Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even before he had begun patrolling at nights as Revenant, Izuku rarely managed to get even a few hours of sleep. Now that he was patrolling starting from sundown to a few hours after midnight, his sleep schedule had deteriorated. Not to mention that the nerves of beginning his first day at work had prevented him from sleeping at all the night before, and they kept him tossing and turning, mind racing with every possibility of what could go wrong on his first shift. He’d gone over every conversation he might have, every muffin tray he might burn, every coffee machine he might accidentally break, and eventually at 6AM he had given up and jogged to Takoba beach as he began his morning routine. Everyday he still came here, and he was happy to admit you could now see a difference. From the street you were now able to see part of the sea and the sand, and that only motivated him to work even harder.

He stayed and worked in the cool conditions of the morning until it was 8AM and he was sweating, before he ran home, showered and dressed in his best clothes (which was his only shirt and pants without holes) before he briskly walked to the cafe, standing and waiting outside until it hit 9AM on the dot and he walked inside. The moment he walked into the cafe Hizashi greeted him with a bright, “Good morning, kiddo!” all the tension in his shoulders bled away like steam off hot cocoa.

The morning had been quiet. Soft sunlight filtered through the wide windows, warming the purring cats that lounged lazily on perches and cushions. Hizashi showed him around, giving him a crash course on everything from how to operate the espresso machine to which cat liked chin scratches and which one would smack you for trying.

For not the first time, he thanked himself for being a quick learner. Whether it was muscle memory or sheer determination, he picked up the rhythm fast, from cleaning tables, restocking the display case, or learning how to pour lattes with shaky but improving hands. Every time he got something right, Hizashi would throw him a wide grin and a thumbs-up, and he would beam back, pride swelling in his chest.

It was just about time for his break, thirty minutes, he had decided, in the back room with whatever muffin hadn’t sold that morning and maybe a moment to breathe, when the bell above the door rang, soft and chiming. He glanced over instinctively and paused.

A tall, lanky teen stepped in, his movements stiff and guarded. His lavender-purple hair was messy and stood up tall like he hadn’t bothered brushing it, and the deep shadows under his eyes suggested a long-standing war with sleep. He kept his hood halfway up and made a beeline for the corner booth, AKA the farthest table in the cafe, as if trying to disappear into it.

He knew the feeling well, and so he leaned into the back room where Hizashi was humming to himself while washing out a blender. “Hey,” Izuku said softly, “I’m taking my break now. I’ll be back in half an hour.” Hizashi looked up and grinned. “You know you’ve got a full hour, right?” He just shrugged with a faint smile. “I’ll be back soon.”

Instead of heading to the back, though, he walked slowly toward the boy in the corner. He could feel the other’s eyes flick up, sharp and cautious, tracking him like a stray might watch an unfamiliar hand. “Mind if I sit?” He asked, keeping his voice light and friendly. The boy shrugged, not looking directly at him. “It’s a free country.”

So he sat, resting his arms on the table as casually as he could. He tried to make conversation, something simple about the weather or the cats, but every time he spoke, the boy gave a short, clipped response, or none at all. The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable. He knew that silence. He’d worn it once, back when speaking here felt dangerous. When kindness made his throat tight and compliments rolled off him like rain off a slick jacket. This boy reminded him too much of that version of himself. So, he stood. The boy’s eyes followed him, not with suspicion, but something closer to resignation. Like he expected to be left alone. Again.

He didn’t speak as he walked back behind the counter. He reached for the muffin tray, the fresh batch Hizashi had baked this morning, still warm and steaming as he picked out two cinnamon ones, knowing they were Sho’s favourite, and returned to the corner. Without a word, he slid one across the table and sat back down.

The boy stared at it, lips pressed together in uncertainty. After a long moment, he mumbled, “…Thanks,” and took it. He smiled. “No problem.” They sat like that for a moment, quiet. The boy took a bite, and he let the silence breathe. Then, unexpectedly, the boy spoke first.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said, voice low but clear. “Are you new?” He perked up, nodding. “Yeah—today’s actually my first day. I’m trying really hard not to, uh, screw it all up,” he added with a half-laugh. “Kinda hoping getting f-fired on the first shift isn’t in the cards.” The boy’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Meiko.”

The boy paused, then took it. His grip was tired but solid. “Shinsou. Shinsou Hitoshi.” His grin widened. “Well, nice to meet you, Shinsou,” and before he knew it, he had spent his entire break with him. He hadn’t meant to spend the whole break talking, because when he sat down across from Shinsou with two muffins and a hopeful smile, he’d only planned to spend half an hour, like he told Hizashi. But Shinsou had looked up at him like he wasn’t used to people sticking around, like he was expecting Meiko to get bored and leave, and he wasn’t about to do that.

So he stayed, and, slowly, Shinsou started to talk. Not a lot at first, only in quiet, clipped replies, his voice rough like it didn’t get used much, but it was enough. Enough to tell Meiko that this boy wasn’t cold, just cautious. Guarded. Like someone who had learned not to trust kindness too easily. He also knew that feeling too well.

He talked enough for both of them at first, rambling about the cats, about how weird it felt to be behind the counter instead of the one sneaking in and hiding in the corner, about how he was still trying to remember which buttons on the register didn’t get stuck. And when he made Shinsou crack the smallest smile, it felt like he had won a marathon, and by the time nearly the full hour had passed, they were talking like they’d done this a dozen times, because the boy was scarily easy to get along with.

He had learned a lot about the quiet and reserved purple haired boy. He learned that Shinsou liked black coffee yet disliked how bitter it was. That he listened to podcasts while doing homework. That he didn’t talk much in school because people always made assumptions based on his quirk. He didn’t say what the quirk was, but Izuku didn’t press, just nodded and listened, offering little hums of understanding where needed, and then, maybe most importantly, he learned that Shinsou wanted to be a hero. To go to U.A.

That had caught him off guard for a moment, his heart stuttering strangely in his chest. He stared at the boy in front of him, who slouched in his seat and didn’t make eye contact and probably didn’t realise how much hope he still had, just by daring to want that.

“I used to want to go to U.A. too,” He had said softly, almost without thinking. Shinsou looked up. “Used to?” Izuku hesitated. Then he shrugged, a practised motion that made his shoulders feel heavier. “I can’t be a hero anymore.”

The words tasted like dust. Final, like he’d signed some invisible agreement with the universe that said he was done dreaming. That there was no place for someone like him in the light anymore. Shinsou’s brow furrowed, like he was about to ask why, about to challenge it, even, but then his eyes darted to the clock on the wall. “Oh-uh,” he said awkwardly. “Your break.”

He blinked, then followed his gaze and jolted. “Crap, yeah, you’re right.” He stood quickly, brushing muffin crumbs from his lap. “I’ve gotta get back. But-” He paused, already a few steps away, then turned back and jogged behind the counter. He grabbed a few leftover muffins from the tray and returned, placing them gently in front of Shinsou. “I’m working tomorrow, too,” he said, trying not to sound too hopeful. “If you wanna come by. Say hi.”

Shinsou looked at the muffins, then up at him. “Yeah. Maybe I will.” He couldn’t help the grin that split his face. “Cool. See you then.” The rest of his shift passed in a blur of dishes and customer orders and cats weaving between his legs. He was exhausted by the end of it, and his feet ached, his back twinged, and he couldn’t wait to collapse onto his mattress when he got home, but under all the fatigue, a thread of excitement still buzzed in his veins.

He’d made a friend. Or something like one, and maybe it wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d had in a long time. Now, as his shift finishes and he heads for the door, he called out a cheerful, “Bye, Hizashi!”

“Wait!” Hizashi called from the counter. “Do you have any questions about your pay?” He stopped, halfway out the door. He turned slowly, blinking. “Pay?” Hizashi tilted his head, confused. “Uh, yeah? I’m not gonna make you work fourteen hours every weekend for free, kiddo.” Izuku’s face went pale, and then he quickly shook his head. “No-I mean-please don’t. I don’t need to be paid. I just-I just wanted to help. And… you’ve already done so much. The muffins, the notebook, the kindness-I’m just paying you back.”

Hizashi’s smile faded slightly, his brows pulling together in something more serious. “Kiddo… the muffins were free. You don’t owe me anything. I like spending time with you.” Izuku’s throat closed up. He almost said it- Why? No one else ever did -But he caught himself just in time, teeth sinking into his cheek as he forced it back down. The words didn’t belong out loud. Not yet.

So instead, he gave Hizashi a tight smile and nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stepped out the door, into the fading evening light, his heart full of something warm and aching.

Izuku was halfway across a rooftop when the thought returned. Pay.

He landed lightly, momentum carrying him forward as he took a few running steps before jumping again. The dark city blurred past beneath him, glittering with quiet life, but his mind was still on how Hizashi had told him he would be getting paid.

He didn’t want it. Not because he didn’t need it, he really did. But because it felt wrong. Hizashi had already wasted too much on him. Muffins that were “free,” a notebook he insisted was just lying around, a smile he didn’t have to give. Letting Izuku work at the cafe felt like paying it all back. Like maybe he could balance the scales, just a little. If he took money for that, it would tip everything again. I don’t want to be a burden, Izuku thought, springing over a narrow alley. Not to him. Not to anyone.

He landed a little harder than usual, boots skidding against the gravel, and exhaled. Just don’t think about it. But his thoughts wouldn’t stop spiralling, looping around the same truth, he didn’t deserve generosity. Not from Hizashi. Not from anyone.

He was so caught up in it that he almost missed the sound. Almost. A sharp breath. A stifled sob. The shuffle of shoes on dirty pavement. Izuku skidded to a stop, senses flaring. A little girl. Crying. He turned his head sharply and narrowed his eyes toward the alley two buildings down. There, movement. A small figure backed into a corner, trembling. A larger figure stood over her.

His blood turned to ice, then fire. He didn’t hesitate as he dropped, the impact silent and landing light as a whisper. He didn’t try to grin or tease as he usually would. Instead, he lunged. He slammed the guy’s head into the wall before the bastard even knew he was there, the body crumpling with a thud. Izuku followed it with a harsh kick to the side, sending the unconscious man sliding across the alley floor and away from the girl.

Then, slowly, softly, he knelt. “Hi, kiddo,” he said, his voice gentle now, the heat drained from his fury. “What’s your name?” She sniffled, rubbing her face with the sleeves of her oversized jacket. “Aiko,” she whispered, but when she tried to look at the man, Izuku used his hand to block her view.

“Aiko,” he repeated, nodding. “That’s a very pretty name! How’d you get so far from your parents?”

“I-I got separated,” she said, hiccuping. “We were shopping and then there were a lot of people, and I couldn’t find them, and-and then the man said he’d help me. Said he had food-” Izuku felt rage boil in his gut again, but he took a breath and nodded slowly. “You did amazing, Aiko, you’re a very brave little girl. I’m just gonna tie up the bad guy, alright? Just breathe for a second. You’re safe now.” He turned his attention to the man, pulling out tape from one of his pockets. As he wrapped the unconscious creep’s wrists, he heard Aiko’s voice again, quiet, awed.

“Are-are you Revenant?” He froze for a heartbeat, then he glanced back at her with a warm smile. “That’s what they call me, kiddo.” Her eyes went wide. “Is the scar on your back really where your angel wings were? My mommy told me you're an angel 'cuz you help people like us!” Izuku blinked. He stared at her, stunned into silence, but she just giggled and clapped her hands together, bouncing on her feet. “Thank you for saving me, Mr. Revenant! I can’t wait to tell my mommy I met an angel!”

He didn’t know what to say. His chest ached, confused and warm and heavy all at once. But he smiled back. A real one. “Hey, Aiko,” he said gently. “Can you do me a favour?” She nodded eagerly. “Turn around for a second, okay? I just gotta… finish up. Cover your ears, too.” She obeyed without question.

As soon as her back was turned, Izuku let his smile fall. He grabbed the guy by the collar, slammed him once into the wall again with enough force to rattle the bricks, and hissed a threat low and close to his unconscious ear before he hit him a few more times, grinning at the sound of his nose breaking. Then he pulled a slip of paper and a pen from his pocket, scrawled something in his messy handwriting, and dropped it beside the man.

He returned to Aiko, crouching again and shielding her view as he whispered, “How about we go get you some food?” She hesitated, shrinking back slightly. “Will you trust me more,” Izuku offered, “if I take off my mask? Then you’ll be the only one who knows my secret.” Her eyes lit up. She nodded. He slowly removed his mask, pulling it up until it rested on his hairline. Then he reached up and pulled back his hood, fingers loosening the tie holding his messy curls in place. His hair fell over his shoulders as he knelt in front of her, expectant, but Aiko didn’t look afraid.

Instead, she reached out and gently touched his face, her fingers brushing the scar on his cheek. “You’re a very pretty angel,” she whispered, “even without wings.” Izuku’s breath hitched and he swallowed thickly and smiled, lifting her up into his arms. “Let’s go get some ice cream, yeah?”

She squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carried her out of the alley. He turned her head away so she wouldn’t see the man, now tied up like garbage for pickup, and quickly sent a message to Tsukauchi with the alley’s coordinates. Then he looked back down at her, and smiled as he asked her what her favourite flavour is.

The night air was cool against Shouta’s face as he moved from rooftop to rooftop, eyes narrowed beneath his goggles. Patrol had been relatively quiet again. He’d stopped two attempted muggings and a would-be purse snatcher, but that was nothing unusual. Nothing that made his instincts twist in that particular way they had when something truly ugly was brewing. Until his phone buzzed. He glanced down, saw Tsukauchi’s name, and accepted the call with a low grunt.

“We found another one,” the detective said without the preamble. “He’s alive, but barely.” Shouta’s brows drew together. “Revenant?”

“Yeah. There’s a note. You need to see it.” He hung up without another word and immediately changed direction, shooting his capture scarf toward a lamppost and swinging down to street level, boots pounding against pavement as he sprinted through the darkened streets.

By the time he got there, the scene had already been cordoned off with police tape. One officer stood by the alley, pale-faced and grim. Shouta slipped past her without a word and crouched near the prone body. Blood was smeared across the pavement, the man barely conscious, if at all. His nose was crushed, one eye swollen shut. His breathing was shallow, rattling. Definitely brain damage. Possibly a fractured skull. But it wasn’t the man that stopped him cold.

It was a piece of paper, water-stained and partially stuck in the growing puddle of blood. He peeled it away carefully, brow furrowed as he read, “Tried to take a child with the promise of food. Likely not the first time. Not the last if I hadn’t stepped in. He deserved more than this.” It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be.

This was Revenant’s handwriting. Shouta had seen enough of it from previous messages left at scenes. But this one… this one felt angrier. More personal. The bruises, the damage, it was far beyond the vigilante’s usual efficiency. Revenant usually didn’t let his emotions get the better of him when dealing with criminals, no matter how bad their crimes were. He incapacitated. Disabled. But not like this.

“What happened here?” he murmured, eyes sweeping the alley. “Where’s the kid?”

He scanned the surrounding area and stood up sharply, pulling his scarf higher around his neck. If the girl had wandered off, or worse, if someone else had found her-

He took off down the street, scanning alleyways, checking between buildings. But it wasn’t until he turned onto the main road, his boots barely making a sound against the pavement, that he paused. Across the street, lights glowed from inside a small ice cream shop, one of the few still open at this hour. A little girl sat at the window, her legs swinging beneath her seat as she laughed and spoke animatedly between bites of ice cream.

And sitting opposite her, leaned forward slightly, hood drawn low over his dark curls, was a boy. No. Shouta narrowed his eyes. Not just a boy. Revenant. The new vigilante’s posture was relaxed, more than Shouta had ever seen him be in blurred photos as he perched on buildings or walked out of alleyways. His shoulders were loose, his body language casual. A mask still shadowed his upper face, but his mouth was visible. He smiled softly at the girl, spooning more ice cream into his mouth as she chatted away. She looked utterly at ease with him, even happy.

He just stood there, hidden partially in shadow as he watched. He’d never seen Revenant be described like this. The stories the criminals told always made him sound like a monster. A ghost with a bleeding mouth and dark eyes. A demon with no fear of death. They said he came out of the shadows and laughed as he got up from broken bones or knife wounds, that he couldn’t die. That he wouldn’t die. But this? This was just a kid.

Just a tired-looking teenager sharing ice cream with a child he’d saved. His hand ruffled her hair at one point, and she beamed. Shouta’s chest tightened with something he didn’t fully understand, and then, suddenly, Revenant looked up. Directly at him. Their eyes locked across the street. For a heartbeat, Shouta couldn’t move. Those eyes were almost black, but there was no malice in them now. Only something old. Tired. And calm. His lips curved upward slightly into a crooked smirk, soft and amused as if he were taunting Shouta to dare take him in, and a scar on the left corner of his mouth twitched with the motion.

He sees me, he realised, and he’s not running. Not fighting, not even flinching. He just… sat there, like he knew Shouta wouldn’t come for him. And for a long moment… he didn’t. He looked between the little girl and the vigilante. She was smiling, licking her spoon, not even aware that her would-be kidnapper was currently bleeding out in an alley down the road. That the person in front of her was the reason she was alive and safe and smiling.

Shouta exhaled slowly. And just this once… he nodded, turned, and walked away.

The soft scratch of pen against paper was the only sound in the dim apartment, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old chair beneath Shouta’s weight. He sat hunched at the dining table, hair a mess, scarf slung over the back of the chair, surrounded by towering stacks of paperwork that seemed to multiply the longer he stared at them.

A cold mug of coffee sat beside his elbow, his fourth, and it had long since gone bitter and undrinkable. He took a sip anyway and grimaced. Another report. Another Revenant take down. Another stack of forms because apparently, the Hero Commission had decided that every criminal Revenant left behind counted as Shouta’s collar. Lucky him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. His temples throbbed.

For over a month now, Revenant had become something of a ghost story in the city. A pale, hooded figure with a mouth full of taunts and fists like concrete blocks that came out of nowhere. He left notes at every scene. Criminals tied up and bloody, but never dead, never killed. That was the one consistent line Revenant never crossed. And yet, no one had ever gotten a clear shot of his face. No prints. No DNA. The brat was careful.

But Shouta was getting tired. Not of the kid’s actions, if anything, the vigilante was doing decent work, but of the paperwork. The endless, punishing volume of it. And the Commission still had no answers. The words blurred together. He heard the bedroom door creak open and glanced up just as Hizashi stumbled out, hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes squinting in the low light. He yawned as he walked into the kitchen and began popping in his hearing aids, blinking blearily at the stack of papers.

“Still at it?” he mumbled as he leaned down and pressed a sleepy kiss to Shouta’s temple. “Revenant,” Shouta muttered darkly, “is a menace. I’ve had to fill out three full incident reports just for tonight.”

“Yikes,” Hizashi winced as he rubbed his eyes. “That bad?”

“Left a guy barely breathing in an alley downtown. Head was bleeding into the pavement. Kid stuck a note to his jacket like it was a sticky tab and walked away.” 

“That’s awful.”

Shouta looked up, eyes narrowing. “Then twenty minutes later, I see him eating ice cream with the kid he just saved. Laughing. Just, sitting there in a booth like nothing happened. And then he looked straight at me. Smirked like he knew I wasn’t going to take him at that time.” Hizashi blinked, then grinned. “Okay, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but that’s also… so adorable! He took the little girl to get ice cream?” Shouta’s deadpan stare could have split concrete. “Adorable,” he repeated flatly. “He’s making my life a bureaucratic hell. I have hand cramps.”

Hizashi chuckled and reached across the table to grab a chunk of the paperwork. “Well, I’m awake now, so… I might as well help. We knock this out faster, maybe we can sleep before the sun comes up.” Shouta blinked as Hizashi started reading over the first sheet. “Thanks,” he said, quieter now. “You sure?” Hizashi winked. “I’m already doomed to be tired tomorrow. Might as well be tired together, right?”

They worked in silence for a bit, trading soft glances, the kind born of years together. It was companionable, warm, even if the stack of reports loomed like a villain of its own. After a while, Hizashi perked up, tapping his pen against the table. “Hey, did I tell you about the little listener today? It was his first shift at the cafe!” Shouta gave him a sceptical glance. “Little listener?”

“The kid that comes in every Friday? Quiet, little bit scrappy-looking? I gave him muffins once ‘cause he looked like he hadn’t eaten in days? Come on, Sho, I talk about him every week!”

Now that jogged a faint memory, something Hizashi had rambled about between dinner and laundry one night. Every Friday as soon as he got home after his tiring work as a teacher he would pass out cold until his patrol began late at night. Shouta had likely been half-asleep on the couch.

“He started his first shift today,” Hizashi repeated. “Turns out he’s a really solid worker! Quick on his feet, polite. Barely says anything unless spoken to, but he listens like a hawk. I even saw him talking to another teen today, looked like they were getting along.” Shouta raised an eyebrow. “Good for him.” Hizashi’s smile dimmed a little. “The only thing is… he thought he wasn’t getting paid.” Shouta blinked. “Hm?”

“Dead serious. Said something like, ‘I should be paying you.’ I think he’s got some guilt issues. Might not have had a great childhood, y’know?” Shouta set his pen down. He’d seen that kind of kid before, kids who never took more than they gave, who felt like a burden for simply existing. “He looks a little underfed, too,” Hizashi added, more thoughtful now. “He's skinny for someone that young, it worries me... You seriously don't remember? I was just telling you a few weeks ago about how he stopped covering his right eye with his curls. You chewed me out because I wanted to give him a haircut-” 

Shouta paused mid-sip of his coffee, narrowing his eyes. “…Covered his right eye?” 

“Yep,” he said, popping the P, “I thought maybe he was hiding somethin' underneath it, but all he was hiding was his bright, emerald green eyes! It suits his dark hair, actually... Oh! he's also quiet, but he has his moments, like when I tease him and he jokes back without his usual stutter, the cheeky little thing. You should meet him!"

Shouta blinked, taken aback. Curly hair, vivid emerald eyes... the resemblance to Midoriya was uncanny. He could still recall that night weeks ago, the boy’s voice trembling with a nervous stutter once the adrenaline began to wear off, weighed down by an almost painful lack of confidence. “Huh,” Shouta muttered. “You know what, Zashi, maybe I’ll come in tomorrow after all.” His husband lights up, and Shouta suddenly feels bad for saying no earlier, but he desperately wanted to sleep for at least a solid hour. Not happening now, I suppose.

“Perfect!” Hizashi beamed. “And since Meiko’s working tomorrow, maybe you’ll get to meet his friend, too, if you come in at lunch!” Shouta leaned back and sighed through his nose, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself. “Maybe.”