Chapter 42

Shouta's thoughts are not in a pleasant place at the moment.

There are a wealth of reasons, but the main source of his troubles is the list of names and addresses before him.

Somehow, he's supposed to go around to each and every one of these families, and convince them to entrust their children's safety to him even further than before, in spite of his previous failures. Frankly it's a miracle that he hasn't gotten any calls from parents demanding to pull their children out of U.A. entirely. He at least expected something from Midoriya or Bakugou's families, or Jirou's since she was injured in the attack. But he hasn't. To his knowledge not even Sekijirou has, and most of his kids ended up in the hospital.

Still, passive forgiveness is one thing. Asking for further trust is another entirely.

"It'll be fine, Shouta." Yamada nudges his chair with his foot. "We all saw how you did at the press conference. You handled it, and these are concerned parents, not tabloid journalists trying to trip you up with 'gotcha' questions."

"Just because they won't be doing it for money doesn't mean they won't still be looking to blame someone," Shouta says flatly. "Making house calls means making ourselves easy targets."

"True." Yamada shrugs, turning this way and that in his swivel chair. "Could be worse. Most of Blood King's students ended up in the hospital, so. More scared parents for him, y'know? At least it's only Midoriya and Bakugou's families, plus maybe Jirou's—"

"Not Midoriya's, actually," Shouta says.

Yamada pauses mid-spin. "Oh?"

"All-Might called dibs, don't ask me why," Shouta replies.

"Even better. Single parents tend to be more protective anyway." Yamada resumes rotating in his chair. "Anyway, besides them, the hardest family to deal with will be Iida's. And Todoroki's, maybe—haven't heard much from Endeavor lately, but apparently he's been fit to be tied." Shouta's expression darkens, and Yamada must see it, because he stops again. "What's that look for? Don't tell me Endeavor's got you worried."

He doesn't, actually. Shouta has never liked Endeavor nor cared much about the man's opinion of him, so that isn't the problem. Truth be told, there isn't really a problem at all.

He just doesn't like to be reminded of Iida and Todoroki's part in all of this.

Not just them. Yaoyorozu, Uraraka, and Kirishima as well. It took a while for him to gather all the facts, to consolidate excuses and half-truths and vague surveillance images and wildly conflicting accounts into a clearer picture of exactly what happened. And what happened was this: five of his students stepped onto the battlefield in Kamino Ward without license or authorization, placing themselves into the line of fire after narrowly escaping death just three days earlier. To make matters worse, most of the rest of his class probably knew about it, and did nothing.

It leaves a foul taste in his mouth, knowing that his students broke the law, that for their actions expulsion is entirely justifiable. It's something he has to consider, something he has to think carefully about, weighing options like hearts against feathers, so soon after dismissing Mineta. Had circumstances been different, he would have done it in a heartbeat. Hell, he probably could have justified the same punishment for the classmates who let them go. It wouldn't be the first class of hopefuls whose dreams he had dashed. It probably wouldn't be the last.

But the circumstances are this: All-Might's time has ended. The Symbol of Peace is a man once more. The system was already fragile, the world balanced upon a single pillar, and now that pillar is gone and their only hope is to rebuild their supports on the way down, and hope they don't crash and burn. The world now needs heroes more than ever. It's a heavy thing, weighing the laws that hold the world together against the people who will grow up to uphold them.

Can they be trusted to uphold those laws, when they've already made the conscious decision to break them?

"Well, try not to worry about it too much," Yamada says, unaware of the mess in Shouta's head. "You'll just make yourself grumpy, and that's the last thing you need—hello, what's that?"

There's a knock at the door to the faculty office, quiet and politely brief. Shouta grunts, still working out a schedule and order in which to conduct home visits, so Yamada's the one who goes to answer it. He hears the door open and Yamada's voice chirp out a cheerful greeting, but doesn't look up or tune back in until Yamada calls his name.

"Hey Shouta, look who it is!"

He turns his head, half-listening, until he catches sight of Midoriya Izuku in his peripherals.

It's been a full week since Shouta last saw him, and he looks… objectively better. He's standing straighter now, instead of hunched and small like an insect curling behind a chitinous shell. There's color in his cheeks, his hair is about as brushed as it's ever looked, and a little bit of the haunted light has left his eyes.

But Shouta knows he's not where he used to be yet, and the point is only hammered home when Izuku signs a greeting.

Strangely enough, it's comforting to see him. In the midst of his grim thoughts, over passing judgment on so many of his students' futures, it's a relief to see one of the few students who aren't in any danger of wrongdoing or expulsion.

"Midoriya, what brings you here?" As Shouta speaks, his eyes fall upon the small folder tucked under his student's arm. Instead of answering, Midoriya crosses the distance between them and slides the folder onto his desk. There's a note on it, scribbled in Midoriya's spidery handwriting.

I took these from the villains' hideout. I forgot I had them in my pocket until later. Shouta opens the folder and finds four creased and wrinkled pages of what seem to be research notes, along with a small bag containing a hair sample. A light tap on his shoulder makes him look at Midoriya again, just in time to see him start signing.

"He says he wasn't sure who to give it to, so he figured you could pass it along to the right person," Yamada pipes up. Midoriya's head whips around, eyes going wide with shock, and Yamada grins. "Yeah, I know sign. I'm better at it then him, too."

"Yamada," Shouta says flatly.

"What? I am. I can totally translate so the kid doesn't have to dumb it down for you." Yamada glances at Midoriya, who looks thoroughly bewildered by it all. "Unless that was all you needed?"

Midoriya hesitates.

Shouta can see the look on his face, and guess what it means. It's the kind of hesitation that means that no, there is something more he needs, but he's mentally weighing how important it is against how much he'd like to avoid inconveniencing anyone. It's well-meaning, certainly, but also misplaced.

"Midoriya, considering recent events, I'd much rather you say what you need than not."

Midoriya shoots him an uncertain look, glances back at the door, and takes a deep breath to steady himself.

It's not the first time Yamada's had to translate for someone, and Shouta knows it's about the only thing that can make his voice softer and more sedate. It makes it easier for Shouta to ignore him, tune him out, and focus on the person who's actually doing the talking.

"Are the others going to be in trouble?" Midoriya asks him, and the relief is promptly gone.

Shouta sighs and doesn't answer right away, which is probably enough of an answer on its own, judging by the way Midoriya's face falls.

"Midoriya—"

"I don't want them to get in trouble for helping me," Midoriya cuts him off.

"They broke the law, Midoriya," Shouta says flatly. "They broke several laws."

"They did it to save me," Midoriya says, and his nervous expression is morphing into a hard-set frown. "They didn't try to fight any villains, they didn't get in the way of any of the heroes, and they saved me. They saved Bakugou, too."

Shouta wonders if it would benefit him to know that he's outlining exactly what makes this dilemma so difficult. If they'd attacked a villain, if they'd hampered rescue efforts, it would be such an effortless decision to make, and yet—

"Where is the line drawn, Midoriya?" He's not sure why he asks. It's not a question he's been able to answer, not in the past week nor in the entirety of his career. "Where's the line between a good and a bad reason to break a law?"

Midoriya looks away. Not at Yamada, or at the door again, but off to the side and at his own feet. Shouta knows why. It's an infuriating question. He's tired of having to ask it, knowing that it's only going to keep coming back, and he can tell right now that it's a question that Midoriya will be wrestling with, too.

"That's a stupid question."

Shouta's eyes flicker back to his student, and he finds the boy glaring at him.

"There's no line," Midoriya says. "That's like… asking for an easy answer. So you don't ever have to think about it."

Shouta sighs.

"Aizawa-sensei, I know they broke the rules, I know rules are there for a reason but…" Here he can see Midoriya stumble, hands wavering. "I was alone. And I was—I didn't know what to do. Nothing made sense anymore, and I was alone, and then… then they were just there. And suddenly I could see the path ahead of me again. They broke the rules but they saved me and doesn't that count for something?" Each sign is short and choppy, and if he were using his voice, he'd probably be raising it.

"It could have gone much worse than it did, Midoriya—" Shouta begins.

"But it didn't."

"And under normal circumstances, the consequences for their actions would both severe and final." These aren't normal circumstances, of course, and that's where all the trouble has been coming from.

Midoriya doesn't answer right away. He's staring at Shouta, still glaring, but his eyes widen as he realizes what Shouta is saying. "You're talking about expulsion."

"Midoriya—"

His student interrupts him one last time, with a light knock to the surface of his desk. Shouta considers ignoring it and continuing to speak, but he can tell that Midoriya has something to say.

"I need you to understand, that… this isn't an attempt at a threat," Midoriya says. "It wouldn't be much of one anyway, so it's just the truth." He hesitates, blinking hard as he steels himself to continue. "If you expel any of them for what they did, then I'll be walking out that door too, right behind them."

This part is what makes Yamada stumble over his translation. Midoriya says it's not a threat, but it kind of is, and Shouta can tell that it's not an empty one.

Midoriya's eyes never leave his. "Because if you did, then it would mean that my goals and the school's just… don't line up. It would tell me that you care more about following rules than protecting people, and Sensei, I've had teachers who felt that way all my life. I don't need one more."

His eyes are steady and unblinking, burning with quiet vehemence, and this feels familiar to Shouta but he can't place why—he never can.

All in all, Bakugou's family is a lot more accepting of things than expected.

As Toshinori predicted, they mostly have Aizawa to thank for that. He's seen video of the press conference, of how viciously the press attacked the boys, and of Aizawa's equally ruthless defense of both of them. Bakugou's parents are grateful. Toshinori himself is grateful. For all that Aizawa rightfully claims to hate the press, Toshinori can't help but feel that he handled that much more efficiently and effectively than even All-Might could have. If anything, that aversion to the media is probably why; the journalists and their questions were hard-hitting, and Aizawa was angry enough to hit back.

Through it all, Bakugou himself is strangely quiet. Toshinori catches the boy sneaking looks at him, as if there's something he wants to know, or something he wants to ask. He had been on the battlefield—the other villains had been surrounding him, but perhaps he had caught sight of Izuku standing near him and All For One. Perhaps he's wondering what was said.

In the end, for all that he seems to want to, Bakugou asks him nothing. Midoriya is next on their list.

"You're sure about this?" Aizawa asks.

"Any particular reason why I shouldn't be?"

"I visited Mrs. Midoriya the day after the attack. Something about her demeanor gave me the impression that I was lucky to leave that apartment alive."

Toshinori almost snorts at this. "I appreciate your concern," he says. "But it really is necessary that I do this alone."

"If you say so." Aizawa shrugs and sits back. "You know, most of the staff are convinced there's some tangible connection between you and Midoriya."

"Is that so."

"I told Yamada you were planning on taking care of this discussion with Midoriya's mother personally, and I'm pretty sure he's convinced half the faculty that it's a family matter to you."

Toshinori coughs until he tastes copper in the back of his throat. "If I could be so lucky," he rasps, and leaves the car before Aizawa can respond.

He knocks before he has the chance to lose his nerve. They know he's coming, and he's not likely to surprise them.

Midoriya Inko answers the door, looking… decidedly less unfriendly than he feared. She seems… civil. Not quite cordial, but definitely not cold. He supposes that it must be difficult to be unfriendly to him, the way he is—battered, broken, bandaged, and still healing. In any case, Mrs. Midoriya smiles as she admits him, and it puts him more at ease before he steps inside.

Past that threshold, he's seized with a strange sensation not unlike the familiar chill up his spine that has saved his life countless times before. It's a bit like foreboding, but not quite as ominous. It's not a threat of danger, no; it's more a sense of enhanced awareness, a distinct feeling of not alone.

Odd, he thinks. Of course I'm not alone. I never expected to be.

He can hear sounds from the television as he slips off his shoes. Mrs. Midoriya walks ahead of him at a brisker pace that he's probably not meant to match, because she enters the living room several steps ahead of him and knocks softly on the wall.

"I hate to interrupt," he hears her say. "But it's time, and I believe this is meant to be private. Izuku, if you could—"

It's at this point that Toshinori catches up to her, and he blinks in surprise when he sees not one, but two of his students seated on the sofa, glancing up from a paused video game that Toshinori can't identify.

He was hardly expecting to find Todoroki here of all places, and yet here he is.

Young Todoroki blinks at the sight of him, and his eyes shift up and down and back again, as if taking in Toshinori's appearance one piece at a time. It's hard to bury the instinctive alarm, the habitual urge to duck away and transform, but—well, that's impossible now.

This is the first time any of his other students have seen him, up close, in his true form.

"Hello, young Todoroki," he says, when the silence gets to be too much. Something like sadness is stealing into Todoroki's eyes, and Toshinori wants nothing more than to dispel it. "It's good to see you're well."

Todoroki gives him an awkward little nod. "You too." His eyes flicker toward Mrs. Midoriya. "I can go, if you need?"

Beside him, Izuku waves for his mother's attention and signs. Toshinori catches Do you need me? even though it goes by quickly.

"No, that's all right," Mrs. Midoriya replies. "I can handle this myself. It won't be long, I promise."

Izuku nods, bounds up off the couch, and turns off the TV and the game system. Todoroki barely has time to shoo the cat out of his lap before Izuku tows him out of the room by the arm. A few moments later, Toshinori hears one of the doors in the hallway open and close, and then quiet.

"He won't overhear anything from Izuku's room," Mrs. Midoriya assures him, after inviting him to take a seat. "In case you wanted to discuss anything sensitive. Sorry to worry you."

"It's all right," Toshinori replies. "I just wasn't expecting… er. My other students… it's sooner, than I thought." His voice trails off briefly. "Though this is probably good, to prepare myself."

"I see…" She looks sympathetic. "Still, I'm sorry about any inconvenience. I didn't want to turn him away when he came to visit. His father's been busy lately, so he might be getting a bit lonely, and… it's good for Izuku, I think." She shakes herself. "But that's not what you're here to talk about, is it?"

Toshinori nods. "You've heard already, I assume?"

"Yes, and before we continue—" Mrs. Midoriya glances in the direction of the hallway, and presumably her son's room. "My son may not be present, but whatever you say here should be things you're all right with him hearing. I'm not about to hide things from him that concern him."

"Of course," Toshinori agrees readily. "It's nothing too sensitive, for the most part. I'm mainly here to discuss the possibility of young Izuku moving into the school's new on-campus housing." He pauses. "And of course, given the, ah, unique nature of his abilities, and my… my connection to him, I thought it best that I conduct this meeting myself." He braces himself for her answer. She has been civil and welcoming, but that does not necessarily mean she will say yes.

Mrs. Midoriya takes a deep breath and lets it out as a quiet sigh. "I had reservations," she says bluntly. "I hope you can understand why. I came very close to losing him. I spent three days not knowing if he would come back to me alive. And…" She raises her eyes to meet his, just for a moment. "Then there's your 'connection' to him, and the fact that you expected him to keep it from me."

"For what it's worth," Toshinori says quietly. "If he had told me he intended to confide in you, I would not have stopped him. I would never have discouraged him from telling you." He hesitates. "On the other hand, I also didn't encourage him to tell you, either. And that was—I should have done things differently, in that case."

"Mm." Mrs. Midoriya nods. "I've discussed things with Izuku. I brought up the possibility of pulling him out of UA." Toshinori's heart seizes, but he says nothing. "He was against it, of course. We had a long talk, and I've done some thinking, and… if I did that, I would only hurt him. In fact, it would hurt him too much to justify, even with his safety on the line." Her voice shakes and cracks, and she passes the back of her hand over her eyes. "I don't know that he's been safe there, or as safe as I'd like, but he's been happy. For the first time, he has friends and he has teachers who care about him, and school is something he looks forward to. I've seen his friends so many times over the past week, checking on him and cheering him up and making sure he's all right, and I can't take that away from him. And…" She purses her lips. "I said before that I would trust you. And I did. And Izuku came home to me alive. So, in spite of my fears, and in spite of everything… I suppose I have no reason not to keep trusting you." Her eyes rise to meet his again, and just for a moment Toshinori glimpses all the fear and desperation of a mother who came so close to losing her child. "Please don't make me regret it."

Before he even realizes he's risen from his seat, his knees are already meeting the carpet. The space is suddenly too small as he gathers the fumes of his strength and forces a transformation for the first time since his battle with All For One. It's no good; a few seconds later he loses it again, leaving him weak and shaking as he prostrates himself before her, swallowing blood and bile so he won't stain the rug beneath him.

"I give you my word, you won't," he says. "I may not have much power left, but I swear to spend every drop of it raising him into the greatest hero he can possibly be. I will teach him, I will guide him, I will protect him, and if need be, I will give my life for him. You have my word."

There's a soft thud, and Toshinori raises his head to find Mrs. Midoriya kneeling before him, looking at him more closely than she ever has before. The weight of her eyes makes him feel as if he is having his very soul weighed before him.

"That's won't do at all," she says at last, and Toshinori's heart sinks before she continues. "My son needs a lot of things from you, but he doesn't need or want you dying for him." Her eyes narrow into a frown that brooks no argument. "You live for him, do you understand? No matter what. Your death won't help him. In fact, there's no crueler way you could possibly hurt him. He might forgive you for it, but I'm not sure I could."

Pressure builds in the back of his throat, tight and painful with guilt and the weight of his secrets. He never did tell Izuku what his future was supposed to hold. If he had, the woman before him would probably know it, too.

"I…" His voice catches, and he rises so that he's kneeling instead of prostrate. "I am not in the best of health. But I will do my best to stay alive, for him."

"That's all I ask," Midoriya Inko tells him, as she helps him to his feet again.

Who knows? Maybe he was supposed to die in Kamino. Maybe he missed it.

He can only hope. He wishes he could ask.

It's eerie, to pack up his life in boxes.

It's not something Izuku thought he'd have to do—not this soon, at least. Moving out is something he's supposed to do after graduation, not halfway through his first year of high school. It isn't permanent, he knows; maybe it will only last until the threat from the League of Villains is gone. But that doesn't change the fact that he's sitting in his room, surrounded by cardboard boxes, trying to choose what to bring and what to leave behind.

Most of the posters on his walls come down, to be rolled up and packed. The thought of trying to sleep in a strange room with blank walls makes his mouth dry; if he has to live away from home, then he can at least make things as familiar as possible.

He works slowly, thinking over every decision, stopping to remove Mika from various boxes. There isn't all that much to take, really. The rooms are already furnished with beds and desks and dressers, so all he really needs are bed covers, clothes, and personal decorations. He decides to take his game consoles, just in case those are allowed. If they aren't, then he can always send them back. One box he fills with dress clothes, just in case those are needed—you never know. Meal plans are included, but he still packs snacks and his favorite teas.

So absorbed is he in packing that he doesn't hear Mom approaching until she's already setting another box down with a thud. He turns, and Mika trots over to jump up on top of it.

"I packed her bowls, her food, her toys, litter, and one of her little beds," Mom tells him. "You've been doing a good job of taking care of her and cleaning up after her, so I'm not too worried. Just remember to change the litter box, or your classmates might not thank you."

Izuku stares.

"I already made a few calls, to make sure pets are allowed," she continues, scratching Mika behind the ears. "Turns out you wouldn't even be the only one bringing one."

I don't want you to get lonely, he says.

Mom smiles sadly. "I was always going to be a little lonely," she replies. "But I think you'll need her more than I will. Take good care of her, all right? Keep her bowls clean, and call me if she gets sick. I'll let you know when she's due for shots or a checkup, and we can take care of that as it comes—"

Izuku finishes dodging around boxes and hugs her. Her eyes are wet when she pulls back.

"Don't argue with me on this, now," she says. "I'll feel better if she's there to keep an eye on you."

She leaves him to his packing after that, and before long Izuku can hear her in the kitchen, getting lunch ready. It'll be the last lunch she makes for him, before he moves into the dorms.

Tomorrow. He's leaving tomorrow.

His All-Might nightlight is the last thing he needs to pack. It's silly, but again, he needs all the help he can get if he's going to settle into an unfamiliar room. He'll be fine without it for tonight, because he just knows that if he leaves it until the last minute, he's going to forget it for sure.

But when he goes to retrieve it, he finds the outlet already empty. That's odd—did he already pack it up and forget about it?

He searches the floor around it, his bed and his desk, and finally starts re-opening boxes. But the nightlight is nowhere to be found, much to his growing frustration. Part of him realizes that it's silly to get hung up over something so small, that he's going to have trouble adjusting with or without it. But still he searches every box, lifting things out and putting them back in, until he shuts the last one and sighs.

He turns back toward his bed to check the outlet one last time, and finds the nightlight hovering in front of his face, held in a small white hand.

Rei sits crosslegged on his bed, hunched and small as she holds out the light. Izuku takes it, tosses it into a box, and hops up to sit with her. Rei turns to face him, scooting closer until their knees touch.

I missed you, he says.

I'm sorry.

His heart sinks. Part of him was hoping to hear her voice again—though considering his own silence, that might be a little hypocritical right now. I'm sorry, too.

Rei shakes her head, and her hair stirs far more than the movement warrants. You didn't know, she says. I didn't know either. I forgot.

Izuku slips an arm around her and draws her into a one-armed hug.

I forgot, and I couldn't protect you, she says. I couldn't stop them when they took you. It's my fault you were there and it's my fault they hurt you

Izuku tries to say no out loud, but he can only form the silent shape with his mouth. He shakes his head, letting go so he can sign it properly. No. It's their fault for hurting me, not yours. She averts her head, and Izuku brushes her long hair out of her eyes until she looks at him again. And it's their fault for hurting you, too.

Blackness spills from her eyes like tears, and she presses against him like she's trying to burrow into his chest. Mika hops up to join them on the bed, purring as Izuku lets Rei cry.

I didn't want it back, she says, when she can again. I don't want any of it.

Any of what? Izuku asks.

What they did. What they said. I don't want that. I don't want anything from before I found you. Rei shakes her head furiously, pausing only to scrub at her streaming eyes. I don't want to remember I don't want my life I don't want my name I don't want any of it.

Izuku's heart twists to see all of it. You don't want your real name?

The lamp in his room flickers, and when she raises her head and lets her hair fall away from her face, Izuku can see the skull showing beneath flesh. Her translucent jaw opens, and for the second time, Izuku hears her speak—not quite the plaintive cry it had been before, but something caught between the child's voice and the wraith's rattling snarl.

"My real name is Rei." The lamp flickers again, and goes out. "I'm not Hitomi, I don't want to be Hitomi. Nobody wanted Hitomi, they stole her and they killed her and nobody ever looked for her because nobody missed her. Hitomi had nothing."

You have me, Izuku reminds her, fighting back tears. I would have looked. I would have missed you, I promise.

Her hair falls still, and her face looks like a little girl's face again. The lamp flickers back on, and she's crying too, fat black tears rolling down her face as she answers with her hands instead of her broken voice. Rei has you. Rei has a little brother. Rei has friends. But I didn't have that until I was Rei. That's the only name I want. That's the only me that matters.

Izuku pulls her into another hug, so tight that he has to force himself to be gentler, because even though she's dead and he can't damage her, he might still cause her pain. She hugs back, fingers gripping handfuls of his shirt as he presses his face into her hair.

It's only like that, in the solitude of his room with only a cat and his best and oldest friend to hear, that Izuku can manage it. It's too soon for it to be fixed entirely, but right now—just for a moment—he can manage it.

"You always matter, nee-chan," he whispers into her hair, so softly that he can barely hear it himself. "I love you."

It could be his imagination, but he thinks he hears an I love you too, in a child's voice that no one living remembers, that no one living will ever hear again.

Just him.

Midoriya shows up on move-in day with his cat, and absolutely no one is surprised.

Shouto finds himself moving to stand with him, though he's not sure why. It's not like Midoriya is his only friend in class—he had been holding a perfectly pleasant conversation with Yaoyorozu before spotting him. He just feels a bit more sure of things the closer he is, and while it probably isn't normal to feel like the world's axis is a bit off when he doesn't know where Midoriya is, the solution of standing just a bit closer to him isn't enough of an inconvenience to bother him.

Upon seeing him, Midoriya offers a weak little smile but nothing more, and Shouto gets the sense that his friend still isn't talking. That's worrying, but it's also good to know that his recent efforts won't have gone to waste. Endeavor has been too busy to set foot in the house since the Kamino incident, and it's left Shouto with a lot of time on his hands.

Emphasis on hands.

He nudges Midoriya lightly, and when Midoriya looks at him again, he signs a quick Good morning.

Midoriya's hands are too full of cat to reply, but that doesn't stop him from staring at Shouto like he hung the moon.

Time well spent, then. Hopefully Midoriya won't mind being patient with him while he practices.

The mood among their classmates is somber. Of course it is, after everything that's happened, and everything that's changed. Todoroki is somewhat surprised that everyone is still here—even Jirou, who was hospitalized from breathing in the poison gas. No one was pulled from UA or forbidden from staying in the recently-built dorms, but everyone's feeling the weight of things. Bakugou in particular is uncharacteristically quiet, barely acknowledging Kirishima's attempts to draw him into a conversation. And things only dip further down when Aizawa addresses them all.

"In a few moments I'll give you all a quick briefing in regards to the dorms," he says. "But first…" His eyes sweep the class, pausing exactly five times. Todoroki catches his gaze on one of them. "The original plan was for your to earn provisional licenses after the camp. That fell through, of course, and you haven't gotten them yet—so why were some of you acting like you did?"

The mood turns from somber to tense.

"Todoroki. Kirishima. Uraraka. Yaoyorozu. And Iida." It takes all of Shouto's willpower to stand steady and remain unmoved. "You were all present that evening, at the site of Bakugou and Midoriya's rescue. You took it upon yourselves to interfere with an active rescue operation. Under normal circumstances, I would be perfectly justified in expelling all of you—as well as every one of your classmates who knew of your intentions and did nothing."

Most of the class shifts uncomfortably, and Shouto clenches his teeth, wrestling with his own rising guilt. Of course the possibility of punishment had occurred to him—he'd been prepared for it. But he hadn't realized he might risk dragging the rest of the class down with him.

"In the end, All-Might's retirement prevented me from making that decision," Aizawa continues. "Though, the fact that someone spoke up for you, vehemently, certainly didn't hurt." Beside him, Midoriya shifts so that he's hiding slightly behind Shouto. "But from here on out, I would appreciate it if you all would make an effort to avoid breaking anti-vigilantism laws in the future—if nothing else, as a matter of repairing broken trust." He takes a moment more to watch them, to see if his words are sinking in, before turning toward the building in front of them. "All right then. Let's head in."

The class is slow to follow, the air festering with unease and guilt and low spirits. It's only broken when Bakugou, of all people, grabs Kaminari, drags him a safe distance from the others, and startles him into discharging enough electricity to short-circuit his brain. The resulting stumbling, coupled with the foolish grin on Kaminari's face, sets laughter rippling through the class. The tense mood cracks, and Kaminari's good-natured clowning distracts everyone while Aizawa rolls his eyes and Bakugou pulls Kirishima aside to finally talk to him.

As the class follows Aizawa inside, Shouto turns back to find Midoriya doing his best to hide behind his cat.

"That was you, wasn't it?" he says. Midoriya jumps. "The one who spoke up? It seems like something you'd do."

Midoriya stares at him, round-eyed. He can't sign with his hands full, so instead he finger-spells, slowly enough for Shouto to follow.

I have no idea what you're talking about.

"Of course," Shouto says, straight-faced.

(He tunes back in to what Aizawa is saying, just in time to see the room allocation chart on display in the first-floor common room. He's in the room at the end of the hall on the second floor. His only neighbor is Midoriya.)

After a quick tour, Aizawa-sensei releases them to unpack their luggage and get settled into their new dorms.

Izuku's first order of business is setting up litter boxes. He brought three, just to be safe; one goes into the laundry room on the first floor, one in his own bathroom, and one in the corner of the second-floor hallway. For now, he puts Mika's bowls in his own room. He might move them once she gets more comfortable around here.

From there, he sets up his own living space. He makes his bed, puts up posters, arranges things in his new desk, and sets up his bathroom. Within just a few hours, everything is in place and Mika is happily lapping water from her bowl.

He opens his door just in time to see Rei zip by, in the midst of exploring. She won't be alone here, either; Hino seems committed to following Todoroki instead of Endeavor now, and Tensei's one floor up with Iida.

Iida.

It's surreal to think about Iida and Uraraka now. They know now. He's told them, and in spite of all his fears, they seem… all right with it? Uraraka seems to have accepted it, at least. But Iida…

Iida knows, but he doesn't know. And now that Izuku has told him one earth-shattering secret, it only seems right to tell him the next. It makes sense, doesn't it? He has the right to know.

He deserves to know about Tensei.

And maybe… maybe on some level he already does. Maybe he suspects, and he just doesn't know how to ask, any more than Izuku knows how to tell him.

How hard could it possibly be? Hi, Iida, how're you settling in? Good? By the way remember how your brother's death almost shattered you and sent you down a dark path of vengeance? Well he's still here and he says hi and he saw all of that because he's always watching you. Sleep well!

And, of course, he'd have to say all of that without talking. He'd have to text it to him, for heaven's sake.

The sound of bumping next door breaks him out of his thoughts, and he glances over at the other door with mild concern. That's Todoroki's room; Tokoyami's is on the other side, and he's been fairly quiet.

Izuku goes for his phone to send a quick Everything okay over there?

[3:49] Todoroki:

Fine.

[3:50] Me:

I'm done in my room. Do you need help?

It takes a couple of minutes for his friend to reply.

[3:52] Todoroki:

Door's open.

Pocketing his phone, Izuku slips out into the hallway with Mika at his heels. Sure enough, Todoroki's door is ajar, and he nudges it open to see what's making all that noise.

He stops, blinking in astonishment.

"Hello," Todoroki says, barely looking up from where he's kneeling on the floor. "I don't want to bother you, but if your offer was serious, I was just moving some furniture."

Moving some furniture. It looks more like Todoroki's trying to remodel by himself. His furniture has been shoved around, but only to make room for…

Are you putting in tatami flooring? Izuku asks, bewildered. And why don't you have a bed in here?

Todoroki blinks owlishly at him. "Sorry. Could you repeat that?"

Izuku does so, more slowly, until Todoroki understands. "Oh. Yes." For a moment, Todoroki—calm, collected, eternally-unruffled Todoroki—looks almost embarrassed. "It's what I'm used to, at… at my parents' place. Japanese style, not Western. It's hard to settle down without it, and I sleep better on a futon than a bed, so I asked Aizawa-sensei ahead of time. He said it was fine if I brought my own. It's more work than I thought it'd be, but… it's hard to settle down without it."

Izuku thinks of the posters on his walls and his All-Might nightlight, and can't help but grin a little. Mika is already making herself comfortable on a tatami mat that hasn't been placed yet, so Izuku steps inside and closes the door behind him.

They finish up hours later, thoroughly exhausted, and neither of them win the impromptu room-decorating contest (turns out neither a DIY remodel nor a pet cat can stand in the face of the homemade chiffon cake that Satou's room offers) but the day ends with Izuku in somewhat better spirits. The prospect of assigned rooms had been a little nerve-wracking, but Todoroki's one of his best friends and Tokoyami's easy to get along with, too, so he could have done a lot worse in terms of assigned neighbors. Satou's cake was delicious, and in spite of all the changes, things are starting to creep back toward normal.

All in all, it's a good end to a good day. He texts his mother and goes to bed satisfied, with Mika draped over his legs instead of in her cat bed. His new bed is comfortable and his sheets are from home. It's a nice room.

It's nice here.

He could have done without waking up in a cold sweat in the dead of night, but that's not something anyone can really control.

Shouto doesn't wake up screaming anymore. He trained himself out of that early—Endeavor is a light sleeper, and noises in the night draw his attention so easily. And so Shouto awakens from nightmares with a dry mouth and a sore throat instead, and the air around him stirs as the temperature fluctuates.

For a while he sits up in bed, taking deep, slow breaths until his quirk is under control again, fingers curling and uncurling in his comforter. His wrist healed a while ago, but it still feels stiff sometimes.

His phone is in his hand before his brain catches up, and he realizes with a jolt that he fully intends to bother Midoriya with a text at—three in the morning, apparently.

Don't be stupid. He's fine, you idiot. He's in the room right next to yours, and he won't thank you for waking him up when he already gets terrible sleep as it is.

His mouth is parched. They're supposed to have a curfew, but he hopes that a quick trip down to the common room will be all right. It's a little unnecessary if all he wants is a drink of water—each dorm room comes with a fridge and a bathroom, his included—but the walk helps loosen his tightly-wound nerves. An ember in his left hand lights his way down the dark stairwell, and then back up it. No one swoops in and demands that he go back to bed, to his relief. He's not afraid of getting in trouble, he'd just rather no one see him like this.

By the time he emerges from the stairwell on his floor, he's breathing normally again and somewhat dreading going back to sleep. If he has another crawling nightmare, then he'll have to calm himself down all over again—

Glowing eyes flash at him in the dark, and Shouto jumps.

Midoriya's door is open, and his friend sits in the doorway and leans against the frame. His head is turned to face Shouto, eyes glowing eerily in the dim light of the ember. After a moment he turns away again and stares at the opposite wall instead.

He doesn't look any better than Shouto feels.

Shouto reaches his own door and pauses. He glances over at Midoriya, still sitting and staring off into space in a dark hallway at three a.m., no doubt in for a terrible morning when he actually has to get up and function. Shouto almost feels stupid for having nightmares. He only saw a fraction of what Midoriya went through, the tail-end of one evening after three days—

He realizes that his pulse is up again, and he's not calm anymore.

Midoriya turns his head to look at him again, as if sensing him staring. The glow in his eyes winks in and out of view as the angle changes.

The decision is quick, easy, and uncomplicated. Shouto opens his door and steps to the side. He doesn't speak—neither of them do—but he hopes the invitation is clear.

Midoriya stares at him for a moment more, then climbs to his feet and moves to shut his door. He waits first for Mika to come out, and Shouto lets both of them in.

Mika beats both of them to the futon, but Midoriya hangs back as if uncertain, and it's not until Shouto's settling back down that he finally moves forward. Shouto holds up one corner of the comforter for him, and Midoriya crawls under and curls up against his side with a quiet sigh. The futon isn't too small to fit both of them, but there's only one pillow and Midoriya seems content stay close.

It's not that the nightmares stop there for the rest of the night. But the next time Shouto wakes up from one, all he has to do is turn his head and oh, there he is, yes he's fine, yes he's breathing, go back to sleep.

It saves a lot of time, that's all.