Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The following is a transcript of a conversation in a police station regarding the quirk of subject R̸͍̥̭͖͕̾͝E̸̞̯͚͔̲͖̍Ḑ̵̰̈̓̿Ą̸̝́͌̅͝C̴̡͌͐̍͛͜͠T̶͉̙̤͙͛̍̽É̴̥̈̈́D̶͉͖̥̘̥̍̿

Alright, I’ve done some research on him, and here’s what’ve got. 

Go on.

(Clears throat) The first a̷c̶c̴i̸d̶e̸n̷t̸ occurred when R̶͍̞̦̋́̈́͋͝E̶̺̬͘D̸̹͓͛͐̑͋́͌A̸̝̖̠̣̫̣͠C̴͔͔̥̅̕͝Ť̴̖̹̀̉̍̕Ē̶̱̪̜͙̽͜D̴̼̖͖̔͛̿̐̂͠ͅ was five years old. 

He’d been d̷i̶a̴g̷n̴o̷s̸e̸d̶ ̷with quirklessness. He had n̶o̶ ̸s̸i̷g̴n̷ ̷o̵f̷ ̴a̶ ̵q̸u̵i̴r̵k̴.̴ ̷Nothing.

But one day, he’d been out and about, c̷h̷a̸s̶i̸n̶g̸ ̸h̶i̷s̵ ̵f̶r̸i̴e̵n̶d̷s̸,̴ ̶w̶h̴e̴n̶ ̸s̷o̷m̴e̵t̶h̶i̸n̴g̶ ̴h̵a̷p̷p̶e̵n̴e̶d̶.̸ ̵

 ̵̙̊T̸̰̄h̵̰͘é̸̲ ̷͕̊w̷̠͑ĭ̴̮ẗ̵̫́n̸̦͌e̴͖͐s̴͙̚ş̸̓é̶͚s̵͔̕ ̸̼͠w̴̄ͅe̷͇̋r̴̬̆e̶̘̿ ̷̹͝T̵͚͠s̵̜͆u̶͎͝b̵͉́a̶͇̔s̸̡͑a̵̪͗ ̷̭͑Y̷̦͂a̷̫͌m̴̯̊a̷̫͊d̵͇͛à̵͉,̵͇̅ ̸̯͗S̶̮̿h̴̭̕ó̵̲ǘ̵̙m̸̨͝ȧ̷̰ ̶͖̐K̷͍̍i̶̪ṁ̷̤i̷̛̪y̵͝ͅö̷̺,̶̻̀ ̷̳̅ȁ̷͉n̶̙̉d̷̘̓ ̸̘͝K̶̡̬͇͗͐͠a̶̭̎̅͐̚ṭ̶̰̍s̸̮̒u̸̧͖͎͑k̶͔̺͈͑ī̶̲̹̃ ̴̲͗͒̌B̶͎̘̍͂͌͘ả̵͖̐k̴͔̥͆u̴͌̊ͅġ̵̞̾̿ỏ̷̲u̸̓̄̊͜.̸̮̦͉̔̑

 ̵͔̃̈́̊F̸̗͐r̷̭͝ỏ̶̪͌̓m̴̺̒ ̶͗̃ͅţ̶̀̆̕͝ḧ̶̪͉́̚ȩ̸̨̇͋̚ ̶͔͙͍̠͊̎̒̒w̷̟̺̯͌̽ï̵͔͚̔͜t̶̖̝͝ņ̶͍́̄̀e̷̤̰̫̻͗̆̌s̸͎̎̐̕s̴̘̤̟̝̔ ̸̙͖̈́́͝ạ̴̡̠͐͑c̷̺͉̈́c̵̠̬͐͑ơ̴̼̩͍͙u̶̲̱̓͊̅n̸͙̩̰̓̈́̌ț̸̻̭͐͑s̴̺̞̏͑,̵̲͖̩̥̍͆ ̶̼̩͌w̵̡̐̀̅h̴̪̒̊͆ȁ̵̞̙̬͈̐́̕t̴͕̿̆̚ ̵̰̩͗ä̸̢̹̻͓́̉͆p̸̮̱̘̃̅̾p̷̗͍̍̌e̵͓̩̓a̶̬̩̟͇͐r̶̫̄̍̋̒s̴̢̀͗́ ̷̘̔͆͒̕t̷͇̺͚̂́͠ö̶̪̺́͛ͅ ̶̦͋̎̈́̕h̸̭̘̩͐̓͆a̵̧̙̐̈́̃v̶̛̖͆̏e̶͓̪͉̲͆ ̷̺̭̃̀h̸̰̭̞͑͐̾͘a̸̢̺̔̀̅p̸̡̺͊̉p̵̝͍̬͎͆͐e̷͉̎̉n̶̟͕̦̂e̷̟̦͂̃̕d̷̼̲͎̕ ̵̱͍̇̈ḯ̵̜͈͇͉̏͘s̶̤̋͘ ̴̧̟͜t̴̨̼̗͉͝h̵̥̉͂͝ạ̴̖̗̌̈́̏̎t̴͉̭͗̿ ̷̞̟̑t̷̛̫̦̠͗ͅh̵̩̣̺̿͑̐̕e̸͔͇͉͐̑͛y̶͖͇͚̑ ̸̙̿̓͐ẃ̴̖͔̏̾̓ë̶̳́̽̈́͝ͅr̸͔̫͚͍̊͊ḛ̶̡̝̈́ͅ ̴̨͇̪̆a̴̹͋ţ̷̦̳̈́ẗ̵͍̭́͛̒̆a̵͉͕̠̎c̵̜̱̿́k̴͔͗ė̵̹̋̃d̵͈͐͝ ̶̛̫̱̙b̵̨͇̣̍y̷̺͗͌͆̌ ̴͉̐ͅã̵̢͓̜ ̵̡̳͚̣̄v̷͈̦̼̻͊̇į̴̱̺͖̓l̴͔̤̓l̴͉̣̄͒͝ą̷̭̿̚ḯ̷̦̈n̵̲̎͌̉͝.̴̱̜̟̈̏̋͜ ̷̼̂Ť̷͈̦̗̀̅h̵͎̝̋̑͊͗e̷͖͗̂̽ ̶̥͈̾̃͝v̶̤̇î̵̠̮̫͖̒l̷̞̽̈́̿ļ̴͉̹̈͌ā̵̦i̸̞̹̱͂n̴̢̥͇͒̅͝s̸̙͍̋̾͑ ̴̢̫ͅn̶͚͉͑̎̍̌à̴̙͖̩͛m̵̡͔͆e̷̲͌̋̌ ̵̧̛̜͉͗͊w̵͓̝̟͛̽ͅä̴͍͕̐̍s̸̯̫̐͋ ̶̫̺̠̯̃̃̿̒K̴͉̹̲̂̃͐̓o̷̢͇͛̍͌k̸͔͋o̴̦̝̱̦̐r̵̡̛̬̞̾̍u̴̝̥̹̳͒̈́̈́ ̴͕̰̂͊̆͂K̵̦͔̘̊a̴̛̜̳̗͗͝n̸̠͙͆b̸̘͗͛̍a̸͚̽,̴̼̳̑ ̴̣̝̞͒̃a̷͈͎̍̚k̵̛̰͊͋̚a̴͉̭̕ ̸̡͕̙̾͂͛O̶̳̅͝x̶̡̡̆i̵̡̾͊̍d̵̖̲͎̐̒̕e̵̡̛͍͘,̶̛̬͈͕̓͊ ̸̥̈́̎̉͐a̵̟̰͝n̸͇̊̌̕ͅd̷̞̗̀ ̶̘̣̣͖̅̆̑͂h̷͚̺͉͔̓̐i̴̛̟̾͋͝ś̶͙̮̣̱̊ ̶͔͈̍̃̕q̶̢̛̰̂͘͝u̵̝͂̊͂i̵͔̩̪͒̐r̷͍̥̪̖̉͊k̵̨̮̗̀͛̚ ̵̦̇͜w̸̪͋a̵̡̼͂͆̋͘s̷̢̜ ̵͈̗́̾͝o̶̡̘͕͎̓x̸̡͉͆̋͆͝y̴̤g̵̣͈̟̿ͅę̸̨̛̻͔̎̔͌n̸̨̡̛̺͝͝͝ ̸͖̥̎m̶̞̔̓̏̔ḁ̴͑ṅ̸͈̃i̸̢̥̳p̸̝̯̜̫̓͊͝u̵̟͍̰̾͗l̴̛͍͙͉̊̕a̵͕̖̮͊͊̈t̸̟̾i̴̟̮̎o̵͇̠͙͐̊̿̑n̸̨͈̦̍.̵̠͒ ̴̗͈̺͋̈́H̸̲͍͗ȅ̴̖̀ ̷̙͖̣̟̅h̸̛̖͑̾ạ̸͇̥͑d̵͖̺̂̃͠ ̸̖̲̰͊̍͝a̵̡͇̫͗͋̕ͅt̸̜̆t̷͕̙̩͌̈́͘ą̷͉̜͖̐̉̈͑c̶̟͒̎̈́͝k̶̡̝̻͝ē̸̢̲͖͑͛̕d̸̝̹̙̠̔̏̅͝ ̸͉͖͙̎̾͠ẗ̴̰̤̠̪͊͐h̷̠̭̤̚e̷͙̲̣̔ ̴̺̏̎̋b̸̻̺̹̻̆o̶̮̞̘͐̊͛ͅy̶͙̏̍́̓s̵̨̅̆̾̋ ̵̹̼̳̺̈b̵̳̏̇y̶̩̝͌̃ ̷̡̡̱̋ḍ̶͐r̷̝̾͒͑a̷̰͊g̷͙̼̲͆̄̉̑g̸̡̫̺̕ȉ̸ͅṅ̷͕͝g̵̡̻͎̤͐̍̓ ̷̹̯͋̈́t̵͓̻͉̿h̸̨̪̪͐͗͘ë̸͔́̒ ̵̲̘͛͛̉̈ȯ̸̞͌͐x̶̘̕ỹ̸̭̿͋̕g̶̨͚̬͍͋̎e̵͕̤̱̹̎̀n̸͕̜̙̟͂̆ ̵̨̪͍̭͌̊̊̍o̸̩̺̠͒̾u̷̹̎̊̍t̶̥̎̑ͅ ̵͉̍̇̑͊o̴̡̾̈̂f̴̡͓̈̾̄ ̴̙͉̘͠ͅt̶̛͈̄̕͠h̵̩̐̒̑ë̸̟̦́͝i̴͈̽ŗ̸̛̓͑ ̶̧͊̀l̷͈̘̙̃̍̇͝ų̴͙̝̽͑n̴̞̔́͗g̵̫͘s̴̛̲̙̓̌̀,̷̗̋̅̓̓ ̵̳̉a̵͉̟̽̕n̸̡̪͓̘̑d̷̛͔̿͂̉ ̵͖͍͖̋͒̆͝ȟ̶̡̡̖̟̿̕͝ą̷̟͖̬̑͝d̵̠̙͓̩̐͆̿̑ ̷̨͓̬̰̓̿͝s̵̮̫̎̀͑t̶̨̬̺̘̄̆ạ̷̡̬̌̉ͅŗ̶̦̋̓t̷͚̜̘̎̒̌͘͜e̵̝̻̅̑͘͝ḓ̵̮́͊͝ ̶̥̎t̴̖̘̖̻͒͝o̸͗ͅ ̶̥̫̝͓̽̒̈̏s̵̢͖̘̏ͅū̵͍̳̻̕c̷̘̗̄͜k̴̈́ͅ ̸̢͍̣̞̌t̷̨͒͆͜h̵̺̉̀͂̽e̵͎͈̬͂ͅ ̵̩̍͒̐m̸̳͔͆̉o̵̢̦͉͋͜͝i̷͓͒̄̕s̸̙͚̟̖̃̎ť̷̫̈́u̶͓̣͕̟̓̄̈r̶̙͇̅̾͝ë̶̝̬́͂̋͘ ̸̡͖̹͇ȍ̴̤̤̻̈́u̸̘̩̝͐̐̒ͅt̷̨̿ ̸̭͚͇̬̈̄̕õ̷̤̺̫͇͑f̵̖̲̻̋̎͆ ̸̡̘̼͎̓͊Ḳ̴̂͘͠a̶͇̞͗t̷̻̯̖͌s̷̢̰̀̔͘ṵ̴̬͈̌̏̔k̴̡̹͎̣̂ì̸̺͕͕̣ ̷͉͈̎́̔̚ͅB̵̟̫͠ạ̸̟̬̒͗̉k̵̪̺͋͜u̵̜̾̃̈͠g̶͎͎͋o̸̧͈̘̒̎͒u̴̖͎͋̀’̶̨̛̭̼͆͌s̸̫̀̃̿ ̷̢̞̩͑ṡ̸̢͎̏̑̿k̶̫̏̓i̷͙̓͊͘ṇ̷̨͖͙͛.̶̗̤̻͈͌̐͝ ̶̡̂̈B̵̤̺̞͔̎͌̄͝ų̸̘͉̯̀͗͋ẗ̶̖̮̜ ̶̛̳̗͎̝̅s̸̪͈̪͑̒͐͘o̷̙̓͛̈́͛m̴̗̃̎e̴̡̦̺̞͒̄͝h̴̢̙͓̮͌̔o̶̧̮̥̿̈̈w̶̩̻̞͑̐͂̅,̵̻̘̝̄͘ ̷̗̝̠̪̊̍t̸̙̖̳̖̀̅̑h̸̲̄͝e̵̼̦̍̐̅ ̴̢͈͓̌v̵̨͉̺̊͒͜i̵̢͉͎̭̅͐̏l̶͊̑͜l̸͙̝͙̇͋͌͛a̶̺͕͑̽̽i̵̞̊̽n̸̡̝̪͉̍̀’̶͈̐̓̕s̵̝̎̆̚ ̸̞̐̏̑̽h̵͇̣̮̑̆e̴̦̺̋̿â̸͑̽͜d̶̟̾͐̅ ̸͕̦͓̏́͒͜s̵̫͙͎̒̃̄͝p̶̤̲̍̚ơ̵̰̬̹̟n̵̲̗͍̟̒͑͑͠t̶̰̖̰̗́̓̅͠ã̴̢̀͋͌n̶͓̮̳͇͗͑̊͗ĕ̷͎͂̀̈́ö̷̢́ủ̴̫̉̌ŝ̶̡͝l̸̳̞͎͋͒̚ÿ̸̛̭̜̃͌ ̶̨̫̤͖̓̉͌c̵͓͎͎͍̎̈͑o̴̗̥͍͑m̸̡̻̫̙͌͝b̸̖̠͕͍͒u̴̡̳̟̯̒̆̏s̷̭̅̀̏ͅt̴̻͑e̸̡͆̿d̵̮̟͚̳̓̎͂.̸̹͉̜͔̃

 ̴̧̓̄͋͒H̷̞̟̞̘͐̇o̷̡̮̪̓w̶͍̰̳͠ ̴͚̿̈́̽t̶̡̙͋ͅh̶̡̨͔͗̍ĭ̵̛̬̂͝s̴̲̹͂̚ ̷̛͕͈̈́͗͗ĥ̵̩̽̋̅ã̷͙̳͗̈́̄p̷̮͋p̴̺̭̄̈è̵̢͍͜n̵̯͚̰͔̿e̶̬̺̩͑̈́͗͝ḍ̶̛̦̈́ ̶̠̮̓̈̚î̷̟̃s̷̡̡͓̮̑̄͋̎ ̷̦͓͗a̶͖̿̃ ̷̻̪̌m̶̟̅̈ÿ̶̲́̓s̶̻̣͙̀͗͝ͅt̶̻̱̘̭̏̌̽͑e̵̜͒̑̔͝r̶̭̠̹̍y̷̞͕̩̻̚.̶̢͉̩̆̽ ̶̢͕̕Â̴̤̝͠͝ḻ̷̘̩̽ͅl̶̯͘͠ ̸̰̬͇̑̏͂t̴͕̄̅̌h̷̭̰̃͛r̶̩̼̗̀é̶̹̩̬̚͝ẽ̴̡̡͉̤ ̵̧͓̝̉͒b̴͎̲̱̙̀̋̇̔ǫ̴̧̜͓̐̕y̸̼͓̭̌̓s̴͕͓̆͒͂̊ ̷̞͚͇̈́͝q̴̢̭̩͔̄u̷̢̞͂̑̆̒ͅi̷̯̤̬͉͒͋r̴̹͙̲͎͋̐k̸͔̼̇̽̌̉s̴͕͋͑̚ ̷̧͉̭͘c̶̲̏ỏ̴̼̄͛ǘ̶̠͓̦̆ͅľ̶̙͚̞d̷̞̻̽̈̒̆n̶̢̞̩̓̒͘’̶̦̗̩̽̏̌͜t̶͕̠̗͝ ̶̯̞̃̆͛h̵̦͈͆͌á̷̧̲̍͌̍v̷̢̛̗̙͇̕e̴̼̦͒ ̸̰̥̩͍̽̉͋d̶̨̤̓͛̔͠ö̶̟̭͔͘n̶̢̙̗̘̍́ḛ̶̛̒̅̚ ̶̺̯̟̾͊t̷̠̥̃̉͂h̸̹͛͒͝î̸̝͓͈̑s̴̗̐̕͝.̶͚̜͙͙̎ ̵̛͔͓̎͗T̷͚̟͘s̸̼̗͗ͅư̴͍͚͐́̏b̷̡̰͔͐̌̆ä̷̳̙́͑͝s̴̠̗̱̻͝a̶̰̗͈̪͐͝’̸̥̳̝̔̚s̸̡̭̾̒͜͠ ̶͖̈̎̚q̴̟̙̈́̾ǔ̸̧̟̞̥͐͝i̸̛͚̘̩͚͐̌r̸͈̂̿͘k̵̰͆̓ ̷͖̈͠w̴̻͕͚͌̏a̷̡̧̖͐̇ͅṣ̴̌̂͗ ̴̡̗̤̅̚ẇ̷͜i̷̦͊n̸̖̱͛̚ͅg̷͚̥̾̔̚s̸̙͎̣̎̈́̚,̴̨̒͛̕ ̸̧͍̫̈̑͐̂K̸̻̼̻͎͐̅͛͘i̵̢̼̳͝m̷̡̼͖̤i̸̗̫̜̔͜y̷̼͒̒ö̸͉̭̤͖̈́͘’̵̥͗͝s̴̩̯͓̙̋ ̸̢̠͗ͅq̸̪̬͉̫͝ů̷͎͉i̸͐̂̃̊ͅr̷̹̻̳͖̎k̶̢̺͓̳̈͐̍̈́ ̸̮̤͈̐͋w̶̳̞̹͍̑́̕a̵̧͚̦̒̔̕̕s̴̈́̉ͅ ̵̦͚̅̀̂f̴͈͎̫̈͗̒ȉ̸̡̮̫̓̕ñ̶̡͇g̷͇̾̉͠è̷̟r̴̨͇̘͕̀͂ ̸̨͓̘̦̽ë̵̬̗̬̜́x̶̻̰̳̃̍͗t̶̗͍͆͊̊̌e̷̤̽̈́̓̚n̸̽͆ͅs̷͒̓͘ͅi̸̻̻͉̎͋̉̇͜o̶̡̺͊̿ṋ̵͛͊,̵̡̓̔͌̃ ̷͔̺̊̒͂̓ȁ̸̯͌͑n̴̡̥̳͚͂͘d̸͖̈́ ̶̰̙̘B̴̬̽͒a̷̠̗͇̒͂̆ḳ̸͍̳̿͊ụ̵͓̮̿̓̂͝g̸̡͍̔o̷̡̭̣͚̾́ǘ̴̡̑̍’̵͔̜̒̇̾͊͜s̸̮̍̆̚ ̵͎̦̳̦͒q̶͈̭̯̽̃ư̸̗̮̊̾͘i̵̡̮̺͌̓͆r̵̠̱͝ͅk̴̗̯͆̍͠ ̸̫̄̅w̵̡͖̑̾̓a̷͠ͅs̴̩͎̙̉̂͑ ̷͙̫̐e̶̡̛̩͐̂̚x̵͈͕̔́ṕ̴̤̳̮l̷̰̰̍ǫ̸̈́̆̐s̵̢̳̥̖̃̾i̸̢̟̝̖͐o̸͎͓̪͗͆̾͐n̷͚̄̄̾,̵̨̘̒ ̵͙̽̂̕͜b̷̡̑u̴̯̗̥̝̇t̸͖̥̪͌̐̊̚ ̶̨͈͙̺͝͠h̸͔̮̻̄͝e̶͙̊͂̒ ̷̙̗̤͓̽͠w̴̨̠͖͌̃̉͊͜a̷͈͂̉͝ͅs̴̠̯͖̒ ̴̦̦̝̑̀̇̕ú̴͔̲̬n̵̢̹̒̉̋͠c̸͚̰͈͇̍̋o̵͕̼̊̀̓n̵̲͎̣̑͐̿͜š̷͖͈̞̝͋̽͝c̷̨͖̣͔̽i̵̬͖̓o̸̯̔̍͠ṳ̶̊̅s̴̍̔͠ͅ ̸͚̰͓̭̿̒ḑ̴̫̦̝́́̀ṹ̷̩̻̭̚r̴̯̿̃̓i̸̫̻̓n̴̮͈̿̋̆ͅǧ̵͓̘̭͝ ̶̤͙͕͉͒t̴̰͕͖͉͌h̴̰̉̍̅e̸̤̟̊̑̉͝ ̶̦͍̗̍s̵̺̻͚̦͝c̷͓ȇ̶̞͓̅n̶̢̘͗͝ē̷͖̕.̸̖̤̉ ̶̟͍̻̜͊̂͒T̴̘̳͍̃͆h̸͖̗̯̃͌̔ë̸͉͇̹́͒ ̶̜̈́̌̽͒o̴̢̽̾̄̕n̴͈̙̠͙̋l̶̫͋͗̿͊y̶͎̕ ̵̘͘͠o̶̰̼̬͒t̸͓͔̠̓̄̈̒h̴̦͇͙͐̃͝e̷̮̪̗̺̾̽r̸͔͙̝͊̂̒̍ ̴̗̼̈́p̸̝̥̠͘͜é̷̡̘̥̋͋r̸͔̙̭̾̔̏͑s̶̗̑̂̎͒ò̶̬̗̳̟͆͝ṋ̴̑̓̔͋͜ ̵̭̬͊͐̉̃p̵̡̉͠r̴͙͕̃͝e̷̢͑̓͑s̷̡̰̓̚̚͜͠ẻ̸̖͇͐͝n̷̲̲̑̒͑t̵͉̙͈͗͝ ̷̰̗̳̞͆w̸͇̤̹̒͜a̷̩̤̅̈́ş̸̺͊ ̵͍̤̜̔͂ͅM̷̧̛̙̺̤̪͚̪̻͎̰̣̲̙̼̮͋̄̿͊̓̉̇͝i̵̘̱͕̺̳̗͗̈̍̆͝ͅd̴̫͙͔͗͑̃̓͑̓͒͑͛̆̓͑̕͝o̸͇͔͚̹͕̤̯͖̬͚͖͎̟̠͗̈́̑̈́̇͝ͅr̶̛̜̩̄̃͐͂̍̾̔̔̕͠i̸̢̩͋̾̈́̊̇͋ŷ̸̢̰̝̭͇̥̮̜͕͖̥̃̈́̒̾̑͆͒̾̔ą̷̩̱͕͈̭͖͖̟͒́͠ ̸̦̭̖̫͇̻̔́͂̉̉̿́͆̀͌Į̶̨̛̣͎͖̥̲̲̤̈́̔͆̍͑̈́̾̋͐̀̓͊̕z̵̧̜̤̹̗͓͚͔̓̃̿͊̅͘͘͜ͅừ̵̧͙̖͎͎͓̹͔͎̏́̃̈́̌̚͠͝ͅḱ̶̡̢͉̣̱̼̹̩͕̲͋͊̈́u̷͙̺̜̩̦̺̱͍̪̓̓̾́̇̌̓̋̀͗͒͊̔́̆͜.̷̜̪̞͚̯̻̝̪̭̑̈́͋͜͠ ̸̢̛̜̼̯̣̻͔̞̝͚̙̣̩͊̆̎̇͛́̈́͋̽̀̈́ͅ

delete.

Aizawa blinks. 

The sight around him is not pretty. Bricks litter the streets, rubble and debris scattered about like a child would throw their toys in a temper tantrum. There’s glass directly under his feet, he realizes, when he shifts in place. All around him, smoke filters through the air, thick and cloying, stinging his skin. One of his palms has a cut on it. There’s a distinct throbbing in his head, but when he reaches up to touch it, he feels no wound. 

He looks back down at his hands. There’s no glass in them, calloused and bare. 

He’s not quite sure how he got here. 

“Oi, Eraser!” And he blinks again, turning dazedly to see Present Mic dragging an unconscious lady out of the rubble. “What’re you doing, help me!”

“R-Right.” He grabs the lady’s left arm, and the two of them tug her out, the paramedics dashing out to intercept them, pushing her onto a stretcher and dragging her away. Aizawa watches them recede into the smoke, mind still reeling from… from something. 

“What happened?” He asks quietly, as he and Mic climb back down into the rubble below. 

“No idea.” He replies, brushing soot out of his blonde bangs, eyes narrowed and focused underneath his sunglasses. “This building just kinda exploded out of nowhere. Hasn’t been used in ages either. My guess is that some gangs might have done this?”

No, that’s not right, Aizawa wants to say, but he has no idea why. Scratch that, he actually has no idea in general what exactly is happening. There’s static in his brain, and a sinking feeling in his gut, like when he forgets his keys, or doesn’t feed his cats. 

He’s… forgetting something.

“HELP!!”

The world snaps back into crystal clear motion, as if the settings around him had just been switched to 4K. Aizawa turns, searching for the source of the voice, nudging Mic to get him to listen. He turns to the rubble to his left, the source of the screaming. 

“HELP! HELP! I - WE’RE STUCK DOWN HERE, SOMEONE HELP!!”

“There.” Aizawa points to a patch of rocks, covering what looks like to be a hole of some sort. They rush down, Aizawa’s scarf activating to throw the debris aside. “We found them!” He shouts, waving for the rescue team. With the last rock pushed away, the paramedics begin to sprint over, as the rest of the rescue team hops down the hole.

Aizawa moves to hops down as well, but one of the first responders shoves him aside. “Get out of the way!” He yells, before adding more quietly; “Go find the rest of them. We’ll take care of this - GET THE PARAMEDICS ON STANDBY!”

Aizawa and Mic comply, pulling themselves out of the hole. “Sensei!” Aizawa jolts, seeing some of the 1-A students run towards him, and what are they doing here? What is happening right now?! “We can’t find Bakugou!” Someone yells. Aizawa blinks, snapped back to reality, the gravity of the situation dawning on him. “We were wondering if you have?” Someone - Yaoyorozu, it’s Yaoyorozu asking him this, pushes forward, soot all over her face. 

“I haven’t.” Aizawa admits. “I -”

“Hey!” One of the first responders is running back over to him - god, there’s so much happening right now - waving frantically. “We found what looks like a hero trainee under there - this kid yours?” He asks, gesturing behind him. 

Aizawa turns to look, and blanches. Sure enough, being pulled onto a stretcher, is Bakugou, right side of his face - 

-Well, it’s not pretty. Aizawa winces, turning away as the rest of 1-A runs to him - but stops. 

Because there’s someone else being loaded onto the stretcher next to him. 

Bakugou, despite looking half dead, is still grabbing tightly onto the other person’s arm, to the point where two paramedics have to wrench his death grip off. As they’re being wheeled into separate ambulances, Aizawa catches a glimpse of the boy’s face - freckled, sallow, and dead looking. 

(And Something clicks into place.)

As the ambulances drive away, and the rescue operation continues, Aizawa stands stock still, as activity and people flow around him. His mind is racing with this sudden realization, heart pounding out of his chest - he feels like he can’t breathe. 

“...Shouta?” Aizawa turns to see Mic standing next to him, pulling his sunglasses off. “You… okay?” 

Aizawa doesn’t respond, blinking once, twice, three times. 

“You get hit in the head? Need to sit down?”

“...Hizashi?” 

Mic looks up at the use of his first name, brow crinkling. 

Aizawa looks back on him, something resembling horror on his face. 

“I’m supposed to be dead.” 

Mic blinks, taken aback. “...You mean when you got hit on the head?” He laughs awkwardly. “I can assure you, you’re just -”

“No, you don’t understand.” Aizawa fixes Mic with a dead serious and wide-eyed stare. A face he’s never made in his life. “I’m supposed to be dead.” 

“He’ll make a full recovery.” The entirety of 1-A sighs in relief at Recovery Girl’s prognosis for Bakugou, and Aizawa can’t help but breathe in relief too. At least one thing will have gone right today. “However, the damage to the right side of his face is pretty extensive - I doubt he’ll be able to use that eye again.”

“Oh.” Kirishima sits back down, that statement certainly putting a damper on everyone’s mood. “How long is he gonna be here?” He asks. 

“Give it two weeks.” Recovery Girl replies. “Maybe more, maybe less.”

“Probably less, considering how stubborn he is.” Someone - Mina - points out. That earns a soft chuckle out of a few students, and Aizawa wishes he could join in. Instead, he turns to look at the exit, knowing that the other boy is most likely housed in this hospital as well. 

“Now shoo, back to the dorms. He needs peace and quiet for a full recovery.” Recovery Girl snaps, back to business. One by one, each student takes their leave. Aizawa stays, watching them leave, before turning back to Recovery Girl. 

“What about the other boy who was with them?” He questions.

Recovery Girl sighs. “He’s in here somewhere.” She replies, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “But it’s odd - the boy doesn’t show up in any of our records, as well as the police’s.”

Aizawa arches a thin eyebrow. Now that gets his attention. “What’s his name?” He asks. 

“Mikumo Akatani.” She answers. “He told us that himself, but that’s all he remembers.” 

“Seriously?” Great, on top of everything else, now they had an amnesia patient. 

“It’s not just that.” Recovery Girl continues, eyes deadly serious as she holds out the electronic file. “As far as records go, this boy doesn’t even exist.”

The police tell him basically the same thing - Mikumo didn’t remember anything except his name, he had no records to speak of, and was essentially a walking blank slate. Aizawa is beyond confused by this point, unsure of how this boy ties into the sense that he wasn’t supposed to be here, but knowing it was relevant somehow. All they had to go on was some security footage that may contain him, but they haven’t done a thorough enough check of it to even be sure it was him. 

Very helpful. 

Aizawa is tempted to go in and just question the boy directly, but stops himself. If the boy truly had no memories, it’d be best not to interrogate him in his confused state. 

Besides. We all know how well last interrogation went -

Aizawa blinks, that train of thought feeling… foreign in his head. What WAS the last interrogation he had been a part of? It must have been months ago - for some petty criminal who ended up having ties to the underground black market. He had ended up squealing, so all things considered, it went pretty well. 

“Do you think his memory loss is the result of a Quirk?” Aizawa posists. 

“That seems unlikely.” The Chief of Police replies, scratching his stubbly chin. “If it was, we’d still have a record of him. But as is, it’s like he just… popped into this world yesterday.” 

“Maybe he looked completely different?” Another policeman pipes up. 

“So… memory alteration then?” Aizawa interjects. 

“Still probably not likely. His hair color is natural, as are his eyes.” The Chief butts back in. “We’ll mark it down as caused by the villain Puzzle for now, and get to the bottom of it later.”

Puzzle, the codename for cases that remained unexplained. That seems like a good start for the moment, so Aizawa nods and hands the case file back to the Chief, who takes off down the hallway. The rest of his men follow suit. 

Aizawa is left standing by Mikumo’s hospital room, unsure of what exactly to do next, or where to go. 

Then, he spots something. 

A figure, shuffling down the hallway, silhouetted in light. 

Aizawa squints, trying to make out who this vaguely humanoid person is lurching towards him, hand firmly on the railing attached to the right side of the hall. The figure looms closer, and Aizawa starts to feel dread in his stomach, fight-or-flight mechanism kicking in. “Who’s there?” He shouts down the hall. 

The figure doesn’t respond. 

“Whoever that is, you’d better speak up, or I’ll have to call the security!” Aizawa says again. The figure lurches forward, stepping into the light, and Aizawa braces himself - 

Blonde hair brushes past him, and Aizawa blinks to see Bakugou, face tightly bandaged and hair messier than usual, stumbling down the hallway, hand firmly the right railing to make up for his lack of sight on that side. Completely ignoring him, Bakugou plows on by, seemingly focused on a single goal. 

“...Excuse me?” Bakugou stops, turning to look at him. “I’m fairly sure you’re supposed to be in your hospital room right now.” Aizawa says, crossing his arms. 

“And I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be in a retirement home, but here we are.” Bakugou shoots back, turning away and continuing his walk. Aizawa’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at being brushed off like that, and he trails after him, grabbing his left arm. 

“What are you doing up?” Aizawa questions. 

Bakugou yanks his arm out of Aizawa’s grasp, scowling. “None of your damn business.” He scowls. 

“As your teacher, I’d argue it is.”

“I’m just going to talk to the guy I rescued, okay?” Bakugou snaps, but it’s more… defensive than usual. Odd. “Is that a crime around here?” 

“Actually, right now, yes it is.” Aizawa replies. “The police are currently under orders not to let him see anyone.”

Bakugou crosses his arms, sticking his neck out. “That’s bullshit.” He scowls. 

“I didn’t make it up, so don’t complain to me.” 

“I’m going in anyways.”

“No you’re not -” Aizawa grabs Bakugou’s arm again, and this time, it’s violently yanked away, Bakugou whirling around to face him. “You need to stop.” Aizawa snaps. 

“And YOU need to piss off!!” Bakugou shots, loud voice echoing throughout the empty dark halls. “Can you just let me see Izuku Midoriya?!"

Silence. Aizawa blinks, registering that statement.

“...Who?” He asks. “You mean Mikumo?” 

Bakugou stumbles back as well, brow furrowed, before something resembling defeat crosses his face. “...Nevermind.” He mutters, turning away. “Forgot his name. My bad.” 

…That hadn’t been particularly convincing. 

But the name - Izuku Midoriya - sounded chillingly familiar. 

“Wait, I-” Aizawa turns to go stop Bakugou, maybe ask him who that was, but he’s gone, turned around the corner, leaving Aizawa alone in the dark halls of the hospital. 

Izuku Midoriya.

Why did that sound so familiar? 

Aizawa walks back to the front entrance in complete silence, mind racing. That name - is it someone he knew? It has to be - maybe a criminal he apprehended or something. Aizawa pulls his police-issued tablet and opens the public records. Pulling up the search bar, he hesitates for a minute, before typing in the name "Izuku Midoriya".

There are no results.

Chapter Text

There’s been a distinct hole in Momo’s life for as long as she can remember. Which is strange, because she’s only really started thinking about it recently. 

It had been a slow, creeping realization that she felt displaced, but it didn’t really fully hit her until one day, during lunch. It had been a completely inconsequential moment, where Momo had just sat down with her tray of food. And as she split her wooden chopsticks in half, a small sliver of it wedged in her thumb. Staring down at it, mild pain ringing out through her entire hand, she was hit with the sudden realization that she has no idea what she’s doing here, or who she even is. 

(She might have cried.) 

That night, as she lay in her bed thinking, the feeling began to shift and morph into something a bit more concrete. Less of a complete and total existential meltdown, and more of an aimless, hollow cold towards anything and everything she was doing. 

Is this… depression? Momo had asked herself. Am I depressed? 

What do I even have to be sad about? 

It’s hard for her to really put into words WHY she’s feeling this way if she doesn’t even know what or who caused it. It’s the main reason why she decides not to tell anyone, considering how nonsensical she feels. 

“Hey, Bakugou!”

Momo looks up from the wooden lines of her desk, lines she had been mentally counting, to see Bakugou, freshly discharged from the hospital, black eyepatch slung over the right side of his face, and a silver crutch under his left arm. His normally disheveled uniform looks even more wrinkled than usual, and there are distinct dark circles under his eyes. Momo can’t really blame him - it had to have been hard to sleep with all the bandages covering his face. 

His gaze lingers on her for a minute. Almost like he wants to say something. 

Momo blinks, and quickly looks away. Why exactly he was staring at her, she has no clue. Still, the image of piercing red boring into her sticks in her mind as he takes his seat, completely ignoring his other classmate’s questions and greetings. 

She looks down at her nails, chewed to stubs. 

She opts to bite them anyways. 

“Nice catch, Momo!”

Momo jolts out of her head, suddenly snatched back to reality. They had been training, playing a practice game of something resembling Capture the Flag, only with a ball instead. Momo had been assigned to the ‘Hero’ team, trying to get the ‘payload’ to their side of Ground Beta. The ‘Villain’ team was tasked with keeping the payload away from the other team at all costs. Someone - Satou, it’s Satou - had thrown the payload her way, and she had caught it, one foot firmly behind the line indicating safety. 

“Time!” Aizawa holds up his hands to get everyone to stop, both Sero and Mina skidding to a halt in front of her. “Payload has been retrieved. Hero team wins.” 

“Hey, you listening?” Someone taps her shoulder, and Momo turns to see a sweaty looking Jirou, smiling bashfully. “I said nice catch.” She continues. 

“O-oh! Thanks!” Momo stutters out, handing the ball back to Jirou. “Sorry, I was kind of spaced out for a minute there.” 

“No problem.” Jirou claps her on the back, before jogging to meet up with the rest of the class in the center of Ground Beta. 

The hole in her gut lessens, if only for a moment. 

Aizawa holds her after class. Momo hangs her bookbag on the side of her chair, before walking to the front, watching the rest of her classmates trickle out the door. Jirou flashes her a thumbs up, and Momo returns it with a strained smile. 

Bakugou passes her on his way out. Again, he doesn’t say anything, just gives her a meaningful look with his one working eye. Momo stares down at the ground in response, waiting for him to leave, cheeks flushed red. Had she done something to offend him? As far as she could remember, they weren’t exactly friends. Hell, Momo’s barely spoken any words to the guy. 

He shuts the door resoundly behind him, and Momo turns to face Aizawa, who looks even more tired than usual. “Sir?” She asks. “Did I do something?” 

“Sit down, you’re not in trouble.” Aizawa replies, waving his hand noncommittally. Momo complies, sitting down on the chair next to the front desk. “I just need to ask you some questions about the other day.” 

“O-oh. Okay.” Momo shifts uncomfortably. She assumes he’s talking about the building collapse - had she broken any rules? Left a civilian behind? Offended someone on the rescue team so bad they put in a formal complaint?

“When Bakugou was hauled out of the rubble, did you notice anything… strange?”

Momo blinks at the question, arching a thick eyebrow. “Notice anything… strange?” She repeats, mind racing. “Strange how?” 

“Anyone else around who shouldn’t have been. Any strange things passing by fast - just anything you can think of that’s out of the ordinary.” Aizawa elaborates. For the first time, Momo notices a hushed, clipped tone to his voice, almost as if he was asking about something he shouldn’t be. 

As if he wasn’t even supposed to be talking to her. 

“N…Not really.” Momo wracks her brain for any details, but the whole event is pretty fuzzy, both literally, with all the ash that had been in the air, and figuratively, the event seeming hazy in her mind. “I guess the building blowing up was kind of odd?” 

“Fair.” Aizawa sighs, standing up, a look of distinct disappointment on his face. “That’s all. You can go now.”

“O-Oh.” That’s it? “Thank you sir.” Momo stands, grabbing her bookbag and heading for the door, before a nagging thought stops her. “...Sensei?” She asks. 

“Yeah?”

“...There was another boy with Bakugou, right? When he got pulled out of the rubble?” 

“...Yes. Why do you ask?” 

“What’s his name?” 

Aizawa’s eyes narrow, but his face betrays nothing. “Mikumo Akatani.” He replies. 

Momo mentally commits that to memory, tucking it away in the back of her mind for later. “Okay. Just wondering. Thank you.” She heads for the door before anything else can be said, kicking it open with her foot. She slides it quietly shut behind her, halls echoing with the sounds of her classmates running down to lunch. 

She turns to join them, and comes face-to-face with a glaring red eye. 

Momo shrieks, jumping back a few feet and dropping her bag. Bakugou gives her a weird look, bending down to pick up her bag and give it to her. “Gotta problem with my face, huh?” He snaps, but there’s a distinct lack of bite to it. 

“N-No, you just startled me. I thought you were down at the cafeteria.” She takes her bag, throwing the strap over her shoulder, before looking back at him. “...Why are you still here?”

“Just forgot some shit.” Bakugou grumbles, rudely brushing by her and kicking the door open. “Move.” Momo watches the door slowly slide shut, before turning away and going back down the hall. 

What was that all about? 

“Nice job.” Todoroki remarks when she blasts down a target, scoring one more point for their team on the practical exercise. “You’re getting pretty good at this.” 

“Thanks!” Momo replies, twirling the pistol she had just created in her hand for added effect. “I’ve been practicing.” Her finger slips, and the gun clatters to the ground, Momo blushing red and moving to pick it up. 

“Yeah, I can tell.” He says, ignoring her mishap as he blasts another airborne target out of the sky with his flames. “It’s really impressive.”

Warmth blooms in her gut, and Momo smiles back, genuine. “No problem.” She says, turning back and resuming the exercise. 

Maybe this was why she wanted to be a Hero. People saying thank you, or good job - it makes Momo feel distinctly less hollow. She likes being helpful. She finds it therapeutic. 

Todoroki and her aren’t exactly friends - the guy isn’t really close with anyone - but they’re cordial. Momo likes his calm, collected presence, punctuated by bouts of occasional strangeness. She’d like to ask him for his number so that they could text more, but she can’t really muster up the courage to put the request out there. Then again, the list of things she’s putting off is starting to get really long. The most pressing of which, being talking to this Mikumo guy. 

Momo isn’t quite sure why exactly she’s latched onto him so much. Hell, she wasn’t even the one to pull him out from the rubble - Bakugou had. But something about the name sounded somewhat familiar. And she can’t shake the nagging sensation that she’s seen him before. 

“Get down!” Momo ducks, shaken out of her stupor, as Todoroki unleashes a massive burst of flame, obliterating the seven target drones that had been circling overhead. Momo peeks out from behind her hands, pulling herself up from the squat she had taken to avoid getting burnt to a crisp. “Pay attention.” Todoroki says, and Momo flushes red once again, looking away. 

“Sorry,” She mumbles. 

But to her surprise, he nods, flashing a small smile her way. “Don’t worry about it.” He says. 

Momo blinks - because she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Todoroki smile before. 

(She asks for his number after class. The very first text he sends her is about the acceptable ratio of potatoes to meat in beef stew, and Momo decides that she likes this guy.) 

Their friendship sort of spirals into existence from there. Momo sits right next to him in class, so they already tended to share notes. But now, between periods, he’d stay and make idle small talk with her - mostly about simple things, like classes or the weather. But it’s progress, progress that Momo is happy for. 

“What’s up with Todoroki and you?” Jirou asks her one day, as she, Momo, and Kaminari sit together for lunch. “You two have been talking a bunch lately.”

“You guys going out?” Kaminari interjects, snatching one of Jirou’s rice balls when she isn’t looking. Momo and Kaminari aren’t quite friends, more so friendly acquaintances via Jirou, but Momo appreciates having him around. Him and Jirou make her feel more normal. 

“No, it’s nothing like that.” Momo replies, rubbing the back of her head awkwardly, sweat pooling at the base of her neck, hair thick and heavy in the sunlight. “We’ve just been texting a lot recently.”

“He gave you his number?” Jirou exclaims, a look of shock on her face. 

“...Yes?” Momo replies, cheeks tinting pink. “Is that weird?” 

“He’s never given us any of his numbers before.” Kaminari sighs, taking a massive bite of his steamed bun. “Much less any attention at all.” 

“I think the past two weeks are the most I’ve ever seen the guy smile.” Jirou remarks, pursing her lips. “He didn’t even smile once when he got second place at the Sports Festival last year.” 

Wait - what?

“Yeah, any of us would have killed to have gotten that far!” Kaminari remarks, and Momo doesn’t even stop him from snatching a lobster roll off her plate, lost in thought. Todoroki got second? She wonders, brow furrowing. No - that can’t be right. Didn’t he place lower? 

“Todoroki didn’t place second, though.” Momo remarks, slapping Kaminari’s hand away from her food. 

“...Yes he did.” Jirou responds, arching an eyebrow. “Remember? Bakugou and him had that big fight where he blew up the glacier and, like, half the stadium.” 

“Yeah, guy’s a menace.” Kaminari interjects, pulling a kernel of rice out of his spiky blonde hair. “He almost took out like, half the stadium with his ice.”

Bakugou getting first - that’s right, that did happen. But Todoroki - he didn’t get second, did he?

“Are you sure he got second?” Momo asks. “I feel like that’s… wrong, somehow.” 

“Wrong in the sense that it makes you mad, or wrong like incorrect?” Jirou responds. 

“The second one.”

“Well, I know for a fact that he placed.” Kaminari says. “I was literally there - and so were you, right?”

“Y-yeah, that’s right.” Okay, this is getting weird. Time to change the subject. “But anyways, we just text about school and stuff like that.”

“You sure that’s it?” Jirou asks, and Momo detects a hint of… jealousy? No, she’s probably reading into it too much.

“I mean…” Excluding the weird half-formed thoughts he sends me at three AM and the articles to bizarre stories I didn’t even know existed? “Yeah, pretty much. But I’m not interested in him if that’s what you're asking.” Momo quickly adds, waving her hands for emphasis. 

“Oh.” Jirou says, looking back down at her food. “That’s good.”

Why is it good? Momo wants to ask, but the bell rings before she can say anything else. 

That night, Momo lays in her bed, mind swirling with the events of the past day. What is happening right now? She wonders. Everything just felt so much more confusing and crystal clear for some reason. Like she had just cleaned the glasses she had been wearing for the past year and a half.

You should talk to Bakugou about this. 

Momo sits up at that train of thought, now completely and utterly confused. What? Why? But that side of her brain is now silent, the idea shooting out of her head just as soon as she had thought it. The idea felt foreign… but also kind of correct? 

No, that was stupid. She’s on even less certain terms with him than Todoroki and her were a week ago. Why the hell she’d ever think to talk to the guy with the emotional capacity of a brick is beyond her. 

She needs to go to sleep. 

But she can’t. Her head’s too loud. 

So she turns on her side, unlocking her phone and opening the text messaging app. Her thumb hovers over Todoroki’s name, before, against her better judgment, she begins to type. 

To: Todoroki

12:37 PM

Hey, you did get second place in the sports festival last year, right?

She closes her phone before she can think about it too much. 

Her dream is cluttered. There are little tiny legs all over her, crawling around her skin. She itches and scratches at it, and when it finally breaks, butterflies come pouring out instead of blood. 

She looks up to see an orange tank, filled with every insect she can think of. The tank bursts open, and they all come pouring out, pushing her backwards. She falls out of the window behind her, into a sea filled with crystal and stars. There’s laughing all around her, the phantom memory of a doll, a gift, under her fingers. Needle and thread weave in and out of her skin, and now she’s the doll, being stitched together, until her stuffing bursts, and she’s a pile of red on the floor-

Momo wakes up with tears in her eyes and an inexplicable urge to talk to Mikumo Akatani. 

The long term care unit Mikumo is housed in is… pleasant. The outside is a nice shade of blue, the roof is tiled with white, and the building isn’t very tall. Thin, scraggly plants line the sidewalk leading to the door, and Momo steps around them, careful to avoid stepping on any of the blue butterflies that have landed on top of them. She looks down at the address Aizawa had given her, then checks the door to make sure that yes, this is the right place. 

The lobby is just as small and clean. The chairs are empty, the only other person in the room being the receptionist, and Momo slowly walks up to her. “Hello?” She asks. “I’m here to see Mikumo Akatani.” 

“Of course.” The lady brightens up a little at that. “He’ll be so happy to see you, poor thing hasn’t gotten any visitors.” Her fingers fly across the keyboard in front of her, and she looks back up at Momo, who smiles tightly in return. “You’re Yaoyorozu Momo?” She asks. 

“Yes.” Momo replies. She had booked herself a visit last night in a haze of half delirium, unsure of why exactly she was doing it. But it’s too late to back out now, Momo realizes, as the receptionist opens the door behind her, turning back to face her and smiling. 

“He’s in room 77, dear.” She says. “Have a good visit!” 

“T-Thank you.” Momo stutters out, unsure of how she should respond. She opens the door to the hallway, and waits until it shuts quietly behind her. 

Walking down the beige hall, she mentally counts the room numbers that she can see. 63, 65, 67… Momo’s stomach starts to churn the closer she gets, until she stops in front of a small white door labeled 77. 

Her hand falls on the doorknob, steel cold against her palm. 

What’s she so nervous about? It’s just some guy - a boy her own age, no less. This isn’t as big a deal as she’s making it out to be.

Despite her logic, Momo still feels inexplicably nervous when she opens the door. 

Mikumo Akatani is nothing to look at. His hair, a dark shade of evergreen, sticks out everywhere, like he had just stuck his finger in an outlet. It cascades over his right eye, but the one she can see is dull and gray - which is weird, because Momo can distinctly remember seeing him with green eyes. He’s skinny, boney, and his eyes are hollowed in, making him look almost ghost-like. 

Momo swallows, realizing just how underprepared she is. 

“...Who are you?” Mikumo asks. 

“I-” Momo inhales, taking a moment to prepare herself. “Hi. I’m Yaoyorozu Momo. I was one of the people who rescued you from the rubble.” 

“Oh.” The reaction is small, and Momo shuffles awkwardly as the two of them sit in silence. “Hi.” He says finally. “I’m Mikumo Akatani.” 

“Hi.” Momo repeats, before mentally clamping a hand over her mouth. “It’s nice to meet you, Mikumo.”

“Yeah.”

Awkward silence.

“Thank you.” 

Momo looks up. 

“For saving me.” Mikumo says, looking down at his boney fingers. “I would have died without your help.” 

“N-No problem.” Momo’s face goes red, and she looks down at the linoleum carpet. It’s not like she had been the one to find him anyways - that had been Bakugou. She has no idea why he’s thanking her - but she’ll take it. It’s nice when people thank her. “How have you been doing?” 

“Okay.” Mikumo shrugs, scratching a scar on his knuckle. “It’s been really quiet, mostly.”

“Oh.” Yeah, not getting a lot of visitors probably got pretty boring after a while. “Any memories come back?” She asks. 

“None yet.” Mikumo replies, dull eyes looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe someday. The doctors said there’s no physical problems with my brain, though.”

“Oh.” Momo isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “That’s… that’s good, right?”

“Yeah.” Mikumo says nonchalantly. “It means I’m not dying.” 

Momo blinks at that dark statement, before chuckling awkwardly. “I guess that’s the best we can hope for some days, huh?” She mutters, more to herself than anyone else. 

To her surprise, Mikumo laughs with her. “Yeah.” He says. “I guess so.”

The conversation comes more easily after that. Momo explains to him about UA, about her classes and studies. Mikumo asks a lot of questions, but he turns out to be very good at listening to her responses. There are a LOT of questions, though. Then again, Momo can’t really blame the guy. He’s got no memory of the world, and now he’s locked up in here. Go figure he’d be hungry for any and all knowledge. 

Momo leaves with a newfound spring in her step, hole in her chest feeling slightly smaller than usual. 

Just then, her phone buzzes. Momo opens it, to see it’s a text from Todoroki - a reply from last night. 

To: Todoroki

2:37 PM

Hey, you did get second place in the sports festival last year, right?

You know, it’s weird. I think I did, but I can’t really remember it all that well. 

I’m almost tempted to say no.

Chapter Text

Todoroki has an itemized list of things he knows. 

One - he’s Shouto Todoroki, son of the number one pro hero, Enji Todoroki, AKA Endeavor. His mother is institutionalized and his siblings aren’t really on speaking terms with his father right now. He hasn’t seen Touya in many years. In the summer between his first and second years of high school, he moved out of his father’s home to live with his sister, Fuyumi. He doesn’t quite remember the confrontation he had with his father about it, but that’s fine. It’s a memory he can live without. 

Two - he goes to UA High. He’s a second year student, and he’s currently ranked middle of the road in his class. He can do the physical work just fine, but a lot of the written assignments and policy things fly right over his head. It probably doesn’t help that his memory for these sorts of things is rather shot, which is annoying. His memory used to be a lot better as a kid, but after The Incident, he found his mind to be foggier. When he told the counselors at UA this, after being forced to go at Fuyumi’s insistence, they said that C-PTSD could often do that to people. Which is irritating, but fine, whatever. He could deal. He’s good at that.

Three - he got second place in the first year sports festival. 

However, that last one has just now been called into question. As Todorki stares down at the texts Momo had sent him last night while he was asleep, his mind races, attempting to conjure up details that had been missing in his memories. There are some things he remembers concretely - freezing Sero in an over dramatic display of power, nearly falling off of Iida’s shoulders more than a few times during the Cavalry Battle. 

But there are some gaps so big that it causes Todoroki to throw the events into question, just a little bit. 

Him and Bakugou fought in the last round. He has vague memories of explosions and flying across the stage, but the details elude him. He can remember fighting Sero, and then Iida - but who did he face in the second round?

He takes up to the internet for answers, but all footage of the second round is conspicuously absent. Apparently, there has been some kind of glitch during the broadcast, so none of the footage got recorded. That’s great. His match against Bakugou is still up, but there’s a strange sense of disconnect when he watches it. Like his memories don’t line up with his movements in the footage. 

He briefly wonders if he should ask Bakugou about this. If anyone would remember, it’s that guy, nothing gets past him. But he’s been cagey ever since he got released from the hospital a few weeks ago, not that Todoroki can blame him. Losing vision on one side of your face can be a real shock to the system. Todoroki had caught Bakugou hobbling down the stairs a few times, hand firmly affixed to the railing to make up for his lack of depth perception. Todoroki had tried to give him some advice, but it was promptly brushed off. 

But back to the matter at hand. The more Todoroki thought about it, the more of his first year he couldn’t remember. Granted, that might be because of the villain attacks, their class having been attacked during a training exercise at the USJ, and during their summer camp. Both events had thankfully ended with their respective culprits getting apprehended, and the so-called “League of Villains” had since then basically vanished. He had briefly heard of some of the upperclassmen apprehending some kind of mafia boss who was keeping a kid hostage, but he hadn’t really kept up with that story, since it didn’t really involve him all that much anyways. 

So now, he lays in his dorm room on his mat, the smell of tatami floating comfortably around him. Everyone was still super shocked he’d managed to install that in the first place, but Todoroki didn’t see what was so weird about it. It hadn’t even been that hard. He had the task in mind, and just kind of zoned in hard on it for five hours. 

Then again, five hours might be kind of a long time for some people. Oh well, their loss. 

Todoroki shuts his phone off and closes his eyes, attempting to fall asleep despite his mind racing a hundred kilometers a second. He had a lot of questions, mostly pertaining to what he could and couldn’t remember, but something else about this situation seems… fishy. Between Bakugou’s sudden shift in behavior, Aizawa’s weird secrecy with something having apparently happened behind the scenes, and Momo’s prodding, Todoroki is starting to feel like he’s missing something. 

He’ll think about it more in the morning. He turns on his side, shifting against the grass underneath his right side - 

-Wait. Grass? 

Todoroki opens his eyes to be greeted with hazy mid-day sun. He sits up, looking around, blinking profusely. His room seems to have vanished, instead replaced by a very familiar-looking yard. It’s traditionally styled, with gravel paths and stone walls surrounding the area. He can hear the familiar running of water and mild clanking of an oshimi in the distance. In the corner, is a tiny shack, a small Japanese styled room. It almost looks like something his mother would have designed - like his father’s house. 

“Ah.” Todoroki says to no one in particular. “I’m dreaming.” 

It isn’t the first time he’s ended up back at his father’s house in his sleep. It’s actually probably not even the fourth or fifth time. Though, usually, his dreams aren’t this… pleasant. Normally it involves his ‘training’ from his father, or distorted scenes from The Incident. But it’s calm out here. He can’t see over the walls surrounding the garden, but it seems that he’s not in the city, at least, with the distinct lack of high-rise buildings on the horizon. 

With the distinct lack of… anything on the horizon, actually. 

Weird. 

Todoroki stands, brushing dirt and grass stains off of his pajama pants. He inhales deeply, the smell of trees and clean water filling his nose. Rolling his shoulders back, he starts walking, feet crunching against the gravel. It’s not completely smooth - Todoroki can see a few footprints in the dust, perhaps belonging to someone in his family. He rounds the corner, fully expecting this peaceful dream to be abruptly interrupted by his father - 

But he stops, blinking at what he sees instead. 

There’s a figure, standing next to a weeping willow, pruning the outstretching branches. That wouldn’t be too weird, if it weren’t for the fact that Todoroki can’t make out any discernible features on this guy. He’s wreathed in a fiery shadow, a sickly green darkness clinging to him like a fly to honey. His face has two black holes for eyes, but it’s dotted with a freckling of white pinpricks of light, a small beacon in the darkness that is his form. 

It’s a strangely surreal moment, one that could only happen in a dream like this. But instead of feeling scared or panicked, Todoroki is calm. There’s a strange sense of relief floating through him - like he’s greeting an old friend for the first time after ages of not seeing him. 

“Hello.” Todoroki raises a hand to greet this person, and the figure turns, shadows twisting along with him. “I’m Todoroki Shouto.” He continues. He’s kind of unsure about what to say in this sort of situation, not entirely sure about the proper social cues to greet some unholy figment of his imagination. So he defaults to the same stoic politeness he uses with strangers. “What’s your name?” 

The figure looks behind his shoulder, black eyes narrowing. “You can… see me?” He asks. When Todoroki nods, he drops the pruning shears he’s holding in surprise. “I - how?” He asks. 

“I don’t know. Dreams are weird.” Todoroki replies. 

“No - you’re not supposed to be able to see me!” The figure exclaims again, sounding mildly panicked. “We are not on the same layer anymore, so I should not be able to be - how -”

“Hey.” Todoroki walks closer, picking up the pruning shears and handing back to the figure. “Calm down. If it makes you feel any better, I can close my eyes and pretend you’re invisible.” 

The figure lets out a half-laugh, sounding more like a weak wheeze than anything else. “I do not think that would really work anymore, Shouto.” 

First name basis. Okay, weird. Then again, he IS basically talking to himself right now. Guess it isn’t that strange, since he calls himself by his first name in his head anyway.

“Do you need help with the tree?” Todoroki asks, opting to not question the weird situation he’s in. “I’ve had a lot of practice pruning trees like it at my-” He almost says ‘my home’ and his words catch in his throat. “My father’s.” He opts to say instead. 

“That is alright.” The figure replies, cutting another branch down. “This is a task for me and me only. I appreciate the offer though, you were always good about that.” 

Familiarity. This conversation is getting weirder by the second. Todoroki looks past the figure to the trunk of the willow tree, which is covered top-to-bottom in carvings. Upon closer examination, he can see that the carvings are shifting lines of text, in languages all across the world, and some he doesn’t even recognize. His vision blurs from looking at it, and his head throbs. A hand takes his forearm, gently pulling him away from the trunk. The figure’s hand is surprisingly solid for someone who looks like he’s made entirely out of shadow, but whatever. Dream logic and all that. “You should not stare at that for too long.” The figure says evenly. “It is not meant for you.” 

Todoroki nods, and watches the figure continue pruning the tree. When he snaps off a particularly large branch, Todoroki frowns. The branches aren’t obstructive, and they certainly don’t look diseased. 

“Why are you cutting those off?” Todoroki asks, picking up the freshly severed branch. “They seem fine to me.”

“Oh.” The figure takes the branch he just cut, and places it in the pile he’s accumulating next to him. “Because I have to.” 

“But the branches look so pretty.” Todoroki notes, staring down at the one he’s holding. The willow branch is punctured with orange and black flowers, and, as he turns to look at the pile of branches, they’re all covered in similarly technicolored blooms. “And they’re in full bloom.” 

“It is better to cut them off now before the flowers start to wilt and die.” The figure replies, with a strange sense of heaviness in his voice. “It will make it less painful overall for the tree.” 

“New blossoms will grow, though.” Todoroki retorts, though he has a sinking suspicion that they’re not talking about the tree anymore. “And the tree looks so barren without them.”

“It is better for the tree.” The figure says decisively, and Todoroki senses that they’re done with the conversation. “Better for everyone.” 

Todoroki sniffs awkwardly, looking away. His gaze darts back to the tree trunk, shifting text still hurting his head. But one name stands out amongst the chaos, a name in unmoving, unshaking kanji. He leans in to look at it, good eye squinting. 

"...Izuku ...Midoriya." He reads out loud. 

The figure stops his pruning, freezing in place. 

“...What did you just say?” He asks. 

Todoroki opens his mouth - 

-And is greeted with darkness. He blinks, getting his bearings, the sounds of his dorm-mates eating breakfast filtering into his ears. The familiar scent of tatami fills his senses, and Todoroki sighs, letting his head rest against his pillow. It was a dream. It was a dream, and he had just woken up. 

There’s a distinct feeling of disappointment running through him. 

"...Izuku Midoriya." Todoroki repeats. He rolls to his side, unlocks his phone, and opens his notes app. 

He makes a new note. He titles it “Dream Journal”.

He begins to type up what he just saw.

“So I’ve been thinking.” 

Momo looks up from her lunch tray to see Todoroki sit down beside her with his bowl of soba. She scoots over to make room for him as he cracks open his chopsticks and begins to shovel noodles into his mouth with no rhyme or reason. “The more I think about it, the weirder it gets.”

“...What gets weird?” Momo asks. 

“The thing you said about the Sports Festival.” Todoroki continues, taking a sip of his water. “The more I try to remember the details, the more I seem to have forgotten.”

“I know, right?” Momo exclaims, knocking her glass of tea all over her perfect uniform blazer. Todoroki freezes the liquid before it can hit her shirt, a harmless icicle of frozen liquid falling into her lap with a soft ‘plunk’. Momo chuckles awkwardly, placing the frozen tea back in her glass, to which Todoroki blow-torches to return to liquid form. “A-anyways, as I was saying.” Momo says, regaining her composure. “I’ve been asking people about it, and everyone else can remember things perfectly. No one else is having that weird sense of deja-vu, except for us.”

“Did you ask everyone in the class?” Todoroki asks, taking a bite out of the chashu meat in his ramen. 

“Well…” Momo awkwardly glances to her right, and Todoroki follows her gaze to see what she’s staring at. 

Bakugou sits in the corner of the lunchroom, eating his spicy noodles with a strange sense of detachment on his face. His uniform looks even more wrinkled than usual, and his eyepatch is slightly askew on the right side of his face. Todoroki turns back to see that Momo has swiftly looked away, busying herself with her soba noodles. “...I don’t want to talk to him.” She meekly says when Todoroki arches an eyebrow. 

“Why not?” He asks. 

“I - I don’t know.” Momo admits, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Something about the guy - I dunno, he’s just been weird since he got discharged.”

“I can’t really blame him. Losing an eye can be a traumatic thing.”

Momo looks up at him for a second, before her face goes red. “Oh - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” She stammers out. “I just - it’s not just the eye thing, it’s -”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not offended.” Todoroki replies, going back to eating his lunch. 

The two of them sit in awkward silence, and Todoroki gets the sense that Momo isn’t going to speak until he changes the subject. “Did you try to find any footage online?” He asks. 

Momo perks up at that, setting her chopsticks down. “Oh! Yes, I found the match between you and Bakugou. So at least that confirms that one at least did happen.”

“...Yeah.” Todoroki pushes down the niggling sensation of wrongness at that, and goes back to eating his noodles. 

His pensiveness, however, does not slip by Momo unnoticed. “Is something wrong?” She asks. 

“I… it’s a bit silly.” Todoroki admits, pushing his bowl forward, appetite gone. 

“I won’t judge. You’ve probably said weirder.” Momo laughs good-naturedly. 

Todoroki hesitates, picking at the hangnail on his right thumb. “...The footage didn’t match up.” He admits. 

Momo arches a thick eyebrow. “Come again?” She asks. 

“I - and this could just be confirmation bias on my part - but my memories don’t match up with what happened.” Todoroki continues. “It’s like - I see the movements I made on screen, but the match plays out differently in my head.” 

Momo makes a noise of affirmation, poking at her food. “...That does sound a bit fishy.” She finally says. “Are you sure you’re remembering right?”

“Maybe not.” Todoroki replies, rolling his shoulders back. “My memory isn’t the best on a good day, and this was almost a year ago.”

“Yeah.” Momo replies, and she goes back to eating her lunch. 

An unspoken statement hangs in the air between them, though. 

But then why doesn’t it still feel right?

“Todoroki.” 

Todoroki looks up from his bag, past his classmates filtering out through the doors, end-of-day chatter floating around him. Aizawa stares back, and makes a gesture as if to say ‘get up here’. Todoroki obliges, not intimidated by the man’s gaze. To this day, he’s still probably the only student in 1-A that’s not scared of Aizawa, although that could be chalked up to a high exposure to stern adult figures in his childhood. Aizawa, thankfully, isn’t cruel or condescending, but he isn’t exactly kind either. Though, if anything, Todoroki appreciates the cold and blunt flatness. It makes him feel more like Aizawa is speaking to him as an equal, rather than as a student. 

“Is something the matter, sir?” Todoroki asks. 

“Not with you, no.” Aizawa replies, sitting up in his chair. “I have a couple of questions I need to ask you about the Daughbough building incident.”

Ah, right. The building that had collapsed a few weeks ago. “Was there something wrong with my performance?” He asks. 

“I already told you, you’re fine.” Aizawa replies, rubbing his temples in irritation. Todoroki closes his mouth, recognizing the stress that lined Aizawa’s face. It’s the same look he wore on his face for most of his life. “I just wanted to ask if you saw anything odd during the rescue mission.”

“The building collapsing probably counts.” 

“I didn’t ask for sass. Just - did you see anything or not?” 

“No sir.” Aizawa looks back down, sighing, and Todoroki shifts in place, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “...Can I go now?” 

“One more thing,” Aizawa says, holding up a calloused palm. Todoroki turns back to face his teacher, Aizawa’s brow furrowing with a sudden intensity. “Does the name Izuku Midoriya ring any bells to you?” 

Izuku Midoriya. 

Todoroki pales, almost dropping his book bag. Izuku Midoriya, the name carved onto the tree in his dreams. The name that shocked the shadowy figure and woke him up. 

Izuku Midoriya. 

“...I take it by your expression that you have.” Aizawa says gravely. 

“How do you know that name?” Todoroki asks, good eye blinking in confusion. 

“If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.” Aizawa replies, crossing his arms. “Where did you hear the name?”

“...In a dream.” Todoroki admits.

“Very funny kid, be serious.” 

“I am being serious.” Todoroki retorts, and begins to explain the weird dream he had last night. When he’s finished, Aizawa’s expression has solidified into something rock solid, an unreadable expression passing behind his eyes. “What do you think it means?” Todoroki finally asks. 

“...I’m not sure.” Aizawa replies, resting his chin on his fist in thought. “It could just be a coincidence… but I’ve been in this field long enough to know that coincidences aren’t really common.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Todoroki interrupts. Aizawa looks up, having been jerked back to earth. “Where did you hear that name?”

Aizawa looks uncertain for a few seconds, before leaning back in his chair, sighing. “I suppose you deserve to know.” He starts. “You see, someone called the kid that was rescued from the collapsed building that name.”

“Oh - the Mikumo guy?” He’s heard Momo talk about him a few times, she having formed a new routine where she sees him two or three times a week. “Why that name? It doesn’t even sound similar to-”

“To Mikumo Akatani, I’m aware.” Aizawa finishes. “The only thing the names have in common is the letter ‘M’. Their cadences and syllables aren’t at all similar.”

“Huh. Weird.” Todoroki ponders this for a few seconds, before turning back to Aizawa. “Who said this to you?”

Now it’s Aizawa’s turn to look vaguely uncomfortable, but he responds anyway. 

“It was Bakugou.”

Chapter Text

“I KNEW IT!!” 

Momo’s voice rings throughout the lunchroom, and heads turn in her direction at her loud proclamation. Momo flushes a pale shade of pink, sitting herself back down and folding her hands in her lap. “Ahem - sorry.” She mutters. “Please continue.” 

“...Right.” Todoroki clears his throat, taking that as the initiative to keep talking. “Well, actually, that’s all Aizawa-sensei told me.” 

“That’s it?” Momo asks, brow crinkling. 

“Yup.”

“Huh.” Both of their heads turn towards the direction of Bakugou, still eating by himself. Even from where he’s sitting, Todoroki can see irritated pink scars peeking out from under his eyepatch, made even more glaringly obvious by his pallor skin. Todoroki grimances. 

“...I knew he had something to do with it.” Momo mutters under her breath. 

“How so?” Todoroki asks, taking a bite of his mapo tofu. 

“It was just - a gut feeling, you know?” She replies, not turning back to look at him. “He’s been acting so cagey since he got out of the hospital, and not in an injured way. Like a ‘I Know Stuff You Don’t’ kinda way.”

Todoroki isn’t really following, so he opts to change the subject. “...Anyway,” He begins. “What do you want to do about it?” 

“What do I want to do about it?” That gets Momo’s attention, turning back to face him. “I… I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” Todoroki exclaims, exasperated. 

“I - I didn’t really plan this far!” Momo retorts, throwing her hands in the air out of exasperation. “Not to mention, I’m not very good at asking people these sorts of things.” She turns back towards Bakugou -

- Only for him to stare right back at the both of them, dead-eyed. 

Momo and Todoroki quickly about-face, turning back and shoveling food in their mouths in a last-ditch attempt to look casual. It doesn’t work, and Bakugou continues staring at them. “Is he gone?” Momo whispers to Todoroki under her breath. 

“No, he’s -” Todoroki’s cut off by Bakugou standing up, lunch tray in one hand, bag in the other, and to their collective horror, starts making a beeline for their table. “He’s coming over -!” 

“What? What do we do?” Momo hisses at him in a panic. 

“I’m not sure, I -” Bakugou slams his lunch tray down next to Todoroki’s head - loudly - causing the two of them of them to jump. He slouches down in his seat, looking between the two of them. 

“What.” He says dryly. 

“...N-nothing.” Momo responds, in a poor attempt to save face. “We’re just - y’know, eating lunch!”

“Bullshit, you two wouldn’t stop leering at me from over there, so tell me what you want or move the fuck along.” He snaps back, taking a sip of water, and Todoroki’s suddenly reminded why he never talks to the guy. 

Ah, fuck it. He’ll just cut to the chase. 

“Do you know anyone by the name of Izuku Midoriya?” He asks, just to test the waters. 

They’re stormy, evidently, as the cup that Bakugou’s holding hisses, the smell of burning plastic wafting over the table. “Bakugou, your-” He cuts Momo off, tossing the cup into the trash can, eyes never leaving Todoroki’s face.

“Where did you hear that name.” He growls. 

“So you do know who he is.” 

“And you don’t?” That question takes Todoroki aback. It’s an odd question, sure but the way Bakugou said it, almost sounded like someone who’s waiting for a response. Just the tiniest hint of panic. 

“...Why would he?” Momo cuts in when it’s obvious Todoroki’s too lost in his own head to answer. And surprisingly, that’s what gets Bakugou to back down, fire leaving his eyes. He slumps back down in his chair, breaking eye contact with Todoroki after an agonizing few seconds of silence. 

“...Just wonderin’.” Bakugou grumbles, picking at his mapo tofu. “And you didn’t answer my original question. Where’d you hear the name?” 

Momo and Todoroki exchange a look, silently weighing how much they should or shouldn’t say. He’s pretty sure that if he tells Bakugou the first time he heard the name was in a weird dream he had, Bakugou will laugh him out of the cafeteria room, so he opts for a half-truth instead. “...We heard Aizawa-sensei talking about it the other day.” He answers. 

Bakugou’s eye narrows as he stares Todoroki down, in some strange attempt to get him to flinch. Todoroki, hardened by years of his father’s temper, doesn’t budge, staring right back. After a moment, Bakugou looks away, picking at his lunch with his chopsticks. “Go fuckin’ figure.” He mumbles, more to himself than the others. 

There’s a brief moment where they all just kind of… stare at each other. There’s a strange sense Todoroki’s getting, like meeting up with an old friend after a long while, or going back to a place you used to frequent - like things are finally how they’re meant to be. Todoroki exchanges a look with Momo, and he can tell by the look on her face that she feels it too. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, Momo speaks up. “So… Do you know him?” 

“No.” The answer is too fast to be genuine, almost like it’s rehearsed.

“Are you sure?” Todoroki presses, eager for any kind of information. 

“God, what’s your fuckin’ problem Icyhot?!” Bakugou snarls, pushing his tray back. “I get you’re the conspiracy theorist around here, but leave me out of it!” 

“We’ve been noticing things!”

Both Todoroki and Bakugou stop to look at Momo, who’s slammed her hands down on the table in an attempt to get them to shut up. 

It works. Neither of them dares to say another word. 

“Good.” Momo continues breathlessly. “Now, if you two are done with your little pissing match, can I please get a word in edgewise?”

And then, the weirdest thing happens. 

Bakugou snorts . Like a full on, through the nose, type snort. Momo blinks in surprise, and Todoroki would be doing the same thing if he wasn’t such a stone-faced guy, completely unsure of where that came from. Bakugou looks at the two of them, before his face sinks back into its trademark scowl. “What?” He spits. “You gotta problem?” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you do a laugh that wasn’t a full-on supervillain one.” Todoroki confesses, which earns him a not-so-subtle kick in the leg by Momo. “No offense of course.” He adds lamely. 

“Right, well anyways,” Momo cuts him off before he can say anything else. “Since the incident with the building and Mikumo-”

“You know him?” Bakugou cuts in, hearing Momo refer to him so informally. 

“I’ve been visiting him in the care facility.” Momo replies smoothly. “Haven’t you? You were the one who saved him after all.” 

And for some reason, that’s the crack in his impenetrable facade of anger. Bakugou actually falters a bit, eyes softening for just a brief second - with regret? Or maybe fear? 

But just as soon as that chink in his armor is exposed, it’s gone, his face hardening back up to stone. “You keep track of every person you save?” He grumbles. 

“No - but you seemed rather distraught when you two were pulled out of the rubble.” Todoroki interjects. 

“Uh - because my fucking eye got gouged out? Get on with it.” 

“R-Right.” Momo collects herself, taking a deep breath. “As I was saying, I’ve been noticing some things since then. Some… gaps in the timeline.” 

Bakugou quirks an eyebrow, good eye narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks evenly. 

“Do you remember when Todoroki went up against back in the second round of the Sport’s Festival?” 

“You expect me to remember anything about the Sport’s Festival I wasn’t involved in?” There it is again - the too quick answers, the practiced stoicism - he’s lying, Todoroki’s sure of it. “Get real.” 

“That’s bullshit.” Todoroki finds himself saying before he’s even realized he said it. The two of them turn to look at him, and Momo cuts a line across her throat, the universal sign for ‘stop talking please dear god’. 

“What did you just say?” Bakugou snarls, and there’s the guy Todoroki’s familiar with, the one he knew before the building collapsed. Angry, like a rabid dog, picking fights wherever and whenever he could. Like he had something to prove.

“You heard me.” Todoroki replies flatly. 

Bakugou growls, palms flaring orange, the smell of smoke drifting over the table. He cranes his neck forward, like a cat spiking out its fur when it wants to look threatening. Todoroki still doesn’t move, but he lets the left side of his body flicker, flames dancing across his face. The two stare each other down, neither one making the motion to move. 

Then, to Todoroki’s surprise - Bakugou stops. 

His palms flicker out, and he leans back in his chair, letting out a dry laugh, the exact opposite of earlier - flat, angry, and completely lacking any humor whatsoever. He keeps laughing, as if that’s the funniest joke he’s ever heard, and Todoroki and Momo can do nothing but just… stare at him. 

“God, are you fuckin’ serious?!” He exclaims, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” 

“You didn’t answer his question.” Momo butts in. 

Bakugou stops laughing at that, red eyes going dim. “...I already told you, I don’t know shit.” He spits, and he stands. Todoroki and him make brief eye contact again, and Bakugou’s eyes soften, just for a moment, before he walks away. “Piss off.” 

They watch him go, watch him dump his half-finished tray of food into the garbage can and kick the door open on his way out. After a moment of silence, Momo glares at Todoroki. 

“Nice.” She says dryly. 

“What did I do?” Todoroki asks, genuinely confused. 

Momo sighs, turning away. “Remind me not to send you into an interrogation room, like, ever.” 

His back is against the wall, sweat pooling on his palms. He’s crouching next to a large potted plant of some kind, and he can hear the sounds of the first years in the corridors, making their merry way to class or whatever the fuck. He exhales shakily, trying to clam his fluttering heartbeat, because they don’t know, they don’t remember, there’s no reason to freak out so stop fucking panicking - 

He sees motion out of the corner of his eye. Turning to his left, he notices the small flapping of wings, and when he looks down, he can see a blue butterfly sitting on the leaves of the plant. He looks forward - one of the windows is slightly ajar, afternoon light leaking in. 

Maybe it’s a coincidence, but it feels like some kind of sick reminder. 

“Of course you’d make me the one to have to cover for your ass.” He mumbles under his breath. The butterfly flits past his nose, making its way back outside. He watches it go, until it ducks under the window frame and he can’t see it anymore. 

…If this is his idea of a push, it feels more like being shoved into the fucking ground. 

Bakugou laughs, mirthlessly. “God, Deku, I still don’t get you at all.” 

Chapter Text

Life goes on. 

Midterms come and go. Momo passes, to no one’s surprise, including her own. She picks Miruko’s internship again, and considering how she barely remembers anything that happened during her last internship, she figures it’ll be a good starting-over point. 

(There are more holes in her memory the more she looks back, so she tries not to.)

Her visits with Mikumo continue. She discovers that he has an unquenchable knowledge for the world around him, and can, will, and has spent entire sessions rambling on about some strange new niche subject he found interesting. Momo knows way more about glass-blowing and Roman-era aqueducts than she’d ever expected to know. The benefits of hanging out with a non-UA student, she supposes. 

(Bakugou avoids her like the plague. She isn’t surprised.)

Todoroki and her continue to try and find anything on Izuku Midoriya, but after their disastrous conversation with Bakugou, they seem to have hit a wall. There’s no records of him in the school’s archives, no mentions of him by any other student, nothing. 

Maybe it’s a sign. To try and put it out of her mind. And boy, does Momo try, focusing only on the things she needs to, trying to take it one day at a time. 

Mikumo, however, puts a stop to that real quick. 

“Do you know who Izuku Midoriya is?”

Momo stops, looking up from her book, turning to meet Mikumo’s eyes from across his room. He looks quizzical, blinking. Momo doesn’t respond, throat going dry, because how, how? How does everyone seem to know this Midoriya guy except for her? 

“Momo?” Momo’s jerked back to reality, Mikumo still not having looked away from her, waiting for his question to be answered. 

“S-sorry.” Momo responds awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Got a little distracted there. I’ve never heard that name before,” And boy, she feels bad about lying, but if Mikumo knew something, her best chance would probably be to play dumb. “Is it someone you know?” 

Mikumo shakes his head, and Momo deflates, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “I heard someone yell it back when I was in the hospital.” Mikumo explains. “Two people were arguing about me, and that was one of the only things I could pick up.”

Two people, huh? This had to have been Bakugou and Aizawa, further confirming to Momo that Bakugou knows something and just won’t tell anyone in classic Bakugou fashion. Go figure. 

“I wonder what that was about,” Mikumo continues, seemingly oblivious to Momo’s racing thoughts. “Maybe there was another patient with that name?” 

“Why are you asking?” Momo says before she can stop herself. Mikumo turns to look at her, and she mentally slaps herself at the phrasing, backpedaling as fast as she can. “I - I mean, like, why do you want to know? And not in a mean way, I’m just genuinely curious.” 

Mikumo shrugs, lying back against his bed’s headboard. 

“It just feels important to me somehow.” 

Momo understands. Really, she does. 

When she gets back to the dorms, she checks her phone, realizing that it’s been bombarded with texts while she was with Mikumo, mostly people asking about the pool party she had been planning. While she never really spoke with her parents, they were always willing to lend their house to Momo while they were off traveling, which was most of the time. Momo usually didn’t take them up on their offer, though. Something about the vast, cavernous mansion just always seemed kind of… off to her. She much preferred her grandmother’s humbler estate. 

However, when she brought that up casually in class, her friends would not let that stand. Kaminari in particular had been incredulous that Momo had, quote; “a massive mansion to herself and wasn’t doing anything with it”. As such, she had essentially been lovingly strong-armed into hosting a pool party to celebrate the end of midterms. The party was this weekend, but with everything that had been happening, Momo had almost forgotten about it. 

She sends everyone a quick text, letting them know the address and the time, before shutting her phone off, lying down in her bed. Her cramped dorm room is painted gold in the evening light, looking almost painting-esque. The sight, normally putting Momo at ease, just serves to make her feel more unsettled and hollow. 

She looks down at her food she had taken from the cafeteria, a broccoli dish. She always loves watching the cooks cut the heads off of the broccoli with their shears - something about it was just very satisfying to her. 

Izuku Midoriya. 

That name cropped up everywhere she went. Like a bad penny. 

If she ever actually met this guy, Momo resolves to kick him in the shin. 

The mansion is quiet, as it always is. Momo looks out the stained glass windows, greeted by a pitch-black sky, no stars or clouds in sight. She looks down, the empty ballroom in front of her like a yawning cavern. The chairs are pushed against the wall, tables set out of sight. The biggest stained-glass window looms over her, a dragonfly taking flight. 

The lights are all off, and yet, Momo can see perfectly. 

Something touches her toes, and Momo looks down to see a piece of glass on the floor next to her. Spread all across the floor is some strange orange liquid, as if some massive vat of something had spilled everywhere. The glass shards lead in a straight line, out the left door of the ballroom, like a trail of breadcrumbs. 

Momo follows. Her heels clack against the floor, echoing against the vast and empty house. White marble and ionic pillars as far as her eyes can see. The doors are all slightly ajar. She can hear howling wind. 

The glass shards continue, until they reach a broom closet, tucked away at the end of a hall. Unlike the rest of the doors, it’s closed. The orange liquid seeps out of it - this door seems to be the cause. 

Momo looks down at the door handle. She can see her own warped reflection in it, mint green dress clashing with her pale skin. She can’t make out her face, though. She’s not sure why. 

She turns the handle. 

The closet is empty. 

No, it’s less than empty. It’s just nothing - a black void stretching out as far as she can see. Eternity, stuffed inside a broom closet.

Momo takes a step forward. Then, another. Then another. Then another. Another, another, another.

And the door behind her is gone. 

She keeps walking. After a while, she becomes aware of a humming sound, like a livewire, or a powerline. Despite the space having no discernable shape, a ceiling comes down on her, and then walls. The further Momo walks, the smaller the room seems to get, but she can’t turn around for some reason. She’s walking, then ducking, then crawling, until finally, she can’t anymore. 

She’s stuck. 

Momo can’t breathe. She can’t see, all she sees is darkness in every direction. No light, no sound, save for the humming that gets ever louder. Like she had been swallowed by some massive, cavernous beast. Like she was in the belly of the whale. 

She doesn’t register the first prickle on her skin. Nor the second. No, it takes her whole left arm flaring up in pain before Momo looks over, and -

It’s rotted skin.

It’s bad pork.

It’s full of strange larvae - dragonflies, Momo realizes. They’re burrowing into her skin and laying their eggs there. 

(A warm place to sleep, flesh is.)

She can feel them crawling up her legs, her stomach, everything. She opens her mouth to scream, but can’t, tiny legs bursting out of her throat. She feels a sharp pain behind her eye, before there’s a sick tearing sound, and something, something, she’s not sure what it is, but it’s something large and whole and sharp, blue morpho, a freckled hand, bursting out of the socket -

Momo wakes up in a blind panic. 

She throws the covers of her bed, body cold with sweat. Her arms and legs are free of eggs or insects, but Momo can still feel them, burrowing into her, feasting on tendons and muscles. Her chest stutters, she can’t breathe, and she stumbles forward, weight leaning against her dresser, hands scrambling for something, anything - a pair of sharp shears. A single sewing needle. Her forearms ache.

She looks at herself in the mirror, sweaty, wretched. Like a cornered animal. The scissors she holds in her hand glint in the low light. 

Like broccoli, remember? 

Shaking, she holds up a lock of her hair, because she feels ugly on the inside so she should look like it too, because it’s her fault, isn’t it?

Like the head of broccoli. Snip snip. 

Momo’s hands are shaking. Her head hurts. 

Chop chop. (Blue morpho.) He's still haunting you, isn’t he?

…What is she-

Momo blinks, suddenly jolted out of her stupor. Her reflection stares back, a sizable chunk of her hair missing. She looks down, to see black curls strewn across the floor.

Her heart stutters. The scissors clatter to the ground. 

“Oh god.” She manages to make out. 

She goes on autopilot. 

She picks up the scissors. 

She puts them back in the drawer. 

She makes her bed. 

She sweeps up her floor. 

She puts her cut hair in the trash can. 

She pulls on a pair of pants. 

She opens the door. 

She locks it behind her. 

She goes down the hall. 

She gets in the elevator. 

She presses the button for the second floor. 

She waits. 

She goes through the open door. 

She stops at the second door to the end of the hall. 

She knocks. 

She waits again.

And after a moment, a very irritated Bakugou opens the door. 

Momo stares back at him, suddenly aware of where she is and what just happened, as if she’d been jolted back into her body. She probably looks like a mess, matted hair and bags under her eyes. 

Bakugou blinks. “What are you doin’ here?” He asks. 

Momo looks to her left. Her right. Then, back at Bakugou. 

“I don’t know.” She says quietly. Tears well up in her eyes before she can stop them. “I don’t know.” She repeats. 

Bakugou sighs, but it lacks any of the usual anger. “Christ,” He mutters, before opening the door wider. “Get in.” 

Momo obliges. 

The room is a lot sparser than Momo would have expected. There’s a gray rug on the ground next to his bed, and a few knick-knacks on his dresser. His bed doesn’t have any covers on it, just sheets. The window is cracked open, a light breeze flowing through. The ceiling fan is turned on the highest setting it can, and what’s left of Momo’s hair whips around her face. Bakugou turns the fan off, and puts his eyepatch back on, obscuring the ugly scarring on his eye. 

(The room lacks any kind of personal details. Momo finds it kind of sad.)

Bakugou sits down on the bed, arms crossed, leaving Momo standing in the center of the room, feeling very awkward. She opts to just sit down on the floor. 

Silence. 

“Spill.” Bakugou says after the quiet becomes unbearable. 

Momo can only weakly reply with; “I don’t know.” 

“What happened to your hair?”

“I cut it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She does, actually, but it’s not something she wants to share. She gets enough questions about the thin lines on her arms anyways.

Bakugou stares at her, incredulous. Momo looks down at the nondescript gray carpet, unable to meet his piercing red gaze. 

“...I had a nightmare.” She says after a moment. 

“...Okay?” Bakugou replies, still sounding confused. “You cut your hair in the nightmare or something?” 

“No.” Momo replies flatly. “I don’t… I don’t really remember much about it.” 

“Oh.” Silence again. “Why’d you come here then?” 

“I think… I think I just went on autopilot.” 

“Huh.” Neither one of them says anything for a few seconds, Momo picking at a hangnail. The sensation stings, and her eyes well up, because the last few weeks have been simultaneously a lot and nothing at all, and oops, she’s crying again. 

Bakugou looks incredibly taken aback by this, something resembling panic on his face. “Fucking hell-” He says, more to himself than anyone else, and he slides off the side of the bed to sit next to her on the floor. Awkwardly, as if he was trying not to scare her off, he puts a hand on her shoulder, which only makes Momo cry harder. “I - why are you crying?” He asks. 

“I - I don’t - I d-don’t know-” Momo manages to blubber. “I - I - I think - I m-messed up-”

(Through her tears, she misses how Bakugou’s gaze softens, if only for a fraction of a second.)

He passes her a tissue, and she blows into it loudly. “I don’t know what I’m d-doing, Bakugou,” She manages to say, spit thick in the back of her throat. “Something’s w-wrong with me and I don’t know what it is-”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Bakugou says, but it sounds like a lie to her, and she swats his hand away in response. 

“You don’t get it-!” Momo exclaims, something ugly and mean rising up in the back of her throat. “You don’t - there’s something wrong with me-” She pulls her knees up to her chest, as if protecting herself from something. “I’m either forgetting something important or I’ve just been going insane this past month - Bakugou, I don’t know what to fucking do.” She spits out, and the words feel like bile. It feels like she’s throwing up. “...I don’t know what to do.” She finishes weakly. 

Bakugou stares back at her, seemingly at a loss for words. He looks down, then up again, as if contemplating something, before he puts his hand back on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, which only makes Momo cry harder. 

They stay like that for a while. 

After Momo calms down, Bakugou hands her the tissue box, and she blows her nose, face feeling gross and tacky. “...Ugh.” She says, looking down at the glob of snot she just blew into the tissue. “Ew.” 

“Throw that away, shit’s nasty.” Bakugou says, and Momo leans over him to pitch her tissue into the trash can. When she leans back, Bakugou’s gaze has turned from sympathetic to somewhat anxious. “This is about Midoriya, ain’t it.” He says flatly. 

Momo sniffs. “I think so.” She replies. 

Bakugou looks away in response, picking at the carpet underneath him. “...Look,” He starts, after a moment of unbearable silence. “You’re better off not knowing.” 

Momo perks up at that. “What do you mean?” She asks. 

Bakugou doesn’t respond, staring at the wall. 

“Bakugou-”

“I’m serious.” And it’s true - when she meets his single red eye, it’s the most serious he’s ever looked. “Stop pressing the issue. Between you and me, you ain’t gonna like the answer.” 

“...But what if not knowing is worse?” Momo asks weakly. 

Bakugou stares at her, and for the first time, she sees something resembling fear in his eyes. 

Fear and yearning. A strange combination.

“Knowing is worse.” He says. “‘S a lot worse.” 

There’s conviction in his voice. A lot of it. 

So Momo can do nothing but nod. 

Bakugou leans back, exhaling, expression going back to one of irritation. “What’re you gonna do about that?” He asks, pointing to her hair. Momo looks at herself in the mirror - there’s no salvaging it, ends all frayed and uneven. She’ll have to cut a good chunk of it off just to make it look even again.

“Guess I’ll have to cut it.” Momo replies. 

“By yourself?” When Momo nods, Bakugou rolls his eyes, standing up and stretching. “It’ll look even worse. I’ve got it.” He turns away, going to rummage through the top drawer of his dresser. 

“...Do you know how to cut hair?” Momo asks. 

“You just want it short, right?” Momo nods. “Then how hard can it be?” 

Momo purses her lips. “Pretty hard.” She says. “Extremely difficult, actually.” 

Bakugou scoffs, turning back to her with a pair of craft scissors in hand. “Well,” He starts, the familiar cockiness back in his voice. “Good thing I’m good at everything.” 

Momo can do nothing except grimace, turn around so Bakugou can get to cutting, pick a god, and pray.

Chapter Text

The stone walls of the garden loom over him, stern, cold, and commanding. 

He can see them, just up ahead, walking away from him. He’s following closely behind, grass soft beneath his feet. The walls loom endlessly, seeming to stretch on forever. 

Oddly, he doesn’t feel like he’s getting any closer. The figure seems to just keep moving further and further away, dark shadows wrapping around them until he can’t even tell what he’s chasing after anymore. 

He breaks into a run, tearing up the grass beneath his feet. Stones dig into his soles, but he pays it no mind, dashing forward to try and catch up to the figure, sides heaving for breath -

The figure turns. 

The ground gives out beneath him -

And Todoroki wakes up. 

“It looks terrible, doesn’t it.” 

Todoroki looks up from his lunch, knees knocking against Momo’s legs. She twists a strand of her hair, styled into a modest pixie cut, around her finger, brown eyes fixed on the floor of the roof. She hasn’t taken a single bite of her lunch, and Todoroki quickly snatches a piece of eel nigiri while she isn’t looking. Swallowing, he shrugs. “You look fine to me.”

And he’s not joking. Todoroki’s never felt romantic attraction in his life, and he probably never will, which is no skin off his back. But the closest he’s ever come to it would have to have been this morning, seeing Momo creep through the doorway with her now-shortened hair, to the collective shock of the entire class. It’s a good look on her - Todoroki can’t understand how she doesn’t see that. 

Momo sighs. “I don’t know, Todoroki,” She replies, letting her head rest against the brick wall behind them. “It just doesn’t feel like me, you know?” 

Todoroki nods. He’s got the opposite problem - his hair’s been short his entire life, and now that he’s growing it out, he doesn’t recognize the person in the mirror anymore. “Why’d you cut it anyways?” He asks, quickly going for another piece of sushi before Momo bats his hand away. 

“I didn’t.” Momo replies. “Well - okay, I kind of did. But it was only a little bit of it - Bakugou did the rest.” 

Todoroki’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Bakugou?” He exclaims. “How’d that end up happening?”

“It’s… kind of stupid.” Momo admits. “To make a long story short, I… had a nightmare and ended up chopping a good chunk of my ponytail off.”

Todoroki frowns. A nightmare - he had a strange dream like that too last night. Still, that kind of impulsive behavior is uncharacteristic of someone like Momo. “Why?” He asks. 

Momo doesn’t respond, simply rubbing her forearms and looking down at the ground. Todoroki senses this might be part of an underlying issue, and decides not to push. He’s not really good at this kind of stuff, and if the problem is what he suspects it is, he’s not really in much of a place to be giving advice. “So you asked Bakugou of all people to fix your hair?” Todoroki continues. 

“No, I… I ended up going to his dorm by accident.” Momo replies. “I’m not really sure why, it just - felt right, I guess.” Momo scratches the back of her head, as if looking for hair that isn’t there anymore. “And he - he told me to stop looking into Midoriya.”

“So he does know.” Todoroki mumbles, more to himself than anyone else. Granted, Bakugou was about as transparent as a glass door, but he’s still not sure why exactly Bakugou’s been so cagey about this. “What’d else he tell you?”

Momo shrugs. “That was kind of it.” 

Todoroki doesn’t respond to that, opting to eat his onigiri in silence. 

After a moment of awkward silence, he finally decides to say something. “What’s the plan for the pool party tomorrow?” He asks. 

“God, I almost forgot about that,” Momo mutters, rubbing her temple with her forefinger and thumb. “Do you think it’s too late to cancel?” 

“Everyone’s been looking forward to it,” Todoroki points out. 

“Even you?”

Todoroki shrugs. “After the training camp last year, I’ve had enough of hot tubs for a while.”

Momo laughs, but it quickly dies off as a strange expression crosses her face. “What’s wrong?” Todoroki asks. 

“That’s another thing I don’t remember all that well,” Momo admits. “The training camp, I mean."

Todoroki thinks back to it, and sure enough, all that comes up are fuzzy images and imprints of feelings. “...Huh.” He says. “You’re right.” 

“This is just getting ridiculous at this point,” Momo admits, pushing her bento box aside and pulling her knees up to her chest. “How many other things have we forgotten about?”

“Maybe Todoroki’s not even my real name.” He jokes dryly. Momo fixes him a look. 

“Not funny.” She remarks. 

“I thought it was.”  

They both lapse into silence. 

“I wonder if Bakugou’s been having dreams too.” Todoroki remarks. 

Momo looks up at him. “What dreams?”

“See, I had a weird dream last night too,” Todoroki asks. “And the last time it happened, that’s when I first heard Midoriya’s name. I wonder if maybe he’s been having them too.”

Momo frowns, turning away. “I highly doubt that’s the explanation for everything,” She remarks. “Honestly, I think we’re just both kind of stressed.”

But Todoroki isn’t listening. In the back of his mind, Todoroki wonders if maybe, just maybe, they’re not dreams at all, but something… else. That maybe, if he ventures out of the garden, he'll find Momo waiting for him. 

The bell cuts their conversation off, but not Todoroki’s racing mind. As they pack up and head back down to the classroom, he thinks back to the garden, and how he couldn’t see anything beyond its walls. 

Maybe he’d just fall if he climbed over. 

Fall into someone else’s dream. 

That night, he goes to bed early, taking two sleeping pills and drinking a steaming mug full of chamomile lavender tea. Everyone else looks at him strangely - Todoroki’s kind of well known for being a night owl, but he pays them no mind. Only Momo asks him about it, though, pulling him aside in the dorms common rooms while everyone else is distracted.

“What are you trying to do?” She asks.

“I’m trying to test something.” Todoroki starts. “Just trust me on this.”

Momo’s eyes narrow, looking down at the teabag in his mug, before looking back up at him. “They’re just dreams, Todoroki.” She murmurs. “They don’t mean anything.”

Todoroki disagrees. 

Laying on his futon, Todoroki watches his ceiling fan spin aimlessly, the muffled chatter of the class wafting in through the cracks of his door. Physically, he’s tired, but his mind is racing at twenty meters a second. It’s a stupid idea, a childish fantasy, and yet he can’t help but hang his hopes on it. 

And slowly, but surely, sleep grabs him by the ankles, and drags him down, down, down-

Todoroki opens his eyes. 

Sure enough, he’s back in the garden, nothing else around for miles and miles. He turns, the stone wall surrounding the area looming over him. Flicking his wrist, Todoroki imagines a wall of ice in his head, propelling him upwards. He opens them, to no avail. His Quirk doesn’t work here.

Fine, whatever. Plan B it is. 

Todoroki walks over to a ginkgo tree nearest to the wall, and begins to shimmy up its trunk. He recalls a time when he was a child, when he and his siblings would often race to see who could climb the massive Japanese Maple. They’d sit on its branches all afternoon, reading or chattering amongst themselves, until Mother called them back inside for dinner. 

Those days had been peaceful. It’s a rare moment of clarity in the fuzzy wasteland of his childhood memories. He clings onto it, letting the phantom laughter of his sister carry him higher and higher. The branches bend beneath his weight, but don’t break, and for once, Todroki’s glad for his skinnier stature. 

“What are you doing?”

Todoroki looks down, to see that same shadowed figure he’d been chasing after in the last dream, staring up at him, those black holes he wears for eyes squinting in confusion. Todoroki doesn’t flinch, nor is he even really surprised. He had been expecting this, after all. 

“Hello, strange shadow man.” Todoroki says casually, as he hauls himself up higher, swinging a thin leg over a branch. “If you must know, I’m testing something.”

“Testing what?” The figure asks, tilting his head beside Todoroki, and he’s not gonna ask how the figure got up to the branch he’s sitting on so quickly. It’s probably better not to, actually. 

“Well,” Todoroki begins, resuming his climb. “I have this running theory that my friend and I have been experiencing some kind of shared dreamscape, so I wanted to try and see if I could find her if I went over the wall.” He pauses to haul himself higher, palms calloused from the rough bark. “Also, I’m pretty sure another one of my classmates is here too, so I’m also going to try and find him.”

“I… see.” Todoroki can’t read the figure’s face, he can barely even see it, but he can tell from voice alone that the shadowed figure isn’t really sure how to respond to that. It’s a reaction Todoroki is used to getting from people when he says what he’s thinking - it’s nice to know that same confusion extends to figments of his imagination. “And what makes you so sure that your friends really are here?” 

“Just a hunch.” The branches thin as Todoroki reaches the top, and he pulls himself up once more, straight through the foliage. Warm light dapples his face high above the garden, the stone wall just below the top of the tree. Todoroki wouldn’t even need to do any crazy maneuvering - he could probably just slide off the top branch and land on top of the wall. “Anyways, I’ll be seeing you later, strange brain apparition.” 

“Wait-” But Todoroki’s already sliding down, bare feet hitting the smooth stone of the wall. 

Smoother than he expected, actually. 

He’s slipping. Oh shit.

Todoroki reaches a hand out, calling for ice to catch him out of sheer instinct. No cold comes to cradle him, and he slides down the sloped roof of the wall, before tumbling into the vast darkness below. 

All around him, in the vast blackness, he can hear the sound of fluttering wings. No matter which way he turns, however, he can’t see them, only feeling the tiny legs of insects brush across his arms.

He turns, and it’s not dark anymore. No, he’s in someone’s room, long abandoned and derelict. Cords and wires are strewn across the floor, attached to massive mainframes. Computers, all covered in dust. Light streams through the window, illuminating the dust in the air. 

Someone stands in the center of the room, staring straight at him. Despite the blindfold on their face, he can’t help but feel as if they’re staring straight into his soul.

His eyes drift down, catching on the pair of calloused hands hanging around their throat like a necklace. The figure isn’t disturbed by it, rather, they lean into it. Like it’s an old friend. 

Macabre, yet intimate. He feels like he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t.

He takes a step back, unsure of what he’s looking at or supposed to do. The figure takes a step closer, whatever or whoever is behind them gripping ever tighter. He takes another step back, heart pounding with each breath, unsure of what he’s seeing or where he even is. 

He’s not supposed to be here.

He’s not supposed to be here. 

He has to get out right fucking now-

The floorboard he’s standing on him gives beneath his weight, sending him plummeting through the floor, feeling the brush of wings all across his skin as he falls, down, down, down, into darkness. He flails for the light, stomach in his throat, wind whipping across his face as the light gets further and further away. It’s nothing but darkness, all around him, the void stretching out into all of eternity, enshrined beneath the floorboards.

He can barely breathe, tumbling further and further down this rabbit hole, seemingly no end in sight. He doesn’t know which way is up and which way is down. He can’t see, can’t move, can’t think.

He’s not sure when he stopped falling and started walking forwards, but suddenly there’s floor underneath his feet and the vast space is filled with a slight buzzing sound. He continues forward, feeling chittering legs crawl all over his skin. The space is getting smaller, somehow, the darkness constricting around him. He can feel the wall push up against his ribs with every step he takes, the pressure slowly increasing more and more.

It’s a vice all around him, constricting him, crushing him, he’s being crushed to death by the vast, innumerable walls of darkness all around him. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, his skin is turning blue and he can hear his ribs cracking. He can’t turn back, he can only move further, as the space gets smaller and smaller and smaller.

Suddenly, in front of him, he can see a faint light in the distance. An ending to this tunnel.

Heart swelling, he pushes forward, feeling the air literally being forced out of his lungs. With each step he takes, more and more life is pressed out of him, and the light gets closer and closer. He can feel his bones being crushed, his head squishing thinner and thinner but the light is right there and he can see a garden with a pavilion if he squints and it’s right there it’s right in front of him he can’t breathe but it’s right there 

And like a grape in a presser, his skull pops.

Todoroki bolts up gasping, hands frantically feeling for his head, grasping to find if his skull is still intact. He doubles over coughing, lungs still not convinced that nothing’s happening to him, that he’s fine, that it was just a dream -

I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive. He repeats to himself, trying to get his heartbeat back to something resembling a normal rate. It was a dream, I’m alive, I’m okay-

But the memory doesn’t fade like his other dreams do, nor does his shaking cease. He’s never had a dream that vivid, one where he could literally feel the life being crushed out of him. Feel his internal organs caving in. 

He rolls over, looking out the window. It’s still dark outside, sun just barely peeking over the horizon. He checks his clock. 5:27AM. At least he slept through most of the night - that’s more then he could usually-

Todoroki bolts up. 

Bakugou. 

He had been there. The memory was a little fuzzy, face scrubbed of any fine details, but the stance and the silhouette were unmistakable. He can almost hear Momo in his head, telling him that it was just a coincidence and that it was probably just because he was thinking about it before bed, but he was right there. Todoroki almost feels like if he had reached out he could’ve touched him. 

But then, he remembers the hands around Bakugou’s neck. The shadowy figure behind him. 

It… it almost resembled the figure in the garden. 

Wait. 

Wait, if Bakugou’s up - Todoroki throws the covers off of his futon, scrambling to get dressed. If Bakugou’s awake like he is - then maybe - just maybe - 

Slipping out of his dorm room as quietly as possible, Todoroki slowly makes his way down the hall, careful not to step on the floorboard that creaks. Bakugou’s room is at the very end, door impersonal and undecorated. Todoroki swallows. Under different circumstances, he feels like this would be considered rude. Hell, it still probably is. 

He knocks anyway. 

It’s silent for one second. Two seconds. Three. 

After second number forty-five, Todoroki’s ready to admit defeat, call his theory crackpot, and try and go back to bed. He turns to leave, when all of the sudden, the door cracks open, a single red eye glaring out.

“What. The fuck. Do you want.” Bakugou growls, voice still thick with sleep. 

“Oh, you are awake.” Todoroki attempts to open the door completely and step inside, but Bakugou slams it shut with the force of a truck, slamming Todoroki’s foot in the door so hard it probably broke a toe.

 “Ow.” Todoroki says nonchalantly. 

“You have ten seconds to answer the fucking question Icyhot, before I start killing people. Primarily you.” Bakugou snaps, and god, did Todroki forget how much of an ass this guy is. 

Well, might as well rip the bandaid off. “Why are you up so early?” Todoroki questions. 

Bakugou gives him a look that would have a weaker person begging for forgiveness. Todoroki, however, does not relent, so Bakugou begrudgingly answers him. “...You were knocking on the fucking door, asswipe.” He growls through gritted teeth. 

“I only knocked once.” Todoroki points out. 

“Well, guess who’s a light sleeper? Me. So if you don’t mind-” Bakugou attempts to slam the door in his face, but Todoroki jams his foot in again, keeping it cracked. The insistence on not opening up the door all the way and letting him in is already really suspicious, but the hastiness in Bakugou’s dismissal? Uncharacteristic. 

“Did you have a weird dream?” He asks. 

Bakugou stares at Todoroki as if he’s grown a second head. “‘Scuse me?” He questions. 

“Did you have a weird dream?” Todoroki repeats. “Is that why you’re awake?”

Bakugou gives him an indecipherable look, the door cracking open just slightly enough for Bakugou to see the rest of his face. “I - what the fuck kinda question is that?” 

Todoroki shrugs. “Just curious.”

Bakugou sighs, rolling his singular eye so hard that he probably strains it. “No, I fucking didn’t, alright?” He snaps. “Is that literally the only reason you woke me up?”

“And you’re sure you weren’t awake beforehand?” 

“No I fucking - God, you’re obnoxious.” Bakugou kicks Todoroki’s foot out of the door frame, reaching for the handle. “Get out of here before I incinerate your ugly mug.”

And on that pleasant and not-at-all offensive note, Todoroki watches Bakugou slam the door in his face. But as he steps forward to do so, the light catches his upper body for just a split second. 

Enough time for Todoroki to see the ring of bruises around his throat. 

Chapter Text

There is something wrong with the mansion. 

Momo’s never been quite sure what it is, but throughout her entire life, she’s known that there was something deeply, disturbingly wrong with it. It’s empty. It echoes. The paintings are uncanny. It’s too bright inside. Everything hurts to look at. It’s much too big. You could get swallowed whole from the sheer size of the thing. Everytime Momo’s in it, she gets the urge to run away and hide. 

There is something wrong with the mansion. 

Maybe it’s because she never really lived in it, despite the fact that it’s where her mother and father live. She never really knew her parents, which didn’t bother her too much as a child. They were always too busy to raise a child, too entangled in the political dealings of the business world to read her a story, to comfort her when she had her nightmares, to walk her to and from the park. She’s lived with her grandmother her whole life - or at least for as long as she can remember. Which, as she’s starting to realize, is not nearly as long as she thought it was. 

There is something wrong with the mansion. 

There is something wrong with the mansion, and no one else seems to notice or care, Momo watching as her classmates splash around in the olympic sized-swimming pool in the mansion’s backyard. There’s a hot tub off to the side, where some of her less rambunctious classmates are sitting in, chatting amongst themselves. A few sit on the pool deck, and Momo’s eyes drift to Jirou, mid-conversation with Tsuyu. She’s wearing a tank top-swimsuit that’s a dark shade of purple, and a pair of small black swimming shorts. She looks cute.

Jirou catches her staring, and waves. Embarrassed, Momo flushes and turns away to save face, trying to look at anything else. Kirishima and Mina are perched on top of Sero and Ojirou’s shoulders respectively, the former looking like he’s about to topple under Kirishima’s weight. Satou’s floating on the top of a watermelon-shaped inflatable, and Momo watches as Hagakure swims under it, attempting to flip it over from the underside. Tokoyami’s perched on top of Dark Shadow as if it were a raft, talking with Kaminari, who’s conspicuously out of the water- most likely for safety reasons. 

Her gaze drifts to the end of the pool, where Todoroki is. He’s sitting on the ledge, dipping his feet into the pool, clearly lost in thought. Momo notes the dark circles underneath his eyes, his unkempt hair. Turning, she starts to make her way over to him. 

“Hey,” She says, moving to sit down next to him. Todoroki jolts, having jerked out of his stupor, and he turns his gaze onto her. “You alright?” She asks quietly.

“...I’m fine.” Todoroki replies flatly with all the sincerity of a brick wall. Momo frowns, and starts to say something-

“HEY TODOROKI, QUIT FREEZING THE POOL!!” Mina shouts. Momo looks over at her, only to see everyone else’s teeth chattering. She sticks her hand in the pool, and recoils almost immediately - it’s ice cold. Looking down, Momo sees a thin layer of frost slowly beginning to spread across Todoroki’s leg, and gently motions for him to take his leg out of the pool. Todoroki blinks, realizing what’s going on, and obliges. 

“Sorry!” He yells back, sticking his left hand in the pool to warm it back up. Momo watches him as he does this, concern welling up in her gut. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Todoroki.” 

“Sorry, it’s just…” Todoroki trails off as he removes his hand from the pool now that he’s finished heating it back up. 

“Just what?” Momo prompts. 

“...The dreams.” Todoroki finishes, refusing to meet Momo’s gaze. Momo sighs. She’d almost forgotten about Todoroki’s little theory in her rush to get everything ready for tonight. Still, it’s a strange and completely outlandish theory - certainly not the weirdest one he’s ever come up with, but it’s getting up there the more he brings it up. 

“They’re just nightmares,” Momo repeats, echoing what she had said the night before. “That’s all it is.”

“You don’t get it,” Todoroki retorts, leg bouncing in agitation. “You weren’t there - it was so real.” Momo sees how tense he is, how tightly wound up his body is, and puts a comforting hand on Todoroki’s back, feeling the clear split in his body temperatures underneath her clammy palm. Todoroki looks up, meeting her eyes for the first time. “...Sorry.” He mumbles. “I probably sound like a crazy person right now.” 

“...Admittedly, yes, a little bit.” Momo replies. “But I know what it feels like. It does feel real.”

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“...Bakugou was there.”

Momo doesn’t look up. “Of course he was. You were thinking about him.”

“He had bruises, Momo.”

Momo stops. 

“In the dream, I - something was choking him. And when I went to talk to him after I woke up, for a second I thought I saw-”

ᔕ  “You were still half-asleep, Todoroki.” And maybe she’s saying that a little bit to herself too, but what of it? They don’t - it doesn’t mean anything. 

ェ  

ᗰ 

𝄩           It doesn’t. 

ᔕ

ϖ  “Besides,” Momo points out. “I had a dream last night too, but I don’t have any bruises.” 

ᗆ

ᴒ   “Did you get hurt in the dream?” Todoroki retorts. 

⌤

𝄩   “I…” Well, sort of. Bugs crawling out of your skin probably counts as an injury? “Yes, I did.” 

ᴝ

⊣   “What happened in it?”

ェ

ᗆ    And now they’re treading into territory that Momo doesn’t like. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

⊣       Momo replies, pulling on the long sleeves of her zip-up one piece, a bad habit she’s picked up whenever she’s nervous.

ᔕ     

ᴟ

ᗆ Todoroki notices. He looks down at her arms, then back up to her. Momo notices him noticing, and ⌐      turns away. He looks like he wants to say something, and he almost does, opening   his mouth, before deciding better and closing it. 

⌐       

ᓓ

o   He puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. His palm is cool, a nice reprieve from the hot summer air.

O   

ᴟ

,     “I- I’m sorry,” Momo mumbles. “I don’t mean to be so snippy - I just don’t like it here.”

ᗆ

ᴝ Todoroki nods. “You know, I was going to say the same thing.”

ᗜ

⊣ Momo looks up at him, confused. “You - you were?” She asks. 

ェ

ᗰ   Todoroki nods. “I’m not really sure what it is, but something about this place just seems… off. 

ᗜ   Which is weird,” He adds, rolling his shoulders and leaning back. “Since I’ve never even been here before.”

ᓓ 

ᗆ

ᘏ  “Huh.” Well, it’s somewhat of a relief to know that she’s not the only one. “Everyone else seems to be fine, though.” She remarks, looking out at their classmates as they splash around.

ᴝ        Almost like she’s on the outside, looking in. It’s her party, and yet here she is, feeling as if she’s staring  through a window like some kind of voyeur. 

╖    

⌐

𝄩

ᗰ   What was wrong with her?

ᔕ

ᗆ

ᓓ

ᗰ     Why was there such a… disconnect between her and the rest of the world? 

|

“Momo?”

Momo blinks, snapping back to reality. “Sorry,” She mumbles, shaking her head slightly. “Just got caught in my own head for a second.”

“I understand.” Todoroki replies, standing up and stretching. “Happens to me a lot.”

Momo’s about to say something, but she’s cut off by shouting on the other end of the pool. Todoroki and her both turn, to see that Kirishima has dismounted Sero’s shoulders, much to the latter’s relief, and is now climbing out of the pool to greet a slightly disgruntled-

“Bakugou!” Kirishima shouts, slapping him on the shoulder. “We thought you weren’t coming!”

Bakugou shrugs. “Had nothing better to do.” He retorts, carelessly chucking his bag onto the pool chair currently occupied by Kaminari, who squawks in indignation. “Don’t get any ideas though, the doctors said I shouldn’t get any chemicals in my eye. So if I see any of you-” He whirls around jabbing a finger at Kaminari, frozen mid-sneak with his arms outstretched to push Bakugou into the pool. “Try and push me in, not only will I kill you, but Recovery Girl will spit on your corpse after I’m done.” 

“Alright, point taken.” Kaminari grumbles, shuffling away as Kirishima and Mina laugh at him. 

Momo stares at his neck.

No bruises. 

She turns to look at Todoroki, who has noticed the same thing. She gives him a stare, as if to say ‘what did I tell you?’ Todoroki doesn’t respond, but simply walks away, dejected. 

Momo frowns. She thought he’d be happy to know that his theory was wrong.

Well, whatever. He could go sulk if he wanted. She makes her way over to where Bakugou is, sitting next to him on one of the many pool chairs scattered around the deck. He doesn’t respond when she sits down, so she takes it upon herself to make her presence known. “Hello-” Bakugou jumps, genuinely leaps up, whirling around to face her. 

“Fucking - don’t do that!” He shouts in indignation. “That’s my blind spot, dumbass!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Momo exclaims, face turning red. “I just - I forgot, I’m sorry-”

“Jeez.” Bakugou flops back down on the pool chair, shoulders relaxing. “Nearly gave me a heart attack, Ponytail.”

Oh, they’re on nickname terms now? “...Well, it’s not my fault you’re so jumpy today.” She retorts. 

“Can it with that shit, I get enough of it from my mother.” Bakugou grumbles, fixing Momo with a hard stare. She returns it, crossing her arms as well. Her eyes catch on something, a shade of color out of place -

“Hey Momo!” Momo turns to see Jirou and Uraraka waving her over to the hot tub. “Come over here!”

Momo turns back to look at Bakugou, but he’s already turned away. She sighs, frustrated. 

“Are we gonna talk about it?” She quietly asks him as she stands up. 

“Talk about what?” Bakugou answers back, just as cooly. 

She meets his gaze again. Challenging. 

Fine. He’s playing dumb. Whatever. Momo whirls around on her heel, stalking back over to the hot tub. Jirou turns to face her, scooting a bit closer so they can hear each other over everyone else’s conversations.

“What’s his problem with you?” Jirou quietly asks. 

Momo sighs. “There’s no problem,” She lies. “I’m just not sure if we’re friends or-”

“Wait - since when were you two friends?” Jirou interrupts, arching a dark eyebrow. “I thought he hated everybody.” 

“He was the one who cut my hair.” Momo begins. “I accidentally cut off a good chunk of it a few nights back, and I remembered hearing somewhere that he knew how to cut hair, so I went to ask him.” She lies. 

“...You asked him and not me?” Jirou mumbles, turning her head away.

Momo blinks. Turns to look at Jirou, who looks almost… jealous? No, that’s not the right word. Offended. She remembers all the sleepovers the 2-A girls have had, all of the times Jirou’s been asked by the other girls to give them haircuts when they couldn’t go out and get it themselves. (Or in Uraraka’s case, couldn’t afford it.) 

“S-sorry.” Momo mumbles. “I forgot.” 

Jirou’s pinky brushes over Momo’s, and Momo’s chest gets strangely tight all of a sudden.

“It’s fine,” Jirou says quietly. “I guess I’m just… worried.”

Momo’s confused. “About?”

“About you!” Jirou exclaims, turning to face Momo. “You’ve been acting really strange recently, you know.”

“...Have I?” Has she been that obvious?

Evidently so, as Jirou sighs, rubbing her forehead in exasperation. “You’ve just been really quiet and moody and stuff - not to mention, you and Todoroki have been basically joined at the hip ever since the incident with the building that blew up,” Jirou begins, leaning back against the side of the hot tub. “Which like - I don’t mind that, if anything, I think it’s good that Todoroki actually has a friend now, but like - you two are just…” She trails off, picking at her black nail polish. “...Something’s going on with you two.” She finishes. 

Momo looks down at the bottom of the pool, cheeks flushing. It’s true - she and Todoroki did hang out a lot, but she didn’t think it was in a suspicious way. Not to mention, she really didn’t want Jirou getting the wrong idea about them, for reasons that, let’s be honest, Momo doesn’t have the emotional energy to work out right now. But all that time spent with him… she and Jirou hadn’t hung out in a while. 

No wonder she was upset. It probably came off like Momo didn’t want to be friends with her anymore. 

“Jirou, I…” Momo trails off, unsure of where to even begin. 

How the hell was she supposed to explain this to her? It’s not like she can just come out and say it. Like, ‘Hey Jirou, Todoroki and I just realized that we’ve both had instances of extended memory loss, and we’re not really sure why, but we think it has to do with this person named Izuku Midoriya, but we have no idea if he really exists or not. Oh, how did we find out about this guy? Well, Todoroki’s been having a bunch of weirdly prophetic dreams about it, and I heard the name from Mr. Aizawa, who heard the name from Bakugou. Oh yeah, Bakugou’s involved too, but he’s not telling us anything though, haha. Also the guy from the building explosion knows Midoriya too. His name is Mikumo and I’ve been visiting him on the weekends. Anyways, how’s your day been going?’

Jirou would probably stare at her like she had grown a second head or something. And then call the police. 

Honestly, she’d probably do the same thing. 

“Hey,” Jirou places her hand over Momo’s. Momo’s breath catches, and she looks up to meet Jirou’s eyes, upturned with sympathy and concern. “You don’t have to tell me right now if you don’t want to.” She says. “But, if you need someone to talk to, I’m always here.” 

Jirou rubs her thumb over Momo’s palm, and her stomach does a weird little flip. Clearing her throat, she mentally tries to drag herself back to the present. “I- thanks.” Momo manages to reply. “And, I’m sorry that I’ve been so distant lately. I’ve just… there’s a lot that’s been going on.”

“Yeah, I kinda picked that up.” Jirou laughs. 

Momo smiles. “...Do you maybe want to hang out tomorrow?” She asks. “Since we haven’t in a while?”

Jirou’s face brightens up, and turns a strange shade of pink for some reason. “Y-yeah, sure!” She replies. “I’d really like that, actually. What do you wanna do?” 

“Well, maybe we could-”

 She’s interrupted by a loud splash. 

Everyone turns just in time to see a massive splash of water as one Bakugou Katsuki tumbles into the pool, having slipped on the pool tiles. Momo gasps, quickly clambering up and out of the hot tub over to where he fell in. Todoroki’s already there, eyes squinting. 

Like he’s looking for something. 

Momo has no time to process that, however, as Bakugou breaches the surface, coughing and sputtering water. His hand clutches his eyepatch, now soaked, teeth gritted in pain from the chlorine’s contact with his wound. Momo winces in sympathy. 

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Kirishima roughly shoves past both Momo and Todoroki, extending a hand to help Bakugou up. Bakugou, in classic Bakugou fashion, swats it away, clinging to the railing as he hauls himself out. 

“Back off-” He snaps, scowling at the rest of the class. “I just slipped, there’s no need to -” A twinge of pain seems to spark up, as he hisses through his teeth. “Quit fucking babying me!” 

“Is your eye alright?” Todoroki remarks, stepping forward. Despite his concerned words, Todoroki is the picture of tranquility, and yet his eyes don’t meet Bakugou’s singular red one. No, his gaze is fixed a little further downward. 

Bakugou isn’t stupid. Neither is Momo, and she catches his free hand flinch, almost like he was going to cover his neck. 

“...It’s fine.” Bakugou snarls, rudely shoving past Todoroki. “Is there any disinfect in this damn house?” He yells at Momo. 

“O-oh, um - there should be some in the bathroom?” Momo squeaks, caught off-guard. 

“Which bathroom?” Bakugou asks flatly. “There’s like, fucking fifty of them in this shithole.”

Momo’s caught between being offended by that comment on her parent’s behalf, and agreeing with him on the shithole part. “If you go down the hallway to the left, take a right, pass through the big event room, take another right, go up the stairs, then a left-”

“What?” 

“Nevermind just - I’ll show you where it is.” Momo brushes past Bakugou, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around her shoulders. She opens the massive doors, and Bakugou reluctantly shuffles in after her. “Be right back!” She yells to everyone. 

(Her eyes briefly catch on something sparkling in the evening sun. It’s a small patch of ice, spread across the pool tiles near the ledge. 

Right where Bakugou slipped. 

Momo catches Todoroki’s eyes, the picture of innocence. He shrugs, and Momo gives him a look as if to say ‘We’ll talk about this later’ as she walks inside.) 

Their wet footsteps echo against the ornate tiles of the floor, and Momo is once again reminded of just how wrong this place feels to her. The air is surprisingly cold inside, though whether that’s from the air conditioning or her just having exited a hot tub, she can’t tell. She’s not the only one feeling the cold, as Momo notices Bakugou’s teeth chattering slightly. She offers him her towel, but he just ignores her. 

A strange cross between concern and irritation begins to boil in Momo’s gut. “I’m just trying to help.” She says. 

He doesn’t respond.

Momo crosses her arms. “…I thought we were cool.” She mumbles. 

“We’re fine.” Bakugou replies, without even looking at her. They take a left down the hallway with the massive paintings. Momo tries to ignore their eyes following her as she passes. 

“You’ve been ignoring me this entire time.” Momo points out. 

“Maybe it’s just cause I don’t have anything to say to you.” They turn into the ballroom, the weak evening light streaming through the stained glass windows, painting the walls in shades of purple and blue. The dragonfly in the stained glass sits above the entire room, hexagonal eyes seemingly taunting her. 

“Or maybe you just don’t want to say anything.” Momo counters as they begin to head up the stairs to the second floor. 

Bakugou sighs. “...I don’t have anything to tell you, so get off my ass.” He snaps, in a way that signaled that the conversation was to be dropped immediately unless Momo wanted a black eye, and desperate as she was for answers, Momo wasn’t gonna risk it. 

So they trail off into silence. 

“...I never got to properly thank you.” 

Bakugou looks up. “For what?” He asks. 

“Helping me with my hair.” She answers as they turn down the corridor. “It would’ve been a mess if you hadn’t fixed it.” 

Bakugou still doesn’t turn around, but his steps slow, just a tiny bit. “...Anybody could’ve done that,” He replies. “It’s not like it’s hard.” 

“Can’t believe I'm saying this to you of all people, but you’ve gotta give yourself some more credit.” Momo replies. “It actually turned out pretty good.” They turn the corner one last time, to see the bathroom door in front of them, golden doorknob gleaming in the low-light. “This is it.” She says. 

Bakugou nods. He turns towards the door, before turning back to her, as if he’s going to say something - before he thinks better of it, and walks in, slamming the door behind him. 

Momo sighs, but it’s a little less out of frustration this time, though that’s definitely still there. The tension in the air is a little bit less thick now. There’s something resembling a ground for understanding. 

She sighs, stepping back. Nothing to do now but wait. 

Her back bumps against something hard. 

A doorknob. 

Momo turns, to see a smaller door looming behind her. All at once, memories come rushing back - jumping up and down on a canopied bed, sitting at the windowsill to watch the sunrise, scribbling doodles on her desk, tongue sticking out in concentration. 

The door to her childhood bedroom laid before her, completely unchanged. All at once, a pool of dread mixed with nostalgia rises up in her, so thick and powerful that it almost feels like bile. She hasn’t stepped inside for almost ten years now. 

So why does she remember it in perfect clarity all of the sudden? 

And why does it scare her?

The door is ajar. It wasn’t ajar a second ago. The doorframe feels like a mouth, cavernous, gaping, ready to swallow her whole. It beckons her in. She doesn’t know why. There’s something in the bottom drawer she needs to find. She spent time on it, time and materials. She had pricked herself with the needle until her thumb bled. Bakugou’s still in the bathroom - she has time, time to figure this out, time to understand what exactly this house is hiding from her -

-Out of the corner of her eye, she sees something green flicker past. When she turns, it’s gone. 

With nothing else to do, she goes insi̵͓͠ ̵͇̇ ̵͓̀ ̸̞̓ ̸̉ͅ ̴̣̔ ̶̺͛

Chapter Text

Todoroki knows something is wrong the instant Bakugou comes back. He mainly picks up on this because Momo isn’t with him. 

Being here had already set him on edge. The mansion feels strange, feels off. He gets why Momo chose not to live here as a child now, the oppressive atmosphere would have driven him to insanity far quicker than anything his father could’ve. Everything is just way too big here - even the swimming pool, an area designed for fun and relaxation, seems to swallow his classmates whole with its size. 

So maybe that’s why he was already on edge. Maybe it was making him do stupid things.

Confession time: he had knocked Bakugou into the pool. Sue him, the guy wasn’t going to talk no matter which way Todoroki sliced it, so he had to do something drastic. He had seen the way Bakugou had instinctively gone to cover his neck, which was damning enough, but when he had turned to leave, Todoroki had seen a smudged bit of concealer, revealing darker bruises underneath. Waterproof or not, no concealer can withstand any kind of rubbing. Todoroki wonders if it had been smudged even before he got Bakugou to slip into the pool. If that was the case - well, oops. Hopefully his eye would be okay. 

It was a solid twenty minutes before Bakugou returned, trademark scowl still intact. By then, the patch of ice Todoroki had created to get him to slip into the pool had melted, leaving nothing but a large puddle behind, inconspicuous on the wet tiles. Todoroki waited for Momo to emerge from the house behind Bakugou, but she didn’t. 

Bakugou scans the crowd, as if looking for someone. His singular red eye meets Todoroki’s gray one, as he approaches from the other side of the pool deck. His neck looks normal - no sign of any blemishes anywhere. He must’ve brought the concealer with him. Smart. 

“Where’s Momo?” Bakugou asks, in an uncharacteristic usage of her actual name. Todoroki frowns, narrowing his eyes. 

“I thought she was with you.” He responds. 

“She was gone when I opened the door, ‘figured she came back here.” Bakugou retorts. 

They both freeze for a moment, because if Momo isn’t with either of them-

“Shit.” Bakugou swivels around, voice filled with uncharacteristic worry, dashing back to the door. Todoroki follows close behind, throwing a towel around his neck. “God fucking - why are you following me?”

“I need to find Momo.” Todoroki responds plainly. Bakugou fixes him a look so withering, it could probably kill someone. Todoroki meets his glare with a challenging gaze. He’s not about to leave his best friend in the lurch like he did last time. “We ne-”

“Where are you guys going?” The two of them turn around to see Jirou has followed them into the foyer, arms crossed. Her eyes flit between the two of them, before narrowing in suspicion. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be in here without permission.”

“Fuck off, Earphones.” Bakugou snarls, brushing right past her. 

“Make me, asshole.” Jirou retorts, power-walking to keep up with him.

“We’re going to find Momo.” Todoroki interjects before the situation escalates any further. 

Jirou, evidently, isn’t satisfied with that explanation, crossing her arms as they round a corner. “It’s her house, she probably went to get something,” She points out. “There’s no reason to freak out.”

But there is - Todoroki isn’t sure of what it is, but there is. He hates this place enough already, so Momo having vanished - in a strange way, it feels almost like the place might’ve swallowed her up. Not to mention, with the urgency Bakugou had shown when they realized Momo was missing - something was up. This was bad, Todoroki was sure of it. 

(Because if it isn’t, he’s going to end up looking real stupid.)

Bakugou’s already way ahead of them, and he has to get Jirou to leave before she pushes any further. He’s not proud of playing this card, but - “Bakugou’s kind of been like this for a while now.”

Jirou raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Ever since… the eye thing.” Todoroki whispers. “Speaking from experience, that can kind of set you on edge for a while.” Ew. Ew, ew, ew. “It’s probably fine, I just want to go with him to make sure he doesn’t freak out or anything.”

“O-oh - shit, my bad.” Yeah, this is the reaction Todoroki hates - pity and sheepishness, as if Jirou had stepped over some invisible line. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Todoroki says. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He crosses his fingers and toes that his half-assed explanation worked, and sure enough, Jirou nods, turning back around to head back outside. Todoroki exhales a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, watching Jirou slide the screen door shut. He hates using the eye thing for pity points, especially considering that it isn’t on his behalf, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He’d apologize later. 

Bakugou’s nowhere in sight, Todoroki realizes with a start. Swiveling on his foot, he power-walks down the hall, trying to retrace Bakugou’s steps. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to look far - Bakugou’s footsteps echo throughout the halls, and for the first time since he met the guy, Todoroki’s grateful that he stomps. 

“We should go back to where you last saw her first,” Todoroki starts, speed-walking to catch up with Bakugou. He grunts in response, but judging by the fact that he isn’t stopping, that had already been his plan. “Do you remember the -”

“Of course I know where I’m going, do you think I’m stupid?!” Bakugou snaps, as they turn a corner and begin to climb up the stairs to the second floor. The atmosphere drops a couple degrees. Todoroki shrugs, letting himself fall back a few steps. They continue on in silence, before Bakugou speaks up again. “And why the hell are you following me?!”

“Momo’s my best friend, I’m not just going to leave her.” He replies. 

“It’s none of your business.”

“Again, best friend. Definitely my business.”

Bakugou mutters a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, clenching his fists. “You just can’t ever mind your fucking business, can you Icyhot?” He growls.

Todoroki crosses his arms, striding to catch up. “No, actually, I can’t.” He responds flatly. “Not when you won’t tell me what's going on. Actually,” They turn another corner, Bakugou’s back still firmly turned towards Todoroki. “You won’t tell anyone what’s going on. It’s a little concer-”

“FUCK OFF!”

Todoroki freezes as Bakugou swivels around to jab a finger into his face, red eyes ablaze - and for the first time, Todoroki can get a clear look at his expression. 

He’s panicked.

Genuinely, completely panicked. 

Bakugou inhales, some of the tension deflating from his shoulders. “...I -” 

And then he says the last thing either of them would’ve ever expected.

“Sorry.” He mutters through gritted teeth.

And that’s when Todoroki realizes: Something has happened to him. 

It’s not just the apology - the panic, the calmer demeanor during the past month, the eye - he walked with the confidence of someone who had their eye missing for a lot longer than a month - 

-Oh god, Something had happened. Something big had happened and no one had any idea. 

Before the revelation can truly sink in, Bakugou turns away, climbing up the stairs. Todoroki blinks, shaking his head, trying to snap back to reality, before turning to follow. 

He tries to ignore the way the painting's eyes follow him as he passes. 

“This is the bathroom I went to,” Bakugou starts, opening the door. The inside of the bathroom is sparse, with no personal indicators that a person used it. It’s bigger than a bathroom should be (like most things in this stupid house), bright white tiles and lights causing Todoroki’s eyes to sting. He shuts the door as quickly as he can. 

“Did you hear her go anywhere?” He asks. Bakugou shrugs. 

“‘Wasn’t really focused on that.” He responds. 

“Go figure.” It’s not enough that he’s grumpy - Bakugou also had to be unhelpful. He turns his gaze to the rest of the hall, vast and empty. The arched windows bring in the last of the evening light, reflecting across the cool tiled floor. Now that they’re not moving anymore, Todoroki can really feel the cold start to seep into his skin, and he wraps his towel around himself, letting his quirk warm himself up. Bakugou’s shivering as well, so he hands his towel to him after a moment of deliberation - he can always set himself on fire if the cold gets to be too much. 

Bakugou glares at him when he hands him the towel, but he takes it anyway. “She could be anywhere,” He mumbles, teeth chattering. “‘You try calling her?”

“She left her phone on the pool deck,” Todoroki responds, glancing up at the chandelier above them, crystals dangling from its chains. “So that’s out of the question.”

“What, so we start sticking our heads into every single room in this house?” Bakugou grumbles. “That’ll take all evening.”

Todoroki looks down at the hall, staring at all of the doors. They’re made of a lacquered mahogany, shined to perfection. Again, there’s no sign that anyone actually lives here, and it reminds Todoroki of a mausoleum, in some ways. As shitty as his father’s house had been, at least it didn’t look like a place to cremate people. 

His eyes keep drifting, until they catch on something. The singular, sole sign of life.

The door directly to his right is ajar, just slightly.

“Hey,” He starts, Bakugou turning to look at him. “This door’s open.” 

Bakugou frowns, pushing past Todoroki and stepping forward. Todoroki frowns. “Hey, maybe you should-” He’s interrupted by Bakugou loudly kicking the door open, with all the tact and subtlety of a bear at a sushi conveyor belt. “...Nevermind.” He mutters, following closely behind as Bakugou goes inside. 

And it’s… a bedroom. 

A child’s bedroom, to be more exact. Everything from the lacy canopy, to the plush carpet, even the stuffed animals placed lovingly on the windowsill - it’s obvious that this room belonged to a little girl at one point or another. She evidently hasn’t been a little girl for a while - every surface is covered with a thick layer of dust. The room smells musty. It’s a complete contrast to the rest of the house, worn, old, and unkempt. 

But Todoroki isn’t really taking notice of that. 

No, what his attention is turned to is the collapsed form of Momo Yaoyorozu on the floor. 

“Shit-” Todoroki dashes over, heart in his throat. He kneels down, turning Momo face-up. Her skin is cool, but not abnormal, and face is soft, eyes delicately closed. Todoroki, in a mild bit of hysteria, is reminded of Sleeping Beauty, just a little bit. It’d be a flattering comparison were it not for the circumstances. 

“Fucking - give her here.” Todoroki hadn’t even noticed that Bakugou had kneeled down beside him, and he lets him cup the back of Momo’s head with his palm, lifting her up slightly. He presses the fingers of his free hand to her neck, eye narrowed in alarm, before his face relaxes. 

“What is it?” Todoroki asks.

“Her pulse is normal,” Bakugou says, laying her head back down. “And look at her breathing.” Todoroki listens for it - and sure enough, it’s coming out in deep, even intervals. She’s- “Asleep.” Bakugou finishes. 

“Asleep.” Todoroki repeats. He almost wants to laugh. All of this panic, and Momo had just decided to take a nap on the world’s fluffiest carpet?

Her hair is still damp. She hadn’t even changed. 

“Momo,” Todoroki snaps his fingers twice in front of her face. She shows no reaction, face as even as always. “Momo.” He does it again. Still no response. 

“Hey Icyhot, you should probably-”

“MOMO!” He shouts directly into her ear, with enough volume to wake the dead. “WAKE UP!”

She doesn’t.

No, something is wrong. 

His eyes glance down to her arms, holding something tightly against her chest. He moves to unfold them, but they’re stuck fast - even in her sleep, Momo had some serious arm strength. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Bakugou asks. 

“She’s - holding - somethi-” With a great tug, her arm comes free, sending Todoroki tumbling backwards. He sits up, shaking his head, before he realizes that something is brushing his leg. 

He looks down, to see the object Momo had been clinging onto with a vice grip. 

It was…

“A doll?” Todoroki picks it up, squinting his singular eye to get a better look. It’s crude, stitched together from cotton and scraps. Two dark green buttons and a stitched smile make up it’s face, with small dots all around it - markered in freckles, Todoroki realizes. The hair is made of a bright green yarn, sticking out everywhere. 

It looks familiar. 

Nauseatingly so.

Todoroki’s train of thought is interrupted, however, by Bakugou snatching the doll out of his hands. “Hey-” Bakugou pays him no mind, staring down at it with a horrified facial expression on his face. 

If he had been panicked before, he was terrified now. 

“Give that back.” Todoroki says, reaching for it. Bakugou doesn’t even seem to hear him. “Hey, give it-”

“What the fuck is this?” Bakugou breathes. 

Todoroki stops. 

“What - why was this in her room?” He asks. It isn’t directed at Todoroki - no, it almost sounds like it’s directed at someone else. “Why the fuck was this in her room?!”

“What are you talking about?” Todoroki asks, heart in his throat, because something, everything is wrong, this is it, this is what he had been looking for -

Bakugou doesn’t answer, clenching onto the wretched thing with shaking fists. He runs his free hand through his hair, eye darting from the doll, to Momo, then Todoroki, then back to the doll. Todoroki’s heartbeat thunders in his ears, there’s something important here he’s missing -

“Give that back,” He reaches for the doll, only for Bakugou to yank his hand away. His skin is pallid. His eye is wide. Todoroki doesn’t care - he needs answers, he needs that doll - “Give it back!"

why did i become a hero

˙ǝʌɐs oʇ pǝʇuɐʍ ᴉ ǝuoǝɯos sɐʍ ǝɹǝɥʇ

The fight only stops when Momo punches Bakugou in the face. 

He staggers back, hand clutching his cheek. Todoroki’s frozen in place, watching Momo rise, fist stinging red from the impact. He can’t see her face, with how her shoulders are hunched over, almost resembling someone rising from a grave. Fury emanates off of her in waves - he’s been around enough people prone to anger to know that much. 

Bakugou looks up, face full of confusion and anger, before it melts into something else. 

Realization. 

Defeat. 

And then fear. 

“You BASTARD!!” Momo screams, voice cracking as she pitches towards him. Todoroki can’t move - he’s frozen to the spot, only able to sit and watch what’s unfolding before him. “You KNEW! You KNEW! You KNEW!” Thrice repeated like some kind of chant, she lurches forward, tears streaking down her face and snot bubbling from her nose. 

Her eye drifts down to the doll clutched in Bakugou’s hand. 

Todoroki catches her as she lunges like a bat straight out of hell, grabbing her around the waist and holding her back with all the strength he can muster. Momo kicks and screams against him, “GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK!” and it’s all Todoroki can do to not succumb to the hysteria slowly filling the room. 

Bakugou, uncharacteristically silent, stares back up at her, single eye wide. A nasty bruise has formed on his right chin, already starting to darken into a deep shade of purple. He looks down at the doll, then back up at Momo, who struggles against Todoroki’s arms. “LET - GO - OF - ME!!” She screeches. Todoroki almost does. 

“Stop it!” He shouts back. “Momo, control yourself - what’s going on-”

“You LIED!!” Ignoring Todoroki entirely, her eyes trained on Bakugou, she reaches out desperately for him. “YOU KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME!!!”

“TAKE IT!!”

Bakugou throws the doll to the ground. 

The room goes silent. 

Momo ceases her struggling. All eyes on the doll. Its worn plastic eyes staring back up at them mockingly. A visage of a person. 

Todoroki lets Momo go. He stands, watching as she crouches down, picking the tattered thing up with shaking hands. Bakugou watches wordlessly, some indescribable emotion painted all across his face. 

“Take it,” He repeats breathlessly. “Take it. I don’t want it.”

Momo looks back up at him. 

“‘Never did.” He finishes. 

Momo’s eyes well with emotion, and Todoroki has officially lost the plot. Obviously, something happened in between the two of them going inside, and Momo passing out. Had Bakugou done something to her? But the panic in his eyes was genuine when Momo hadn’t come back. Surely he couldn’t have been faking that. Todoroki highly doubts that Bakugou, of all people, has the acting chops to pull something like that off. 

He watches as Momo cradles the doll, like it was something precious to her. She mumbles something to herself - Todoroki only catches the tail end of it - 

Izu. 

“...What’s going on?” He quietly asks. 

Bakugou and Momo both turn to look at him, as if they had completely forgotten he was even there. “Shit.” Bakugou says. “I-”

“It’s okay.” Momo stands, facing Todoroki. Her eyes are red. Strands of hair stick to her face. Todoroki watches as Momo reaches down towards her leg, and pulls out a rag and small bottle filled with clear liquid. 

She uncorks it, and Todoroki realizes what it is before she can even pour it onto the rag. 

“You - that’s chloroform?” Todoroki breathes. “You’re not -”

“No, no, no, no-” Momo hands him the soiled rag. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything.”

“...Okay.” With how erratic her behavior has been, Todoroki wouldn’t have put it past her. “But then-”

“You were right,” Momo starts, and the end of her sentence curls off in an almost-laugh. “You were always right, and I just didn’t listen.”

Todoroki looks down at the cloth. Even from a distance, the fumes make his head spin. “Momo, what are you-”

“You’ll find him. In your dreams.” She says, a frantic light in her eyes. Todoroki takes a step back instinctively. She looks mad. “Memories of the last year - USJ, the Sports Festival - follow them. If you see him in your dreams, follow him.”

“F-follow who?”

"Izuku Midoriya."

Todoroki’s heart stops. 

“He’s there. In your dreams - he always has been. That’s who this doll is,” She holds up the offending object. “And that’s what we were forgetting. We knew him, Todoroki.” Her face softens with sadness. “You knew him.”

She’s right. 

Deep down, in the very back of his mind where all the sharp edges and blurry images reside, he knows she’s right. 

He was real. 

He is real. 

Momo watches as Todoroki presses the rag up to his nose, and breathes in deeply. For a second, nothing happens, before he staggers on his feet, tumbling back. Bakugou catches him, laying him gently down on the carpet. Todoroki’s fingers unclench, and he drops what he’s holding, the bottle bouncing off of Momo’s toe. 

Neither of them say anything for a moment. 

Momo looks up at Bakugou, and it’s like looking through a pair of glasses that were just cleaned. She sees him, really sees him for the first time since this all happened - and sees the bruise she left on his face. Her mind flashes back to a time where she had done the same thing, over the same person - she’s always been one for repeating herself. Maybe that’s all she’s ever done.

“I - I’m sorry, I didn’t -” Momo reaches out towards Bakugou’s cheek, and he pulls away. 

“You’re fine.” He grumbles, turning away. The wall is down, she knows now - and yet, in classic Bakugou fashion, he still refused to look at her. 

Some guilty conscience. 

“...You knew,” She breathes, repeating what she had screamed earlier. She might as well have screamed it again, with the way he flinches. “This entire time, you knew about him. You remembered.”

He doesn’t respond. 

“...Sixteen years worth of memories, gone.” She says, more to herself than to him. A familiar anger is rising in her chest. “I lost most of my life, Bakugou - and you - you didn’t tell me.”

Silence. His head is bowed. It reminds Momo of the one time she went to church when her family went overseas to England. 

It’s bowed in penance. 

For some reason, that makes her even angrier. 

“Why?” She asks, more volume behind her voice. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me what happened?”

All this, and he’s still not responding. Momo grabs him by the arm, nails digging into pallid flesh. “Don’t just sit there looking sorry for yourself!” She snaps. Her life, her life, her life - all gone and he held it in his hand - “Do you think you had any right to keep this from me? From any of us?!”

“Why should you care?!” That’s what gets him moving, he flings her arm off of him and whirls around to face her, eye flaring red - “Your life was a fucking shitshow!”

“It was my. Life. MY LIFE!!” Momo shouts, lurching forward. “I deserve to know at least that much! I deserve to remember my parents as they were, I deserve to remember this house, I deserve to know why I feel the urge to do - to do awful things to myself!!” Her voice cracks, she always cries when she’s upset and she hates it, but she has to say this. “Do you think you’re the only one who misses him?! Do you think you’re the only one who considered him a friend?!” 

“I don’t-” 

But Momo isn’t going to let him get a word in edgewise, not like this. “Or what, is it obligation?!” She snaps, and it’s cruel, it’s mocking, but she can’t find it in herself to care, no, she hopes it hurts. “Did you not tell us because you wanted to make it up to him?!”

“It’s not guilt!!” Bakugou yells back, palms crackling. 

“Then WHAT IS IT?!”

“BECAUSE I -”

Bakugou stops. 

Bites his tongue so hard it bleeds. 

Wind instantly taken out of her sails, Momo could hear the next syllable forming, about to leave his lips. He stops it, of course, because it’s Bakugou, but it’s too late. The damage has already been done. That unspoken sentence hangs in the air, heavy and thick. 

And Momo, finally, finally, understands. 

Love makes you do a lot of awful things sometimes. Momo’s spent enough of her life chasing the love of her parents to know that. She’s hurt enough people for that love to know that.

But his love definitely isn’t familial. 

And Momo has a sneaking suspicion that it isn’t platonic either. 

“You’re-” 

“Don’t.” Bakugou’s face is an unflattering shade of purple, head turned away, arm thrown over his mouth. “I - you - I’ll fucking kill you if you finish that sentence-”

Bakugou does not look like he would kill her. Rather, he looks like he would throw up on her lap. Neither option is particularly appealing. 

Rage quelled, Momo moves to sit beside him. Bakugou still refuses to look at her, because if there was one thing that he was consistent about, it’s his refusal to even be anything resembling emotionally honest. 

Once upon a time, Momo could relate. 

But she’s tired now. Tired of putting up fronts. Tired of lying to people. Maybe he’s tired too. 

“How long?” She asks, after a long stretch of silence. 

Bakugou doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans his head back up against the side of the bed they were sitting against. “...You deserved to know about him,” He finally says. “All of you did.” 

It’s the closest thing to an apology Momo’s gonna get out of him. 

“I -” His voice cracks, and he swallows, looking away. “...I don’t know why I was the only one who didn’t forget about him.” He says. “I don’t - did he want me to make sure no one remembered? Did he forget? Did he not -” Another voice crack. Momo places a hand on his shoulder. Surprisingly, he doesn’t pull away. “...Did he not want me to forget?” Bakugou finishes, in an uncharacteristically small voice. 

“...I don’t know.” Izuku Midoriya was always an enigma back when he was still here. Momo had run over theory after theory for everything he had done, anything he had said - at the end of the day, she always came up short. 

“I thought -” Bakugou’s voice turns hard and flinty, gaze sharp and faraway. “I thought for a little while there, I had fuckin’ lost it.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “That maybe I had dreamt up the whole thing. Maybe he was never even real to begin with, y’know?”

Momo does. She had spent most of her formative years chasing that exact same phantom. 

“And you - you and Icyhot didn’t even recognize me - you got so buddy-buddy with each other even though you didn’t remember, but I just couldn’t.” Another laugh. “Always been shit at the whole ‘friends’ thing. Could never seem to hold one down without fuckin’ it up.”

“Bakugou-” 

This time, he does pull away. “And that’s the kicker, huh?” He exclaims, throwing his hands up. “Maybe we weren’t even really friends to begin with. Maybe it was only because of him.” He looks away, fingers clenched tightly around the towel draped over his shoulders. “He was the only person who ever really understood me, and most days, I wasn’t even sure if he was real or not.”

Silence. 

For a long, impassible moment, there is silence. 

Then-

“You were a friend to me.” 

Bakugou looks up. 

“Back then, last year - you were my friend.” Momo says. “I mean that. You, Todoroki, and Midoriya - all of you were my friends.”

Bakugou scowls at her. “You're just saying that-”

“I’m NOT!” She grabs him by the shoulders, because if this stupid guy wasn’t going to look at her, she’d make him listen- “I’m tired of you making all of this about you, you know that?”

“I-”

But now it’s Momo’s turn to cut him off. “No, you listen to me,” She says. “That was real. Everything that happened to us was real, and it will always be, no matter what stupid cosmic bullshit that idiot pulls.” Her hands are shaking. She must look half-crazed right now, but she doesn’t even care. “And that goes for you too. It was real. We were friends. You can either deal with that, or leave.”

Bakugou stares at her for one second. Two seconds. 

Finally, he lets out a little laugh. “Alright,” He says. “Now fuckin’ let go of me.” 

Momo does. 

It’s silent again, as they both turn to look at Todoroki’s unconscious body. Momo looks at Bakugou, face softening, lost in some memory Momo can’t see.

“...Did you mean what you said earlier-”

“Not now.” Bakugou cuts her off. Momo opens her mouth to object, but stops when she sees just how tired he looks. “Please.”

And as much as she’s pushed her luck with him tonight - she knows when she’s beat. Besides, she’s got enough to worry about already. No need to add Bakugou’s confusing internal feelings to that mix. 

Another time, then. 

She turns back to Todoroki. 

All that’s left to do now was wait. 

Chapter Text

There’s a resounding pain in his skull when Aizawa wakes up. 

It doesn’t feel like a migraine, no, this is a whole different ball game. It kind of feels like someone’s drilling a hole directly through his temple, only they’ve got a familial tremor and can’t even hold the damn drill in place, so it keeps slipping and sliding all across his forehead, drilling tiny little lines every which way. In some strange moment of word association, he’s reminded of this one myth where in order to get rid of a headache, a god asked his friend to break his head open with a spike. Granted, that was because his daughter was growing inside of his head for some reason, which hopefully isn’t the cause of Aizawa’s pain. He’s got enough to worry about without tossing a forehead baby in there. 

And maybe there’s a figure standing in the corner of his room that vanishes when he turns the lamp on, but it’s really not any of his business, as he stands to get some kind of pain killer from the kitchen, careful not to wake Hizashi up next to him. The clock reads 4:52. Early enough to where no one would be awake, but late enough that Aizawa won’t look like more of a zombie than he usually does. 

Trudging to the kitchen of his and Hizashi’s apartment, he opens the cabinet in the furthermost corner, grabbing the bottle of generic-brand painkillers, and pouring himself a glass of lukewarm tap water. He shakes three pills out, hoping it would be strong enough to fix the goddamn pounding in his skull. In an ideal world though, someone could knock him out with horse tranquilizers or chloroform, so he could sleep through this entire mess. 

He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about. The only thing that comes to his mind is a single image. 

A boy, standing on the stairs of a police station. 

He never usually remembers any of his dreams. 

It’s odd. 

Just then, something rings, the shrill tone echoing throughout the silent apartment. Aizawa jumps, just slightly, but enough to be a little embarrassed, and swivels towards the direction of the noise.

His teaching phone lays abandoned on the countertop, buzzing against the quartz surface. Specifically, the one his students call him on when he has questions. Which wouldn’t be odd, were it not for the fact that it was nearly five in the morning. Along with that, it was the weekend, meaning that most of the students would’ve gone home for the weekend, so any kind of dormitory accident was out of the question. 

He checks the caller ID. 

The mansion felt even emptier after everyone had left. 

Momo had claimed food poisoning as to why she hadn’t come back, which thankfully, everyone had believed. Jirou had come up to see her, and in a moment of bizarre comedy, Bakugou had to drag Todoroki’s unconscious body under the massive bed before Jirou could see either of them. She had wanted to stay, but Momo had ushered her out quickly. 

Still keeping secrets. 

Todoroki’s still very much asleep on the floor, the pillow under his head acting as Momo’s olive branch for dosing him earlier. Momo’s perched on her massive bed, and Bakugou sits across the room with his back against the wall. His eyepatch is off, and for the first time, Momo can get a clear look at the scar tissue underneath. It isn’t a burn, like Todoroki’s eye - it’s puckered and thin, almost looking like some sort of skid mark. 

(She remembers, now, how he really got it- watching him pitch headfirst out of the car. There had been a vacant expression on his face beforehand, as if he knew what was about to happen.)

As the hours creep on, Momo can see Bakugou start to nod off in the corner. She kind of wants to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, they sit in solemn silence, the weight of her regained memories pressing down on her mind.

Another hour passes. Todoroki still hasn’t awoken. 

“...You can come up here if you want.”

Bakugou looks up at her. She pats the empty space next to her on the bed. 

He snorts, but it lacks any real humor. “Ponytail, if anyone comes in here, they’re gonna get the wrong idea.” 

“The house is empty, jackass,” Momo remarks, rolling her eyes. “And you’ve been sitting down there for ages, your tailbone’s probably killing you.” 

“Getting real specific with the anatomy terms, huh.”

“It’s something I have to know for my Quirk.” A moment of silence. “Also, it’s just - it’s kind of awkward with you all the way over there if I wanna say anything.” 

Bakugou doesn’t respond for a moment, before finally, he sighs, hauling himself up. Shuffling across the room, he sits down on the edge of her massive bed, the side opposite from where Momo’s sitting. 

“Wow, this is… really soft.” He mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “How the fuck do you sleep on this thing?” 

“What, do you like your mattresses rock-hard or something?” 

“No, it’s just - I feel like this thing would swallow me whole if I laid down in it.” Bakugou presses down on fabric, watching as it sinks beneath his fingers, singular red eye pensive. 

Momo shrugs. “I think it’s quite comfortable.” 

“You would.”

Another moment of silence. Bakugou doesn’t move from his position on the edge of the bed. 

Enough of this. “You can lay down, I don’t care.” Momo repeats, turning on her side. “It won’t kill you.” 

“I don’t remember you having this much of an attitude.” But despite his protesting, he does comply, moving to lay on the other side. Folding his arms over his chest, Bakugou’s pose is almost an exact replica of the stereotypical mummy pose. Momo has to muffle a snort at the mental image. 

They both fall silent, each of them turning to look at the ceiling. There’s a fair amount of distance between them, nearly half a meter, but somehow, it feels massive and impassible. Turning her head, Momo meets Bakugou’s eye, his pose an exact mirror of hers. It seems they both had the same idea. 

“...Well?” Momo blinks, seeing Bakugou’s scowl. “You’ve got something to say, out with it.” The sentence lacks the usual bite. 

Momo swallows, pursing her lips. “I…” She has a lot of questions. A lot of ‘why’s’ and ‘how’s’ and ‘what’s’, but the first one that escapes her lips is-

“How long?”

Now it’s Bakugou’s turn to blink in confusion. “...How long what?” 

“How long have you known about Midoriya?” The canopy above them rustles in the faint breeze let in by the window being cracked open, and elsewhere in the room, Todoroki shifts in his sleep. “You know - how long have you had your memory back?” 

Bakugou turns his head back up, closing his eye and letting out a weary exhale. Momo waits, anticipation and curiosity boiling in her gut. 

“...Never forgot.” He finally answers. 

Momo opens her mouth. 

Closes it. 

“...Ah.” 

She turns back to look at the ceiling. 

“...Why?” 

“Fuck if I know,” Throwing his hands up in frustration, Bakugou extends towards the ceiling, something unreadable in his voice. “I just knew when I woke up that he - he was gone.” 

Gone. “Then - why did you ask Mr. Aizawa about him at the hospital?” She asks. 

Red blurs in the darkness, as Bakugou’s gaze darts to her own. “How - how do you know about that?” There’s an edge of fear there, but mostly, it’s anger. Frustration. 

“I heard from Todoroki that you asked Mr. Aizawa about-”

“Fuckin’ Icyhot, of course.” Grumbling, he turns away. “‘Bastard can never keep his mouth shut.” And things must be in pretty dire straits if Momo cheers up a little bit at Bakugou’s prickly nature returning, if only just a little bit. 

“...I wanted to make sure,” He finally finishes. “That I wasn’t - that he was gone.” 

For closure’s sake, she’s sure. But then again, if Momo were in his shoes, that wouldn’t do anything to resolve things at all. Especially if… 

“And you just… didn’t say anything to us? To anybody?” 

“Of course not,” Bakugou snaps, whirling around to face her. “I’d sound like a fuckin’ insane person.” 

…Fair enough. The entire story sounds bizarre even to Momo, and she was there for it. But despite that, she has this nagging feeling in the back of her mind that if he had told her that, she might’ve believed him. 

“What about Mikumo?” Bakugou arches a thin eyebrow at that. “You know - the boy whose body Midoriya used?” 

“Why the hell would he know anything about it?” He replies, crossing his arms.

Momo frowns. “You… aren’t curious to talk to him? At all?” 

“Why would I be?” And there’s strain in his voice, nearly undetectable. “He’s not Izuku, so what do I care?” 

Izuku. Not Deku. 

…That’s new. As far as she can recall, he nearly always called Midoriya that. 

Which leads into her biggest question;

“How long did you know you…” Bakugou shoots her a glare so sharp, so withering, that any words she was about to say dry up in her throat nearly instantly. “...Nevermind.” It’s none of her business anyways. 

Well. It kind of is. 

“...You were in love with him.” 

Instant pillow to the face. Not even a second to think. 

Pulling it off of her reveals a red-faced Bakugou, frozen mid follow-through. His expression is part embarrassment, part fear, and part… something else. Something she can’t quite put her finger on. But the look in his eyes, there’s deep, vast depths of emotion, bubbling just beneath the surface. 

(How the hell did she miss this?)

“Don’t just fucking- I- you’re an asshole,” Bakugou sputters, an uncharacteristically flustered expression on his face. “Don’t just bring up shit like that-”

“You weren’t ever going to say it,” Momo remarks off-handedly. 

“Fuck off!” And with that, he lays back down on his side with a dramatic ‘thump’, turning his back towards her. 

Momo stares at him for one second. Two seconds. 

“...It’s okay, you know.”

He doesn’t respond. 

“It doesn’t - it doesn’t bother me.”

“‘S not about you, Ponytail,” Comes as a muffled remark. 

Momo arches an eyebrow. “So what’s the problem?” 

“He’s-” A slight crack in his voice. “He was… him.”

When he doesn’t follow up on that, Momo pipes up. “And?”

“And I was me, and now he’s gone,” Bakugou finishes, a quivering finality in his voice. “So that’s the end of that.” 

Momo looks away. 

She doesn’t quite understand. And really, she wasn’t expecting to. How could she? There’s years of history and experience between the two of them that Momo, frankly, can’t even begin to fathom. She could feel it in every interaction between the two, the tension at the beginning of the school year, the fights they had, the calloused, soft-edged exchanges they’d hold when the heat had lowered to a simmer and things were calm again. 

There was tenderness there. Reverence. 

Maybe ‘you were in love with him’ is a bit too simple. As a matter of fact, Momo’s not even sure how to begin defining things at all. And frankly, it really isn’t her business. 

But Midoriya Izuku is gone now. Leaving Katsuki Bakugou behind. 

And from where she sits, she can see the cracks left where he once was. She sees them running criss-cross all throughout her own being. In absences, quietness in the halls, an empty seat at a lunch table. 

So she understands parts of it. 

“...I’d been missing him all this time.” 

Bakugou looks up. 

“And I was so, so angry with myself,” Momo continues, words spilling out before she can stop them. “Angry because I didn’t know why, why there was this- this empty space in my life now.” She sits up a little straighter, tucking jagged hair behind her ear. “And now that I remember?” Bakugou still hasn’t turned to face her, but by the way his shoulders are stiffened, he’s definitely listening. “There’s this part of me that’s really mad I ever let him take up so much space in my life in the first place.” 

That strikes a chord in him, if the way his shoulders stiffen is any indication. 

“...But… there’s this other part of me,” Memories flit through her mind, unbidden, as she continues speaking. “This other part that’s happy we met at all.”

And she might be imagining, but it almost looks like Bakugou curls into himself, just a little bit at that. And Momo isn’t a touchy person, but something just feels right when she puts her hand on his shoulder. She isn’t sure if the touch is supposed to be grounding for him or herself. 

“And that means a lot.” She finishes, with stinging eyes and a lump in her throat. “To me, I mean. I can’t speak for you.” And she means it. Part of her hates Izuku Midoriya for crash-landing into her life the way that he did, but the other part knows that she’d probably still be that scared, hurting little girl shut up in a cupboard that desperately needs an exterminator if he hadn’t been there. She probably wouldn’t have even considered being a Hero if not for him.

But what sucks is the lack of closure. 

What would she say to him if she saw him again? Would she embrace him? Thank him for what he did for her? Would she lash out? Shout? Hit him? All of those things? None of them at all? 

She can never really be sure. 

And there’s silence, the words she just spoke sinking into the air. 

“He ruined me.” 

She turns. He still isn’t looking at her. 

“I don’t - I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do now that - now that he’s gone.” And there’s another hitch in his voice, louder and more prominent this time. “How the hell am I supposed to just go on and act like any of this is normal? That any of this is fine?!” Something pops at the end of that sentence, and Momo flinches, smoke wafting across her senses. 

“...And you wanna know the worst part about this?” Voice hardening into something flintier, Bakugou continues. “When I asked him - at the very end of everything - why he did any of this, do you know what he told me?” 

Momo feels like she already knows the answer. “...Why?” 

“He didn’t know.” A humorless chuckle escapes him, as he curls in onto himself tighter. “He didn’t even fucking know.” 

Yeah. That… sounds about right. 

“And now, everywhere I go, he’s there,” Bakugou continues. “And I just have to live with that. Forever.”

Momo isn’t really sure how to respond to that. Instead, she nudges him to turn over and face her. Reluctantly, he does, revealing a red face and a glimpse of an eye on the verge of tears, before he presses his palms directly onto them. “Don’t-” Momo pulls back, as he tries to gather the last shreds of his composure. “Don’t look at me like that-”

Momo never really took Bakugou to be an emotional person. But from what she’s seeing now, and what her memory is telling her- her initial judgement might have been miscalculated. 

“Like what?”

“Like you feel SORRY for me!” Hands extended in exclamation, his palms crackle once again. Momo has to stop herself from jolting away instinctually, and at that, his expression melts from furious to… tired. Defeated. 

“...Sorry." Momo mumbles. 

Silence. 

“...I’m never gonna be able to look at anyone else like- like that. And not see him.” Now that gets Momo’s attention. Bakugou’s got one arm thrown over his eyes, the other laying limply by his side. He’s smiling, but it lacks any real joy. “You know?”

She nods. 

“...I’m sorry.” 

“Quit saying that.”

“I am. I mean-” And a weird laugh escapes out of Momo before she can stop herself. “I’m not really sure what else to say. I think you’re the first person in history to have your heart broken by some- some supernatural entity. Or whatever he was.”

And now it’s Bakugou’s turn to laugh. Humorless. Dry. “I got that, at least.” 

“You and, like - the Princess Kaguya, I guess.” 

“I think that’d be the man who she was in love with, actually. She left him to go to the moon.” 

“Fair point.” She’s not quite sure why they’re pontificating on the legitimacy of Japanese fairy tales right now, but it’s been a weird night all around. 

So they slip back into that silence. Only now, it’s more comfortable. 

“Sorry.” 

Momo turns. He’s looking up at the ceiling, not at her. 

“For not telling you.”

She looks away. 

“...I forgive you.” She sniffs. “I think.”

“The hell you mean ‘you think’? If you’re not sure, then don’t say anything at all!”

“Alright, then I’m still mad at you.”

A beat. 

“But I think I’ll be less mad in the morning.”

And there’s a slight smile on Katsuki Bakugou’s face at that. 

Not that he’d admit it, of course. 

“...You should still come see Mikumo at some point. Both me and Todoroki have.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

That’s the most she can hope for, so Momo leaves it at that. 

“Momo.” 

A looming, shadowed figure standing right above her as she sleeps is not what Momo is expecting to wake up to, so you’d have to excuse her knee-jerk reaction being to whip up, scramble back, and materialize a revolver out of her left thigh. It stings, but Momo ignores it because there’s someone in her room, glaring with a mis-matched gaze and messy dual-colored hair-

-Wait.

“Shouto.” Momo breathes, panic draining out of her. Todoroki, somehow, hasn’t moved despite the locked and loaded barrel having been shoved in his face. “You scared me!” 

“Sorry,” She lowers her arm, exhaling. Todoroki looks remarkably clear-faced despite the whole ‘being drugged unconscious’ thing, and surprisingly, he doesn’t look angry about it either. “I wanted to wake you. It’s nearly nine.” He leans over, catching a glimpse of Bakugou’s sleeping form on the other side of the bed. “Did I… miss something?”

“It was either that or the floor,” Momo huffs, face slightly red because it’s the first time she’s ever shared a bed with anybody before and it was with Katsuki Bakugou of all people. Talk about anticlimactic. “Are you okay? I - I’m sorry about last night, I didn’t mean to-”

“You’re fine,” Todoroki interjects, before his face melts into something more serious. 

“We need to tell Mr. Aizawa.”