Chapter Text
Izuku continues to try and wave as he edges through the gate, pulled into the crowd as he goes, until all that Shouto can see of him is a spot of green, then not even that. He raises his hand belatedly, feels a pang of something like misplaced fear once he can’t see him anymore.
“We going now?” Bakugou asks, drawing him out of his own head. His tone is disengaged; when Shouto turns towards him he finds him staring at his phone like he hasn’t even noticed they’re at an airport seeing off their best friend.
Shouto glances back to the milling crowd, people hugging their goodbyes, bored security agents, a couple of onlookers gazing in their direction and nudging their friends. Above, the endless screens flash a continuous stream of information, flights slotting into place, no delays in sight.
“Yeah, okay,” Shouto says, half a sigh. He’s not sure where the melancholy is coming from. He’d been quite content to see Izuku off, and he’d remained very unemotional through the drawn-out goodbye party they’d thrown him. Maybe it’s just seeing him gone for good.
God, six months. He’s not been apart from Izuku that long since they were fifteen. For a moment he feels it again, isolated and unsure of what he’s doing with his life.
“Today or tomorrow?” Bakugou snaps, phone in his pocket now. Shouto rolls his eyes a little and feels better for having done it.
“So impatient.”
“I hate airports,” Bakugou retorts, argumentative; they fall into step. Shouto’s the one driving, because he’s the only one who has a car, which is the only reason Bakugou waited around anyways, but it’s Bakugou who’s walking them to the parking lot, because he refuses to believe Shouto has developed a sense of direction since high school.
“You don’t like the emotional goodbyes?” Shouto asks, mock-sympathetic. Bakugou doesn’t rise to the bait, snorting.
“Too many people who walk like paraplegics, and crying brats, and tourists who can’t get out of the airport, more like.”
A confession: it is faster to get from Shouto’s apartment to the airport by train, and the station is actually more convenient to walk up from than the parking. He suspects Bakugou is at least partially aware of this, though he’s barely been to the apartment. It’s just that he didn’t feel like riding public transport back alone, crammed between strangers- even after years of Tokyo he can’t ever relax on the underground, always suspecting a stealth attack or that someone right next to him has recognised him and is preparing to ask him for a selfie.
Bakugou snorts derisively when they reach the car, a reaction he’s had so consistently every time that neither of them bothers to vocalise the conversation that should follow. It’s a ridiculous car, Shouto is well aware. He bought it in a fit of spite because his father had been insistent upon his passing his drivers’ license and buying a car (which he would generously purchase); Shouto, overwhelmed by early adulthood and annoyed beyond belief after failing the damned exam three times, had taken him up on his offer and bought the most expensive Porsche he could find. Now he just sort of looks like an asshole whenever he drives.
They climb into the car silently. The parking is relatively calm; it’s only seven. Izuku’s early flight had been the subject of much upset amongst his friends, who had various clashing obligations- in the end, only Shouto, on leave and equipped with a car, and Bakugou, who was ruthlessly organised and had slotted the flight into his agenda from its booking onwards, had been able to see him off, hence the massive party the night prior. Privately Izuku had confessed that he was sort of relieved, because he wasn’t sure how to face all of his friends as he went abroad without breaking down. He’d cried even so, of course, but by Izuku standards it had been a very contained affair.
Once again, Shouto pauses, fingers tightening around the wheel. His apartment- theirs, technically- is bare still, and doubtless will remain so until Izuku returns, because Shouto is terrible at personalising a space, and he has no plans for the week outside of work except maybe doing the groceries.
“The traffic is going to be a bitch,” Bakugou informs him, sounding disgruntled as he starts up the GPS. “We should have left earlier.”
“And not seen Izuku off?” Shouto asks, raising a brow. “Kind of a waste of the trip.”
“Just get on the road,” Bakugou mutters, crossing his arms. The fact he actually came without inventing an excuse for his presence is ground-breaking, but pressing the subject is likely to transform the drive back into the city into a headache and a half. Shouto settles for sending him the kind of side-glance that has made Bakugou bristle at him since their first meeting.
Another confession: his second and subconscious motive for driving Izuku to the airport was that he knew he could convince Bakugou to let him drive him back. Having Bakugou in the car complaining about his driving seemed like a welcome distraction from his brooding, if nothing else.
He’s not entirely sure where he and Bakugou stand; in the few times he’s pondered their relationship of late he’s come to realise it’s probably one of the most ill-defined relationships he has, which is saying something. It’s the sort of awkward lack of certainty that keeps them on surname basis even though there’s no need for it.
They’re friendly, or maybe that’s not quite the right word; they’re friends, in the sense that they spend time together and generally lack animosity towards one another, but they never spend time alone by choice. He’s relatively sure they’d both bite a bullet for each other, but that’s natural, after the things they’ve been through- personal dynamics are more complicated. Shouto doesn’t really have anything against him nowadays, but they’ve always had an obvious connecting link through Izuku, and there’s never been a need for more than that.
Now Izuku is leaving, and Shouto wonders what will become of the two of them. Maybe this is the last he’ll see of Bakugou until the summer.
The thought is surprisingly off-putting. They work well together, and Bakugou’s not bad company.
“You starting work again on Friday?”
“Thursday,” Shouto corrects, pulling onto the highway. “But I’m only working the morning.”
Bakugou grunts in acknowledgment, stowing his phone away. “Have they gotten back to you about your partner yet?”
“No,” Shouto says, shaking his head briefly. It’s a bit of a sore point. “It looks like I’ll be working alone for a while.”
“They still haven’t offered you any candidates?” Bakugou says, contemplative. When Shouto inclines his head, he furrows his brow, then scoffs. “Should have known you’d find a way to scam yourself into solo work.”
“Hardly on purpose,” Shouto retorts, relaxing a fraction at the barb. Bakugou must be joking- he and Eijirou are a dream team, and the press eats them up, so he doubts he’s really all that desperate for independence.
It is very unusual for any big-shot newcomers to be left to work alone, though, beyond the independent candidates like Hawks, a point which Bakugou is not the first to raise. It’s only their third year out of school, and his and Izuku’s little dynamic duo has been instrumental in securing their slot in the rankings. With Izuku gone, it is suddenly apparent how difficult it is for Shouto to find someone he can regularly work with. Personality and temperament is one thing- finding a quirk that matches his in power and control is another. Thus far, all of the candidates his agency has dug up are either far below Shouto in capacity or impossible to work with.
He doesn’t mind working alone, of course. Even now that he’s outgrown his self-focused mentality, he’s still generally most comfortable on his own, and he manages just fine without an assist. It’s not the done thing, though, for someone his age to be allowed to operate solo within the framework of an agency.
Someone honks at them irately when Shouto swerves a little sharply around a corner, which makes Bakugou whirl around to gesticulate aggressively at the driver.
“Fuck you too, moron! Check your vanity number plate before you get cocky!”
The other car pulls away, skulking; Bakugou settles down, then shoots Shouto an unimpressed look.
“Seriously, did you learn to drive in a video game?”
“Bite me,” Shouto replies, unfazed. Until Bakugou becomes the group chauffeur he has no right to complain about Shouto’s maybe slightly reckless driving habits. “Where am I dropping you off?”
“Office,” Bakugou says. “Think it’s closer to yours.”
They fall back into silence as Shouto turns off towards downtown Tokyo, companionable enough. He can’t help but mentally fill it with Izuku’s incessant chatter. It’s not that Izuku is particularly good at small talk- like the both of them, he’s too intense for it- but he’s certainly the most sociable of the trio, and the most interested in engaging all of his friends when they’re together. Bakugou tends to be too unconcerned with the banal needs of others, and Shouto tends to find the effort exhausting; Izuku is a bottomless well of generous empathy.
Usually he doesn’t mind the silence, especially with Bakugou- one of his earliest memories of realising he was sort of tolerable sometimes comes from the two of them practicing quietly together. It’s just that the thought has occurred to him that without Izuku this might be all there is to them, at least outside of work- silent coexistence. He’s not sure how he feels about it.
Impulsively, he turns on the radio, keeping the volume low; he lands on a news station, the presenter’s voice chipper and business-like.
“…In other hero news, up-coming pro hero Dekiru is set to depart to America today to join his long-time mentee All Might on a sixth month internship abroad, following in the footsteps of the mythic hero himself. Kan-san, should we expect his absence to make a difference in the hero scene?”
Automatically Shouto glances at Bakugou, feeling his lips quirk up; Bakugou rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking a little as he looks away.
“Only time can tell, but I expect it will, Yoko-san. Dekiru has been one of the most influential new heroes to burst upon the scene in the past decade, as we’re all aware, as a prestigious UA alumni amongst a particularly star-spangled graduating class- let us recall how many high profile villains he in particular had already faced off against by the time he left school-“
“Yes, indeed!”
“And he has proven himself to be just as impressive since graduating, breaking into the top 20 from his first professional outings and consistently working his way up the rankings at a tremendous rate, especially alongside his working partner, Shouto. His absence will definitely free some competitive spots up for Japanese heroes, and it will be interesting to see who pulls out of the fray once he’s gone.”
“Speaking of- we have had little news on what will happen to Shouto now that his partner is gone, beyond their agency releasing a statement to say that the two are expected to resume working together upon his return. Can we assume Shouto is to be working solo until then?”
“If he is, his situation would be incredibly unique for someone his age, but then of course Shouto is another one of those heroes whose achievements have amazed both nationally and abroad-“
Shouto makes to cut the radio off, wincing, but of course Bakugou beats him to it, hand closing around his wrist roughly as he grins. His grip is steely; Shouto fights the urge to glower at him or try to shake loose, because he knows it’ll only make him more smug.
“…Far surpassed any expectations, even with his father’s enormous legacy. My own predictions for the hero board with Dekiru gone feature Shouto making a bold move upwards, even in his partner’s absence- I expect the two of them will push each other from afar.”
“Well, Shouto certainly is a contender for breaking into that coveted top five spot these UA newbies have been inching closer to every year- but I will say, Kan-san, I would hedge my bets on Ground Zero myself.”
“Oh, please,” Shouto says, aloud, finally wrenching his hand loose and returning it to the steering wheel as Bakugou barks out a laugh. “Really?”
“You have to start getting used to it, Shouto,” Bakugou says, voice lilting around his name in the way it only ever does when he’s making fun of his hero name. “Or you could drop out of the top ten, if it bothers you so much.”
“I never took you for someone who couldn’t handle the competition,” Shouto shoots back, only half-heartedly mock-disappointed; he glances out at the road pensively, fails to catch Bakugou’s reply.
It’s not that he minds the media attention so much, because he’s always been very confident in his quirk at least, but it’s still odd to have it get back to him like this, broadcasted across Tokyo, so that the cars around him might be listening in too, debating who has a better shot at breaking national records between himself and the blonde menace currently grinning toothily at the traffic as the radio hosts debate. How strange, that his name be so casually known in the national conscience, that the everyday events of his life are public knowledge.
“…And that concludes our hero segment for this morning- if you have any thoughts, feel free to tweet them @AFNTokyo or message us on Facebook so we can discuss them during the hero hour from four to five this afternoon with today’s expert panellists, Vice President Mori of the Public Safety Commission and freelance journalist Ryu Saikawa-“
“Not that asshole,” Bakugou groans, and reaches to change the station to some American rap thing that Shouto is sure he wouldn’t be able to understand in Japanese either. “I fucking hate the press.”
“I feel like two seconds ago you were quite happy to listen to them sing your praises.”
“Yeah, because that shit was all true,” Bakugou retorts, but he seems newly courteous enough to drop it. Not that Shouto disagrees in the slightest- there are a lot of so-called journalists he can’t stand, especially the gossipy rags and the paparazzi, and Saikawa figures among them for his constant smarmy psychoanalysis. It’s just that he’s heard Bakugou’s opinions on the subject before, and listening to them for too long makes his head hurt.
“Maybe you should call in during hero hour tonight,” Shouto says, instead of all this, to catch the conversation before it tapers into silence. “I’m sure he’d appreciate your topical insight.”
“I fucking wish,” Bakugou scoffs, but when Shouto glances his way accidentally, trying to switch lanes, his brow is furrowed almost pensively, not the brash antagonism he expected. Baited, he finds himself pushing.
“But?”
“Can’t just go around getting into fights with every journalist in the country,” Bakugou says, gruffly, maybe a little wistful. There was a time where he would have done just that. “Don’t have the time for it.”
Shouto hums, thoughtful too, wondering why he feels so very adult all of a sudden, driving into Tokyo to drop Bakugou off at work. It’s not so much that Bakugou has matured, though inevitably they all have, but there’s something self-aware in the way he says it that he rarely chooses to display. Shouto is never quite sure how oblivious Bakugou really is to how he acts, and how much of his behaviour is down to his knowing and not caring, or at least not caring enough.
He has an interview coming up over the weekend, if he recalls correctly. The thought does not excite him. Maybe Momo will be free during the week to help him prepare- she’s usually happy enough to play his unofficial PR manager on her off days. He suspects she likes the challenge.
“Take a right here,” Bakugou chimes in, without looking up from his phone. “Faster.”
“It’ll take me off the freeway, though.”
“Because you’re so stripped for cash, asshole?”
“If you’re going to be rude, I’m going to drive us to Yokohama.”
“Oh, fuck you, I’ll pay then.”
Shouto very helpfully takes a right; Bakugou leans aggressively over him to shove his credit card at the booth, and definitely elbows him on purpose on his way back.
“Figures you’d exploit the poor so you can keep driving a Porsche.”
“If you were anyone else,” Shouto says, with an ounce of false regret, and dodges the sparks flung his way.
“Fucking jackass.”
They get to the office in good time, Shouto pulling into a parking spot slightly recklessly, and the city is already teeming with people, several of which slow when they pass the building, no doubt wondering about the heroes inside.
Bakugou retrieves his bag from the backseat, Shouto eyeing the cars passing them by, and he wonders if he should be saying something, trying to communicate implicitly that they should keep in touch somehow, or whatever the done thing is in these situations.
He still hasn’t been able to broach the subject by the time Bakugou is climbing out of the car, so he just looks at him silently when Bakugou pauses, one arm slung over the frame of the door, and nods at him, the most thanks he’ll get for the ride. Shouto nods back, belatedly; Bakugou’s fingers tap a rapid rhythm out against his window and then he’s straightening, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“See you around, icyhot.”
The door slams shut before Shouto can say anything back, and he watches him go for a second, striding impatiently through the passerbys. Then he looks away, puts his car into reverse, weaves back into the Tokyo traffic.
It’ll take him ages to get home at this rate.
The next time he sees Bakugou is about a week and a half later, during work, on a routine patrol exercise, in a rather routine-defying way.
It’s Shouto’s second field exercise since Izuku’s departure; he’d spent the first few days grounded at the office, wading through bureaucracy, which had put everyone in a mood. Shouto has never taken to bureaucracy, and though school and life experience have given him the tools and the incentive to occasionally rely on tact and civility when the circumstances call for it, being essentially stuck doing grunt-work in the aftermath of Izuku’s departure had failed to motivate him to put on a polite act. Coupled with the fact that his distaste for the downgrade still hadn’t made him any more open to the poor fits the office originally tried to set him up with, it had been a terse few days.
Miraculously, the cold war has been put on hold for now, the company having attempted compromise in the form of a Kyoto trainee by the name of Wonder whose quirk is only a class or two below Shouto’s and who outranks him in terms of field experience and strategy, having worked in the military prior to going public. Reading between the lines, Shouto is expected to do his best to work with her; if despite his best efforts it doesn’t work, he’ll be permitted to work alone until Izuku’s return. This deal was dubiously agreed to; multiple people have since reminded him edgily that if he shows the slightest sign of self-sabotage his ass is on the line, a threat he only takes half-seriously.
Wonder isn’t so bad, really- she’s competent and smart, and reminds him a little bit of Kyoka Jirou in temperament- pragmatic and hard to unnerve, friendly enough to strangers but in a distant way. From what he can tell she differs from his ex-classmate in that she isn’t hiding any sensitivities or teasing good-humour, which makes him question her hero name and branding, somewhat rudely. It’s just odd for someone so serious and grounded to define themselves by appealing to child-like fantasies.
The best explanation he’s managed to come up with so far is that the name is supposed to match her quirk. From their discussion Shouto has gathered that she can control a sort of cloud of iridescent dust, generating and manipulating it in a range of different ways: its primary functions are mostly defensive, serving to reduce visibility and withstand damage by covering the area in fine sparkling dust, but it is extremely effective as an offensive tool too, capable of being condensed and directed to blind or knock over attackers. It reminds Shouto vaguely of the Masegaki children, because he remembers losing a flame from dodging a dust cloud too slowly. It hurts, but it’s pretty- shimmering and colourful. Maybe her hero name is an equal misnomer, meant to lure opponents into distraction.
Shouto is not so easily distracted, and suspects that under the simple pragmatism Wonder has a hard-edged ambition and a calculating streak a mile wide. He’s not sure how he feels about it yet. Ambition is a virtue, and calculating minds are among the best heroes the world has to offer, but he’s not used to people disguising either attribute in themselves. Their differences run deep- one of the first conversations they had alone, she’d spent reviewing their mutual career paths and organising her schedule to optimise media coverage.
Still. She seems competent, and more importantly having her around allows him back into the field. He doesn’t complain.
Patrol is going smoothly enough by the time something interesting happens. For the most part they haven’t been talking much, or rather Wonder has been conversing with him in small talk only, which has reduced Shouto to silence as they travel the skyline. They’re on the lookout for a villain who robbed several banks by using his quirk to tap into their electricity grids and then vanished underground, and the more time goes by the more Shouto wishes the guy would just appear already, so that they might at least segue into strategy-talk.
“I saw you attended your three year graduating class reunion over the holidays,” Wonder is saying, shoulder-pads glistening under the mid-day sun. “It must have been nice to see your classmates again.”
“Hm,” Shouto says, because it had been, and he has nothing to add to it. It’s not like she’s asking about the specifics of the event, and if she’s read it in the news coverage she probably knows as much as he does.
“Your class really stood out as an elite group,” Wonder continues, stopping by the edge of a building to float herself across, dust clouds billowing under her hands. “There’s three of you in the Top 10, seven of you in the Top 20, and fifteen in the Top 50.”
“There’s two of us in the Top 10,” Shouto corrects, thinking about how official and important this all sounds when it’s stated in order. He supposes it is particularly impressive- even by UA standards. “Midoriya isn’t currently on the Billboard.”
“I know that,” Wonder says, and frowns like she’s annoyed at herself, which Shouto hadn’t intended. “I meant in the sense that his place in it is pretty much set in stone.”
“Where did you attend school?” Shouto asks, eyeing the ground below. As much as he prefers to talk about UA than other people’s school histories, which don’t interest him in the slightest, the prestige surrounding it makes for an uncomfortable tension at times. He can’t afford her taking some blunt comment of his the wrong way.
“Seiai Academy, then Ketsubutsu.”
“You transferred?”
“I was expelled,” Wonder says, shortly. “But Ms. Joke had taken notice of me during my second year Sports Festival and asked if I would be interested in attending Ketsubutsu instead, which I was.”
“Oh,” Shouto says, and racks his brains for whatever the appropriate thing to say is here. He’s relatively sure he can’t ask why, even though the conversation naturally leans that way. “I know Yo Shindo a little. He’s top thirteen, isn’t he?”
“Yes, now that Midoriya is gone.”
The way she says it sends an unpleasant feeling down his spine, and he glances away, watching the milling civilians below. He keeps forgetting Izuku is gone, expecting him to appear at the office whenever he zones out for a couple of minutes. In a way it’s like the whole tower has changed, without All Might and Izuku both- Shouto finds himself feeling oddly singled out, even though he’s worked with a lot of the people there for two years now. The apartment is worse, blank and silent, without at least the chatter of the workplace to distract him.
Wonder’s hand touches his shoulder, and he instinctively follows her gaze down. Outside a newsagents stands a man in a debonair grey suit and large sunglasses.
“Bingo,” Wonder says, under her breath. “He must be staking out the premises. The parking stretches all the way to the bank down the street.”
Her assessment matches Shouto’s, and he rolls his shoulders, unwilling to activate his quirk lest they be spotted. “There are a lot of civilians around.”
“Agreed,” Wonder nods, crouching a little for a better view. “I’ll take lead and you take perimeter, then?”
Shouto pauses to frown at her. “His quirk is electric. I’m a better match for him.”
“But yours causes massive damage,” Wonder counters. “It’s best if you stay away from the civs.”
Shouto stares at her, taken aback and feeling an unfamiliar discomfort lodge in his chest. “I’m used to accounting for civilians.“
“Yes, but your quirk is inherently destructive and mine isn’t. It’s less of an effort for me.”
Shouto is about to counter with the fact that effort won’t much matter if she gets electrocuted by their target within five minutes when his eye catches on someone striding down the street and he starts.
“What?”
The man is walking with the sort of brisk stomp that clears the sidewalk, and it takes Shouto about three more seconds of staring at his blonde hair to be confident in his recognition.
“We may have a problem,” Shouto says, slowly, watching Bakugou near their target. They’re on opposite sides of the street, but he knows from experience that Bakugou has a habit of scanning the area whenever he’s on work hours, regardless of whether he’s actually on the outlook for anyone. Watching them feels like watching a countdown.
“Is that Ground Zero?” Wonder asks, sharply; she leans forwards to curse under her breath. “Shit.”
“We’re going to have to take him into account,” Shouto says, shifting his belt as he rapidly runs through backup strategies. “If he goes offensive he can annul the electricity fairly painlessly, and I can contain the fall-out. You could disguise our entry with your dust and then keep the civilians out of harm’s way.”
“Why are you assuming he’ll get involved? He doesn’t even know the target is in the area- and it’s not his assigned case.”
Shouto shoots her an exasperated glance. “That’s not how he works.”
Like clockwork, Bakugou has stopped walking below, body angling slowly towards their man as he looks his way. His examination lasts only a moment, and then he’s falling back into the walking crowd, heading into the opposite direction so that the man’s back is to him; Shouto feels his adrenaline spike, trying to guess his most likely starting move so that they can assist. It’s too late to try and stop him before he starts- they have maybe a handful of minutes while Bakugou formulates a plan, but attempting to get to him will draw notice and rob them of the element of surprise. Better use the time to find a way to make it work for them.
Aloud, he says: “He’s about to intervene. We need to work with him or risk ruining both of our separate attempts to get him.”
“Damn it,” Wonder sighs, and shakes her head. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, if you’re sure you can handle the containment. Should we call back-up?”
“We just got backup,” Shouto says, flatly. “I can handle the containment.”
“All right. I’ll go blend into the crowd until the action kicks off. Try to lead the fighting towards the park and away from the road if you can- I’ll herd in the opposite direction.”
Shouto nods, blank frown receding a fraction. “He might start affecting the machinery in the area, so watch the buildings.”
“Be careful,” Wonder says, as she readies herself to jump. “We don’t want Ground Zero turning this into a brawl.”
With that she’s gone, sliding down the side of the building, and Shouto feels himself exhale a little irritated breath. It’s the first time in a while he’s worked with someone completely new, and he’s grown unused to having to talk to people who don’t know any of his UA cohort properly. All of them get raked over the coals by the media every so often, Bakugou unsurprisingly a regular target considering his unapologetic distaste for the press, but that’s different- the press is something he can expect, deflect, ignore. In person it’s harder to stomach without wanting to protest.
This is a minor slight, of course- an outsider hero who thinks Bakugou is more reckless, more hot-headed, more self-centred than he is. It isn’t an unreasonable perception, probably- goes with his image, and his quirk. Compared to the time Shouto had actively struck a stranger in the face for the things they’d insinuated about Izuku, certainly, it’s nothing. It rankles at him nonetheless- natural distaste for presumption and loyalty to his friends makes it impossible to feel otherwise.
He watches Wonder slip into the crowd, managing to make herself discrete even in her hero suit, then glances back at Bakugou, who’s now taken a vantage point further down the street, and who seems to have started warning the people around him to stay back, creating dead space on his side of the road. It’ll draw the target’s attention as soon as he emerges from the shop, if he hasn’t noticed already- Shouto is sure he only went inside so that he could continue mapping out the building’s weak points without standing immobile on the street for too long.
It takes half a second- the target steps through the door, and the power line makes a fizzling sound. Shouto is taking a flying leap off the building before he even has to think about it, flames swallowing oxygen as they roar into existence. The sound is entirely disguised by the commotion below- there is a massive crackling sound as their target blows the building’s grid, windows shattering and cement crunching from the outwards pressure, and then there is the ear-splitting rumble of several, rapid-fire explosions erupting as Bakugou throws himself across the street.
Screams and panicked yelling cut through the chaos as Shouto flies downwards, hair whipping in the wind, and in another moment he might feel something about the fact he’s gotten so used to civilian terror as the background noise for his fights, but his focus is below, concentrated on the pattern of smoke and gunfire sounds so that he can calculate his landing best despite the lack of visibility. Behind him, faint rushing noise signals Wonder at work; he flips himself forwards, aiming just towards the edge of the black cloud where Bakugou had last set off from. For a moment he is sightless, sinking through smoke, but it’s hardly even an inhibition- years of working through his own smoke and Bakugou’s specifically have made it almost second nature to rely on his other senses to find his way around.
He lands, feet stable on the pavement, and twists to avoid the shocks that burst through the air as the smoke fades, ice already forming around his arms, amorphous, ready to strike but biding his time before he reveals himself. This won’t be a long fight- their target is a thief, unused to using his quirk for violence, and completely unequipped to handle any of the three heroes involved- but it could be a messy one, especially if the guy starts lashing out at random. It’s the go-to villain trick, because heroes are by nature obliged to defend both themselves and everyone around them.
A whip-like sound to his left; he skates rapidly away, turns, repositions himself. Based on his movements Bakugou is just toying with the guy, or rather keeping him busy long enough that the civs are all out of harm’s way when he gets to incapacitating him, which is typically practical. Shouto takes a calculated risk and dives west, throwing up ice as he goes, an impromptu quarantine. It’s hard to gauge with precision if he’s managing to keep only the three of them within the enclosure without revealing himself too soon, because he has to keep ducking into the debris and smoke to keep himself out of sight, so he takes a running leap for better vantage point, twisting his ice to correct trajectory. As he soars he catches a flash of steel as the abandoned cars below begin erratically racing around each other- controlled, if sloppily, by the robber, who has no doubt come to realise direct combat against Bakugou will get him nowhere. It’s not a terrible strategy; he hears Bakugou swear in annoyance and roll to avoid a car slamming into him. The difficulty isn’t really in the physical obstacle, but in avoiding property damage.
Before Shouto has even made his mind up to intervene, Bakugou has already changed tactics, using his Quirk to propel himself upwards so that the cars broaden their perimeter in confusion and he can pick his landing spot strategically; Shouto watches him blast upwards in a flash of black and blonde, and seizes the opportunity to make himself useful, launching himself off a car’s roof onto the overhanging balcony of one of the apartments above. He lands with a heavy thud, wincing a little at the jolt to his knee, then jumps again, towards the parc; mid-flight, as Bakugou lands in a burst of colour, he extends his arms towards his barrier, now half-visible in the fading smoke, and lets the ice flow, a frosty avalanche bursting forth to paralyse the cars.
The action is inevitably loud and visible, but while he hears a startled yell from the target- abruptly within his line of vision, backed up against a car- Bakugou doesn’t so much as glance backwards, only jumping easily upwards to land atop a now-frozen vehicle. Shouto rolls his eyes a little and skates towards them, throwing up a rapid snow wall to soften when Bakugou flips both the car and the target into the air with one perfunctory blow. The car thuds softly back to earth, and the target wheezes, sparking with panic as he catches Shouto’s eye before twisting to try and see where Bakugou has gotten to. It’s too little too late, of course, because Bakugou is bouncing off the snow wall and seizing him by his collar before he’s turned his head, slamming them both down to the ground as Shouto carefully manoeuvres the car back down, its alarm blaring confusedly.
“Arms out or I’ll make you,” Bakugou is saying, when he jumps closer, brandishing Quirk-nullifying cuffs, and the target squirms desperately. Shouto is about to comment on the fact that Bakugou apparently carries those around off-patrol when there is a horrible creaking noise and a chorus of screams, and they both turn instinctively to look at the skyline, where a massive red crane is turning so that its cargo hovers right above the crowd Shouto had so carefully shepherded away from the fight.
“Touch me and I’ll drop it!” the guy exclaims, voice cracking with fear, loud against the sudden hush. It’s just the three of them, standing cut off in an ice barrier, the car’s alarm still plaintive, watching the crane sway, and with seconds to spare Shouto looks at Bakugou.
Bakugou’s brows furrow silently. Are you sure?
Shouto looks back at the crane, its unpredictable jerky rotation. Then he nods, once.
Bakugou snaps the cuffs on. The crane never gets to drop its load; from Shouto’s outstretched hands to the skyscraper across the street, an ever-thickening river of ice has coursed towards it within the half-minute that follows their silent exchange, and though ice splinters fall lightly downwards as it strains under the weight, the crane is immobile.
“Not bad,” Bakugou says, only a tad begrudging, which makes Shouto smile back, also a little long-suffering.
“When did you know I was here?”
“Five minutes give or take,” Bakugou shrugs, lips quirking a little. “Noticed the drop in temperature, so I was looking for explanations.”
Shouto frowns pensively as he moves to melt the ice wall, thinking about getting around to regulating his heat signature in the future, and their mildly traumatised target finally seems to snap out of his stupor to groan shakily, burying his face in his hands.
“God, this is fucking insane. I was just listening about you two on the news.”
“You did rob a major national bank” Shouto points out, watching the ice dissipate. “That’s sort of prime pro-hero territory.”
There is a whooshing sound, and they look up to find Wonder floating down in their direction, gaze hard and assessing; Bakugou shifts immediately into his casual combat stance, but it relaxes when Shouto doesn’t follow suit.
“Civilians?”
“A few minor injuries from the rush to get out of the way,” Wonder says, as she lands, surveying the area. “Property damage not optimal.”
“You mean the building? He blew it before the fight started,” Shouto says, glancing up. “We contained the rest.”
It annoys him that her mouth pulls at that, he realises abruptly, enlightenment dawning with retroactive clarity. And it’s not the only habit of hers he finds hard to live with- this underlying tension between them stems from the fact he doesn’t like her.
There’s a time and place for this thought, though, so he keeps his expression blank as their eyes meet.
“I should thank you for your assistance,” Wonder finally says, turning to nod her thanks at Bakugou, who scowls at her. “Though you might have spared a moment to consider there might have been an ongoing operation rather than charging in headfirst.”
“And who the fuck are you?”
“Wonder,” Shouto interjects, before things get out of hand. “She’s my trial partner.”
“Until Dekiru gets back from America?” the target asks, curiously. “What’s your quirk?”
“Shut up,” Bakugou says, cuffing the back of his head and glaring combatively at Wonder. “Where’d they dig you up, then? You’re not from a Tokyo agency.”
“No, I was military until last year,” Wonder agrees, pursing her lips. “It’s a rigorous job.”
There is a growing hubbub around them as the crowds swoop back in, danger averted, and the telling flash of cameras and phones as people being clamouring for their attention.
“Excuse me,” Wonder says, and turns to face the curious masses, smile confident as she goes. Shouto mentally sighs and turns to Bakugou, gesturing at the wincing man on the ground.
“Can I take him? He was supposed to be our mission.”
“Out of character for you to want to hog the spotlight,” Bakugou quips, raising a brow, though he thrusts the guy over anyways. “Felt like I pretty much handled this one for you lot.”
“We would have handled it fine,” Shouto says, not one to let Bakugou overstate his importance, though he lets some of his motives show as he glances back at Wonder. “And I think it would be good to show some team unity, is all.”
“Right,” Bakugou says, sarcastic now, like Shouto is so unreasonable for being realistic about press coverage. “Like that’s going to last.”
Shouto frowns at him, and Bakugou scoffs. “Oh, come on, half ’n half. You clearly can’t stand each other.”
“I work with plenty of people I don’t like,” Shouto retorts, noncommittally, instead of asking how Bakugou can tell, or expressing that it’s none of his business. “UA was good for that.”
“You’re a real comic.”
“It is my back-up career choice.”
“All I’m saying is that she seems like a presumptive asshole,” Bakugou says, dropping the subject as they move towards the press. “So fuckin’ enjoy that for the next six months.”
Shouto feels the face he pulls at the prospect despite himself, so when Bakugou barks out a slightly cruel laugh it doesn’t feel unwarranted. “I can’t make her leave. The company wants a partner for me and she was their best bet.”
“Then make someone else the reason she does, dumbass,” Bakugou sneers, and pointedly hunches his shoulders. “How’d you think I got rid of that supervisor they tried to sic on us at your old man’s place?”
“Hm,” Shouto says, thoughts sliding into place, and though from there on out everything is routine and he doesn’t even think to say goodbye, he finds himself privately amused when he falls into step with Wonder afterwards, her friendliness gone now they’re away from the crowd.
“Those interviews weren’t so bad. Our ratings have gone up.”
“I think it’s down to Ground Zero,” Shouto says, very seriously. “The press really likes the interaction. He said he’d ask if we could coordinate our schedules more often.”
He feels without seeing the way her composure slips into brief horror, and, shackled between the two of them, their prisoner snorts.
Wonder stays on a while, but after a couple of run-ins with Bakugou and Kirishima and more than a few increasingly irate (mostly one-sided) arguments about Shouto’s apparent recklessness and lack of caring about his branding, she resigns, citing readjustment difficulties, which just about lets Shouto off the hook. It probably doesn’t hurt that he tells Izuku about her, and Izuku no doubt reports it all back to All Might.
Almost a month past Izuku’s departure, Shouto thus finds himself partnerless again, which leaves him both relieved and smarting a little.
Work is fine, obviously. Shouto doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of hero-work; it’s what drives him in life, more than anything, and he can’t imagine doing anything else, especially now that he’s finally allowed to do interesting missions. Even with Wonder around, rubbing him the wrong way with intransigeant calculation, the work itself had kept him satisfied.
Still, it’s a difficult shift to adjust to. Work usually counts double for him- the enjoyment of work, and the enjoyment of good company. Without Izuku it’s just work- and once work is over, he has nothing to do.
Living alone is unexpectedly strange, though he realises upon reflection that he might have seen it coming. He hasn’t actually lived away from his classmates since starting UA- three years of living in dorms, one year of living with Momo, and half a year sharing with Izuku- when he looks back at it, the reason (if subconscious) that the sudden solitude unsettles him is because it takes him back to times he’d started to forget.
He’d grown up in a home with six people, on paper- six, then four. If you’d have asked him at the time, though, he’d probably have answered quite honestly that he lived alone. His interactions with his siblings had been stringently limited in his early childhood, then limited by the lack of connection between them, and as for his father, well.
He still struggles with trying to work through his feelings on the best day, nevermind his difficult childhood, but even he can look back at his youth and describe it as intensely lonely. Coming back to an impersonal empty apartment every night makes him broody and quiet.
It’s during one of those nights, sitting on the couch watching the street-light filter into their cramped kitchen space and wondering whether he should do something with the boxes still stacked in their living-room, that his phone buzzes from his bedroom.
It’s Kirishima; Shouto picks up, brow furrowing instinctively.
“Hello.”
“Hey, man!” Kirishima exclaims, always at a slightly overwhelming volume. “Listen, no pressure, but I wanted to know if you were maybe free tonight?”
Shouto looks around, rubs his knuckles a little. The thought of hovering around the Bakusquad all evening is probably more tempting than doing nothing, but it’s not exactly his choice of activity. “I think so.”
“Oh, great,” Kirishima says, grin audible. “Well, listen, I have these discount tickets for this bar in Minato, and I feel like I haven’t seen you at all since Izuku left, so I was thinking we could hang?”
“Just the two of us?” Shouto says, blinking in confusion.
“If you want!” Kirishima rushes, as Shouto mulls this over, still surprised. “Katsuki said he’d come if I asked. Or- well, he said I should stop picking up stupid discounts for shitty bars no one likes to go to, and if anyone was dumb enough to come with me to one he might show up just to witness the disaster, but that’s sort of the same thing, you know?”
“Yeah,” Shouto says, smiling a little. “That’s not necessary, though. I just didn’t realise you’d want to.”
“Course I would, dude! These last couple of weeks have been rough. All Katsuki ever thinks about is work, and now he doesn’t even have Izuku and you around to debate with all the time, so he’s grumpy about it.”
“Kirishima, I don’t think I’m any better.”
“Dude, we’ve known each other for six years. It’s Eijirou to you. Or whatever you want, really.”
“Old habits.”
“I’ll get you one day,” Kirishima sighs. “Anyways- you wanna come tonight, then?”
“Sure,” Shouto agrees, and feels his evening cease to loom ahead so ominously. “Send me the address.”
Kirishima whoops and complies, and Shouto finds himself smiling as he hangs up the phone.
It becomes somewhat routine. The first night, conversation is awkward for all of five seconds before Kirishima launches into an enthusiastic retelling of the best fights he and Bakugou got into in the past week, and from there on Shouto abruptly remembers that he and Kirishima have been friends for years and friendly for longer. By the end of it Kirishima makes him promise to show him around his apartment at some point in the next week, and Shouto agrees with only minor reluctance.
The apartment visit occurs, and Kirishima does the typical Kirishima thing- in this case, convincing Shouto to do something about the unfurnished state of the rooms while barely coming across like that’s what he’s trying to do. His concerned inquiries don’t prompt defensiveness, but at the same time his frank questioning makes Shouto realise (somehow for the first time) that he has in fact been living in the equivalent of a hospital room for a month.
He often thinks it’s a good thing Kirishima’s heart is firmly in the right place, because he would be a master of manipulation were he so inclined. Only someone tremendously inclined to put people at ease could have wrangled life-long friendship out of Katsuki Bakugou at the age of fifteen.
After that, the texts start coming in at all hours of the day.
from: Kirishima E.
yo DUDE!!!
look @ this DOPE table me & Katsuki saw on patrol today!!!
[nekoneko.jpeg]
y/n for ur apartment?????
to: Kirishima E.
Not sure it would fit through the door.
I do like the cat.
from: Kirishima E.
it folds!!!
to: Kirishima E.
And how do you know that?
from: Kirishima E.
hahaha yea ok i did buy it
BUT it was on sale and also you need it in your apartment!!!
you can pay me back in drinksss
to: Kirishima E.
I’ll pay you back in money.
from: Kirishima E.
thats way more boring bro :(
For the most part the texts are about random things Kirishima has spotted and decided the apartment needs, ranging between cute cat-café surplus and very traditional furniture, and Shouto is almost taken aback at how well he can gauge his tastes.
He is far less taken aback when Bakugou texts him for the first time in over a month once Kirishima’s enthusiasm starts getting on his nerves.
from: Bakugou K.
Hey, asshole
We’re coming over tonight and you’re fixing your place up
to: Bakugou K.
What a kind offer.
from: Bakugou K.
I’m sick of hearing about how you live in an isolation ward
And you clearly aren’t getting your shit together
We’ll be there by 8
to: Bakugou K.
I only get off work at half past.
from: Bakugou K.
Doesn’t matter, Deku gave me a spare key
to: Bakugou K.
You know I still haven’t said yes?
from: Bakugou K.
Read my previous text and get over yourself
Renovating a room, Shouto has learned, really is a powerful bonding activity. Momo had been at her most intimidating when commandeering the veritably army of people that it had taken to redecorate their loft, and he’s seen the best and worst of each of his classmates in far less glamorous settings- when Kaminari, Sero and Ashido had gotten their first flat, half of the amenities had needed re-doing, and Shouto still begrudges whoever had convinced them to buy all of their furniture new from IKEA.
Shouto and Izuku’s apartment, thankfully, is perfectly functional, if significantly less impressive than his old flat. He had been content to live with Momo, but once he’d relocated to Might Tower the commute had been too much, and Izuku had made sense as a roommate- he’d also needed a new roommate what with Katsuki moving out. This is the second flat they’ve shared, and a step up from the first one, because Shouto had been able to make a better argument for paying a bigger share of the rent.
The point is that as house-warming efforts go, this is a thankfully painless one. Which is good, because Shouto has seen Bakugou during moving efforts before, most notably the aforementioned Kaminari & co move, and he doesn’t think he currently has the energy to deal with that particular blend of animal rage and clinical perfectionism.
He gets back from the office with mounting trepidation in his steps, and opens the door to find Kirishima straddling what looks like half of an end-table, hammer in hand and hoodie tied loosely around his waist. The whole living-room has exploded into various pieces of furniture and decorations around him.
“Hey, dude!” Kirishima grins, around a mouthful of screws. “Sorry ‘bout the mess.”
“That’s fine,” Shouto starts, and closes the door. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
“What are friends for?” Kirishima dismisses, beginning to hammer away enthusiastically. “We got takeout, by the way. There are some leftovers if you’d like.”
“Oh, thank you.”
It’s funny- Izuku’s boxes are gone, presumably to his room, and Shouto feels a little better for it, just like that, less like he’s living with a shadow. Somedays he wonders if he will ever manage to develop the kind of basic emotional logic that allows other people to think of these things.
“Your kitchen is a fucking disgrace,” Bakugou announces, emerging from his bathroom shaking his hands dry. Like Kirishima he’s changed out of his work clothes, sporting a trademark tank top and sweatpants. He has grease on his arms and the side of his jaw. “I would have cooked but you didn’t have any damn food.”
“I was wondering why you lowered yourself to takeout,” Shouto says, briefly cursing the fact he missed out on eating a cooked meal. “You know, it’s all right to have a cheat day once in a while.”
Bakugou flips him off but follows him into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, wrinkling his nose at the glass selection. Shouto reaches around him to hand him a Hello Kitty cup with an innocent expression.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Suit yourself,” Shouto shrugs, and uses the cup for his own glass of water, settling himself by the table so he can dig into the noddles, thankfully still luke-warm.
Bakugou drinks from the tap, because he’s an idiot, and Shouto rolls his shoulders a little, relaxing after a day’s office work.
“Inasa texted me the other day. Camie’s going to be in Tokyo for her engagement party.”
“Engagement party,” Bakugou repeats, and shakes his head disbelievingly. “Fucking hell.”
“Yeah,” Shouto says, very much in agreement. She’s barely twenty three; it makes his head spin to think of anything so adult in his own life. “He wanted to know if we’d host.”
“I’m not hosting a party at mine again,” Bakugou says, immediately, setting his glass down. “Not after last time’s bullshit.”
“I figured. I thought I might.”
This makes Bakugou shoot him a skeptical look. “Here?”
“It’ll look nice once this is done,” Shouto says, shrugging. In truth he feels pretty similarly about the idea, given that he’s never been known for his hosting talents, but Inasa’s place is too far out and Bakugou is still violently opposed to hosting anything after the last big birthday bash there got out of hand. It’s not like he minds having people milling about- he’s never been particularly proprietary. “And there’s enough room.”
“I guess it’s central at least,” Bakugou considers, glancing around. “How many people?”
“Didn’t ask,” Shouto says, wryly. “I assume double whatever the number he’ll say.”
Bakugou lifts a brow in concession, expression conveying his continued skepticism at the fact Inasa manages to collect copious amounts of friends wherever he goes. “If it’s for Utsushimi’s engagement then her fiancé will probably be bringing friends too.”
“No, he said it would be- intimate.”
“He used that word?”
“Yes,” Shouto says, lips quirking. “An intimate gathering.”
“Oh, come on,” Bakugou says. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“Maybe he’s maturing.”
“Maybe he’s been kidnapped and replaced by a half-assed clone.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what his clone says for the party.”
“Who says I’m coming?” Bakugou protests, albeit half-heartedly. Shouto gives him an unimpressed look.
“Uh, guys, I think there’s a problem with the dresser,” Kirishima starts, followed immediately by a tremendous crashing sound as he yelps.
Dresser? Shouto mouths, to himself, bemused. By his side Bakugou rolls his eyes hard.
“That’s because it’s not a dresser, Ei, you dumbass.”
“It’s- not?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bakugou groans, and pushes off the counter, muscles working as he rolls his shoulder. “I told you-“
“No, you said the silver piece goes with the cherry wood-“
“Bullshit I did! The coffee table is the only cherry wood piece because it matches the flooring-“
“I’m starting to think you didn’t just find these at flea markets,” Shouto notes, observing the two of them with the same hint of confusion that he always feels watching them interact out of uniform. It’s in the contrast- Kirishima’s bright-eyed grin, his eye-sore green sweatpants, the shock of red hair, and then Bakugou, all in black and so used to scowling that even at ease his brow is furrowed and his jaw is set.
“You didn’t mention you’d taken up detective-work since Deku left,” Bakugou shoots back, squatting to pick up a screwdriver. Kirishima laughs; Shouto hovers uncomfortably in the doorframe, unsure whether he’d get shouted at for trying to help.
“You really didn’t-“
“Say that one more time and I’m blowing up your living room,” Bakugou snaps, brandishing the screwdriver menacingly; Shouto pulls a face.
“Agreed,” Kirishima echoes cheerily. “We chose to be here, dummy. Can’t let a bro live in an empty box for a year. And besides Izuku would be mad unimpressed if we let you, y’know!”
This much is true; Shouto ducks his head, accepting defeat. He’ll reimburse them when they’re not paying attention. Making it up to them is a different story, but for that-
“All right,” he says, and his gaze drifts over to Bakugou, attacking furniture-building with the same intensity as any other task. “I owe you one.”
Bakugou looks up at that, frowning, then snorts, and Shouto feels himself almost smile, the twisting thing he does when he thinks he might like to smile but isn’t sure it’d be appropriate. “You owe me several.”
“Three,” Shouto says, because if they didn’t keep track it would be redundant, and whether out of sentimentality or a natural attachment to routine he doesn’t want their little ritual to die off.
He can’t remember when it started. Definitely in school. Probably second or third year, though it only really became a thing later, in the sense that other people commented on it and it became a Thing, as Kaminari would say, stressing the syllable enough that Shouto registers the affect. It hadn’t started out as a Thing- just a habit. He thinks Bakugou probably did it first, or vocalised it, at least. He’d kept track of their mutual assists before it had been expressed aloud, anyways- for everyone, but for Izuku and Bakugou especially, because there was a relationship of equals between the three of them that didn’t exist elsewhere in his life, unspoken and oft-begrudged (by some more than others) so that it felt both very easy and somehow more notable to rely upon each other in combat.
It had been very odd to adjust to, especially in first year. He remembers the League’s break-in, fighting on his own, and then being in the forest, trying to keep Bakugou in check, frustrated and wishing they weren’t teammates, that he might do things alone. Then there had been the rescue mission and all that it entailed, and things had shifted- for everyone, for Izuku and Bakugou, but also for Shouto, in a different way, understanding why teamwork mattered. It was something he’d already come to feel in their fight against Stain, but saving Bakugou had explicitly been a group effort from the outset, and it had dawned upon him then how much he trusted them, and necessarily how much they trusted him. He hadn’t been so sure about Bakugou, not until the very last second, watching him surge through the sky like a firework, the slap of his palm as he grabbed Kirishima’s outstretched hand.
Bakugou had never thanked them for it, and even Shouto had the presence of mind to know not to try and get any gratitude out of him, but he was bad (worse then) at keeping his thoughts out of his gaze, and for a while every time they’d met eyes Bakugou had bristled like a caged animal, jaw set so tight Shouto thought it was a wonder he hadn’t ground the bone down. It was far worse with Izuku, of course- through curious observation Shouto had begun to understand the fundamental off-set in their dynamic was that Izuku was perpetually offering help where Bakugou was furiously opposed to receiving it, and so he was less surprised than he might have been when it all came to a head in that massive brawl of theirs. Still, in a way, Shouto felt he understood him a little better- he was equally uncomfortable with owing anyone any favours, and had not yet grown close enough to Izuku to be told that friendship at its core meant not keeping track of such things.
That’s what it comes down to, really. He’s become resigned to the fact that he will be playing catch-up on social cues for the rest of his life, but even so he’d been conscious of the unique form of awkwardness the two of them dealt with after that whole mess, with increasing frequency: consistently trusting each other with their lives despite the fact they could only generously be said to tolerate one another. It had been an abnormal situation, even within their schooling context; the only reason they’d so often been at the centre of some massive battle was because there were few students with their level of power, and within these elite ranks everyone had been at least civil if not friendly. Thanks to Izuku Shouto hadn’t been the outlier for long- Bakugou, however, had proved fiercely resistant to any attempts on either of their parts to smooth over the uneven dynamics of their fledgling trio. He recalls those early days with clarity even now, remembers pulling off death-defying stunts with the certainty that the person who had told him to go fuck himself on a rusty shovel not five minutes ago would be the one to cover him.
He had tried, despite the fact that Bakugou hated him and also wasn’t extremely likeable, to try and befriend him somewhat, if only so that their group dynamic wouldn’t feel so unbalanced. The remedial course had been a good opportunity for it. Bakugou had responded to these attempts with furious rejection, though, and Shouto had thought with varying degrees of exasperation that maybe this was all down to that stupid fucking Sports Festival final, and that if he’d just pummelled Bakugou there and then they might have had an easier time of the rest. Still- despite tiny but notable exceptions, like the perplexing novelty of Bakugou’s helpless laughter at Camie’s illusion or the way he’d shiftily averted his gaze when Shouto had vetoed violence as a means of teaching, they had left the course no closer to friends than prior.
So he had kept track. Lives saved, favours owed- and Bakugou evidently had done the same, because at some point after the remedial arc that he can no longer recollect (sometimes he thinks they engaged in more pointless villain fights in school than they do now) he’d recovered from a very close call with a villain’s gaping jaw to find Bakugou yanking him out of harm’s way by the elbow, the part of his arm pressed against Shouto so slick with explosive sweat that he’d very nearly set the both of them on fire. They’d landed hard against the pavement, both already straightening to jump back into the fight, and Shouto (mindlessly- he was getting into the dangerous habit of developing manners around his classmates) had thanked him, forgetting himself. The half-beat of silence had tuned him in, and he’d turned, bracing for an outraged insult, but Bakugou had only scowled, looking somewhere between angry and uncomfortable, and grunted: “Makes us even.”
The phrase had stuck around, though neither of them had in the moment, both flying into opposite corners of the fight where their help was most needed; once it was all over Shouto had absently caught sight of the blonde as he shucked off his gauntlets and traced the statement back to the block of ice he’d thrown up to avoid Bakugou’s demise under the weight of a stone pillar two weeks prior. It had struck him that this was the first time Bakugou had ever let slip that he kept a record of their mutual assists too, and for some reason this had felt gratifying. The next time he’d taken someone out of commission for him had come minutes after Bakugou himself had blown a hole through a thick blanket of sand threatening to snuff him out, and he’d felt the opportunity present itself, shiny and novel; when he’d spun past him he’d taken the moment to say it. “I owed you one.”
He doesn’t know what it says about them in terms of Izuku’s friendship parameters that after all these years they both still monitor these things, but he thinks the fact that he just used it with respect to Bakugou assembling a coffee table instead of throwing him ten feet into the air probably means something.
Bakugou and Kirishima stay past midnight, but between the three of them they work fast. Shouto is actually pretty good at assembling furniture, and he’s not half bad with design, when he puts his mind to it- it seems to have escaped both of his companions that he decorated his UA dorm for three years straight, because they both react with disbelief to this revelation. It’s just that he usually lacks the motivation, he tries to explain- he doesn’t tell them that since Izuku left he has steadily felt himself losing his connections to the outside world, and thus stopped caring what the one inside looked like. He thinks they probably know that, anyways.
By the time they’re finished, he barely recognises the place. Izuku’s boxes are neatly unpacked in his room, courtesy of Bakugou’s insane organisational eye, which makes it feel like he actually lives there, and perhaps more importantly, Shouto feels like he does- their kitchen and living room is furnished with simple, elegant traditional furniture, and between all of the beautiful wooden pieces Kirishima has dug up little quirky additions to spruce it up- a little retro jukebox, an adorable cat-shaped rug with a matching pouf, a lava lamp.
It looks like UA, or like his room at Yaoyorozu’s- like home, he reflects, as Kirishima sprawls excitedly over the couch, having finally unearthed the manual for their television. When they eventually leave, Bakugou gone a characteristic level of tired-grumpy as he stomps down to get their cab, Shouto stops Kirishima briefly, smooths his expression when he realises he’s frowning. A light frown is his default expression, he’s found, mostly because he frowns when he’s thinking.
“Thank you.”
“No biggie,” Kirishima assures him, smiling warmly like he knows Shouto’s saying thanks for more than just the room. Shouto feels oddly inclined to hug him. “It’ll be cool to have somewhere else to hang out in the city.”
“I’d be happy to have you over,” Shouto says, politely, and then, clearing his throat and succumbing to earnestness: “I’m glad we’re friends.”
Kirishima blinks, then beams so brightly Shouto steps back a little, alarmed. “Aw, dude- me too, y’know.” He looks a little wet-eyed, which is troubling but sort of customary. “I was sort of worried you wouldn’t want to hang without Izuku around, but I’m super stoked that you do.”
“Oh,” Shouto says, and bites his lip in thought, having not considered that people might have been expecting him to make the first move. “No, I- he was my first friend, is all. I befriended everyone else through him. So it’s been quite-“
“Yeah, I get it,” Kirishima says, and he does, probably, because Kirishima gets people. “It’s been weird for everyone, I think. Izuku’s kinda always been our class mascot, right? I know it’s been rough on Katsuki too, in his own way. Don’t tell him I said that.”
Shouto snorts, shakes his head. “I do have some sense of self-preservation.”
“Some,” Kirishima replies, tapping his nose with a strangely wry smile. “Text me when you’re free, okay?”
“Okay,” Shouto echoes, and thinks he probably will.
Izuku looks somewhere between anxious and elated when he appears on-screen for their weekly call, buzzing with energy in a way that’s not entirely helpful what with the screen pixelating every so often, but the nervy way he moves paradoxically relaxes Shouto, as it tends to do; he feels something unclench in his chest when the line connects.
“Hi, can you hear me? It is so good to see you! I wish I could have called sooner, but we’ve been so busy and it’s really hard figuring out the time-difference with work in the way-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Shouto interjects, tilting his head and smiling a little. “It’s good to see you too.”
“Eijirou said you redecorated?” Izuku chimes in, now scanning around him like he can somehow peer beyond the laptop screen if he tries. “I’m so excited to see the apartment- although I feel really bad that I never got around to unpacking, it must have taken a lot of time-“
“Bakugou did most of that,” Shouto says, maybe a little cruelly, because Izuku’s eyes boggle and he looks back at him in alarm.
“Kacchan? Wait, you let Kacchan have his way with my possessions? Shouto!”
“He did nothing to them,” Shouto concedes, stifling a smile, as Izuku sighs in relief from where he’d been midway to an aneurysm. “He and Kirishima insisted on helping me with the apartment. In fairness I wasn’t being very productive.”
Izuku’s brow dips a little, and he squints like he’s trying to see if Shouto’s hiding anything from him, which can’t be easy from across an ocean. “You’re doing okay, right? I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Wonder.”
“We weren’t a good match,” Shouto shrugs. “I told you I was trying to get rid of her.”
“Yeah, but being partnerless now must be weird, right?” Izuku asks, then flinches. “Not that- I mean, I’m still your partner, except in practice-“
“I know,” Shouto says, and means it, which thankfully gets Izuku to quieten before he can launch on a very sincere but wholly unnecessary defence of their friendship. “It’s a little strange. I don’t mind it; I like working alone. The only thing I don’t like is not having you around so much.”
Predictably, Izuku’s expression crumples. “I miss you a lot too! It’s really weird doing work stuff without you. Especially here.”
“You’ve been enjoying it, though?”
“Yeah, of course!” Izuku exclaims, nodding intently. “The pro-hero working style in America operates on a completely different model, it’s fascinating- and of course getting to revisit All Might’s past with him is incredible- and there’s so much interesting work to be done-“ He pauses to catch himself with more grace than he might once have. “It is weird to be a continent away from all of you, though. And the culture shock has gotten to me more than I thought it would.”
“Really?” Shouto asks, considering it. “You’ve always seemed so adaptable.”
“I guess I am,” Izuku laughs, a little sheepish. “I feel right at home when I’m working. But when it’s my off days I don’t really know what to do with myself. And all of the Americans are so- loud, and English.” His smile softens into something nostalgic. “My English was never as good as yours or Kacchan’s. Remember how much I had to cram for finals?”
“I remember watching a lot of English movies because someone said it was the best way to understand the speech patterns. I think that was Kaminari’s idea.”
“It always is,” Izuku says, shaking his head with amusement. “Ah, man, now I really miss you guys. I wish you could have come with me.”
Shouto only hums his agreement. “Have you met any interesting people from the US side of things?”
“A lot,” Izuku nods, perking up at the opportunity to recite what is no doubt inscribed in the travel notebook he obviously has. “We’ve met a lot of All Might’s old acquaintances- pro heroes from the time, you know, like the Captain, Veuve Noire, the Quirk Quatuor- and also some up and comers from the hero rankings here. There’s this amazing hero here called Houdini, and she has these teleportation and shield abilities, but she uses them in such a unique way-“
Shouto lets him ramble for a while, content to listen. Izuku has mostly outgrown his endless muttering tendencies, but his mind will forever outpace his mouth, and Shouto is happy to let him do the talking. Most of the time it’s actually interesting, and even when it’s not it’s at least sort of soothing to listen to.
“-it’s just a shame they won’t let me do more hands-on work, but the US is very testy with their visa requirements, to no one’s surprise,” Izuku finishes, several tangents later. “Anyway, enough about me. How have things been with you?”
Shouto blinks, has to reorient himself a little. “Fine. I texted you yesterday, remember?”
“You texted me to tell me you saw a cat,” Izuku corrects, rolling his eyes a little. “Which, while valued information, doesn’t exactly fill me in on your daily doings.”
“I know you talk to Kirishima and Tenya a lot,” Shouto retorts, raising a brow. “Between the two of them I’m sure they have things covered.”
“Not true!” Izuku protests, shaking his head. “They are very reputable sources of information, but Tenya’s not even in Tokyo and Kirishima only sees you like once a week.”
“Your point…”
Izuku laughs at that, but is not so easily dissuaded. “Come on. Seriously. I worry about you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Shouto sighs. “I’m very capable of looking after myself. Far more than you are, anyways. I heard about your hospital visit last week.”
Izuku has the decency to look guilty at that, giving a nervous chuckle. “That was- well- oh, fine, I’m in no position to judge. I know you can handle yourself! I mean more like- you know, emotionally.”
“Really?” Shouto sighs, unenthused. Izuku is usually far more subtle in his psych checks- once he’d spent his teenaged years aggressively getting Shouto to defrost and accept his undying love and support, he’d rarely needed to be so on the nose again. “Barely gone a month and you’re turning into Tenya.”
“I’m sorry!” Izuku exclaims, throwing his palms up in surrender. “I think I may have some kind of separation anxiety. It’s making me kind of unhinged. The other day I seriously considered trying to Skype Kacchan unprompted because I sat through some guy cussing me out in a Starbucks and got homesick.”
“That’s crazy person talk,” Shouto says, gravely, though privately he suspects it won’t be long until either Izuku or Bakugou comes up with some flimsy excuse to do exactly that, considering that their single ‘work related’ call in Izuku’s absence thus far had kept them both on the line for several hours. In their own weird way they’re very codependent. “You really don’t have to worry about me. I promise I’m not regressing into my teenaged self. I’ve avoided the poor fashion choices, for one. Though you probably wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t.”
“Ouch, hit me where it hurts,” Izuku says, glancing down at his t-shirt, currently an appalling red-white-and-blue ensemble that Shouto shudders to imagine himself wearing, considering his hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, anyways. I don't remember you dressing badly at all.”
Coming from the man who still wears 't-shirt' t-shirts, this is not surprising. “My first hero outfit begs to differ.”
“Okay, you got me there,” Izuku grins sheepishly, shaking his head. “The ice terminator look was a choice. But that was all- you know, understandable angst-related motivation! And since when are you so aware of your fashion choices, anyways? Isn't your brand effortless good looks?”
“You’re ridiculous,” Shouto says dismissively, though he does know that objectively Izuku probably isn’t being hyperbolic for the sake of it. The pro-hero limelight has made it very hard to ignore that what feels like half the country would like dearly to have their dirty way with him. “I just brought up the fashion choices as visual evidence of my lack of regression. I think it came to mind because Bakugou has been giving me shit for it again.”
“He does love to do that,” Izuku nods, mock-sympathetic, then smiles broadly, eyes glimmering with familiar challenge. “Speaking of Kacchan and yourself- care to comment on the hero ranking situation?”
“I’m not saying anything until my name is in that top five,” Shouto dismisses, shaking his head coolly. “Whatever I say can and will be held against me if Bakugou gets there first.”
“That’s a solid if,” Izuku pushes, now fully grinning. Shouto has no doubt he’s been mapping their respective probabilities out in the not-so-secret notebook he usually hides under his mattress. “You’re basically head to head on social contribution and general popularity.”
“A distressing thought,” Shouto agrees, lips twitching. For all his media-training Bakugou has never bothered to lose the attitude; Shouto really doesn’t understand why the Japanese public loves him so much despite this. Then again, Shouto doesn’t understand why he himself has amassed hordes of screaming fangirls that camp outside his office some days, so the mysteries of the average citizen’s mind are clearly beyond him.
“I always knew it’d be the two of you I had to worry about,” Izuku says, half-mock menacing and half sincere. “I think you’ll probably get in there by ousting some of the older pros from the top. The Big Three will be harder to wrangle.”
“No comment,” Shouto repeats, though his tone conveys agreement. “In any event I have a lot of cases to solve if I want a shot at it. High-profile cases are harder to come by when it’s just me.”
“Yeah,” Izuku says, quieting; Shouto thinks he might be feeling guilty, which would be characteristically unnecessary. “Which is ridiculous, because you’ve been handling high-intensity missions since you were literally fifteen years old. The hierarchy of hero work in Japan is really-“
“I know.”
Izuku deflates. “Sorry. But- don’t worry about it too much, okay? On pure scale and scope alone, your powers make you an indispensable asset in any kind of big-scale attacks, so even if you don’t get handed cases ahead of time I have no doubt you’ll be called on as an assist for them, which evens out in terms of the scoring.”
“You probably shouldn’t sound so enthusiastic about the catastrophes required to happen for me to be able to intervene.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”