Chapter 53

Shouta's dreams are troubled.

This is nothing new, of course. He's a hero, and more to the point, he's an underground hero. If he's sleeping soundly without the help of anesthesia, then he's not working hard enough.

It's gotten worse since Kamino. You'd think the defeat and demise of one of the darkest villains in Japan's history would ease the nightmares just a little, but you'd be wrong. The power vacuum left in the shadowy criminal underworld is nearly matched by the one left in the brightly lit world of heroics; both make for uncertain times, and uncertain times make for uneasy dreams. (The dorm situation doesn't help, with the security system blipping him every time one of the kids gets up for a cup of tea at three in the morning.)

It doesn't help that he almost lost students that night. It doesn't help that Bakugou Katsuki only just let out a throbbing mass of ugliness that Shouta had failed to notice building up. It doesn't help that a handful of his students have already headed out for internships, out into that unstable ticking time bomb of a world, while all Shouta can do is dither in a classroom, hope to hell he trained them well enough to keep them alive, and try not to think about the look on Midoriya Izuku's face when he'd found him pale and traumatized in a hospital room just outside of Kamino.

It certainly doesn't help that Midoriya is one of those students, and that he's managed to land on the exact same case Shouta has been working since the dust settled in Kamino Ward.

Except…

Except it sort of does.

It does help, thinking of that—and that is saying something, because the Eight Precepts case has been a feature of more than a few of his recent night terrors. The ones with kids in them always stir up that visceral horror.

But for some reason, some baffling, paradoxical reason, the fact that his class's biggest problem child has bulled his way into this one settles it. Not completely—just enough to be noticeable. Just enough to make Shouta wonder why.

"Good news, guys!" Kirishima pipes up at the end of the day. "Amajiki-senpai's gonna be okay! Apparently the anti-quirk serum in those bullets was temporary."

"Y'know, you're insanely lucky you didn't get hit by one of those things yourself," Kaminari points out.

"Are you stupid?" Bakugou snaps. "It wasn't luck. His quirk makes shitty tricks like that worthless against him, and since he's not dumb enough not to use it, there was never gonna be a chance. Use your goddamn brain once in a while."

Shouto turns to Midoriya to comment on it, to find his friend thoroughly engrossed in his phone. "It's so weird," Midoriya remarks, without looking up. "A year ago I never would've thought Bakugou was capable of complimenting anyone."

"Well, people change," Shouto points out. "Who're you texting?"

"Togata-senpai. Just confirming." Midoriya reads something on his screen and smiles. "Yeah, Amajiki's out of the hospital, good as new. Guess we still have time after all."

Shouto blinks. "Time for what?"

Instead of answering, Midoriya gives a muffled yelp of pain and rubs at his arm. "Nothing. Sorry, I forgot I'm not supposed to—um. Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"If you say so," Shouto says, burying his disappointment. It's a little alarming, how accustomed he's become to sharing things and having things shared with him. So accustomed, apparently, that getting brushed off is suddenly jarring.

"It's, um, an internship thing," Midoriya says, as if sensing his discomfort. "Sorry, I—"

"No, it's fine," Shouto says. "It's all right. Really." Eager to change the subject, he presses forward. "Want to study together? I missed Cementoss covering the last two chapters yesterday, and Iida said he'd share notes."

He gets a weak, guilty smile for that—and Shouto isn't sure if Midoriya's guilty for letting something slip before cutting him off, or if he still blames himself for Shouto failing the exam and therefore falling behind. Which is absurd—if he'd passed, he would have taken on an internship and ended up behind anyway.

Before Midoriya can reply, Aizawa steps in to intercept them. He acknowledges Shouto with a nod before turning to Midoriya. "Your supervisor contacted me," he says. "You're needed for a few hours."

Midoriya hesitates. "Do I need my gear?"

"No. Just a chaperone."

"Oh. Right, okay." Midoriya stands straighter, as if the fact that his internship supervisor needs him for something other than field work means something significant. "I, uh… gotta go, Todoroki." There's an apology in his tone, but Shouto can tell from the look in his eyes that there are places he'd rather be than studying in the dorms.

"Later, then," Shouto says, and Midoriya follows Aizawa at a quick pace.

He returns in the early evening, slipping silently into the study group that that started with Shouto and Uraraka and expanded to include Asui, Tokoyami, and Iida. He smiles in greeting and neatly dodges questions about where he's been.

From there, classes continue as usual, or as usual as they can when a handful of students can't always be present for them. Shouto misses quite a few himself for remedial training, which leaves him tired each day with fresh cuts and bruises.

Midoriya's work with Nighteye's agency continues, and he talks about it as much as he's allowed. From what Shouto can tell, it mostly consists of patrols with Togata and agency staff meetings he has to sit in on, which more or less matches what the others with internships have on their plates. On one occasion Midoriya gets a brief mention in the news when he shows up with the hero Centipeder at an armed robbery in the area—though that's swiftly overshadowed by Tokoyami's work with Hawks.

The only odd thing about Midoriya's internship is the fact that he keeps disappearing for a few hours after school. Shouto can tell this is odd because none of the others with internships do that, and because they all wonder about it too. When asked, Midoriya smiles and shrugs it off with some excuse about reports and follow-ups and other things that take significantly less time than three hours.

Shouto doesn't know much, beyond the fact that Aizawa usually chaperones him to leave campus, and sometimes Togata is the one to come fetch him. And the fact that Midoriya never, ever takes his costume and support gear with him on these outings.

"I'm sure he'd take it if he needed it," Uraraka says one Tuesday afternoon, after Shouto brings it up. "Especially now that he's sort of allowed to use it in public."

"In any case Aizawa-sensei's usually with him," Iida adds. "And if not, his supervisor is. I'm sure it's perfectly safe, and even if it wasn't, he's not alone."

They're in Iida's room, and no one else is with them, so there's no harm in Uraraka saying, "Not that he would be anyway. He's never alone, remember?"

Shouto purses his lips, wondering if he should point out that ghosts didn't prevent Midoriya from being taken by the League.

In spite of his silence, Uraraka seems to read his thoughts on his face. "You know, you could just tell him you're worried about him. You guys share everything with each other, right?" She waggles her eyebrows like it's a joke, which makes no sense because it's almost true.

"Not everything," Shouto says. "Especially not now—since he's out working real missions, there are a lot of things he can't tell me. And besides, how I feel about it is my problem, not his. He has enough on his plate without having to worry about my feelings."

The room goes quiet for a while, aside from the scratching of pencils. It's Iida who clears his throat and tries to shift things again. "Well, speaking of having things on our plates, how is your own training coming along? You've clearly been working hard."

"Is it true that Gang Orca's been helping train you?" Uraraka asks, jumping on this new thread. "What's he like as a teacher?"

Shouto purses his lips and tries not to cringe. As the hero in charge of conducting the exams, assessing the students, and therefore failing most of them, Gang Orca has been a frequent and active overseer in remedial training. "He was like a drill sergeant, at first. He's eased up a little, but he's still strict."

"That sounds tough," Uraraka says.

"It's not, really…" Shouto's voice trails off.

"You've come back looking more battered than normal," Iida says carefully. "So he must at least be tougher than Aizawa-sensei."

"I guess."

Uraraka makes a strangled noise. "Urfh, I can't even imagine that."

And the problem is, Shouto can. He can imagine a tougher teacher than Aizawa, and he can imagine a tougher teacher than Gang Orca—

But he's not sure he can say that out loud, because the only person outside of his family who has an inkling of why is Midoriya. Midoriya, who probably knows more than even Shouto has told him, because apparently he's been talking to ghosts about it.

"But—but wait," Uraraka says. "It can't just be about fighting, can it? Because—well, honestly? You're a better fighter than most of the class, and… if passing the exams was all about how good you are at fighting, then it wouldn't really make sense for them to have higher standards in remedial training than they did in the actual exam."

"You're right," Shouto says. "They don't. It's not—it's not about physical abilities. I've been fine with combat training. It might look bad when I come back, but that part is simple."

"Well, that's good, then." Iida's tone is encouraging. "It's good to have something you excel at."

Shouto shuts his eyes.

" Hopeless," Gang Orca scoffed. "Absolutely hopeless."

"I had the second best time out of everyone here," Shouto pointed out.

"I'll say you did—here being remedial training. And you might've been fast, but you were sloppy. Not so much to brag about after all, hm?"

"I don't know why you're complaining," Shouto gritted out before he could stop himself. "You were the one who told me to run the course. You were the one who decided to time it." Orca rounded on him, wide mouth opening, and Shouto braced himself to ride out another tirade.

But instead, the hero closed his mouth, pulled back, and seemed to consider him for a moment. It wasn't until Shouto's spine lost its tension that he spoke again. "Is that what you think you're here for, kid?" he asked, his voice gruff but less of a shout. "Doing as you're told?"

Shouto blinked, confused by the question. "I mean—" He hesitated. "What else is there? That's what you're here for."

"Wrong," Orca said. "I'm not here to tell you what to do, I'm here to teach ya."

"Is there a difference?" Shouto asked dryly.

"You think there's no difference?" Orca didn't have eyebrows, but his tone gave the impression that he'd be raising one if he did. "You think you're here to follow orders? Tell me then—if I trotted out a line of rowdy kindergartners and told you to give each one a sock in the mouth, what would you do?"

Shouto stared at him. "I'd… probably try to figure out what you actually wanted from me."

Orca barked out a laugh. "Good answer. So, now that we've established that you ain't here to jump when I tell ya—why are you here, then?"

"So I can pass the exams in spring," Shouto answered readily.

"Why?" Gang Orca asked.

"To… get my provisional license?"

"Are you asking me or telling me? Why?"

Shouto frowned. "So I can catch up to my classmates."

The hero nodded. "Why?"

Shouto's draining patience almost ran out then and there. "Because I'm trying to be a hero."

"Why?"

"I don't—" Shouto sighed sharply. "That's why everyone's here, isn't it? To become a hero? I don't know what else you want from me."

"And finally we have our problem!" Gang Orca spread his arms wide. "'Cos when you get right down to it, you don't know, do you? And that right there—that's why you're sloppy. That's why nobody knows what the hell we're supposed to do with you. 'Cos at this point, you don't even know. Either none of this matters to you, or you can't figure out why it should. You want to be a hero—that's fine, but why? Trying to make daddy proud?"

The tension snapped back into place. "No."

"All right then," Orca said, raising his hands in a placating manner. "Fair enough, didn't mean to touch a nerve. But here's a bit of homework for you—and I'm gonna have words with Eraserhead so he makes sure you do it. Over the next couple weeks, I want you to think on that. Think on why. 'Cos I want you to figure out just what the hell you're doing here and why it matters so much to you. And if you can't think of anything, well, then maybe you ought to think about whether or not you should be here at all."

"—Todoroki? Hey, did you fall asleep?"

"No," Shouto says, opening his eyes. "Just thinking. About training."

"You know, there is something you should keep in mind," Uraraka points out. "You basically failed on a technicality. You literally got sabotaged. As long as villains don't crash the make-up exams, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Regardless, if there's one thing you've proven, it's that you're strong," Iida says. "If you keep cultivating that strength, then Uraraka's right—you have more than what it takes."

Shouto nods, but he's not sure he believes it. He's almost sure that he could become a hero on strength alone, but he's a lot less sure that he would want to.

After all, if combat skill is his only saving grace, then what difference would there be between him and Endeavor?

It takes almost two weeks, but the wait is worth it.

Eri talks now. Not that she was mute before, but she's starting to speak first instead of wait to be spoken to. The nurses read her stories and let her watch cartoons, and sometimes she'll tell Izuku about them when he comes by. Sometimes she'll ask for stories, or for pictures of his cat, and he'll provide them to the best of his ability. Sometimes Togata is there too, and he'll listen intently to everything Eri says and, if asked, regale them both with stories about what he and Amajiki got up to when they were little kids.

Their role is fairly simple: since they both worked together to rescue her, Eri has latched on to them as a safe place—Izuku especially. So he visits to help keep her calm and comfortable, and to observe her progress and report back to Nighteye. She's been through a lot of tests, evaluations, and minor medical procedures since coming here, partly to treat the health problems from her imprisonment, but also to try and figure out exactly what happened to her. The nurses say his visits keep her from panicking at the sight of a stethoscope.

But Eri isn't the only reason Izuku keeps coming back. Day by day, piece by piece, the ghost who hovers close to her starts coming together. He—it's a he—is every bit as skittish, elusive, and incoherent as Izuku expects. He speaks little, whispers to Eri at volumes that Izuku can barely hear, and vanishes whenever he catches Izuku staring.

Today, Izuku finds him sitting by Eri, watching her look at the pictures in a book. His form is clearer than it was yesterday. He's a man in his thirties with pale, wavy hair, and a face that—if Izuku looks carefully—has a few notes in common with Eri. He's almost definitely a relative, and possibly her real father.

Izuku is careful not to look at him as he walks in and sits down. Rei, on the other hand, plops down near him and crosses her legs, watching Eri with him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the ghost hesitate, hand wringing in midair, before finally reaching out to pat Rei's hair. Rei beams. It's progress.

"They gave me books," Eri says. "Sometimes they read to me. But there's lots of pictures."

"What's that one?" Izuku asks. From what he can tell it's a kid's book about rainforests. Eri is currently engrossed in a photograph of a bright green tree frog. "Oh, that one reminds me of one of my friends. She's sort of froggy—she can jump like one, and she's got a long tongue."

Eri looks up, wide-eyed. "How long?"

"Well, if she was sitting with us, right here, she could reach that wall with it, easy." Izuku points. Eri looks. "It's really strong, too. One time she picked me up with it."

With a nod, Eri turns back to the frog picture and runs her finger over it, pausing on its bright red eyes. "It has eyes like me," she says.

"So it does." He reads the caption beneath the picture. "It's called a red-eyed tree frog, actually."

Eri gives a soft oh. She turns the page, and gasps softly at the three-toed sloth she finds. With one eye on the ghosts, Izuku scoots closer and softly reads to her from the page. Eri absorbs it quietly, face solemn, as if the fact that sloths move so slowly that moss grows on their fur is of the utmost importance to her. Izuku hears the ghost mutter something and shift.

After a little while of looking at books, Eri tugs on his sleeve. "I have to get a shot," she says.

Izuku tries not to wince. It's inevitable, since Eri's past imprisonment means she's not vaccinated. But shots mean needles, and Eri looks at needles the way most people would look at live grenades. "Oh, that's not fun. I've had shots before."

"They said they have to poke," Eri says. "You told them, right? You told them not to take too much?"

"They won't take anything at all," Izuku assures her. "Shots aren't to take blood. They're to keep you from getting sick. Promise. I've had them, and I'll have to have more eventually." Eri doesn't seem convinced. "I'll come with you. If it gets scary you can look away. I bet if we ask, they'll let us bring the book."

She's calm when the nurses come to take them into a different room, and true to Izuku's word they let her bring the book. Eri watches in silence as one of the nurse explains vaccines in simple terms, then turns away to look at monkeys when the needle goes in. It's the same as always—she doesn't flinch or wriggle or cry. She goes still and limp under Izuku's arm, shutting her eyes until it's over.

"Do shots help curses?" she asks afterward. The ghost shudders and makes a distressed noise.

"Not that I know of," Izuku says. She looks crestfallen. "But you wouldn't need one of those. You're a little sick, but you're not cursed."

"He said I was," she tells him, looking him in the eye. "He said I was cursed, and—and he was smart. He knew things."

"Overhaul?"

She nods. "He was a doctor too. With—with the mask, and the needles, and—" Her hands grasp at his shirt, shaking as they squeeze into fists. "I'm cursed. All I do is hurt people. He said."

"I know. I believe you. But Eri—" Izuku holds her hands. "That's not true. Just because he said so doesn't mean it's true. Sometimes—" He pauses. "Sometimes, bad people say things that aren't true." She sniffles. "It's not that they're wrong, or that they're not smart. It's that they lie."

"Why?" she whispers.

"Lots of reasons. Sometimes it's to scare us. One time—" His throat nearly squeezes itself shut. "One time, someone tried to lie to me like that. Because he wanted something from me, but he couldn't just take it, so he tried to make me choose to help him."

"Did it work?" she asks.

Izuku swallows painfully. "No. It—it could've. I had help. I wasn't alone."

"Oh." She sniffles again. "He took—he took. It hurt."

This is important. He's not sure what it means, but he has a feeling Nighteye will want to know about it. For now, though, he hugs her close. "It's okay. It's not your fault. You were alone, and he used you, and that was wrong of him, and you are not cursed. He was wrong."

Her voice is muffled into his chest. "You don't know that."

"I do," he says. "I've met people like that. I've met the people they hurt to get what they want. I know whose fault it is, and it's not yours."

"I don't want to hurt you," Eri tells him.

"You won't."

"I don't want him to hurt you."

Izuku grinds his teeth. "He won't."

At this, Eri pushes back from him. Her face is shiny with tears. "He will," she says. "If he finds me, he will."

"Eri—"

"He'll take you apart. And he won't—he won't put you back together, not like me."

Izuku goes cold. Nearby, the ghost lets out a choked sob.

"Eri—" His voice catches. "Eri, are you saying he's… taken you apart? And put you back together?"

It takes a long while for Eri to finally nod. "Th-that's why—you can't let them take too much," she says. "When he takes too much, he takes me apart, and puts me back together. Y-you—they can't. They can't put me back together here. Not like him."

"No!"

Izuku jumps, not just because of the sharp cry, but because there are hands on him, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. In a few minutes he'll worry about whether or not he spooked Eri by twitching like that, but for now, the ghost that follows her is taking up all of his attention.

"Don't let him touch her." Izuku can't see his eyes, but the rest of his pallid face is twisted with horror. "Don't let him—please. H-he wants her quirk, and you don't know. You don't know what he's done!"

He only lets go when Rei drags him back. Izuku blinks his watering eyes, and both ghosts are gone when he opens them.

It's nearly half past five when Eri starts to droop sleepily, and Izuku's visit ends. Reluctantly he leaves her in the care of nurses and makes his way back to Nighteye's office. Rei rejoins him on the way, but the ghost that follows Eri is nowhere to be seen.

"Did he tell you anything?" Izuku asks.

Rei scowls, then sticks out her tongue and twirls her finger by her ear.

"That's mean," he chides her, and Rei kicks a pebble and sends it skittering down the sidewalk. "We don't know what he's been through, or how he died. We don't know anything." It comes out more forceful and irritable than he likes.

After a moment, Rei slips her hand into his and squeezes.

"I don't want to lose her," Izuku says quietly. "Overhaul's still out there and we don't know what he wants, or why he wants her. She's scared and she doesn't trust anything and I just know she doesn't believe me when I tell her no one's going to hurt her." His voice cracks. "We got her out, we got her away from him, but what good is that if she's still trapped and scared and—"

Another squeeze.

"I don't know what else to do," he says. "I don't know how else I can help her."

Rei points ahead, to the front door of Nighteye's agency. She points forcefully, jabbing her finger in midair, then lets go of his hand so she can mime glasses over her eyes and pull an exaggerated long face.

In spite of himself, Izuku laughs. "Okay, okay, I get your point. You're right. Nighteye'll know what to do with all of this." He takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "Just wish I had more to give him. Maybe Eri's ghost will be more clear-headed tomorrow. Knowing that Overhaul wants her quirk is something, but it'd be nice to know what her quirk actually is."

By the time he gives Nighteye his report, he's composed himself. He finishes quickly, then meets up with Togata to head back to UA.

Unfortunately, Iida is busy corralling some of their classmates in the kitchen when Izuku gets back, but luckily Todoroki has a copy of his notes from Cementoss's class. Iida's notes are always neat, organized, and comprehensive; reading them is as good as sitting through the actual class. It's also nice to unwind and think of other things for a while. His cryptic conversation with Eri still sticks in his mind, and Todoroki's calm presence helps him bounce back faster.

As they pass the evening in Izuku's room, Todoroki is quieter than usual. It's not a calm sort of quiet; if Izuku were to call it anything, he would probably pick "morose".

"Did your dad call you today?" Izuku asks, as he nearly finishes taking notes on Iida's notes.

"He—no?" Todoroki looks vaguely baffled. "I haven't heard from him since the exams. Why?"

"You look upset. He's usually the reason. Is it remedial training, then?"

The face Todoroki pulls tells him he's a lot closer to the mark. "I'm here to study, not whine about my progress."

"School's school," Izuku points out. "And you never complain when I whine about things." Todoroki mutters something under his breath, sitting back to lean against the side of Izuku's bed. "What was that?"

"You have enough on your plate, don't you?"

When Todoroki says that, there's a note of something in his voice that Izuku can't place. "I'm not the only one who has an internship, you know."

"I know," Todoroki says. "No one else gets called away almost every day, though. And with your track record for getting into trouble, you can't blame me for worrying."

"You always say the sweetest things." Izuku makes sure to say it in an exaggerated drawl. When Todoroki doesn't answer immediately, he tries again. "But seriously, what's up with your training? Is it that thing you said before, about how they don't know what to do with you?" Hino's not here at the moment, so he can't just look to him for help. "That sounds like the opposite of a problem, you know? If they don't know what to teach you, then maybe that means you're good."

Todoroki shakes his head. "They figured it out," he says. "Well, Gang Orca figured it out."

"What?"

"I don't know what I'm doing," Todoroki says it in a rush. "I don't—it's like I don't know why anymore."

Izuku frowns. "Why…?"

"Why I'm here. Why I'm doing any of this. I can think of some reasons, and they aren't wrong, but they don't feel right, either. They're either too small, or too incomplete, or…"

"Is that important?" Izuku asks.

"Isn't it?" Todoroki shoots him a pained look. "I want to be a hero. If possible, I want to be the best. Isn't it important to have a reason?"

"I…" This is a lot heavier than he expected. "I've never really minded much. About people's reasons for being a hero. I think it's good to save lives for any reason."

"But there should be one," Todoroki insists. "And with me—it used to be so clear. It was so simple, back when all I wanted was to spite my father by climbing to the top without using fire. But it was stupid and selfish and you helped me see that, but now that's gone and it's not my reason anymore—and Endeavor's number one already, so even if I did want anything to do with his stupid plans, there's no point to them anyway. And at the exam, with Yoarashi and—and Toga Himiko…"

Izuku bridles. "There is nothing you can say to convince me that any of that was your fault."

"It doesn't matter if it was my fault," Todoroki snaps back. "All it did was prove that I still can't separate myself and my life from him. Every reason I've ever had to become a hero is either gone or changed or it doesn't fit anymore, and… I don't know what to put in its place." He hesitates. "I want to help my mother. I want to prove myself. There are certain people that—I want them to be proud of me. And those are all true, and they're all reasons, but they just… don't feel like enough."

"Well, what's enough?" Izuku asks. "Uraraka's trying to be a hero so she can support her parents. Just because it isn't big and poetic doesn't mean it's not a good reason."

"But at least she's sure of it. You're all sure of it—Uraraka, and Iida taking his brother's name, and—" Todoroki hesitates. "And then there's you, and that box."

Izuku shoots a glance at the space beneath his bed, where he last shoved the locked box after he showed its contents to his friends and All-Might. "What about the box?"

"It's just…" Todoroki's line of vision follows his, and then it changes as his eyes flicker around, as if he's wondering how many ghosts are in the room with them. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"How do you just know the right way?"

"Wow. Um." Izuku wrings his hands in agitation. "I… kind of don't. I'll be perfectly honest, I've spent most of today and a lot of previous days feeling pretty helpless."

"I've just never seen you doubt yourself before," Todoroki tells him. "I mean—don't get me wrong, I've seen you scared, and you get flustered for the weirdest reasons, and you've pulled a lot of incredibly stupid moves—"

"Thanks," Izuku says.

"But you always know what you want," Todoroki says. "Even if you don't know how to get it, you know what you want and why you want it, and I… don't. And that's my problem, according to Gang Orca. I just… I'm not sure about why anymore."

Izuku sits and thinks and lets Todoroki's words sink in. "Can I ask one question? What's wrong with the reasons you told me before? Like helping your mom, and proving yourself, and making people proud? Why aren't they enough?"

"They just feel… shallow," Todoroki says. "It's all about me—my family, my problems, my feelings."

"Once again: Exhibit Uraraka," Izuku says. "Are you saying she doesn't deserve to be a hero?"

"Of course not," Todoroki retorts. "I just feel like I've been selfish for most of life, so if I really want to change things, shouldn't I do the opposite?"

"That's not selfish, though," Izuku points out. "It's just… personal. Being a hero is kind of personal for me, too."

Todoroki frowns in confusion.

"Don't look so surprised," Izuku says. "I just want to save lives because I've spent my whole life talking to people who weren't ready to die."

"Hey, Sensei?"

Usually Shouta is the one to approach Midoriya on days he visits the hospital. But this time, his student hangs back in the classroom until the rest of the class has already filed out. "What is it, Midoriya."

His student purses his lips before speaking. "You'll probably tell me no," he says. "I don't know if it's a good idea, or if it's risky. But I wanted to ask you—I should probably talk to Nighteye about this too, but I thought I'd start with you since you're probably involved in remedial training…"

Shouta's eyes narrow. Midoriya's talking like he's trying to dance around several secrets at once, and that never bodes well—especially not when Midoriya's involved because with Midoriya it means… something. What, he's not sure, but something—"What's this about?"

Midoriya tells him. Shouta, against all odds, doesn't tell him no.

Today is a good day, for Eri. It's good because she feels better than she did yesterday, and because the nurses are nice even though some of them are different, and because there are no shots today. (The band-aid from yesterday's is bright purple and she's decided that she likes purple.) It's good because she found a stuffed rabbit she likes in the bag of toys one of the new nurses brought. It's good because Deku is coming soon.

Nurse Mitsu says Deku's coming with someone else—and it's not Lemillion like it usually is. It's someone new, someone Eri doesn't know, and she's not sure what she thinks of that.

She hears him coming this time. Usually she doesn't. Deku is good at sneaking—of course he is, since he sneaked her away from Him. But this time she hears his voice, and someone else's voice, and then there they are.

"Hi, Eri!" Deku plops down to the floor beside her. The other one stays back, watching her, but not in a scary way. Mostly he just looks kind of confused. "I brought a friend today. Do you want to meet him? It's okay if you say no."

He always says that, whenever he asks her a yes-or-no question. Eri thinks he might actually mean it.

But still, she nods. If he's Deku's friend then he has to be nice.

Deku waves him over and pulls on him until he sits down. "This is Shouto. He's a hero too, like me."

A hero. Eri has met heroes. She's still not sure what they are, but Deku says they help people, so that's good. "Hi," she says. "It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too." His voice is soft. Eri likes that he doesn't yell. "Um. Nice rabbit."

"Thank you." She's not sure what's going on. He doesn't look like he knows what's going on either. "Did you come to visit me?"

He nods, and Deku says, "Yes." Eri frowns, wondering why, and Deku smiles and taps her lightly on the nose. "Because he was being nosy and wanted to know where I go every day. I brought him along so he knows I'm not getting in trouble."

"Oh." She looks at his friend—Shouto. His name's Shouto. "Does he get in trouble a lot?"

Shouto blinks, then leans closer like he's sharing a secret with her. "All the time."

"He doesn't get in trouble here," she says. "Deku's nice. He reads me books. And he tells me things when I don't understand. And sometimes, he goes with me when I need shots." She points to the purple band-aid on her arm. Shouto inspects it and nods.

From there, the visit goes like it always does, except Shouto is there too. They talk to her—Deku talks the most, like always, but he doesn't seem to mind. Nurse Mitsu comes in to listen to her chest—for her heartbeat, Deku says. They look through more books, and Deku shows her a funny video of his cat.

It's only when they're about to leave that Eri asks a question that she's had. Deku doesn't mind questions—he likes when she asks him questions—but she isn't sure if Shouto likes them.

"You have a mark on your face," she says. Shouto looks back, and he doesn't look angry, so she asks her question. "I have marks, too." She shows her arms again, with all the little lines and dots and patches that the nurses don't have. "So does Deku. Are they the same kind of marks?"

For some reason, Deku's smiling a little at that, but he's behind Shouto where Shouto can't see him.

"Yes," Shouto tells her.

"Okay." Shouto's nice. If he comes again, she'd be okay with that. "Thank you for visiting me."

He smiles at her. She doesn't smile back—she's not sure how. "It was good to meet you."

"Hey, Midoriya?" It's late, and their homework is finished, and the likelihood that Shouto will go back to his own room to sleep is getting smaller by the minute. "That girl at the hospital. I know you're probably not allowed to tell me details, but who was she? Why'd you take me to her?"

"She's someone I met on a patrol," Midoriya answers. "She spooks easily, especially around medical stuff, so they keep calling me back to help keep her calm." He shrugs. "I just figured, if you're starved for good personal reasons to be a hero, there's one more."

"Personal?" Shouto echoes, shifting over so Midoriya can sit on his bed next to him. "I just met her. Why would she be personal for me?"

"Because right now, walking around somewhere probably surrounded by civilized people, there's a very bad man who wants to use her for her quirk," Midoriya says.

Shouto goes still.

"I don't know why and I don't know how," Midoriya goes on, shrugging. "But… that's the situation. So, I don't know, maybe if you need a reason that's not just you or your mom or the people you want to be proud of you, there's people like her that you haven't met yet." He grins at Shouto, but it's bleak. "Lots of scared kids out there."

And that… that's something. It's not as deep-rooted as the desire to free his mother. It's not a persistent itch like the desire to catch up to his friends. But it's something.

Maybe it's something he can offer Gang Orca, the next time they talk.

"Do you have to go out again today?" Tamaki asks him at the end of the day, as they leave the locker room with their shoes on and their bookbags packed.

"Yep!" Mirio answers. "I'll be back around five-thirty like usual, but for now I have to swing by Grounds Theta to meet up with Midoriya. You can come if you want—you can say hi to Kirishima!"

Tamaki makes a quiet strangled noise. "But if they're in Grounds Theta then they probably just finished up with rescue drills, and that means he'll have energy. Energy, Mirio. It's bad enough going on patrol with him."

"Aww, is your kouhai a handful?" Mirio asks.

"He's not bad," Tamaki admits. "He's really good, actually. He's just… a lot. A lot, all the time. I lose half my spoons just looking directly at him."

"Wonder if there's a way to switch kouhais for an afternoon," Mirio muses. Kirishima sounds like a lot of fun (he sounds like a riot, boy is it a shame he's not in Nighteye's agency because Mirio would tell that one daily if he was) and Midoriya's whole demeanor would probably mesh better with Tamaki's comfort zone.

"It's just hard to handle first years," Tamaki says. "They're the exact opposite of me. So bright and optimistic and not-burnt-out."

"But I'm bright and optimistic and not-burnt-out, and you love me," Mirio points out.

"And I've been ingesting your presence since the third grade," Tamaki says gravely. "I've built up an immunity. Your brightness is benign."

"Maybe it's like a vaccine," Mirio says. "My faux-first-year energy can inoculate you to real first-year energy!"

"I'll let you know if it works."

Grounds Theta is a perpetually bombed-out mini cityscape on the west side of campus, and rather infamous to hero students familiar with training there. Support students are authorized to use it for testing grounds, just to keep it freshly ravaged. It's rare that students leave Ground Theta without getting dusty, so there are showers located just outside of it. As Mirio and Tamaki approach, Mirio spots Aizawa supervising Class 1-A as they file out in clumps and cliques, all of them damp and battered and wearing fresh clothes. Mirio spots Midoriya's dark curls among them and waves to get his attention. It doesn't work; Aizawa's addressing the class, so all eyes are on him. Mirio stops a short distance away and lets Tamaki shuffle behind him to stay out of everyone's direct line of sight.

"Keep your performance today fresh in your minds," Aizawa tells them. "I'll be addressing each of you individually on how you can improve from here, so don't let me catch any of you writing this off as just another exercise." His class responds with a ragged Yes, Sensei. "And one more thing—we enforce lights-out for a reason. Try to keep nightly wanderings to a minimum, even if you stay within the building. If you have trouble sleeping, I suggest you see Recovery Girl about it instead of waking up one of your classmates about it, understood?"

"Yes, Sensei!"

"Understood, Kaminari?"

The student in question offers halfhearted protests but eventually responds in the affirmative.

"Good. You're all dismissed."

Aizawa turns on his heel to head back to the main campus. At this point the third years fall into his line of vision, and he offers them both a nod. Behind him, Kaminari is still pouting at his classmate, the pink horned girl whose name escapes Mirio at the moment.

"I don't see why I'm the one getting called out," he says, in a tone that's trying to be hushed and failing. "Midoriya spends what, four? Five nights a week in Todoroki's room?"

Without missing a beat or changing his expression, Aizawa stops walking and turns around again.

A few of the others groan, and Mirio winces in sympathy when he sees the look on Midoriya and Todoroki's faces. The pink girl swats Kaminari in the shoulder. "Way to go, Kaminari."

Kirishima is looking at his classmate with pure dismay. "C'mon man, we said we wouldn't snitch!"

Aizawa sighs loudly. "I stand corrected. Everyone but Midoriya and Todoroki, you're dismissed."

The class leaves the area, most of them still ragging mercilessly on Kaminari. Kirishima spots the third-years and calls out an enthusiastic greeting, which Tamaki answers with a high-pitched noise of his own. Aizawa and the remaining two students move further away to keep from being overheard. None of them look happy about it.

Mirio purses his lips, eyes wide. He really, really shouldn't laugh, but he also really, really wants to. "It was kind of inevitable," he says, his voice tight with held-back mirth. "I mean with the dorms and everything."

Tamaki gives a world-weary sigh. "Teenagers," he says.

"Tamaki, we're literally both teenagers."

"Mm." Tamaki leans over to bump his shoulder lightly. "I'm gonna go. See you this evening?"

"Make sure Nejire doesn't eat my yogurt again, okay?"

Luckily (for the two first-years especially) the conversation doesn't take long. Todoroki hurries after his classmates at a power-walk. Midoriya, by this point, has spotted Mirio and is approaching him with a disgruntled look on his face.

"That looked rough," Mirio remarks, waving one last time to Aizawa.

"Let's just go."

Of course, there's enough time between the school and the hospital for the conversation to start up again. They've barely left campus when Mirio says, "Hope you didn't get in too much trouble. I know Aizawa's pretty tough. And technically there's no rule against not sleeping in your own dorm, though different teachers have different standards, and there are, uh, extenuating—"

"We're not in trouble," Midoriya says with a shrug. "He basically just gave us the be-safe-and-smart-and-see-Recovery-Girl talk. There's nothing to punish anyway."

"Oh, that's good!" Mirio says brightly. "You, uh, don't look very happy, for someone who isn't being punished."

"I'm just not looking forward to this evening," Midoriya admits. "They won't mean about it, but they tease, and if we leave together to escape the teasing it'll only get worse, so…"

Mirio winces in sympathy again. "Oof, that's no fun. I kind of know how that feels… kind of. I mean, I'm not actually in that kind of relationship, but—"

"There is no relationship!" Midoriya snaps. "I don't get why anyone thinks there is, or has to be! There isn't!" He stops immediately, as if just remembering where he is and who he's talking to. "Sorry. That wasn't aimed at you. It's just…"

"Weird, confusing teenager stuff?"

"Maybe?" Midoriya pulls a face. "I don't even know sometimes."

Mirio squints at him for a moment. This is starting to feel a bit familiar. Maybe… it could be… but… hm, he can't be sure. It's a strong maybe. He needs more information. "I could try taking a shot at it, if you want," he offers. "I know there's only two years between us, but you never know. I know things. And I'm impartial!"

"You're really not," Midoriya says. "You care about everything."

"Exactly! I care about everything equally, therefore I'm impartial."

"I'm not sure that's how it works."

Mirio grins. "Try me."

Midoriya hesitates, eyeing him cautiously for a moment. "Todoroki and I aren't together, that way," he says at length. "We're not interested in it, either. We've talked about that, and we both agree."

Things are starting to click. "You aren't together that way," Mirio echoes. "Implying you are together some way. Right?"

Midoriya nods. "It doesn't feel like we're just friends," he continues. "I mean, we sleep together—literally. We just sleep. And I can't imagine doing that with any of my other friends, or telling them some of the stuff I tell him. It's just, we're close, but we don't want to date each other. I know that doesn't make a lot of sense…"

It makes so much sense, Mirio thinks. It makes all the sense. "You care about him a lot, then?"

"I mean, obviously—"

"You love him," Mirio goes on, and Midoriya draws his shoulders in like a turtle.

"W-well, I…"

"You love him," Mirio repeats. "But you're not in love with him. Does that sound about right?"

The shoulders go down. Midoriya blinks, and oh, does Mirio recognize that look in his eyes. He must have had one just like it, back when it all clicked for him.

"Y-yeah," Midoriya says quietly. "That's… yeah, that's exactly right." He turns to Mirio with a clear question in his eyes.

"I've known Tamaki since we were eight," Mirio tells him, grinning fondly. "I trust him with my life, along with a lot of other things. But, you know… not that way."

"Oh," Midoriya says. He has the face and voice of someone whose world is rearranging itself a little. "I didn't know that—I mean, I thought it was weird, because…"

"There's a word for it," Mirio says. "Well, in English at least. It's a bit of a mouthful—queerplatonic. Personally, I find 'QP' easier to say."

"QP," Midoriya repeats in a hushed voice. "There's a word for it."

"Sure is! Basically it's like, having a significant other that's not romantic. It's all about the level of commitment, and intimacy, I guess. It varies based on the person, but it's not weird, and there's nothing wrong with it."

"Do you know anybody else like that?" Midoriya asks.

"I mean, there are online forums and stuff for it," Mirio replies. "But in person… well." He hesitates. He wants to be truthful, and it could very well mean the world to Midoriya. But it also might not be Mirio's business, and…

"Senpai?"

"It's possible," Mirio says. "I don't really, uh, know for sure. But there was someone who helped me figure this out, when I was sort of in the same spot you were. He didn't know any fancy words for it, but it helped to talk to him, because it really felt like he understood, on a personal level. He helped a lot just by sharing his own experiences, and it felt really familiar when he talked about it…" His voice trails off. Midoriya has this weirdly piercing way of looking at people, like he hears way more than what they choose to tell him. Mirio swipes his hand over his face. "Please don't tell him I told you this, I'd never hear the end of it."

"You're talking about Nighteye," Midoriya says softly. "Aren't you?"

Mirio knows he's a terrible liar, so he nods. "Like I said, I don't know for sure, and I didn't learn the language for it until later when I did my own research. But… I don't know, Midoriya. I just got that feeling, whenever Sir talked about All-Might."

Midoriya doesn't say anything to that—doesn't say anything at all until they get to the hospital. Mirio only hopes he hasn't overstepped. But he couldn't have helped himself, seeing Midoriya so frustrated and confused. He may be an enigma sometimes, but Mirio's known for a while that more than anything else, Midoriya wants to be understood.

So it's worth it, just to put that familiar look in his eyes, like disparate pieces are falling into place and the world is finally making a little more sense.