Place to Be (Ch. 4)

The other day I was wrecked writing a chapter, and this was that chapter - I warned you all!!

Nah, but really. In general this is the self-indulgent Dad Might and 1-A friendfamily chapter I’ve been hankering to write since forever. After this it’s just the epilogue, which’ll probably happen tomorrow or the day after. 

Also, I 100% recommend listening to You are Loved by Stars Go Dim, as well, because I found it while i was trying to crosspost and I was Wrecked™. So was @guardianlioness​ when I told her about it. it’s your turn, guys.

[AO3] [ffnet]

[Ch. 1] [Ch. 2] [Ch. 3] [Ch. 4] [Epilogue]

Chapter 4: Let it Linger

You don't have to prove yourself, Don't try to be someone else, You are loved (Just look up; know you are loved Just look up; know you are loved) 

The walk back to the dorms was a blur. No one said much, though they clumped together all the way up to the side door, at which point they had to file through separately, lest they get stuck in the frame. Izuku trailed behind, mind spinning now that the moment of adrenaline and shock was over. He just said that. All of it. Thoughts twirled and flew without rhyme or reason, and he jammed his emotions aside for a moment - logic now, feelings later.

Toshinori nudged him through the door, slipping it shut behind them as the others vanished around the corner into the living room. His student's eyes were glued to the floor, and he shuffled towards him.

"I'm sorry, Izuku."

His head jerked up, eyes wide. Toshinori cleared his throat.

"I overstepped my bounds today when I called you my son earlier," he said. His hands twitched, up and down, like he kept having the same second thought over and over. "It was an intimate act that made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry."

Izuku bit his lip, unable to stare straight at Toshinori's face for long.

"It's, it's okay," he said, trying to quirk his mouth into a smile. The dam in his chest strained and creaked, but held strong against his tide of emotion. One step at a time, one thing at a time. "But it's. That's not really what I was thinking about."

"Your father, then?" Izuku nodded. "Yes, I can see why. It must be hard for you, my boy. A father reappearing in one's life so abruptly, and leaving just so."

"Yeah, kind of." Toshinori raised an eyebrow, and Izuku slumped. "W-well, it's..." He swallowed, sifting through his thoughts, the the elation and lingering determination and sadness and other feelings he couldn't put a name to. "I guess... I wondered what he was like, yeah, but I never really had an, an expectation, of who he'd be or what he'd be like. I've been thinking about him coming back for so long it's surreal, but he just came in and went at his own pace and I mean, he might know who I am, or who I was as a kid, but I didn't, I don't know him at all! He's not a bad person, but, he's not really my dad, yet. I didn't expect more, out of all this, but, I still feel a little disappointed too. I wanted him to stay, but not like that."

Toshinori let out a long breath. He started to reach out, stopped again, folded his arms to look casual and only succeeded in looking incredibly awkward. Izuku didn't notice.

"Even if he was proud of me, and wanted to come into my life, what else was the point of coming back? To let me know he didn't believe in me?" Izuku wrapped his arms around his head. The dam started to bend. Not yet, he told it. "That he didn't understand me or the fact I still want to be a hero? Did he even care about who I am now, or was it who he thought I'd still be?"

A beat of silence. "Oh, Izuku, my boy," Toshinori said softly. He looked up. "You really are one of the most noble young men I've ever known, without a single doubt. No matter what your father says, even a glimpse of your spirit is all I need to know you'll be incredible one day." Toshinori dropped his arms to his side. "Regardless of my promise to your mother, there's nothing I would want more in my life than to be able to watch you and your classmates grow, and be there to believe in you for every step of your journey. How your father hasn’t seen that for himself, or not want to do the same for you, it's beyond me."

He lay a hand on Izuku's shoulder. "And, while I never intended to overstep my bounds as your teacher and mentor, if you ever need to talk, or need someone like him in your life proper, I would be honored to be there for you. It's entirely your choice, no one else's. And regardless of that..." Toshinori ruffled Izuku's dark hair and smiled. "I am and always will be proud of you."

It broke.

Toshinori turned to leave. Izuku reached out. When he looked back at the hand grasping his shirt, he choked at the sight of tears flooding down Izuku's face, twisted and shaking. He raised his arms, instinct screaming to comfort, to wipe that look off his student's face, but a weight buried itself in his chest before he could move, strong arms wrapping around and clutching at him. One for All lapped at his back and sides, tingling bolts of static and power.

For a moment Toshinori froze, surprise overtaking him. Then he folded, curling around his boy and drawing him close. He pretended not to notice the tears soaking through his shirt, the ones beading in the corners of his eyes.

"You don't have to say sorry!" Izuku all but wailed. "You, you don't have- You don't have to apologize for calling me your son. I don't mind, I-I promise, and I just." He wheezed, a breath in and a breath out, pressing his face to the white shirt of his teacher and muffling his words. "I'm sorry for crying, buh, but, I'm really happy right now, really! And, and, thank you. For, for believing in me, all the time. And, for sticking up for me, and everyone else too, you-you all, I couldn't even say or do anything but you kept sticking up for me, all of you guys, that's not, that's never happened before! It was, I don't, I never had friends, really, back then, but not any more, you all, you spoke up for me, and-" he sniffed, chest heaving, Toshinori holding him steady- "and, now I-I've got mom, and I have you, and I have Aizawa-sensei and Iida and Uraraka and Tsuyu, and Todoroki and Kirishima and Ashido, and Kaminari, and Sero, and, and just, ev-everyone here, so, so, I think if he doesn't want to come back, or he can't, I mean, I know you're worried, but, I-I think I'll be okay. It'll be okay. But, I, th-thank you, I, I'm just, I can't, I, you-"

"Shhh, my boy, prince of nonsense." Toshinori rubbed Izuku's back, running a hand through curly hair and smiling like he didn't have rivers running down his own face. "I should be thanking you, too. Always trying so hard to be strong and do everything right. Your friends will always stand by your side, just like Aizawa, just like your mother, just like me. You've gone through a lot, tonight. Breathe, my boy, cry. It will be fine, because I am here."

Neither could tell how long they'd been standing there, by the time the tears had run their course and One for All stopped flowing. Izuku stopped some time ago but hadn't seemed inclined to let go, and neither did Toshinori. Still, they were in the same clothes as earlier, and it was getting late.

"We'd best get ready for bed, my boy," Toshinori said. He lightly shook Izuku's shoulder, gently untangling himself.

"Alright." Izuku slowly unwrapped his arms from around Toshinori's waist, hesitating as he pulled away. "...thanks, dad."

It took all of Toshinori's willpower to keep from bursting into tears again as he put a hand on his boy's shoulder and pushed them both around the corner.

The sight that greeted them gave them pause; piles upon piles of sheets and blankets haphazardly spread over couches and armchairs, tables pushed aside in favour of plush toys and pillows. Most of the class was draped atop them, chatting quietly. Kirishima glanced over and lit up, scrambling upright.

"Dad-sensei, Midoriya!" He cheered, and the rest of the class perked up, turning expectantly.

"It's a sleepover tonight, no exceptions," Hagakure said.

"We hope you don't mind," Iida said, standing, "but we grabbed your things so you wouldn't have to go all the way up to your rooms."

Izuku blinked at the pants and shirt being held out, the sight of his things (was that his limited-edition All Might stuffed plush sitting next his pillow?!) carefully bundled in the middle of the sprawling blanket nest, the nineteen mostly-smiling faces, slightly overwhelmed. Toshinori wasn't much better off, but he took the offered pajamas with a smile.

"Thank you, my boy," he said, padding towards the change rooms.

"Th-thank you!" Izuku squeaked, taking the clothes and dashing after him. It didn't take long to pull the sleepwear (All Might-themed) on and throw the gym clothes into the hamper in the corner, not bothering to make sure they made it in properly. Toshinori was waiting for him on the edge of the makeshift fort.

No one said a word or glanced at them as they hopped and hobbled through, moving cushions out of the way and settling down on top of the various duvets and thick comforters currently making up the floor. They only shuffled closer once they were done, dragging their piles of well-loved blankets and beloved pillows to huddle around the duo in the center.

"So. Guys, Deku," Uraraka whispered from beside Izuku, "I've got a story for you."

"Don't take too long, Uraraka," Iida whispered back, somewhere behind them. "Even if we don't have lessons tomorrow, we can't let our habits grow bad."

"Oh don't worry, Iida, you're gonna enjoy this one, I just know it." She grinned. "So it was when I was just a kid..."

Come morning Izuku would wake up to the sun beating down on him through the tall glass windows, warm beneath his best sheets in his favourite pajamas and his favourite doll clutched to his chest. He would open his eyes and be met with the sight of wild blond hair and a gaunt face at peace, look around to be greeted with the sight of his friends, fast asleep, curled around them and sprawled out atop and across each other (and him) like it was the most natural thing in the world. He'd feel something stir in his chest, the joy that pulls more tears to his eyes, and go back to sleep, content.

But for now he grinned at Uraraka, soft All Might pillow at his back, and listened.