Chapter Text
There were many things the dead weren’t allowed to do. Interact with the living was just one.
Shinsou’s home was small. A single room in a rather bleak building on the edge of downtown, so unassuming that his neighbors didn’t realize he left his window open year-round. They joked that it was top floor privileges, but really the type of tenants living in a place like this prefered that no one remembered a face the day after next.
Ghost stayed near the window, nonetheless. Far from the door on the other side of the dark room. Had anyone else opened it, he’d escape into the night, unseen. But Shinsou was a professional. He didn’t make simple mistakes like forgetting a random night in a random May. He opened the door and threw his keys on the table with the broken leg, saying, “you’re here early.”
“Maybe you’re just late.”
Shinsou pulled off his mouthguard, the responding smile slipping away too. “Got held up downtown by the train. Some kid lost their mom and would not stop crying. I was the closest hero.”
Ghost did nothing. Shinsou finished taking off the top half of his costume and walked to the fridge. He didn’t offer Ghost a drink. Not that type of night. He grabbed his beer, kicked off the rest of his costume, leaving him in nothing but a t-shirt and briefs, and walked to his desk.
The computer was the only thing of worth in the place. He shook the mouse, waking it up, and then dug into the bottom drawer. He pulled out paper, markers, and other miscellaneous garbage, leaving it empty. He then hit the trick bottom, revealing a cell phone.
He tossed the phone onto the desk and finished opening the necessary programs. A precaution never skipped. It made sure that when the phone was used, it never said where Shinsou was calling from.
“You gonna come a little closer?”
“I’m good.”
Shinsou didn’t look over his shoulder. He picked up the phone, double checked his computer, then made the call. It rang four times before tentatively a woman’s voice filled the room.
“Hello?”
“3334-0701.”
The woman sighed, “6378-0202”
Shinsou typed in the digits as she read them. The computer flashed green. “We’re all good, Himura-san. How’s the weather in Singapore?”
“Warm,” she said, “how’s it fairing in Tokyo?”
“A string of rainy days, nothing awful.”
“I see,” she said. The line buzzed with empty space.
“Are you doing okay on money? I see rent went up. The cost of living has gone up here too, my landlord must be crazy to think he can get away with it,” Shinsou asked, overlooking a spreadsheet, which set his features in pale white.
“He sends us more money each month—we are good. It is his to spend.”
“I’ll pass it along. You had to go to the doctor last month?” Shinsou noted, checking another box. He hovered over the doctor's visit.
“No trouble, they barely batted an eye. We are safe.”
“That’s good. May I ask what it was for?”
“I was just clumsy, sprained my wrist.”
“I see.”
“We—Toshi, is he there?”
“It’s a quiet night, ma’am, always is this time of year,” he said. “Your cards all working still?”
“Yes.” Shinsou made another check mark. Softly, she continued, “Fuyumi had her second child. He’s a little over two months old. He has heterochromia.”
“Heterochromia is pretty rare. What colors?”
“Blue and gray. His name is Shouyo, and he loves everyone he meets,” she paused, took a deep breath, and then said, “I was thinking about coming, with the kids, only for a weekend. Do you think that’s safe Toshi?”
For the first time since speaking, Shinsou glanced back. Ghost had remained impassive by the wall. Aloof. Red eyes stared at the door. He shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Himura-san, I don’t think it’s going to work out this time. Maybe next time.”
“Maybe,” she repeated. “Well,” she said, clearing her voice, “we’re almost out of time, aren’t we?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Tell him that we love him and that we miss him—that he’s a good hero.”
“Will do ma’am.”
“Thank-you Toshi.”
With it, the line went dead. Shinsou cleared the memory cache. When he looked back toward the window, the ghost was gone.
Izuku wasn’t surprised to find his couch empty when he came into the living room the following day. Bakugou had spent the night, but they had lives to lead. People to save. Izuku’s morning routine was sipping the cold coffee Bakugou had left in his pot and taking an equally cold shower to finish waking himself up. While he had slept hours his body was drained, on the brink of collapse. He ignored the notification on his phone, reminding him of the day. He had other responsibilities to contend with.
Before getting to the office, he stopped at the police station to go over his statement for a villain he helped take down about two months prior as well as finish signing the paperwork for another case he had completed two days ago. The people were nice. He got a free muffin from the secretary who always thanked him for a job well done.
By the time he got to his office, it was the middle of the day. He was invited to lunch with some of the sidekicks and one other pro. They talked amicably amongst themselves about the Pro Hero Charity Gala, which was a couple of months away. Invitations were already sent out, and Izuku made a note to check and see if he got his to make a proper reservation. Even if he didn’t know where he would be at with his current case, these types of formals were not something ranked-pro heroes missed.
Patrols were quiet, the reasoning plaster to every screen he passed. Tokyo was always quiet the few days surrounding the anniversary as heroes from across Japan came to the city for the vigil. The Night of a Million Lights had been created by Best Jeanist on the first anniversary of All for One’s defeat to honor those lost in the destruction—civilian or hero.
Each person would light a candle for someone they knew they had lost, and another for one of the thousands of souls who went unidentified in the rubble in the following days. As best they could, most light pollution would be eradicated. Izuku suspected if he floated above the city it would seem like the stars came from Earth and not the other way around.
However, Izuku would be at the center. His candle was the first one lit. His arms raised the highest, amongst a crowd who believed him to be their savior.
Regardless, it was awkward to see his face, set in a stern expression looking wayward. Championed as the future beacon of hope. Bakugou’s face found its way into the mix as well as several other heroes, but Izuku’s was the most prominent. The one who defeated the ultimate evil being without any help. Without any—
When Izuku got back to his office he hoped he was going to make it an early night. He planned on calling Uraraka and watching an old movie wrapped in blankets as he littered his coffee table with take-out. Tomorrow he was off from hero duty. It didn’t matter how much junk he ate.
Izuku was slow to walk through the door, peeling off his gloves and setting them on his desk. He went to stand before the window when the notebook he had thrown caught his eye, still crumpled on the ground. He sighed and retrieved it. The back cover was open, revealing a scratched note Izuku had forgotten he had made.
What if he is alive?
Izuku closed the notebook, standing and heading towards its home. If Shouto was alive, Izuku liked to think he would know by now. They were good friends. They trusted one another. People didn’t just vanish off the face of the Earth. Shouto was dead. The bookcase fell closed with a thud.
Izuku eyed the window again. It was early.
For most heroes, the eve of All for One’s passing was a night of celebration. They went to exclusive bars and got drunk, celebrating another year of peace. Izuku grabbed his phone and walked back through his agency. His thumb hovered over calling Bakugou, but with every step forward he hesitated. Bakugou had said he wanted to move on, practically forget, and Izuku couldn’t do it. Not tonight of all nights. He shoved his phone back into his pocket.
Izuku was about to continue on pass the gym when several people caught his eye, standing around the entrance. They were all in various states of awe. Assuming two heroes were in the middle of the ring, fighting, and since Izuku was keen on a distraction, he paused.
“What’s going on?”
Three of the sidekicks turned to him, each with wide eyes. No one spoke, but they did part for him to get closer. He walked until he was right at the entrance. Immediately, he looked to the arena but found it empty. His eyes darted around the rest of the room. No one at the running track or ellipticals. Not a single soul at the weights. It was a soft grunt that caused him to look in the furthest corner where several punching bags hung. In the middle of them: Ghost, wearing a loose long-sleeve t-shirt, jeggings, and socks, danced between them all. Izuku blinked, but the image didn’t dispel.
“Are we supposed to ask him to leave,” a sidekick asked to his left.
“How did he even get in here?"
A boy with a bug quirk quickly said, “he probably works for the agency since Dynamight-san abandoned us.”
The sidekicks continued to rattle off plausible scenarios to reason why the best underground hero was currently practicing in their gym, while Izuku took a step forward. The gym smelled like old socks and disinfectant. Each hit Ghost made echoed throughout the space. Izuku didn’t get much further along, however, when Ghost stopped, holding the bag steady.
“Midoriya,” Ghost greeted, which earned a few gasps from the spectators before they started talking again with more excitement. Izuku spun on his heel to face them. Their innocent curiosity was palpable. Izuku set his mouth and crossed his arms.
“Okay, show’s over,” he said, “we have people to save.”
It earned a few grumbling complaints, but one of the good things about working at Jeanists’ agency was that most people respected him. Soon enough the crowd was gone. Izuku shut the door and turned to his companion. Ghost, meanwhile, had gone back to working with the punching bags.
“They weren’t bothering me,” Ghost said while Izuku approached. “I kind of wish one of them came to help me spar.”
“Is there a reason you’re practicing in our gym in the middle of the day?”
Ghost slowed the bag, leaning against it. He took Izuku in before he spoke. “Best Jeanist gave me full access to the agency while working on the case. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
“It’s not.”
“Okay,” Ghost said, standing up again, and straightening the bag. Closer, Izuku realized that he wasn’t wearing his gloves. Instead, his hands were wrapped in white like any other hero who would be training. “I was hoping to catch you before you left, actually.”
Izuku frowned, telling the other hero what he had managed to accomplish the night prior was rather embarrassing.
I sat with an old man, who I told that I’m still hung up about my dead best friend, or Kacchan had to drag me home last night because I had a panic attack over said dead best friend.
Either didn’t paint Izuku in the best of light. They didn’t paint him as the Symbol he was supposed to be. A steadfast pillar.
“Are you doing anything tonight,” Ghost asked instead. “I know, generally, heroes go out tonight, so I don’t blame you if you are. A lot of people have reasons to celebrate this weekend, including you.”
“I’m not,” Izuku started, “celebrating, or going anywhere. Unless you count watching a movie in my pajamas and eating ice cream as big plans.”
“They could be. I’d kill anyone if they ruined my night off.”
Izuku wished he shared the same sentiment. Any time he had off he spent chasing away lingering thoughts and well-contained emotions. If anything, being in the gym with its familiar mats and weights gave him a better distraction than going home and watching tv.
“I think I can decide whether or not something will ruin my night,” Izuku said. “Why’d you ask?”
Ghost stepped away from the punching bags. “How’d you like to shadow me tonight? Bakugou inadvertently revealed an arms deal occurring, and I figured I’d pay it a visit. It shouldn’t be too dangerous—”
“I thought you said we weren’t following stray leads?”
“Not obvious leads and this one isn’t related to the case. Besides, I also need to keep up appearances. I figured letting you follow me might let you see how I normally operate, so you can eventually trust me.”
That was how Izuku found himself trailing silver moon pathways over graveled rooftops, wearing an old stealth suit. Ghost had laughed when Izuku got to their rendezvous point after eating—well Izuku ate, he’s not sure what Ghost got up to. After laughing at Izuku’s darkened costume, Ghost had remarked that such an outfit wasn’t necessary for their job, but he appreciated the thought.
Ghost didn’t say much as they went. Izuku had tried probing him for answers but was reprimanded.
“The point of a shadow is to be silent,” Ghost had said. “And observe.”
“But—
Ghost had mimed zipping his lips, and Izuku had fallen quiet. He figured it was some pseudo-master and apprentice shtick. He pictured a younger clumsier Ghost as he stumbled after Aizawa, or perhaps Ghost trained under someone else entirely. Another underground hero so under the radar that only those who needed to know, knew. Someone who made friends with shadows and no one else. But Ghost was the anomaly, Izuku couldn’t imagine he’d find someone else with his origins. At least not in Japan.
Ghost, currently, moved like he was meant to be suspended in the air. A tad unfair considering Izuku was the one with a flying quirk. He wasn’t sure how Ghost was doing it, between jumping and running, but at every lift off he seemed to float, momentarily, before deciding which way to land so that the gravel welcomed his soft padded boots instead of groaning under his weight like they did every time Izuku’s feet came down.
They played the part of dancer and buffoon until Ghost slowed. They were in an industrial district. Based on the rows of cars, auto manufacturing. The lights cast orange shapes onto the ground. Ghost fell between them, landing on cracked sidewalk where weeds lived. Izuku tried his best to replicate the footwork, smashing a clover when he landed.
Izuku anticipated climbing the walls to the warehouse. He could see opened windows to air out the building high above. Or maybe Ghost would find a dock door, and they would sneak in through a semi. Or get into one of the cars and wait for the villains to come and “ship” the car out full of weapons, and they’d pop out in the middle of the ocean on a boat with only their fists and brains to defeat a crew of villains and semiautomatic guns.
Ghost walked through the nearest door.
It wasn’t dark where they entered. It seemed only luck that no one happened to be in this portion of the warehouse. Nevertheless, Ghost didn’t hurry as he inspected the door they had entered, placing a small object near the latch of the handle. Straightening, he surveyed the rest of the space. They were on the ground floor of a massive room where robots and machinery assembled different stages of metal frames for cars. Metal shrieked against metal and somewhere there might have been music playing—something heavy with base.
Ghost jumped and caught a passing door frame, grabbing the back of Izuku’s costume, and tugging it. Taking in the next frame, Izuku took the opportunity to follow.
Unlike Ghost, who chose to cling to the frame, letting it take him where he wanted to go, Izuku chose to instead tuck himself behind the frame, using Float to follow it. It was a good test of practice. Especially, since Ghost wasn’t satisfied with only following car doors, jumping between half-assembled bodies and down through holes meant for engines.
He bobbed, weaved, and swung himself through all of it until he was perched high above with Izuku beside him wondering how on Earth no one had seen all of that —not to mention what kind of training Ghost had gone through that let him move near silently because, unlike Izuku who didn’t have to push off or touch anything, Ghost did, had. Yet, he left no trace. Silent.
Down below, near a garage door, two men stood. Thirty seconds later the door opened, and a black SUV pulled in.
“Eight in sight. Three north and two south,” Ghost said. “A shame, I was hoping to show off.”
The lights went out.
If it wasn’t for a hand grabbing his bicep the Number Three Hero of Japan would have fallen ten stories to splat on the concrete pavement with no fanfare. Ghost’s red eyes blinked to life.
“Remember, Shadow, you only observe.” He pressed something into Izuku’s palms, “and answer this.”
Ghost’s grip disappeared. Izuku lifted the phone to his ear.
“—your emergency?”
Izuku made a strangled noise, which the emergency responder didn’t seem to appreciate. She repeated her question. Izuku wracked his brain for the necessary information to give her while watching what was happening below him.
Blue lightning raced over the body of the car. A person yelled. The emergency lights flashed once—Ghost had one person in a headlock—twice—another was zapped before dropping—three times—Ghost spring-boarded off another, sending them to the ground as the warehouse settled on hazy red emergency lights.
It let the enemies get their bearings. They raised their weapons and shot. Bullets rattled against metal bodies and blasted out windows. Ghost threw an object, which embedded itself into the furthest person from him. A knife. Izuku realized as Ghost tossed another one up between him and a villain before he clasped the nozzle of their gun with both hands and shoved against it, forcing his assailant down before grabbing the spinning object out of the sky to stab the person who was trying to sneak up behind him.
Five people and it may have only been a minute.
“Sir, are you injured?”
“Umm no we’re handling it. Just need the police.”
“We?”
Ghost ducked when the next person decided to abandon his gun for a straight out brawl. He didn’t react when one of Ghost’s wraiths went off on his arm, laughing as he brushed it off. For Ghost’s part, he had no problems playing prey, backpedaling and sticking another thug as he passed, who collapsed easily.
“Uh—yes—we. I’m speaking on behalf of an Underground Hero. He’s a little preoccupied, but we should have this wrapped up soon.”
“Police ETA five minutes,” she said, “please stay on the line until either I, or a police officer tell you to hang up.”
“Yeah—yes,” Izuku said, eyes widening, as Ghost fell. From Izuku’s position, it seemed like he tripped. The large man who had been following him with an easy gait took the opportunity to pounce, grabbing Ghost and lifting him only to stop. He roared, throwing the body, which caused Izuku to jump up, ready to go down and fight—shadows be damned—except a figure was now standing behind the man, holding a knife. Izuku watched transfixed as Ghost lashed out at the tender skin behind the man’s knees causing him to fall, before launching himself up and wrapping his legs around his head.
A ricochet of bullets grabbed Izuku’s attention next as he watched three people run into the chaos, only to be zapped by what must have been well-placed traps.
“I’m hearing gunfire, are you sure the situation is being handled,” the operator said, “I have two heroes in the vicinity, and they can be dispatched—”
The man Ghost had been wrapped around fell with a thud.
“No,” Izuku said. He could care less what another hero would do entering the fray. Probably create a spectacle with their quirks and threaten the integrity of the building. Hell, Izuku figured if they were in a different position, he would’ve made ample use of the metal frisbees floating around, concussing quite a few of the villains while he jumped between smashing and tying them up.
But Ghost, unless he had some type of mental quirk, was fighting quirkless. Fighting quirkless and well. Against a bunch of thugs who were mostly muscle but would’ve been irritating for Izuku to deal with alone.
“I can hear you muttering from here Shadow.” Ghost said, causing Izuku to jump, pulling the phone away from his ear. On the flat side of it was a circular speaker. “Do me a favor and go check where we entered. One should already be unconscious.”
Izuku nodded and then felt foolish because it wasn’t as if Ghost was expecting a confirmation; he gave him an order. With a lot less finesse Izuku made it back to where they entered. A glowing exit sign permeated into the red. Izuku dropped down as one of two men, both carrying large bags, threw open the door and bolted out. He hit something with a resounding smack, falling backward, unconscious. His buddy stumbled back, unfortunately right into Izuku, which caused him to stiffen before spinning around to fight, only to drop with a shock of electricity. Ghost’s red eyes appeared behind him.
Ghost toed the body and kicked the heavy bag away. He went to the door and slid his hand down it, grabbing the device he left there.
“Great work, Shadow,” Ghost said, plucking the phone from Izuku’s grasp. Before Izuku could stammer out how he had done nothing, Ghost continued with, “grab the two bodies. It’s easier for the police if everything is in one place.”
Ghost shouldered both bags and held the phone to his ear with the other hand.
“Fukumoto, I thought this was your weekend off. Ahh yes, I do know I’m supposed to make a visit to the precinct.” Izuku grabbed the two bodies before Ghost got too far away. “No, I am not to blame for the recent rise of vandalism. I don’t even know how to paint.” Ghost laughed. “Paint is in the name.”
Ghost dropped the bags next to the car. He motioned to where he wanted Izuku to place the bodies, pulling the phone away from his ear, “tie them up. No need for quirk suppressant cuffs—they’re all mutants and the police will be here.” He paused, pulling back his sleeve to look at his arm. “Wow, Fukumoto, your guys are making great time. One minute and counting.”
Izuku didn’t get her response. He wondered if she was as exasperated as Izuku felt. Ghost spent the next thirty seconds talking to her and dragging bodies to Izuku for him to tie up. When they heard the sirens in the distance Izuku stood, crossing his arms, realizing he’d have a night of paperwork to do. Ghost said goodbye to the operator, shoving the phone into his pocket.
“Shadow, do you think you can get us in the rafters,” he asked, turning to him as the police began calling out on the other side. Izuku pointed to where the cops would be entering in the next few moments.
“Aren’t we—
“Shadows don’t ask questions,” Ghost interrupted before he offered Izuku his hand. “Can you?”
It was stupid. The first time he missed discussing operations with the police he was rewarded with a warning and a fine. Izuku ignored Ghost’s hand, wrapping his arm around his waist.
“If we get caught.”
“We won’t.” Ghost said. His touch was light where he seemed to accept Izuku’s hold. “Can’t penalize the dead and the apparition that follows him.”
Izuku sighed, bending his knees, and launching them to the rafters. As he landed, the police broke through the door, calling out their presence and shining flashlights around to take in the scene. They all stopped on the pile of bodies and the black duffle bags beside them. They treated the unconscious men with caution before they were replacing Izuku’s quick tie-up with handcuffs and dragged the men out to the waiting police cars.
When they were almost done, only one man left to bring out, Ghost stood and started walking along the beams. He didn’t ask Izuku to follow; he didn’t have to. They reached one of the open windows. Ghost pushed it open wider. They escaped outside to cooling night air and flashing police lights.
For another ten minutes, they watched the police talk amongst themselves pointing at the bags and the building. Eventually, they began to drive off, leaving the place empty save for tire tracks, yellow tape, and shell casings.
“Come on Shadow,” Ghost said, starting back towards the rooftops, “we have more work to do.”
How Izuku found himself sitting on the roof of an apartment building, eating fast food where the brightest stars made their light seen, sore but not unbearably sore. Beside him, Ghost kicked his heels against the edge of the building, reaching for the greasy bag he had all but ordered Izuku to go and get after the fourth ring of criminals was taken out.
When Izuku cheekily said he thought shadows couldn’t do anything, Ghost had responded with, “last I checked you were a functioning hero.”
Ghost opened the bag, pulling out fries and an aluminum-wrapped burger and setting it beside him. He reached for his mask, hitting a button. It made a hissing noise as it slightly pulled away from his face. Nowhere near far enough to reveal the identity of the man underneath it. Izuku could pretend he wasn’t a tad disappointed in that development. It was an absurd image, but one Izuku wasn’t going to question. His mouthguard was next to him, completely abandoned once he knew he was going to eat, and his hood was down where it usually sat.
True to his word, Izuku had done zero fighting, only tailing, and climbing building after building, while Ghost darted between danger like it was a game, taking people out with mutant quirks as if they were children and not trained guards.
“Permission to speak,” Izuku said between fries.
Ghost regarded him with his handful of fries. “I can’t stop you from talking, Midoriya.”
Izuku gave him a pointed look, which was ruined since he couldn’t see if the other hero reacted to it or not. All Ghost did was put more fries in his mouth, chewing them softly and waiting for Izuku to continue.
“Is it odd you didn’t come across any emitter quirks tonight? I mean I fight all the time, and I swear nearly everyone can either shoot beams of light out of their fingers or suck water out of the atmosphere and send it flying my way as very dangerous spikes. All while I try to figure out the best way to beat them with minimal damage.”
“You’re fighting supervillains, they have an advantage.” Ghost swallowed his fries, taking in the street below. Shops lined either side of the road and, though it was night, it was rather peaceful, considering where they had come from.
“Emitter quirks are always at an advantage. They’re flashy and people who are weaker are attracted to that kind of thing. May it be smiling heroes—” Across the street there was an Uravity and Red Riot promotion for some sports drink. They both wore their most charismatic smiles. A promise. “—or sinister villains.”
Ghost swallowed another mouthful of food. “Only the weakest emitter quirks are sent on missions where the only task is to transport cargo. But people think twice if they’re going to double-cross someone when they’re facing a person with a mutant quirk. In this career, they tend to be walking walls of muscle.” He paused, hand in the container, and shrugged. “It’s the way of life. People learn how to deal with it.”
Izuku retook Ghost. His outfit was tight. A practical second skin. But maybe under the cowl and facemask, there was some type of transformation. Something that made it clear what Ghost’s quirk was, which would make sense if he was trying to hide it, to give himself the biggest advantage. It would also help explain how he moved. Perhaps he was like Froppy, who had the advantages of being like a frog, or Hawks, who could avoid close confrontations with ideal maneuverability.
“I’m not a mutant,” Ghost said, picking up his burger. “Didn’t I tell you I fight mostly quirkless?”
Izuku warmed, turning back to his food. He swallowed around two bites before realizing what Ghost had said.
“Mostly?”
Ghost eyed him. They were back to blue. Izuku was grateful for that. They made him seem more human than the red did.
“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t asked yet,” Ghost said, after finishing another bite of his burger. “You’re a bit disappointing to meet in person, Hero Deku, I thought you’d be all over me with your quirk analysis stuff by now.”
Izuku’s mouth fell open as Ghost finished his burger, eyeing him the whole time as if challenging him.
“I—I thought I coul—I was being respectful. And it’s not like you’d give me clear answers to any of my questions anyway.” Izuku said, frowning.
“That’s your fault for making assumptions,” Ghost said, digging into the pack at his side. He pulled out a wraith and handed it over to Izuku. It was a disc, no bigger than a poker chip. Upon closer inspection, Izuku could see that there was a button on one side. He traced the outline of it with his thumb. “Designing those was a painful task of trial and error. There’s a reason my suit is built to resist electrocution.”
“Hatsume-kun said you used her agency. Why not just let the scientist make something first?”
“I made those before I got my license,” Ghost said, picking it back up, “well an amateur version of it.” He flipped the item between his fingers. “They had a knack for exploding then.”
Ghost pulled something else out.
“This I did make with Hatsume’s help. It creates a small forcefield.” The object in his hand was small and rectangular. “Generally, I put these at the door where villains are most likely to exit and exit fast. Running full speed into a wall almost always results in someone falling unconscious.”
“And you anticipate the villains are going to use whichever door because you go over building schematics before you start a fight,” Izuku said, thinking back to how Ghost easily broke into Best Jeanist's Agency.
Ghost nodded. “Tonight, three of the four warehouses had memos that their emergency generators were faulty. 63% of faulty generators fail to turn on all the exit signs. In an unfamiliar place and in the dark, people go to the beacons they can see. It also helps if I set it up where the person is pushed to take the exit I want them to take.”
Next, Ghost reached towards his calves. He pulled out one of the knives, twisting its handle, and hesitating a moment before handing it to Izuku. The metal caught the moonlight across the edge, highlighting its blade. The handle was smooth and wrapped in black. It was surprisingly light—not that Izuku had much experience with knives, save for those thrown at him by angered enemies.
“A tad cliché, but they get the job done,” Ghost said, easily answering Izuku’s question about metal and how he learned to use a knife so effortlessly. Ghost responded with a chuckle and said the person who trained him had a knife quirk, truly effortless. His was a gimmick, a cheap approximation. Izuku didn’t agree, but he didn’t think they’d reach a consensus if he rambled about how amazing it was to watch Ghost in action.
It went on like that. Ghost, pointing out features in his costume, some Shinsou had mentioned during his introduction, some he had not. For instance, the joints of his hero costume weren’t made of the same fabric as the rest of his outfit. The fabric was too stiff in places to bend. Ghost had to adapt it to give him the most flexibility possible.
“Luckily, most villains don’t think to shoot out my knees or my elbows,” he said, raising his arm to show Izuku where the fabric bunched up and gave way to something softer. “It’s the weakest part of my costume, but it keeps me vigilant. A good percentage of heroes leave the business due to joint damage and such.”
“And if someone manages to take out one of your joints?”
Ghost bent his elbow. “Well, it’s a good thing I am temporarily employed to one of the best agencies in the nation. I heard they give their top heroes the best insurance packages for things like this.”
“Yet, I’m told to keep my injuries low to not overwork our poor medical staff.”
“I don’t think most people have a medical history that could wrap around street blocks.”
Izuku scoffed in mock offense. “I get injured on average only two percent higher than regular heroes. However, I am involved in more than triple the casework. I think I’m allowed a couple injuries here and there.”
“If you say so,” Ghost said, crumpling up his foil. “But I handled more cases than you last year and I had zero serious injuries to report.”
“Probably because no one keeps you accountable for your actions Mister, ‘I’ll talk to the police when I want to talk to them.’”
Ghost tossed his wrapper into the bag. “I take it you’ve never been arrested before for doing your job, sitting in a jail cell to ‘learn my lesson’ was not a fun experience to say the least.”
“Wait,” Izuku leaned forward, tossing his own garbage in the bag. “What?”
“Some people take offense to small images spray painted onto buildings.” Ghost said, shrugging. “It’s not my fault they don’t appreciate good art.”
Izuku’s next words caught in his throat as the comfortable purple darkness broke away to a hazy gray punctuated by a single ray of pure golden sunlight, which reflected across the storefront shops and lingering clouds. In the background, he could make out that Ghost was continuing to speak. Something about how the ghosts were signals, beacons. His muffled voice came in and out as if Izuku was repeatedly going up and down through choppy waves. It sounded a bit like death. A quick tug and Izuku would succumb to it entirely.
“It’s Saturday,” he murmured. Technically, it had been Saturday for much of the night Izuku spent chasing Ghost and dealing with annoyed emergency dispatchers. A distraction to keep his anxieties to rest. Even sitting up here with a bag of twisted wrappers and half-empty cups had been enough of an interruption that Izuku hadn’t thought. He simply existed in a world where his only concern was getting to know the hero he was working with.
It didn’t stop the pit from forming in his stomach. The repeated notion of I forgot, I forgot, I forgot, blasting him for being neglectful. Neglectful because every year prior, when other heroes went out to celebrate another year free from tyranny, Izuku spent it huddled in his room watching movies, which quickly turned to old video recordings of their class. It turned into him watching himself break every bone in both his hands while still feeling the phantom heat of fire as the world exploded. It was crying and wishing, missing Todoroki Shouto, but knowing he could do nothing about it.
And yet this year, he had missed it. He had forgotten that he was supposed to spend the night in agony. The realization tasted pungent, deep regret lodged in the back of his throat.
“Do you have a problem with Saturdays,” Ghost asked, matching their light banter from earlier. The gold band on the horizon expanded into a ray. Within the hour the sun would greet them, rising beside the buildings, a gifted messenger.
Izuku swallowed and found his voice enough to be able to say, “No.”
He felt Ghost, watching him. Those artificial blue eyes dissected his movement, studying his left hand as it fisted over his knee, while his right fingers danced along the concrete slab. He could feel Ghost take note of his stuttered breaths and shaky smile as Izuku turned to reassure him that nothing was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
Izuku used to be able to remember the sound of the small huff Shouto made whenever he found something amusing. It was never laughter, but it was the closest thing Izuku ever got, so it was priceless. Gone. Izuku, with only grainy pictures and a grainier memory, could no longer recall if he classified the blue in Shouto’s eye as cerulean, turquoise, or aqua. He could remember the itch of an argument in favor of one but could not say with any confidence which one had been right. Forgotten. It was Shouto saying, “promise,” but Izuku missing all the comments that accompanied it. A familiar song where he forgot the most important lyrics.
“Midoriya?” A gloved hand was laid over the top of Izuku’s clenched fist. “Are you okay?”
yes.
no.
The halfway point between two opposite spectrums, lost in the center.
“My best friend died today.” The effort it took to even whisper the words was close to sending him spiraling. Maybe if there was one less pressure grounding him to the rooftop where air conditioning units bellowed, and faint yellow light tried to find permanence between the gravel. Maybe he would have if a surprisingly warm hand wasn’t overlaying his own, a distracted thumb tracing circles to remind him that this was real. He was here.
“I’m sorry,” Ghost said, “I didn’t know. I thought everyone made it out of the fight.”
Izuku’s right hand continued to tap out non-transcribable messages. It made sense that Ghost would jump to that assumption. Hell, the whole week—month, year, Izuku’s life—was nothing but anticipation and celebration for one single fight. For the ultimate defeat of evil. He remembered children crying one day and cheering him in the streets the next with bright flags. Parades and banners. With this weekend’s confetti and posters, seven years later, it was easy to miss the things brushed away to mislabeled boxes in dark rooms.
Izuku took a deep breath. Somewhere below them a dog barked, insistent and chatty.
“They didn’t die during the fight,” Izuku said after consideration. “They weren’t even at the fight, so people don’t know. They can forget something that didn’t happen to them.” Izuku’s brows furrowed, staring at the brick wall ahead of them. It was a ruddy orange, but the cement was stained black in the corner. He couldn’t tell what it was. “But I think I am. I think I’m forgetting.”
“Some things are meant to be forgotten,” Ghost said simply as if it was that easy. Tape up the box and leave it to storage. Only breach it every few years, each time deciding less and less needed to be kept from it.
“Not this,” Izuku said, “not him.”
At that, Ghost was silent, contemplative, before saying, “You can tell me about it if you want.” Izuku didn’t risk a look to see if Ghost was watching him. “I think, sometimes, it helps to talk to someone. Someone who wasn’t there.” His thumb tapped twice, marking a freckle. “But you don’t have to. We can part ways and start another day. It’s up to you.”
The eagerness to accept the latter got trapped behind Izuku’s teeth. At some point between staring at the police files and the funeral, Izuku had resigned himself to only being allowed to speak about Shouto during certain occasions. His name if breathed into a room, hung like a curse above his classmates who knew him, or worse, created confusion as people tried to associate a name with a face, coming to him later and asking “Endeavor-san?” As if Shouto had been nothing more than the youngest of four children in the Todoroki household.
Ghost did not attend UA. He could not fear a name, and the person attached to it as his classmates did. And unlike the people in Izuku’s later life, Izuku could not see the sympathy in digital eyes, nor the quizzical quirk of a brow as someone tried to fit the pieces of a puzzle together. More so, Ghost was connected to everything. It was probable he already knew what happened to implode the Todoroki family.
Ghost was almost perfect then. As if talking to a statue Izuku didn’t have to openly acknowledge he was speaking to.
“Do you remember the former hero Endeavor?”
“The flame hero? He had an impressive number of arrests. They rivaled All Might’s if I remember correctly.”
The practicality of the statement made Izuku’s breathing easier. Of course, Ghost would remember and care more about the numbers in relation to hero work than the grizzly newspaper splash, harsh with rainwater and damaged red feathers.
“Yes.” Izuku’s eyes traced more of the cement. There was another black spot under a windowsill. “You probably know this, but he had a son. Well, he had several sons, and a daughter. But you probably know about his eldest, Touya, or, I guess, Dabi. He kind of helped destroy the foundation of hero society there for a bit, so it’s a little hard for society to forget about him. I think at one point he was out trending Pro Heroes in terms of how many people were talking about him. I,” Izuku swallowed, “I hated him. Endeavor wasn’t exactly stellar, but I knew he was trying to make amends with his family. Touya was upset, enraged with father, but his father wasn’t the one he targeted to enact his revenge.”
Izuku chewed his lip, giving enough of a pause for Ghost to ask, “Did he succeed?”
Izuku started to shake his head, before stopping part way. There was always a note of uncertainty surrounding the topic. No one knew what made Shouto stand under that bridge of all bridges, holding a gun and watching the sunrise, letting orange flames crackle and snap until he was nearly no more, pulling the—It wasn’t something Izuku liked to dwell on, the path taken during the missing two years between bleeding asphalt and dripping ice.
“His name was Shouto. He was,” Izuku pursed his lips. Adjectives, fleeting and insufficient to describe who exactly Shouto was until out loud Izuku said plainly, “A pain in the ass, honestly.”
Ghost made an abrupt noise. Almost like a laugh, though far too muffled under his mask. He pulled his hand away from Izuku’s to put it over his face as if forgetting the covering was even there.
“I’m sorry—I wasn’t expecting.”
Unwarranted, Izuku smiled. Ghost had paused his useless gesture. His hand raised almost to his goal, but he stopped, in resolute terror, calculating every mistake that got him here on this rooftop with Izuku, to begin with.
“It’s okay,” Izuku said, turning back to the rising sun. “I bet he’d like you. He respected heroes that were no nonsense and just got the job done. Hell, in a different life he could’ve been breaking your hand in front of millions instead of mine.”
“He broke your hand?”
Izuku shook his head. “I broke my hand, but I only had to do it because he was being too stubborn.”—frosty air, the suffocation of coalescing oxygen, and an inferno brighter than any light Izuku had ever seen— “It was a defense mechanism, though. Like I said when I knew Endeavor, he was in the process of atoning. What I knew of him up until high school was that he wasn’t All Might, and he was a stick in the mud grouch who caused too much damage and tolerated no insolence. He was also a realist, who figured he’d never see becoming the Number One Hero himself, so he had children to do it for him. Shouto-kun was his prize, but he was so much more than his father’s attempt at a better skill-set clone.”
Ghost dropped his hand in his lap, but he said nothing else. Izuku continued, staring into the distance, instead of at his companion.
“He was the type of person who would step off to the side and walk with someone if he noticed they were alone. He didn’t talk much, but he always listened—to everything. I swear one time— one time —I told him that my favorite popsicles were those frozen bananas dipped in chocolate and then two months later, we were at the beach, and they had an ice cream stand. It was the first thing he went to. I had thought it was because he had an insatiable sweet tooth—he wasn’t allowed sweets growing up; I think if no one tried to stop him he’d eat his body weight in candy and cookies—however, later when I noticed he was still sitting under an umbrella and not enjoying the water with the rest of us, I went to investigate. I was sort of worried something had upset him, and I wanted to cheer him up, but no, he wasn’t upset. He was sitting in the shade staring down at this chocolate popsicle as if daring it to melt on him—he had an ice quirk and a fire quirk by the way I don’t think I mentioned that.
“Anyways it’s funny because when I sat down beside him, he turned his body to shield the treat from me, until he realized who I was. I asked him what he was doing, and he simply held out his arm to me and told me he wanted to make sure they didn’t sell out by the time I got done swimming. I offered to share it with him and he agreed, and Ashido-san—umm Pinky—said we were basically kissing. I couldn’t look at him the rest of the day because I was so flustered, but I remember catching him that night to thank him and noticing he got sunburned across his nose even though he spent so much of the day under that umbrella.”
“And then there was this other time,” Izuku started, no longer paying attention to how the first part of the sun had crested the furthest building or how the black gunk was probably mold, but hopefully it was just some type of dark plant stuck in shadows.
He was only slightly aware of how Ghost had shifted from letting his feet carelessly dangle off the edge of the building to him pulling one leg underneath himself, so he could directly face Izuku. How he sat patiently and watched Izuku ramble as he waved his hands back and forth, talking about moving islands and stationary islands or how amazing Shouto was at fighting or negotiating and that time he convinced Kaminari that the moon was flat and that’s why they could only see one side of it. How Kaminari had short-circuited the apartment in his shock and Bakugou had fallen off his chair laughing.
“It’s all very true.” Shouto had insisted. “Don’t you think it’s weird we stopped sending people to the moon. It’s because they might accidentally walk off the edge, and no one wants that.”
The whole common room had erupted after that.
Izuku couldn’t help giggling now, remembering how passionate Iida was fighting against Shouto. Only, Shouto had stoicism on his side whereas Iida did not. After thirty minutes Iida had fallen onto the couch with an exasperated sigh, which Shouto took as a win: the moon was flat.
“But how did he explain the curved shadows,” Ghost asked, which had been the crux of Iida’s whole point.
“He said that only proved that the Earth was round, not the moon.”
“And the sun?”
“I’m sure if things had been different, he would have come to us with a presentation to show how that was flat too,” Izuku said, wiping his eye. “I don’t know if he believed what he was saying, or if he only did it because he wanted to make someone laugh. He was a good person.”
“It sounds like you really liked him.”
“Yeah, I loved him.” Izuku sighed. The sun was bright and golden, casting the clouds in tinted lavender and rose.
“Oh.”
Izuku almost missed the response, how quiet it was. It took Izuku a moment to realize what he had said to earn it.
“Crap. I’m sorry.” Izuku shook his head. “I’m making it sound like I was closer to him than I was. As if I was the most important person to him. I didn’t think I loved him at the time. Only after, way after, when I realized that whenever people describe the feeling of being in love with someone it usually fits the description of how I felt about him. And , in the few times I’ve tried dating, I always compare them to him, or I spend the night wondering what our first date would’ve been like as if I would have been bold enough to ask the Todoroki Shouto out on a date. I don’t know. It’s weird.” Izuku dropped his hands. “I mean, isn’t the past always more idyllic than the present? Of course, I’d idolize someone who’s trapped in a photograph.”
“I think,” Ghost said, “that it’s probably not weird. People tend not to notice the most important thing, or people, in their life until that person is no longer there, leaving them with only lingering emotions—and guilt.”
“Yes,” Izuku said, turning so he was facing Ghost straight on. “When he first left, I couldn’t stand the unanswered questions and doubts. I had other things going on, but whenever I could, I’d search for him. I was going all over the nation and at every village or beach town I’d peer overtops of heads and try to spot a distinct shock of white or red. I don’t even know what I would’ve said if I had found him, only that—” Izuku took a deep breath. “I didn’t, and I’ve regretted it every day. I should have made it more apparent to him that he wasn’t alone, that someone cared for him, that someone still does. ”
It was Ghost's turn to spread his palm against his knee, squeezing it. The only sign that the other hero was certainly uncomfortable with the way this conversation had turned, and Izuku had been worried earlier about him finding out how Izuku had ended the previous mission.
However, when Ghost eventually did speak it wasn't to ridicule or a quick excuse to get away. Just a question as simple as that.
“And if you did see him today, would you tell him you loved him?”
“No,” Izuku said, “I couldn’t. I mean we’d be different people then we were in high school, and I wouldn’t want to scare him away by feeling too much.” Izuku rubbed his face, pressing down against his cheeks. “But beside that, what’s the use in pretending to have a conversation I know I’ll never have? It only serves to hurt me.”
“I,” Ghost tapped his fingers along his thigh. He shook his head and restarted, “I’ve never tried to.” Ghost, tighten his counting fingers into a fist. “It’s not that bad if you write it. I did it as a letter once. It’s easier that way, maybe, not speaking per se, but letting the pencil do all the talking for you. There’s finality in being able to close off the feeling with a period instead of letting it linger in the air.”
Izuku pictured his notebooks trapped in his office. The unfinished #73 where Izuku only blamed himself and apologized. He could apologize in a letter, but he could also say so much more. Everything he just told Ghost and a million other little things. He had already forgotten so much. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner. A way to capture time in a quiet place.
“A letter?”
“A letter,” Ghost confirmed. “It helped. My brother, he passed away when I was young. I never really got a chance to get to know him but writing it out made me feel like I was actually talking to someone, that it would get sent out, and there would be a person to read it on the other side.” Ghost shook his head, “it’s silly, I’m sure you’ve already tried that.”
“I haven’t.” Izuku said, “no one, no one’s recommended me that before. They’re more concerned about me forgetting than me talking to a ghost.”
“There’s nothing wrong with remembering, from how you speak about him, I’m sure he never forgot you.”
“Would,” Izuku needlessly corrected, “he wouldn’t have forgotten me, which is a nice thought, but he did leave without saying anything. I don’t know how much I actually ever mattered to him at the end of the day.”
“Probably the world,” Ghost said with so much certainty it was like he knew. Like he had met Shouto once, at a bar maybe, and Shouto had told him every terrible secret there was to know. But the picture didn’t quite fit. The Shouto he had known, wouldn’t have been so blasé with his secrets, and Ghost, well, Ghost wouldn’t be so open with the idea that he had been one of the few people to talk to Shouto before his death.
The sun broke over the buildings beyond them. Ghost, maybe sensing Izuku’s questions, continued, “after all, it’s the same reason you ran away then too, right?”
Izuku blinked, suddenly self-conscious about a choice that seemed like the only correct one, years ago. The only way to keep his friends and family safe. “You know about that?”
Ghost chuckled, hitting the button on his mask so that it sat comfortably on his face. “Have you been ignoring the fact that at one point you were my favorite hero? Of course, I know about it, it inspired me.”
Izuku knew his actions had consequences. One choice to accept a quirk led to a class of scars and pain. No amount of placating about how it made them better heroes couldn’t change that. He knew he made people feel braver, knowing he had come from nothing—that anyone could be a hero. There was good and bad in every choice he made, something he couldn’t avoid. But to somehow be the cause for Ghost’s creation—
“You’re your own hero. You’re certainly better than whatever I was trying to achieve back then.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Midoriya, but thank-you.”
Ghost let go of the side of the building. His tense shoulders relaxed. Izuku watched him for a moment. Ghost's resolve didn’t waver, but maybe that was the costume. A costume full of tricks and gadgets Izuku was enthralled to know more about but hid the man expertly underneath.
He doesn’t need to be saved.
There was more to Ghost, Izuku was sure of that. There was a face underneath that mask and maybe he was glaring at the sun for producing another day, or maybe he was smiling fondly at it, thinking about a time when he was younger.
Or maybe—Ghost caught Izuku’s gaze—maybe he wasn’t stuck in the past at all and Aizawa had been right. Perhaps Ghost was correct, and the first step to moving on was in saying goodbye—funny how Izuku had thought he had done that years ago.
“Hey, Ghost?”
Ghost gently tilted his head. No quirked brow. No inquisitive hum. It was enough.
“Thank-you. For this,” Izuku said, gazing back towards the horizon, watching swaths of pink and orange clouds billow out away from the sun. “I think I needed it.”
“Any time.”
Ghost probably didn’t mean the weight those words meant for Izuku. The open door they created, which Izuku didn’t ruin in the moment by asking if this meant they were friends now. If the underground hero would be okay with having two, or if this situation, this ease of conversation between them stopped the moment the mission was over. Izuku didn’t ask, but out of the corner of his eye, Ghost was looking to the horizon too.