Work Text:
Insouciance (noun) - casual lack of concern; indifference.
***
If you were to ask the members of UA’s Class 1-A Hero Course about their first impressions of one Midoriya Izuku, you’d probably get a few different responses. “Quiet”, some might say. “A little odd”, from some others. If you caught Kirishima, he’d likely slam his fists together and proclaim Midoriya to be “manly as hell!”.
Uraraka Ochaco’s first impression of Midoriya Izuku was a bit of a mixed bag. First, she’d slipped into her brand-new homeroom ready to make some friends only to be confronted by a tall, broad, intimidating as hell student lecturing another classmate. Plans immediately squashed, she tip-toed to her assigned desk and watched as the room filled with equally shocked students. Only one green-haired kid in the back seemed to be unbothered by the shouting, instead flicking through their phone lazily. Ochako guessed that they might be one to keep an eye on - the tall guy was chewing the blonde one out on not wearing a tie, and Greenie wasn’t either - when a new kid walked into the room and immediately made a beeline for the back of the room.
Whatever Ochako was expecting, it wasn’t for Greenie to whip a tie out of nowhere, stand up in the most fluid move she’d ever seen, and tie the most perfect tie-knot she’d ever seen.
Only the tie was on the other kid.
“I’ve never even seen a tie tied this nicely on TV!” the new kid said, looking at the tie in amazement. “You’re my hero, dude!”
Ochako couldn’t help but agree as the kid went back to their seat, leaving Greenie to sit back down. The tie looked near-flawless, and for the life of her Ochako couldn’t figure out why Greenie wasn’t wearing one as well? Especially with the tall guy still going!
Ochako watched the argument for another minute or two before Greenie made themself known once more.
“Hey, Glasses, sorry to interrupt.”
Ochako wasn’t alone in her head snapping to see Greenie, arm up casually to call attention to themself. Tall Guy turned slowly on one heel, and Ochako swore she could see steam coming off that blue hair.
“Yes?” Tall Guy asked, and hoo boy Ochako would bet real actual money that a fight was about to start as Greenie smiled.
“Class starts in about ninety seconds, you might want to take your seat,” Greenie said instead of standing or throwing a punch. Ochako watched, holding her breath as Tall Guy looked down at his watch, then to the last seat - behind her! Oh boy - then back to Greenie, who seemed utterly unphased by the amount of rage on Tall Guy’s face.
“You may be correct, but you and your delinquent friend should be ashamed of your lack of proper uniform.”
Ochako totally called it! Tall Guy threw a disgusted look at both Greenie and the blonde angry one before stomping over to sit behind her. Ochako wanted so badly to start a conversation with Tall Guy, see if he was okay, but the bell sounded and Ochako quickly folded her hands together to wait for their teacher.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
... Where was their teacher?
Ochako was about to give up and try to talk to Tall Guy anyway, when she spotted Greenie out of the corner of her eye. They were sitting perfectly straight, eyes fixed on something up ahead, expression calm but focused. Following their gaze, Ochako looked to the front of the room just in time to see a full-grown man wiggle out of a yellow cocoon and stand up like a very scruffy moth.
Was their teacher a moth man?
More importantly, how did Greenie know he was there?
As their teacher - Aizawa Shouta, not a moth - called the class to order, Ochako knew two things. One; UA was nothing like any other school she’d ever been in, and Two?
Two: that green kid Midoriya was kinda bad-ass.
***
As one kid slipped into a stall and the others began to claim space in the change room, Mashirao set his stuff down and began to change into their new gym gear. He was halfway through trying to yank on the shorts over his tail when the green-haired guy’s stall opened and he zipped out of the locker so quickly that the lightning boy - Kaminari? - couldn't wave him down for more than a few words.
“Man, that guy is weird,” Mashirao heard one of the other dudes mutter.
"He's super manly!" the red-haired dude said as he swapped into his gym shirt. "He saved my butt in the entrance exam!"
"Mine too, dude!" Kaminari bounced up and down, mostly changed. One kid with purple hair snorted from the corner.
"I watched him straight up slam some other kid's head into their desk before the written exam," he drawled. Mashirao was honestly impressed he was coherent with how deep the guy's eyebags were. "Like bam! Full nosebleed and all."
"His behaviour is a mockery of this fine institute!" It was the tall one with glasses who spoke up this time. "First his disregard of the uniform, and now we learn of this assault?! We should inform Aizawa-sensei immediately!"
"To be fair," the purple kid shrugged on his gym shirt. "Curls was defending a girl. This little creep he smacked down was peering up her skirt like a pervert."
“That sounds like Midobro!” the red-haired guy slammed his fists together, his skin crunching and looking tough as rocks. Mashirao finished pulling his gym gear into place and joined a few other classmates walking out to where their teacher was waiting for them. The one Mashirao heard the purple dude call Curls was standing there in a posture that was oddly familiar. It was almost like he was standing in a relaxed martial arts stance; calm but ready to jump into a fight at any second.
Weird.
Mashirao looked the guy up and down as he joined the slowly-forming class huddle. He was almost as plain-looking as Mashirao himself, only he was oddly monochromatic. And, y’know, didn’t have a tail.
Aizawa-sensei quickly wrangled the class into some semblance of order. Mashirao hoped, just quietly to himself, that it wouldn’t take too long for his classmates to get used to the quick and controlled teaching style. Mashirao was used to dojos and mentors at the peak of their physical and mental performance. Teachers that had no patience for time-wasting. Mashirao, as a result, was of a similar mindset. Aizawa-sensei seemed to be the same. Curls as well.
Hopefully the others would pick it up as well.
Curls was like, weirdly attentive. There was almost no distraction, his gaze laser focused on their instructor. Mashirao did his best, but even he wasn’t fully concentrating. There were too many new people, too much unknown. Plus, Curls’ energy was distracting.
Even when Bakugo straight up exploded a ball halfway to Tokyo, Curls seemed largely unbothered. Excited more than anything.
Weird.
Mashirao threw himself into the tests, quickly forgetting all about Curls in favour of side-stepping, long-jumping and shows of strength. It was familiar, it was comfortable. Mashirao felt good about his display, even if he wasn’t going to break any records or top any charts. With some of the crazy quirks being flung around by his classmates, he was content to be proud of himself for every score he managed to get that was better than his own history.
He was jumping up and down and stretching in preparation for the sprints when Curls managed to catch his attention again.
This time by getting himself exploded by Bakugo.
Maybe that excited energy from before should have been a warning, but Mashirao hadn’t expected any of his classmates to be that crazy. Especially when Bakugo rounded on Curls patting his smoking sleeve with a snarl. Curls seemed entirely unbothered by the right hook thrown his way.
Not just weird. Concerning.
Even more concerning was the way Curls just straight up turned his back on an enemy when Aizawa-sensei walked up. Aizawa-sensei managed to diffuse the situation, but still. Curls had all the markings of a trained combatant, if not for the utter disregard for sensible self-preservation. He seemed indifferent to the danger. It was weird.
“If I catch any of you try to attack a classmate while their back is turned outside of a combat lesson again,” Aizawa hissed, dragging all attention to his fierce scowl. “I will expel that person immediately. Am I understood?”
Mashirao nodded and mumbled ‘yes, sensei’ along with the rest of his classmates.
“I will say this once and once only. There is a zero-tolerance policy at UA for any and all forms of quirk discrimination, bullying, and/or unsanctioned fighting. If you are found to have been involved in any of the above in any capacity, you will be expelled. If you are found to have helped cover up any of the above in any capacity, you will be expelled. If I find you even thinking about getting involved in any of the above, I will personally black list you from every hero course in the country before I expel you so quickly you won’t see the gates as I kick your ass out. Am I understood?”
Mashirao agreed again, shoulders rolled back into an attentive stance that was habit when that tone of voice was used. Aizawa-sensei wasn’t messing around. Aizawa-sensei nodded at the class acknowledging his words, before turning on Bakugo again.
“This is a quirk apprehension test, correct? Do you know what Midoriya’s quirk is?”
So Midoriya was Curls’ name. Midoriya looked a little uncomfortable. Mashirao felt a wave of sympathy – he hated being called out in class as well. Aizawa-sensei went about breaking down Midoriya’s quirk – Analysis? Nice! – and showed off Midoriya’s very impressive score as a result of his crazy stunt.
“Do not forget that not all quirks are physical,” Aizawa said flatly. “And never, ever assume that you are the best or the smartest person in the room. There is always someone out there better than you, more prepared than you, and more desperate than you.”
Mashirao nodded; he had spent a long time honing his body and mind as well as his quirk for those exact reasons. Clearly he and Midoriya had a lot in common.
Never mind, Mashirao corrected himself as he watched the green blur absolutely dominating the long-distance endurance run without even breaking a sweat.
Midoriya was just weird.
***
Momo adjusted her shirt. Self-consciousness curled in the back of her mind, plaguing her thoughts and clouding her attention. She always disliked it when she had to expose more of her skin to make space for her creations. She understood the need, of course, she had worked with many quirk-therapists over the years. Her parents had spared no expense, and she was grateful for the assistance, even if it had felt uncomfortable to constantly move her clothing this way and that under the discerning gaze of grown men.
She felt the familiar itch of someone staring at her.
Momo looked around, ready to deflect and distract yet another person away from ogling her chest or the stretch of fabric that now covered her once-revealed stomach. Instead, she found Midoriya, the analyst, gazing at her. She was used to analysts looking her up and down. Some were more critical, others more lecherous, but nevertheless she was used to professionals and amateurs alike staring at her like an object.
But this was... different.
Midoriya wasn’t sizing her up like a project or trophy.
He was looking at her like she was something – no, someone – amazing. Beautiful. Worthy of admiration.
He was looking at her like she was a goddess.
However, it didn’t feel uncomfortable, or threatening. Not the way she was accustomed to feeling. Midoriya’s gaze was innocent, in a way. He didn’t appear to be looking for a way to benefit from her money or abilities. He even seemed to have an utter lack of concern over her... attributes. He wasn’t making any move to approach and offer unsolicited advice or propose working together one-on-one. No; his mouth was moving like he was muttering under his breath, eyes wide and full of awe.
It was... well, it was quite flattering, really.
She had never experienced unconditional appreciation of her gifts like this before. Even her parents had praised and critiqued her within the same breath as she grew into her power. Momo had always desired to help; it was why she had gone into heroism as a career. It was the primary goal behind all of her actions.
But, secretly, Momo had always admitted to herself a secondary desire that fuelled her. She had always wanted to have someone look at her and see not what she could do for someone else, but instead acknowledge her simply for being.
She hadn’t expected that to come from a classmate on the first day of hero school. She hadn’t expected that acknowledgement to come in the form of a young man looking as if his whole world had changed, as if he had witnessed a miracle.
She hadn’t expected to feel like a miracle.
“You said that once we enter the circle we cannot leave it again, right? That’s the rule?”
Momo looked up to see Midoriya, arm still half-raised. Aizawa-sensei looked like he wanted nothing more than to simply walk away, but he persevered. Momo wondered if gifting him some especially caffeinated tea blends would help with the bags beneath his eyes. Or, perhaps, some decaffeinated ones? A calming blend to aid in sleep hygiene might do...
Aizawa-sensei nodded to Midoriya, who immediately turned a walked straight for Momo’s cannon. Momo watched with absolutely compromised decorum – her jaw was practically on the floor, oh how her etiquette instructor would weep – as the analyst dragged her cannon back into the assigned circle with an ease that belied his short and slim stature. That baggy shirt was clearly hiding some serious muscle; Momo hadn’t thought to add wheels to her weapon since her intention was to only use it once.
Once he and the cannon were both in the circle, Midoriya focused his attention to the mechanical systems Momo had created. Momo couldn’t help but watch closely as he fiddled with the ignition, his fingers deft and experienced. She had to admire the skill he used to reset the cannon. She had spent months studying all of the pieces that went into the cannon, and knew from experience how delicate the balance was between a perfect construction and a potentially catastrophic backfire. Even more impressive was the way Midoriya adjusted the mechanism from a single-use, pressure-based ignition to a reusable fire-start one.
Clearly Midoriya was more than a simple analyst.
Momo watched as Midoriya pulled a match from his hair with a nonchalance that spoke of normality. Why was hiding a match in one’s hair normal for him? And why had Momo never thought of using her own hair in a similar way? A hairpin had so many potential useful modifications! Momo’s mind raced as Midoriya lit the match on the side of her cannon and fired the ball into the distance. It was even more powerful than her initial design! Momo couldn’t wait to discuss the modifications with him, to ask him so many questions.
Is this what it felt like, to want to be friends?
Her classmates were laughing and cheering as Midoriya turned back to them and grinned, eyes bright. Momo allowed herself to applaud alongside them, smiling politely. A smile that, almost against her will, widened when Midoriya’s briefly met her own and he nodded to her in thanks. Acknowledgement. Admiration. Potential friendship.
Midoriya was shaping up to be so much more than an analyst.
Momo was excited to see what insanity and ingenuity he would bring to her life in the future. She was excited to hear what he had to say about her creations, in a way she had never before thought possible considering her history. She was looking forward to learning, to experimenting, to making sure that Midoriya knew that awe in his expression was mutual.
More than anything, Momo was looking forward to standing with Midoriya and being.
***
If you were to ask the pro heroes from the notorious Hell Class 1A about their first impressions of Midoriya Izuku, all those years ago, some might say “quiet”, or “odd”, or “manly”. Some might even say “Crazy” or “weird” or “fucking lunatic, that one!”. Most would say that, at first, he “seemed pretty unbothered”. Bakugo Katsuki once laughed and claimed he “looked like he didn’t give a fuck!”.
But every single one would follow that up with: “but we wouldn't have him any other way”.