Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shouta woke with a start. He threw the covers from his body, relief swamping him as he saw legs too scrawny to be anything other than that of his seventeen-year-old self. 

For a moment, he could do nothing but bask in the relief that it had worked, that it had been the villain’s quirk that had sent him back and that the villain hadn’t seemed to have any issue with using it on him again. A small part of him nagged about why, but he didn’t dwell. He knew now that this was all real. Who cared how it had happened? All Shouta cared about was doing it right this time. 

He was determined that both Oboro and Hizashi would survive the next two days. 

His head throbbed, and he allowed himself just a moment to rub at his temples. Headaches must be a side effect of the quirk—he definitely hadn’t received a head injury this time that would explain the pain.

Then, a panicked thought occurred to him, pushing the headache aside, and Shouta scrambled for his phone, checking the date. He let out a little sigh as he saw it was the 14th. 

He really was back. 

For a moment, Shouta sat in bed, his back pressed against the wall as he tried to decide how best to proceed. He was meant to be meeting Hizashi soon and, while Shouta really wanted to see him—wanted to make sure he really was alive and unharmed—there was a little unsettled part of him that couldn’t stop thinking of Oboro. 

Throughout the two years they’d shared at UA before his death, Shouta had nursed a crush on Oboro. More than a crush, if the years following his death were any indication. Shouta thought he’d finally gotten over him when he’d started developing real feelings for Hizashi, but the past two days he’d just relived… Shouta wasn’t so sure he could ignore the budding feelings that had reawakened inside him.  

Oboro had been happy with Nemuri, and Shouta shouldn’t meddle with that future. He couldn’t help thinking of Oboro’s lingering gaze on his bare chest or the innocent flirty comments he’d made during their two short days as adults together, though. It could be nothing. Oboro had always been a bit of a flirt, after all.  

But what if?  

What if Oboro had only ended up with Nemuri because Shouta had never taken his shot? 

It all seemed a bit too cheesy rom-com, but if Shouta was going to fix things and create the best future he could, why shouldn’t he also take a chance at something he’d always wanted? 

Hizashi was special—incredibly so. But Oboro? Oboro would always be Shouta’s first love, right? Surely that was worth exploring? Shouta wasn’t the romantic sort, that was more Hizashi’s dig, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want love. He hadn’t put a lot of thought into it, hadn’t planned out his future or anything, but it was something he wanted. Marriage, maybe even kids one day… 

He couldn’t help but think that maybe that was something he wanted with Oboro.  

If Oboro felt the same. 

Something felt heavy in Shouta’s chest as he opened his chat with Hizashi, but it was probably just his guilt over what had happened last time. After all, this Hizashi had no idea that Shouta would kiss him in thirteen years and ruin everything. 

Shouta knew, though. 

He shook the thought away. He’d made his choice, and it was the right one. He was bad for Hizashi, but that didn’t mean he would be for Oboro. 

Shouta stared at their conversation history for a few minutes, trying to swallow the uneasy feeling building in his chest as he mentally composed a message. He had to get it just right, casual enough that Hizashi wouldn’t realise he knew about his planned confession but firm enough to let him down before anything could begin. 

He settled with, hey, do you think we could talk after school instead? I was thinking of confessing to Oboro. 

It felt cringey to write, like the teenage drama one of his students would get up to—Ashido, probably—but Shouta had to remind himself that he was, technically, a teenager himself right now.  

It took Hizashi several minutes to reply, despite him usually being so prompt, and another unpleasant feeling washed over Shouta. He could not wait for these next two days to pass so that he could go back to being a drama-free adult in peace.  

U like Oboro?

Shouta chewed his lip. Honestly, he was surprised Hizashi didn’t already know this. After all, he’d been the one to tell Shouta to confess the first time around. Maybe he’d only figured it out after Shouta had rejected him.  

Yes. 

Again, it took Hizashi far longer to reply than was normal. Shouta’s insides twisted painfully. Was he doing the right thing? 

That’s gr8!! I’m rooting 4 ya, man!   

There was a pause, and then another message came through before Shouta could think to reply.  

Dnt worry bout r chat. Was nthin important. C u at sch. 

It took Shouta’s tired-thirty-year-old brain a minute to decipher the awful text speak that Hizashi had—thankfully—outgrown over the years. He frowned at the message, partly wanting to scold Hizashi for downplaying his feelings like they didn’t matter, and partly relieved that things seemed to have played out in his favour. 

Shouta stared at his phone for a long moment, chewing on his lip. He was sure he was doing the right thing, so why did it feel so wrong? 

Shouta shook the thought away. He’d made up his mind, and it was illogical to dwell. Instead, he opened his chat with Oboro, asking if he wanted to walk to school together.  

Fifteen minutes later, Shouta was jogging to meet up with Oboro at the conbini near UA. Oboro was already there when he arrived, lounging on a cloud while staring up at the sky. He sat up and offered a brilliant smile as he heard Shouta approach. Upon seeing that bright smile just for him, all doubts that he was doing the wrong thing left Shouta’s mind. This was what he wanted, what he’d always wanted. 

“Got ya something~” Oboro reached into his bag, pulling out the same chocolates he’d given Shouta two times before. “Happy Valentine’s Day, bro!” 

“You sap,” Shouta said, accepting the chocolate with the smallest of smiles. Then, because the whole point of this was to be daring enough to try for the future he wished for, he added casually, “Is this tomo choco or honmei choco?” 

Oboro studied him silently for a moment, and Shouta was glad he wasn’t mentally his teenage self, or he would have dissolved into an awkward puddle on the floor under those intense eyes. Instead, he kept his calm and eyed Oboro right back. 

Eventually, the corners of Oboro’s lips twitched into an almost mischievous smile. “Which would you prefer?”  

Well, that wasn’t a flat-out rejection. Shouta wasn’t good at flirting, and he felt a little weird about it, seeing as he was currently mentally thirteen years older than Oboro, but he also knew that if he shut down now, they’d get nowhere. 

“Get ice cream with me after school,” he said, phrasing it so it wasn’t really a question.

“Aizawa Shouta, are you asking me on a date? A Valentine’s date?” With Oboro’s jokey tone, it was hard to tell how he felt about the situation. Shouta had already dipped his toes in now, though. There was no sense in backing out.  

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay then, sure.” If it wasn’t for the tips of Oboro’s ears, which had turned rather pink, Shouta would have thought Oboro was completely nonchalant about the whole thing, only agreeing out of curiosity rather than mutual feelings.  

“Okay,” Shouta parroted back, feeling like he really was seventeen again. Then, because he didn’t know what else to say, he shoved his hands into his pockets and prompted their walk to school so that they wouldn’t be late. 

Usually, when they walked anywhere together, Oboro would talk almost non-stop. He wasn’t as bad as Hizashi, but he’d never been one for long silences. As they made their way to school, though, he kept quiet, head ducked in a way that made Shouta worry he was regretting agreeing to a date. 

Before he could overthink too much, Oboro’s shoulder bumped him. Shouta’s hands slipped out of his pockets—to do what, he wasn’t sure. Steady Oboro?—and Oboro quickly reached out. It took Shouta longer than it should have to register Oboro was teasing his fingers apart so that he could entwine their hands together.  

Shouta had never known Oboro to be nervous. He was boisterous and confident and almost as big a flirt as Nemuri. Seeing the shy smile he offered when their gazes locked felt like a secret between them. It made Shouta’s stomach squeeze in a not-altogether unpleasant way.  

He pulled away abruptly when they arrived in 2A’s classroom and saw Hizashi waiting for them, though. Oboro didn’t seem concerned, instead using his suddenly free hand to wave to the third member of their little gang.  

“Yo, ‘Zashi! I got you chocolate, you gorgeous creature!”  

Shouta thought he’d seen Hizashi’s eyes narrow when they’d entered the room, so he’d quickly tugged his hand free, but now he was grinning toothily, no signs of anything amiss. Shouta wasn’t sure how strong Hizashi’s crush on him had been at this age, but he really didn’t want to rub his new relationship status in his face. 

Shouta hadn’t been prepared for how much seeing Hizashi would affect him. The last time he’d seen him, Hizashi had been lying in a pool of his own blood, his life cut painfully short thanks to Shouta.  

The breath caught in his lungs at that brilliant smile Hizashi always gave so freely. Even now, when he was clearly hurting over Shouta choosing Oboro over him, Hizashi smiled like it cost him nothing.  

Shouta didn’t realise he was lingering in the doorway, staring, until one of his classmates (honestly, Shouta didn’t even remember what their name was) shoved past him, shooting a glare his way as they passed. 

“Sho! What’re you doing, man? You know Sensei will kill you if you’re not seated before he—Oh, Takahashi-Sensei, hi!”  

“Aizawa, in your seat. Shirakumo, shut up.”  

Shouta dragged his gaze away from Hizashi, who was looking right back at him, his expression perplexed—he was probably wondering why Shouta was looking at him like he’d seen a ghost. 

“What?” Hizashi murmured once Shouta was sitting. 

“I—” What could Shouta say without sounding weird? Eventually, he just shrugged nonchalantly and said, “I thought you had a spider on you.” 

The entire class had to cover their ears at the shriek that followed. 

Shouta had almost forgotten he’d asked Oboro out for ice cream by the time school ended. He hadn’t been able to focus on his classes (not that he needed them), his mind lost to the day ahead. He struggled to come up with excuses to keep both Hizashi and Oboro out of the way of Garvey. It was clear he couldn’t risk either of them being anywhere near the villain if he wanted them to survive. And he did want them to survive.  

Shouta wasn’t sure he could go through this all again. Reliving his high school days, especially this day—Valentine’s Day—was exhausting. He wasn’t a romantic person, and he didn’t love love like Hizashi. He loved his two best friends and wanted a future with them in it, but the whole wooing part to get that future was draining him. He felt depleted and uncertain, not sure the choices he was making were the right ones but equally unsure that they were wrong. He almost wished the choice was taken out of his hands, but he couldn’t risk a future with either of them dead or miserable.  

The least he could do to ensure both his best friends had the brightest future possible was to endure a couple of days in his awkward teenage body.   

As they left the school grounds, Oboro took Shouta’s hand, effectively silencing his whirling mind. 

“You okay, Sho?” he asked. “You’ve been a bit off all day. And, uh, you were staring at ‘Zashi a lot, like you couldn’t quite believe he was there. What was up with that? If you’d rather you were with him right now, it’s cool, I get it and—”

“Stop talking,” Shouta grunted. He racked his mind for any excuse and went with the first plausible one. “I had a dream that he died. It felt real.”

“Oh, Shouta. Why didn’t you say anything, man?” Oboro squeezed his fingers, and Shouta’s heart palpitated.  

“Wasn’t logical,” he murmured. 

Oboro rolled his eyes. “We’re your friends. If something’s bothering you, you should tell us, dude!” 

“Hm.”  

“Shall I text ‘Zashi? Ask him to meet us? He won’t be home yet.” Shouta did want that, but he shook his head. He’d made his choice, and he was about to set up a future where he would get to spend all the time he wanted with the two people who made his life worth living. Right now, he was going to spend some quality time with the boy he’d had to live thirteen years without. 

“No, it’s fine. We’ll see him later,” Shouta said, dragging Oboro along as he upped his pace. 

They’d have a good, happy future. He’d make sure of it.  

The following day, Shouta was up early and on his phone. He’d barely slept during the night, but that was okay because he’d had enough coffee to keep his seventeen-year-old body wired for a year. It was on his fourth cup that he’d realised while he’d kept his memories on this time travel adventure, he definitely hadn’t also brought his tolerance for caffeine. That was fine, though. Even if he hadn’t been buzzing most of the night, he doubted he would have been able to sleep. Not when the day ahead was so important. 

“What are you doing awake?” Hizashi asked, stunned, in lieu of a greeting when he picked up Shouta’s call. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Shouta said. “Listen, I need you to do something for me. It will probably sound like a strange request but trust me, okay?”  

“Sure, what is it, man?”

The plan was straightforward and involved very little alteration from last time. All he had to do was make sure that when Hizashi bumped into Oboro, he didn’t leave him. Last time, Loud Cloud had sent Present Mic to help. This time, Shouta had to make sure he didn’t. 

“This won’t make any sense, and you probably won’t want to agree,” Shouta warned him.  

“Is it important?” Hizashi asked, picking up on something in Shouta’s tone.  

“Very.” 

“Then I’ll do it, man. Whatever you want, yo!” Shouta could almost visualise Hizashi doing finger guns.  

He could practically hear Hizashi frowning as he explained, but once he was finished and revving himself to counter any arguments, all Hizashi said was, “Sure. Okay then.” 

“Wait, really?” 

“You’re not really the sort to make shit up,” Hizashi said. “And you said it was important. I’ll want an explanation later but, for now, I’ll trust you, man.” 

It was as easy as that. Shouta hung up the phone and let out a relieved huff. He’d been sure Hizashi would protest, maybe even call him crazy—Shouta was asking him to stay out of a villain fight after all.  

Maybe this was just proof that he needed to have more faith in Hizashi? Regardless, there was no way Shouta wanted him or Oboro anywhere near Garvey and the only way he could guarantee their safety was to keep them as far away from the villain as he was able. 

With Hizashi dealt with, Shouta followed the day exactly as he had the last time, making sure to send Oboro away with the children before Garvey came on the scene. 

During their fight, Shouta tried to have faith in Hizashi, trusting that he’d stick to his word and not interfere. It left him distracted enough to receive a few painful blows he hadn’t previously but, overall, he had the giant villain down for the count faster than any time before. 

Shouta didn’t relax until both Hizashi and Oboro were standing in front of him, alive and well, and excitedly chattering about how ‘cool’ he was and how jealous they were. 

Shouta released one final breath of relief when he spotted Nemuri a short distance away, talking to His Purple Highness. It would have been just his luck if she had somehow died this time. 

Shouta had done it, though. He’d actually done it. 

Everyone had lived.  

Shouta barely paid attention to the rest of the day, answering questions from the police and EMTs on autopilot, until finally he was allowed to escape it all and go home. Hizashi and Oboro had blown up his phone during the afternoon, both expressing regret that they hadn’t been allowed to stay with him. They suggested meeting up for breakfast the following day, and Shouta agreed even though he suspected that he would be thirty years old again when he woke. 

Shouta wasn’t a particularly excitable person, but it was safe to say he couldn’t wait to see what the morning brought him. 

He woke warm, and it only took him a moment to realise why. His body was a tangle of limbs, a bare, long leg draped over his, and an arm resting across his shoulder. Shouta tensed from the unfamiliarity of his situation. It had been a long time since he’d woken up tangled beneath another human body, and even longer since it had happened with him having absolutely no clue who it was lightly snoring into his neck.  

Moving as little as possible, Shouta shifted his weight, rolling to inspect the damage. Just because he’d tried to set his future up, it didn’t mean the person in bed with him was who he wanted it to be. High school romances barely ever lasted.  

The wild locks of pale blue sent both relief and something else, something he didn’t quite understand, coursing through him. 

It was undeniably Oboro, his face soft and beautiful with sleep. Shouta couldn’t help but stare, enamoured by his features and the fact that he was here, grown-up, and alive and asleep curled around Shouta and— 

Oh. 

And naked.  

Shouta couldn’t avoid the blood that rushed to his face as he finally realised the distinct lack of clothing separating flesh from flesh. He buried his face into the crook of Oboro’s neck as the other man stirred. This was likely normal for them—he didn’t want to explain why he was embarrassed. 

The hand around his waist tightened, pulling him, impossibly, closer.  

“Morning.” Oboro was so close Shouta felt his lips move against his flesh. It sent a shiver down his spine, followed by the feather-light trail of fingers that slid down his back, lower and lower… Shouta swallowed and gripped tighter at the arm he couldn’t remember grabbing, his stomach doing somersaults as the blood rushed to his—

“We’re going to be late,” he said, sitting up abruptly. 

“We’ve got time.” Oboro pouted, staring up at him from the pillow, his bedhead and hungry eyes battling with Shouta’s weak resolve until he found himself leaning down, his lips brushing Oboro’s in a simple kiss—their first kiss. 

Not their first kiss.  

Shouta pulled away again, confusion killing his boner. He could get used to this, used to waking up with Oboro naked and alive in his bed, but the problem was, he didn’t know what any of this meant. 

Were they a couple? Was this a ‘friends with benefits’ situation? Had this been going on since high school, or was it new? 

As much as Shouta wanted to lose himself in Oboro like he apparently had the night before, those lingering questions nagged at his mind, throbbing in his temple until he was sure a headache would form. 

Oboro’s fingers traced his thighs in concerned patterns, his brow furrowed as he stared up at Shouta. “What’s up, babe?” 

Babe. The (quite frankly horrible) term of endearment probably meant they were a couple then. 

Shouta let his gaze trail around the dimly lit bedroom, searching for any hints of familiarity. Did they live together? The lack of hastily removed clothes strewn across the room hinted at a potential yes.  

Shouta wished he could ask, but that would bring up too many questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.  

“I’m fine,” he said finally, remembering that Oboro had asked him a question. “I just feel a headache coming on.” 

“Oomph, already? I’ll get you a coffee,” Oboro said, throwing the blankets away and standing up. He didn’t even bother getting dressed as he crossed the room, heading for what seemed to be a hallway. If he noticed Shouta’s wide-eyed gaze follow him from the room, he didn’t say anything.

Shouta gripped the bedsheets tightly, trying to calm himself. 

Fuck.   

This was simultaneously the worst and best way to wake up into his new life. Shouta needed to get a grip. He was pretty sure he would be teaching a class of twenty fifteen-year-olds in an hour, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive it when the image of a built and naked Oboro was seared into his brain. 

Shouta still hadn’t moved from the bed when Oboro returned a few moments later and, nope!

No sooner had the coffee been put down than Shouta launched himself at Oboro, dragging the other man back down and on top of him on the bed. His knees straddled Shouta’s hips, and Shouta shuddered at the skin-on-skin contact, his lips burning as they moved against Oboro’s with a hunger desperate to be sated. 

“I thought you said we were gonna be late?” Oboro murmured as he pulled back slightly, the tips of their noses pressed as Shouta panted for breath. 

“I thought you said we had time?” Shouta gasped, and the grin that followed his words almost had him spent right there. Fuck, Oboro was hot.

“Mm, I did, didn’t I?” he murmured, lips brushing against Shouta’s face as they moved. He nipped Shouta’s earlobe, teasing out a groan as Shouta’s body jolted against his. “Maybe we should save some time and move this to the shower?” 

“Seems only logical,” Shouta panted, allowing the other man to drag him up and out of the bedroom on legs that hardly seemed to want to hold him upright. 

So maybe his resolve was a little weak, but he’d defeated a giant villain three times now to get this result. Could anyone blame him for claiming his reward?  

Even if they could, Shouta realised he didn’t give a fuck. 

Shouta was in an exceptional mood by the time they arrived at UA. In this reality, Oboro was once again the homeroom teacher to class 1B, so they made their way in together, managing to arrive just shy of being late. Apparently, that was enough for Nemuri to know what had happened between them that morning. She winked at Shouta, draping herself over the counter as he made himself a coffee. (He’d been just a little too preoccupied to drink the one Oboro had made him and was in desperate need of caffeine.)

“Fun morning, was it? Made the best of Valentine’s Day, I see,” she purred.  

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please, darling. The only time you’re this late is when your morning quickie ends up being less quick and more—” 

Shouta activated his quirk, fixing Nemuri with a glare that would have weaker people quaking at the knees. Nemuri just snorted, rolling her eyes, but thankfully she didn’t finish her sentence. Shouta didn’t want to know how she had intended to finish it.  

“Oboro, honey,” she said instead, “teach your husband to be less of a prude.” 

Husband. 

The mug froze halfway to his lips at the word, but he managed to catch any other reaction he might have had. They were married. He didn’t have a ring on his finger or around his neck, but maybe their relationship was a secret? Nemuri knew, but Shouta wondered who else did. Judging from the fact that Yagi and Thirteen were in the room with them—minding their own business but still within earshot—it was likely that the staff knew at least.  

Talking of staff—

As he took a calming sip of his coffee, Shouta stared around the staff room. “Where’s Hizashi?” he asked with a frown. It wasn’t like Hizashi to be this late. Unless… No, it was impossible to imagine that in this reality, he’d decided against teaching. Teaching kids English was as important to Hizashi as his hero and radio work.   

Nemuri tensed, and Oboro sent him a worried look that instantly had Shouta’s stomach doing uncomfortable aerobics.  

No. 

Why were they looking at him like that? Shouta had changed the future. Hizashi hadn’t died that day, and surely his life hadn’t veered too far from his original one? Nothing fatal could have happened in Shouta’s missed years, could it? 

“If that’s a joke, you need to work on your sense of humour,” Nemuri said finally, an icy edge to her voice.  

“Babe,” Oboro said, shooting Nemuri a look. “Why are you asking about Present Mic? Why would he be here?” 

Shouta frowned. Present Mic? Why was Oboro referring to him by his hero name in a situation like this? With certain exceptions (such as Thirteen, who generally preferred to be known by their hero name), hero names were only used while out on official Hero work or in front of students.  

“I—” Shouta had to think fast. Something was wrong, but digging into it would only lead to more questions. Shouta wanted to avoid bringing up his time travel experience if he could help it. Not because he didn’t think he’d be believed, but because he wasn’t sure how they would take his meddling.  

Before he could come up with an excuse, the bell rang, and the staff room sprung into action. Oboro gave Shouta one last lingering look before saying he’d see him at lunch. Shouta let out a relieved huff and, still carrying his coffee, made his way to his class, aware of Nemuri’s gaze burning into his back as he left.  

“Good morning Sensei,” his class chimed as Shouta entered the room, just a couple of minutes late. Shouta scanned them all, relieved to see that his class was the same once again. At least that was one less surprise. 

“Iida, take charge,” he grunted, taking a seat at his desk and pulling out his phone. As Iida stood to give the morning announcements, Shouta opened Google. 

Present Mic.  

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the countless articles that popped up. He found himself rooted to the chair, stunned by what he was seeing.

Fingers suddenly trembling, Shouta opened one of the top results.

Present Mic: From Heroics to Villainy.   

Arguably one of the most notorious villains of the past century, Present Mic made a name for himself twelve years ago when he attacked his High School graduation ceremony at Japan’s famous hero school, UA. Said to be one of the most promising students, to this day, it is still unclear what made the fledging hero snap and choose a much more sinister path. A path that no one can keep up with; Present Mic leads a loud trail of death and destruction, yet the heroes and authorities seem incapable of following it. Could there be more to this story than meets the eye? I certainly think so—  

A gossip article. 

Judging from the hundreds of other search results from more reputable sources, that didn’t change the fact that it was true: for some reason, Hizashi had chosen to go down the path of villainy.  

Shouta stood abruptly, his jaw clenched as he slammed his phone onto the desk.  

“…Sensei?” Midoriya was the one who had spoken, but his whole class was gaping at him, various concerned expressions splattered across their faces. 

“I need to leave,” Shouta grunted. “Emergency.” He didn’t bother to say anything further. He knew well enough that Iida would take charge, and Nezu never missed a beat. The principal would have cover for him before the hour was out. That didn’t mean he should just leave. He should speak to Oboro and Nemuri, get a sense of what had happened. Figure out how this was possible. How somebody as kind as Hizashi could cause hurt and suffering. 

Death and destruction. 

It simply wasn’t possible. It didn’t make sense.  

Shouta was leaving school grounds even before he had properly considered the alternatives. There was only one person he wanted answers from, and it wasn’t Oboro or Nemuri. 

He wasn’t sure how he was meant to find Hizashi, but he had a good idea where to start. So long as little else had changed in this reality, Shouta knew most of the seedier locations in Musutafu, including the favoured haunts of petty criminals. There were several bars in the area run by criminals for criminals if you knew where to look for them, and this certainly wouldn’t be the first time Shouta had entered one. He doubted Hizashi would be hanging out in a downtrodden bar, but even though it was still morning, there would undoubtedly be someone there who could give him a lead. Shouta wasn’t beneath breaking a few fingers to get his desired information. 

The room fell silent as Shouta stepped in, and, in a place like this, it didn’t surprise Shouta that his reputation preceded him. Ignoring the cracking knuckles and hands that moved for weapons, Shouta walked straight to the bar. 

“I need information.” 

“If you think I’m selling anyone out, you’ve got another thing coming. Get out of here, Eraserhead, while you can still walk.”

Shouta almost laughed at the threat. Even outnumbered, Shouta didn’t doubt his capabilities to take down the handful of patrons indulging in a prenoon drink or five. 

“Tell me where I can find Present Mic,” Shouta said as if the barman hadn’t spoken at all. 

The man snorted. “Nobody finds Mic. Mic finds you.” 

“Then how do I get a message to him to come and find me?” Shouta’s patience was wearing thin. He was tempted to slam the man’s face against the bar a few times just to ease up some of the tension boiling away inside of him. 

“You can’t,” the barkeep said. He was wiping a glass with a dirty dishtowel, leaving smears as dirty as the look he was sending Shouta’s way.  

“I just want to talk to him.” 

“Ha! Of course ya do.” Shouta glared at the man, debating whether it was worth his time starting a fight. The kind of people who ran establishments like these were notoriously tight-lipped. A beating probably wouldn’t do the job, and he hadn’t sunk quite low enough for torture.  

He tried a different approach. “You really think I’m stupid enough to think I can take on Present Mic? I just have a question for him and am willing to meet him somewhere that would put me at a disadvantage.” 

“An’ I already told you—”

“Ren,” another man cut in. “Let me handle this.” Shouta turned to him, eyeing him up and down. He didn’t recognise the bloke, which seemed mildly unfair considering everyone here seemed to know him.  

“Who are you?” Shouta asked, not expecting an answer. He wasn’t disappointed.  

“What do you want with Mic?” 

“I need to ask him something.”  

“What?”

“Like I’d tell you,” Shouta said, hand hovering by his capture weapon. Not a single eye in the bar had gotten bored yet, all still fixed on him. Shouta had the distinct impression he was on thin ice that was cracking under his feet with alarming speed. “Do you know how to reach him?” 

“I might. What’s the information worth?”

“You not getting arrested?” 

“Pfft. You might be skilled, Eraserhead, but even you could take all of us, and you’re cocky if you think otherwise.”  

“I’ve had worse odds.”  

“And you nearly died,” the man pointed out with a smirk. “We know all about USJ. Is that why you wanna talk to Mic? You want a rematch or something?” 

A rematch? Mic had been at USJ with the villains in this reality? Did that mean he was working with the League? Shouta hated to think Mic would ever stoop so low, but apparently, he didn’t know his friend at all in this reality.  

“I just want to speak to him,” Shouta said again through gritted teeth. The more he learned about Hizashi, the more he just wanted to start hitting first and asking questions later. Every new piece of information had his blood boiling and his heart sinking. He wondered whether this was his fault. Had he somehow caused Hizashi to choose the dark path he walked? 

The man studied him for a long minute, head tilting to the side. Finally, he seemed to decide something. “I’ll pass on your message.”

“Where should I wait?”

“If Mic wants to talk, he’ll find you. Just don’t bother setting a trap unless you wanna get your friends killed.”

“I’ll go alone if he does,” Shouta said.  

“Trust me, buddy. Mic don’t need backup. He’s a force to be reckoned with all by himself.”  

Eyes watched Shouta as he left, but—amazingly—he was in and out without a fight. He suspected that had a lot to do with all the patrons expecting Present Mic to kill him soon enough. Why bother getting their hands dirty when someone else could do it for them? Plenty of villains like to toy with people for fun, but Shouta was a pro hero with a reputation for taking down petty criminals like they were flies. He wasn’t the easy pickings they were used to.  

Shouta didn’t really know what to do with himself. He hadn’t been given a time frame for when to expect Hizashi (if the villain even passed on his message, which was unlikely). There was little point in him going on patrol—it was still before noon, and there were plenty of pro heroes about to deal with any trouble that might be happening. Shouta didn’t want to head home either, and not only because he didn’t quite remember where it was. Shouta hadn’t noticed being followed, but he knew better than to assume anything after venturing into the underworld. He didn’t want to risk leading anyone to Oboro and their home together.  

Instead, he just lurked on a rooftop, scrolling through article after article on Hizashi. 

He ignored multiple calls and texts from Oboro and Nemuri, both concerned and a little angry at him for skipping out on school without a word, telling himself it didn’t matter if they were mad because they wouldn’t remember soon enough.  

However his conversation with Hizashi went, Shouta had no intention of staying in this reality. The villain who’d sent him back had been where he was supposed to be last time, so it was logical he would be there again tomorrow. Another thirty or so hours, that was all Shouta had to get through. 

Next time he’d get it right.  

But first. First, he needed to know what had happened to Hizashi to send him down such a dark path.  

“I hear you want to talk.” 

Not many people could sneak up on Shouta, even when he was distracted. The fact that Hizashi had managed to surprise him was almost worrying; it meant that this version of Hizashi could potentially outmatch Shouta if it came to a fight. 

He hoped it wouldn’t come to a fight. Not so much for his own sake, but because he didn’t want to hurt Hizashi. 

He had a bad feeling that he’d already done that, though. 

“Yes,” he replied, schooling his face into a natural expression before turning to face Hizashi.  

But it wasn’t Hizashi he was met with, not really. Villain Mic’s outfit was as loud as his hero one, but somehow completely different. He’d still gone for the punk look, but his leather was artery-blood red with black accents. Gone was his cockatoo hair. Instead, his long locks were worn down, with a side shave that Shouta hated to admit was hot. Only his directional speaker seemed familiar, which made sense as it had been a piece of support tech Hizashi had made himself.  

“Been a while, Eraser! When was it last? USJ, I think?” The smirk Mic sent lacked any of his familiar warmth and sent shivers running down Shouta’s spine. “Gotta say, Listener, you’ve surprised me. Was sure this was gonna be a trap, but it’s not, is it?” 

“Why did you come if you thought it was a trap?” Shouta asked, trying his best not to stare.  

Mic shrugged. “Nothing better to do, ya dig?” 

Shouta scrutinised him. There was nothing of the Hizashi he knew and loved in those intensely green eyes of his. “You were hoping for a fight.”

Mic laughed. “Of course, I was, Listener. You’re one of the two people I’ve been just dying to kill now for years.”

So, whatever had turned Hizashi did have something to do with Shouta and Oboro, then. 

“What did we do, Hizashi?” 

That made him pause. An unreadable expression flickered across his face. “Nobody’s called me that in a long time,” he said. 

“What about your moms?” Had he really just left his entire life behind? 

“You really think they wanted anything to do with me after my grand debut?” Mic laughed, wild and unhinged. “But you know all this already, Eraser. Why are you really here?” 

“I need to know what we did,” Shouta said, daring a step closer. I need to know so I can fix it, he left unsaid.  

Mic laughed again, and once again, shivers crawled down Shouta’s spine. He hated it.  

“Have you really been oblivious all these years? You were really that caught up in your love bubble that you truly didn’t notice shutting me out? Pushing me further and further away?” 

That didn’t sound right. Would he and Oboro have really been so caught up in one another that they abandoned Hizashi? And even if they did, wasn’t becoming a villain a bit of an overreaction? Then again, Hizashi had always had a flair for dramatics. Maybe it had started as a way to get their attention or a call for help? One that had then spiralled out of control until Hizashi felt trapped and alone and unable to do anything but carry on? 

“If we—”

“If!” Mic interrupted, pouring enough of his quirk into his voice to make Shouta wince. “I loved you, y’know? Both of you, actually. But you made it very clear that I was just in the way of your ‘happy ever after’!”

“I’m sorry,” Shouta said. There didn’t seem any point in arguing what Mic said. Shouta didn’t remember anything from after the day he’d fought Garvey. Even if it didn’t sound right, for all Shouta knew, Mic was speaking only truths. 

“You’re sorry?!” Mic laughed again, without any humour. “Why would you be sorry, Eraserhead? You helped create Present Mic 2.0! That’s certainly something to put on your CV, right? They’re calling me one of the greatest villains Japan has ever seen! Isn’t that wonderful?”  

“And are you happy?” Shouta asked, trying to discreetly rub his ringing ears.  

“Am I—Of course I’m happy, Listener! I have it all! Fame, fortune, respect, and fear! What else could I want?” 

“This isn’t you, Hizashi,” Shouta argued, taking another step forward. 

“You don’t know me. You never did!” That wasn’t true. Shouta knew Hizashi better than anybody. Could this version really be so different to his Hizashi underneath it all? 

“Hizashi—” 

“Don’t call me that!”  

Shouta stumbled back at the sheer volume of Hizashi’s voice. He wiped his ear, his hand coming back slick with blood. His head was pounding.

“You lost the right to call me that years ago,” Mic snapped, and it seemed a little as if he were unravelling at the seams. 

Steadying himself, Shouta held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said, apologising for more than just being too familiar. He planned to redo everything and make it all right, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t say sorry first. He didn’t know what would happen to this Hizashi, after all. Shouta hoped that each new reality was the same one done over, but if there was a chance that when he left, this version of Hizashi still continued to exist, then Shouta owed it to him to apologise. He hoped beyond hope that it wasn’t the case, though. 

Mic grinned maniacally. “You made a huge error in judgement coming here alone, yo.” Before Shouta could react, Mic was flying at him. Hizashi was a long-distance fighter, using his voice as his weapon of choice. That wasn’t to say he couldn’t fight hand to hand, but when compared to Shouta, whose body was his weapon, there was no comparison.  

Present Mic—this villain Present Mic—was an unknown entity, however. He had spent the past thirteen years as a bad guy and, judging from how he charged at Shouta without fear, he was pretty confident in his combat abilities. 

Shouta ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision. He wasn’t so lucky with avoiding the fist that spun around and caught him by the ear, though. Hizashi moved fast—he really hadn’t wasted the past few years.  

“I don’t want to fight you,” Shouta said, shifting his weight to avoid another blow to the head. His ears were still ringing from Mic’s yells. He wasn’t sure his brain could survive much more of a beating.  

“Too bad because I absolutely want to fight you.” 

“Hiz—” The blow to his stomach came faster than Shouta could react, sending him reeling backwards and doubling over, gasping for breath. He hadn’t thought it possible, but Shouta was starting to believe he really was outmatched. 

“I told you not to call me that!” Spittle flew from Hizashi’s lips as he yelled. Shouta’s hands rushed to his ears, but Hizashi was so close and so loud that it made no difference. He could feel the sticky blood beneath his fingers even as his head throbbed excruciatingly, making him barely aware of his surroundings. He stumbled, tripping over his own feet and tumbling to the ground. 

Shouta’s vision swam around him, causing two Mics to be leaning over him, almost as if they were concerned for his well-being. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Shouta said, but he couldn’t hear his own voice above the shrill ringing. He feared he might have permanent hearing loss and wondered whether it would carry on to his next redo.  

If he even survived this encounter.

A hand grabbed his hair, and suddenly Mic was in his face. Shouta heard muffled speaking but couldn’t work out what was being said. He couldn’t try and read Mic’s lips because his vision was too blurry. 

Pain flooded his body as pressure was applied to his ankle, but it also spurred the fight in him. This wasn’t his Hizashi—he shouldn’t let Present Mic beat the shit out of him just because they shared a face. 

He didn’t want to hurt Mic, didn’t want to prove him right, but that didn’t mean he should just lay there and take the beating. Shouta had to make sure he survived so that he could try again. Next time he was going to get it right. He was going to make sure everybody lived and was happy. There would be no more death or villains, not on his watch. 

Shouta jerked his body away from Hizashi, gasping as a chunk of hair was ripped from his head. His ankle was bruised but not broken, but he still avoided putting weight on it as he crouched in a defensive pose, quirk activated and hand resting against his capture weapon.  

A wicked smirk spread across Mic’s face as he saw Shouta was finally ready to fight. 

With the practised movements of someone who had been doing it for years, Shouta sent his capture weapon flying. Mic twisted, unable to entirely avoid the quick attack. Instead, the binding that should have wrapped around his waist bound his left wrist. Not missing a beat, Shouta tugged, sending Mic stumbling forward. Before he could get his footing, Shouta’s capture weapon was winding around his torso, rooting him to the spot. 

“Kinky.” Shouta saw Mic’s lips move but didn’t hear the words.  

“We don’t need to fight,” Shouta said, his voice sounding far away like it was coming from down a well rather than his own mouth.  

“I think we’re long overdue for a fight,” Mic argued. Shouta squinted at him, managing to catch the drift of what he said. He’d never been good at lip-reading. He could, however, sign.  

“I’m going to let you go. Let’s talk.”   

Mic’s expression was unreadable as he watched Shouta’s hands fly with skilful JSL. Shouta thought he detected surprise. Hizashi had been hard of hearing the entire time Shouta had known him, but it was only after graduating, when Shouta had run away, that he had finally learned sign language. That meant this version of Mic hadn’t known it was a skill he’d acquired. Shouta hoped it would work in his favour towards getting Mic to stop trying to kill him.

Even as Shouta released his capture weapon, freeing Mic, he remained tense, ready to defend. He gripped his capture weapon as Mic’s hands rose, but he was just moving them in front of him. 

“You learn sign to be a better hero?”

“I learned for you.”  

Mic scrutinised him and, for a hopeful moment, Shouta thought maybe he was getting through. Then Mic shook his head, his expression morphing back into one of indifference. 

“You think that changes anything?” Mic caught Shouta off guard with the use of his quirk. His words still sounded muffled to Shouta’s damaged ears, but he could tell the sheer volume from the way the roof trembled under his feet. Shouta activated Erasure before Mic could bring down the building around them.  

There would be no getting through to Mic. He was too far gone, Shouta realised sadly. Years of hatred had corrupted him, and nothing Shouta could say or do would change that. All he could do now was survive long enough to confront the petty criminal the next day and restart the loop.  

If he was going to die, it couldn’t be in this timeline.  

He sent his capture weapon at Mic, but Mic dodged, his body flipping through the air in a gymnastic styled move that was more on par with Shouta than the Mic he knew. He briefly wondered whether Mic had spent years training close combat with this fight in mind. 

An elbow crunched into his nose, sending blood gushing, but Shouta was already twisting. He latched his capture weapon onto a ventilation system on the next building over and flew across the roof, turning just in time to see Mic take a running jump and easily clear the distance between rooftops. Without pause for breath, he came at Shouta, fist aiming for his gut. Shouta twisted, capturing Mic’s elbow and bending it painfully until he felt resistance. Before he could break the bone, his feet were being swept out from beneath him. Shouta’s head hit the floor with a painful thunk, and he grunted, too dazed to do anything but stare as Mic crouched over him, arm pressed against his throat. 

The metallic taste of blood was thick in his throat, and Shouta wasn’t sure if it was from his ungraceful knock to the floor or his still bleeding nose.  

He didn’t know where it had come from, but suddenly there was a blade pressed to his neck.  

“This isn’t your style,” he told Mic, but he didn’t know anything about the man who was about to kill him. Their paths had diverged years ago, and Mic’s rage-filled life had led him to become someone Shouta didn’t recognise. 

“No,” Mic agreed, and Shouta had to watch his lips carefully to try and follow his softly spoken words. “It’s yours.” 

Did Mic hate him that much? So much that he’d learned to emulate Shouta’s style of fighting just so he could kill him with it?  

Shouta felt the sharp blade biting into his flesh. It wouldn’t take much to open his jugular and messily spill his blood across the roof—a cut like that, Shouta doubted he’d survive it. 

Mic looked like he was debating doing just that when something in the sky distracted him.  

Shouta’s tunnelled vision followed Mic’s gaze, and he thought he spotted red feathers in the sky. Was that Hawks? Had he been searching for them, or had he simply gotten lucky and stumbled across them? Maybe he’d followed Mic’s yells—they were certainly loud enough to draw other heroes to the scene.  

Shouta was pretty sure Mic swore, but he didn’t hear which cuss word he went for. The knife left his neck and the pressure on his chest lifted. As Shouta lay there, still dazed, a sudden bite to his side brought him back to reality. His eyes locked on Mic, who was already backing away. 

“That won’t kill you, but it’s a small token to remember me by,” he signed. He flashed a quick grin and then took running. Shouta thought he saw the swish of red as Hawks took chase, but he struggled to focus on anything. He had taken the biggest beating he’d had since USJ, and it was entirely his own fault. Not only had he underestimated Mic, but he’d also been reluctant to fight him, even after his supposed ‘resolve’. 

Clumsy fingers moved to the sharp sting in his side, coming away slick with blood. Mic’s parting gift could have been a little less messy. He’d definitely hit something, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he could already hear footsteps rushing towards him, Shouta thought Mic might have gotten his wish after all. 

Before he could see who it was who would be saving his life, Shouta’s fading vision finally succumbed to the darkness and then there was nothing.  

Shouta woke with a groan, feeling sore all over. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, but when it came back, it came back like a bullet to the shoulder, sending him reeling. 

He’d fought Hizashi. Well, a version of Hizashi. One who had turned evil because of Shouta’s meddling. 

“You’re awake.” Oboro sounded a complicated mixture of relieved and furious, like he wasn’t sure which emotion to let win out. Shouta still wasn’t used to Oboro being alive to feel any emotions towards him, so it hit differently than any time Hizashi—his Hizashi—had been waiting for him to wake, a lecture on his tongue. 

“I am,” Shouta said, then frowned and raised a tentative hand to his ears.

“Recovery Girl was able to heal your eardrums, though your hearing will never be what it was.” Oboro had settled on being pissed, it seemed. His tone was clipped, his eyebrows drawn together. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

“I needed to see him,” Shouta grunted, trying to shift his weight, so he was sitting up. A sharp pain in his side reminded Shouta that Mic had stabbed him. It hurt more now than it had at the time, and Shouta couldn’t help wondering if his wounds would pass over when he tried again. He hoped not—if they didn’t, that probably meant that everything that had happened in this timeline was erased. There wouldn’t be a villain Present Mic out there somewhere in the universe out for his blood. 

“Why now? What’s going on, Sho? You’ve been acting strange since you woke up yesterday.”

Shouta frowned. Yesterday? “Have I been out overnight?” 

“Don’t change the subject,” Oboro scolded, but Shouta was already trying to scramble out of bed. “What are you doing?!” 

“What time is it?” Shouta gasped, a hand clamped to his bandaged side. The thin curtains of the hospital room were drawn, but it was easy enough to tell there wasn’t bright sunshine outside. Shouta couldn’t miss his ride. Stuck in this world where Hizashi had been so hurt he’d become a villain? It was unimaginable!

“Why’s that matter?” Oboro asked. “You’re going to stay here until you’re discharged, man.”

Shouta groaned in frustration, eyes searching for his phone. Apparently, Oboro didn’t share Shouta and Hizashi’s ‘only stop when you’re dead’ resolve. He wondered whether, in this universe, Oboro had made him stay off work after USJ. He wondered whether he’d listened. 

“I need to know the time, Oboro.”  

Apparently, Oboro heard the desperation in his tone. He checked his watch. “It’s five fifteen.”

Shouta breathed out a huff of relief. He still had time. Not much of it, but enough that, so long as Oboro didn’t chain him down, he should be able to make it. Unless— 

“Where are we?”

“Hosu General.” 

Oh, thank god. If Shouta could get a ride, he’d make it with time to spare. Wincing, he began the difficult task of untangling himself from the ridiculous number of wires attached to his body. Anyone would think he nearly died.  

“Shouta, stop,” Oboro said, sounding impatient enough for Shouta to determine this was routine from them.  

Shouta didn’t stop. “Where are my clothes?”

“I’m not letting you discharge yourself. If Hawks hadn’t spotted you, you’d be dead now. Present Mic nicked your spleen, Sho.”  

“I don’t plan to discharge myself. I don’t have time for the paperwork.”

Oboro threw up his hands in exasperation. “Why are you in such a rush? Don’t tell me you plan to hunt down Mic and let him finish what he started?” 

“Not Mic, no.” Shouta finally stood. His legs felt weak, and his abdomen protested the taunt movement, but he managed to remain upright, presumably from pure stubbornness. 

“Then are you after someone else to finish the job? Because I’ll tell you one thing—if you don’t sit your ass back down, I’ll happily kill you myself.” 

Shouta didn’t sit down, but he locked his eyes with Oboro. “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do,” Oboro said. “But I also think you’re a fucking idiot.”

“I need you to trust me now.” He ignored the idiot comment. It was probably true. This whole mess was because of him, after all.  

“What’s going on, Sho?” Oboro looked serious now, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. 

“I don’t have time to explain,” Shouta said. He wished he did; Oboro deserved to know, but Shouta had already lost too much time. Besides, soon this reality would be little more than a dream. Once he got it right, Shouta would sit down with Oboro and Hizashi and explain everything. First, he needed to get there, though. 

“Is this about Mic?” 

“Partly,” Shouta said. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t risk wasting time telling the full truth in case Oboro decided he was crazy and stopped him from leaving. If Shouta didn’t find the criminal in the same spot as usual, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to track him down. With a quirk like that, it was unlikely the man had registered.  

Oboro stared at him for a long minute before sighing and opening a cupboard behind him. He emerged with a pile of Shouta’s belongings, and Shouta could have kissed him. Instead, he pulled on his clothes, trying not to wince as each movement caused his body to scream in protest.  

“I’ve ordered you a ride,” Oboro said, looking up from his phone once Shouta had finished dressing. “I’ll hang back here to sort out the mess that you up and running away will no doubt cause.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Shouta said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.  

“You absolutely don’t,” Oboro agreed, grinning, “but I love you anyway.” That made Shouta pause, made him want to stop and reconsider leaving. Oboro loved him. He was alive, and he loved him. 

Shouta couldn’t stay here, though, not when Hizashi was hurting. Not when he’d chosen such a dark path. 

No. Shouta was going to fix everything. 

And he knew precisely how to go about it.