Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“He’s waiting for you in his office, Deku-kun.” 

Izuku thanked the receptionist on Best Jeanist’s floor with a partial wave while he shoved a muffin in his mouth, bounding to the partially opened door. 

He had woken late. Late. And it wasn’t because he was out fighting crime or jerked awake in the middle of the night with a bout of insomnia. He simply slept in, forgetting to set his alarm the night prior. Ghost had left coffee in his pot still warm from whenever he disappeared, obviously earlier than he thought warranted waking Izuku up for his day. 

However, despite the fact that he was now going to have to stay an extra five, seven minutes from when his shift technically ended, and his day’s schedule was pretty blank, a routine patrol, some reports, a few words ahead of a camera, Izuku was perky. He was as close to feeling invincible as he had in forever. He’d tackle Best Jeanist meeting to go over Bakugou’s latest rise, drafting their agency's level response, and whether or not it still warranted a full press release, and maybe talk about the mission. Izuku could say he was still confident in his and Ghost’s capabilities to solve it on their own. More than confident, actually. 

Izuku pushed open Best Jeanist's door with his foot, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m la,” trailing when he came into eye contact with not Best Jeanist, but the President of the Hero Commission, where she stood in front of the hero’s window. He found Best Jeanist shortly thereafter, stiff in his office chair, hands pressed together, but otherwise deceptively stoic. 

“Is something wrong,” Izuku finished. Perhaps he would have to do more to convince them that they had everything handled.

“Nothings wrong,” Best Jeanist said.

The president didn’t nod or voice any agreement, stepping away from the window to the center of the room. She didn’t stand opposite Izuku but rather to the side of Best Jeanist, letting her hand fall against the back of his chair.

“There will be a press conference this afternoon. It’s my understanding you already agreed you could attend,” she said, gold eyes calculating.

Izuku nodded. “I’m proud of Kacchan.” 

More than proud, the longer Izuku had to sit on it, the longer he realized how relieved he was over the matter, that Ghost might have been closer to the truth than even he believed. Bakugou would make a good Number One Hero, even if he wasn’t officially nominated by the time the award ceremony came about. One day he would, Izuku was certain of that. 

“The conference isn’t about Dynamight’s potential rise in the ranks,” the president said. Izuku followed her gaze to Best Jeanist, who nodded but didn’t immediately speak. Izuku couldn’t see what else warranted such a measure. Their agency hadn’t done anything that extraordinary unless Izuku missed it because his other job had taken priority in his life.

“You wanted to tell him yourself, Tsunagu, I would have preferred to schedule it this morning, otherwise.” 

“Relax Kei.” 

If anyone wasn’t relaxed, it was Izuku, who had to fight the urge to start tapping his foot while they silently spoke to one another. As it was, he was already squeezing and repeatedly releasing the wrapper of his muffin in his left hand as some sort of stressed ball. 

Best Jeanist cleared his throat. It was to be determined if he made it worse or not. In the moment, all Izuku had was disbelief. 

Best Jeanist said, “I’m announcing my retirement. Effective immediately.”

Red Riot walked alone. Ghost wouldn’t consider this a bad part of the city by any means, but it was in the opposite direction of his house. The speculation of where he might go added the only intrigue in following the hero. So far, the only things Ghost had seen Red Riot do was go to the gym, get groceries at a fancy market up town, and then volunteer with a group of older heroes, all either helping children with schoolwork or with the elderly to pick up groceries and take care of their lawn. It was all very boring and very gold star of the hero. It was a wonder he wasn’t up higher in the ranks as it was.

Of course, if Red Riot was the traitor, his contract could have been done, and they were wasting unnecessary resources trailing him. 

But if they lost faith in a hero, leading them to where they were going next, then Ghost suspected the next logical choice would upset Midoriya more, and Ghost wasn’t convinced that his distrust over an institution made them obligatorily the bad guys.

Therefore, reasonably, their next course of action would be to spot and track Kurono himself. He wasn’t thrilled about the prospect. The Shie Hassaikai had perimeters put in place, so they couldn’t be easily spied on from the outside. It would be more dangerous to put Midoriya in that place, and Ghost didn’t know how well Midoriya would take to being asked to sit on the sidelines while Ghost covered it.

All he needed to know was the identity of their secret partner. Once he had that, he could begin closing in, find the virus, get out, and finish the mission. 

And, then?

Ghost didn’t put much credence into thinking about the future. He did not picture himself at 40, 50, 60, much older than that, reading in front of a quiet koi pond during the summer and a hearth in winter. He gave up that future when he became this. For one reason or another, heroes didn’t tend to live that long, underground heroes less so, especially once they got targeted by a villain organization, and there were no resources or even wider knowledge to save them before their untimely death. It had made the original decision easier to bear in the beginning. If he was already welcoming death in a few years' time, what was nailing the coffin now and burying it size feet?

The problem now, however, was that Ghost was thinking about the future. It wasn’t all that much different than the life he lived now. But it was changed because some nights he didn’t go to a cold temporary apartment to feed his cat and try to catch some sleep on the floor. He instead went to a golden home that was beginning to accept smiles again and was eager for his return. Hitoshi and Aizawa were always relieved to see him back from a mission, but Midoriya was excited. Ghost to parallel it.

That was where the danger lay. How fragile hopeful tomorrows were. One wrong move and it would be decimated. It required a delicate touch and careful planning.

Midoriya would one day want to know Ghost’s face. He thought that much was inevitable. No matter how much he wished it wasn’t. While he could be this and that and nothing altogether, Midoriya’s patience was not infinite, no man’s was, and he’d get curious and ask 5, 10, 15 years down the line when the danger was null, and all Ghost had left to damage was one final whispered hurt. 

It was foolish to find a coward still, trailing in his shadows. Cowards did not walk into yakuza dens with only a pair of knives, a few tricks, and a snarky comment to clue everyone in on his entry. Cowards did not continue to walk the path toward heroism, no matter how flawed and unheroic they were. They bought a house, ignored calamity outside, and worked for some tech company, so they would never have to be known outside four walls. 

But Ghost was scared of this. It was a foreign feeling, and it disgusted him, reminded him of a weak child with a weaker disposition, who needed to change before he killed anything more.

So it required a fix. An addendum.

First and foremost, Ghost always had to come first. There were too many people relying on him now that he couldn’t throw it away and start a life as a reborn man—if such a thing was even possible, Ghost never put weight into it being so. 

The second most important facet had always been Aizawa and Hitoshi. How they played a role in his life, and he in theirs. No action could be done without recognizing what impact it would have on the others. Hitoshi had already made his opinion known on the matter. Ghost had no wish to find his old mentor and ask of him what he desired; he already knew. Aizawa had warned him ages ago the only future that would come out of a choice such as this. 

Third, third, had always been more abstract. It was checking himself before he followed up with a mission because if he was killed and left on the street, he’d be found, and there would be questions abound. If he was going to die, it must be total death. No body. No question. Acceptance, only from the two he knew. Further, it was making sure there was no way he could lose a fight. No chance for a person to get their hands around his neck and dig into cloth and flesh and pull up. Not because Ghost was ruined if a face was found, but because once one person whispered it, twenty more would follow. They would presume to know what lay underneath and rumors, no matter how outlandish, had a way of leaving careful circles. It would restart a witch-hunt all over again.

Before this summer Ghost wondered if Midoriya would still care. He had hoped Midoriya didn’t, prayed that he let it go and was able to move on such as he wished. Ghost knew better now. He had been right to be cautious. But, how far would that caution lead him? He was trembling, thousands of feet in the air with only a rope under his feet that hoped for his mis-stepped. His eventual fall. The pieces were already there in place to do so. It was he, who ruined it from within, after all.

Once this was over, Midoriya would go to Shouto. Ghost wouldn’t go with him. Midoriya had to face that on his own, though the outcome of that trip dictated Ghost’s future either or. 

If Midoriya decided that Shouto was not worth crying over, if he truly was ready to move on and forget about him, then Ghost, himself, would have to leave as well. It couldn’t be as drastic. It couldn’t be death. But it left too many open questions if he stayed, too many risks.

There was a reason they were two. A Shouto and a Ghost. They were not one and the same, and in leaving Midoriya a second time, there would be no reason to narrow that fact into one. Ghost himself never did. 

It was the future Ghost was most prepared to walk. Shouto’s actions were unforgivable. Ghost was a consequence of that. 

He had to find a way to ignore the part of him that wanted to stay regardless if Midoriya made that decision. That he could have both, somehow. Let Shouto rot as he should have, ignored and hated, and let Ghost bask in Midoriya's warmth as the true hero he now was. Ghost was everything a hero should be. He had cut out all the pieces of himself that were marred and terrible. He had perfected this. 

But with just that thought, it proved that Shouto still lingered there in him, still poisoned him completely. Midoriya would be better off if Ghost left. He knew that.

However, there was a prospect, a small, tiny hope, that when Midoriya saw Shouto again, he’d want him to stay. It still couldn’t come undone immediately. It couldn’t be fixed as fast as it was ruined, but there was an opening, at least, for the rest of the truth, left currently blank and easy to avoid. If Midoriya learned Shouto again, and he stayed working with Ghost, then maybe one day they, Shouto and Ghost, could learn to come together again. A day where it would not be so jarring to see. 

It had been so long since Ghost had thought about him, he didn’t know if he could do it. He didn’t think it was possible, which made the first outcome all the more reasonable. After all, he had always known his future was meant to be a part. There was no reason to mourn what could not be. 

Still, it made these last few weeks, a mission they were barreling toward a finite end, all the more important. While he would have small moments after, in his quest to slowly part, it wouldn’t be as full nor as grand. Perhaps that was why Ghost still did things such as this. Slow a mission, he knew the next part already, to keep the conclusion from coming true. 

Though, he could still be surprised as was well as weary when the place Red Riot went to was a restaurant—a small noodle place, not at all unusual—though his company was. 

Hawks was a dangerous hero to get on the other side of. A spy in the same right as any of the best underground heroes. Once in the pocketbooks of the Hero Commission. Ghost knew better than to test his luck in trying to see if the same could be true now. 

He backed away from the edge of the roof, already under the cover of a falling sun, but made more permanent by stepping completely out of sight. Out of instinct, he started toward his gauntlet, pulling up the number for Hitoshi, only to falter before typing the number out, though Hitoshi’s demand before things went to shit, rang loudly in his ears. 

What was he missing? 

The Hero Commission tower glowed in the distance, watchful for all but him; they made that clear years ago. He turned away from it. 

“Don’t you dare,” Uraraka called behind Izuku, somewhere to his left. “It looks perfect the way it is.” Izuku dropped his hands from the tie around his neck as Uraraka appeared in the mirror beside him, throwing her arm on his shoulder to lean on him. She sighed, “you’re so lucky to be my best friend, just think I could’ve picked something ugly to clash with your hair at my wedding.”

“Pretty sure your maid of honor wouldn’t have let you get away with dressing us atrociously.”

Uraraka shrugged, pushing off of him. “Well, how does it fit? There’s still time to get it adjusted again if we have too.” She plopped down on a couch. “Also where’s your phone?”

He told her its location before taking in his appearance again. Uraraka’s wedding was two weeks away, and with the opening of his schedule, he could finally get around to tailoring his suit. Apparently, all of his measurements were off again, though Izuku didn’t feel much bigger. He couldn’t see it in his reflection. Hopefully, Uraraka was wrong, when she had sighed earlier saying they would still half to do last-minute adjustments.

He fixed the cuffs and rolled his shoulders. “It fits good. I should be able to pretend I can dance in it.” 

The suit itself was pink, not too dark, and while Uraraka had been right that it didn’t clash with his hair, he would need a haircut before the wedding. It was turning into a near untamable mess. He was about to ask Uraraka if she had any recommendations for a stylist when a flash went off. 

He blinked. “What was that for?”

Uraraka smiled behind his phone. “Don’t you think your boyfriend wants to see that you clean up nice? If you tell me his number, I won’t leave you floating on the ceiling while I go get lunch.” 

“I don’t have—We’re just. He’s a coworker,” Izuku said, dropping his face, but with the mirror ahead of him it did little to hide it.

“Okay,” Uraraka drawled, “then why were you two at one of the premier date locations in Musutafu? No one takes their coworker to a moonlit pier to eat ice cream and talk.”

“Well, maybe I do,” Izuku said. “Besides we spent the whole day picking up trash. Not exactly high romance.” 

Uraraka shrugged, continuing to scroll through his phone. Presumably looking for Ghost’s contact, but alas, Izuku never texted Ghost on his real device. And even if she could, or did, message him, Izuku was confident he could blame the other for instigating it. After all, if Ghost hadn’t taken Izuku’s phone to speak to Uraraka to begin with, she wouldn’t assume he had a boyfriend—notwithstanding the fact that all his friends already thought he was dating someone in secret. They were wrong. Izuku and Ghost were platonic. Izuku didn’t even know what he looked like; he couldn’t have a crush on someone without seeing their face—He didn’t.

“I dunno Deku-kun, taking him to a place to show off your rippling muscles sounds like a fool-proof plan to me, you know if the guy is into that sort of thing. Granted, he’s obviously into you, so he probably drools all over your stupid boy muscles.”

Izuku rolled his eyes, stepping away from the mirror. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that he does not drool over my muscles, and everything I did the other day was purely innocent. I clean up that beach all the time, I just decided to bring a friend along.”

“We lived together for six years, and not once did you ask me to help. I can make things float.”

Uraraka had a point. However, the other day had been weird. Izuku hadn’t planned to go anywhere, let alone Musutafu. Ghost had just been there—after holding Izuku’s hand for an unknown period of time the previous night—and Izuku hadn’t wanted to deal with his thoughts alone. It was easier to do that around Ghost than his other friends. Make himself believe he was a hero, instead of just acting like one. Their relationship might have been fresh, but with everything, Izuku was tipping into the point of no return, telling Ghost truly everything.

But that involved Shouto and he had since then promised himself he wouldn’t do anything about his Shouto problem until after the case was finished. A timeline of about three months—though, hopefully much less, given the severity of the case. 

If only Izuku could promise himself to be patient and not do anything rash.

“I didn’t ask you because I know how much you hate manual labor unrelated to our jobs. You would’ve just complained the whole day.”

“And let me guess, mystery boy didn’t complain once? Not even at the peak of the afternoon heat when his t-shirt and shorts stuck to his body?”

“Not once,” Izuku said, shaking the thought away of Ghost in mundane clothes. If Uraraka knew what he had been wearing, she’d probably faint. 

“A saint,” she intoned. “He sounds perfect for you.” 

“We’re not,” Izuku sighed, dropping it. 

He took one last look at himself in the mirror before he began to pull the tie off. He was careful with it. Perhaps too slow with his movements, missing when Uraraka got up from the lounge to approach him again. She stepped ahead of him, taking his hand away from the tie. They were shaking, even held in her gentle grasp. 

The humor in her expression was gone. What was left instead was a similar sorrow, empathy, that had been present ever since he woke up in that hospital seven years ago. Izuku didn’t need pity, especially now, after he knew—knew that what was broken never needed to break, and what it took to mend it was not as simple as two impossible words he had begged to become reality. He couldn’t even say as such to Uraraka, sworn to secrecy to protect Shouto, to protect his choice. 

He didn’t think he was upset with it, which was strange. It had to be strange. When Bakugou had left the agency without saying anything Izuku wanted to punch him square in the jaw. Make him hurt for hurting him. The pain he felt with Shouto leaving was ten times that, but when he thought of Shouto all he felt was grief. His body too used to his death to be anything more than dejected. 

The world failed Shouto. Izuku failed him. How was he supposed to be angry at that?

“I’m going to talk,” Uraraka said, successfully pulling the tie around his neck. She moved next to the column of buttons down the shirt. “And I want you to listen, nothing more.” 

He nodded. 

“When we were kids, I had something of a crush on you,” she smiled to herself, “shocking I know. I think most of the class did, and while I can’t speak for them, I didn’t love you because you punched bad guys the hardest, or how strong your quirk was, or even that you were a leader. 

“You were easy to love because you gave away love so freely. Anyone. No matter if they pushed you down, shoved you away. Declared you enemy one. You wanted to save everyone, and I wanted to save you. A rather lofty dream, but I was sixteen. I think I was allowed that—I was going to be a hero, after all.”

She gave a partial shrug with the same quiet smile. “But some dreams can’t come true no matter how hard you want them to be, and when you send kids to war, some of them don’t come back, and those that do manage to, don’t always come home the same. Can’t.” She paused, taking a breath, running out of buttons to undo. “Sometimes I think that I failed you. I couldn’t be what you needed me to be because I wasn’t him.” 

“Uraraka-kun.” 

“Shh, I’m not done,” she blinked a handful of times before wrapping her hand around his forearm. “You pushed us away. Not out of sight, I think you were always too scared to do that, to lose any of us again, but you stopped giving away the love you had in easy smiles. Stopped getting close to anyone you hadn’t already known in an effort to keep your heart from breaking again. I thought, maybe, it’d affect this, our jobs, but it hadn’t, hasn’t. Instead, I’ve watched you drift through the last near decade of your life a ghost, and, god Deku-kun, I was so scared to leave you alone. That if one of us couldn’t keep our eye on you, you’d be truly gone.”

She dropped his arm, to hold her own to her chest, her attention on the floor, and stepping around him. It did little to wash away the expression she held. Opened and torn, so unlike Uraraka, Izuku couldn’t quite fathom what to do, watching her pick up his abandoned clothes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Izuku said, “I’ve held you back for so long now, you don’t have to worry about me anymore.” 

“That’s a pretty silly thing to say,” she said with a wet smile. “I’m always going to worry, but that isn’t the point I’m trying to make.” She took a deep breath, pushing his clothes into his hands. “I haven’t seen you smile this much in years. There's no dark circles under your eyes. You look at me now, and I finally feel like I’m being seen like you’re back. Back for good. 

“I know it isn’t all because of one person, that you have some responsibility in this too, but I need you to be honest with yourself here. When you tell yourself you can’t possibly like this person, is it because you truly only see them as a friend, or is it because you haven’t forgiven yourself for falling in love with Todoroki-kun, and you think that’s what got him killed? Because you weren’t there to keep him safe. ”

Izuku opened his mouth to counter, but Uraraka beat him, saying, “I don’t need to know the answer. That’s for you, and potentially this new best friend of yours. Just Deku-kun, promise me one thing: You’ll allow yourself to be happy. It’s what Todoroki-kun wanted.”

With that, Uraraka left the dressing room. He knew when he eventually followed her out, the conversation would be different. Something lighter, wedding related no doubt. Izuku squeezed the pile of clothes in his hand. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. He almost wanted to call Uraraka back, ask her how she knew she was in love, in love forever.

Midoriya Izuku loved Todoroki Shouto. There was no doubt in that. He loved him too late for it to mean anything. For all he knew, his punishment for such transgression was this, a purgatory of solidarity. Shouto was unwilling to be found. His greatest love, his soulmate, to be kept apart. 

or 

Midoriya Izuku was simply scared. A broken heart too raw around the edges to even think about the possibility of falling in love again. Maybe Uraraka was right, and he was punishing himself by not allowing himself to try. Because if he put any weight against how he felt in his relationship with Ghost, it echoed with faint familiarity—and he, he didn’t know what to do with that.

Izuku filled out paperwork for his evening patrol, nursing a bruised jaw. The kid had a mean right hook, and Izuku might have felt a little bad for him, which caused him to let him go with a warning. They were only stealing some food, hardly the high crime, warranted of the pro hero. He compensated the small shop accordingly, but he still had to fill out the paperwork, explaining why he had let a criminal go with a stern talking to and nothing else.

All Might used to tell him the importance in showing people kindness. In offering them a helping hand, instead of scolding them for not being better. Izuku never focused much on the lesson because he believed himself kind, inherently. He knew when to let up, when to walk away. The different aspects that made a good hero. But his actions alone weren't universal. In the face of hundreds of heroes, what good did it do really that Izuku stepped aside on his own? 

It was simply another crack. Many mistakes because Izuku had been tired, and it was easier to let the Hero Commission step back into the role of overseer than try to redesign everything fresh out of high school. With the summer lull in crime, however, he could begin to plan. Nothing concrete. Early days, but it was a start. Izuku had to be better. Better than he had been.

There was a sector of the city, small and almost completely obsolete, that no one was ever being sent on patrol to. Tokyo was vast, and heroes couldn’t be everywhere every day but usually, someone would at least drive down a street or neighborhood at least once a week to let people know that heroes were indeed therefor them if needed. It was far past Best Jeanist’s, Izuku’s, jurisdiction, so Izuku walking out there himself would cause questions for a hero who was currently trying to avoid any suspicions.

It was probably nothing, an abandoned portion of town near a pier. Izuku didn’t know the whole city, and the closest agencies probably had their own reasons for not needing to go out there. Izuku didn’t quite know why he couldn’t sit still with that. 

He resigned himself to send a message to Ghost when someone cleared their throat. Izuku dropped the phone in his desk drawer, eyes darting up.

“Here I thought he was exaggerating about how easy it was to get into this place. I’ve been standing here for five minutes and not one glance away from that computer.”

Shinsou leaned against the doorframe, holding a plastic bag. He greeted Izuku’s open mouth with a sardonic smile. “Don’t look so surprised, Deku. I did promise you, after all, that we’d be catching up one of these days.”

Izuku really needed to change the security lock on his office door, though he was pretty sure that at this point underground heroes got off on being able to hack into places that were trying to keep them out. 

“Generally, most people send me a text, asking when I’m free and then we meet up.”

“Most, but not all,” Shinsou said, walking into the room. He dug around his bag, “you still like tuna, right,” before pulling out a sub, “while I could have easily called to ask, I didn’t want to get the standard excuse.”

“Yes,” Izuku said, clearing off his desk so that Shinsou could sit down beside him. He did, sliding Izuku his sandwich, before tearing into his. “How are you doing, Shinsou-kun,” and then, “oh, wait, I never properly thanked you for helping us out a while back.”

Shinsou shrugged. “Tracking Shimmer was kind of me and Ghost’s thing before you whisked him away to the big leagues besides I owed our mutual friend a favor.”

Izuku nodded around his sandwich, “I didn’t realize how much you guys worked together before. He never mentions it.”

Shinsou’s mannerisms could be subtle. Most of the time he was lazy sarcasm, but when he wanted to be, he could be just as impassive. Right now, for instance, his expression was unreadable.

“Working together is kind of a loose term. We help each other out is more like it.”

“Well, I’m glad, glad he has at least one friend.”

Shinsou nodded, but his expression didn’t become clearer, something cloudy behind his eyes. Izuku should have pressed more on how he was doing, really, but Shinsou spoke first. 

“If anyone knows anything about Ghost, that’s me. He’s been a pain in my ass since we graduated high school. Doesn’t know how to take a break, and more often than not, I’m stuck helping him pick up the broken pieces. But he’s my only family, now.”

It certainly sounded like the Ghost Izuku knew. Izuku was sincerely happy that Ghost had people, even if Ghost didn’t talk on end about them. It was in his actions. His awareness of the others around him, and his willingness to rely on someone else to get a job done. Izuku suspected, if pushed, Ghost would say the same about Shinsou. He might have been alone, but he wasn’t alone, alone, and for some reason or another, it gave Izuku a bit of hope. 

Izuku did his best not to immediately press Shinsou for more. They ate in relative silence, listening to the sound of late-night traffic. It didn’t seem like Shinsou had appeared for any other reason than to keep Izuku company on a slow night. Izuku couldn’t say that it was bad. Shinsou carved himself an important place in the class’s dynamic when he entered their classroom during their second year. He was an exceptional sparring partner. If anything, they should have plenty to talk about. However, here was Izuku with only one thing he actually wanted to talk about. It was silly—he was being a tad ridiculous—but if anyone knew obscure tidbits about Ghost, it was Shinsou.

“Do you know Ghost’s favorite food? It’s stupid, but he’s withholding it until I earn best friend status, but I was thinking about cooking him something. He’s been over a lot lately, and I know my favorite food comforts me.”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No,” Izuku said, brows furrowing, “am I supposed to know? Don’t tell me it actually is those fatty cheeseburgers from that fast food place we always go to.”

Shinsou shook his head, “I thought we were,” he paused, contemplating, “it’s soba.”

“Hot?”

“Zaru.” Shinsou was curt with the response. Maybe because he’d know what it’d make Izuku think of, but it didn’t matter. Cold soba was a perfect summer dish, easy to make, and something Izuku had long perfected how to cook.

“I’m sorry Midoriya, but,” Shinsou shifted in his chair, “I was under the impression that Ghost told you something, something important. Big. I wasn’t lying when I told you I know near everything there is about him.”

Shinsou searched Izuku’s expression then. He wanted Izuku to verify that he knew. 

Ghost had said it was a secret. That no one knew. No one could know. But Ghost and Shinsou were friends. It made perhaps too much sense that if Ghost had needed help or doubted for a second if he should bring this to Izuku, he would have gone to Aizawa or Shinsou. And maybe Ghost knew Izuku couldn’t just rely on him for this, that he would need another person to talk to. A person from then.

“About Shouto?”

“Yes,” Shinsou said slowly, “about Shouto. We got into an argument about it, but I told him he needed to tell you that it was the right thing to do, that he was being cruel by keeping it a secret.”

“That’s a little unfair,” Izuku said, “there’s more at stake than my own feelings. Shouto faked his own death and did everything in his power to make sure no one found out. But Ghost did, he put the pieces together of a puzzle no one else could and solved the case. He’s remarkable. 

“Hell, the other day we had to do some reconnaissance on a lead, and he followed behind a person step by step down the whole corridor without them knowing he was there. We got the information we needed, and the villain was none the wiser. It was incredible”

Izuku didn’t know when he started staring at his desk while he spoke. How he had completely forgotten his sandwich to start articulating his thoughts with his hands. And worse, he could feel an ache in his cheeks from a smile. He bit his lip to reign it in. 

“He’s a great hero. I’m lucky to be working with him, even if it is temporary. He’s also a good friend. Even if he never told me about Shouto. Besides, it’s not something he’s technically at liberty to say, but he did. He did because he knew it was what I needed to hear.” 

“Yeah, he’s something,” Shinsou said. “Did he tell you anything else about the case? Any other specific factors that stuck out to you?”

Izuku shrugged, “not much. The file’s at home in a secured place. But what’s important is that Shouto’s alive, living a civilian life, completely safe, unassuming. I’m going to visit him one of these days, soon, I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” 

“And what does Ghost say about that?”

“He told me he’d support me in whatever choice I make. Why?”

“Think Midoriya,” Shinsou’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t activate his quirk. “Why would it have been so easy for Ghost to find all this information? To have it ready and easily disposable to you? Why he has been avoiding you all these years?”

It was the first time the unsettling itch over never encountering Ghost before, was finally addressed. Ghost had been avoiding him, and at least other prominent heroes. But not every hero. Not places where he needed to be known, like with Hatsume, or the thousands of spray-painted ghosts around Japan. Izuku had thought he had just been naïve in missing the underground hero, and while that was still true, it had also been purposeful. 

Ghost hadn’t wanted Izuku to know he existed. 

But that had changed. Izuku was certain of it. Their relationship was more than a job. A mission to complete in a delicate time frame. Izuku had faith in that. He had this scarred heart that was tentatively beginning to beat again. 

It came to Izuku, though, what Shinsou was insinuating. It was kind of obvious given all that he knew.

“Ghost was the underground hero that helped Shouto escape.” 

He didn’t give Shinsou a chance to confirm, continuing with, “Ghost was searching for his brother’s killer. Who better to go to, to find, than Dabi’s most obvious target? I even”—Izuku paused things better left unsaid than a child chasing a boy who wished not to be found.

“When Ghost found Shouto, he must have realized how distraught Shouto was, or how he was still in danger of Dabi. Together they worked to make sure Shouto would never be in harm’s way again. Then he tracked Dabi down, and when he couldn’t take him out, he gave that information to us, so that we could finish the job. He’s always been there, a part of this, but he knew it wasn’t his secret to share, so he kept himself away to not risk it.”

Ghost was pragmatic. He didn’t get involved with a situation unless he had backup plans for his backup plans. Avoiding Izuku before had been out of necessity, guilt. Everyone knew how Izuku felt about losing Shouto. The tabloids hadn’t exactly been kind to him when he wasted resources, trying to find Shouto and then declared to the world that they were wrong, that Shouto was still alive. 

Izuku might have been right, but for Ghost, that earnestness would have put someone he had sworn to keep safe in direct danger. Keeping in contact with an underground hero was one thing, a Pro-ranked hero was something altogether. Izuku’s very existence elicited violence. Without meaning to, he’d paint a target on Shouto’s back for a villain to take advantage of. Ghost couldn’t have that. He protected him as well as he could, but then something changed. Ghost had changed—he trusted Izuku.

That flicker of something new warmed his heart.

“That’s a nice story,” Shinsou said, crinkling up the paper his sandwich came in, “but I think you should confirm that with him. Not me.”

“Oh, come on, Shinsou-kun, you aren’t even going to tell me if I’m even slightly close?”

“Nope,” Shinsou said, “I am staying out of it. Though, I will pick your brain over what you got for Uraraka’s wedding. Their registry is picked over, and I don’t want to be the dick who didn’t show up with anything.”

“Her wedding’s in days now.”

“I know, I know. You going to help me or what?”

“Okay,” Izuku said, pulling up his internet browser, “but only because we haven’t seen each other in a bit.”

“My savior,” Shinsou drawled. His tone finally back to normal as he pulled his chair across the linoleum to properly sit next to Izuku.

They didn’t speak of Shouto or Ghost the rest of the night.

“Hero Deku!”

“Hero Deku! What are your plans for leadership at Best Jeanist’s agency!”

“Hero Deku! What do you make about this lull in crime? The slowest summer season since your debut?”

Izuku’s grin was starting to hurt around the edges. “Over here Deku!” He faced where the voice had come from, keeping his arms loose, his hands in the pockets of his pants. A frenzy of cameras went off at once, as more reporters hollered questions, none of which were about the event. A charity gala no less.

“This way Hero Deku,” a coordinator called, ushering him to the next portion of the red carpet where he’d be faced with similar questions. Not that anyone expected him to answer. He slowed around the fence line, signing the papers that reached across it, begging. When he was a kid, he barely could stomach standing in front of a crowd, let alone fathom a crowd that adored him. But he was ranked where he was for a reason and signing posters and magazines where he was the star was a rather mundane task, given everything. 

The screams of fans and reporters blended into one voiceless noise, which made the orchestral music of the ballroom at the Hero Commissions headquarters, jarring to step into. One hundred of Japan's top heroes, all in one place, intermingling with powerful people, both parties hoping to create inroads with one another. Not exactly Izuku’s scene, and one he generally didn’t have to cater to. If there were any perks to being ranked so high, it was that he had more negotiating power to make sure his agency was well funded. Funded enough that at some point in the evening, he’d be up on stage, shaking hands with the President of the Hero Commission and donating a comically large check to help children displaced by heroics.

That was Hero Deku’s job.

Izuku was here for another.

He walked further into the room, smiling at the familiar heroes, before discretely pulling out his phone, activating the device, sparkling on his ear. It beeped, no louder than for him, letting him know it was active before Ghost’s voice filled his ear.

“You spent longer on the red carpet than I expected, Sunshine,” he said. “Do I have to worry that you actually are concerned about that rank of yours?”

Izuku plucked a champagne glass off a passing platter. He used it to hide his mouth as he responded, “it’s my job.”

“To have the life of a ranked-Pro. If I hadn’t seen your apartment, I’d expect you to be filthy rich, living in luxury.”

Izuku greeted another couple of heroes, moving through the room. There was a dance floor somewhere. Izuku was dead set on avoiding it. 

“Maybe I haven’t brought you to my mansion yet because I know you’d scuff the floors,” Izuku said once he got another chance to be discreet.

Ghost’s chuckle was low. A nice sound in his ears. “I reckon I know more about living in a mansion than you do, hero.”

That very well could have been true. Ghost had years of spy work under his belt and given everything Izuku knew about men in power, Ghost no doubt had plenty of run-ins with money protecting crime. Meanwhile, Izuku was the son of a single mother, who grew up in a small apartment in Musutafu. Money made living easier, sure, but it had never been his focus or his drive for being what he was.

“How’s optics on your end?” Izuku asked, “do you need me to do another sweep around the room?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Izuku’s mission was simple. In his pocket there were two small beads. Unassuming and easy to lose. Izuku was to engage and make small talk with two of his former classmates. The only ones, besides Kirishima, that he and Ghost had left to clear. He’d slip the small beads into his target’s pocket, and that was that. Ghost said that the devices were remote controlled, held a camera, and a tracker. Once they were in the homes of the heroes, it was only up to Ghost to position them in the right spot, and then wait for one of them to make a move, outside of the standard realm for heroes.

After tonight either they would have their next big lead or find themselves at another dead end with time rapidly dwindling. 

He had voiced his concern to Ghost, about the possibility of this not working and that they would be back to square one with no leads or clues. He didn’t want to have to stare at a screen while a villain toted around a virus to the public, making demands. The whole world, knowing that Izuku had failed, had failed them again, leaving them at the liberty of a monster eager to annihilate.

Ghost told him he didn’t have to worry about that. That they were going to succeed even if this mission proved fruitless. 

“There’s nothing you can do to mess this up,” he had said, “I know you’ll never let me down.”

Izuku played with the beads in his pocket. While walking into a place with a disguise was one thing, an easy thing, Izuku as himself, planting an object on someone else, was heavy with risk. At any moment, his target, or an onlooker, could call him out, and if he was made, the whole operation fell. It was a lot to risk on, for all intents and purposes, a rookie in this field. Izuku had almost told Ghost he trusted him too much, but he hadn’t. Instead, he had promised Ghost he could do it. 

He had to. 

He had to believe that this was going to work. 

The weight of its success was on his shoulders. Izuku had stopped world-ending phenomena before, and while usually, those people wore the faces of strangers, a hero who worked with a villain, villains, well, they weren’t much for being a hero after all.

“Hero Deku!”

Izuku turned, pulled from his thoughts. A man in a rather simple suit greeted him with a massive grin as he gripped Izuku’s hand, shaking it. When he noticed Izuku’s confusion, he laughed.

“Hashiguchi Ren,” he said, “director of the Society of Underground Heroes, pleasure to remake your acquaintance Deku.”

Izuku’s cheeks tickled with shame. “I’m sorry, director. You’ll have to forgive me.” He bowed his head. 

“No harm done. People aren’t supposed to recognize the men in my line of work, and yet,” he sighed. Izuku followed his line of sight and almost shattered the stem of the glass he was holding. “If we want to be taken seriously as heroes, we too must play to the masses.”

Ghost was here. 

Ghost wasn’t supposed to be here. 

Briefly, Izuku wondered if Ghost didn’t trust him with the case and this was him performing as a last-minute backup. However, whereas Ghost normally disappeared into the periphery, under the dizzying lights and dramatic dresses, Ghost stood out. The only one in combat gear, without a suit, muted black that seemed to take all the sparkling light around him. He was talking to sidekicks Izuku didn’t recognize, but they were bowing their heads. The conversation seemingly at an end.

Ghost searched the crowd, and Izuku held his breath, though he didn’t know what for. Ghost couldn’t emote now, just as he couldn’t anytime else, but Izuku still knew when he held the hero’s attention. Ghost didn’t linger far, closing the distance between them. 

“Hero Deku, I’d like to introduce you to our top underground hero, Ghost.”

Izuku didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Hashiguchi was the one who gave them Ghost.

“It’s okay if you don’t recognize me, Midoriya-san,” Ghost said, completely formal. “We run in different circles, though I’m a big fan of your work.” He offered Izuku his hand, while in his ear Ghost said, kept from everyone else. “If I knew our first formal introduction was going to make you speechless, I would’ve done it around more cameras.”

That shook Izuku out of it, aware, now, of the people lingering on the periphery of their conversation. The curious onlookers, most of whom treated Ghost like an urban legend. To see him in the flesh—it’d make the papers tomorrow no doubt. Hero Ghost, a man of the shadows, stepped out of them to shake hands with the Hero Commission’s chosen prince.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Izuku spoke evenly, giving Ghost his hand. “Thank-you for being able to help those I can’t reach.”

“You reach plenty,” perhaps too sincere, but Ghost played it off, leaning against Hashiguchi and asking, “now when are you dragging me to Dynamight? I'd rather get over meeting the Number One Hero while the night is still young.” Back to Izuku. “You’re friends with him, right? Do you think if I told him I’m his biggest fan, he’d sign my hand, while I scream like a crazed teenage girl?”

Izuku had to bite back his smile. He almost offered to introduce Ghost to Bakugou himself but knew it was probably better if they parted ways now rather than cause a bigger scene down the line.

“That’s enough out of you,” Hashiguchi said, “you’re supposed to be making a good impression on our hosts.”

Ghost shrugged. “Maybe this way they won’t ask me back. How anyone can survive these kinds of functions, I do not know. All seems like a waste of time to me.” He waved his hand, dismissing the thought. “But what do I know? After all, I’m not the type of hero meant for them.” He regarded Izuku with a bow of his head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Midoriya.”

The crowd of onlookers went with Ghost as Hashiguchi introduced him to more people. For a moment Izuku could only watch. Watch as Ghost interacted with other heroes in a room of hundreds who thought him off, odd. None of it, touching him. As if he was used to the unwanted stares. The jeers behind his back. Ghost was no glowing beacon, but the way the room coalesced around him, it almost seemed like he could be. 

No one knew Ghost. He had made it that way, but at the same time, everyone knew him. People talked of him as they talked about any hero. A man already known. However, whereas Izuku, and the other Pros, had history outside of these walls, Ghost was seemingly a blank slate. He could be whatever people wanted him to be. With an intrigue that couldn’t go ignored tonight.

Ghost was here. 

In public. 

And everyone knew. 

Izuku couldn’t stop himself from staring.

“He’s a rather cocky prick,” Ojiro said, materializing beside him. “It’s like everyone suddenly forgot that we’re heroes.”

“Ojiro-kun,” Izuku greeted, tearing his eyes away from Ghost. “What do you mean?”

Izuku did not know if it was luck, or some plan on Ghost’s part to know when to leave before Ojiro arrived, possibly baiting him into approaching Izuku. 

“Well, you remember that fight club, Yokai. He started this whole thing as a criminal, yet he’s walking around a room full of heroes like he’s some type of legend.”

“People can change.”

Ojiro shook his head, “not people like him. It makes you wonder why exactly he’s hiding. What terrible dark secrets he wants everyone to forget about, so he can steal a spot on a podium meant for someone else.”

Had Ojiro said this when they ran into each other last time they met at the fight club, the first night Izuku saw Ghost fight in an arena, wearing the title Yokai with no hesitation, and was celebrated for his rapid defeat of his opponent, Izuku would have been hard pressed to deny Ojiro any of it. The law indeed said vigilantism was illegal, but if that was Ghost’s only crime—once a hero with no license—then that was a silly thing to fault him for. As for the case of his identity, Ghost didn’t hide for himself, but over his fears for others, that if the world knew the eyes behind the mask, everything would burn around him. He was scared and that made him human.

“If he really wants to upgrade from underground hero work,” Izuku said, “he’s going to have to do more than shake hands with a couple politicians and pros.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Ojiro conceded, stepping ahead of Izuku, and fully taking Ghost away from his sight. 

“How are you doing, though, Midoriya? I heard through the grapevine that you might be dating someone.”

Ojiro was too mature to wiggle his eyebrows, but Izuku didn’t miss the smile he cut off with a sip out of his glass. 

“I’d be a lot better if my whole graduating class didn’t insinuate I have a secret boyfriend.” 

Ojiro shrugged. “Our class always loved gossip, not too many people to gossip about now that we’re all older and settling down.”

It was true. The stories, shenanigans, that Class A had first got into immediately following graduation, were dwindling. All of them, now, were spread across Japan, a few at agencies around the world. They were busy with their day jobs, with their relationships, families. Uraraka wasn’t the only one to be married or married. 

Izuku’s chest tightened. 

He had been there for most of the chaos, but he couldn’t quite recall the feeling of exuberance that must have been present on his first day as a real hero. He could picture the parties and the late-night trips to bars, but they weren’t tinted with longing or with sadness that this part of his life was ending. It was as if a different person had done those things all together and that Izuku had just been given access to this body a few months ago. When he breathed, he finally felt air in his lungs. When he smiled, it wasn’t fake.

Uraraka had been right, Izuku was moving on. A near decade later, because—because Shouto was alive? 

Or something else?

He ached to search out Ghost again in the crowd. Wondered that if he did, if he would find Ghost searching back. What that meant. Why Ghost was really here. 

“I was, well, this is kind of embarrassing, but I was hoping to catch you here tonight,” Ojiro said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You see, my publicist was hoping I’d get a picture of you to post on our website. The agency needs the extra traffic and well yeah,” Ojiro trailed off.

Izuku remembered the mission. His mission.

“Sure,” Izuku said, reassuring Ojiro with a smile. “Do you just need a selfie, or do we have to go find a camera?”

“A phone should work,” Ojiro bowed his head again, “and preferably yours. I sort of busted my phone’s camera the other week.”

Izuku was quick to agree. It allowed him to dig in his pockets, plucking a bead and hiding it in his palm, while he gave Ojiro his phone. The other man thanked him again, pulling up the camera app while Izuku counted down from ten. All he needed to do was drop the bead, and it would finish the rest. He needed to be the spy, Ghost thought of him as. The hero Izuku wanted to be. He didn’t want to fail anymore. He needed to be brave. 

The flash startled him into blinking. 

“Ah, that’s not my best look. Can we try that again,” Ojiro asked. 

Izuku nodded. Swallowed. He was running out of time. This was a fantastic opportunity. Ojiro might suspect something was wrong if he came to bother him again later in the event. He might question Izuku’s character. Heroes didn’t spy on their friends. They didn’t think that they were capable of working for the enemy because they had fallen on some hard times. Heroes offered helping hands. They saved. 

Ojiro’s arm was heavy, pressed over his back, which was warm from Ojiro’s tail as it lazily waved back and forth. Izuku twisted the bead between his forefinger and thumb, hidden behind Ojiro’s loose stance, yet close enough that if he stretched, it would fall securely into his pocket.

“Smile,” Ojiro said, and Izuku watched his own reflection morph into something ugly. Hideous and unwell. The type of smile that came from lying and knowing you were caught. Only Ojiro didn’t have any bad words to say about him, shuttering several before pulling completely from Izuku’s grasp. 

The bead burned between Izuku’s fingers. Izuku only pressed against it harder. Weeks, months, of shadowing Ghost, and all Izuku got for it was being somewhat better at sneaking. Ghost didn’t hesitate when he needed to get things done. Kacchan hadn’t hesitated when the mission had gone sour and he was the only one left. Shouto hadn’t hesitated when he decided death was preferable to the living.

“Are you feeling okay,” Ojiro asked, glancing up from Izuku’s phone. 

“Yeah,” Izuku said. “Do they look okay?”

“Yes, they look great.” Ojiro said. “Thanks again for doing this, I’m just waiting for them to send.”

Izuku nodded. It was now or never. He had to. He had to. Ghost believed in him. He gave him this mission. He was out there, somewhere on the ballroom floor as Izuku’s distraction. A way to get other eyes off of him while he placed the tracker on Ojiro.

Izuku couldn’t see Shouto again until the mission was over. He couldn’t get his answers until this traitor was caught and the virus was found. He had to. 

“Okay, they look like they’ve all sent.” Ojiro said, handing Izuku back his phone. Izuku smiled as he accepted it. 

He needed to. 

Izuku slipped the phone into his pocket. It fell against the other bead. The other option. There were two spies here tonight. As if Izuku thought, he could fit into that mold nicely. 

But he had to. 

He offered Ojiro his hand. The other hero easily took it. There was no need to be cautious. This was Hero Deku. Japan’s Symbol of Peace. The one to defeat ultimate evil and suffer no losses as a consequence. 

The one with unshakable morals 

the liar

He had to. 

Izuku pulled Ojiro into a hug. He said, “Don’t be a stranger, Ojiro-kun. If you need anything, anything at all, please, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I will,” Ojiro said. "I promise."

Izuku had long accepted the fragility of promises, lingering only in their touch to pretend go through the motions of grief and regret the moment the bead slipped from his fingers and fell where it should, completely concealed and forgotten, inside a hidden pocket. 

Funny, how after watching Ojiro struggle to part the sea of people in the ocean of men and women around them, it didn’t seem as such a finality as it was supposed to be. 

If heroism was truly doomed, then it would be like this: rotted in the core, not because people were bad, but because they had no choice but to make bad decisions to keep themselves afloat. To survive. A byproduct of a system Izuku helped to perpetrate, year after year, smiling with each medal around his neck. Each Number 3, left wanting for 1.

Izuku did not return to searching for Ghost now. He knew if he found him, the other hero would recognize defeat in his shoulders, in his stance, and search for him a way out. Muddying his own picture, while he decided in an instant what they were to do about Sato. 

Sato

Annd Kirishima, still. 

They still didn’t know, did they? 

They could only presume based on facts and numbers. The likelihood of how easy it was to break a man, already defeated. 

Was it better to wish all the heroes here to be infallible as childhood wonders made it seem or to pray that this was indeed the next lead the case needed in order for them to succeed in the end?

Izuku did not know. He could not fathom an outcome that didn’t cause him to stare at his ceiling and not think himself useless, pitifully useless, in his endeavors as a hero.

He was spinning, half walking blind. He knew he was going to have to talk to Ghost about this. These people were his friends. They might not think of Izuku much as one, but he still cared. He still wanted them to succeed and succeed well. For All for One’s prophecy about the future to not ring true.

Somehow, he made it to the bathroom without falling further. Merciful in its barren state. He found the furthest stall and sat down. He took out his phone, but his eyes blurred in trying to focus on it. Anyone he could call was already here. They were mingling, naive to the terror that lurked just on the other side of the horizon. He ached to press his finger to his earring, an alert signal for Ghost, and to let the hero come here, sit on the tile floor in front of him, and tell Izuku exactly what he needed to hear. He wasn’t awful. He wasn’t vile. But the longer Izuku pressed on that repeating thought, all Izuku could remember was what happened when Izuku was not. 

It just wasn’t about saving the day. If someone found out that Izuku didn’t trust the profession, a specific few heroes, it would ruin their careers. Ruin their lives. Would it all still be worth it in the end? Dispassionate logic said, yes. One less villain in the world made for a safer place. It made sleeping easier and anger less of a burden to bear. A sirens call of relief that Izuku wished he could grab onto and believe. He knew exactly why this troubled him so. The last time he had pretended to be a type of hero he was not, was when, was when, was—

“ Hello? I’m sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave a name and a message, I’ll get back to you. Thank you for your call.” 

Izuku watched a droplet fall from his face to the screen of his phone, brightening it and the number he had unwillingly dialed. He raced to press the end call button. The phone returned to his list of contacts and the unassuming name he gave it. A sushi place no one would ever question to be buried enough in his contacts that he thought he might forget it. 

The file was safe. The file was secured. Izuku pretended he didn’t yearn to reach for it every other second he was in his apartment alone with nothing but red streetlights and dirty ramen bowls. 

Shouto knew, too, that heroes weren’t perfect. That some fell from grace. That some should never have been heroes in the first place. But where people had ignored the villain masquerading as a hero in Shouto’s life, Izuku could no longer pretend to be naïve about the dishonest heroes now. Even if they were his friends, especially if they were his friends.

Another tear followed his thumb. He pressed call again and shakily held his phone up to his ear. It rang seven times before going to voicemail. 

Hello?

Shouto sounded as Shouto sounded in Izuku’s dreams. Stuck in a place he could not reach. He pressed his fist to his mouth and bit around his knuckle. Bit hard, so he could focus. So he could hear this. 

Thank you for your call. 

And tone, awaiting Izuku’s responding message back, awaiting the words Izuku had not yet prepared to say to Shouto back, awaiting eternity so it seemed.

I loved you once. Could you still love me?

Izuku dried his hands with too much paper towel. His reflection was more sane. A comfortable blankness with an unevenness to it that Izuku could blame on champagne without dinner when he took his seat at the head of the room, clapping gently for speeches and awards that boasted untouchability. He released a slow breath and started back out to the door. He was only partially done, after all.

He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going when he stepped out of the men’s restroom, running straight into the President of the Hero Commission. He steadied her before she fell, a litany of apologies in his mouth once he was certain she wouldn’t. 

The president only smiled, patting his shoulder and saying, “it’s all good, Deku. I don’t break that easily.” 

Izuku took a step back, nodding. “I am sorry, I should have been watching where I was going. There is no excuse for being self-absorbed.”

“I’m sure you have a lot on your mind and nothing’s amiss. I was looking to speak to you as it was.” 

Izuku didn’t dwell on what happened the last time she wanted to speak with him. Best Jeanist’s office was already empty with the memo that Izuku could graduate to his floor whenever he wished. The agency was his now, after all. Hero Deku’s agency to welcome a new bolstering future. Izuku had yet to come to terms with what he wanted his future to be. 

“If you’re not busy,” Izuku tried. 

“I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I was. Walk with me.”

Izuku did as she asked, possibly catching concerned black in the opening between the hall and the ballroom, but he was moving too fast to be certain. The president led him to a balcony. He recognized some of her aides and a few low-ranked heroes already out there, but they slowly dispersed when she entered and walked toward the railing, Izuku trailing after her.

Tokyo was alive and electric, pulsating in its night. If there was a positive consequence to the lack of villain attacks this summer, it was that people felt more empowered to leave their homes and live. Of course, they were in the center of all the buzz. There was always this bright sheen to it. This belief that anything could happen if you caught a wish on a star through the light pollution.

“How is Ghost?”

The question brought Izuku’s eyes from the sky. 

“Good. We make a good team.” 

“A better team, then you and Dynamight?”

Izuku couldn’t answer that without feeling as though he was failing someone with the truth. 

“I’ve known Kacchan all my life,” Izuku said. “I trust him with it.” 

The president could read his answer from that. Izuku didn’t want to admit how much he had come to rely on Ghost these last few months. He didn’t have a reason to lie but avoiding the truth was just as well. The Hero Commission had a way of taking from him all he wished to keep. 

“I don’t mean to put you in this position, Deku, and I am sorry that I have, but how much do you trust him, Ghost?”

“He’s a hero.” 

“Heroes can only be afforded so much. You know that.” 

Izuku did, but how well the Hero Commission knew of it, he couldn’t say. In a way, the Hero Commission could profit off of broken heroes; it created them villains if they fell far enough. Villains with professional training and quirks they spent their formative years honing. Perhaps, Izuku should consider himself lucky that all this potential hero traitor had done was leak information to the enemy and not become the enemy themselves. It was what most villains nowadays were lacking, super quirks at the likes of Shigaraki and Dabi that could decimate whole towns in a matter of seconds. It was why Izuku had grown almost bored in his profession until Ghost showed up and unveiled a whole world of additional upheaval.

“I trust him enough for this mission,” Izuku said. “We will get it done.” 

“That is ultimately what I am worried about. Ghost was supposed to hasten the process, but I fear we’ve seen little tangible progress made, and after Dynamight’s departure, I’m starting to wonder if more oversight is necessary to make sure we achieve ultimate victory. If a villain unleashes a bioweapon—

“They won’t.” Izuku said. Firm."It won’t get that far. We already have a plan. That’s why Ghost is here tonight, actually. He’s a spy, right? Consider him spying.” 

Izuku expected her to ask for additional follow-up. Ask him who he was spying on in a room filled mostly with heroes. Mostly being the keyword there. Izuku hoped she assumed that one of the businessmen with deep pockets had decided to take up funding yakuza in their spare time, and Ghost figured that catching them off guard here was the easiest way to find his answers. If she assumed a hero, then she might assume they were coming after her and the Hero Commission itself, and while Izuku knew that things radically needed to change within the organization, it did no one any good to start that argument in the face of a potential pandemic. 

However, all the president did was nod, and then say, “I would prefer to have more insight on your investigation going forward to make sure it’s still proceeding on time as planned.” 

Izuku agreed. It did make sense. They were approaching the high point of summer. They needed to wrap it up.

“Without notifying our mutual friend.”

That was harder to agree to without precedent. 

“Ghost and I are working this case together. He often has more information than I do and can explain it a lot better than me.” 

The president dropped her voice. She lowered her head. She said. 

“Ghost cannot be trusted. A wolf does not idly sit in a flock of lambs.”

What threat was a hero among heroes? Izuku could see his answer in the shaded look of her eyes as she backed away. Whatever retort Izuku had that was hasty, pressing, and urgent, Ghost was a hero, I don't like your tone, she already expected and knew. It was why she said it. This was more than about the case stagnating, this was about something else, something unknowing that Izuku didn't know about Ghost's relationship with her and the organization. But it still left him with an uneasy question, what was it that she feared about Ghost to make her say such a thing to him, Izuku, his ally and partner. 

“Madam President,” an aide called from the doorway.

The president looked to her, unbothered and perfectly straight beside him in a soft black dress. Not a speck out of place for what she had requested Izuku do. Nothing more or less. He was just to keep her informed of all their next steps because she was concerned about the mission, about the efficacy of Ghost, that was all. 

“The ceremony is about to start. They are expecting you up on stage in five.” 

“Thank you, Nami, I’ll be right out.”

The aide bowed before disappearing back to the shadows. Izuku’s collar of his shirt itched. He didn’t rub it, slipping his hand back into his pocket as he said, “shall we,” indicating toward the door to head back to the festivities. 

The president nodded, allowing Izuku to slip his hand behind her back and lead her to where they were both supposed to go. Izuku had a speech to give too, after all, praising this organization for all that it did and would do. 

“I know you don't believe me," she said before the fully stepped out of cooling night air. "You have honor, Deku, much more than normal men. But I implore you to at least take what I say into advisement going forward."

Izuku let silence do whatever agreeing that needed to be done. Izuku didn't believe her. Ghost had done nothing so far in his relationship with Izuku to think that he couldn't trust him, to think that he shouldn't.

The president pressed her lips together and tilted her head. "Ask him to take off his mask. If he does, then my fears are unfounded.” 

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Trust runs both ways. Who do you think he talks to when you’re not around to listen?”

Izuku did not know. He did not care to know. Because what the president was implying was absurd, toying the line with traitorous. She was smart to not say it outright. Izuku might not have been so kind if she had, creating a doubt where there didn’t need to be one and stirring up trouble when she needed strong-willed allies. 

But Bakugou had questioned Ghost too, and now Bakugou was gone. 

No. 

Bakugou was just out of reach. Izuku could still contact him and press him for details, find out really if the president’s implication about Ghost’s merits as a hero held any validity, or if she just liked the taste of the word villain on anyone who didn’t uphold the standards of hero that her organization sought to have total control of who the title was made for.

“I’ll keep you updated,” Izuku said, pressing his palm more firmly on her back to get her to start walking again. “You have my word.” 

And somehow, the second lie Izuku gave that night was not as hard to swallow as the first. The black bead invisible, stuck in the folds of her dress.