Chapter Text
Ishida said she’ll bring Kurogiri to class today for Shouta, so he doesn’t have to worry about it if he wants to nap again, which was almost nice of her.
But now Ishida and Kurogiri are ten minutes late and counting.
It’s not that Shouta’s worried. More… annoyed. If it was going to make her late then she shouldn’t have offered. His students are starting to get antsy, which is never good when dealing with superpowered teenagers.
“We’re here~!” Ishida’s voice carries through the gym, “Sorry we’re late!”
Shouta turns her way with a glare, ready to tell her off, when—
He makes eye contact with Kurogiri.
He makes eye contact. Kurogiri’s irises are clearly visible through the fog. f*ck, his whole face is. Kurogiri gives him a crooked, awkward, embarrassed half-smile as he slips his hand into his brace to rub at the back of his neck. He’s dressed differently, too— in a soft orange dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and light grey slacks.
He almost looks like Shirakumo. Almost.
It’s like Shouta’s brain has short-circuited as he hears his students whispering around him.
“Oh!” Ashido gasps, “He has a face!”
“Girl,” Hagakure replies with a judgmental tone as she sets her hand on her hip.
“Oh. I’m sorry, that was dumb, of course he has a face—”
Bakugou snorts into his hand. “Real f*cking smooth, Ashido.”
Her cheeks puff out.
Shinsou’s eyes narrow as he looks between Kurogiri and Ishida. He bites back a sneer before he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away.
“Alright, let’s get class started! We’re going to continue honing those super-moves today…” Ishida explains as she corrals Shouta’s class towards the center of the room.
Shouta rushes over to the corner table once his body finally decides to start working again. “...Hey.”
Kurogiri raises his eyebrow, amused. “Hello?” he replies as he sets another box of cookies on the table and splits them up into two trays. It looks like he’s made different types this time, one green, one purple.
“You look… nice.”
He preens under the praise. “Thank you.”
“Why’d you suddenly… change? What’s the occasion?”
Kurogiri just shrugs as he says, “I am trying something different.”
Shouta steps closer, looking Kurogiri over to detect any sign that this is a ruse, that what he’s seeing isn’t real. But it is. “Can I…?” Shouta asks, reaching out his hand.
“If you would like.”
He takes Kurogiri’s palm between his fingers and traces the darker lines with his thumbs.
Kurogiri is watching him with a curious gaze, smile lines gathering at the corner of his eyes.
“I missed your smile,” Shouta mumbles absentmindedly.
Kurogiri’s fog curls as his face turns pink from embarrassment. “Ah…?”
“Sorry,” Shouta lets go, “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It is no matter.”
As before, Kurogiri stays in his corner as Shouta joins his students. They mostly ignore him in the beginning, some sparring glances his way but most refusing to pay him any mind. It does not bother him as much as before, not when he is distracted by the ache in his joints that has not lessened since he first took the quirk suppressant, the numbing headache making itself known the longer he sits in silence. He barely notices the time passing as he struggles to keep himself present.
Yet at around the halfway mark of class, Dynamite comes up to him again.
He eyes the desserts with suspicion. “What’d you make this time?”
“Matcha and Taro. I remembered to chill the dough, as you instructed.”
“...Why?”
Kurogiri tilts his head. “Why, what? I am not sure what you are referring to.”
“Why did you even bother listening to me?” Dynamite growls.
“It sounded like good advice.”
“That’s not what I—” Shoulders hunched, Dynamite chews on his response. “What do you f*cking want from us? What are you trying to prove?”
“I do not believe that I am trying to prove anything.”
“Then why are you— making cookies, playing nice, changing how you f*cking look— I don’t f*cking know!” Leaning over the table with a manic gleam in his eyes, he spits out, “This doesn’t change anything. You’re still a piece of sh*t villain.”
Kurogiri cannot bring himself to keep Dynamite’s gaze. He remembers that look. It is identical to the one Dynamite gave him when he tried to offer the young man something to eat while Shigaraki Tomura was keeping Dynamite in Kurogiri’s bar. Dynamite had refused, saying he’d rather starve than take anything from them.
“You going to answer me or are you just going to sit there like a creepy f*cker?”
“King Explosion Murder God Dynamite,” Kurogiri replies quietly, “I know my actions do not change anything. You have every right to not trust me. I doubt that I would if I were in your shoes. Yet, for what it is worth, I am sorry that I have caused you and your class such distress. I do not require forgiveness, nor do I expect it.”
Dynamite jerks back, stunned, taking his hands off the table as if it had burned him.
“I know there is nothing I can do to make up for what I have done. But... I can make desserts.”
He stares at Kurogiri for a long, long time.
“Would you like one?”
“...Tch,” Dynamite clicks his teeth. Yet he grabs one of the taro cookies off the tray and shoves it in his mouth. He spits out through a mouthful of crumbs, “f*ck you. The texture is way better.”
Kurogiri smiles. “Thank you for the advice.”
Dynamite flips him off before rejoining his classmates.
Another student makes his way over, one that Kurogiri was not expecting. Todoroki looks between the cookies with a blank, emotionless expression.
“Hello?”
He does not reply.
“Ah…”
Todoroki takes one of each before sitting against the wall nearby as he slowly takes a bite out of the matcha cookie.
Kurogiri is not quite sure how to react to that.
As Todoroki lurks nearby, more and more students walk up.
Can’t Stop Twinkling is an anxious mess as he bounces over to the table. Yet he grabs a taro cookie and manages to squeak out, “Merci.”
The gesture pinches at Kurogiri’s heart. “You know you do not have to force yourself to interact with me.”
“I… I know,” he replies, biting his lip before he runs away.
Froppy and Invisible Girl come up to him as a duo. “Hey,” Invisible Girl says aggressively as she leans over the table, “You own us.”
Kurogiri blinks in surprise. “To what do I owe you?”
“You can teleport anywhere in the world, right?”
“...Yes, most places on land are within my capabilities.” Where is she going with this?
Hagakure giggles. “I want to go on a shopping spree after school! As payment for emotional damages! We could go to Hawaii, or Seoul, or Paris—!”
He purses his lips. “I do not think Eraserhead would approve.”
“Aw, you’re no fun!”
“My apologies?”
Froppy shakes her head. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”
“C’mon, back me up here!” Hagakure waves her hands about, “Don’t you want to get authentic Parisian crepes?”
“Not really,” Froppy replies bluntly.
Hagakure slouches over. “You’re no fun either.”
Taping her finger to the corner of her mouth, Froppy asks, “Hey, Kurogiri.”
“Yes?”
“Why do you talk like that?”
He tilts his head. “I am not sure what you mean. Would you mind elaborating?”
“You always talk so… formal. You enunciate every word, and you always say ‘do not’ instead of ‘don’t’ or ‘it is’ instead of ‘it’s’, kero.”
Hagakure twists in her direction. “Wait, he does? I didn’t notice!”
Messing with the edge of his brace, Kurogiri replies, “I enunciate my words so that I can be understood. It is better to speak plainly and sincerely when no one can see my lips moving for a visual aid.”
“But Hagakure doesn’t talk like that,” Froppy challenges, “And we can see your mouth now. Why keep doing it?”
‘—Sensei, I, I’m s-sorry, please, I can’t—!’
‘Ah ah-ah, Kurogiri.’ Sensei tightened his grip around Kurogiri’s throat. ‘You know that’s not how you should talk to me. I can’t understand you. Speak clearly.’
‘I—I…’ his throat scratchy, raw, Kurogiri rasped out, ‘Yes, Sensei, I apologize…’
Kurogiri represses the urge to flinch at the memory. “I suppose…” he swallows nervously, “I suppose it has simply become a habit.”
Froppy tilts her head. “Okay. Thank you.” And then she walks away.
“H-hey, wait up!” Invisible Girl runs after her.
What an odd girl.
Todoroki is still lurking nearby. He’s finished his first cookie and is now staring at the second one. The purple taro cookie.
Kurogiri almost asks him what he is doing. But Todoroki speaks up first.
“I talked to Touya about you,” he says, “Dabi.”
Kurogiri’s eyes widen. His fog stills.
“He says he’s glad that you’re doing okay and told me to tell you thank you. That you were nice to him.” Todoroki flips the cookie between his hands. “He hopes he can share another drink with you when he gets out of the hospital.”
“...Oh,” Kurogiri replies, unsure of what else to say. He rests his hand over his heart. “I see. Thank you for passing along the message. I hope he is well?”
“He’s surviving.” Todoroki bows his head, almost shy. “What was Touya like? When you were with him?”
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “He was rather distant, quiet. Angry. But he was kind.”
Todoroki hums in acknowledgment.
“He spent more time in my bar than any other member of the league, besides Shigaraki Tomura. He used to stay behind and help me complete tasks when everyone else was busy, pretending that it was an excuse to avoid the younger members. Yet I believe he enjoyed my company.” Kurogiri rests his chin on his hand, a soft pain at the memory filling him up. “He was lonely. He never really spoke, but, I did not mind the quiet.”
“Did…” Todoroki’s expression is pinched, “Did he ever talk about me? About our family?”
Kurogiri shakes his head. “He kept his secrets close to his chest. I did not find out of his relation to you until after the war, when Eraser informed me.”
He rubs his ear in thought. “I don’t like the way that people talk about you, the way that Bakugou did. That you did.”
“Ah?”
Todoroki looks him right in the eyes. “People who say that you can’t change and make amends are saying that my brother is beyond help in the same breath. I don’t believe that.”
“…Todoroki—” he starts to speak, but the young man cuts him off.
“Thank you for the cookies.” Todoroki walks away and rejoins his classmates.
Kurogiri sinks into his chair, lost in thought.
A few more students stop by to say hello when they have a moment— Deku, Uravity, Ingenium, Shinsou— but he is mostly left alone for the rest of class. There is nothing to distract him from the numbing feeling flooding his chest.
Kurogiri rubs at his aching hands, his gaze blurry, unfocused, as he tries to rationalize his symptoms. They are not that bad, truly— the unknown concoctions that the Doctor created himself always made Kurogiri feel much, much worse than this. Perhaps it is not the half of the quirk suppressant he took that is making him feel this way? Perhaps he is simply getting sick. That would be inconvenient.
It feels as if his heart has moved up from where it is supposed to be and has chosen to take residence inside of his head. Hurts it hurts it hurts—
“Sooo, which one should I try?” Ishida asks, popping up from behind Kurogiri as she points over his shoulder at the cookies.
Kurogiri freezes at her touch, violently brought back into focus. He did not even see her come over. “Whichever you would like?” he replies, tone carefully controlled to hide his startle.
“Hm…” she waves her hands over the trays, “I’ll try the purple one. It’s the same color as you!” Ishida giggles in his ear.
Kurogiri leans away.
And yet she moves closer into his space, tracing her fingers up her arm casually as if they were close friends. “The students seemed a little more open to you today!”
“I… suppose.”
“Aww, don’t get all embarrassed!” Ishida taps her nails against his neck brace. The sound is grating in his skull. “You’re doing great!” With another giggle, Ishida waves her hand through his fog, watching the patterns her motion creates. “Oh, it looks so pretty…”
Kurogiri keeps completely still in her grasp. He does not want her close. Why does he feel averse to her touching him like this?
‘Senpai, you’re hurting me—!’
“Wooo, go Shouta!!” Oboro cheered as he watched Shouta use his new scarf to take down one of their upperclassmen during heroics. All four First and Second-year heroics classes were teamed up today, mixed up into groups of “heroes” and “villains” for the exercise their teachers had come up with. Eighty students together in one place is a lot, but they’re outside in ground beta, so it’s not like they’re crammed up or anything.
He’d only transferred into 1-A a couple of weeks ago and he was still not used to all the excitement. All his classmates were so awesome!!
Oboro had been team villain with Sensoji and a couple of upperclassmen who were pretty cool, and they even managed to win their round, but Shouta and Hizashi got to team up with Nemuri! So unfair!
Oh, well. He’d see her during lunch anyway.
Nemuri’s just so… gosh, she’s pretty. Oboro’s heartbeat rose as he watched her fight against another upperclassman he didn’t know, her every movement more like the steps of a dance than traditional fight moves. He almost wished he was the one she was fighting just so she’d wrap him up in her whip, and, pull him him close, and—
Ah geez.
Oboro buried his warm face in his hands and wrenched his gaze away. Nemuri’s too pretty. It was unwarranted, unjust, it was just so unfair.
He tried to watch Hizashi instead as Hizashi went toe-to-toe with someone from class 2-B, holding his own pretty damn well, but Oboro’s gaze kept slipping back to Nemuri.
“Shirakumo?” a voice asked.
“Hm?” he turned her way, “Oh, Ishida-senpai! You need something?”
Ishida glanced between Oboro and the fighting stage as she twisted a lock of hair around her fingers, her gaze lingering on Nemuri for a moment longer than the rest, too. “Can we go talk somewhere private?”
“Eh?”
Oboro wasn’t sure that would be a good idea. Nemuri’d told them about Ishida before, and, she never had anything nice to say. But maybe Ishida wasn’t as bad as Nemuri made her out to be?
“I don’t know, we’re supposed to be watching our classmates…”
“I want to go over our match with you, that’s all,” she smiled.
“O-oh, sure! Where should we—?”
“This way.”
Oboro followed her to a quiet alcove, hidden away from their classmates and from their teacher’s gazes. “So, what did you want to—?”
Her hands pressed flat against his chest, Ishida leaned in close. “I like you, Shirakumo.”
“Eh??” His brain short-circuited.
“Go on a date with me.” Ishida slid her hands lower until she was touching his abs. “We could go to an arcade, get some crepes, and maybe have a little fun at my place after,” she giggled, “I live alone you know~!”
“S-senpai,” Oboro bit his lip. He gently pushed her hands away, “I’m sorry, but I like someone else—?”
Ishida groaned. “I know. Kayama, Kayama, Kayama, all the boys never shut up about Kayama! But she’s never given you the time of day, has she? She only sees you as a silly little kid. Her cute little kohai.” As she reached to play with Oboro’s bangs, Ishida continued, “I don’t see you as a silly little kid. So go out with me~!”
“Ishida.” Stealing himself, Oboro shoved her back. “I said no. Don’t touch me. You’re making me really uncomfortable.”
Her eyes widened, her features contorting into barely repressed anger. “What is wrong with you?? An upperclassman throwing herself at them is every teenage boy’s dream!”
“I said I’m not interested. I’m going back to class—” Oboro side-stepped around her.
Ishida snarled. She snatched his wrist, quirk activated, her fingers shifted into diamond. “I didn’t say you could go.”
The pressure from her stone-hardened grip made Oboro wince. “Ishida s-senpai, you’re hurting me!”
“Do you really think that Kayama would be interested in you?” Both of her arms were encased in crystal. “She would never like you. No one really likes you, you pathetic class clown. Everyone knows that you cheated your way into heroics from gen-ed.”
Oboro tried to twist his hand out of her hold to no avail. “I— I didn’t cheat!” he gasped, resisting his instinct to hit her back. He couldn’t hit an upperclassman. He couldn’t. Not outside of mandated training.
Ishida’s grip tightened. “Liar.”
“Ghh—!” He cried out in pain.
“I know you’re near the bottom of your class in grades. All that effort to claw your way up during the sports festival only to suck so completely at everything else you try. Why do you even bother? Everyone knows you don’t belong. The only reason you were even allowed into the heroics course was Nedzu’s meddling.”
Ishida dug her other hand into his gym uniform and yanked him closer so they were face to face. Little holes rip through the fabric as it catches her crystallized nails.
“You’re too stupid to impress him like that and too broke to bribe him. So what did you do to make Nedzu offer you charity, huh? Do you think he just felt bad for you? Why else would anyone be so nice to a complete moron?”
“He didn’t— I, I’m not…” Oboro’s voice cracked. Prickles worked their way through his hand from the cut-off blood flow. “Please let go.”
The 2A teacher’s voice echoed through the space. “Team Heroes Wins! Congratulations to Midnight, Eraserhead, Present Mic…”
Ishida let go. As she stood so close that she could have kissed him, Ishida sneered, “You’re pathetic,” before she turned heel and walked away from him without another word.
Oboro stumbled back against the wall, holding his arm as he stared at his injured wrist. The world around him went quiet under the ringing in his ears. He felt like he was stuck in slow motion as his pulse thrummed in his hand.
“...Ow,” he whimpered.
As he glanced towards where his friends were rejoining the rest of the class, a weight settled inside of him. He couldn’t bring himself to go over and congratulate them. He needed…
Oboro needed to change out of his gym uniform so that no one saw the holes Ishida made. He didn’t want anyone to think that he couldn’t defend himself, especially against another student. He was supposed to be better, supposed to have been quick enough that she wouldn’t have gotten a hold of him in the first place. What if they decided that he wasn’t worthy of his spot in 1-A?
And knowing the things that Nemuri’s told him about Ishida? She’d tell everyone that he started it. And they’d believe her.
Stupid. Pathetic. Idiot.
“It doesn’t look that bad…” he muttered under his breath as he tried to flex his fingers, “No one’s gonna notice.”
Shoulders hunched, with the hope that the teachers wouldn’t see one student missing amongst a sea of eighty, Oboro left.
Oboro’s left wrist was bruised. It was an ugly deep blueish-purple, pained in the shape of a hand. Ishida’s hand.
He looked away from it, tugging the sleeve of his uniform blazer down over it so no one would see. He was supposed to be paying attention in math class but he just…
He couldn’t hold his pencil. His hand protested every time that he tried. He wasn’t going to be taking any notes at this rate. Oboro rubbed at his burning eyes in frustration, refusing to cry, refusing to draw any attention to himself.
Maybe he should have gone to Recovery Girl between classes. He could always visit her later. Maybe.
But it wasn’t that bad… it’d probably be fine by tomorrow. He just had to make it to the end of the day. It’d be fine.
Oboro let his pencil clatter onto his desktop.
What was the point?
His grades were going to suck anyway.
Oboro could feel Shouta’s eyes on his back. Shoulders hunched, he refused to meet his gaze.
By the time lunch rolled around, Oboro could barely use his hand at all it was so swollen. He knew he should go to Recovery Girl. But. If he just tried to up and leave his friends then they’d start asking questions he didn’t want to answer. He could wait a little longer.
The sun was bearing down on them on the roof today, the reflections from the other three UA towers making the heat just a few degrees worse than it said on their weather apps. Hizashi had tossed his blazer to the side and rolled up his sleeves. Nemuri was half-naked, all but one of the buttons open on her shirt as she splayed out on the ground like a sunbathing lizard. Even Shouta has his collar popped open and he never gets hot.
Oboro mournfully watched Nemuri get comfy, feeling too warm to admire the view for once. He wants to take off his clothes as well. But… then they’d see his wrist.
“You alright, Oboro?” Hizashi asked as he lightly nudged Oboro’s leg.
“Hm?” he looked over, “No yeah, I’m good!”
“You’ve been weirdly quiet all day. You haven’t even eaten anything!”
“I—” he glanced at his bento with trepidation, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold his chopsticks, “—I guess I’m just not hungry, haha!”
That’s a lie. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and that was hours ago, way before gym class.
“Seriously, I’m fine!” he insisted, wiping sweat off his forehead with his right hand as he gave Hizashi a wide toothy smile.
Hizashi gave him a look back. He shared a concerned glance with Shouta.
“What?” Oboro pouted.
Shouta replied, “You’re acting weird is what.”
“No I’m not!”
Shouta narrowed his eyes. Slowly, he took off his blazer, and Oboro couldn’t figure out why until Shouta yote it at him.
“Eh—?!” Oboro sputtered as he fumbled to catch it with his right hand. “Wa’zz’at for?”
“What are you hiding in your hand?”
His face paled. “Excuse me?”
“You caught my jacket with your right. You’re left-handed. So what are you hiding up your sleeve?” Shouta scooted closer, “You’ve been holding it close to your chest this hold time, whatever it is. Is that why you haven’t taken your clothes off?”
Nemuri sits up. “Ooo, look at that guilty face! Oboro’s got a secret~?” she teased, always an ear for gossip. “Is it contraband? Drugs maybe?”
He squawks. “It’s not drugs! I’m not stupid, Nemuri, I wouldn’t do anything that would get me kicked out! I-I told you, it’s nothing!” This was bad, really bad, all three of them were focused on him and he didn’t know how to make them stop.
Shouta got even closer. “If it’s nothing, then why are you hiding it?”
Oboro pulled back. “Because it’s, erm—?”
As he darted into Oboro’s space, Shouta grabbed Oboro’s arm.
And Oboro screeched. He kicked out to force Shouta away.
Shouta let go with a gasp.
“f*ck!” Oboro hissed through his teeth, doubling over as he blinked back tears. His wrist was throbbing from the simple touch.
“Holy sh*t,” Hizashi said hurriedly, “Oboro, are you injured??”
“I—I, uhm, it’s nothing,” he whimpered, “I’m fine. I’m fine! It’s just from my matchup during class, haha! It’s not serious!”
But Shouta replied, “Oboro, we high-fived after your team won and you didn’t even flinch. That didn’t happen during class.”
“What did happen, hun?” Nemuri asked, all silliness gone from her posture. “Why didn’t you go see Recovery Girl?”
As all three of his friends closed in with their worry, Oboro was trapped against the wall. “Please stop looking at me like that,” he bit his lip, unable to meet their eyes, “It’s fine. I’m fine! Haha!”
“Oboro.”
He sniffled.
“Let us see,” Shouta gently asked as he held out his hand, waiting for Oboro to take it. “I’m sorry that I grabbed you. I don’t know why you’re hiding it, but, maybe we can help? I’m good at first aid.”
Shouta was good at it, Oboro knew that. Shouta got the highest score during the field medicine course class 1-A took before Oboro had even joined them.
But if Oboro let them see… if they knew he failed to protect himself and saw the proof that he wasn’t cut out for the hero course, then…
He sighed. The jig was up.
Oboro pulled back his sleeve and set his arm in Shouta’s grasp. “It’s just a bruise…” he mumbled.
“What the sh*t,” Hizashi was a flurry of energy, “That is not just a bruise! It looks like a hand-print??”
His brows pinched together in concern, Shouta agreed. “I think this is sprained, Oboro. You might have even broken something.” He digs the ice pack out of his lunchbox, wraps it up in his blazer, and holds it against Oboro’s wrist.
Oboro’s breath hitched. “Oh. That’s… that’s not good. Haha.”
Nemuri cuddled against his right side for support, and Oboro melted into her embrace as they let Shouta decide what to do. “What happened, Oboro?” she asked as she rubbed gentle circles into his back.
“She just…” His words trailed off.
“She?” Hizashi replied darkly.
“Ishida was just being an uhm, a b-word again, haha. It’s no big deal.”
Nemuri stilled. “Ishida…”
“This is a big deal,” Shouta spoke up, “It looks like she crushed your hand. You need to see Recovery Girl. Now.” With a low growl, he adds, “Did she use her quirk on you?”
“B-but you guys still have to eat, I’ll be fine for another—?”
“Oboro,” all three of them said in unison.
He winced. “…What?”
Shouta looked him right in the eyes. “We’re not going to let you choose to suffer. You should have told someone instead of trying to hide this.”
He bowed his head, ashamed. “Okay. I hear you. I just…” he bit his lip, unable to find a way to put his swirling thoughts into words.
Shouta and Hizashi helped him to his feet, being very conscientious of his arm so they didn’t accidentally hurt him more.
“I’ll meet you there,” Nemuri said as she gathered her things and slung her bag over her shoulder, “I’ve gotta go do something first.”
“Huh?”
She disappeared through the door.
The three boys shared a look.
“There she goes…”
When Recovery Girl kissed Oboro’s forehead to activate her quirk, he felt like all his energy was sapped away. He rested his head on Shouta’s shoulder and closed his eyes. At least his arm felt better.
Recovery Girl went off on him about hiding injuries and being too rough during class, as well as told him what to do to take care of himself. With the help of her quirk it would only take a few days to heal instead of weeks but he still had to be careful.
So maybe it really was a big deal, haha.
Oboro couldn’t bring himself to tell her how he got it from Ishida, though, even when Shouta and Hizashi sent him worried glares. He didn’t want to cause a fuss. He didn’t want Ishida to spin the story and make herself into the victim instead, like she’d done to Nemuri before when she got the teachers to give Nemuri a month’s worth of detention for doing literally nothing.
He just wanted it all to go away.
After Recovery Girl left him alone to relax, Nemuri walked in with the undeniable aura of a sukeban who just won a fight. “Hi,” she smirks, licking at her split lip and smoothing out the wrinkles in her dirtied uniform.
“Eh??” Hizashi sputtered as all three boys looked up at her in concern, “What happened to you?!”
“Don’t worry about me, this is nothing. You should see Ishida~!” With a feral grin, she looked way too proud of herself. “She can mess with me all she likes but I won’t let her touch my boys.”
“But Nemuri,” Oboro shook his head, “You shouldn’t have—!”
“Look at me, pretty boy,” Nemuri cut him as she sat down on the edge of the hospital bed next to his other side. She held his face in her hands. “There is nobody in this building who agrees with anything that Ishida told you, do you hear me? You’re a good hero, Oboro.”
His face warmed from her touch, completely flustered.
“Grades don’t mean everything. You might not be at the top of your class, but you’re forgetting, this is UA. It only accepts the best of the best. Even when you were in gen-ed you were still in the top one percent of students in the entire country.”
Oboro’s chest felt like it was going to burst from her words. Unsure of how to respond, he pulled away and buried his face in his arms.
Nemuri continued, “You are so smart. Sure, you didn’t start out here, but you belong in the hero course.”
As he rubbed at the space above his heart, he replied, “I know. You don’t have to say it.”
Nemuri reached up to scratch her nails through his hair. It was a little awkward since he was so much taller than her, but, he didn’t care. “You alright?”
“ ‘M okay,” he mumbled back.
“If she ever tries to start sh*t with you again, you come straight to me, or to Shouta, or Hizashi. We’ve got your back! You know that, don’t you?”
He does.
Ishida reaches up to scratch her nails through Kurogiri’s hair, watching the way it alters the pattern of his fog in fascination. “Your quirk is something else,” she smiles, “It’s a shame the students are so freaked out by it.”
“...Please do not do that,” Kurogiri replies, leaning away from her touch. He resists the urge to shove her hand away. He hates causing a scene.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she pouts, “But your hair is so soft!” She retracts her hand from his head but does not move any further away from him. “You did take the suppressants I gave you, right?”
“I did.”
“Hm.” She purses her lips. “Okay. I’m not saying I don’t believe you! I just thought your fog would be completely gone, is all. Though I guess you never really know how a quirk is going to react to these kinds of things huh?”
Kurogiri shrugs.
He rubs at the tendons in his left wrist, wondering if that event was real or if his brain had made it up. His memory is fairly unreliable. It would not be the first time that it tricked him into believing something untrue. He will have to ask Shouta for clarification later.
Oh, well.
Even if it was real, it has been over a decade and a half since then. And Shouta said it was alright for him to be around Ishida. So if Shouta believes that she is safe, then… there is no reason for him to feel like this around her.
Forcing his anxiousness down, Kurogiri surrenders to Ishida’s touch and lets her do whatever she pleases.
“Ashido?”
“Hm?” Shaking her head, Mina turns towards the voice that called her name. “What up, Hagakure?”
Hagakure shares a look with Tsu. “You’ve been staring at Kurogiri and Daiya-chan for a while now. What’s up with that?”
“O-oh. Sorry,” Mina replies, biting her lip.
“Is something wrong?” Tsu asks, peering around Mina to get a better look at the two adults.
“I was just…” Mina rubs her thumb along the seam where her horn attaches to her skull. “Kurogiri looks uncomfortable, doesn’t he?”
“Ah?” Hagakure turns around to watch them as well.
Kurogiri’s posture is rigid, unmoving, as Ishida-sensei practically lounges on top of him.
Tsu hums in reply. “I guess he does. Why hasn’t he told Ishida-sensei to stop messing with him?”
“I don’t know,” Mina shrugs. Forcing herself to look away, she asks, “Hey, Hagakure?”
“Hm?”
“Why did you go up to Kurogiri earlier? I just thought…” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Wasn’t your family from Jaku?”
Hagakure’s hands fall to her sides. Even though Mina can’t see Hagakure’s expression, she knows it can’t be good.
“I’m sorry,” she quickly backtracks, “Ugh, me and my big mouth! I’m really really sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, I just—!”
But Hagakure cuts her off. “No, girl, it’s fine,” she sighs with her entire body, “You’re right. A lot of Daiya-chan and I’s family were in Jaku when, when it was…” Hagakure straightens her shoulders and holds her arms close to her chest. “But… that was Shigaraki. Not Kurogiri. I’m not going to hate him for something that he didn’t do.”
“Oh…” Mina bows her head, “I see.”
“You’re totally valid for not wanting anything to do with him, though,” Hakagure says, taking Mina’s hand and applying a gentle pressure. “You don’t have to be like me.”
“Mmm.”
“Something’s still bothering you though, isn’t it?”
“I…” Mina can’t help it. Her gaze slips back towards Kurogiri in the corner. Why is he reacting like that to their teacher? “I just…?”
Eijirou’s voice echoes across the gym. “You’re kidding me?!”
Mina, Hagakure, and Tsu jump at the sound.
“Hey,” Aizawa-sensei glares from where he’s ambling between the groups, “Keep it down, Kirishima.”
“Sorry, sensei. My bad,” he rubs the back of his neck.
Hagakure asks, “What’s got him so worked up?”
Mina and Tsu share a look. As a trio, they try to scoot closer to Kirishima’s group without drawing suspicion.
With a loud, hurried, whisper, Eijirou hisses, “You’re team Kurogiri too, Yaoyorozu?”
“I didn’t say that,” Yaomomo holds her hands out placating, “What I said was—”
But Iida cuts her off. “We shouldn’t be fighting about this, not here. Kurogiri or Aizawa-sensei could hear us.”
“So?” Eijirou snaps, “Both of you were there to rescue Bakugou after Kurogiri kidnapped him! You should be pissed off like me!”
Iida gives him a long-suffering stare. “Bakugou doesn’t seem to mind Kurogiri’s presence.”
“Maybe, sure, but it’s the principle of the thing—”
Yaomomo puts her foot down. “What happened at Kamino is exactly my point. Weren’t you watching?”
“Eh?” Eijirou and Iida give her matching looks of confusion.
“After we rescued Bakugou, we stopped to watch the situation unfold on those giant TV screens on the street, remember? The live stream from the news helicopters?”
“Yes,” Eijirou nods, “That’s when we watched All Might defeat All for One. Where’re you going with this?”
“Didn’t you see All for One impale Kurogiri?”
His face pales.
With a slow, horrified nod of realization, Iida replies, “He did, didn’t he.”
“Hold up, hold up,” Eijirou says, “I don’t remember that. When did he…?”
Yaomomo continued, “Spikes extended from All for One’s hand and stabbed Kurogiri in the chest so he could force Kurogiri to use Warp Gate so Shigaraki could escape. He didn’t even hesitate. And the League of Villains just stood by and watched. If All for One cared so little about Kurogiri’s wellbeing that he was willing to impale him on national television, who knows what else he did to him?”
As she runs her hands through her ponytail, Yaomomo sways where she stands, something pained in her expression.
“While I don’t know how to feel about Kurogiri being here in the school, I was simply stating that I’m glad he was rescued from the League. Quirk Traffickers are never kind to the people that they take.”
“Well, geez, when you put it like that…” Eijirou looks away, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Tsu gulps as she turns away from the other group, her face pale.
Mina looks back to where Ishida is messing with Kurogiri in the corner. There’s an exhausted submissiveness in Kurogiri's posture as Ishida casually brushes her hand against him, playing with the fog curling off of his arm like a fidget toy. It reminds her of how quiet and closed-off to the world Eijirou was in middle school, how he’d let people mess with him because he didn’t know how to tell them to stop.
But Ishida-sensei’s so nice! She’d never make Kurogiri uncomfortable on purpose. She must not realize how she’s affecting him.
Mina’s leg bounces with tension. Something’s telling her that she needs to interfere. But… should she?
As she struggles to make up her mind, she realizes one of her classmates has walked up to Kurogiri’s corner.
Aoyama chatters away at Ishida, his gaze slipping anxiously towards Kurogiri every few seconds as he struggles to keep his focus on their teacher instead. Mina can’t hear what he’s saying from here but she thinks he’s asking her about his internship offer.
Ishida nods, untangling herself from Kurogiri with a bright grin before leading Aoyama to the other side of the room to chat. There’s a twinkle in Aoyama’s eyes as she laughs at something he says and wraps her arm around his shoulders.
Kurogiri’s alone, now.
So Mina takes her chance. “I’m going to go talk to him.”
“You sure?” Hagakure gasps.
Tilting her head, Tsu adds, “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him.”
She doesn’t.
But that’s not going to stop her.
Mina finds herself right in front of Kurogiri, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest as she balls her hands into fists at her side.
With a curious glance, he shifts his posture to face her head-on. “Hello, Pinky. May I help you?”
Mina bites her lip.
She watches as Hagakure and Tsu scoot close by, not-so-subtly eavesdropping on what Mina is up to.
After taking a deep breath Mina blurts out, “People like to touch my horns without my consent too.”
Kurogiri leans back. “Ah…?”
“When I was younger I’d freeze up and just let people mess with them. But not anymore. I’m only okay letting Eijirou and a couple of other friends touch my horns or play with my hair because, because they always ask first,” Mina says, rubbing her thumb along the seam where her horn meets her skull.
With a confused hum, he asks, “Eijirou?”
“Oh, Kirishima. Red Riot?”
“I see.” Kurogiri rests his chin against his hand, “But if I may ask, young lady, why are you telling me this?”
Mina holds her head high. “Because you should set a boundary with Ishida-sensei.”
“...Oh.”
“You should tell her to leave your fog alone.”
Mina doesn’t know what reaction she was expecting, but Kurogiri just sighs. “It is no matter. It is nothing that I am not used to.”
“You shouldn’t be used to it,” Mina insists, setting her hands on the table between them, “You should tell her no.”
Kurogiri looks away, his eyes half-closed and distant as he quietly mutters to himself, “Why does your class keep insisting that I alter my behavior with Ishida?”
“Eh?” Mina asks, “Someone else told you to set boundaries with her?”
He sighs again. “Your concern is appreciated, truly, but I am fine. I do not wish to unintentionally come off as aggressive and be sent back to prison. I do not wish to be perceived as a threat.”
As her jaw drops open, Mina takes a step back, her arms frozen against her chest. “That’s, that’s not—!” She struggles to find her words, “They wouldn’t send you away just for asking her to not touch you!”
“Why would they not?” He looks her right in the eyes. “I am who I am.”
“But… you…” Mina’s tongue feels like lead. “That’s not fair.”
Kurogiri shrugs.
Does he really trust their teachers so little, just because they’re heroes and he’s a criminal?
No.
There’s more to it than that, isn’t there? Kurogiri’s quirk is heteromorphic like hers. She knows that people judge her more harshly just because of her acid-pink skin, learned from a young age that adults listened to the ‘normal’ kids more often than they believed her, that if she asserts herself there’s always a chance that she’ll be seen as ‘aggressive’, ‘monstrous’, ‘violent’.
‘Villainous’.
She gets it.
Mouth dry, her voice little more than a whisper, Mina replies, “Ishida would listen if you asked her to stop. She wouldn’t do that to you. She’s nice.”
Kurogiri rests his head on a fist. He looks so tired. “Perhaps.”
“Kurogiri-san…”
“Is that a Pop-Step charm on your horn?” he asks.
Mina’s mind blanks as she processes the question. “Eh?” When her brain finally wraps around his words, she gasps. “You know who Pop-Step is?!” She practically squeals in excitement.
Hagakure and Tsu startle, and so do some of their other classmates, but Mina doesn’t care.
His ears turn red through the fog as he clears his throat. Is he embarrassed? “I am aware of who she is, yes. I enjoy listening to her sing.”
“Really?” Mina bounces on the tips of her toes.
“Is that so strange?”
“It’s just, you’re just,” —she almost says ‘a supervillain’ but that would be so rude— “none of my classmates knew who she was until I introduced them to her! She’s pretty indie!”
Kurogiri’s eyes curve into a soft smile. “~I reach for traces of you, I come up short~,” he sings softly under his breath. His voice is a deep tenor, which doesn’t at all match Pop-Step’s soprano, but it sounds lovely all the same. “~Can’t let it end this way, having nothing, being nothing at all~.”
“Eee!!” Mina squeals again.
All of her classmates are looking their way now.
Kurogiri ducks his head and fiddles with the edge of his neck brace.
“Nooo,” Hagakure pouts, “You don’t have to stop! I like your voice.”
Asui pokes the corner of her mouth. “You really are just some guy, kero.”
“Ah…?” Kurogiri replies quietly, unsure, “If you insist.”
Once the class ends, Kurogiri waits for the students to depart and for Aizawa to lead him back to the dorms. Even though he could simply teleport himself there and back—well, he has not tried to warp his whole body since taking the suppressants— one of Nedzu’s rules was that the faculty would have eyes on Kurogiri at all times while inside the main campus. So he must wait until Shouta gives him the go-ahead.
Unlike before, his table is empty this time. Pinky, Invisible Girl, and Froppy made off with all of his cookies. He had been too amused to dissuade them as they ran away giggling with their pilfered treats.
“You should make pink ones next time!” Pinky waves as she disappears through the gym doors.
“Perhaps,” he smiles to himself.
His wrist is aching again. Kurogiri needs to ask Shouta if his memory is correct.
Shouta walks up to him, face hidden behind his scarf and hands in his pockets. To anyone else the view of him so closed off may look intimidating yet Kurogiri knows that Shouta just feels comfortable that way. “Ready to go?” Shouta asks as he glances down at the dessertless table with a soft smile.
“Whenever you are.”
“I’m ready, I—” he runs his hand through his hair, “—Ah, sh*t, I left my bag.” He looks towards the other end of the room with a sigh.
“Allow me.”
“Hm?”
Kurogiri opens a warp gate, his hand separating from his arm and teleporting to the other side of the room in wisps of purple. Using his quirk sends pins and needles crawling under his skin. He ignores them.
A nearby student yelps. Tape flies through the air as Cellophane jumps back from Kurogiri’s hand, most of it missing, but one line connects with Shouta’s bag and yanks it out of Kurogiri’s grasp.
“Aa!” Kurogiri pulls his hand back. His chest feels like it is caving in. He did not mean to startle the student.
Cellophane backs into Tentacole’s chest, his anxiety dripping off of him like rain.
“Sero…” Tentacole’s brow pinches together in the middle. He reaches for Shouta’s bag. “Let go.”
Cellophane lets him take it, still shaking out his anxiety.
The two of them look… familiar. More familiar than some of the other students have.
Oh.
They were among the group he fought at the USJ, were they not? They watched him rip Thirteen apart with her quirk. No wonder he startled them so badly with his own.
“My apologies,” Kurogiri begins to warp his hand back, and yet.
Tentacle walks closer to his gate. He removes the stuck tape and holds out the bag, eyes curved into a smile. “Here,” he calls out from across the gym.
“...” Kurogiri takes it. “Thank you.” He warps the bag into his arms and grasps it tightly.
Shouta has not said a word during the entire exchange. His expression is unreadable behind his hair and scarf.
He is upset, he must be. He is displeased that Kurogiri startled his students.
Again.
Perhaps Kurogiri should take a full dose of the suppressants instead of only half…
He will have to see how he feels before the next class.
