Chapter Text
Not every man is created equal, and you’d have to be an idiot to say they end up that way.
Because Izuku’s entire life , he has done nothing but give; been nothing but kind, optimistic, and a good person, okay?
So why is it that Bakugou fucking Katsuki is out here living the dream?
One of UA's top hero students. Winner of the year one and year three Sport’s Festivals and considered a potential top-ten hero in the making. Part of UA’s famous “Disaster Class” 3-A, with one of the most powerful quirks to boot.
All Izuku has to show from his eighteen years of life are too many part time jobs, a shitty apartment, stacks of bills, and the scars littering his body.
_
All Izuku’s been is good.
All Izuku’s been is kind.
All Izuku’s been is friendly.
All Izuku’s been is helpful.
All Izuku’s been is empty.
All Izuku’s gotten is scars.
All Izuku’s gotten is broken dreams.
All Izuku’s gotten is burnt notebooks.
All because Izuku’s quirkless.
be realistic
_
Bakugou’s always been destined for greatness, there’s no use pretending otherwise.
That doesn’t make it hurt any fucking less.
Izuku can’t take much more.
His face is already plastered everywhere; on billboards, trains, articles, cereal boxes, magazines, t-shirts, TV advertisements-- there’s nowhere he isn’t.
With only a provisional license, Bakugou can’t be ranked yet, but that doesn’t stop him from growing his brand.
It’s suffocating.
_
At least Izuku has the internet, though, right? He can use an ad-blocker and ignore posts about his former tormentor and All Might ; he can manage.
He has his blogs. He has his analysis, his art.
Izuku doesn’t analyse heroes anymore. He can’t stomach it (what if they’re like him? ) but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped completely. Now he posts breakdowns on villains, offering ways for the authorities to take them down and where he thinks they could attack next. He spends his limited freetime drawing and pouring over information.
Sure, his sleep schedule is fucked from his shifts being so unpredictable.
Sure, he feels like pulling his hair out and screaming because he’s so burned out and exhausted.
Sure, he can barely pay this month’s rent.
Sure, he’s constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown.
Sure, he gets called slurs and has food thrown at him regularly at work.
Sure, he’s been surviving instead of living for as long as he can remember.
I’m fine.
And if he picks back up his less-than-legal activities as a vigilante, who’s to blame him?
The adrenaline is a great stress-reliever.
While quitting the year before had been the responsible decision, he can’t bring himself to regret resuming his role.
_
Hitoshi is no stranger to exhaustion.
Having insomnia has led him to becoming dependent on coffee and energy drinks, even before becoming a hero student at U.A.
Getting in via the first year sports festival wasn’t his original plan, but neither was being adopted by the Aizawa-Yamadas.
For once, it seemed fate had been on his side.
He has loving parents, friends, and a little sister he loves with all his being. He would kill for Eri.
Hitoshi loves learning how to use a capture scarf with Shouta after school, loves movie marathons with Hizashi on Sundays, loves reading bedtime stories to Eri while she braids his hair.
Life is a dream, and yet he doesn’t forget.
He still knows the statistics, they’re carved into his mind.
He still covers the scars at the corners of his mouth with concealer.
He still freezes up when he hears the words ( villain ) on the bad days, even when they aren’t directed at him.
He still has nightmares.
Exhaustion has been a constant in his life as long as he can remember, and it’s guaranteed to continue to be with his future as an underground hero.
Hitoshi knows exhaustion, and so he winces out of empathy for the fast food worker that Iida knocks his drink onto with an overzealous hand gesture. The expression on the green-haired boy’s face clearly reflects how utterly done he is with everything.
Mood .
_
Fucking perfect.
Izuku was already in a terrible mood today after he was assigned three back-to-back shifts, on the weekend , at rush hour .
And now this over-enthusiastic glasses kid spills his orange juice all over his shirt and the table.
Fuck my life.
_
Iida can’t stop apologizing as Uraraka pulls more and more napkins from the dispenser on the table, almost shoving them at the boy.
It’s both comical and embarrassing. Hitoshi feels bad for the worker, and yet also has to fight the urge to laugh at the image of the enthusiastic boy spluttering and repeating apologies like a broken record while the green-haired guy just stands there with a pained expression, napkins being thrust at him frantically.
The worker seems to snap out his thoughts, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, and accepting the brunette's many brown paper offerings. The boy dabs at the soaked fabric in vain, giving up once the shirt isn’t actively dripping.
Histoshi can’t fully catch the words the boy begins to mumble under his breath, but he does hear the exasperated “…fuck my life,” that escapes his chapped lips.
The boy pulls out his phone, noting the time, then appears to remember where he is and slides on a thin Customer-Service™ smile, insisting with barey-concealed annoyance that it’s fine, he’s fine, there’s nothing to apologize for.
Hitoshi takes the time to look the boy over. He has messy, curly black-green hair, purple rings beneath his eyes, and emerald irises that almost make Hitoshi pause in how striking they are. He looks to be around Hitoshi’s age, with tan skin covered with smatterings of freckles and the occasional pale-pink color of scars. He has a few smaller thin scars visible on his face; one on the bridge of his nose, another on his cheekbone, and the final one cutting through his right eyebrow. There are also a few scars reminiscent of starbursts visible climbing up his neck. Hitoshi notes the crooked fingers on the boy’s left hand too. Did he have broken bones that healed improperly? Despite that, his hands are actually really nice…
The realization sinks in that Hitoshi just checked out a boy’s hands. In a shitty fast food restaurant.
I’m so fucking gay. My dads would be laughing at me so much if they were here.
Hitoshi inhales deeply, trying to clear his mind.
Reign it in, Hitoshi, reign it in .
_
Izuku returns to his apartment that day with one fewer job, but hey, at least he got that cute dude’s contact info. The poor guy was trying to act nonchalant the whole time he was checking Izuku out, but turned into an actual mess when he actually asked for the guy’s phone number.
Back to the point though; Izuku will have to call in a few favors. Didn’t someone know a guy who owns a convenience store? Locating his notebook for just this purpose, he scans the pages, taking note of a few names who owe him and have the resources necessary to get him another job.
Either Takahashi, Shiota, or KJ seem to be my best options… fuck it, I’ll call in KJ’s debt. Kami knows he’s anxious to call it even.
_
For perhaps the first time in Izuku’s life, the meeting goes smoothly.
KJ is all too eager to cash in the favor, giving Izuku the contact info for an all but guaranteed gig at a friend’s cousin’s store.
It’s over in a matter of minutes, KJ shows up, gives him the information and leaves. No funny business or small talk. Both parties satisfied with the outcome, KJ doesn’t owe Izuku a cent and Izuku’s on track to pay rent.
If only every transaction was like that.
If only, indeed.
_
Hitoshi lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The events of the day flicker across his mind and he buries his face in his pillow as his thoughts once again catch on the boy.
(“Like what you see?” Hitoshi freezes, gaze darting away from the guy’s toned arms.
“I, uh- sorry, I just-” His words catch in his panic. He clears his throat, pasting a smirk on his face, “I lost my number, can I have yours?” Hitoshi’s heart pounds in his chest. The guy raises an eyebrow, then pointedly grabs another napkin from the mound Uraraka had created.
(She’d dragged Iida out of the restaurant for making a scene a little while ago, the boy apologizing profusely the whole way, which means that Hitoshi has to help the guy wipe juice off of the table in awkward silence.)
The guy uses up the last of the napkins and walks away. Hitoshi berates himself mentally for blowing his chance. Damn Kaminari and his stupid pick-up lines!
Hitoshi looks up in surprise as the boy returns with a… note? He hands it to Hitoshi wordlessly, and turns to leave once again.
“... What is this?” The guy stops and stares at Hitoshi expectantly. When Hitoshi doesn’t move to open the note, the guy chuckles.
“My number. Unless you don’t actually want it?” Hitoshi sputters, not having expected that. The guy nods at that, seemingly taking his reaction as confirmation. “Good. Text me.”
“Wait, what-what should I call you?” Hitoshi can’t keep calling him ‘the guy’ in his head, and he especially can’t put it down as his contact name. The guy just points at his nametag and oh, Hitoshi really should’ve seen that sooner. With that the guy-- Midoriya, Hitoshi corrects himself, his name is Midoriya-- smiles, a bright thing, and leaves. For real this time.
Hitoshi meets back up with his friends in front of the restaurant, and the journey back to the dorms is a blur. )
Recalling the interaction, as awkward and embarrassing as it had been, makes Hitoshi blush. He pulls out his phone and debates texting Midoriya. He’s probably sleeping right now, but if I don’t do it right now I’ll probably psych myself out…
Fuck it.
_
You have 1 unread message
Unknown Number
> hey is this midoriya?