Fall Apart, Collect the Pieces

“Ochako?” he called as he opened the door. He was fumbling with his keys as he tried to squeeze into the threshold, carry a large duffel, a backpack, and a paper shopping bag. "You home, honey?"

He'd gone on a joint agency undercover mission for a week, and he'd been homesick since day one. Hey, he was a newlywed, and his wife of two months was at home while he'd been in a sleeping bag with one of his sidekicks snoring beside him.

He was glad to be home.

He finally managed to kick the door shut behind him, toeing off his shoes in the hall before trudging into the living room. He dropped his duffel bag by the sofa. "Chako?" he called again.

He looked at the clock. He was still a little out of it since his sleep schedule had gone to shit while he was UC. He'd slept on the ride back, too, so it made sense that he was a bit disoriented. Ochako was still on patrol.

He smiled. He couldn't wait to see her, but this meant he could take a nap before she showed up. Then he'd actually have enough energy to enjoy her company.

He looked down at the paper bag in his hand with a smile, reaching inside to pull out the fabric box inside. Before he took his nap, he wanted to add something to his collection.

Ochako didn't love the fact that he collected hero merch. She'd brought it up a couple of times, pointing out that it was a little juvenile.

But it was important to him.

His collection was kind of a masterpiece. He wasn't the most active collector, but the pieces he had were amazing. He hadn't added to it in years, but the items that he did have were well taken care of. Besides, he finally had the disposable income he needed to feed his hobbies—so while he didn't spend often, he felt more than comfortable with indulging when the right piece came along.

In this box was the final piece to a commemorative All Might pin set that he'd been hunting for years. It was a little piece of history coming together, and he couldn't wait to see it as a set.

He climbed the stairs with a giddy smile on his face, flipping open the lid of the box to inspect his new prize. He'd seen it by chance, three days into his assignment—just sitting in the window of a pawn shop. Luckily, he'd seen it during his downtime.

He pushed the door to his merch room open, and looked up.

His smile vanished.

Where his collection once stood—shelves and display cases full of collectibles and his hero analysis notebooks, contained in a temperature controlled room—there was now a home theater.

His stomach dropped to his knees. He stood in the doorway, shellshocked. Then, the he felt the first drops of panic enter his blood stream.

The pin box still clutched in his hand, he ran to the nearest closet—searching through it and pulling items off the shelves. Where had she put them? Where did it all go? She must have put them somewhere.

He went through each room, heart racing. He pulled open every closet, cupboard, drawer, and crawl space, getting on hands and knees to search through the darkest corners and floating to inspect the highest shelves.

That limited edition silver age all might figurine was the last gift his dad ever gave him. The special edition comics were gifts from All Night’s personal collection. Nighteye had left him the poster in his will.

 David Shield had given him the original blueprints to All Might’s support gear. He’d gotten that trading card side-by-side with Kacchan.

Some of the items were just rare and expensive, but some of them…some of  them were memories made physical. Pieces of his heart rendered in paper and plastic, from people who mattered to him.

He couldn’t find them. He couldn’t breathe.

And then there were his notebooks. His notebooks were more than just analysis. They served as journals, too—spanning from middle school to present day.

There were details about one for all in there. About his quirklessness. About how Kacchan’s bullying hurt him when he just wanted to be friends. Details about his personal life that were just that—intensely personal.

God, and the hero analysis. From old-school heroes who had long retired to interesting notes about his contemporaries. Facts about their tactics and gear that could be lethal in the wrong hands.

He tore the house apart looking. He hadn’t even taken off his costume yet. He couldn’t find it. Any of it.

He called Ochako.

It went to voicemail. He called again, then he called again. She was on patrol, so her phone was probably at her agency. Fuck.

He called his closest person. He picked up on the first ring.

“The fuck do you want, dork,” Kacchan drawled, sounding aloof with that familiar undercurrent of fondness that only his close friends could detect.

“Kacchan,” he sobbed. He didn’t even know when he’d started crying.

“What’s wrong?” He demanded, aloofness gone and immediately on alert.

“I need your help, I can’t find any of it—”

"Where are you?" Katsuki demanded, concerned but firm. Oh. He knew that tone. He must be having a panic attack.

"Home," he gasped.

"I'll be there in five," Kacchan promised. "Sit on the couch. Deep breaths, loser."

He sat and waited—brain working like a bullet-train.

His things—his most prized possessions—were gone. Things he'd collected over the past 20 years with tender loving care.

He'd documented each piece—photographing and recording where and when he'd gotten them. He'd made sure to update his insurance provider when the value shifted.

He barely went in that room lately—so busy that he didn't have time to appreciate the stuff that brought him joy. 

He'd only went in there now because he'd wanted to put the pin in the safest place he knew—to photograph it and put it in a display. He'd wanted to document its price and bask in the fact that he'd finally collected all of the pins in the collection.

Only to find it all gone.

"Deku? Kacchan called, letting himself in.

He came in from the foyer a minute later, looking windswept. "Did you fly here?" Izuku asked, sounding dull around the edges. "You're not supposed to do that."

"You're panicking," Kacchan replied seriously, striding over to him to sit on the coffee table "Fuck the law."

Izuku's lip twitched and for half a second, he genuinely thought he was gonna laugh. Instead, that twitch turned into a tremble and that tremble turned into bawling.

"It's all gone," he sobbed. "I can't find it anywhere, it's gone, Kacchan!"

"What's gone?" he asked, grasping his hand. Izuku clutched it like a lifeline.

"Everything in my display room," he gasped, eyes wild. "All of it. My entire collection, all my notebooks—"

Kacchan was up a second later, not dropping his hand so Izuku was forced to stand and follow him.

Hand in hand, they approached the display room again. Izuku dug his heels in. He didn't want to see it. He wanted to look for his collection.

Kacchan held fast. Izuku was grateful. His hand was grounding.

"What the fuck," Kacchan breathed, looking around the room wide-eyed.

"Gone," he agreed.

The home theater that stood where arguably the most extensive collection of hero merch had once stood was...pretty. 

Large comfy lounge sofas, a cute pastel popcorn machine, cushy pillows and cozy blankets, and a large flat-screen TV.

He hated it.

His tears came faster. There was only one logical explanation for this. It's not like a robber would steal his most valuable possessions and leave a home theater behind.

"She said it was childish," he cried. Katsuki gripped his hand tighter. "A waste of time and money."

"You think she got rid of your collection?" Katsuki asked seriously. "Without fucking asking?"

"Maybe,—" he hiccuped, voice catching in his throat. "Maybe she just put it away, but I can't find any of it," he whimpered. "I've been looking everywhere—"

"I'll help," Kacchan promised. It was like a breath of fresh air after sitting in a sauna—crisp and cleansing. Kacchan was always there for him. "Hey, if it's here, we'll find it."

Izuku's lip trembled. "What if it's not?" he asked. "What if she sold it all—"

"Then I kick her ass," he snarled. Izuku shook his head, but Kacchan stopped him. "That collection means a lot to you, fuckhead. If she got rid of it without asking you, it was disrespectful as fuck and she deserves what she gets."

He hesitated but nodded. He wasn't just sad—he was starting to get mad. He hoped that the person he married—the person who supposedly loved him—hadn't betrayed his trust.

They spent the next hour searching. It was a big house with lots of nooks and crannies. 

Izuku had bought it when he cracked the top ten, hoping to have a place where all the important people in his life could fit comfortably when they happened to be in the same place at the same time.

The only place in the house that was his was that room, and it had been violated. His bedroom wasn't even completely his.

They tore the house apart and at the end of it, they came up dry. Izuku folded into himself on the couch—pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He hadn't stopped crying since he'd called Kacchan.

"This is totally fucked," Kacchan growled, back to grasping his hand.

They were going through his records now—the little laptop that Izuku kept under his bed was on the coffee table. It's the only thing that was left to prove his collection had even existed.

He'd been planning to scan his notebooks next month, when he had a little time off.

They were gone too. It made him sick to his stomach. He'd have to file an insurance claim, and contact the Hero Commission. He'd have to give them as many details from those notebooks as possible.

He heard the front door open.

"Deku! Are you home, baby?"

Izuku felt Kacchan tense up beside him and gripped his hand tighter to keep him in place.

She rounded out of the foyer, eyes landing on them. Her eyes widened as she took in his face. She cooed. "Aw, baby what's wrong? Did the mission go badly?"

"Where's his collection?"

She froze, eyes landing on Katsuki. "Huh?"

"My collection," Izuku repeated for him. "The collection I've spent 20 years building. Where is it?"

She rocked back on her heels, suddenly frustrated. "Are you seriously crying about that? I was really worried!"

"Where is it!?"

"I told you how I felt about it," she said, rolling her eyes. "It was a waste of space and money—"

"WHERE IS IT?"

"It's not like you ever went in there anyway," she shrugged, heading back to hang up her coat. "At least now the space is being used for something practical."

"You're not answering his fucking question," Katsuki snapped. "Where the fuck is his collection?"

She sighed, squaring her shoulders before turning back to them. "Anything I could find on WeBay for a price reference, I sold. I donated the rest of it."

Izuku's heart dropped.

He felt Katsuki's hand heat up with rage, but he didn't care. She'd sold and donated his most treasured possessions.

"You better be fucking ready to buy it all back, you fucking bitch—"

"I'm not buying it back," she scoffed. "I just got rid of it. It was just enough to pay for the home theater. Come on, think of how nice it'll be when we have people over!"

"That's what the fucking living room is for!" Izuku yelled. "You had no right to sell my things!"

She scowled, officially angry. "YOUR things?" she yelled back. She waved her hand in his face, flashing the ring. "What's mine is yours, remember?"

"You live in MY house!" he snarled. "Remember the prenup you signed? My assets remain my assets. Fuck, I've never been so glad that my mom convinced me to get one!"

She flinched back. "You'd bring up our prenup over some fucking toys and comics?"

"Those toys and comics were worth over 100,000,000 yen," Katsuki snarled, low and furious. "Rare, valuable shit that can't be found on fucking WeBay. Some of it has to be sold through special auctions to reach its actual value."

She paled.

"You spent that much on junk?" she demanded.

Katsuki made to lunge at her, but Izuku held him back. "No, I didn't. A lot of them were gifts," he said, tone nearly despondent. "Stuff that All Might gave me. Stuff my dad gave me. Stuff that Nighteye left me in his will."

Her face softened. "Deku—" She uttered, finally sounding somewhat contrite. She stepped forward, he flinched back.

"You shut the fuck up," Katsuki snapped.

"That's just the sentimental stuff. Then there's the stuff I spent months hunting down. The stuff I found in thrift shops and waited hours in line for. Stuff that I haggled and traded for. Stuff that's been out of production for decades."

"That's what I meant by a waste of time!" she cried. "We barely have any free time together and you spend half of it chasing down useless crap!"

"I told you that it was important to me," he said, tears running down his face. "You could have told me you wanted to spend more time together. You didn't have to break my trust and go behind my back."

"How much did you get from the collection?" Katsuki demanded.

"Why are you even here?" she snapped. "Get your own fucking marriage, Bakugou!"

"How much, Ochako. How much did that stupid, unnecessary home theater cost?" he snapped, holding Kacchan back again.

She swallowed. "Just over 2 million," she said tersely.

He wanted to throw up.

He'd be able to buy back the posters with that, maybe. Or the set of first-edition comics from All Might's silver age. Not both. He might be able to buy back the figurine his dad gave him.

That was only if the people who bought them wanted to sell.

"What about my notebooks?" he asked. Katsuki placed a hand on his shoulder in a show of support—warm and grounding.

She shifted nervously. "Those old things?" she asked, trying for casual. "I recycled them. They were falling apart—"

Izuku collapsed back onto the couch, face in his hands. His stomach was churning with horror, and he felt cold with panic.

"You're a fucking psychopath," Katsuki snarled. "You better hope we can track those damn things down, Bubble-bitch—"

"God, could you mind your own fucking business—"

"No, he's right," Izuku interrupted. "Get ready to dumpster dive, honey. You better hope we can find those notebooks."

"They're just journals!" she protested. "I read a few of them, they were basically just middle school rambling—"

"And detailed, in-depth hero analysis," Katsuki interrupted.

"Shit tons of details about our peers—about Deku—including facts about costumes and support gear and fighting styles. Essays about the details of heroes' personal lives and how it affects their hero work."

She blanched. "Why would you keep those here?" she yelled. "If they've got that much sensitive information, why would you leave them unguarded?" 

He scoffed, bitter and derisive. "Unguarded? I'm the number six hero. My house isn't unguarded. For my own protection, I have a security system that's a step down from Tartarus. Remember the biometric doorknob? The security cameras that have facial recognition? The security code that changes weekly? Hatsume designed my security herself," he said. His tone sounded achingly wretched. "You needed security clearance to move in here, did you ever consider that? My possessions are safe here because only the people I trust are allowed in. Or at least, they should have been."

She looked a little sick. "You should have told me—"

"You should have asked," he snapped. "You should have asked before getting rid of my things. You should have asked why it was important to me."

"You don't have to fucking explain yourself in order to have things you enjoy," Katsuki snapped. Izuku could feel his anger simmering. "You supposedly love him, don't you? You should have let him keep the shit that makes him happy even if you don't understand it."

"Would you mind your own business?" she snapped. "This is between me and Deku! Why are you even here?"

"He's here because I was upset, and he helped me search the house for my collection," Izuku said. "And if you think there's anything between us anymore, you're insane."

She flinched. "What are you talking about?"

"I want him here. I don't want you here. Get out."

"You can't be serious—"

"I'll go through the house and pack your things. I don't trust you to take shit that isn't yours if I let you do it yourself," he said, anger growing.

"A lawyer will contact you tomorrow. Expect to meet with the Commission, too."

"We're married, Deku, married people work out their differences—"

"Like you worked out your differences with him?" Katsuki asked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Bullshit. You heard him. Leave."

"I live here! This is my house too—"

"It's not," Izuku snapped. "The mortgage is in my name. I bought everything in it. Whatever I didn't buy, I'll send to you. If I don't decide to sell it to recoup some of my losses."

"Her crap can't pay for that," Katsuki snorted. "If we can't get your shit back, just sue her for the value you listed with the insurance company."

She paled even further. "They're just toys! You'd sue me over toys? You'd throw our marriage away?"

"It wasn't much of a marriage if you couldn't show me some basic decency."

"You wouldn't even listen to me! I told you what I thought—"

"And I told you it was important to me. And instead of talking about it more, or bringing it up again, you threw it out when I wasn't there to stop you. You knew how I'd react, and you picked a time when I wasn't there to do it anyway. Now get. Out."

"Or I'll drag you out by your hair," Katsuki threatened, stepping in front of him.

Ochako scowled at Katsuki before looking over his shoulder at Izuku. Her gaze softened, looking like condescending pity. It turned his stomach.

"I'm sorry you're hurting right now. I'll stay with my parents for a bit. Call me when you're ready to talk about this rationally, okay?"

Izuku grabbed the back of Katsuki's shirt, curling his fingers into the fabric to keep himself calm. He didn't say anything, and Ochako let out an exasperated sigh before turning back toward the door. Like he was being infantile. Like he was the one at fault.

"Get bent, bitch," Katsuki snapped at her retreating back.

She turned back, a malicious grimace in place. "Enabling him won't make him love you, Bakugou."

Katsuki flinched at that, and his entire body went tense. "I'm not enabling him. I'm supporting him. And if you can't tell the fucking difference, you never deserved him."

She looked like she wanted to say something else. Instead, she left quietly, taking their marriage with her.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Izuku sank back onto the couch—drained. Shocked.

"Deku?" Kacchan called kneeling in front of him again.

Izuku looked up at him, mind reeling. And then it seemed to click into place. She hadn't just sold his things.

His notebooks had been thrown in the trash. Every thought he'd had, ranging from quirks to tactics to gear to his most private thoughts, thrown in the recycling.

As terrifying as that was—as dangerous as it could be—the merch collection hurt more. His thoughts could be repeated.

His carefully curated museum of hero history probably couldn't be.

The merch hadn't even been sold at their proper value to reputable collectors who were guaranteed to take care of them. 

How many of his things had ended up in a donation bin? How many posters were crumpled and torn beyond repair? How many boxes were damaged? Had the incomplete merch sets made it to auction or were they carelessly tossed into the pile and lost forever?

Would some random person's kid rip the arm off the last action figure his dad ever gave him? Had she rolled up or folded the poster that Nighteye had willed to him, damaging it forever?

He thought about the pin that he'd been so excited to add to its set. The literal years he'd kept an eye out for it, wasted.

"Deku," Katsuki called again, gripping his wrist.

Izuku focused on his eyes—burning red and filled with concern—and burst into tears. Kacchan tugged him forward and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"W-when she brought it up, sh-she didn't e-even ask why it was important," he sobbed. "I thought she'd let it go—"

"She's a piece of shit, Deku," Kacchan replied, rubbing his back. "We'll do what we can to get it back, alright? First thing tomorrow we'll hit all the thrift stores in the district."

Izuku's face twisted further. "There are so many," he cried. "Not to mention all the other donation bins she might have dropped them in."

"So we get help," Katsuki replied, hugging him a little tighter. "Fuck, yeah, that's a great idea."

Izuku tried not to whimper when Katsuki pulled away. "What are you doing?" he asked when Kacchan pulled out his phone.

 "Gonna call the idiots," he explained. "They can come help out."

"With what?" he asked miserably. "I thought we were gonna do this tomorrow."

"Yeah, but tonight we can go through the dumpster and clear her shit out of the house. And fuck, it'll be good to have them around for support or whatever," he suggested with a weak smile.

Even around the hurt, he was so grateful for Kacchan. This wasn't his strength, but he was here. Solid, steadfast support.

He swallowed thickly. "You think they'd help?"

Katsuki frowned. "Why wouldn't they?"

Izuku's eyes darted around, taking in the walls he'd considered secure just hours ago.

"What if they think it's childish," he asked quietly. "Maybe I'm overreacting for kicking her out—Kacchan wait!"

He'd already hit call.

With the phone pressed to his ear, he turned a reprimanding glare on Izuku. 

"That's bullshit, Deku. She knew who you were before you fucking married her. She shouldn't have tried to change you, and she shouldn't have taken shit that's important to you. Only you can decide who you are, and anyone who doesn't accept you doesn't deserve to be in your fucking life. If you were cooking meth or some shit, that would be different, but—WHAT THE FUCK TOOK YOU SO LONG, PINKY?" he bellowed into the phone.

Izuku could hear Mina whining on the other end.

"Kacchan, maybe—"

"Shut the fuck up for a sec—"

"YOU CALLED ME!" he heard Mina bellow.

"If you don't want them here, I'll hang up. We can search and pack her shit while we watch a movie or some shit. But as annoying as they are, they're damn good at lifting the mood."

Katsuki held his gaze as Izuku thought it over, waiting patiently while Mina audibly ranted through the tinny cellphone speaker.

Izuku swallowed, again—the lump in his throat constricting. His lip trembled. "If I change my mind—"

"I'll kick them out myself," Kacchan replied.

On the other end, Mina went quiet—probably listening. Eventually, he nodded and Katsuki gave him a smirk—the closest thing he had to an encouraging smile.

"Go take a shower and change out of your costume," he instructed. "I'll fill the dipshits in."

"Thanks, Kacchan,” he murmured. Katsuki backed up so that Izuku could skirt around him.

"Hey," Kacchan grabbed his wrist again. "We'll figure it out, alright? Shit might not be perfect but I've got your back."

Izuku mustered up a weak smile—teary and wobbly. "I know, Kacchan. You always do."

He passed the home theater on his way to the master bathroom and stopped in the doorway.

God, maybe he was being dramatic, but it felt like someone had died. Or a piece of him had died. Or something. He just knew this felt like grief—like his soul had been scraped out with a goddamn melon baller and thrown into the garbage.

The notebook with All Might's autograph was in a recycling bin or landfill somewhere. The physical reminder of the moment his idol had saved his life was probably waterlogged and covered in trash. That's what his interests amounted to, according to his wife. Trash. Nuisance. Worthless. A waste of space and time.

She'd always known about his interests. Is that what she thought of him as a whole? Had she wanted to chip away at him until he was picture-perfect?

Until all the things that made him unique were gone?

He'd worked hard to be unashamed of who he was, and the idea that Ochako had wanted to take even one part of it from him made him feel sick.

It made him angry.

The stupid home theater was staring him in the face, and his hands ached from how hard they clenched.

He'd started dating Ochako five years ago—right after he and Kacchan had opened their agency together.

That stupid pastel popcorn machine stood where the vintage Pro-Hero video games had been displayed.

Their first date had been at a cat café.

Those couches had been paid for with his dreams.

She'd told him that his passion for heroics was inspiring. That he could connect to people because of the genuine enthusiasm he showed. That she'd fallen for him because of how he looked at the world—optimistic and excited.

He'd fallen for her because she was bright and supportive and because he'd never had to set himself on fire to keep her warm.

Apparently, she'd just been waiting to light the match for him—waiting to strip away the parts of him she didn't like when she thought she had him tethered. Waiting to replace his hard-won collection with a shitty home theater with too much light and no personality.

He heard glass shatter and startled back. He'd picked up the popcorn machine and thrown it against the wall without even realizing it. The sound of it breaking felt like a dam bursting—and suddenly he wasn't just mad, he was furious.

Then, he was ripping the flat screen off the wall and throwing it across the room, and ripping the couch cushions to shreds. He sobbed as he kicked the stupid hardwood TV stand until it splintered beneath his feet. He smashed the bowl of potpourri on the floor and ripped the stupid mass-produced movie posters from the walls.

He felt ineffective and powerless. 

She'd waited until he was gone.

She'd planned this, and he'd been an idiot to trust her.

She'd just felt so fucking trustworthy.

They'd been through so much together. Loving her had been as easy as breathing. The only other person he'd ever felt this much for would never do something like this.

Not now, at least. Not now that they were grown, and had grown together. Now that their friendship was unbreakable, he'd never do this to Izuku.

They loved each other. Not like that, but no less valid.

He used to dream of Kacchan loving him the way he thought Ochako did.

Loving him was like a heartbeat. Always there, and completely involuntary. An immutable fact. And he knew that Katsuki loved him too.

As he stood in the wrecked room—silent, angry tears rolling down his face—he knew for a fact that Katsuki would never do this.

People who loved each other didn't do this.

They didn't take the things that mattered from each other and ruin them. They talked, learned, and compromised.

If she'd asked, he would have compromised. Invested in an actual storage space, or added another room to the house, or schedule designated date nights or something. He would have done it.

But she hadn't asked.

His hands ached.

"Feel better?" Katsuki asked quietly. Izuku turned to find him leaning against the door frame, surveying him calmly.

"No," he replied, scowling through his tears. "Now I can't return any of this shit."

Katsuki barked out a surprised laugh. "I'll reimburse you. Or we can get Ponytail to make exact replicas."

"She doesn't like messing with the economy," Izuku replied dully.

"She'd make an exception."

He knew she would. He still didn't want to bother her with the consequences of his temper tantrum. "Maybe," he muttered.

Katsuki stepped into the carnage, skirting splintered wood and decimated couches to take him by the shoulders and steer him toward the door.

"Shower, Deku. I'll order dinner, the dumbasses will be here in half an hour."

Izuku nodded, even hollower than before—completely sapped of whatever energy he'd had left.

He stepped under the spray and slumped against the tiled wall, crying louder than before.

When he finally made it out of the shower, his eyes were red-rimmed and he only felt tired. He could hear Denki in Mina in the living room. They weren't yelling but they definitely weren't using inside voices.

They sounded angry.

He couldn't help but wonder if they were mad at him. If they thought he was being immature for even collecting in the first place.

He pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, anxiety seeping under his skin. He'd thought that even if Ochako didn't understand it, she'd come to accept it.

She'd been his wife.

He'd thought he could trust her with all of him. And if he couldn't trust her with all of him, how could he trust them?

He heard Kacchan's low growl, and some of that anxiety ebbed. Kacchan trusted them. He wouldn't let them stay if he didn't. With that in mind, he braced himself and made his way to the living room. He stood in the doorway, listening.

"Wait, what about the vintage Titan Star lunchbox?" Denki asked, sounding miserable. Izuku's eyes welled up again. Denki had gotten that for him on his 20th birthday.

Titan Star was a hero from Daigoro Banjo's era—the fifth user of One For All. She'd been of the first heroes to be a commercial success as well as a kind-hearted, impactful savior.

Her merch was rare—old and overshadowed by All Might's overwhelming presence.

It was amazing that Denki had even found it, let alone given it to him.

To a true hero fan, it would have been nearly priceless.

"She didn't leave anything behind," Kacchan snapped. "If she didn't find a WeBay buyer for it, it's sitting in a donation bin somewhere."

"Poor Mido," Mina lamented. She was scowling. "That's so messed up, do you remember the day he got that bronze age figurine in the box? The way he ran into the room with it held over his head like a trophy?"

"He loved that one," Eijirou agreed, arm over Mina's shoulder.

"She brought it up a couple times." Izuku flinched, eyes flicking toward the kitchen counter. Hitoshi was there, propped up on a bar-stool. "I thought she'd dropped it after our last talk. Tsu asked why it mattered as long as Izuku was happy, and she shrugged it off."

He must have come with Denki.

"Didn't fucking matter what made him happy, she'd already decided she didn't like it, so she fucking trashed it," Katsuki snapped.

Hanta spoke up then, hesitant. "I hate to be the person who takes it away from Mido being hurt, but those notebooks? That shit is bad news. I was fine with it when they were safe with him, but out there?"

Katsuki nodded. "Yeah. Not fucking good." His eyes flicked to the doorway, catching his.

"I can't believe she just threw them out!" Mina yelled, making Izuku flinch. "Even if they weren't filled with sensitive information, those were his journals!"

Katsuki held his gaze. "She barely looked through them. She decided that they were junk and threw them out. She didn't care about anyone but herself."

He heard it loud and clear. She didn't care about him. At least not as much as she cared about her picture perfect vision of what he should be.

She'd just let Izuku believe that she did.

"Hey, guys," he murmured, finally stepping into the room. All eyes swiveled to him. "Thanks, uh—" he swallowed, looking down at his feet.

"What are friends for, right?" Mina replied, he glanced up and melted a little at her gentle smile. She looked sad.

He hated making his problems other peoples' problems. Ochako was one of Mina's closest friends.

"I know you're all friends with her too, you don't have to—"

"Dude. What she did was super messed up and she doesn't think she did anything wrong. I feel like I barely know her," Denki said, uncommonly somber.

"We may be friends, but if that's how she treats people she cares about, it's time to re-evaluate. Besides, being friends with her doesn't preclude being here for you," Mina stated firmly.

"You're the one that's hurt, and you're the one that needs help. We can deal with Ochako later," Hitoshi agreed.

He was already tired of crying. It was quieter now—tears slipping down his face as he nodded.

"Alright. Thanks," he replied.

"Dipshit, Duct-tape and Walking Dead are gonna go search the dumpsters. The rest of us are gonna help you pack up her shit," Kacchan explained.

Izuku's stomach twisted. He had no idea how long ago she'd thrown the notebooks away. It could have been a week ago, or it could have been yesterday. If it was the former, they were already buried in a landfill.

"Thank you, guys. But I don't know how long ago she threw them away."

Hitoshi cleared his throat uncomfortably, drawing Izuku's gaze. "We...may be able to find out."

There was something in the way he said it that made him a little sick. "What do you mean?"

Hitoshi shifted, looking guilty. "I think she asked Shoto to help. I asked him if he wanted to go to that new noodle place by his agency since I was in the area, and he said he was helping Ochako for the day."

His stomach dropped. "He knew?" he asked. It felt like a slap in the face. Shoto had bought some of that merch for him. Mostly to piss Endeavor off, but it had still meant a lot.

Maybe Shoto hadn't realized the significance to him.

Maybe when he'd Izuku had been 18, buying him the limited edition miniature MightMobile at auction was acceptable, but now that he was 25 he thought it was juvenile.

He wondered if Tsu and Tenya felt that way, too. Sure, Tsu had apparently said it was harmless but that didn't mean she didn't think it was juvenile or invalid.

Tenya had once said that his obsessive journaling could make him look disturbed to the public.

"Could—" he swallowed, gritting his teeth. "Could you ask him?" Had he helped move the furniture in, or had he helped throw his things out? "I don't want you to go dumpster diving for stuff that isn't there."

"Sure," Hitoshi agreed. "I'll talk to Tenya and Tsu, too, alright? I'll take care of it."

"Maybe you should eat first," Denki suggested. "You just got back from a mission."

His stomach growled. He hadn't even noticed—the constant nausea at his situation seemed to have masked his hunger.

"Sure," he said, traipsing over to the couch. "Can we...talk about something else—do something else—while we eat? I'm just..."

Overwhelmed. Miserable. Shocked.

"Of course we can, dork," Katsuki scoffed. "Sit down. Spark-plug brought pizza because nutrition doesn't mean shit to him."

"I brought it because it's comfort food, you ass," Denki huffed, throwing a pillow at him. "Why aren't you bitching at Mina for ice cream?"

"Because Mina eats her fucking vegetables," Katsuki barked back.

Hitoshi had slipped away into one of the other rooms, and Izuku was left with Katsuki and his—their—friends, handing him pizza and ushering him to the couch.

Katsuki put on a movie—a pre-quirk superhero movie that talked a lot about the trust and care that went into being a team—before sitting down next to him.

He loved this movie. This series had helped build his heroic philosophy outside of All Might's influence.

His favorite parts of the movie came and went—but every time Izuku opened his mouth to give commentary, he'd bite it back. Why would they want to hear it? Inane background chatter that wouldn't have any impact.

He could feel Kacchan's concerned gaze on the side of his face.

Halfway through the movie, Hitoshi trudged back into the room.

He looked tired.

"Hey," he said as Kacchan paused the movie. The phone was still in his hand. "Uh, Shoto wants to come over to talk. So does Tsu."

"Are you fucking kidding?" Katsuki snapped. "Hell no."

"Dude, they sound pretty upset," Hitoshi replied. "They didn't know."

"They didn't know what? That they were making changes to the house without Mido's permission?" Mina demanded. Kacchan threw her an appreciative glance.

"Or that the room they were remodeling used to contain all of Deku's most important shit," the blonde barked.

"Let them," Izuku said, voice tight. Katsuki made a noise of protest beside him. "No, really. I wanna hear it. And if it's not good enough, I want my house key back."

"You're getting your fucking locks changed—"

"The gesture means something. Only people I trust have one."

Katsuki had one. Shoto had one. Hitoshi had one. Ochako had one. That was it.

Hitoshi raised the phone back to his ear. "You heard that?" he asked. "Good."

He hung up without another word, and Katsuki hit play. As the rest of the group settled back in, Kacchan gave his shoulder a little nudge. A silent show of support.

His anxiety grew as they waited—unable to fully focus on the movie knowing that Shoto and Tsu had something to do with a lifetime collection disappearing.

He'd thought they knew him better.

When Hitoshi let them in, Mina stood. The movie wasn't done yet, but they weren't paying attention anyway.

"If it's okay with you, Ei and I are gonna start going through everything and pulling Ochako's things out," she said. "You can help us sort it out later."

"And I'll start working on clearing out the theater room," Hitoshi said. "Denki?"

"Yeah, coming," he said, hopping off the couch.

"There are work gloves in the hall closet," Izuku said, tone still dull. "You'll need them."

Denki and Hitoshi shared a concerned glance. Katsuki must not have showed them the damage he'd done to the room.

"Want me to go too?" Katsuki asked. Izuku shook his head immediately. Shoto and Tsu were standing at the entrance, looking like they were waiting for an invitation.

He didn't want to be alone with them.

Hanta grabbed the plates and pizza boxes and carried them into the kitchen, busying himself with cleaning. The four remaining heroes stared at each other, unsure of where to start.

Finally, Tsuyu spoke up. "I think we're both confused about what happened," she admitted.

"Could you explain the situation from your point of view? And then we'll explain what we were told?"

Izuku's eyes fixed on her, and she flinched. He wondered if he looked as awful as he felt. His eyes were sore from crying, so they were probably red and swollen.

Then, he explained.

He explained that Ochako brought up the collection twice—once asking if he wasn't too old for it, and another saying they should get rid of it. 

He said no both times because it was important to him. She seemed to drop it, and never asked anything more.

He left for his mission.

When he got back, everything was gone and the home theater was in its place. 

When Ochako came home, she said she'd sold, donated, and thrown his stuff away—no permission, no warning. Just gone.

As he spoke, both of them grew paler—sneaking glances at each other.

"She told you that?" Tsuyu asked. "That she sold and donated it?"

"And trashed your notebooks?" Shoto piped up. He looked sick.

"What did you think she was going to do with them?" Katsuki snapped. "Dip it in gold and display them in the fucking Hero Hall?"

At least at the Hero Hall was a museum where it would be taken care of, rather than a recycling bin.

"The way she talked about it, it sounded like a daily argument you guys had over the past month," Tsuyu explained. "She told us that you'd compromised."

Shoto nodded in agreement.

"She told us you'd agreed to keep your collection and notebooks in storage so that you could turn the space into something shared," he continued.

"So you just packed up his shit without even asking him if he was actually okay with it? What kind of fucking friends are you?" Katsuki snarled. Izuku put a hand on his knee—holding him in place.

"We didn't touch the collection," Shoto insisted. "She called us on Wednesday to ask us for help since Tenya had patrol all day."

"She said you'd already packed up your collection before you left, and she wanted to set up the theater while you were gone as a surprise," Tsu said.

So they hadn't packed his stuff up. It had been gone by the time she'd told them.

"But you thought she was right for wanting to get rid of it all?" he asked, voice small. "That I was being childish?"

Tsuyu fidgeted, but Shoto didn't. 

"No," he replied. "I was hoping you'd find a way to spread it through the house a little more. It made me happy to see how much you liked the gift I gave you. You knew so much about it as soon as you saw it. It clearly made you happy. I spent my whole childhood being deprived of things that made me happy, so I didn't want that for you. It didn't hurt anyone, and we deal with awful things every day. If collecting makes life better, you should collect. And when Ochako said you compromised, I thought she'd at least put it all in a storage facility so that you could still enjoy them. I thought it was a reasonable middle ground, so I didn't look deeper. I should have, though. I'm sorry."

He sounded frustrated—voice quiet and ashamed. Their eyes turned to Tsu. She shifted under their gaze.

"I'll admit, I don't understand the collecting thing," Tsu said. "It wasn't hurting anyone until recently, when I truly thought you were starting to prioritize the collection above Ochako. She started complaining about it every time I saw her, and I was honestly upset with you. I thought it was..." she trailed off, croaking uncomfortably. "Immature of you to let it affect your marriage."

"That's not what happened, though," Katsuki growled through gritted teeth.

She nodded, looking down. "I know that now. I should have gotten your side of the story, but I barely see you lately, and with Ochako's story—"

"You figured that I neglected my friendships for it," Izuku uttered, wounded. She flinched, but powered through.

"Sometimes, the way you talk about it—it comes off as obsessive," she explained. "And I wondered if you'd gotten...trapped in a sort of fixation. I didn't get why you needed that stuff in the house if it was causing problems. So when we got together for drinks a few weeks ago, I suggested that maybe—instead of getting rid of everything—you could get one of those fancy storage units with temperature control to store them. I thought she'd brought it up with you, and you'd come to an agreement."

Izuku felt cold—wracked with the ugly sort of hurt, where it felt like you were in danger, so all the blood in your body left your extremities to power your bleeding heart.

Katsuki, on the other hand, was livid.

"Deku gives everyone his all. All the time. He's the most selfless motherfucker on the planet—"

"Kacchan—"

"No, Deku. He gives his fucking life up for people, so what if he has a fucking hobby? He's not allowed to have one thing for himself? Sato collects fucking cake pans, are you gonna tell Pony to donate his shit to a bakery?"

"You're right," she said, contrite. "I should have talked to you. Or minded my own business. I should have done better. I didn't understand why it meant that much."

Katsuki snarled. "I don't understand why men have fucking nipples, but you don't see me cutting off—" Izuku put his hand back on Katsuki's knee to silence him.

Izuku looked up at her, lip trembling. 

"It meant a lot to me, because when the world told me I couldn't be a hero, those notebooks and collectibles helped me keep dreaming. They helped me keep learning and growing when I had no one in my corner," he explained quietly. "And then, it reminded me that there were people who supported me. Who saw me and loved me for exactly who I was. I never thought I'd have that. There were gifts, and relics, and pieces of history that I look at to remind myself of where I was and where I am now. To remind myself of all the people who love me and think about me. To hold the people I've lost close to me."

"Izuku," Tsuyu breathed. "I'm so—"

"Everything in that room was a part of me," he interrupted. "Those notebooks showed my growth over more than a decade, and how many friends I've gained. Some of it was gifted to me by All Might before he died. Some of it is from my parents and friends. Some of it is from a specific era that marked spectacular moments that I got inspired by. It's always been who I am, and I got comfortable enough to share it. You didn't have to understand it, but you did have to respect it."

"I'm sorry," she uttered. "I helped hurt you, and I'm so sorry. What can I do?"

Izuku shrugged listlessly. "It's all gone. I'm gonna try to get some of it back, but the trash gets taken out Wednesday, so the notebooks are gone. The donated stuff is probably in thrift stores across the city. Pieces of my life are just missing. So I appreciate your apology, but I think I need you to go."

She swallowed and nodded. "I understand," she said. "If...if you need anything from me, please let me know." She turned to leave, but paused. "You might want to talk to Tenya. I couldn't get ahold of him earlier."

"Oh, I'll be talking to glasses," Katsuki snarled beside him. Tsu nodded, then left. Izuku didn't know he'd ever feel open with her again. He felt like a piece of his heart was dying—the piece he'd left open for her.

"If you'd like me to leave too, I'd understand," Shoto said, eyes fixed on the floor. "But if not, I'd like to help you find your things."

Izuku swallowed. The lump in his throat had been there for so long that it ached.

"I'd appreciate your help," Izuku said. "But I need my house key back. I know you thought you were helping, and I appreciate what you said, but you still violated my trust, and I need time."

Shoto nodded, already pulling out his keys and working Izuku's house key off its ring. "Please let me know how I can help."

Izuku looked at Katsuki and, like always, the blonde seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

"He's gonna need one more thing," Katsuki said slowly, turning burning eyes back to Shoto.

Izuku took a deep breath. This step made it real.

"I need your mom's divorce lawyer."

"They said since it's been a couple weeks, some of your stuff's probably been sold already," Katsuki grumbled, dropping onto the couch next to him. "But they're forwarding the list to all their locations, so hopefully some of it will be pulled off the shelves."

It was the morning after and Kacchan had come up with a plan of attack as Izuku had slept. 

First, he'd decided to reach out to headquarters for all the major donation centers and thrift stores in the city and explain the situation to them.

By the time Izuku had woken up, he'd sent the collection spreadsheet to six different organizations, explaining that they'd be searching for the stolen items in the coming days.

So far, they'd sounded eager to help, but there was only so much they could do. After all, if something had already been purchased, they were out of luck unless it had been bought with a credit card.

And who shopped at thrift stores with credit cards? Some people, sure. But not many.

Mina and Eijirou had already started driving around to different thrift stores with his list, hoping to get started while he and Katsuki went through Ochako's things. 

Hanta, Denki, and Hitoshi were taking the debris from the theater to the dump, where they'd also be asking management if it would be possible to track down his notebooks. 

He wasn't very hopeful on that front. He was pretty sure they were gone for good.

All Might's autograph was in one of those notebooks. Hero Analysis #13. A landmark of the day his life had changed forever.

"Thanks, Kacchan," he replied. He was currently sitting in front of a pile of Ochako's things.

On either side of the pile were two boxes—one labeled "Return to Asshole" and the other labeled "Sell." Katsuki had made the labels, hoping to get a laugh out of him. There was even a poorly drawn rendition of Ochako on the asshole box—pointy teeth and devil horns included.

It just reminded him that the person who he'd thought he'd be spending his life with had intentionally gone behind his back to ruin things that mattered to him.

Katsuki peered into the boxes to check his progress. "Damn, I really thought you'd bought more of this shit for her," he said, poking through the "Return to Asshole" box.

"I can check again, but I remember most of the things I bought for her," he replied.

Katsuki lifted a handbag out of the box, eyebrows raised. Izuku looked at it, then at his companion—waiting for him to speak his mind.

"This is the third fuckishly expensive handbag I've seen in that box," he muttered, digging through again to pick out the others.

He'd grown up with Kacchan, so he was aware of what dressing nicely looked like. He could identify when something was stylish and when it wasn't, even if he wasn't particularly stylish himself. 

That didn't mean he could glean an item's quality or value, though. Usually, when he bought a fancy gift that featured fashion, he'd defer to Katsuki's expertise.

"They're cute," he replied, shrugging. "She likes cute things."

"Deku, I'm saying there's no way she could have bought all three on her salary," Katsuki explained. Izuku could tell that his patience was thin, and knew he was only refraining from snapping because he was already upset.

He'd be grateful, but his trepidation was dominant.

"How do you know?"

"They were all released in the last six months from major labels. It would have been outlandishly expensive for her. You're a Top 10 hero, so it's a drop in the bucket for you, but she only cracked Top 50 this year."

Izuku grabbed his laptop from the table, opening up his bank statement. 

Money wasn't that important to him. He had more than he needed and mostly used it to take care of the people who mattered to him. He didn't spend his time watching numbers grow and decline. 

The last time he'd really examined his finances was when he'd set up QUAD: Quirkless United Against Discrimination, a resource and advocacy organization for quirkless people, especially kids. 

He'd provided every cent of the startup costs, and pumped money into forming tolerance and advocacy programs, researching institutional bias surrounding quirks, and creating resources for quirkless youth in crisis.

Katsuki had been front and center—volunteering time to speak at schools and provide training to teachers on quirkless discrimination and their responsibility to stop it.

The time before that, he'd helped set up education funds for Eri, Kota, Mahoro, and Katsuma—enough to pay for college if they decided to go.

The point was—he was relaxed about it. If someone asked, he would usually give. He was involved in philanthropic work, and he provided for his loved ones. If he noticed something that Ochako liked, he'd get it for her, just to see her smile.

The thought that she might have been using his bank account to fund her purchases without asking wasn't significant in the face of everything else she'd done.

But it made him wonder if he'd come off as the type of partner who wouldn't give when asked. He'd always felt that if it made a loved one happy, he'd give them the shirt off his back.

He clearly hadn't come across that way to his wife, though.

As he scrolled through his bank statements over the past six months, even before they were married, his stomach sank.

"Look for an Hermes purchase," Katsuki instructed. When he found it, his eyes bugged out of his skull. 

4,239,700 yen.

"That's a work-study intern's annual salary," he breathed.

"That's this one," Katsuki said, holding up a dusty pink back with a deep purple band.

She'd gotten rid of his most cherished possessions while going behind his back to buy a handbag worth at least half the average sidekick's salary. And she'd accused him of wasting money.

He didn't care that she wanted nice things. He cared that she ruined the things he cared about, then went behind his back to fund her own interests. He cared that she could have asked and he would have given.

He cared that she chose to build herself up by tearing him down.

Katsuki kept pulling things out of the "Return to Asshole" box—pointing them out on the statement in front of them.

In the end, she'd spent 28 million yen since they'd gotten married, and 17 million before then.

He wasn't even angry. He was just exhausted.

"Fucking asshole," Katsuki hissed, throwing each item into the 'Sell' box with far more force than necessary. "Didn't even ask."

That seemed to be a running theme. She didn't even have the decency to ask him about any of it. No room for negotiation, nor communication. So utterly self-serving that it felt like he didn't know her at all.

Maybe he didn't.

"I was looking at that self-adjusting weight rack and you bought it for me as a 'just-because' gift. You're a fucking 'just-because-gift' person! I bet if she'd dropped a hint, you would have bought her the whole fucking store," he snapped.

Yeah, probably.

"I'll go through that whole fucking box and itemize everything," Katsuki continued. "You should go after her for credit card fraud or theft or some sh—"

"No," he replied. "I'm not gonna drag this out by making it a bigger thing. I don't want to ruin her career or make her miserable." Katsuki went to interrupt, but he held up his hand to stop him. "That won't make me feel better. I'm gonna file for divorce, sell what she bought on my dime, and look for my collection. I don't need revenge, I just need this to be over."

Katsuki glared at him, eyes hard. He wanted to argue. Katsuki always wanted to argue—it was part of his charm. But Izuku didn't want to deal with this by beating her down. 

He wanted to focus on what mattered to him, and that didn't include her anymore. Kacchan seemed to arrive at the same conclusion—shoulders dropping and glare softening to a displeased scowl.

Kacchan understood him better than anyone. Even if he didn't agree, he understood.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But you're letting me take care of selling this shit. I don't want you to have to look at it longer than you have to."

A command, not a request.

He wasn't very inclined to argue anyway, though. "Fine," he said, tilting his head back to rest on the back of the sofa.

There was still a bunch of her things to sort—now with a finer comb. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to be anywhere else.

Thankfully, Kacchan took that part over—cross-referencing everything he didn't remember buying with his bank statement, just to make sure nothing else slipped through the cracks.

Somebody knocked at the door, and Katsuki stood to get it.

Izuku kept his eyes averted from the "Sell" box, unwilling to see how much it had filled.

"Hey Mido," Mina said, traipsing into the room with Eijirou at her heels.

"Hey, guys," he replied, giving them a thin smile. She was carrying a small stack of takeout boxes.

"I have a little bit of good news," she told him. She stepped aside so that Eijirou could step around her. "We found some of the commemorative pins and keychains at the thrift store by her agency."

Eijirou set a small bag down on the table, and Izuku pulled it toward himself with shaking hands. His stomach churned as he looked inside—ten pins and four keychains tucked inside.

Every pin had belonged to a set and, sorting through them, none of those sets were complete. It was a start, though. Honestly, It was better than he'd hoped for.

"How many did you hit?" Kacchan asked them. Izuku ran his thumb over one of the keychains. It was from a merch line that promoted All Might's first-ever movie.

"Seven," Eijirou replied. "The ones between her agency and Ingenium. We took our time—two of the keychains were already on the floor, so we wanted to make sure we didn't miss anything."

"They'd better start pulling shit from the list I sent," Katsuki huffed. "Eat, nerd. The lawyer's gonna be here soon."

Izuku nodded, placing the keychain back in the bag. He'd pack them more carefully once the lawyer left—to protect them until he could recreate their display case. 

He ate and listened as Katsuki chatted with Mina and Eijirou—taking out his phone and pulling up a maps app. "What's that?" he asked.

"Kats made a list of all the local thrift stores," Mina explained. Katsuki flushed, not looking up from his phone. "We've split them up and we're marking off the stores as we hit them."

No matter how shitty he felt, knowing that Kacchan was looking out for him made him feel warm. His eyes stung and he sniffed, overwhelmed by gratitude for him and sadness that he even needed to go that far.

"Don't fucking cry," Katsuki groaned, balling up a paper towel and throwing it at his face. "I hate it when you cry, goddammit."

"Sorry, Kacchan," he said, lip trembling. "Thanks for doing this. I'm—" he broke off, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "I'm very grateful."

"You'd do the same for me, dumbass," he growled, gritting his teeth. "You're my best fucking friend. Now shut the fuck up and eat, you can cry later."

He let out a watery laugh. "Okay, Kacchan."

"I have another project for you fucks," Katsuki said, standing. "We're almost done sorting through her shit. When we finish, can you take this shit to Bubble Bitch?" 

"Sure, dude," Eijirou agreed.

"And while you're waiting, photograph all of this shit and note down any damage," he said, kicking the "Sell" box. "I'm gonna start selling the flashier shit online tonight."

"No problem," Mina agreed. "I have an appointment at UA at four to go over intern requirements for the Meteor Agency, but I can come back after, too."

"Alright," Katsuki muttered. "Thanks, losers."

"Love you too, jackass," Mina huffed, kicking his foot.

By the time the lawyer showed up, they were done eating and Izuku and Katsuki had resumed sorting. Mina had started photographing while Eijirou noted down scuff marks and tears on everything in the box.

"Mr. Fujiwara," Izuku greeted the lawyer dully—smiling politely without it reaching his eyes. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Young Todoroki was very insistent," Fujiwara replied as Izuku led him through the foyer and sat him down at the dining table. Katsuki was already seated, imposing and terse. "Dynamight," he greeted the blonde.

Kacchan nodded—a small, jerky movement meant more to intimidate than acknowledge. Izuku placed a hand on his shoulder, as he sat.

"This should be fairly straightforward since I have a solid prenup and we've only been married for two months," he explained. "I want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

Fujiwara nodded, pulling out a notepad. "Why don't you tell me everything that happened."

Izuku told Fujiwara what had happened up until yesterday and by the end, the lawyer wasn't horrified but he did look displeased. "I'll need a copy of your prenup, but I don't think you'll have much trouble," he said.

"It's not just the merch and the notebooks," Katsuki told him. He'd thrown an arm over the back of Izuku's chair—a steady weight across his shoulders. "We were going through her shit today, trying to figure out what to send to her and what we were going to sell to recoup some of the losses. We realized that she's been buying crap with his credit card without telling him since before they were married."

Fujiwara sat forward in his seat. "That could—"

"I don't want to press charges, I just want her out of my life," Izuku insisted. Fujiwara didn't look like he liked that plan and by the way that Katsuki tensed, he agreed.

The lawyer sighed, leaning back. 

"If you change your mind, I'd be happy to help. In the meantime, I'd like to encourage you to be meticulous as you separate your possessions. Keep a record of everything you're returning to her and everything you're retaining. Anything you retain, make sure you can find it on your bank balance or receipts and record those items, too. She was willing to go behind your back on multiple occasions to get her way. That behavior is likely to translate into divorce proceedings, and you don't want to give her any ammunition. I'd also like to offer to help with the handoff."

Izuku frowned. "Why?" he asked.

"If you provide me with an itemized list of everything returned along with everything you're retaining, I can draw up a release that says she's received all the enclosed items," he explained. "I can also sign off as a custodial witness to the handoff."

Katsuki nodded. "We were going to send Mina Ashido to do the drop-off when we're done sorting. If you're available this afternoon, I can have her coordinate with you."

He frowned, pulling out his phone and flicking through it. 

"It looks like I'm free after 5PM. If you'd like to serve papers at the same time as you return her belongings, it would be best to wait until tomorrow afternoon, though. I'll need to look through your prenup to see where we stand, and I may call you during the day to confirm details."

"We can work with that," Izuku replied quietly.

"From there, I'd meet Ashido here, go through the items, sign off that I'd seen everything on your list, and have you seal the boxes in front of me. Ashido and I would deliver both the possessions and the divorce papers to her in person, and have her sign that she received her property and the divorce papers. The following morning, I would file your divorce with a ward office."

Izuku swallowed, tearing up.

"And then it's done?" he asked.

"And then it's done," he confirmed. "As long as no other disputes arise, which they shouldn't, since we're pre-empting that with documentation."

He nodded. "Seems simple enough," he said. He hated the thought that he'd have to be meticulous because Ochako might try to screw him over. He'd never thought she was the type until yesterday.

The feeling of distrust was new, and it was ugly—twisting around his heart and up his throat. He hated it.

Kacchan squeezed his shoulder.

"We'll finish tonight, and I'll email you a copy of his prenup," the blonde said, taking out his phone and adding to a list in his notes app. Izuku leaned over to look at it, but Kacchan jerked the phone away and pushed his face in the other direction. "Fuckin' nosy," he barked.

Izuku spluttered a laugh, surprised. "It's about me! Do you even have a copy of my prenup?"

Katsuki looked at him like he was stupid, which...well. Maybe he was. "It's on your computer. I'll use your computer to email him, dipshit."

Oh. Right.

Despite the situation, Fujiwara looked amused. "Thank you for your help, Dynamight—"

"Bakugou," he interrupted.

"Bakugou," the lawyer corrected.

"Yeah, whatever," he grunted. "We have a meeting tomorrow morning that we can't miss but other than that, I'll make sure this idiot answers his phone."

Right. They had an appointment with the Hero Commission in the morning to discuss the contents of the notebooks. 

He was glad that Kacchan had told him to disclose the notebooks years ago. The Commission had been uncomfortable with them being in an unsecured location, so he'd contracted Hatsume to build his security system to pacify them. It had worked. They'd signed off and only requested that they inform them of any potential security breaches. 

They knew every person keyed into his biometric access and every person who had a house key.

They periodically checked the security footage at his front gate for suspicious activity.

Knowing the measures that Izuku took to keep the information safe, they weren't likely to hold him accountable for its loss—especially since they'd approved it.

But they would want to know what was in the notebooks, to the best of his ability.

"Don't know how long that will take," he admitted. "I'm gonna be brainstorming tonight, but there's over a decade of material to cover."

"Worst case scenario is that it takes an extra day," Fujiwara told them.

"I can message you to let you know when we're done," he offered. Katsuki squeezed his shoulder again, silent and supportive.

"Sure. You can reach me by text or email, I check both regularly," he said. He put away his notepad. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about? Or shall I get started?"

"That's all I can think of," Izuku replied. He turned to Katsuki. "Kacchan?"

Katsuki's jaw clenched. "If Deku decides to press charges in the future, can anything be done about the people who helped her?"

"Kacchan."

"I know you don't want to and I know IcyThot apologized, but—"

"They didn't know that she didn't have my permission."

"What about Glasses?" Katsuki asked. "We don't know how involved he was. I know you don't wanna make it hostile but you gotta protect yourself too, nerd."

"I can make some suggestions," Fujiwara assure them. "You don't have to act on them unless you feel like it. It's good to have options."

"People you thought you could trust came into your home and violated a space that was important to you," Katsuki added. "Be prepared, Deku."

As much as he wanted to be done with this, he knew they were right. 

Izuku slumped in his seat. "Fine," he agreed. "Thank you."

"Of course. I'll be in touch," he said. He picked up his bag and stood. "Remember to send over the prenup."

Katsuki stood up and shook his hand, and Izuku followed after. When Fujiwara left, Katsuki took him by the shoulders and turned him so they were face to face. "How're you doing, nerd?"

It was rare for Kacchan to be so gentle with him. His gaze was serious and concerned and under it, Izuku felt himself crumbling.

His lip trembled and he looked down when his eyes started watering. "M'tired."

He stiffened in surprise when Katsuki tugged him forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders to hug him. "Sorry everything's so shitty right now, nerd. You're kicking ass, though."

Izuku nodded against his shoulder, tears escaping despite how his eyes were squeezed shut to stop them. He was sick of crying. It felt like he'd been crying ever since he'd come home yesterday.

"Thanks for being here, Kacchan," he murmured. "Dunno what I'd do without you."

Katsuki pulled back, a small smirk on his lips. It was probably the closest he'd get to an affectionate smile. "Same thing, just a hell of a lot slower," he teased. Izuku swatted his arm. "Seriously, though. You've got this. And I've got your back," he promised.

Izuku looked up at him, teary-eyed and tired, but so fucking thankful for Katsuki Bakugou. 

And for the first time in years, he wondered, just for a moment, what his life would have looked like in a world where Katsuki—brave, bold, and beautiful—had loved him back.

The next four days passed quickly, but that didn't mitigate how crappy they were.

The day after they met with Fujiwara, Izuku met with the Hero Commission—Katsuki in tow. They went down a list of heroes that had been active over the last decade and Izuku, while being recorded, recounted as much information as he possibly could.

Commissioner Suzuki, the new head of the Hero Commission, also took him aside for a sit-down to talk about potential recovery efforts to make sure the journals didn't fall into the wrong hands. There wasn't much they could do, except recruit heroes specializing in search and rescue to comb through the closest landfill.

"If they are recovered," Suzuki said solemnly. "I'm afraid allowing them to remain with you in your home would be too great a security risk."

Kacchan had bristled beside him. 

"It's not the security system that's the problem, it was the person who had access. You gave Uravity security clearance and required psych evals before she went pro. If anything, this is on the Commission."

Suzuki sighed, leaning against his desk. "Uravity's actions were misguided, but the breach occurred because they were in a residence, not a secure facility."

"His residence is a secure facility!" Katsuki yelled. Izuku gripped his knee, a quiet plea for him to calm down. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Are you planning on reprimanding her for not using a single brain cell in her dense-ass skull?" he demanded.

"Her lack of judgment aside, she was reorganizing an unlocked room in her own home. She should have had the sense to look at what the notebooks contained, but she didn't willfully endanger fellow heroes. On the other hand, even with your home security, you left the notebooks in an unlocked room. A houseguest could have taken them if left unattended."

"So the solution is more security, not confiscation," Katsuki argued. "Building a secure vault into the house so that only Deku has access."

"Kacchan, it's okay—"

"If you get those journals back, you're keeping them," Katsuki snapped. "They're not just hero analysis, there's personal shit in there." He turned his furious gaze on the Commissioner. "The HC signed off on Hatsume's security system. If anything, you're the ones at fault for not demanding more robust protection."

Suzuki sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Maybe you're right. And I don't want to make this more difficult for you. But even if you were to get the notebooks back and upgrade security, the Commission Advisory Board will fight you every step of the way."

Kacchan bared his teeth. "Then they can fucking fight me," he sneered.

Suzuki had sighed and promised them he'd revisit the conversation soon, especially if they managed to retrieve the notebooks. Izuku watched as Kacchan told him that it wouldn't be a conversation because there was nothing to discuss.

But he couldn't feel like they might be right. He'd thought Uraraka was trustworthy, so maybe the next person he trusted would be just as bad.

After they'd left Commission Headquarters, they'd spent the rest of the day hitting as many thrift stores as they could—Kacchan crossing each one off his map as they searched.

Fujiwara texted him twice—asking him questions.

The third time he contacted, it was to send him a finalized version of his divorce papers to review.

He sat in Katsuki's car as he read them while the blonde continued to hunt through the thrift store they'd been searching.

And as he sat and read them, just two months after his wedding, he wondered if he wasn't lovable in the way he wanted to be loved.

He'd loved Kacchan for ages and he loved what they had, but he'd always wanted more. He'd decided to cherish what they had because their friendship wasn't a consolation prize, it was a gift.

So, even though loving Kacchan was as much a part of him as green hair and freckles, he'd moved on.

He'd fallen in love again with another best friend, and he'd been so sure she loved him back. They were happy and vibrant—comfortable in each others' presence.

His heart had fluttered every time he saw her—stomach swooping like he was on a rollercoaster. Exciting. Warm.

And then this happened.

He had so many amazing people in his life. People he loved and who loved him. But he wanted romance. He really did.

He wanted a partner he could come home to—who'd curl up with him at night and share his lazy mornings. 

He wanted to romance and be romanced. He wanted to feel at home with somebody, and for somebody to feel at home with him. 

At that moment, he wondered if he was doomed to disappointment. The thought sat heavy in his chest, weighing him down like lead. It choked him too, sticking in his throat.

Before he knew it, he was curled over his phone in the passenger seat—shoulders shaking as he sobbed quietly.

The driver's side door opened and shut. Then, a burning hand was running along his back, soothing and slow. Kacchan didn't say anything, he just let him cry even though he hated it when Izuku cried.

When he finally got his shit together, he straightened up and wiped at his face with his sleeve. "Sorry, Kacchan," he muttered.

"You've had a shitty couple of days, nerd," Kacchan assured him. "Here." Izuku glanced over at him, frowning when he found him holding out a crêpe. "Strawberry whipped cream, lemon curd," he grumbled.

Izuku took it carefully, still staring at Katsuki in confusion. "Thank you?"

Katsuki scowled. "You're having a shit day. You like crêpes. I bought you a fucking crêpe."

The corners of his lips quirked up. He couldn't help it—Kacchan's emotional constipation was funny.

"Thanks, Kacchan," he sniffed. "You're the best."

Katsuki scoffed, turning the car on and putting in directions to the next thrift store. "I fucking know that already, dweeb."

He'd eaten his crêpe as he finished reading through the papers Fujiwara had sent. He'd approved them and sent them back, and listened to Kacchan complain about some 'shitty soccer mom looking fuck' who'd tried to cut him in line at the crêpe stand.

Two thrift stores later (with no luck finding any of his merch), Izuku's phone vibrated.

From: Dancing Queen

yo ur lawyer is metal af

He frowned, texting Mina back quickly.

To: Dancing Queen

what happened?

From: Dancing Queen

ocha said she wouldn't sign

so he looked at her like she was a literal baby

and said the divorce would happen no matter what

but if she didn't sign the agreement

she'd risk her career and rep getting ruined from the media coverage alone

so 'act like a grown-up and sign' if she didn't want her life up in flames

and he sounded so bored

like she was a waste of his time

To: Dancing Queen

did she sign?

From: Dancing Queen

yeah!

she was pissed

oh

iida was here btw

he had that disappointed dad look

idk if it was @ her or @ u

Something close to anger stirred in his stomach. She said she wouldn't sign? Where did she get off trying to refuse it?

She'd stolen from him. She'd broken his trust and lied to him and his friends. He might not want an ugly, drawn-out divorce but he was still furious with her, and he definitely didn't trust her enough to share a life with her.

He was glad he'd asked Shoto for his lawyer. He wondered if that's how Fujiwara had dealt with Endeavor—by threatening his career and reputation to get him to comply.

Either way, he'd gotten what he needed out of Ochako. He just hoped that when he talked to Iida, it went okay. Although, the fact that they'd been together wasn't promising. It sounded like he was going to be on her side. He hadn't even tried to contact Izuku despite Hitoshi's attempts to get in touch.

He supposed he'd have to wait for Iida to come to him. He'd hoped he'd do it during Izuku's remaining vacation, but the next four days were radio silent from Ingenium. 

Izuku barely noticed though. As much as he wanted to know where he stood with Iida, he had other priorities.

Finalizing his divorce.

Selling the things she'd bought with his money.

Telling his mom.

Hunting down his collection.

His days were filled with either turning his life upside down or trying to find his steady ground.

He was so grateful he had Kacchan. His hero partner had taken vacation days so that he could stick to his side—crawling through thrift stores and online auctions for his stuff. Over the week, they'd managed to find some of it—thankfully with minimal damage. 

He'd found three of the comic books from the original All Might: Ultra Age series, the Titan Star lunch box that Denki had given him, and four different official figurines.

Unfortunately, most of the rarer stuff had been bought already—most of it in cash. 

A lot of the stores had offered to cross-reference their records with his spreadsheet and had found multiple sales that fit the descriptions of items in his collection. To a skilled collector, thrift stores were gold mines. To parents, too. 

He was willing to bet that the collector-to-parent ratio was 1:1, and some of his rarest treasures were either having their limited-edition heads smashed into walls or sold at auction for insane markups.

Katsuki had spent his evenings next to Izuku on his couch—crawling online forums and reaching out to sellers. Three purveyors had mailed his merch back to him after he'd sent them his spreadsheet (complete with serial numbers), but seven of them had told him to fuck off.

Unfortunately, there was no way to prove they'd bought his stuff, and it was impossible to prove that some items were his. The posters didn't have serial numbers. Neither did the plushies. Neither did a lot of stuff, for that matter.

It felt like he was chasing ghosts.

It might be dramatic, but it was like pieces of his collection were right in front of him but disappeared before he could reach them. 

At least he had Kacchan and his other friends to help him. But there was only so long that he could devote his time to tracking it all down.

A week after his life had blown up, he'd had to give up his daily hunt to go back to work. His divorce had been filed, he'd spent a whole week searching high and low, and now it was time to go back to his daily grind.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't drop everything.

Katsuki ruffled his hair as he passed by him in the locker room. "You sure you're good, Deku?"

Izuku gave him a tight smile. "Yeah," he replied, pulling on his boots. "Should be a pretty easy day, right?"

Katsuki nodded. "S'been slow lately. Probably just a light patrol. You'll probably rescue a kitten from a tree or some shit."

"Hm. Maybe I should hit the training room after," he muttered, pulling on his gloves. "I need to hit something. I think I'd feel better."

"Yeah? Wanna spar?" Katsuki offered. "It's been a fuckin' month."

Izuku gave him a tight smile—tense, but grateful. "Sure, if you're up for it. I'm surprised you're not sick of me by now," he admitted.

Katsuki socked him on the shoulder. "You're my partner for a reason, fuckhead. If I couldn't tolerate you, I'd just kill you."

"Sure, you would" Izuku replied, completely sarcastic. Katsuki socked him again for good measure.

"Fuck you," he replied. "I'm heading out. Call if you need backup. And do it before you're bleeding out."

"It's literally been years since I've done that," he said, cross.

Katsuki shrugged, walking toward the door. "You're a dumbass. It takes time and shit-tons of repetition for lessons to stick."

"Mean!" he called after him.

"You like it!" Katsuki barked back just before the door closed. Izuku sighed when he left.

It felt like Katsuki's presence was the only source of spark these days. 

He knew it wouldn't last forever, but Kacchan made the sharp edges of his shattered life feel smoother. Less painful.

Sighing, he walked out of the locker room and made his way to his patrol route. As soon as he walked out of his agency's doors, he was met with a massive fragrance ad on the side of a city bus. It featured his now ex-wife in lingerie, smiling sweetly at the camera.

And from there, it only got worse.

It felt like he was surrounded. Everywhere he went, there was some reminder of either Ochako or his collection, and it had him on edge all day.

Despite only being Top 50, Ochako was popular in the fashion world—coming off as cute and relatable. She had her fair share of ad campaigns and sponsorships, so her image could be found modeling on six out of ten city blocks and three out of ten buses.

He did his best to ignore them, focusing on the people around him instead. Today seemed to be an off-day—instead of swarming him, people were giving him a wider berth. He didn't mind. It was actually kind of refreshing.

He ducked into an alley to take a deep breath at one point. He'd passed a stand selling knockoff merch posters. They'd had a copy of Nighteye's All Might poster, and his stomach had twisted miserably. When he'd emerged, he'd resumed his patrol—passing another thrift shop. He restrained himself from calling dispatch for a break to go in and search.

"How're you doing, dork?" Katsuki's voice came in over comms in the middle of his lunch break. He was huddled on a roof eating steam buns he'd picked up on patrol.

The owner had been unusually terse, shoving the box of buns in his direction with a grunted, "Here," and saying nothing else. He knew her younger brother had been having health problems—he hoped he was okay.

"Fine," he replied. "Eating."

"It better be nutritious or I'm gonna kick your ass," Katsuki barked.

"Promises promises," he sighed.

"Hell yeah, it's a promise," Katsuki said. "When have I ever backed down from kicking your ass?"

That was a fair point. "It's not a matter of will, it's a matter of ability."

"Fuck you, you little turd," he growled. Izuku chuckled, taking another bite. He'd have to get back on the street soon.

"You're amazing, Kacchan. I'm sure you'll catch up," he teased.

"I'm gonna rock your shit," Kacchan swore. Izuku could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He couldn't help the little grin as Kacchan cussed him out. At this point, it was the highlight of his day. The most normal he felt was when he and Kacchan were bickering.

"I'm gonna head back down," Izuku said, interrupting Kacchan's tirade.

He stopped, going quiet. "Okay," he replied. "You sure you're okay? Denki said he'd take your patrol if you weren't up for it."

Izuku smiled. "I'm sure," he promised. "But thank you for looking out for me, Kacchan."

"What the fuck else are partners for, shithead?" he grumbled.

"Still. You're the best."

"I fucking know that!"

He checked his phone before he scaled his way back down the building. There were some texts from friends checking in on him. There were also a few messages from his PR team, asking for details of his divorce ASAP.

He figured they wanted to draft something diplomatic about their split. He'd get to it after patrol.

As the day went on, it got weirder. He pulled a civilian out of the way of an oncoming car, and she yanked out of his grip as soon as they were back on the sidewalk.

"I didn't need your help," she spat, glaring. He resisted the urge to flinch back, smiling gently.

"You're probably right" he agreed to appease her. "It just felt too close for comfort, so I figured it was better safe than sorry. Please forgive me."

She scoffed.

"Yeah, I bet that was sincere," she said sarcastically before stomping off. He stared after her, perplexed.

He wasn't used to passive aggression from civilians. Not all of them loved him, but they usually thanked him in a scrape. Not that he needed their thanks as long as they were safe, but it did make him anxious.

He caught a pickpocket a little after 3PM, and the criminal was rude to him. Not that that was unusual, but hearing someone say "you should be ashamed of yourself" as you were handcuffing them was a bizarre experience.

"So should you," he'd replied before handing him off to a cop. He winced when the cop glared at him and pulled the pickpocket away from him.

"We've got it from here," he said, cold.

He frowned. "Is there a problem?" he asked. The officer's scowl deepened.

"What you did to Uravity was cruel, and you should have known better," he spat. His blood ran cold.

"What I did to Uravity?" he asked in disbelief.

"Like you don't know," he sneered. "I have work to do." He turned and left, dragging the pickpocket with him.

Izuku went on comms with his dispatcher. Ochako had done something, and he needed to know what.

"Maki," he called.

"Deku," Maki replied. "I don't have anything new for you, is everything okay?"

"I've been getting a...negative response from civilians and officers today, and I just learned that it has to do with my divorce. Can you find out what she said?" he asked.

"Uh, sure...give me a few minutes."

He moved to get off the street and wait on a nearby rooftop. He scanned the area as he waited, still technically on patrol.

"You there, Deku?" Maki asked. He gave a little hum of confirmation. "She tweeted twice. Not a lot of detail. One said 'if you didn't love me, you shouldn't have married me in the first place' and the second just said 'heartbroken.' She didn't even officially announce your divorce, but I think the public put two-and-two together."

He gritted his teeth. He had loved her. At least, he'd loved what he'd thought she was. "Can you patch me through to PR, please?"

"Sure," Maki assured him. "I'll triple-click if you need to switch back for a dispatch call."

The relief in his PR teams' voices when they picked up the call made his stomach sink. If they were this glad to get his input, that must mean the backlash must be bad. They were scrambling for a way to reply that didn't sound defensive, which was difficult because his choice to take the high road meant that Ochako had gotten the first word.

He was glad they'd had the foresight to tell their agency staff the basics of what had happened. In his agency, at least, everyone was supportive.

Outside of his agency, Ochako's fans had been gaining momentum all day. Her tweets had been vague, and it had led to shit-tons of baseless theorizing that people were somehow choosing to take as gospel truth.

"For the time being, we'd recommend finishing your patrol off the streets," one of them said. "At least until we've come up with something to say."

"That would be hiding," he replied. "And hiding implies that I've done something wrong when I haven't."

He returned to street level and continued his patrol. This time, though, he didn't plaster on his hero smile. They thought he was unaffected? He wasn't. And if they wanted him to show that, he would. It would be easier on him that way, anyway.

Maki came over through his comms an hour later. "Your PR team released a statement for you," he said.

"Thanks, Maki."

He fished out his phone and read it, satisfied with the earnest but diplomatic tone. Most notably, he was pleased with how his quote at the end came off.

"I wasn't aware that Uravity had spoken on the matter, so I'm sorry to the people who have expressed disappointment and received unsatisfying replies. I love her but—not through infidelity—she broke my trust. While I'm sure I'll eventually forgive her, I'll never be able to trust her again, and that's not a marriage I can be a part of. Thank you for understanding and respecting my privacy."

It was succinct—truthful but noninvasive—and showed that he was unwilling to slander her. He had no idea how well the statement would land, and he probably wouldn't really find out until tomorrow. His patrol was nearly over, so except for social media, he'd be flying blind.

And social media was always meaner than the real world. He'd learned that the hard way.

On his route back to the agency, he was more aware of the whispers and stares that followed him. He knew at this point they'd be split—half believing his statement, the other half saying he only wanted to save face.

He didn't care. He'd said what he needed to. He was hurting, and he didn't owe that pain to anyone. He was allowed to heal in his own way.

He wouldn't make his broken heart a spectacle. He didn't need to pass around the pieces for it to be real. People would think what they thought, and all he could do was be honest and kind. That had been true when he was a quirkless child, and it was true now.

He made his way back—jaw stiff and eyes blank. He saw reporters in his periphery more than once. Two actually approached him, asking for quotes. He turned them away as politely as he could.

"Heard you had a shit day," Kacchan's voice came from behind him. He was only halfway back. "Shoulda told me."

Izuku shrugged. "I was gonna tell you when I saw you. Which is now. I had a shit day, Kacchan."

"If you'd told me earlier, I would have helped, dork," he replied, punching him in the shoulder. "Day's over now."

"Thank god," Izuku muttered. They were almost back to the agency now, and he could feel their eyes on him.

Another bus with Ochako's ad campaign passed by and he stiffened. Katsuki caught the motion, and his eyes flicked to the passing bus. "Didn't even think about that shit, damn," he said. "You've been seeing her dumbass face all day."

Izuku pursed his lips, only giving a jerky nod. Katsuki clapped him on the shoulder, steering him forward. In fact, he didn't let go until they reached the locker room—steadying him. Tethering him so he wouldn't drift.

Kacchan bitched about the 'shitty d-list villain' he'd tracked down today as they changed, holding Izuku's attention with both hands. He had a feeling that he was doing it so that he wouldn't check his phone for news, but he didn't need to worry. He had no desire to see what people were saying.

He wasn't surprised when Katsuki followed him home. He was grateful for it. He wasn't super talkative, so Kacchan just shoved him toward the couch. "I'll make dinner," he said. "Stay off your phone. Want Mina and Denki to come over?"

He shrugged. "Sure. You don't have to cook though. We can order out."

"Over my dead body, dork," he huffed, pulling out his phone to text them. "Sit. Watch something."

Rolling his eyes, he settled back into the couch—turning the TV on. He buzzed Mina and Denki in, unsurprised that they'd dragged Eijirou and Hitoshi with them.

Katsuki was surprised that Eijirou and Hitoshi were there, and he bitched up a storm as he made two more portions.

"I legit almost said something," Mina said, reclining in the armchair. "Except I don't know what you and your PR team have planned, and I didn't know if it would mess with your divorce settlement."

"I wouldn't want you to say something anyway," Izuku said. "I appreciate the thought, but I wanna say just enough to get people to leave me alone about it," he explained.

Mina and Denki glanced at each other. "We get that," Denki said. "But it doesn't always work that way, dude."

"I know," he replied. "But I wanna keep it civil for as long as I can."

They didn't look jazzed about the idea, but Kacchan came through—telling them he'd already tried to change his mind with no success. And if Kacchan couldn't change his mind, almost nothing else could.

He was glad to have them there. Once they stopped talking about Ochako and started talking about their days, everything felt a little lighter. Then, they watched movies until Eijirou fell asleep on the couch.

It felt like being back in the dorms again. Like they were young and carefree, and like he wasn't miserable—because in this moment he wasn't. In this moment, pressed up against Katsuki on one side and Mina on the other, while Eijirou snored and the All Might: Lost In Space movie played in the background; he wasn't miserable.

And he wasn't miserable when everyone left, but Katsuki asked to stay in the guest room.

"Of course, you can stay," Izuku replied, rolling his eyes. "You've stayed over the last two days, why would today be any different?"

Katsuki shrugged. "Today was shittier. And you had to deal with more people today than yesterday. Social fatigue is real shit."

"Just take the guest room, Kacchan. You need something to sleep in?"

"Nah, I'm good," he replied. That tracked, since he usually slept in a tank top and boxers. "Go to bed, dork. We skipped our spar today, but I'm gonna kick your ass in the morning."

"You keep saying that," he said wistfully. "But you haven't kicked my ass in years. Maybe you don't want to kick my ass. It's okay, Kacchan. You can admit it."

Katsuki leveled him with a glare. "If you weren't going through a straight-up divorce, I'd kick your ass right here."

His lips twitched in amusement. "Thanks for being so generous. Goodnight, Kacchan."

"Night, Deku," he grunted, already stomping toward the guest room. Izuku made his way to his own room, grimacing when he stepped inside. It still had too many traces of Ochako.

Quietly, he changed into his pajamas, grabbed a blanket, and made his way back to the living room so he could sleep on the couch. Just like he'd been doing for the last week.

He fell asleep hoping tomorrow would be a little bit better. That PR's statement would ease the strain, and that his heart would hurt a little less. That maybe, he'd find more of his collection, or his notebooks would be found by the recovery team. He knew the chances were slim, but it was nice to dream.

When he did dream, he dreamed that none of this had happened at all.

The next morning he woke up well before his alarm went off. The sun had barely come up, and he had four hours before he had to be anywhere. 

Katsuki wasn't even awake yet, or else he'd have been making an obnoxiously nutritious breakfast as loudly as he could.

His phone was chiming—the sound of both texts and emails pushing past his need for sleep and unsettling him.

He sat up on the couch and opened his email first—clicking on the thread from his PR team that had started at 5am. Something must have gone wrong if they had a whole planning session before dawn.

He scanned the parts where they requested they call them when he woke and that he take a town-car instead of walking. 

Then he saw the attached article, and he knew that Ochako had made her next move. 

It was titled 'Hero Deku Divorces Uravity Over Toys.'

He felt numb. He sat on his couch and stared at the headline—eyes tearing and stomach churning, but barely registering it.

He was just so tired. Every time he thought he'd made some kind of progress, she was there. And he still...wasn't sure if he was entirely in the right.

His collection meant a lot to him. His notebooks were important. She'd been dishonest about using his money.

Kacchan—most of his friends, actually—were insisting that she was in the wrong. But, judging by the rising number of notifications on his phone, maybe she wasn't.

Maybe he hadn't communicated well enough. Maybe he should have explained himself better. Maybe he should have taken the time to show her his notebooks. Maybe he hadn't made it clear that "separate finances" meant that she couldn't use his card without permission.

Maybe, since his mother had been the one to insist on the prenup, she thought he didn't really care.

Maybe, since he didn't give a long-winded explanation about the sentimental value of his collection, she assumed that it wasn't as important to him.

And, as #DownWithDeku started trending, he wondered if he was overreacting. If he was neglectful and controlling like the tweets said he was.

He knew he wasn't. At least, he was pretty sure he wasn't.

He didn't read the article. He couldn't. His heart was bleeding and he didn't want to pry the wound open further. Besides, he had to watch his career tank in real-time.

"The fuck are you doing awake?" Katsuki grunted, shuffling out of the spare room. "It's ass o'clock in the morning. Go back to bed."

"Can't," he muttered. "I gotta go in early."

He knew keeping it vague was futile, but he had to try. Katsuki was not a morning person, and this would only make it worse.

"Why the fuck would they call you in but not me?" he demanded.

"It's a debrief," Izuku shrugged.

Katsuki paused his trek to the kitchen. Slowly, he turned back to Izuku—eyes narrowed.

"What happened?" he asked.

Izuku didn't look up—focusing on the phone in front of him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're full of shit. They wouldn't call you into a debrief without me. What's going on?" he snapped.

Izuku sighed, leaning back. "It's no big deal," he muttered. "It'll blow over, and you've been dealing with my shit enough. Actually, you should probably distance yourself for a few days until things cool down—"

He cut off when Katsuki literally growled.

"What. Happened."

Silently, he held out his phone, flinching as Katsuki snatched it out of his hand. He waited as the blonde scrolled through his notifications—pausing to read every now and then. He didn't need to look, he knew that Kacchan's scowl was growing with each passing second.

"I'm gonna tear that bitch an asshole the size of the Mariana Trench," he snarled.

"Leave it," he muttered. "I have a meeting with PR. Going after her would just make her look more sympathetic. It would probably tank your ratings, too."

"If your rating tanks, so does mine," Katsuki insisted. "I'm your partner, and I'm your fucking friend. You wouldn't let me go through shit like this alone, so why the fuck would I let you?"

"Kacchan—"

"If you spew some martyr shit, I'm gonna kick your ass so hard that you'll be shitting blood for a week."

"It's not martyrdom," he insisted. "You going after her when she's in control of the narrative will end up with us looking unhinged. Besides, one of us has to stay afloat in the media for now. It can't be me, so it's gotta be you."

He snarled, baring his teeth in frustration.

"If your rank tanks, then so does mine. Partners, Deku. We do this shit together."

"I'm not saying we don't!" he cried, finally looking at him. "I'm saying that you shouldn't go after her and execute whatever comically exaggerated revenge plot you just cooked up!"

The muscle in his jaw clenched and jumped as Katsuki ground his teeth. 

"She's a selfish, lying thief. Completely self-serving. She screwed you over, and now she's making herself out to be the victim because she's lying in a bed that she fucking made. She keeps fucking hurting you, and you can't expect me to let her."

Izuku's eyes roved over him—from the clench of his fists to the set of his shoulders. The care in his eyes. There was a time when he would have taken Katsuki to a doctor if he'd behaved this protectively.

They'd come so far. The notion that Katsuki would tank his ranking just to stand in solidarity was insane to him. He was grateful for the thought.

But he couldn't let it happen.

"I'm not gonna let her steamroll me," he promised. "I'm going to talk it through with PR. You can come with, if you want. But retaliation won't make it better."

"It absolutely would!" he yelled. "She's painting you as some deranged man-child!"

"People can't know what's in the notebooks, Kacchan. Villains would go looking for them. I can't speak up about the damage she caused without causing more. That's the only saving grace in the narrative that she put out there," he snapped. "If I retaliate about the collection or her shopping bill, I'm feeding into all the shit she apparently said. She got the microphone first! Anything I say is gonna sound like I'm covering my ass. You know how this works."

There was a mulish set to Katsuki's jaw, but they both knew Izuku was right.

"Fuckin' fine," he growled. "We'll go to the stupid PR meeting. After you eat breakfast."

"You don't have to—"

"If I see you even look at a fucking granola bar, I'm gonna choke you with it," Katsuki warned. He tossed Izuku's phone on the couch before turning toward the kitchen. "I'm making you a fucking omelette. Call for the town car, it'll be done by the time it gets here."

Izuku sighed, picking up the phone and finally dialing the agency. His assistant picked up, cooing and fretting.

He asked her to send the town car, assuring her that he was fine. He could hear Katsuki cursing up a storm in his kitchen and despite everything, Izuku found himself very grateful for the people around him who believed in him. Who fought for him.

"Car'll be here in 20," he called toward the kitchen.

"Get dressed then, dork. We can eat on the go," Kacchan called back. He went without complaint—hoisting himself off the couch and traipsing back toward his room.

His room that was half empty. The gaps on the walls and empty spaces on the dresser felt just as bad as when the space was filled with Ochako's things. Not nearly as bad as the empty room that used to house his collection, though.

Maybe that was the real hurt. He had been hollowed out—his heart and his home violated by the person he'd trusted them with. How could he ever trust someone like that again?

He got ready quickly—slipping into jeans and a sweater, pulling a baseball cap over his curls. He slipped into the bathroom—washing his face and brushing his teeth.

He went back into the living room and found Katsuki waiting for him at the door, tupperware and forks in hand.

"Wear a mask, too," he grunted, slipping his shoes on. "It's pretty early but you're recognizable."

"They're gonna know it's me if you're there," Izuku muttered, putting his shoes on, too. "Maybe we should stagger arrivals."

"No," Katsuki snapped. "I'm not letting you outta my sight while people are being shitty."

"I'm gonna have to patrol," he replied dryly. "I can't be with you the whole day."

"Bet you an entire month's paperwork that PR's gonna tell you to take a desk."

"Bet you an entire month's paperwork that I'm not gonna do it," he retorted. "They're not the boss of me." He couldn't help but relax at the reluctant smile that tugged at the corners of Katsuki's mouth.

"What's the fuckin' point of hiring PR if we're not gonna listen to them, dork?"

"I never said I wouldn't listen. I just didn't guarantee that I'd comply," he shrugged. The car was outside, honking to catch their attention. "You can't judge me, you don't obey them, either."

"That's because they tell me to do stupid shit, like stop swearing," Katsuki scoffed, yanking the door open. "This is completely different."

"You really should stop swearing at children specifically," Izuku commented as they slid into the back seat. "But other than that, yeah. It's part of your charm."

Katsuki flushed, elbowing him for good measure. "Fuck you. All of me is charming."

"Sure, Kacchan," he chuckled. "A very charming nuclear bomb." 

He wasn't kidding, but that was irrelevant.

The meeting was going pretty much exactly how he'd anticipated. Katsuki was at his side, listening quietly with a scowl.

"The article is ugly," one of them said. "Have you read it?"

"Not all of it," Izuku replied, tilting his head back. He was so tired.

"You should probably keep it that way," another piped up, smiling apologetically. "I'll send you bullet-points, but you don't need to read what she said."

"In any case, it's best that you stay off your patrol route until this blows over. The public reception is..." They glanced at each other. "Negative," they decided. "The picture painted was unflattering."

"I'm not gonna hide behind my desk. My job is to be a hero, not a celebrity. They can hate me if they want to. I don't need them to like me in order to keep them safe," he argued.

"The picture she painted is that you're financially abusive and neglectful as a spouse. That's not going to play well on your patrol route. Acting like nothing is wrong could make it worse, too. Like you don't care, as opposed to not having something to hide."

"I'm perfectly content to act as miserable as I actually am. But I'm not abandoning my responsibilities because of bad press," he insisted.

Katsuki huffed, sitting forward in his chair. "Deku, they have a fuckin' point. It's shitty to get benched, but they don't trust you right now. She got to them, they see you as someone who prioritizes his own self-interest over the people he loves."

"Didn't stop Endeavor from being a hero," Izuku reminded them. "And it won't stop me. I know the truth, and you know the truth. The rest sucks but if I let it stop me, then she's won."

"If you go out there and lose your composure, she's won anyway," the senior PR rep insisted. Hina, if he remembered correctly.

"Not to mention—if any heroes who don't know the whole story side with her, it'll be bad news if they snub you during an emergency call," another one reminded him.

"Could we release a classified statement to all the other agencies in the area?" Katsuki asked. "I know we can't release that information to civilians, but what about other heroes?"

"That might work for heroes who aren't on duty yet, but anyone who's already on the streets won't stop to read a PR statement," Izuku reminded him. 

He was weighing his options now, truly measuring the potential pitfalls of going on patrol. Unlike so many heroes, he wasn't in it for perception. He was there to protect people. Sure, he wanted people to feel hope when they looked at him—but more than that, he wanted them to survive and thrive.

"I'm going," he decided, squaring his shoulders and glaring their PR team down. Kacchan released an exhausted sigh. "If it's too much, I'll call in and get a replacement for my route."

"Historically, that's bullshit," Katsuki pointed out. Izuku kicked him under the table. "Considering that you have a tendency to keep going until you're basically a bone-dust meat sack—"

"Gross."

"I'm just saying. Are you actually gonna ask for help if you need it? Or are you gonna pull your usual Deku bullshit and pretend everything's fine until you break?"

Izuku glared at him. "I haven't done that in years," he protested. "And I don't appreciate having it thrown back in my face—"

"And I don't appreciate you not taking care of yourself and ignoring all the self-care shit you force down everyone else's throat," Katsuki snapped back. "It's not just about perception, idiot. How will you feel when you're out there and people are being fucking awful to you? You don't deserve that!"

"It's my job!" he yelled. "I'm not letting her take that from me, too!"

The room fell silent, and Kacchan was glaring at him—gaze searing through him. It wasn't an angry glare, it was searching. Izuku recognized that look—his partner was looking for all his tells, gauging for himself whether or not Izuku could handle the pressure he was taking on.

Finally, Kacchan's shoulders slumped and he scrubbed his hands across his face. Izuku had won this one.

"Promise," Katsuki demanded. 

Izuku nodded. "I promise. And thank you for looking out for me."

"Yeah, yeah," Katsuki grumbled. Despite his earlier irritation, Izuku's heart twisted with fondness. He pitied people who didn't have friends like Kacchan on their side. "Get changed, loser."

He sat in the locker room for a long while after he'd changed. He knew he shouldn't—that it would only bring him down—but he spent the time scrolling Twitter, watching as people who'd believed in him expressed their disappointment.

He'd lost ten thousand followers in six hours.

He knew it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he did his job—protecting people, no matter what they thought of him. Still, it hurt to see. It hurt to know how easy it was for people to assume the worst of him, and to claim they'd seen it all along.

@/noodlefoodle: I knew someone who cries that much had to be a fucking weirdo

@/hero_taster: imagine being a complete man-child. @/HeroDeku should be fucking ashamed to call himself a hero if he prioritizes junk above people

@/DynaTits: yo choosing plastic over person is wack

The list went on and on. With each tweet he read, he felt a little sicker. Ochako had made a power move—relying on Izuku's better nature to claim the narrative for herself.

He almost wished he'd struck first, but that's not who he was. He didn't want to see the day where his faith in people changed. He didn't want to look for the worst, he wanted to assume the best—even if it ended up hurting him. He didn't want to change himself because of other people's mistakes or cruelty. He hadn't done it for Shigaraki, and he sure as shit wouldn't do it for Ochako.

Sighing, he slipped his phone into his pocket and his earpiece into his ear, checking in with dispatch. Then, he made his way onto the streets, head held high.

As he started his route, he could feel himself being shunned and shamed. He could feel their stares on his back as he walked, and heard their whispers. It took a few hours for the civilians to get brave, heckling him out loud as he patrolled. At first, it was from afar—yelling from across the street.

"Loser!" one bellowed from a café patio.

Another taunted him from an open office window. "I thought only elementary-school kids got divorced over toys!"

He didn't respond. He didn't even turn in their direction. He pretended not to hear the two women loudly gossiping about how sorry they felt for Uravity, who had a spouse that was so tight-fisted that he sold her belongings when he didn't approve.

The irony.

"On two pro-hero salaries," she scoffed. "What's his problem? Why are his expensive hobbies okay but not hers?"

"Millions on tacky crap that probably cluttered their whole house," her friend agreed, looking directly at him. He could feel her glare on the side of his face. "At least those toys probably went to kids who actually need them. He's so petty."

"You'd never guess from the way he acts," the first woman sighed. "Serves us all right for being fooled by that do-gooder routine. Nobody's that nice unless they're hiding something."

His jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything, continuing his patrol. He didn't need them to like him. He didn't even need them to be polite. He just needed them to be safe.

He repeated the mantra in his head, even as his heart bled freely. Keep them safe, keep them safe, keep them safe.

His first dispatch call was at 10 AM—a car chase three blocks over with a villain who created illusions. He leapt across rooftops to arrive on the scene, arriving just in time to yank two civilians out of the way, before dashing after the car and grabbing it by the rear bumper—stopping it in its tracks.

He scowled when he opened the driver's door to be met with an illusion—mint-condition collector's items spilling onto the street, drawing whispers from the spectators. He slapped a quirk-canceling cuff on the villain's wrist, pulling him out of the car. 

"Nice try," he drawled. "But I wouldn't let a villain go just because I like collectibles."

This was the second villain who had the nerve to judge him—scoffing at him. "Why not? It's enough for you to divorce someone."

"I'm not discussing my failed marriage with you, but thanks for your concern," he replied dully. He led the villain to the police—filling out paperwork even as officers sneered at him.

He tensed when he heard the custodial officer speaking to the villain—informing him of his rights before asking, "Did Hero Deku cause you any harm in response to your illusion?"

He schooled his features before he glanced over—offended at the implication. His stomach dropped at the look on the villain's face, like a brilliant idea had occurred to him.

"He basically yanked my fucking arm out of its socket!" the villain wailed, clutching the arm in question. 

It was complete bullshit, of course. Izuku had taken his upper arm to guide him out of the car, only using as much force as was required to remove him from the vehicle.

"And when he stopped your vehicle—did you sustain any injuries in the chase?"

"I thought I was going to die!" the villain declared. "I'm almost positive that I have whiplash! He's barbaric!"

The officer looked over at him, scowling. 

"Would you like to file an excessive force complaint with the Hero Commission?" she asked.

"What will that do?" the villain asked. "I'm scared he'll retaliate."

"It won't mitigate your sentence for any crimes committed, but it will entitle you to compensation upon your release if he's found to have unnecessarily endangered or injured you. And if he attempts retaliation, he'll have his license suspended."

When the officer looked back over at him, it looked like a threat. Like if he tried anything, she would make it her mission to bring him down.

He didn't react. He hadn't done anything wrong. He simply handed the paperwork back to the officer who'd handed it to him—Officer Kaneko. They'd worked together on a joint task force before, and they were friendly acquaintances.

He, at least, looked concerned.

"Are you alright," he asked quietly as he took the clipboard.

"No," he replied with a grim smile. "But I don't need to be okay to do my job. I have faith it'll all sort out."

"Take care of yourself," Kaneko said. "I figure that tabloid doesn't have the whole story. Don't let people who don't know the truth bring you down, alright? Tabloids will publish anything to make sales."

He smiled, thin and tired. "Thanks, Kaneko," he replied. "I'm just hoping it'll blow over."

He left the concerned officer in his wake, tuning out the custodial officer who was explaining the hero complaint process to the histrionic villain. He knew the commission would rule in his favor—especially once medical reports came in. There was no need for him to stew on it.

Instead, he went looking for the civilians he pulled out of the car's way.

He found them—a young couple being interviewed by a sensationalist reporter, from a network more focused on celebrity news than true news reporting. They looked perplexed by whatever she was saying– casting disconcerted glances at each other. He approached from behind the camera, his heart lightening when the blonde woman caught sight of him and brightened.

Her girlfriend was speaking into a mic, words halting and confused. 

"I don't understand, are you hoping that I'll be angry that Deku just saved us? My fiancée would be a pancake if he hadn't intervened."

"But you have to admit, his interference was reckless," the reporter cooed. "Witnesses say that he shoved you out of the way and kept running, failing to even check on your wellbeing."

"Well, he was in the middle of a car chase," the blonde one drawled. "But he came back when he was done, so I think he's done his job pretty well. We're not dead, and I assume the villain was caught."

The camera swung around at that, capturing him in all his miserable glory.

"Hero Deku!" the reporter exclaimed, turning her mic toward him. "Your colleagues have expressed concern that your reactions in situations that don't go your way is not only infantile—often with extreme emotional outbursts—but also a detriment to your judgment as a hero. What do you say to the rapidly growing sentiment that your judgment in crisis can't be trusted?"

He forced himself not to flinch. "I appreciate your questions and understand that you're doing your job. However, I'm currently on duty and in the process of following up with the victim of a villain incident. Please forward your questions to my PR team, and I'll be sure to answer them if I deem the question appropriate."

"And how will you deem it appropriate?" the reporter asked with a simpering smile and a cloying note in her voice.

He smiled, small and tired. "I understand that my personal life is currently on display. But it is personal and at least on my end, I intend to keep it that way."

"It's no longer personal if Uravity and other heroes express their concern for your ability to make decisions in difficult situations. That's a matter of public concern."

"Uravity is entitled to handle the situation however she sees fit. I am choosing to keep my personal life separate from my work, even if the people around me do not," he explained, tone exhausted.

"Your reluctance to provide comment or rationale is hardly reassuring," the reporter needled. Izuku looked her dead in the eye, and she faltered. He'd always worn his emotions on his sleeve. He was known for it. It must have been jarring to see him so...blank.

But that's how he felt. Blank. Hollow. Tired.

"Until such a time that the commission deems me unfit to be on duty, I intend to continue protecting civilians in public and protecting my heart at home. I'll thank you to respect that decision and allow me to do my job by checking on the welfare of civilians that were recently in the path of a dangerous car chase. Preventing me from ensuring their welfare is not only unprofessional but dangerous. Please stand aside."

There must have been something in his voice or his face that told them they'd found his line. They stepped aside, the reporter stepping out of the camera's way. Apparently, they'd be recording him whether or not he gave a statement.

"Good morning," he greeted the couple, pulling on a smile. It was small and tired, but genuine. "I'm sorry your morning was disrupted. Were either of you injured during the course of the incident?"

"Just a couple scrapes," the brunette fiancée assured him, returning his smile. "You got there just in time, thank you."

"I'm glad," he replied. He popped open a sleeve on his utility belt and pulled out two business cards. "But, if you find yourself with any injuries or property damage in relation to the incident, please reach out by any means on this card. We'll send you a form to request medical or property reimbursement from the state, and our agency will sign off on it."

"Thanks," the brunette smiled, taking the cards and passing one to her fiancée. "I think we're set, though."

"Then one last order of business," he said, smiling a little brighter. He was glad they weren't hurt—he'd been a little frantic. He opened his comms. "Dispatch, I'm taking civilian information from a villain incident, called in at 10 AM."

"Thank you, Deku. Please have them state their names and date of birth," the dispatcher replied.

He repeated the instruction to them, and they replied—polite and concise.  

When he was finished, he thanked them for their patience and reminded them they could call his agency for any questions or claims regarding the incident. He turned to leave then, ready to flee the camera that had been trained on him since he arrived but he was interrupted—the blonde fiancée running to catch up with him, calling his name.

"Um," she rubbed the back of her neck, lowering her voice as she flushed with embarrassment. "I'm a big fan. Do you think you could sign the card?" she asked, holding it back out to him.

He smiled, taking it and pulling a pen out of his pocket. He scribbled his name over the face of his logo. "Thanks for believing in me," he murmured. "It means a lot."

They waved as he left—bouncing off the brick walls of the buildings to climb onto the rooftops. It was only 11AM and he already needed a break from the uninformed judgment and critical eyes.

He was so tired.

"Deku," Katsuki growled over comms, making him flinch. "What the fuck?" he demanded.

"What's wrong?" he asked, already alert.

"A villain reported you for excessive force!" he snapped. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't," he shrugged, sitting on the building's ledge and peering down at the street—scanning for trouble while he took a breath. "Street footage and cop cams will show that. As will his medical records. It's not ideal, but he has the right to file a complaint."

"Not if the complaint is bullshit, nerd!" he snapped.

"Filing a false claim is fraud and he'll be punished for it accordingly," he replied. "I'm more worried about the fact that the custodial officer is the one who suggested it."

The line went worryingly silent. "Come the fuck again?" Katsuki growled, low and furious.

"She's probably one of Ochako's more intense fans. Either that, or she's been in a similar situation and she's projecting her experience onto me. Either way—she clearly had a problem with me," he sighed. 

They'd had a month of classes with the business course at UA—largely covering media psychology. It was a move UA made to teach their rising heroes the importance of PR in their careers.

He never thought he'd end up using it like this.

"That's completely fucked, Deku. Maybe you should head back and lie low until PR gets the memo out to other agencies and local precincts."

"I'm still fine," he replied, somehow lying and not lying at the same time. "It sucks, but I'm managing."

"If it were me, you'd tell me not to work until I break down, idiot," he snapped. "You'd tell me to take time to heal and take time getting into my usual shit."

He had a point, and Izuku knew it. "If it gets any worse, I'll call off. Who's on call?" he asked.

"Shitty Hair," Katsuki replied, gruff and annoyed. "I have desk for the rest of the day, so fucking call me if you need something. Don't do your usual suffer-in-silence bullshit."

"Yes sir, Dynamight, sir," Izuku drawled. He could practically see Katsuki flipping him off. "I'm going back down to street."

"Deku I mean it," he said, soft and serious. "If you need anything. I'm in your ear if you need me."

His heart clenched—warm with the knowledge of how much Kacchan cared. "I will," he promised.

A moment later, he was scaling back down to the ground to resume his patrol.

He took a few more dispatch calls—one villain knocking over corner stores and another stealing cars with a shrinking quirk—turning them to the size of a tic tac and stowing them in his pocket. He dealt with them swiftly—leaving as little room for ambiguity as possible and resuming his patrol before anyone could get in his face.

He just wanted to get through it. Do his job and go home. Protect people, then take care of himself. 

His last dispatch call came at 1 PM.

He was called to an apartment building, where a little girl accidentally activated her quirk—liquefying an entire brick wall and causing a collapse. He arrived first on the scene—only stopping to ask the responding officers how many people were unaccounted for before moving in.

There were three people lost in the rubble—a kindergartener on the first floor, a 36-year-old mother of two on the fourth floor, and a 19-year-old computer programmer on the tenth floor.

He worked his way from the top down—knowing he couldn't shift the rubble without support. He could hold some of it still with Black Whip, but the further down he went, the more unstable it would be.

He managed to pull the engineer out of the wreckage by himself, floating above the rubble and pulling concrete and brick away—piece by agonizing piece. By the time he got to the mom on the fourth floor, Shiozaki had shown up—uncommonly terse but shoring up the rubble with thick, sturdy vines. 

With her help, he managed to enter the building, sifting through the unstable structure to look for the mom.

He floated her back out when he found her—carrying her to the medics that had congregated at the police line.

"Can you show me a blueprint and where the girl was before the collapse?" he asked. The officer didn't reply, blank-faced as he pulled out a tablet and swiped to a floor plan of the building—marking out where the girl's apartment was.

She'd gotten away from her mother as the building collapsed—running back inside to save her cat, not knowing that her mother had let the cat out when she'd come home from work.

"Shiozaki," he called, approaching her. "Do you still have those pulse beacons? I can go in and tell you where to stabilize."

She didn't reply, cold and disapproving as she dug through her pocket and pushed a handful of dime-sized discs into his hand. He'd forgotten that Shiozaki was religious. He was pretty sure she disapproved of divorce entirely. Though she seemed at ease with the LGBTQ+ community, so he wasn't sure where she drew the line.

A thought experiment for another time.

He gave her an uncomfortable nod before getting to work—pulling his mask up and entering the building again.

He placed the pulse beacons carefully as he descended—slowly making his way to the mostly-collapsed first floor. He knew the girl was alive thanks to thermal scans. He just had to keep her that way.

He finally reached their apartment, and he could hear her—calling for help in a raspy voice. She'd probably inhaled dust from the rubble and there was a good chance that she was injured.

"Keiko?" he called, voice modulating through his mask. Her volume increased, calling out for help. He heard the rubble shift. "Keiko, honey, you need to stay still for me, okay?"

"Help me!" she sobbed. "Please, help me!"

"I'll be right there," he promised. He placed another beacon, waiting for Shiozaki's vines to snake up through the ground and form a support pillar. 

He was pretty sure she was nearing her limit, so he had to be judicious about where he placed the next one. Carefully, testing each step before he took it, he crept toward the girl who was right on the other side of a partly-collapsed wall.

Her leg was pinned under a metal pipe that was wedged beneath furniture that had fallen from the floor above. She was lucky that she hadn't been crushed by the wooden rocking chair that had her trapped.

He finally made his way to her side, taking in her panicked face. "Hi, Keiko. I'm Deku." She looked up at him with wide, teary eyes—her face covered in dust and hair flaked with debris.

"P-please h-help," she sniffled.

"That's what I'm here for," he promised. "I'm going to put this mask on you so that you can breathe better, alright?" When she nodded, he peeled his mask off to put it on her instead.

Are you hurt?" he asked softly.

"M-my leg," she sobbed. He looked closer, repressing a wince at the unnatural angle. "And I feel sick."

Probably a head injury. He felt at the back of her head, finding a contusion on the side of her head that felt painful.

"Okay," he smiled. "I need you to stay still while I get your leg out. Then I'm going to bandage you up and get you out of here, alright?" She nodded again, and he set to work—placing another pulse beacon. He turned his comms on.

"I'm with Keiko," he told her. The building's unstable here, so you should refocus some of your vines on this section."

"Heard," she muttered. He waited until he got confirmation, watching as her vines crept through crumbled windows and cracked floors to stabilize the room. "Four points stabilized, Deku."

"Let's get you out of here," he smiled down at Keiko, soft and reassuring. He moved the chair, then a chunk of concrete, then finally freed Keiko's leg.

He pulled a splint bandage from his belt—a design of Mei's based on Aizawa's capture weapon. He wound it around her leg before activating it—watching the material go rigid. Then, gently, he pulled her free of the remaining debris, hefting her into his arms. It was then that he noticed the battered All Might plush.

"Hey," he grinned. "All Might's my favorite hero!"

"You said he taught you to be brave," she sniffled. "You're my favorite, so I thought he might make me brave too."

"Well," he replied, heart warm. "You've been very, very brave today. You're doing great, Keiko. We're almost done," he promised. He crept back toward the entrance, Keiko clutched in his arms. He was extra careful to test each step—watching the floors and walls for collapse.

He saw it too late, gas dripping out of a ruptured portable camp stove—a puddle oozing toward flayed open wiring that had come down with the walls. "Shiozaki, fire!" he called. But the gas had already caught—jumping toward the crumbled ceiling where Shiozaki's vines were shoring up a collapse.

She screeched in pain over comms, ripping her vines back on impulse and Izuku's heart raced as the ceiling started to cave in. He shifted Keiko in his arms to shield her, but the rubble came down too fast—concrete support smashing into his side and knocking him to the ground.

His stomach dropped as her head hit the floor and concrete crashed into her arm. 

He rolled on top of her as the rubble fell—shielding her from the worst of it. But she'd already had a head injury, and the impact with the floor had knocked her out.

He needed to get her out of there, now.

"The building's coming down, I have to Smash my way out," he told her.

"I can shore it up again," Shiozaki protested.

"Keiko got hit by falling rubble—she's knocked out and her arm and leg are broken," he argued. "She can't afford to stay in here. I'm going."

He powered up One For All, pushing off the rubble that had fallen on top of him and hoisting Keiko back into his arms as he went. The All Might plush was still wedged in the crook of her elbow.

He didn't want to cause harm to the cops or medics outside, let alone to any civilians—so he made his decision—focusing 10% punches at the crumbling walls as he forced his way toward the street, feet catching on cracks in the floor and body buffeted by fallen debris.

He gasped and coughed against fresh air as he finally busted through the outer wall—stumbling onto the street with Keiko clutched to his chest.

"Medic," he gasped, stumbling toward the nearest ambulance. Keiko's mother ran toward them, crying her name as Izuku settled her onto the gurney.

"My baby," she sobbed, brushing hair away from Keiko's face. Izuku focused on the paramedic—describing her injuries as best he could as pain lanced up his side. He turned back to Keiko, unfastening the mask from her face. "Why isn't she waking up?" she wailed.

Izuku's eyes turned to her, and he spoke softly as he explained what had happened. He watched as he spoke—heart clenching as her gaze pulled back to her daughter, prone on the gurney. 

"She was awake when I reached her, but we had a complication that resulted in a ceiling collapse. She hit her head, b—"

SMACK.

His head snapped to the side, cheek burning where she'd reared back and slapped him with all her strength, crack ringing like a gunshot despite the commotion. 

His heart raced in shock—blinking as he caught up to the pain burning across his face.

She brandished the All Might plush at him furiously. 

"Complication?" she screamed, slamming her fists against his chest. "You saved a stupid All Might doll! My daughter needed you and you killed her!"

He paled—his heart breaking. The cameras flashed. He couldn't breathe.

Izuku had no idea how he made it back to his agency. His cheek was still throbbing. He felt despondent. He knew a first responder had stepped between him and the mother, ushering her back so that she could join her daughter in the ambulance. He could still hear and see the clicks and flashes as the cameras as he stood there in shock, staring after the ambulance as it drove away. 

Keiko's mother had seen the All Might doll and assumed that he'd chosen hero merch over her living, breathing daughter—even though it was her daughter's doll. That's what he'd become in the eyes of the masses he served. A callous, heartless false hero who valued material above life. 

It would be a miracle if his career survived. What kind of hero could he be if the public didn't trust him?

He felt himself being pulled, someone grasping his arm and tugging him toward an agency town car. Someone must have called it for him. He was grateful. He'd been frozen to the spot since she'd slapped him.

Ochako was efficient. One article and a few tweets were all she needed to destroy public faith in him. There might be a few holdouts—including Keiko herself—but for the most part, he knew: without a miracle, he'd never have their trust again.

He felt sick. The kind of sick where his stomach felt like a rock—palms clammy and legs unstable. It felt like one of his night terrors, the kind where you couldn't move as you watched your worst fears take hold of you.

His breath was stuck in his chest.

"Deku?" someone called. He blinked down at the sidekick in front of him. She was holding out an ice pack. His cheek throbbed. Keiko's mom hit hard.

"Yeah?" he uttered.

"When you're ready, PR is waiting for you in the conference room. And Shiozaki is waiting for you in the lobby—she wanted to make sure you were okay."

He swallowed thickly. "Is she the one who brought me back?" he asked.

Indium nodded.

"There were other rescue heroes on the scene by then, and she's the one who was there during the incident. She wanted to come with you in case PR wanted her to make a statement."

Because Keiko's mom had declared that he had killed her daughter on national television.

"I'll talk to her first," he muttered, gratefully accepting the icepack and pressing it to his cheek.

"Why don't you go to your office, sir? I'll send her up," she suggested. When he sent her a questioning glance, she shifted. "There are reporters at the doors," she admitted.

He was so tired. "Alright," he agreed. He made his way to his office, reaching up to his ear to turn comms back on.

"Midobro! What's up, man?" Eijirou's voice echoed into his ear. He was so cheery and optimistic—Izuku hated bringing him down. But Eijirou was the one on call.

"I uh," he swallowed. "I need to bow off my patrol. You're on call—can you pick it up?" he asked. There was a dull note to his tone that even he could hear.

"Of course, dude," he agreed, sounding more alert. "Did something happen?"

"Things went wrong at my last dispatch," he explained. "A kid got hurt, and with the bad press it just...ended up worse. I don't think it's a good idea for me t-to," he hiccuped against a sob, surprising himself. He didn't usually cry when he felt this empty. "I don't think it's a good idea for me to work right now."

"Hey, no sweat dude. I'll call in to dispatch and get started, you just take it easy."

Izuku swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Thanks, Ei."

"Sure. But Mido, you should call Bakubro. He wants to be there for you, alright?"

Izuku nodded, then realized Ei couldn't see him.

"Yeah, he's my next call. I promised him I would," he murmured. His gut twisted. Kacchan was his partner. There was no way Izuku's downfall would be good for his image.

"Good. We're here for you, Izuku. We'll figure it out." So many of his friends were so good. So supportive. But there was a fear he couldn't shake—that he'd drag them down with him. 

"Thanks, Ei," he replied. "I'll talk to you later."

There was a silence over comms before Ei murmured a quiet, "Okay," back to him. Everyone could tell he was off his game.

He called Katsuki next.

"Nerd," Katsuki greeted him as soon as Izuku tuned to his frequency, tone intentionally casual. "What's up?"

"I'm calling off patrol," he replied dully. "Just wanted to let you know."

"What happened?" he demanded. "You were fighting me on that shit less than two hours ago!"

"I saved a girl from a building collapse," he explained, making his way to his office at a near-sluggish pace. "She was holding onto an All Might plush when I found her. She got knocked out, and her mom...thought I stopped to save the plush."

"What the fuck?" Kacchan snarled.

"She slapped me," he uttered, heart crumpling in his chest. "They don't trust me anymore, Kacchan."

"I'm coming in."

"Finish your patrol," he disagreed. "I'll be here when you get back."

"Fuck that," he scoffed. "I'm not protecting these shits while they're being ungrateful."

"Kacchan," he sighed, trying to find the energy to scold him. "This is what we do. Don't screw your image just because mine is tanking. One of us needs to stay afloat."

"We're fucking partners," he snapped. "I wanna be there to figure out what the fuck happens next!"

Izuku grit his teeth. That wasn't an unreasonable ask, but he didn't like the idea of his problems interfering with Kacchan's work.

"Fine," he huffed. "I'll table the PR meeting for after your patrol. I'll meet with Ibara in the meantime."

"The Vine Virgin? Why the fuck—"

"She was on the scene," he replied, finally getting to his office door and letting himself into a space that was his. "She was shoring the building while I rescued."

"And she just let some fuckhead slap you?" 

"She was trying to let the building down easy after I smashed my way out," he replied. "I don't think she noticed what happened until she started yelling at me. And I'm pretty sure she's the one who called the agency to send a car for me. I kinda zoned out."

"Christ on a fucking cracker," Katsuki grumbled. "Alright, fine. I'll finish my patrol. I have two hours left. Don't make any decisions without me, nerd."

"Fine," he muttered. Ibara poked her head in through the door, and he waved her in. "I'll talk to you later, Kacchan."

"I'm serious, nerd. Wait for me and we'll work shit out."

"Yeah, fine," he sighed. "I'll just do paperwork until you get here. I'm sure PR wants some time to come up with options anyway."

"Good. I'll be back soon, Deku."

He made a noncommittal noise and clicked his comms off, pulling his earpiece out as Ibara sat across from him.

"Thank you for helping me get back," he said. "Is there anything you need from me?"

"Midoriya," she uttered, face twisting. "Is your face alright?"

"It will be," he replied. "I've been hit harder, and she was just scared."

"Still, to imply that you would—" 

"It's fine," he interrupted. "I know it's not true, and hopefully my peers do, too. No matter what they think of how I handle my personal life."

She flinched. "I may not...approve of your choices, but I don't believe your personal life should damage your professional prospects."

"We both know that's not how it works," he smiled tightly. "And respectfully, your opinion of my personal life isn't my problem. I have enough problems of my own."

"My agency called me to fill you in on the memo your team sent while I was in the lobby," she replied.

"Hmm. I hope we can work together more smoothly next time I'm in the field," he said. Her eyes searched his.

"I'm sorry you're going through a hard time," she told him. "You're a strong hero, and I behaved...poorly today. You've regularly demonstrated good judgment in a crisis."

"Thank you," he replied stiffly. The implication that he didn't demonstrate good judgment in his personal life was loud.

"If you need me to, I'd be happy to release a statement or interview regarding today's rescue," she continued. "To clarify what happened."

He nodded. "That would probably be helpful, but you should talk to my PR team and yours. I don't want to drag any other heroes down."

She frowned at him, hesitating as she considered how to respond. "I'll stop in on their meeting on my way out," she finally agreed. "I haven't seen how the media has been covering the incident, but I don't think it will be favorable. I'd like to help."

"I appreciate it," he smiled at her again—but it didn't reach his eyes or his voice. "But don't do it at the cost of your own image. There are details I'm not at liberty to reveal right now. Sensitive information that's at risk because of Ochako's poor judgment. Until that's been taken care of, I can't offer my side of the story. Until then, I'm going to look...bad."

Her face hardened. "Appearances don't matter, action does," she stated firmly. "I don't let perception dictate my action."

Izuku bit his tongue. She clearly did, just not in the way she thought. She'd let her perception of him dictate her behavior before she'd had all the facts. So had everyone else, though. He couldn't fault her for working with the information she had.

"Well, thank you," he allowed, settling back into his chair. He was tired. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get a handle on the media coverage before I decide on next steps."

She nodded, rising from her seat. "Take care, Midoriya," she said before sweeping from the room. There was something in her voice—a hint under the sanctimonious air—that felt like a condolence.

A requiem for his career. 

And even though he wanted to shout and scream that he wasn't done yet—for now, he had to take the hits.

Videos of the incident were everywhere. It had taken less than an hour for it to go viral—him laying Keiko on the cot, All Might plush in red, white, and blue plain view. They'd caught the moment when he'd turned to her mother to explain, just for her to wind her hand back and let it fly.

The cameras hadn't picked up what he'd been saying to her, but the hit was hard enough that it was caught—as was the mother's accusation.

If he'd been a split second faster, Ibara would have been ready for the flames. Or he would have been able to dodge the falling concrete.

He could have done more. He could have.

Most other heroes were choosing to remain silent on the matter—likely because they'd read the release sent by his PR team.

He didn't look at the ones who did speak up. He didn't want to know which of his peers had turned their backs on him. Not now, at least. He didn't think his heart could take it. Instead, just like he promised, he called his PR team to let them know he was waiting for Kacchan to come back, then settled in to finish his paperwork. 

Twenty minutes in, he turned his phone on silent.

So many people were texting him (and undoubtedly tagging him on social media) that it nearly vibrated off of his desk. He didn't want to look. He wanted to completely uninstall Twitter and Instagram completely. He knew that wouldn't fly, though.

He wanted to go home.

"Hey," Kacchan's voice came from the door, and the relief he felt as he stepped into view was visceral. It curled through his entire body as the blonde approached him and it felt like he could finally feel again.

His eyes stung, and he blinked back tears. "Hey," he rasped back.

Katsuki skirted the desk to stand by his chair—wrapping his arms around Izuku's shoulders so that his face was pressed against his stomach. Awkward, but comforting. 

Maybe it was because Katsuki made him feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Maybe it was because Kacchan was treating him so gently. Either way—the dull, hollow feeling had been overtaken by everything that he'd apparently pushed down. Fear, sadness, hurt, anger—overwhelming him.

He hugged at his waist, jaw clenching as he fought to stop himself from crying. What good would crying do?

Katsuki was drawing circles into his shoulders with his still-gloved hands, soothing and slow. "Just cry, nerd," he muttered. "Let it out so we can get to work, alright?"

The first sob was small—more of a hiccup than anything. Then, before he knew it, he was soaking Katsuki's uniform. It wasn't loud or dramatic—the only sounds he made were gasping sobs as he tried to catch his breath. Katsuki let him run dry, rubbing his back as he broke.

Katsuki was talking to him—low and gruff. He could feel it more than he could hear it, steady voice rumbling through him where they were pressed together.

"We'll figure it out, dork," he promised. "Whatever happens, you'll be fine. I've got your back." 

Izuku nodded against his waist. "Okay, K-Kacchan," he sniffled. He pressed his face further into Katsuki's side, eyes squeezed shut to try to stem his tears. He just wanted to get the meeting over with.

He was pretty sure he knew what he needed to do. Slowly, he unwound himself from Kacchan's grip, looking up into concerned red eyes. 

"Thanks," he croaked, getting to his feet. Kacchan gave a jerky nod, slinging an arm around Izuku's shoulders. Katsuki wasn't touchy-feely by nature, but he'd been going above and beyond to give Izuku the physical contact he needed.

"No problem, Deku. Ready to go figure shit out?" he asked. With the air of someone facing the gallows, he nodded.

He let Katsuki lead him to the conference room—stomach twisting at the flustered, frustrated expressions on their teams' faces. Some sidekicks were sitting in—taking notes as Hana, their Marketing Director, spoke to them.

As they entered, they caught the tail of her speech, instructing them on how to respond if asked about Izuku and his personal life.

"Make sure you use the word 'mentor' if you're talking about your relationship with him—really hone in on the fact that he does his best to help you grow and gain independence as a hero," she said. "And if they try to twist it—move the narrative to say that he's pushing you out to keep the spotlight, remind them of the other successful pros that he mentored into Top-50 positions, and students on the Hero Hopefuls watchlist like Braveri and Geyser."

Eri and Kota. He hadn't heard from them yet. They'd both been in his wedding. Eri had been one of Ochako's bridesmaids. She would have been in Deku's party, but Ochako had said stuff about wedding party symmetry and wanting to have Eri at the bachelorette, so he'd conceded. 

They'd bonded a lot during that time.

"You should confirm with them first," he uttered, drawing the rooms' attention. "If they're not up for being drawn into my mess, don't pull them in."

"We already have," Hana assured him, smiling softly. He hated the touch of pity he found in it, but knew she meant well.

"What did they say?" Katsuki asked.

"Braveri is going to come over after she's done with her hospital shift," Hana replied. "There was a fairly serious disaster on the outskirts—a landslide? She's helping fix up patients that couldn't be stabilized on the scene."

"Could you have her check in on the girl from today?" Izuku asked. "I don't know how bad her head injury is—I didn't do the best job of checking on her."

"Well, you were distracted," Hana drawled, unimpressed by his self-deprecation. "But sure. Kyoko, send a message to Braveri, please."

Kyoko—an orange-haired PR intern nodded without looking up, typing away on her laptop without even a pause.

"The kid'll be okay, Deku," Katsuki insisted, ushering him toward a chair. "She was conscious when you found her and you got her to the paramedics as fast as you could."

"He's right," Veridian, his newest sidekick, smiled at him. His quirk was actually quite similar to Ibara's. He'd gotten a very attractive offer from her agency to sidekick for her. "I watched the incident while I was gearing up."

"You kicked ass," Kacchan assured him.

"Unfortunately," Hana sighed. "Despite the incredibly efficient work you did, bad press speaks louder than good press. It sells more, and that means the media focuses on the negative because it creates more buzz."

Izuku nodded. He knew how it worked.

He knew that people tended to quietly enjoy satisfaction and loudly enjoy disappointment. He knew people hated to admit they were wrong, too.

So even if he did turn the narrative and climb his way out of this hole, it was unlikely that he'd ever fully recover from the downfall.

"That's just how it goes," he sighed. Kacchan clapped him on the shoulder as he took his own seat, as close to his side as possible.

"Our hands won't be tied for long, nerd. Relax."

It wasn't like Kacchan to be optimistic. That was usually his thing. He appreciated that His partner was trying to pick up his slack. He might have even believed it—voice calm and eyes filled with their usual fiery confidence. It was tinged with anger and frustration, but it still promised victory.

He hoped this wouldn't be the first time he truly let Kacchan down.

"If you say so," he allowed, forcing a wavering smile. He probably didn't look very reassuring—eyes red from crying and smile tremulous around the edges.

He was supposed to be the hero people could rely on. The person who would save everyone with a smile. How could he be that person if he couldn't even smile properly?

What if he was ruined forever?

"For now, our priority is damage control," Hana stated, starting the meeting. "Until your notebooks have been secured or officially deemed destroyed, we can't exactly go on the offensive—and they're the only part of this that Uravity hasn't already spun in her favor. She has at least enough common sense to not bring them up and further endanger her colleagues." 

Small mercies.

"That hasn't stopped her from lying her ass off about everything else," Katsuki huffed. "Is there nothing we can do to twist that shit back?"

Hana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she leafed through the morning's article—highlighted and sticky-noted to death.

"No matter how you spin the collection or the misuse of your personal funds, she's got the jump on your narrative," she said, glaring at the pages as though they could speak.

Another rep nodded, speaking up.

"If you try to explain your collection, it's already been spun as 'toys that take priority over people.' If you bring up the items she purchased with your money without permission, she's already gone to the people to tell them that you're financially controlling and that while your prenup stated separate finances—you gave her free rein for joint purchases."

"According to her, the prenup was supposed to be a formality to protect both parties, and it quickly became a way to prevent her from the things she enjoyed if you disapproved. We, of course, will work to turn that narrative around, but we don't want to risk her escalating," Kyoko said, not looking up from her laptop. 

She might be an intern, but she was a prodigy. She was hired for Kacchan's side of PR specifically. It didn't bode well that she was working on Izuku's issues.

"All we can do in the meantime is try to stop it from getting worse," Hana agreed, apologetic and frustrated. She'd done such an amazing job with his image, it must be awful to see her work go to pieces like this.

But she was a friend and wasn't upset with him. She'd made that clear as soon as he'd contacted her the day after it all went down. 

He could feel Kacchan staring at the side of his head, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he didn't know how to keep it from getting worse.

"What have you got?" Katsuki asked, turning away from him. "Every option you've thought of, no matter how stupid. He doesn't deserve another minute of this shit."

He let their voices wash over him as they talked about the master plan—noting which heroes had reached out to offer support and assistance; how they would respond to press inquiries, and Izuku's options for maintaining his hero work.

Maybe he could keep patrolling—stick to business as usual to show that he felt confident in his decisions.

The public would devour him. If he had any emotional cracks, they'd pry them open. If he acted like nothing was wrong, they'd demonize him. They didn't trust him.

Maybe he could only take dispatch calls and have other heroes cover patrol routes. That way he'd be removed, but still close—and he'd be able to show that other heroes supported him.

Civilians could react negatively to his presence in crisis situations. They could also accuse him of offloading his responsibilities on other heroes.

Maybe he could exclusively take large-scale missions. That would keep him off the street without stopping his work entirely.

That would just tire him out, and the public would see it as avoidance, and any mistake he made would be dissected to death.

There were offers from foreign agencies to do joint work. He could take one of those for a few months.

Ten of them had been rescinded in the last two days. They didn't want bad press.

"I need to take a leave of absence," he intoned, tone dull and eyes wet—threatening to spill over. He'd wanted to keep this one thing. He'd tried to keep it—one thing she couldn't take from him.

He'd been naive.

"Bullshit," Kacchan spat, turning to glare at him. "Don't let her chase you off, goddammit!"

"Katsuki has a point," Hana said. "There's a difference between taking some desk days till things cool down and taking an actual leave. This morning we wanted you to take desk days."

"I don't really have that many options," he replied. "This isn't going to blow over, even if the notebooks are found. If I take a leave, I can come back in a few months and phrase it as a reflection period. Give my side of the story in a more measured way."

"They'll think you're running. They'll think she's right!" Katsuki snarled.

"The alternative is to keep working when they don't trust me, Kacchan. That could put them in danger. If they refute my directions in a crisis or impede me during an incident, they could get hurt. No matter how much I love my career, no matter if I'm not at fault, I can't put them at risk. Not for my pride or feelings. I can't be a hero like this."

With each word he spoke, he felt sicker. For the first time ever, he hated that he was the person who did the right thing, no matter the personal cost.

"You are a hero," Katsuki snarled. "Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't—how dare you, say that you fucking can't!" 

He stood, fists clenched—knocking his chair over.

"I CAN'T!" he bellowed back, tears slipping down his face again. "If they don't trust me, I can't protect them! Do you know how much it fucking kills me to admit that, Kacchan? But right now I can't!"

"Don't run away," Katsuki insisted, standing to glare him down.

"Give me a better option," Izuku pleaded, crying harder in sheer frustration. "If you can come up with something that will minimize the damage to my reputation and not put civilians at risk that will keep me on the job, tell me."

They glared at each other, and Izuku could see Kacchan's distress. His jaw tensed and eased as he chewed through the options—looking for any way out of this.

He could see defeat when it settled over his shoulders.

"I'll go with you," he finally said, voice low and rough. "If you take a leave, I'll take it with you, Deku."

"You can't," Izuku insisted. "Your rank would tank, and the agency would be finished. You've gotta stay."

"We're partners!" Katsuki bellowed.

"Which means you have to pick up the slack I can't take!" Izuku yelled back. "You have to be here if I can't, Kacchan. You have to."

"He's right," Hana interrupted. They fell silent but didn't look away. Katsuki's hackles raised, and Izuku knew they were in for a fight. "You can't both leave. Katsuki, SmashBang needs at least one of its title heroes. You don't have to be happy about it, but if you want the agency to survive, you can't leave if Izuku does."

"I don't give a shit about the agency, I give a shit about you," Katsuki snapped, shoving at his chest. He stumbled back, landing in the chair. "We can always fucking rebuild, but my job is to stick to your side, dickhead. You'd do the same for me!"

"And if you asked me to stay on patrol, I would!" Izuku cried. "Even if I hated it, even if I called to check in on you every ten minutes—if you asked me to stay here and protect what we've built, I would."

"Uhhh, I hate to interrupt your...fight? Marital spat?" Kyoko said, looking up from her computer for the first time since they'd entered the conference room. "But you should see this."

She looked anxious as they turned to face her. 

In the two months that Kyoko had worked here, she'd managed to single-handedly clean up some of Katsuki's more ridiculous messes, including cursing out kindergarteners and using his quirk to blast an old lady out of the way of an attack.

She didn't shake easy. Izuku felt sick.

Katsuki gripped his shoulder as she turned her laptop toward them—an Instagram reel from HeroStar pulled up, and tears burned at his eyes.

'Ingenium Breaks His Silence' was written in bold on the cover image. His friendship with Iida was well-documented. If he spoke out against Izuku, it would be a major blow—not just personally, but professionally.

She pressed play, and they watched as Iida took off his helmet, listening to the interviewer as she spoke.

"You may have heard by now that Deku was on the scene of a building collapse?"

"I have," he replied curtly, face going from curious to stony.

"He managed to evacuate all the trapped civilians, but it seems that his own lapse in judgment got the final civilian injured, perhaps fatally. The girl's mother struck him, and accused him of prioritizing—"

"All Might merchandise found in the wreckage," he interrupted. "Yes, I had the misfortune of watching the footage before my patrol."

"This, on top of his divorce from Uravity—another close friend of yours—must have had some effect on you. Do you want to share any thoughts? Few heroes have been willing to divulge their opinions."

"Few heroes have enough information on the situation to make what they believe is an accurate impression," he told them. "I applaud them for seeking details before rushing to judgment."

"But what about you? You've been close to both Deku and Uravity since you started at UA."

"I have," he replied, looking like he'd sucked on a lemon.

He took a deep breath. Izuku knew that look. One of the few critiques he'd received in their media relations courses was that he came off as robotic and sanctimonious. 

He was debating on how to say what was on his mind while appearing as personable and sincere.

"Deku, Uravity, and I have been through a lot together. I was very supportive of their relationship, from when they started dating to the day they said their vows. I was one of Deku's groomsmen, and I was proud to be there."

He took another deep breath, and Izuku felt Katsuki's hand tense on his shoulder. He held his breath—afraid that if he breathed, he would throw up.

"That was before I knew what kind of person he was behind closed doors. The parts of himself that he hid, because he knew they were shameful. Until recently, I thought his passion for heroics was simply a character quirk—harmless, even if it came off as childish from time to time."

"But now?" the interviewer prompted. There was an ugly sort of glee on her face.

"Over the past few months, Uravity has informed me multiple times that Deku spends disproportionate time and money on collectibles—at the detriment of their personal life and shared space. She brought it up with him, attempting to negotiate as good couples do, and was rebuffed. He wouldn't even hear it."

"That fucking bastard," Katuski hissed.

His grip on Izuku's shoulder was painful at this point, but he was grateful because it was grounding.

And Iida wasn't finished.

"Where a healthy relationship is generous, compromising, and communicative, he has bred the opposite. It may not have been her property to discard, but he's being alarmingly immature with his response. To divorce someone—to spurn their love for you because of material possessions—is indicative of not only a lack of judgment, but a stunning lack of empathy. It's contradictory to everything I thought I knew about him." 

Izuku's mouth tasted like acid, and his chest ached. "He hasn't even talked to me," he uttered.

"I'll fucking destroy him," Katsuki spat. "Spineless robotic fucknugget—"

Iida continued then—cutting Katsuki off—and Izuku let out a muffled sob.

"I've never been so disappointed in my life," he told the camera, quiet like it was a confession.

"And what about today's incident? Do you have any light to shed on Deku's hero work in light of recent revelations?"

IIda removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, like the whole thing was giving him a headache.

"From what I knew of him, Deku would never prioritize anything over civilian lives. Not even his own. I don't want to speculate, because I wasn't there and didn't hear what he had to say during the incident. The fact remains, however, that Deku took the plush out of the building. He carried the girl out as well, of course, but I struggle to find a valid reason for him to have taken the doll with the building coming down."

The reel ended there—Iida's disapproving moue staring at him from the screen.

The room was silent, like the aftermath of a bomb. The video had almost six thousand comments, and it hadn't even been up for an hour.

Not even his PR team knew what to say right now—processing his devastation in the aftermath.

Then, Katsuki moved.

"Come on," he snarled, tugging Izuku up by the padding on his shoulder and dragging him to the door.

"Where are—what? Kacchan!"

"I'm gonna give that absolute wank-stain a piece of my fucking mind," he growled. Izuku could feel his palm heating up. "If he's gonna spew crap, he can do it to our faces."

"You can't," he protested, digging his heels in. "The media can't think we're going after him. And I can feel your hand heating up, Kacchan, you can't attack him either!"

"That's why you're coming with me," he retorted, practically spitting fire. "You're gonna hold me back."

Going to Team Idaten was a mistake. 

He knew it before they left the agency. He knew it as they got into the car. He especially knew it when they pulled up outside of Iida's agency—Kacchan still fuming—to be met by a sea of reporters.

"I can't go out there," Izuku said.

"All the fuckin' better," Katsuki sneered, reaching for the door handle.

"Kacchan," he hissed, grabbing his arm. Katsuki glared at him, eyes burning through him. "This will only make things worse."

"Maybe to the public, but the public already made their shitty decisions," he snapped. "Glasses needs to know how fucking awful he's being, and I'm gonna fucking tell him. You can stay or you can come with me. But I'm fucking going."

"This can only make things worse," Izuku warned.

"I want to look him in the eye when I remind him that you were his first fucking friend," Katsuki sneered. "When I remind him of all the times you've gone to bat for him, just for him to let you down when you needed him."

He yanked out of Izuku's grasp and fled the town car—Izuku grasping for his sleeve as he stumbled after him.

He tried not to flinch as the cameras turned toward them, flashes blinding them in the declining daylight. Katsuki pushed forward, snarl twisting his lips as Izuku grasped his arm and tried to pull him back.

"I told you, it's not worth it!" Izuku hissed.

He could hear them shouting questions at him. 

Was he here to explain himself? Was his friendship with Ingenium over? Was he here to retaliate over Ingenium's valid concerns? Why are you holding Dynamight back? Are you afraid that a confrontation between Ingenium and Dynamight will reveal the truth? Do you feel that the SmashBang partnership is at risk? 

Katsuki ignored them all and Izuku, still clinging to him, was dragged along—even though each hollered question landed like a physical blow. Normally, they’d at least ask him to offer an opposing statement, but the fact that they weren’t bothering meant that their minds were made up.

"Ignore them," Katsuki hissed. "We've got bigger turds to flush."

Izuku bit back a startled laugh. "That is not the correct expression, Kacchan," he squeaked.

"Dunno what you're talking about, looks like there's a piece of shit everywhere I step," he snarled, kicking a reporter out of the way so that he could get to the door.

He'd scold Kacchan for being rude to civilians just because they disagreed with him, but he knew it wouldn't stop him. Besides, the way things were going, the public would probably assume that he was trying to save face. An empty gesture, not a sign of respect.

He maintained his grip on Kacchan but allowed the blonde to yank him forward, finally reaching Team Idaten's doors. They were met by a mixed crowd inside of the Idaten lobby—some who looked relieved to see him and immediately started toward him to get the story from him directly.

More than Tenya had done himself.

The others hung back, eyeing him disdainfully—choosing the media's take over whatever he had to say.

The difference, he noticed, was that those who attempted to approach him had worked with him before. Had come to him for advice in the past or interned with his agency.

People whose careers had grown from being touched by his own. He wondered if their faith in him was self-serving. If they simply didn't want to believe what they'd heard because then there would be a stain on their records.

He didn't think like this. He was an optimist. He saw the best in people. He wasn't supposed to think like this, and he hated that he'd already started caving to this line of thought.

He hated wondering if people's ugliest parts were lurking just under the surface. He wanted to believe in people's better natures—that they only resorted to hatred and deceit when backed into a corner.

Katsuki had no problem assuming the worst in people, though, especially when he was watching someone's six. He kept a watchful eye on his friends when his friends opened their arms and welcomed people in.

So now, in Team Idaten's lobby, he stepped in front of Izuku like a shield—glaring down the approaching sidekicks and interns. "You have the fucking memo," he snarled, teeth bared and body tense. "Fuck off and read that. Leave Deku alone."

The closest heard him, backing up or freezing in place.

The farther members took their cue, hanging back. Nobody left, though—curious to see how this would play out.

"Can we help you, Dynamight, sir?" Izuku peered over Katsuki's shoulder and locked eyes with MissAppear—a sidekick he'd recruited for a stealth mission three years ago.

"I'm looking for your shitty-ass boss," he sneered. "Where is that fucking coward?"

"Kacchan," Izuku hissed. "Just because we're in conflict doesn't mean you should demean him to his team."

“He demeaned you to the whole fucking country, I’d say it’s fair-fucking-play,” he snapped back. “Where is he?”

“Of course you’re at the center of a commotion.” They both turned to find Tenya approaching them, scowl fixed firmly on his face. 

“You motherfucker,” he growled, stalking toward him with clenched fists. Izuku caught the back of his shirt and pulled him back. “What kind of fucking friend condemns somebody on national television without even talking to them about their side of the goddamn story?”

“I will not be spoken to in such a manner in my own agency,” Iida stated, stoic and stern. “Please see yourselves out. You’re not welcome at Team Idaten.”

“You’re a jackass, Class Prez,” Katsuki said, yanking out of Izuku’s grip to get into his face. “After everything you’ve been through, you’re tossing him aside and fucking slandering him? You preach your fucking moral superiority up and down even though it’s a fucking sham, and we all supported you regardless—then you go and pull this shit as soon as Kirby bats her fucking eyelashes at you? Where’s your goddamn spine?”

Izuku felt sick, his heart and lungs too tight. It was a sure symptom of feeling too many things at once. He could hear the sidekicks and support crew in attendance, whispering and staring as Katsuki imparted a nuclear meltdown upon their title hero.

Iida squared his shoulders. "I'm not a shitty friend for following the evidence of my own eyes. Midoriya is a horrible partner, and I made my judgment according to the circumstances."

"There are two sides to every fucking conflict, that's something we were taught in school!" Katsuki said. "Aizawa taught us that shit after an entire war that was bred from jackass heroes not listening to people who were fucking suffering, and you go and pull this?"

"Ochako told me the circumstances," he replied coldly. "She told me what she was up against and she had me over to visit so that I could see for myself."

"Yeah? What 'evidence' did she show you?" he snapped.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Bakugou," Iida sighed as though talking to a petulant child. "The childish toy room that could have been used as a communal space. He could have easily moved them to a storage facility. All Ochako did was try to turn it into something they could share, and Midoriya lashed out like a selfish child," he paused, eyes filled with condemnation sliding to Izuku. "Who had his toys taken away."

The disdain in his voice felt akin to a stab wound, his entire body tensing against the way his heart clenched. His grip tightened on Katsuki's shirt, but he cast his eyes to his shoes—hoping to hide his tears.

"She took something important to him and destroyed it for her own selfish whims—"

"If toys and posters are more important to him than his marriage, he was never mature enough for a relationship in the first place—"

"You didn't even bother to ask why those might be important to him!" Katsuki bellowed. "If you were a real friend, you would have talked to him if you were concerned, but you're not! You're just a judgmental asshole."

"As a hero, quick judgment of a situation is my strongest asset. I didn't need to open myself up to persuasion and potential deceit to see what was happening. It was made clear to me that every time she asked, he manipulated her into dropping the question at hand."

"Is that the kind of person you think I am?" Izuku uttered, wounded. How long had Iida seen him this way, all the while pretending that they were close and trusting?

"It's the kind of person you've shown yourself to be," he responded, tone taking on a waspish note as he addressed Izuku directly. "Today's incident was more than enough to prove our point."

Katsuki barked out a derisive laugh, straightening his stance. "You don't know shit, you self-absorbed robotic—"

"Kacchan."

"Dicknugget," he finished, ignoring Izuku's reprimand. "I call them like fuckin' see them, Deku. This asshole is the most short-sighted sanctimonious moron I've ever fucking met. Deku took the doll out of the building because the kid was fucking holding it. Because she was scared and needed it as a security blanket. We took a whole fucking course on victim behavior and expectations, you know people cling to comfort items when they're scared. That's why he had the fucking plush. Not because he stopped to pick it up. And if you'd ever been Izuku's friend, you would have known that. Instead, you fucking slandered him to the entire fucking internet without getting any additional information."

"Perhaps my perception wasn't clear when I made that statement, but there was a reason for that," he said. "Divorcing someone who loves you because she tried to better your home was uncalled for, and it spoke volumes to your priorities. It's only natural that I question those priorities in the field."

"God, you know what? I get it. You're so full of Uraraka's shit that it's coming out your fucking eyes and getting stuck behind your fake-ass glasses. Why don't you let me know when you're done using her ass-cheeks as an eye mask so that you can look at this shit objectively and realize what a complete ass-hat you're being?"

Iida scoffed. 

"You know, it's not a surprise that you're defending him, Bakugou, and in such a crass manner. You're no less immature and far more volatile. You'd take whatever side that allowed you to be the greatest nuisance to civilized people."

Izuku went stone still, even as Katsuki huffed a laugh of disbelief. "I'm taking whatever side deserves my fucking respect, as fucking always—"

"I've always wondered what Midoriya saw in you. I suppose now, I know. Having you on his side equates to having a feral dog who will shout down his opposition no matter the morality. In essence, a villain who masquerades as a hero—unafraid of belittling those who will stand against him."

"Are you describing Kacchan? Or are you describing yourself?" Izuku asked quietly. His fist curled in the back of Katsuki's shirt but instead of holding him still, he tugged him back and stepped in front of him.

"Deku—"

"Kacchan." Behind him, the blonde's mouth closed with an audible click. Izuku's eyes didn't leave his new target, blood burning in his veins.

"A villain who masquerades as a hero—unafraid of belittling those who will stand against him," Izuku murmured as he stepped forward. "To be clear, you are the same 'hero' who tried to murder a villain before you got your provisional license, aren't you?"

"I was a student, and I learned from that incident. I can't say the same for you," Iida scowled. "Furthermore, that incident is under a gag order—"

"That expired two years ago," Izuku replied. Iida paled. "I'd never use that against you, though. You were going through horrible shit at the time. I just think it's hypocritical to say that Kacchan has a villainous disposition when you've committed actual villainy, don't you?"

"You're out of line—"

"I'm not," he snapped. "I've been beside you through all of your actual fuck ups, like the time that you scolded a victim for distracting you while she was having a panic attack—"

"She was impeding—"

"She was a victim! She was scared and frozen and you berated her instead of calling for backup to escort her out of the danger zone. What kind of hero has so little regard for the people they're supposed to protect?" he snapped, shoving Iida back, reveling in the startled yelp and uncoordinated stumble. "But I was there for you, and I helped you with your PR because I believed in you. When people came after you for something that was actually your fault, I organized an entire public safety campaign to outline how civilians should act in a crisis to keep them safe and to keep you working. I deserved the same fucking consideration, and you know it! But you're Ingenium and you can do no-fucking-wrong, right? So instead of admitting that you made a mistake—instead of considering that you might have hurt a friend without hearing their perspective, you're doubling down by—what did you say? Oh yeah, by belittling those who stand against you!" he bellowed, shoving him back again.

"You're now engaging in an assault," Iida hissed, holding his arms out in front of him—placating to anyone who couldn't hear them and condescending to those who could. "If you don't leave the premises willingly, I'll have you removed." 

"You're a coward, you're a horrible friend, and you're an average hero at best," he hissed, smacking his hands away. "I hope someone treats you the way Ochako treated me," he snarled, fully in Iida's face—fist curling threateningly in the collar of his shirt. "And when you figure what that means, I hope you have friends like you that let you down instead of friends like Kacchan who stand by you, because you don't deserve people like him you fucking—"

Katsuki took him by the shoulders and yanked him back, placing himself between them.

"Are you fucking nuts?" he hissed, gently steering him back. "You fucking moron, you were supposed to hold me back, not make it worse!" He gestured to the paparazzi outside the window with his chin—cameras flashing brightly as they took in Izuku's aggression.

He didn't care—at least not enough to back down. "You're fucking deranged if you think I'm gonna let some subpar jackass talk about you like that."

"It's not about me!" he barked. "Stop making shit about me, this is about you! We came here to tell this asshole that he’s being an asshole, not give the stalkerazzi more shit against you!"

"Like it'll make a difference," he said. "Thanks to them, the public made up their minds. I can stand up for my partner when some barely-relevant asshole takes shots at you though."

"My rep isn't the one on the line, stupid," he said, shaking him gently.

"I don't care about my rep, I care about doing what's right, no matter the consequences," he declared. "All I owe them is their safety, I don't owe them my principles." He turned to Iida, scowling.

"Don't worry about my 'judgment in the field,' Iida. I'm taking a leave of absence. Don't fucking bother trying to contact me. I'm officially giving up on you."

"I'm not the disappointment in this situation, Midoriya."

"Not in this situation, no," Izuku shot back, heart bleeding despite his utter fury. "Just in general, and as a whole—as a friend and as a hero."

Katsuki tugged him back again, shielding him from whatever Iida was preparing himself to say. Somehow, with Katsuki protecting him—even just standing in front of him he felt safe enough to crumble. His lip trembled, eyes watering as Kacchan's frame hid him from Iida's disparaging glare.

"Talk shit without knowing all the facts again, and I'll fucking shower the media with your receipts, Glasses," Katsuki warned, already pulling Izuku toward the door. "You can't use Deku as a shield for your bullshit anymore, so watch your goddamn step or enjoy the consequences."

"Are you threatening me?" he snarled. 

"You fucking bet I am," Katsuki grinned, dark and menacing. "Have fun learning how mediocre you are without him."

With that Katsuki steered him back out the door, strategically placing himself between Izuku and the cameras as he moved back toward their car. The remaining pieces of his heart were crushed as they moved through the crowd, his pitiful but unavoidable sniffles overshadowed by camera shutters and hollered questions. 

One reporter stood out, words cutting into him. "Don't listen to her, nerd," Katsuki said, pushing past her. It was too late though. It rang in his ears, weighing so heavy that his knees went weak.

"Deku! Does the Symbol of Peace believe in solving conflicts with aggression? Do you think All Might would have regretted trusting you with his legacy if he'd known you'd turn out this way?"

He hated that he didn't know the answer. 

Katsuki had banned him from looking at social media or watching the news. Someone was with him at all times, just to keep him company. Just so that he wouldn't go insane. So that he wouldn't wallow in the wreckage of his ruined career.

"Wanna order lunch?" Denki asked, reclining on his couch with his head in Hitoshi's lap.

"Sure," he shrugged, turning the page of his book. He didn't have much of an appetite lately. "Whatever works."

It had been two days since they'd confronted Iida, and he'd fallen fifteen places in the projected Hero rankings. Aside from actual villain activity, he was essentially the sole recipient of media coverage. Very little was positive.

They'd all seen coverage of his argument with Iida, from photographs to a video that was clear enough to know it was him but too fuzzy to lip-read.

The world had seen him shove Iida back. They'd seen Iida put his hands up in surrender. Then, they'd seen Izuku knock his hands aside and hold him by the collar of his shirt—menacing as he yelled in his face.

They'd seen it all without context, too.

The last social media post he'd been allowed to see had been from a popular mommy blogger, demanding that schools remove Izuku's educational campaigns from their classrooms. He wasn't a role model they wanted their kids to look up to, anymore. A false symbol of peace.

"You haven't turned your page in twenty minutes, Izuku," Hitoshi observed, tone reproachful. "Why don't we do something else?"

He shrugged again. "Have something in mind?"

"I've been itching to kick your ass in Ultra Street Fighter," Denki offered, shifting to smirk at him from behind his phone. "Payback for last time."

"You'll ass kicked again," Hitoshi snickered, running his fingers through Denki's hair. "I love you, but Mido's definitely superior."

"Definitely the love and support I signed up for," he drawled, smacking Hitoshi's arm.

Neither of them noticed Izuku wince, reminded that love and support were in no way guaranteed.

Hitoshi and Denki were different. They talked through their conflicts and compromised. They'd already bared their ugly parts to each other and come out stronger. His mistake had been failing to see Ochako's ugly parts—completely blinded by the image she presented.

"I'm down to play," he agreed, forcing a smile. "I won't take it easy on you, though."

"You won't need to, I've totally got this," Denki chuckled, completely aware that Izuku was completely out of his league.

They ordered pizza while Izuku fiddled with his console—hunting down the game in his shelves. There was a moment of panic when he couldn't find it, and he wondered if Ochako had thrown out more than just his collection.

When he found it tucked out of place between his books, he wondered if his home would ever feel less violated.

Denki's phone chimed, and he glanced at the screen—brightening at whatever he found. "Hey, some good news before we start!"

Izuku looked over at him.

He'd promised to stay off the internet—to avoid spiraling into a pit of negative press. In return, his friends had promised to keep him posted on the cliff-notes version of his media plight.

"That girl and her fiancée released a video statement denying the rumors!"

He grimaced.

Yesterday, one of the tabloids who had been present for the villain incident had taken a photo of him with the woman who'd asked him to sign his agency card. They'd alleged that he'd actually divorced Uraraka because he'd realized he wasn't done playing the field and was already on the streets asking out civilian disaster victims.

He plucked the phone from Denki's hand and watched as the couple, enraged on his behalf, showed off the agency card where Izuku's autograph was scrawled.

"First of all, it's annoying as shit that everyone assumes that a man interacting with a woman implies some sort of sexual tension. Some people are gay, and y'all are stupid as hell," the brunette one spat.

Her blonde fiancée placed a placating hand on her arm.

"I think it's more disappointing that people are so quick to assume the worst of Deku, when he's been fighting for us since he was in UA. In battles way more intense than he was prepared for at the time, too. I just can't believe that he's the kind of guy who would recklessly throw away his relationship—intentionally hurt someone he loved—for something trivial."

He was happy that they believed in him, and while he doubted the video would get much traction, he was at least grateful that they'd spoken up.

His team had reposted the video, as had most of his friends—including Shoto and Tsu. They were respectfully keeping their distance, but showing support as best they could without direct instructions.

"Well, that's good," he murmured. He noticed that the next item in the feed was a repost of the building collapse, where the mother had slapped him across the face and screamed that he'd killed her daughter.

That was still outpacing any positive press by miles. He handed the phone back. He'd made a promise.

"It'll get better, dude," Denki promised.

He smiled tightly. It might, but it would take time. And now, the seed of doubt was sown. Those were hard to uproot. He was willing to bet that half the people who had seen their video were speculating that he'd paid them off. It's not like it was unheard of for public figures to attempt to pay their problems away.

"Let's just...yeah," he muttered, picking up his controller. "Dibs on All Might."

"You always play All Might," Denki whined, pivoting fast to match the mood. Izuku shot him a grateful glance. He had some amazing friends.

"Because I'm the only one who deserves him," he joked. He ignored the flash of doubt that went through him. He should be allowed to joke about video game avatars without wondering if All Might would be ashamed of his legacy.

Mina came over three hours later since Hitoshi had to start his patrol, and Denki was an amazing friend but rated very high on the extrovert scale.

"Awww, you had pizza without me?" she whined, flopping across Izuku's lap. "Boooooo."

"Blame Denki," he chuckled, shifting so that he could keep playing. "But if you want we can order from that new American place. It looked like it had some stuff that's up your alley."

"Sounds great," she grinned, ruffling his hair. "Maybe in a couple hours? I wanna play winner."

"You mean you wanna play me," Izuku teased. Denki kicked his foot.

"I beat you on round two!" he protested.

"Because Hitoshi took pity on you and misused his quirk!"

"Sounds like you've been having fun," Mina smiled. "After we both kick Denki's ass, we should watch some of those cool old-school action flicks!"

"Sure," he said, smiling back. Mina was one of those people who made it easy to smile. She'd gone above and beyond to be there for him—only outmatched by Kacchan, who was there for every single moment that he wasn't on patrol, including his meal breaks.

She was loud and extroverted, but in a way that formed a protective bubble for the people who weren't as high-energy. And lately, Izuku was anything but high-energy.

Denki's phone went off again—but he wasn't alone. Izuku and Mina's phones went off too, and they all recognized the alert.

The Commission Emergency Alert system wasn't new, but it was far more well-utilized than it had been in the past. Before, heroes had been dead-set on handling crises alone for the sake of their own image. Now, there was a heavy reliance on collaboration, which improved civilian protection and decreased property damage.

It also ensured that more heroes came home in one piece.

Still, to signal off-duty heroes for assistance, something must have gone drastically wrong. Izuku pulled out his phone, dread pooling in his gut.

>>Commission Emergency Alert<<

Type: Villain Attack

Urgency: Red

Description: Simultaneous wide-scale coordinated attacks. High damage risk. High civilian risk. Two hero casualties. All on-call and off-duty heroes report to dispatch for the nearest incident.

Mina stood without another word and Izuku stood to follow, striding to his bedroom for his backup costume as he called into dispatch.

"Deku reporting in for the Red Alert," he said as soon as his call was answered.

"Deku," the dispatcher greeted him. "We need you to come in."

He frowned, stopping in his tracks. "I thought all heroes were being dispatched to attack sites."

"You're the exception," she replied. "According to the notes, you're noted as a civilian resistance risk. Also—oh," she choked on the words. "A villain was captured before the alert went out," she explained. "You need to come in to help divert heroes to attack sites. The villains in question are using your notes to stage the attack."

His stomach dropped to his knees, blood rushing in his ears. This was his fault.

"I'll be there as fast as I can."

Coordinating dispatch for an entire city for a single incident was a whole goddamn nightmare. He’d been called in for one purpose.

His task was to allocate heroes to areas that had weaknesses opposite to the ones those districts usually had. That way, the attacking villains who had read his notebooks—would be blindsided by the heroes they were facing.

Every dispatch room had screens to watch press coverage and for the first time he'd ever seen, every single one of them was open to a different news station—capturing almost twenty different attacks from different angles.

The result of the initial wave of attacks was pure carnage. He hadn't been particularly close to either of the casualties, but he'd done enough analysis on them that it had crippled them in the field.

The first had been a sidekick at Gang Orca's agency—a girl with a resonance quirk. The villains had turned her frequency back on her and her very bones had crumbled. She'd suffocated on live television.

The second had been a laser quirk, startlingly similar to Yuga's, except he could shoot them from his hands.

His weak point was the lack of protection for his arms because he needed them mobile. Izuku remembered analyzing him—making that note and sketching armor concepts.

The most logical step for the villains to take was the one they took. A scary-looking woman who could change the shape of her limbs turned her arms into blades and cut Flashpoint's arms off.

He'd died from traumatic limb loss.

Commissioner Suzuki was adamant that it wasn't his fault. That if the notebooks had stayed secure, they wouldn't be facing this. But Izuku was the one who'd trusted the wrong person. He'd vouched for Ochako and now anyone in those notebooks would pay the price. He felt sick.

"Grape Juice should replace Ingenium," he said, pouring over the information that analysts had been able to collect from the fights so far. 

"Ingenium relies on speed and he's heavily armored. His main problems are that he's land-locked and he'll eventually run out of steam—they'll have planned for that. Grape Juice may not be much, but he's a fair capture hero and he can use his balls to climb out of the way while simultaneously pinning down civilians and creating impassable barricades."

"Yes, sir." The analysts he was working with were crammed into the situation room—rifling through all the notes he'd given the commissioner as they made plans with dispatchers. The one who'd spoken was young and had worked with Ingenium since the start of his career. He looked terrified.

"You'll want to move Ingenium to a district that's usually covered by someone who attacks at range. He's good at evading blanket attacks, usually because they move too slow to effectively reach him."

"Should we replace him with Chargebolt or Plamo?"

"Plamo," Izuku replied. "Anyone they send would be equipped to neutralize his glue, and that's almost guaranteed to give him a surface that will pick up his speed."

It went on like that for what felt like hours—Izuku's attention split between the screens and the analysts as he tried to patch holes in their strategy on the fly. The villains were horribly well-prepared.

Every decision he made felt terrible—like if he misstepped he could be sending one of his friends or colleagues to their deaths.

Denki went to back up Hawks and Tsukuyomi—mostly to assist in fighting ranged attackers but also to keep him far away from anyone with ice, earth manipulation, or inhibitor quirks. The last thing he wanted was for the electric blonde to be buried alive, unable to defend himself or dig his way out.

Ashido's strength was mobility along with her acid, and her weakness was defense—her hero costume was a glorified lycra bodysuit despite his nagging. So, he swapped her with Eijrou, whose primary strength was being the unmovable wall to meet unstoppable force. They'd sent villains to hammer away at him—chipping away at his defense as he remained rigid to protect civilians. 

From what he could see, they were in no way prepared for Mina's acrobatic acumen, nor was their gear prepared for her Acid Shot. He put Plamo in her usual spot. Not only did their planned acid-neutralizers not work on him, but the weaknesses he'd outlined weren't a problem for the glue hero.

He had solid armor and iron focus. It seemed like a good swap.

The list went on and on—and the day felt unending. Every time they whacked a villain down, another seemed to appear in his place.

He had no idea how they'd gotten so organized so quickly. He knew his analysis was detailed, but getting this many villains to cooperate in a coordinated assault so efficiently was nearly unheard of.

Even the League had more in-fighting.

His first true scare of the day—where his heart didn't just drop, but stopped in his chest, seizing his lungs and choking him—was when Kota was pinned by a desiccation quirk.

"Someone," he croaked. "Anyone—any analysis on the villain, how does he work?"

"He's absorbing all of Geyser's attacks, and it looks like he's absorbing water from the air as well. Geyser's attacks are getting weaker—so are his movements," an analyst said.

"All quirks have limits," he uttered. "More water heroes. Overload him and help replenish Geyser before his condition is critical."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Send them with quirk inhibitors! Get a capture hero in there and make him stop!" Izuku yelled, eyes wide with panic.

He'd promised Mandalay that he'd watch out for Kota. Kota was like his little brother. He couldn't let anything happen to him, especially borne of analysis he'd made to help Kota grow.

He was sickened by the thought of the countless hours they'd spent training. Weekends filled with analysis as Katsuki sparred with the burgeoning water hero, taking notes so that he could share them over lunch. So that he could go back to school and train with his classmates—having gotten feedback from his mentors.

Would all that time spent helping him turn around and cripple him? Would everything he'd done to help him grow put him in a grave?

He could barely breathe as a new villain advanced—spewing sand onto the battlefield, further absorbing what little water Kota could produce.

He nearly collapsed with relief when Manual arrived with Backdraft—both coming in with a veritable tidal wave. He bit back a sob when Gale arrived—clearing the sand to give Kota room to breathe and recover. 

He watched his protege fall back, supporting himself on a nearby building as Manual helped him rehydrate. Between Gale and Backdraft, the two villains were detained—but not without a fight. Gale was strong, but the sandstorm had abraded him and he was in serious need of medical attention.

Kota wasn't much better—dangerously dehydrated and worn, barely able to stand.

He could hear dispatch giving directions to paramedic teams, relieved to hear them ordering IVs for Geyser and Backdraft over the buzzing in his ears.

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to them, expression blank.

"Take a break," the analyst murmured. "Just a few minutes. But that affected you and you need to collect yourself, Deku."

He shook his head. "I need to help them."

"You're no use to them if your head isn't on straight," they said. It was a more senior analyst and he had kind, concerned eyes.

He stepped into the hall and sat—folded in on himself. He couldn't get Kota's crumpled form out of his head.

Despite his better judgment, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He ignored the hundreds of social media notifications and focused on the group chats—watching as various heroes checked in and reported their status. 

There were some inquiries, asking if he was going to join the fight, but Mina and Denki were quick to interject that he'd been benched by the Commission in between their own waves of attacks.

Everything had gone so wrong. So wrong that it wasn't even a surprise when a new text slid into the Class A Alumni chat. He felt numb.

>> Kacchan

someone tell glasses to shut the fuck up before stuff my entire fucking fist down his throat and do it for him.

>> RikRik the Dick 👎

wydm

>> Kacchan

[link] Deku Responsible for Targeted Villain Uprising?

>>Tsu

I'll tell Tenya to stop talking to the media and wait for the commission to make a statement.

>> Kacchan

let him know that he's outing a potential security breach beyond floaty's fucking idiocy

they didn't just find one in a landfill, they clearly have every single notebook he's ever fucking written in

that's not a fuckin coincidence 

>>Tsu

you and I both know that antagonizing him will make him double down

I'll tell him that until the commission investigates, spreading unconfirmed info is probably dangerous

>>Kacchan

whatever

just fucking do smth before I rip his dick off and shove it in his fucking exhaust pipes

Izuku was barely paying attention to the chat anymore, hesitantly clicking the link Kacchan had sent instead. 

It wasn't just Iida in the article—multiple heroes had commented in post-fight interviews, but Iida was the only one who spoke as though he had all the information. To be fair, he did have more information than most.

It was just incorrect, altered information that was tinted by his personal philosophies.

"It has come to our attention that the villain attacks were fueled after Deku's notebooks were discarded. His ex-wife was under the impression that they were journals, incorrectly assuming that such sensitive information would be better secured. She was unaware that he was still taking such meticulous notes on heroes' quirks without their knowledge or consent, nor that he would keep them out in the open. A rather catastrophic oversight but we, as heroes, will do what we can to mitigate the damage and recover any intel that was negligently distributed."

The only other statement that directly involved him was from Shoto.

"I'm not sure how this happened, and the Commission is investigating now. What I do know is that Deku has undoubtedly saved hundreds of heroes today. I recognize his strategies when I see them—and the way we were shuffled to address villain activity today feels like how he operates."

This article will update as the story unfolds.

He wanted to be glad that his friends were speaking up for him. But dissent spoke louder than support did, and he couldn't help but be afraid that they would taint their own names with his.

He didn't have time to dwell on public perception right now. Kota had nearly died a moment ago. They needed him.

He took a deep breath and got back to his feet, squaring his shoulders. He needed to keep his head in the game. 

Most of the analysts looked concerned as he entered the room again, but they all stayed silent as he approached. He took another breath, shaky on the exhale. He looked up at the screens, eyes catching on Katsuki's latest fight as he went. 

While he was always baseline worried about Kacchan, he wasn't actively worried about him now. Anything and everything in his notebooks had been addressed with the blonde already.

Kacchan, determined to be the best, had already adjusted for everything Izuku had to say. Now, they were partners. There was little analysis over the past five years that hadn't been muttered directly into Kacchan's ears.

It's not that he didn't still write analysis about him. Katsuki just knew all of the details already and was prepared. 

He'd be fine.

"Who's next?" he asked, voice rougher than he intended.

"Tsukoyomi is having trouble," the senior analyst replied. Izuku turned to the screen where he was pointing, already nodding.

"Send Invisible Girl to help him," he instructed. "Tsukoyomi's main weakness is light. She can refract anything that comes toward him and she has stealth on her side."

"Understood, sir."

The good thing about situation rooms was that there was no extraneous information. They were watching media coverage, but as soon as a reporter pulled commentary from civilians or a fight was over, the channel would change.

He sent Ochako to Fourth Kind's district to back up his sidekicks—all heavy hitters being targeted by high-density physical attacks. His mouth tasted sour as he watched her arrive, dropping onto the largest villain from above and floating him—maneuvering his body so he'd attack his own allies.

If she had taken a moment to actually read what she was throwing away, none of this would have happened.

But, if he'd told her what was in the notebooks, it wouldn't have happened.

If he'd kept them in a more secure location...if he'd never written them at all...

He didn't have time to dwell on what if's. It had happened, and now the consequences were battering their doors down.

He watched with eagle eyes as the attacks unfolded—and his second heart attack of the day came when Katsuki was smacked with brutal force, colliding with the side of a building. He knew it wasn't fatal—Kacchan had taken much harder hits over the years.

That didn't stop the spasm of fear that lanced through him until he heard the next explosion echoing from the wreckage.

As soon as he could see his partner again, he diverted his attention to the civilians at the edge of the frame—frowning as they shrieked and cowered away from the shower of metal and glass.

"We need someone to help with evacuation in Dynamight's location," Izuku said. "Someone who can back him up if necessary, he's been at that fight for a while."

"I think he has some sort of body armor, so Dynamight's explosions aren't hitting as hard," one of the analysts said, squinting at the screen. "And he packs a huge punch."

"Is it just impact distribution? Or do you think he's heat resistant too?" Izuku asked. "If he's not, Shoto would be good backup."

"I think Shoto would be better off taking on Froppy's route," someone suggested. "They have a villain with an ice quirk, and I can't think of anyone better suited than him."

He nodded. "Fine," he muttered, eyeing the screens, looking for anyone with an opening.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Eijirou was done with Mina's district, and Izuku wasted no time diverting him to Katsuki's location to help with civilian evac. Eijirou was his best friend, and they worked well together.

Eijirou would have his back.

He was an impenetrable object, perfect for protecting fleeing innocents from harm as Katsuki relented to necessary destruction.

He was up against a gigantification quirk now, and they were causing possibly irreparable damage to a high rise. 

"Do we have anyone with a stabilization quirk available?" he asked. "Anything that could help shore up the building?"

"Barrier and Brick Break are available," an analyst offered.

"Send Brick Break—Barrier needs to stay on duty for civilian evacuation," Izuku said, eyes darting from screen to screen. There was footage from patrol bots, too, but a fair few of them were damaged—the quality compromised.

He forced himself to look away from Katsuki's fight to monitor the other incidents. Most of them seemed to be dying down by now—and attention was being diverted to rescue. It had been hours, and they'd have to stay on alert. It could just be the first wave, after all. 

"Brick Break arrived on scene," a dispatcher told him. "He'll start shoring up the building and then help with evac unless another building needs support."

"Good," Izuku replied.

"Pinky is asking where she's needed next," she relayed. "So are Vine, Kamui Woods and Nejire Chan."

"Have Nejire Chan back up Uravity in Fourth Kind's district," he said. "Vine should back up Charegebolt since she can ground herself against his quirk. "Send Pinky to an active rescue site so she can start melting debris and tag into a fight if needed."

He heard one of the analysts gasping and whipped back around—searching for the cause of their distress. A villain—not terribly strong, but certainly a nuisance—had realized that Brick Break was trying to stabilize the high-rise and had attacked him to stop his progress.

Katsuki was in the air as the villain swung and hit the building again—blasting out of the way as a shower of glass and debris rained down on the street below.

Then he saw why the analyst had gasped, and his heart dropped.

Eijirou was hardened as he raced toward a civilian in the crash zone—flinging his body over her shaking form. The bulk of the debris had been from the top of the building, though, and the momentum it gained as it fell added to its force.

The screens were muted, but Izuku could see Eijirou's involuntary shout of pain as a jagged slice of metal sheeting impaled him at the shoulder—cracks splitting on his exposed, hardened skin.

The shock of it must have been intense because he could see Eijirou's form softening as his quirk control slipped. The normally unbreakable hero was being pummeled—glass and concrete abrading both him and his injury as he shielded the woman beneath him from harm.

Izuku's heart raced, face going numb with panic as one of the best and kindest heroes he knew was battered and unable to move.

Eijirou's body was caving in on itself—his hands' stance slipping as he flinched away from the impact. His back was littered with cuts and the sheet metal was sheathed in his upper back—the wound widening every time he moved his arm.

"Who's in the area," Izuku uttered, horrified.

"Anyone available would take at least five minutes to arrive," a dispatcher said, frantically looking for an option in the database.

Eijirou collapsed onto the civilian—still shielding her as he passed out.

Then, Katsuki was standing over him, smoke curling off his body.

Izuku's heart stopped in his chest as his partner—his best friend—stood over Eijirou and aimed his hands upward. 

He blasted the debris in as hard as he could—range as narrow as possible—to blast the concrete into powder and knock the metal and glass out of the blast radius.

It was just like the move he'd pulled off against Ochako during their first-year sports festival—shattering her meteor shower before it could hit.

It had the added benefit of blasting a cloud of metal and dust into the villain's face and he bellowed in pain, stumbling back into the building across the street. Katsuki took a moment to pull Eijirou off the civilian and point toward the evacuation route as he spoke. She nodded, stood on shaking legs, and sprinted away. 

Then, he turned and sprinted into the building and Izuku's heart stopped again.

It stuttered back to life a minute later when he blasted back out and launched back into the sky. A second later, Brick Break stumbled out and knelt beside Eijirou's crumpled form. He pulled out his field kit and secured the sheet metal in Eijirou's shoulder, making sure it couldn't move too much and cause more damage before picking the sturdy hero up and stumbling in the same direction that the civilian had gone.

Katsuki was already back in the air and he'd taken note of the villain's reaction to shrapnel bludgeoning. In a fit of uncharacteristic recklessness, he went back inside the goddamn building at the 20th floor. 

He used his explosions to propel splintered office furniture, metal, and glass at the villain with as much force as he could muster.

As mad as Izuku was that he was doing something so dangerous, he was even more impressed that it seemed to be working. From inside the building, he could duck out of the villain's sight and find a new line of attack.

It was brilliant, even though Izuku could see the building sway.

The room was still buzzing around him, dispatch working double-time to meet all the needs on the streets. But Izuku couldn't tear his eyes away from Katsuki's fight, stomach churning every time the villain swung and the building leaned.

"Is Brick Break coming back?" he asked.

"I'll confirm," the dispatcher said.

He held his breath when, with one blast, the villain pitched forward instead of back—catching his balance on the side of the high-rise and bending the supports with his weight.

"Brick Break is on his way back—he left Red Riot with the paramedics."

That was good. That meant that while Kacchan was blowing up the top of the building, Brick Break could support it from below. 

It didn't matter to him much, but their damage insurance premiums were going to skyrocket next year. If their agency was still open, that is.

He didn't want to think about that.

He didn't want to think about Kacchan in a crumbling building either.

He couldn't see him inside the building, which just made it worse. Every moment that Katsuki was out of sight was a year off of his life, he was sure of it.

"Brick Break is back, Barrier is with him," the dispatcher said. 

The breath he'd been holding left him in a rush. Tsubaraba was an amazing hero. "I thought he was helping with evac elsewhere," he said, eyes still glued to the fight.

"We figured there were enough civilians in the area to justify him being here," one of the analysts said. 

Tsubaraba—Hero Name: Barrier—had improved his quirk a lot since their time at UA. He could increase the thickness of his solid air constructs now, and could maintain multiple structures for almost half an hour. Between him and Brick Break, there was no way the building would go down. He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Tsubaraba go to work—blowing stabilizers into place as he scaled the building. 

Meanwhile, Brick Break created support pillars—his quirk was similar to Cementoss but he had to manipulate concrete in tetris-like shapes—creating rigid structures out of angular puzzles.

"Chargebolt is free," a dispatcher said, drawing Izuku's attention. "Should I dispatch him to Dynamight's location?"

"How's he doing on stamina?" he asked, turning back to the screen to eye the villain.

"He's reaching his limit," the dispatcher relayed. "But he says 'I still got juice, bro.'"

Izuku scanned the other screens, knowing that Katsuki would kill him for prioritizing him if there were more severe attacks still in play. He grit his teeth as he saw Kendo pinned by a small mob of ranged quirks that allowed them to attack outside of her striking distance.

Katsuki almost had this villain down. Just because Izuku couldn't back him up didn't mean that he could divert heroes for personal gain.

So, with his jaw clenched, he said, "No. Send him to Battle Fist’s location. Have him clean up there.”

"Are you sure?" the dispatcher asked. He could feel his eyes on the side of his face.

"Dynamight's close to finishing this up," he said, nodding toward the screen. "The villain's quirk control is slipping. He was twenty stories tall, and now he's down to fourteen. Battle Fist needs the help more," he said. "And with Brick Break and Barrier holding the building up, we should be fine."

He wished there was wood nearby that he could knock on. Or salt to throw over his shoulder. Something that would keep luck on their side.

The villain opened his mouth in what was probably a deafening roar and punched a hole in the side of the building.

Then, the explosions from the building stopped and Izuku's heart did too.

The structural damage probably meant that the floor had fallen out from under Katsuki's feet and the ceiling had collapsed over him. The villain's arm was stuck, and he used what strength he had to try to pull it out—testing the sturdiness of Brick Break and Barrier's quirks.

He couldn't see any sign of Kacchan on the screen, and he was certain that he was going to throw up.

Izuku lasted thirty seconds. "Fuck this," he croaked, turning around to storm toward the door. With 70% OFA, he could make it to Katsuki in five minutes, and he'd be damned if—

 "Deku, wait!"

"He's my partner!" Izuku spat, rounding on the analyst who tried to stop him. "I can't just sit here and—"

"Look!" she squeaked, pointing. He looked back at the screen and saw Katsuki launching himself in the air, a little worse for wear but otherwise unharmed.

He recognized that windup, and his heart leapt to his throat. It had been a long time since he'd been able to watch Kacchan give his all without being in battle alongside him. He forgot how brilliant he was—how intense and immaculate he could be.

He hovered for a moment, the villain's arm still trapped in the building beneath him—then his explosions started again, swirling and picking up speed before he tilted downward.

He crashed into the villain with the force of a meteor—blindingly bright and sending a shockwave through the battlefield. When the smoke cleared, the villain was knocked out. He fell back in what seemed like slow motion, but as he tilted he shrank—his quirk retracting now that he was unconscious.

Kacchan, amazing but ridiculous, rode the villain's torso down like he was riding a surfboard—explosions blasting behind him to push them faster until the villain crashed to the ground.

"He's alright," the analyst soothed, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder. A shudder ran through him at the gesture—ending in a trembling chin and teary eyes.

His relief was palpable.

He forced himself to keep watching until Katsuki slapped quirk-canceling cuffs on the villain and stumbled back—flexing his hands and shifting to test himself for injuries.

He didn't take a proper breath until he saw Kacchan's self-satisfied smirk, raising a hand to his ear to switch the comm channel to dispatch.

"Dynamight says he's fine and the gigantification villain is detained," a dispatcher relayed. "He's going to go check on Red Riot and then leave rescue to...uh? Mime-boy and the Tetris Tool."

Izuku huffed out a helpless laugh, and then his knees went unsteady. "I need another breather," he croaked. "Sorry, I know I'm supposed to be helping, but—"

"Go," the analyst beside him insisted. "We've got this, we'll come get you if we need you, alright?" He gave her a jerky nod and turned back toward the door, practically stumbling from the room.

As soon as he was outside he slumped against the wall and slid down it, burying his face in his shaking hands as he curled in on himself.

It was a miracle that it had turned out so well, and it hadn't really turned out well at all.

Eijirou had been seriously hurt, and Kacchan had nearly been crushed by a building.

Now, as the fear ebbed out of him, he found anger seeping in. Maybe he could have been more forthcoming, but Ochako was supposed to be a hero. Her lack of diligence and blind selfishness had killed two heroes and nearly killed two more.

If Kacchan had died, he would have killed her himself. He was sure of it. As it was, after this was all over, he was going to make her regret it.

Sure, with the help of his PR team and after the Commission gave their permission. But he would. No matter how long it took.

But for now, he was going to focus on his friends. The friends who were in the line of fire and needed him to keep a level head.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and opened his texts with Katsuki, knowing that he was unlikely to text the group chat unless it was to yell at them.

>> Deku

are u ok

>>Kacchan

Im fine dork

>>Deku

you nearly let a building fall on u

and you stood in front of a debris avalanche

Im worried asshole

>>Kacchan

watch ur mouth

I'm fine I promise

just some scratches. body armor caught the rest

>>Deku

what about Ei?

>>Kacchan

less ok, but he'll be fine eventually

nothing fatal or permanent

that shoulder shit's gonna take fuckin forever to heal tho

so that fuckin sucks

but considering he was fuckin impaled, thats not too bad

>>Deku

that's good

I'm glad it wasn't worse

It looked really bad from here

>>Kacchan

yea I bet

on that note

how did I look?

>>Deku

...

ask me when i'm not pissed @ u

I won't do it justice rn

His phone started vibrating more frequently and he figured it was the Class A chat. His stomach twisted, and he hoped something else hadn't gone wrong.

>>Deku

promise me you'll be careful

It's scary out there rn

>>Kacchan

tf

I'm not u nerd of course i'll be careful

bite me

He braced himself as he switched over to the group chat—unsure of what he would find. Scrolling down from the last message he'd seen, he was relieved to find that they were mostly okay.

After each battle, no matter how small, most of them sent a check-in to let their peers know they were alright.

>> Denks

I'm tapped out rn

not hurt just fried

gonna recoup @ my agency

>>Kyoka

you comin back out after

>>Denks

depends. head's super fuzzy.

if its voltage i should be back on call in an hour. if it's a concussion i'm out for good

>>Fumi

rest well, denki. resist succumbing to darkness.

dark shadow and I have overcome our opponents

we are regrouping with hawks to continue our fight

>>Denks

sure dude thx

>>Toru

I'm fine too! calling into dispatch for a new placement. good call on the last one @/mido!!

>>Deku

no problem

glad u guys are ok

denki if it's overload remember to try the inhibitors mei sent you

>>Denks

thanks dude! I totally forgot.

>>Toru

omg is Ei ok?

>>Denks

wdym?

>>Hanta

did smth happen?

Izuku was about to reply when Mina entered the chat, and he felt sick again. Mina's fiancé was in the hospital because of his ex-wife.

>>Mina

hey babes

checking in to say im fine, just got done evacing a collapse

wait what

what do you mean 'is ei ok?'

Izuku took a deep breath before responding, hoping that Mina wouldn't freak out too bad. 

>>Deku

eijirou was supporting kacchan at a villain attack

he got injured pretty badly while protecting a civilian

he'll be fine, but the recovery time will be pretty long

kacchan knows more

He waited for Mina to respond, frowning when she didn't. Apparently, his classmates felt the same way because at least half of them messaged to ask where she'd gone or to send her best wishes.

>>Hanta

she's probably asking kats for details

That made sense, he supposed. She'd at least want to know which hospital he'd gone to.

He took a couple more minutes to watch his friends interact—lively and humorous even though shit had hit the fan. It helped set his heart at ease, knowing they were all alive and ready for the next bout. 

He was worried about Mina and Ei. He was worried about Kacchan, too. 

But now that the imminent danger had passed, it was easier to take a breath. His heart rate slowed and his hands stopped trembling.

He could do this. They could do this.

He stood, his legs less shaky, and let the chat know he was heading back into the situation room. He got a couple 'good lucks' and a few 'thanks for working hard' messages, and then he was pocketing his phone and heading back inside.

Nothing drastic had happened while he'd been gone, just a few heroes diverted to rescue while others took their patrol routes back up to pick off minor villain activity.

His lips pinched into a thin line when, a few minutes later, a dispatcher announced, "Uravity and Nejire Chan detained the villains at their location. They're waiting for further instruction."

Izuku's eyes scanned the screens and he was about to recommend diverting her to a building collapse closer to her agency.

A flash of pink passed on a screen in his periphery and he turned just in time to see Mina show up on the channel broadcasting the aftermath of Ochako's fight. Her shoulders were tight, fists clenched.

His eyes widened in shock as Mina stormed up to her, grabbing her by the shoulder to turn her around. Then, she wound back her arm and let her hand fly—slapping her open-handed across the face hard enough that her head snapped to the side. She teetered off balance with the force of it, falling on her ass.

"Turn the sound on," he urged, eyes wide with shock and concern.

One of the techs scrambled with the volume controls while Mina started yelling—catching the back half of what she was saying.

"DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE?" Mina screamed as Ochako stared up at her in shock. "ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY YOU SELFISH, CONNIVING BITCH?" she sobbed, and as the camera came closer, he could see tears streaming down her face. "I hope it was worth It, you fucking asshole!"

Her voice was raw and terrified, and Izuku's heart was pounding. He agreed with her, but the proverbial ground was shaky and control was still in Ochako's hands. This could be a mess.

When the dust settled and the villains were detained, it was more than a mess. 

Five heroes were killed, and thirty severely injured. Confirmed civilian casualties were low so far—but that was on the backs of heroes who should never have been in harm's way.

Public opinion was a mess of its own. Most were furious at him for having the journals at all—insisting that keeping them in his house was hubris at its finest. More were angry that he hadn't lifted a finger to help as his colleagues suffered the consequences of his actions.

Iida's condemnation was loud and given the past few weeks, people were inclined to believe him. 

Except now, Mina had assaulted Ochako live on national television—throwing the blame on her shoulders with all her strength. Her screaming—pained, terrified, furious—had dominated every media outlet and social media platform for days after it had happened. She'd been hard to reach since, camping out in Eijirou's hospital room instead of bothering with the public.

So, instead of clear-cut information, the public was left to speculate.

Izuku hadn't paid the media any mind, either. He'd been drifting through the Heroes' floors of the nearest hospitals, visiting everybody who had been injured and apologizing for whatever part he'd played in their misfortune.

Until he came to Kota's room, that is.

He'd saved him for last, intent to sit with his mentee and keep him company until Mandalay could arrive.

"Hey," he greeted him, peeking into the room. Kota was upright in bed, looking cranky as hell. "Mind if I come in?"

"Better you than those bloodsucking nurses," he huffed, crossing his arms. Izuku bit back a smile. His temper had never really improved—he'd just get softer with the people he liked. He was like Kacchan in that way.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, approaching his bed and settling into a chair.

"Like someone stuffed me in an oven filled with sand and rocks, and rolled it down a mountain" he huffed. "But I'm fine. I had backup when I needed it."

Izuku's stomach twisted as he examined him. He was littered with injuries—his skin so dry that it was cracked and flaking.

His voice sounded parched, too, like he'd been walking in a desert for weeks.

"I'm so—"

"If you apologize to me, I'll drown you as soon as I'm allowed to use my quirk again," he spat, glowering. "This wasn't your damn fault. I don't know how those villains got your notebooks, but this wasn't your fault, and you know it. In fact, if you hadn't taken those notes, there's no way I could have survived an attack like this."

Izuku chuckled humorlessly. "If it weren't for my notes, an attack like this wouldn't have happened," he replied.

"Don't be stupid, of course it would have. I'm aiming for the top, just like you and Katsuki. Just like Eri, just like Katsuma. We're following in your footsteps. Like it or not, that means we'll have enemies. Eventually, someone would have come for us and without your insight, their attacks would have brought us down. But you take care of us, and we're alive because of it. So stop being stupid and stop apologizing. It's lame and it's not your fault."

"It's my fault that I put my faith in the wrong person," he said. "That I vouched for her and gave her the access she needed to act as carelessly as she did."

"She should have respected the amount of trust you had in her," Kota argued, sitting up in bed despite Izuku's protests. "I don't know the whole story, and you're definitely gonna tell me or else, but none of us saw how selfish she was being, Deku. And you were closer to whatever bullshit she was pulling than the rest of us. If anything, we should have been able to see it because she wasn't actively trying to trick us. We should have been able to see it. Do you blame us?"

Izuku scowled, affronted. "Of course not," he said.

"Then stop blaming yourself. And don't listen to civilians either, they love to think they know what's going on when they have no idea," he scoffed. "Now get me some water, I'm thirsty as shit."

Izuku sighed, standing to get water from the pitcher perched just out of Kota's reach. 

"You were amazing, you know," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I watched the whole thing. I was terrified, but you did such a great job."

He turned back to Kota just as he looked away. His lips twitched in amusement as he saw that the tips of his ears were stained red. 

"Thanks. Freaked me out when they knew my moves, but we'd worked on conserving energy and limiting quirk exhaustion like two months ago so I tried to stay calm and do what we practiced."

"You were perfect, especially given the circumstances. Protected every civilian in your disaster zone and kept the fight focused on you until backup could get to you. I'm really proud of you."

He held out the cup of water so that Kota would have to look at him, and was rewarded with an embarrassed pout. 

"Shut up," he grumbled. Izuku mimed zipping his lip, smirking at his emotionally constipated protege. Kota just rolled his eyes. "I'm getting out tomorrow morning," he offered after he'd drained his cup. "You still on leave?"

"Yeah," Izuku replied. "I'm not much good if nobody trusts me to do my job."

"That mom was way out of line," Kota groused. "But whatever. Mind if I crash at your place for a few days? It's been a while and I think we could both use the company."

Izuku brightened.

"Sure! Mandalay won't mind?"

"She'll be thrilled," Kota drawled. "Last week she called me a moody bitch, I doubt being benched for injury will improve my mood much."

"Nice, setting expectations low from the beginning," Izuku laughed.

They'd spent the rest of the evening together, except for the half-hour when Izuku had visited Eijirou and Mina.

Eijirou was in bad shape, but he was awake and he would make a full recovery. He'd thrown a whole table lamp at Izuku with his good arm when he'd tried to apologize. Mina had promised to make a statement once Eijirou was out of the hospital, but Izuku had waved her off. 

The commission was investigating now—trying to figure out how the villains had managed to get all of the notebooks, rather than just stumbling across two or three. They were supposed to withhold statements until they were done, just in case it made things worse.

Izuku couldn't help but wonder about that himself.

How had they gotten them? In a landfill, it only made sense for a few of them to be found intact.

The most logical possibility made him sick. It was horrid enough that he wanted to dismiss it entirely. Ochako might be an asshole, but she wasn't evil. Just...awful. He had to believe he would have been to sense that level of malicious intent.

By the time he'd made it back to Kota's room, the sidekick had fallen asleep. He sat in the chair beside him, pulling out a book instead of his phone. According to...multiple people, he did not need to see what the internet was saying. For once he was content to comply, focusing on the people who needed him.

"Wow, you actually listened to me," Katsuki's gruff voice called from the door. He'd kicked Izuku out of his hospital room to go check on everyone else, insisting that he was fine.

"I always listen to you, Kacchan," he replied.

"Yeah, but you only actually pay attention about half the time," he snorted, kicking out a chair next to him and flopping into it.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like if one more person asks me that fucking question I'm gonna rip their spine out," Katsuki replied idly, pulling his phone out as Izuku grimaced. "Shitty Hair was actually injured and he's fine now. I was barely hurt. Relax."

Izuku rolled his eyes. "How could I forget. No shitty D-list villain is gonna bring you down." 

Katsuki smirked. "Damn right, dork."

"You're both loud and annoying," Kota grumbled, waking from his nap. 

He didn't look upset, though. Strangely enough, he looked amused—eyes flicking between them.

"Hey dumbass," Katsuki grinned. "Congrats on not dying. I would have mocked the shit out of you in your eulogy."

"Deku's giving my eulogy, it's in my will," Kota replied. Izuku tried very hard not to think about Kota having a will at such a young age.

"And when I inevitably had to take over because he was crying too hard, I'd mock the shit out of you," he repeated. Kota flipped him off, and Katsuki snickered.

"Yeah right, you rickety bitch," Kota griped. "You'd be crying just as hard."

Kacchan looked highly affronted. "I don't fucking cry, you little dick tip."

Izuku gave him a sly look, tinged with amusement. "...Well—"

"Not a fucking word, Deku."

It was harder to avoid the internet once he was out of the hospital. Having Kota (and therefore Eri) around made it easier, though. 

Still, now that Katsuki was back on duty—without him—he couldn't help but have one eye glued to his phone. He hated that he couldn't have Kacchan's back right now.

"Get off your phone," Kota complained, kicking his leg. "You're the one who wanted to watch this dorky crap."

Izuku's head snapped up, offended scowl on his face. "Mighty Heroes: Ultra Smash is not dorky!"

Kota gave him a bland stare.

"Did you hear the sentence that just came out of your face?" he drawled. Eri giggled, settling next to Kota and stealing toppings from his pizza when he wasn't looking.

"Seriously though, Kacchan told you to get off the internet," she said, still laughing at them. Izuku huffed.

"He's not the boss of me."

Curiously, both Eri and Kota made the same face—glancing at each other, then back at him.

"Of course he's not," Eri soothed. "But he does want what's best for you."

"It's not even that bad," he said, looking back down at his phone.

He wasn't lying, either. Sure, people were still pissed at him but blessedly, it had been tempered by doubt. Mina's slap had been the first hit—pardon the pun. Some people had started to wonder if Ochako and Tenya had...stretched the truth regarding the notebooks.

Shoto's insistence that Izuku was helping from behind the scenes had been another point in his favor.

Of course, there were also people who were fairly certain that Izuku had tricked Mina into believing that Ochako was to blame. Those people also tended to think that Shoto was playing diplomat and that Izuku wouldn't need help if he hadn't caused the problem in the first place.

Their opinion was weakened, however, by multiple heroes coming forward and thanking Izuku for handling mission control. They didn't comment beyond that, really, but having so many heroes speak in his favor was definitely causing doubt regarding the irresponsibility that Tenya had pinned on him.

It didn't stop people from being angry, because being angry was easier than admitting you were wrong. That's why whoever spoke first usually won.

Hopefully, faced with facts at the end of this, that would change. Until then, he'd endure those who thought him too irresponsible to be a hero or role model.

There were, however, those who were deciding to wait until a trusted source made a statement. They wanted someone whose opinion wasn't swayed by allegiance. 

Their faction wasn't all that large, but it was surprisingly vocal—commenting wherever they could to insist that they didn't have enough of the story. That they'd rushed to judgment too soon.

So, the world hadn't gone silent, but it was certainly quieter and less vitriolic. It was a relief, even if he wasn't on duty yet. 

Kota huffed again and Izuku looked over at him. He looked painfully unimpressed and Izuku, chastened, slipped his phone back into his pocket. As much as he wanted to look out for Kacchan, he didn't get to hang out with these two very often. It was nice, even if they were just watching reruns of cartoons from his childhood.

There were parts that were hard to watch now. Hard, because his mentor was gone, and seeing him on the screen, even in cartoon form, hurt—especially when his voice actor said something familiar, but just a little bit different from the way All Might would have said it.

Sometimes it hurt because pieces of his collection commemorated this show, and they were gone now.

Despite all that, it was nice to share the parts of All Might that inspired him with Eri and Kota. Most of the parts of him they looked up to were the parts he'd inherited from him. Maybe it was silly, but he felt a little less gone when Izuku got to share him like this.

He caught himself rambling a few times—talking over the characters to explain historical context. He'd bite it back and glance over at Eri and Kota, just to find them watching him with rapt attention.

It was reassuring, knowing that his interests weren't as weird and off-putting as they'd been treated lately. That someone—two someones—found them interesting enough to learn from.

"Do you actually want me to talk about the change in heroic perception before and after All Might?" he asked hesitantly.

They glanced at each other.

"I mean, I do," Eri said. "It's good to know, right? Heroes were celebrities before All Might, but it wasn't as all-consuming, right?"

He smiled, bright and pleased. "Right. Seeing him constantly win and save everyone with a smile was a gripping thing. It gave heroism as a whole a new goal. A new gold standard. And he was so devoted to people, up until his struggle with All for One overcame him. He came back once he thought AFO was gone, but he was more secretive and everyone could tell. That just drove them harder, though."

"Like how?" Kota asked. 

"Nobody wants to know anything more than they want to know a secret," he said, smiling sadly. "It's the reason people hound heroes for their personal life. It's how I got into this mess."

"They didn't learn a secret, they just took what they were told."

"They always take the scraps they're given," he replied. "As students, we learned that the picture heroes give us isn't the whole picture. Civilians don't get that, so they're hungry for every bit that they get. It's easy to take it at face value when you get so little."

"They're not entitled to it, though," Kota protested.

"They're not," he agreed. "And some heroes have very successful private lives. It's at a detriment to their ranking, though."

"All Might had a solid private life though," Eri said.

"Did he?" he asked. "Sure, we didn't know his real name or his arch-nemesis. Or the secret of his quirk. But we knew he was long-time friends with David Shield, his sexuality, his favorite foods, and his pastimes. Without the ability to change his form, people would have been in his business constantly."

They both seemed to consider that carefully. "Do you regret it?" Eri asked. "Aiming for the top and what it meant for your personal life?"

He frowned. "No," he decided. "I regret not looking deeper and I regret assuming that the people around me held my same moral code. But I've always wanted to strive to be my best, and I want people to feel hope and familiarity when they see me. I can't do that nearly as well without the spotlight. Besides, being my best means I'm at Kacchan's side. That's worth any unpleasantness if you ask me."

Kota pursed his lips, glancing at Eri again—but she kept her eyes on Izuku. 

"You're lucky you have each other," she said. "I hope I have someone like that someday. Someone who'll be on my side when everything feels like it's going wrong. Someone to have my back. Who trusts me."

Beside her, Kota flushed pink—looking down at his knees. Well, at his plate of toppingless pizza.

"Even with all of this ugliness, I'm blessed that my life worked out this way," he agreed. "It was totally worth all the crap we went through to get here."

"You did always say that the best things are worth fighting for," she giggled. "And you two fight a lot."

"For good reason," Kota snorted. "He's an ass and you're a dumbass."

Izuku cracked an amused grin. "Guilty. But we balance each other out pretty well."

"He makes you marginally less reckless and you translate from asshole to Japanese for him," Kota scoffed. Izuku rolled his eyes, picking up a handful of popcorn and throwing it at them.

He'd clean it up later.

He looked back at the screen, smiling at one of the more absurd filler episodes where cartoon All Might attempted to use turbo-powered roller skates as a support item. Funnily enough, All Might had told him that this episode was based on a real support engineer mishap.

He told Eri and Kota as much and reveled in their laughter.

He was glad that he'd gotten so much time with his mentor, and could pass down pieces of his ridiculous life to people who would appreciate them. Who would learn and grow from them.

It was almost enough to distract him from the brand-new influx of notifications from his phone.

Eri and Kota watched as Izuku pulled his phone out, frowning. The 1-A group chat was blowing up again, courtesy of Denki, for the fourth time in three days.

First had been the villain attacks. Then, Mina's meteoric slap. Third, a photo of Ochako trying to be stealthy in public with a handprint burned into her cheek, courtesy of Mina's acid. 

And now:

>>Denki

yooooooo kacchan went OFF!

[link: Dynamight Berates Reporter]

Izuku's heart was in his throat. He clicked the link, already dreading what he’d find. 

It started with some post-battle footage.

The correspondent was describing the situation—a minor villain had cropped up but seemed to know Dynamight’s fighting style. It hadn’t been a problem, just a nuisance because Kacchan’s sheer power had overwhelmed the villain as soon as he’d been in range.

The problem had been getting in range in the first place. The guy was slippery, and had been using evasion tactics that were clearly employed with Dynamight in mind.

At the end of it all, she approached Kacchan—charred and annoyed as he was—and started haranguing him about the details of his fight. It was enough to drive anyone a little crazy but Katsuki, who'd been through years of anger management and a training course on how to handle press, managed to handle the intrepid reporter with grace. At first. 

Then, she had to run her stupid mouth.

"That villain gave you more trouble than he normally would have," she said, fake sympathetic smile plastered on her face. "Does it make you nervous to know that villains know your strategies because of Hero Deku's carelessness?"

"Oh god," Kota mumbled. Both of his mentees had skirted the sofa to watch the debacle over his shoulder.

"That was...not a good move," Eri uttered. She sounded kinda horrified. Izuku could relate. Mostly because he was watching Kacchan, and he could pinpoint the exact moment that he stopped trying to control his temper.

"What the f*ck did you just say to me?" he growled. Kudos to the news outlet for attempting to censor him. Not that it was possible. They'd never get a full sentence out of him that way.

Especially when he was pissed off. Like now.

"Deku's failure to secure sensitive information has caused massive devastation for the city and the hero community. Who knows how much more information is floating out there? Doesn't it upset you that your partner acted so irresponsibly?"

Katsuki ground his teeth for all of three seconds. Then, his control snapped.

"You know what? F*ck this. F*ck you, really. I'm not authorized to comment on this sh*t until we have all the information, but f*ck if I'm gonna let you keep shitting on Deku. Every f*cking hero in my generation would be a steaming pile of sh*t without those notes. Deku doesn't just save people with his own power, those notes have let him save people through everyone else's power, too."

The reporter gave him a sickly, sympathetic smile—as though she pitied him.

"That doesn't change the fact that they should have been better secured. Uravity and Ingenium—"

"You think I give a flying f*ck what those backstabbing idiots think? You think I give a flying f*ck what you think?"

"Deku's colleagues and the public both deserve a hero they can rely on, don't they? The past month has proved that he's not that hero!"

Katsuki scoffed.

"You know what the worst f*cking part of this is? Even with everyone in the f*cking world sh*tting on him, he'd put his life on the line for you. It doesn't matter if you're the biggest piece of sh*t in the world. If you have a pulse, he thinks you're worth saving. And when the truth comes out, you'll all feel like shit and give him sh*tty apologies after you turned on him, and he'll accept it with that stupid hero smile of his and pretend that none of this sh*t hurt him. None of you deserve a hero like Deku." He took a deep breath, then refocused his glare on the stunned reporter. "If I ever see you at one of my attack sites again, I'll blow your equipment to kingdom-f*cking-come. If I ever hear you insulting Deku again, I'll f*ck you up. So stay the f*ck away from me."

"You can't threaten me," she huffed.

Izuku sighed, watching as Katsuki towered over the reporter. Nobody told Kacchan what he could or couldn't do. It was one of the things Izuku liked most about him. He just hoped that the public would be moved by his show of loyalty instead of put off by the violent nature of his declaration.

"If you sh*t on my partner and spread false bullsh*t? If you f*cking slander my partner? You f*cking bet I can. Now get. Lost."

Then, as though to punctuate his point, he snatched the microphone out of her hand and blew it up on the spot.

Katsuki was always good at getting his message heard.

He stomped away after that, and the reporter turned to the camera, frowning. She gestured to someone behind the camera, and another—cheaper looking microphone was shoved into her hand. 

"Can Deku and Dynamight be trusted? With the upswing of volatile and frankly violent behavior from the two of them, we at HeroNet are deeply concerned. We'll be keeping an eye on further developments."

Izuku scowled, gripping his phone...a little too tight. He only eased up when he heard the telltale sound of crumpling metal.

Don't get him wrong, he was honored to have Katsuki in his corner. That such an amazing person was his best friend, and willing to go to bat for him. His heart was warm with the knowledge that Katsuki thought so highly of him. 

But the rational part of him that wasn't constantly blinded by Kacchan's brilliance was frustrated as fuck. Sure, at this point the benefits of someone speaking up would outweigh the drawbacks.

Theoretically. Theoretically, someone speaking out in his favor would probably be good. But if it was Katsuki, there was a strong chance that the public would turn on him too. 

They were too close. They could decide that Katsuki was too close to him to be objective. They could decide they didn't trust him either. They could declare that he was unhinged, not unlike the idiots who'd decided he was a villain in his first year at UA.

He appreciated Katsuki's defense, really he did. But he hated that he'd put his own reputation on the line. Besides, they were supposed to be waiting for the commission to make a statement! What if the commission issued a reprimand because Katsuki had jumped the gun?

What if they benched him?

"Then they bench him, and you two nerd-ass mid-lifers sit here and watch All Might shows together for two weeks and pretend the outside world doesn't exist," Kota drawled, shuffling back to his spot on the couch. He slumped into his seat lazily. Izuku shot him an unimpressed glare. "Hey, he didn't kill the reporter! Count that as a win."

He had a point. Dammit. But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. He could still be worried, and annoyed that he had to be worried. 

Take that, Kacchan.

"Besides, it's sweet how he's always got your back," Eri cooed. "You're so important to him, Deku. You can't be mad at him for caring."

He flushed. "I can be irritated that he risked his own reputation for it," he grumbled. "We were supposed to release all the information at once."

"Maybe this brief interruption to the plan will get people to stop acting like dick-puppets," Kota suggested.

Izuku sighed, resigning himself to this turn of events. It's not like he could do anything about it now anyway. 

He let Eri and Kota lure him back into their movie marathon, reluctantly letting go of the anxiety that had crawled up his spine since his phone started blowing up.

Four hours later, he heard keys in the front door. Since there was now only one person on the planet who had a key, he knew to school his face into a disapproving scowl.

"Hey nerd. Junior nerds," Katsuki greeted them nonchalantly. He strolled in and beelined for the kitchen, not even looking in their direction. Izuku's scowl deepened. Kacchan was pretending he hadn't done anything wrong, just in case Izuku hadn't seen the news.

Nice try.

"Hey, Kacchan. How was your day?" he asked, forcing false brightness into his tone. In his periphery, he could see Eri and Kota giving each other looks of alarm. 

"Same as usual. People are annoying as shit, villains are fucking stupid. You?" he called back. Izuku heard the clank of plates and forks, which meant Kacchan was unloading the takeout he'd brought.

"Fine, just watched some...interesting things," he replied. In the corner of his eye, he could see Kota shuffling toward the edge of the couch.

"...Yeah? So how was your All Might Marathon, nerd?" he called back, only hesitating for a moment before opting for fond belittlement.

"It was great, wish you'd been here," he said through gritted teeth. Eri clutched at Kota's arm, holding him in place so he couldn't escape without her.

"You know. Things to do, idiots to save."

"Yeah? Any good fights?"

"Nope."

"So you didn't talk to anyone interesting?"

"Nope."

"What about threats? Threaten any reporters on live television today?"

Silence.

"I think we're uh..." Kota stuttered. "I think we're gonna go—"

"Nope. He brought food for four, you're staying," Izuku said. "But feel free to hide in the sad remains of my merch room."

"Cool thanks," he squeaked. "Let's go, Eri!" he said, pulling her off the couch as he made his escape. 

"Go easy on him!" Eri called just before she disappeared into the hallway. 

Kacchan stayed silent so, readying himself for a fight, Izuku stood from the couch and made his way into the kitchen. 

Katsuki didn't look up from his task—meticulously scooping food onto individual plates as though it were an art form and not takeout.

"What were you thinking?" he asked, a lot less angrily than he thought he would. Instead, he just sounded tired.

"I was thinking that reporter was a level-10 butt-plug. How else do you explain the amount of shit she had inside her?" he chuckled, pleased with his pun despite the tension.

"Kacchan," he sighed. "Be serious."

Katsuki put down the takeout container and turned to face him. 

"I am. She was way the fuck out of line, and by asking me that fucking question, she was asking for what came next. I'm always in your corner, everyone knows that, Deku."

His heart fluttered. He didn't let it show on his face, though.

"We were supposed to wait for the Commission. We were trying to keep your name out of the mud! One of us has to be in the clear, remember?"

Katsuki frowned at him. "Did you...did you only watch the interview?" he asked, confused.

His eyebrows shot up. "There's more?" he asked, alarmed. 

"Yeah, because I was anticipating the nagging," Katsuki barked, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Izuku crossed his arms defensively. He only nagged when Kacchan went rogue. "I went to PR as soon as I was off-duty."

Katsuki handed Izuku his phone, crossing his own arms as he waited for the irate greenette to watch the video that was queued on the screen. 

Skeptical, Izuku pressed play.

In it, Katsuki was sitting at his desk, looking way less pissed off than the interview but still tense.

"I'd like to formally apologize to the reporter from HeroNet that I spoke to this afternoon. I was fresh from a fight and already agitated. The statements she made about my partner made it worse. That doesn't excuse my actions."

"Kacchan—"

"Keep watching," Katsuki interrupted.

"I was harsh, and I'm sorry if it alarmed anybody. However, I don't regret it. Deku is my partner, and my best friend. He's more important to me than anyone in the world. I will never stand by and do nothing when he's in trouble, even if that trouble is just bad press."

Izuku's lip trembled, but he didn't say anything. The video wasn't done.

"My life depends on my trust in him, and I wouldn't put that trust in someone who hadn't earned it. He's earned it a thousand times over. I'd like to ask all of you, even the skeptics, to wait until the Commission's investigation is over to pass final judgement. It's the least he deserves for all that he's done."

"Kacchan, you—"

"It's not done yet, Deku," he scolded, turning back to his immaculate takeout plating. "Pay attention."

Izuku scowled at him. Fuck him for being so sweet then turning around and being a complete turd.

"I'd also like to address the reporter's question. I shouldn't have dismissed it out of hand, when so many of you are wondering the same thing."

Katsuki tossed him a smug look over his shoulder. Izuku flipped him off as a matter of principle. Kacchan didn't get to give him heartburn and be smug when he fixed the problem. That's not how it worked.

"For those of you who haven't seen it yet, HeroNet asked me if it makes me nervous to know that my strategies are compromised because of 'Hero Deku's carelessness.'" Izuku's lips pursed at Katsuki's use of air-quotes, which gave the oddly sincere message a sour note of sarcasm. "The answer is: no. To all of it."

Izuku raised an eyebrow at his partner, who didn't even look at him, opting to pick up the plates and walk them out to the dining room instead.

"First of all, I'm a hero. I would be a shitty hero if I can't change my strategies to suit the situation. We may have our comfort zones, but good heroes can pivot when things go wrong. Any hero blaming Deku for their strategies being leaked is a lazy hero—too set in their ways to adapt. If someone can predict every single one of your moves, you need to work on new moves."

Izuku grit his teeth. Yeah, antagonizing their colleagues was an great idea.

"And, fellow heroes, if that offended you—you should look into your training plans to see where you can diversify your strategies, because I'm probably talking about you."

Jesus.

"Second of all, Deku is anything but careless. I know what you've seen on the news, and I know what you've seen from Deku's ex-wife. I'm not allowed to say much right now, but I can at least tell you this: Deku's home is a fortress. His security system was designed by Mei Hatsume herself and in order to even visit, guests need to be approved by the Commission. Those measures were put in place to protect himself, his family, and the hero community at large. The house is more secure than Tartarus at Deku's own insistence. So, am I upset with him for my compromised strategies and weaknesses? No. Because he's my partner and I know that he was protecting that information with every tool he could get his hands on. Because he cares too much about people to be careless with something that could cause harm. That's why I trust him with my life, and I always will."

Izuku's eyes were wet.

Katsuki had only cursed once in that entire speech, and it had been stupidly sweet. Sure, there were a few...flaws, but the fact that he'd apologized at all spoke volumes.

Kacchan had done that for him. Because he'd known that he was freaking out, and didn't want him to worry. He'd swallowed his pride. Izuku didn't know if he'd ever done that for anyone else but he was more than happy to claim that privilege as his, and his alone.

He shuffled into the dining room, lips trembling at the sight of Katsuki, Eri, and Kota chatting at the dinner table. God, he loved them all. He didn't deserve them.

Katsuki looked up at him, eyebrows raised. 

"That was...good," Izuku allowed. "A little antagonistic in places, but good," he said, stern demeanor thwarted by the way his voice cracked—sentence ending in an emotional sniffle.

"Glad you liked it," Katsuki smirked. Izuku flipped him off again for good measure. "Eat something, Kota snitched on you. I know you've only eaten popcorn today, nerd."

Izuku shot Kota a dirty look, just to get an unbothered shrug in return.

"So you're not mad?" Eri asked. She sounded hesitant and hopeful and honestly, he'd never been good at denying her hopes and dreams.

"No," Izuku allowed. "But he's on thin ice."

Katsuki scoffed. "Yeah right. I brought dessert. I'm golden."

Izuku sighed. Yeah, he was golden.

Izuku woke up early the next morning. It felt like it was gonna be a good day. Well, at least it felt like it wouldn’t be a bad day. At the very least, he was gonna start out on the right foot.

Climbing out of bed, he stretched, pushing the remaining sleep out of his limbs. He didn’t have much to do until the Commission released a statement, so it would be another day taking it easy at home.

As he sauntered into the living room, he gave a little grin at the lazy snoring emanating from the couch where Eri and Kota had fallen asleep last night. He and Kacchan had thrown blankets over them (Katsuki had taken blackmail pictures) before going to bed themselves.

Now that his merch was gone, maybe he could just convert the merch room into a spare bedroom. Then, since Kacchan was here more than half the time now, he could make the current spare bedroom into Kacchan’s room. 

That thought was both depressing and heartwarming in equal measure and as he made coffee for himself and the house-crashers, he stewed on it. 

If he converted the merch room into a guest room, he wouldn’t be reminded of how devastatingly empty it was every time he passed it. And, now that the notebooks were gone, he could ease security. Maybe he could have more friends over to distract him from the fact that his prized possessions were gone. 

He should be more optimistic.

Maybe now, he could rebuild it from scratch or something. On the other hand, he could never get the stuff with sentimental value back, and that might just make it worse if he tried to rebuild.

Everyone else in the house was still sleeping, so he poured himself a cup (more like a pitcher) of coffee and sat down at the table.

He pulled out his phone, promising himself that he'd only check his emails. He didn't need the devastating crush of public perception via social media this early in the morning.

He hadn't even brushed his teeth yet.

First, he checked his texts. It was, again, early—so he wasn't exactly counting on many messages. There were a couple in the group chat, but the former classmates who weren't on night shift had gone to bed around the same time he had.

It was mostly just Denki proudly showing off memes that had sprouted from Kacchan's interviews. He snorted at a side-by-side—one with Kacchan yelling and the other with him calmly at his desk. It was captioned: 'Chihuahua vs. Golden Retriever'

Somehow, he doubted that Kacchan would appreciate being compared to a dog in any regard.

When he ran out of texts, he switched to email. There were a few promotional things, a couple of newsletters, and—

He gasped mid-sip, nearly inhaling a mug full of his burning hot coffee.

He took a moment to let his airway clear before yelling, "KACCHAN!" scrambling from his seat as he did. He heard someone fall off the couch but didn't stop to see who it was. His eyes were still fixed on the list of 36 emails—only one of which was opened.

He slammed the door to the guest bedroom open, faltering when he saw Kacchan freeze—one leg in his sweat pants as though he'd been pulling them on, and shirtless. 

"The fuck is the matter?" Katsuki croaked, voice rough with sleep. He resumed his attempt to clothe himself.

"The HR team sent thirty-six resumes to us this morning," he uttered. His phone chimed and he glanced at it. "Thirty-seven." 

He scrolled through them, eyes widening as he read through them. Katsuki frowned, grabbing his shirt off the baseboard and tugging it on.

"The fuck? Recruiting doesn't start for three months."

Recruiting out of hero schools, sure. But this was different.

"It's like...half of Ingenium's sidekick team," he uttered, eyes glued to the email on his screen. This particular sidekick had interned with them during his last year at Shiketsu, and they'd almost hired him when he graduated. He'd chosen Team Idaten because it was closer to his parents.

"What are you talking about, Deku?"

Izuku cleared his throat (still burnt from coffee), and began to read.

"Dear Deku and Dynamight,

I'm not sure if you remember me, but I worked for Team SmashBang for the final year of my hero work-studies. I truly enjoyed my time with your agency, and I hope you'll be willing to hear my request.

Due to the current security risks and the moral discrepancies that Team Idaten is facing, I've decided to seek a change in employment. As I have experience working with you and continue to aspire to the success and philosophy that SmashBang strives for—I was hoping to resume my employment with your agency.

I've attached my resume for your consideration. Please let me know if you need anything from me to make your decision.

Best,

Hiroki Watanabe 

Hero Name: Dark Ray"

"Moral discrepancies I get, Iida's a literal cocksleeve," Katsuki grumbled. "But what security risks?"

"I have no idea," he replied. There was a pit in his stomach—concerned that something else had happened with Ochako that put Iida's team at risk. "We should call in and ask," Izuku murmured, opening the next email. "Maybe the HR team has a better idea of what's going on?"

"Sure, whatever," Katsuki agreed. "Did you make enough coffee for everyone? Or is all the available coffee spilled on your shirt?"

Izuku looked down at his t-shirt, taking in the large coffee stain that he hadn't even noticed. "Uh...there's some in the pot," he said.

"Fantastic," he said, skirting around Izuku to make his way toward the kitchen. "You call HR, I'll make breakfast. I don't pay myself enough to talk to them on my day off."

Despite the nonchalant tone, Izuku could tell that Kacchan was stressed. It had been a constant shit-show since that fucked-up day—an unending rollercoaster of bullshit. They had no idea where the sudden shift had come from and while he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, life had been bitch-slapping him a lot lately.

Not to mention, Katsuki had pissed off a major news outlet yesterday. He'd also probably pissed off a whole Hefty-Bag-full of heroes.

Uncertainty felt like a threat right now. What if the next thing was the thing that broke everything they'd built?

After he got changed, Izuku followed Katsuki to the kitchen, swiping through the rest of the emails—scanning them as he walked. Most of them had similar sentiments to the first—humbly asking to join SmashBang and explaining why they wanted to leave Team Idaten.

Some of them were more...reluctant.

It was as though they blamed SmashBang—Izuku especially—for whatever 'security risk' was making Team Idaten unviable.

Idaten had over a hundred sidekicks, though, so whatever had happened was apparently not bad enough for all of them to jump ship.

Of course, it was possible that the rest had decided to hit up other agencies for new employment. He had no grasp of the situation's magnitude, and that was stressful too.

"What are you yelling about at seven in the morning?" Kota griped. He was sitting at the table, hair askew and scowl already in place.

Eri elbowed him. "Is everything okay?" she asked, softer and sweeter. He gave them a tight smile.

"To be determined," he told them. "I need to make some calls, but I don't think it's bad. For me, at least. Just alarming."

They glanced at each other before looking back at him.

"The fuck are you being so cryptic for?" Kota demanded, folding his arms and attempting to look stern. 

Izuku bit back a laugh. He looked more like the five-year-old who punched him in the dick than anything else.

"Because I might be legally barred from sharing HR information with you," he replied, picking his mug up from the table.

They both frowned. "HR information? Is something wrong with your agency?" Eri asked. His heart clenched at the looks on their faces. It was sweet that they were so concerned.

"Don't worry about it for now. Life's just a mess, you know? We're cleaning it up, though. Slowly but surely."

They looked skeptical but relaxed into their seats, and Izuku took that as a cue to go refill his coffee. Katsuki was at the stove, house-wifing his way through fancy-ass omelets with Izuku's "Detroit Snack" apron securely tied around his waist.

"Spinach and mushroom for you, I don't wanna hear a single fucking complaint," Katsuki grunted.

"Hey, I'm not cooking, no complaints here," Izuku mumbled back. He'd already returned his attention to his phone, mentally bracing himself for whatever conversation he was about to have with their HR team.

"Good morning, sir," their head of HR answered before the first ring was over. It didn't bode well that he'd been waiting by the phone.

"What's with the resumés, Aoki?" he asked, trying to keep the nerves out of his tone. Katsuki slowed his movements—listening in as best he could.

"You haven't seen it yet?" he asked, flabbergasted.

Izuku sighed. "It would be really nice if people would assume that I haven't seen things, just in case I haven't seen those things yet. It would save so much time."

"Sorry, it's just—it's all over the place," he explained.

"I'm barely awake, and I only checked my email," he explained, shooting Katsuki an exasperated glance. "Wanna fill me in?"

"I'll send you a link," he said, followed closely by the exaggerated clatter of his keyboard.

"Wanna give me the basics while I wait?" he asked. He was getting really sick of all the tip-toeing. Nobody wanted to bear bad news and he understood that, but the suspense sucked.

"Basically," he began. "Hatsume dropped Team Idaten as a client after Dynamight's statement yesterday. Between the argument that you had with Ingenium at his agency and the guaranteed decline in support gear and security quality, Team Idaten's staff is jumping ship."

Izuku could feel his pulse in his stomach. He put the phone on speaker and pulled up the email that Aoki had sent—a link to a statement from Mei Hatsume's support agency.

"What about patrols in that area, are they getting covered?"

"We were waiting for your okay. The plan is to respond to all inquiries with a blanket statement. Basically, 'thank you for your interest, we'll consider your application and decide on next steps. In the meantime, please coordinate your patrols through the Commission."

"Do it," Izuku agreed. "And let the Commission know that we'll take on approvals paperwork internally until the matter is resolved."

"The hell is going on?" Katsuki asked.

"I'll call you back once Kacchan and I have talked it through," he told Aoki, holding up a hand for Kacchan to wait. Scowling, the blonde turned back to the stove and flipped the omelet in the pan.

He scanned through the statement once Aoki hung up. "Hatsume dropped Idaten as a client," Izuku explained. 

Katsuki made a noise of surprise, pulled the pan from the burner, and turned to face him. "Are you serious?"

Izuku nodded. 

"Listen to this: "From the desk of Mei Hatsume: A cornerstone of being a support engineer is having the trust of the agencies you work for. I pride myself on the work I've done for the hero community and law enforcement, including the personal projects I've been commissioned for.

Every single invention and system I design is a point of pride. They're my babies. That includes the work I did for Hero Deku. In fact, that may be my greatest work of all. As one of Deku's closest friends, Ingenium was well aware of the trappings of my security system, and was even integral in testing its integrity. It was deeply offensive to hear him call my work inadequate, and it spoke volumes to the lack of trust he has in me and my work.

Therefore, effective immediately, Hatsume Global Innovations will no longer provide support to Team Idaten. We will assist their transition to a new support agency in the hope that Ingenium can be more confident in them than he was in me and my team. Aside from that, we plan to cease all future collaboration."

When he was done, Izuku just...stared at his phone. Despite the tone of the statement—that Hatsume was sticking up for herself and her work—he knew she was sticking up for him too.

As long as she got to invent, Hatsume's professional ego was fairly small. If she didn't want to keep working with someone, she'd send them a private message and work it out behind the scenes.