Chapter Text
Mornings are approaching the chill of winter.
There is a subtle spray in the air, a humid condensation of the early morning, evidence of fallen dew. Minoru, who has been a solid sleeper all his life, finds that his body is unwelcome to these new sensations of restlessness. All through UA, and even beyond - while no stranger to the rare moments of insomnia - he has never actually been wide awake into the early morning without purpose. Only ever on a mission, or on the rare days when the class decided on a mass sleepover, has he ever witnessed those twilight hours. And in those times, his mind had always been engaged with something, distracted by friendly shenanigans, or tense in mild precaution. This listlessness - this inability to dissolve into oblivion no matter how much he forces his exhausted eyelids shut - is new.
His phone buzzes.
It's been five days.
The papers on the table mock him, half-completed, full of some incomprehensible scrawl that Minoru is ashamed to say even his parents wouldn't recognize as his own. He can't make sense of what he's written, and can't seem to find the drive to complete what's left.
He has no energy. Hasn't had any for a while. There just isn't enough in him to bring forward in order to accomplish any productive task. The hours and minutes warp into each other, sometimes stretching out seconds into eternity, other times flying by with a speed that leaves Minoru behind. When he inevitably falls asleep out of pure exhausted boredom, he sees strange, distressing images: the whizzing of electricity, a loud crackle that turns into hysterical laughter, flashes of scales and sharp teeth, the squelch of blood from the blubbering body, her face covered by her hair, the smear of soot and dust all over the walls, adrenaline-fueled chases super-imposed over the constant thwump of his terrified heartbeat. He startles awake falling off precipices, seizing from phantom pains, and from the terrors of his own imagination. In the two minutes it takes to calm himself down, to readjust to reality, he realizes what it means to truly wish oneself dead.
That thought doesn’t come alone, accompanied by a whole host of complicated arguments. Minoru’s pathetic truth is that he is entirely too good at being his own devil’s advocate.
His phone buzzes.
He has no appetite either. Once a day, he will drag himself out of bed or whatever surface he's heaped his pathetic self on, and head lethargically down to the konbini for something quick and easy. It's not that he's unaware how bad this is in the long run, or unable to see the effects objectively, but it is that he's so far removed from himself that he cannot bring himself to care.
Recently, he's felt the dissonant sensation of simply being a brain in a meat sack that no longer feels like his own.
Surprisingly, the one habit he always struggled with suddenly becomes routine. Every afternoon he sits down to vigorously oil his knees and other painful joints. In the pool of slow-moving clock hands that make up his day, this is the one window of normalcy.
He's also avoiding his phone like it's his conscience. It buzzes again.
Has been avoiding it since he came back from the service.
Her funeral had been some time ago. Yesterday? The day before?
.... Okay, so his recollection of time isn't all that great or whatever. This particular inability is very low on his current list of priorities, honestly.
The ceremony itself hadn't been much of anything. Minoru was quite surprised at how private and humble it had been. Her parents were truly as well-off as she'd told him, and just being on the estate was proof enough, but for all the landscaping and the giant windows of the overlooking house, the couple's quiet grief had been very real.
He hadn't attended officially, obviously, even though he had received a handwritten invitation. He much preferred to sneak in behind Shouji and settle somewhere in the bushes at the back. Yet another win for the midgets!
It hadn’t even been too difficult, or taken any more skills than usual, because security had been lax and no one questioned those coming and going in colors of black. Minoru hadn't glimpsed the casket or been able to make out her features in the displayed picture on account of being too far away, but he could hear the priest chanting.
Her father was stone-faced and walked around rigid with tension, as if strapped to an active bomb. Minoru may have thought him unbothered if he hadn't remembered that this was Papa-san, who badgered his wife about feeding the birds and reported his daughter missing the day she had been captured not even two hours later. His wife only appeared for the actual ceremony. Minoru’s too far away to see, but he has an uncomfortable feeling her eyes had been entirely red. She had walked straight-backed like her husband, but where he seemed weighed down and wound up, she looked…fine. Post-funeral rush, the grandparents put a hand on each of her shoulders, and the woman who’d looked, up ’til now the epitome of put-together, blinked rapidly as the tears slid down her face, speeding up and increasing with each stuttered inhale. Within minutes, her composure completely crumpled, and Minoru hurried away, the heartbroken wails of a loving mother trailing him out of the estate, haunting his steps like Hansel’s breadcrumbs all the way home. Every time he thinks of the poor girl who’d had the misfortune of needing his help, the terrible noise of her mother’s pain echoes in his ears.
He finds he will do anything to make it stop.
His phone buzzes.
But he does wonder what it’s like - to have raised a child with such attention and care, sleepless nights, endless effort and adoration - only for them to die such a preventable death in the dank underground caves at the hands of malicious adults who wanted to make a quick yen. He wonders if her parents ever hate themselves for having her, and have this be her fate, as much as he hates himself for being her hero.
The hero who got her killed.
His phone buzzes.
If only he had not banged the door. Oh, if only. If only he’d opened the door cautiously. If only he’d checked in through the window. Oh, and if only he could take it back. If only he could take it back. If only he could take back. Everything. Everything ever. Everything that had brought him there.
If only he’d been faster, if only he’d checked on her first, why didn’t he check on her first? Oh if only he’d been taller, to see through the window, if only faster to get there before the others could, if only he hadn’t been assigned such an unsuitable case, if only they had made it easier on him, if only he hadn’t taken the stupid job! If only he’d said no when they’d come to recruit him, if only he hadn’t thought so highly of himself, he’d be right back at his stupid paper-pushing desk, making no difference on anybody and causing no one’s unending misery, killing no one’s children!
Oh if only. If only if only if only if only if only if only.
His phone buzzes. He lashes out his arm in a tidal wave of screaming anger, swiping it off the table along with all the unfinished reports. Something clatters to the floor, and he only has a second to register how alike it is to the sound of her button falling to the floor-
-before he’s back in the tunnels five days ago, two seconds ago, a lifetime ago.
His phone buzzes, muffled under the papers.
It wrenches him cruelly out of his fog, in which he had descended so willingly, and it is a terrible reminder that life has not stopped for anyone else. People are happy out there, somewhere, and Minoru is not allowed to feel so irrationally angry about it.
Slowly, painstakingly, his mind protesting with every movement, he reaches for the phone and flips it around.
Group Chat: All That Glitters is Aoyama
fidelity feduciary bank (1:46 pm): I would still like to offer my house. It is private and has everything we need
emergency contact (2:00 pm): And thank you for your offer! But I think it would be remiss of us not to make our own arrangements given that we have had our reunions there three times previously.
llama llama duck (2:00 pm): thanks vp but prez is right! ive seen a little park near my agency perhaps we could rent it out?
Pooja (2:01 pm): veto. the damn paps are like bloodhounds theyll sniff us out
youre askin for it (2:01 pm): honestly i dont mind your house momo consider me down
yer DYIN fer it (2:01 pm): gasp
getoff.my.back (2:02 pm): you broke the bakusquad code!
what is this behavior (2:02 pm): ^@yer DYIN fer it what is this behavior
babydoll (2:02 pm): this is why nothing ever gets done in this family. can any of you stay on topic for more than two seconds? about the meeting
emergency contact (2:02 pm): Thank you Shouji! If anyone has any alternative places in mind, please do send it here!
Justice Bieber (2:03 pm): smh six years Ive known you iida, SIX and yet you still text like a boomer where did you go wrong mina @getoff.my.back
getoff.my.back (2:03 pm): screw you jirou whyd you have to bring up my trauma I TRIED OKAY get off my back
Sword Art Online (2:03 pm): What a mad banquet of darkness.
Bingo was WHOSE name-o (2:04 pm): please stop. my boss just asked who was blowing up my phone and i panicked and told him midoriya shattered his limbs again
getoff.my.back (2:04 pm): but mido is live rn on tv?! hes giving an interview????
bingo was WHOSE name-o: (2:04 pm) I KNOW OKAY i panicked!!! sue me!! stop blowing up my phone!!!
Sword Art Online (2:05 pm): What a truly mad banquet of darkness.
bingo was WHOSE name-o (2:05 pm): you dysmorphic pigeon im coming to get you just you wait i know where you sleep im gonna hide there and kill you when youre least expecting it
fidelity feduciary bank (2:05 pm): sigh i do wonder how aizawa-sensei dealt with any of us
discount aizawa (2:08 pm): he says with a cracking glass of bourbon in a crystal champagne glass with three benadryl first thing in the morning. in that order. and it has to be a crystal champagne glass
emergency contact (2:10 pm): Why specifically crystal?
discount aizawa (2:10 pm): idk prez?? i dont make the rules???? ask him???
emergency contact (2:15 pm): I just might.
fidelity feduciary bank (2:15 pm): oh dear
talk no jutsu (4:30pm): whatttttt @Bingo was WHOSE name-o Ojiro-kun!! :( :’((((
Pooja (4:31pm): ha serves you right loser
talk no jutsu (4:31pm): kacchan you have NO right you are literally in the hospital right now! for broken bones! stop coming for me!!!
Minoru scrolls through, his heart giving little zings of the same, familiar endearment at his friends’ antics, letting their bad internet humor and dumb arguments wash over him and lift his spirits.
His phone buzzes in his hands.
discount aizawa —> me
discount aizawa (1:32 pm): its midday. make sure to eat if you havent. send me your address
discount aizawa (4:30 pm): they wont tell me your address bastard camou says breach of privacy or sum such
disocunt aizawa (4:32 pm): mineta this isnt the time
disocunt aizawa (4:32 pm): address now
:me (4:32pm)
Im fine i ate
discount aizawa (4:33 pm): surprise i dont believe you. mineta this isnt healthy you have to come for screening tomorrow. are you coming?
:me (4:33pm)
maybe. idk. let me rest man its been a lot
disocunt aizawa (4:33pm): whatever
Crisis thus averted he lets the phone drop from his hands.
Even replying to Shinsou had been so tiring that he was already willing to drop right back into bed.
Or the couch. Whichever was the easiest to stumble out of.
He pries apart his gummy lids at five in the morning, shaking off the weird, hollowed-out feeling of sleeping for too long but not long enough. Sits up, stares at the TV, the messiness of his living room.
The textured paint on his wall is fascinating. It draws him in, deeper and deeper, until he is lost.
He comes back into awareness with a crash, as if someone took his consciousness and punted it back into his body.
He quickly flicks his eyes to the clock. Eight a.m. Four hours this time. Not the best, but not the worst either.
While he sat here, the city had awoken around him, all the same sounds filtering in through the windows and the thin walls. The couple who are obsessed with late-night activities are thankfully involved in a fight at the moment. He thinks if he had to deal with moaning this early in the morning, he might just give up on life for good. The demon grandma has not banged his floor once in five days. He wonders if she’s okay.
He tries to shuffle off the couch and nearly falls on his face. He definitely twists his elbow, but whatever. Turns out sitting in one position for four hours with no movement is not great for vertically-challenged people with aching joints.
This is the first breakfast he’s had in a while. His sense of taste is not fully back yet, so the flavor rings dully of salt and rice. At least the crunch of seaweed is satisfying.
He tries to work on the report again and manages to make some headway. Most of it requires him to look up protocol on the agency portal, and he cannot fathom doing such a thing at the moment. It seems too insurmountable a task - too boring, too taxing - for his exhausted brain. Instead, he switches on the TV. He entertains himself with the idea that he is at least recovered enough to do this: watch hero news (without getting triggered and immediately switching it off this time!) and catch up on recent events around Japan. This takes him about an hour. Then he’s back to trading silent glares with the back screen, dithering, not willing to move, not willing to sit still.
The noise of the city outside his silent, unmoving apartment lent itself to a certain type of disassociation; one that made Minoru feel like a fly in a giant soup bowl, a neverending cycle of being deposited in and out of space, without warning or consent.
His tiny shoebox apartment was a time machine, racing through the hours, unceasing, and uncaring of whether it's occupant had moved with it.
Sick of it all, and itching to get away, Minoru climbed out of his pyjamas, wrinkling his nose at the ‘lived-in’ smell of them, throwing them into the laundry with determination to change his clothes every day from now on, and slipped into a new pair of sweatpants and his running shoes.
Walking into the city was like a burst of fresh air. For a moment, Minoru forgot the five days of hell he’s just spent, the mission, the report, the nagging reminder that he needed to call his family, his reluctance to talk to anyone.
Overcome with sudden energy and purpose, he slid into a run, shoes pounding against the pavement, cold air in his lungs, the smells of exhaust fumes, baking bread, and fried tempura snaking into his nostrils, reminding him that he was alive.
Maybe she had died that day, but it was Minoru who’d been living like the dead. He’s been in mourning. For whom? For her, or for himself? It was hard to distinguish if his grief had been only for her, or for his own future too. He had known ever since he’d crashed into that door that he’d never be able to escape these memories as long as he lived.
A fresh perspective brought the dread of returning to his shoebox prison, but he powered through.
It’s okay. He’d open the window, air out the apartment. He’d do some laundry, take a shower.
It’d be okay. He wouldn’t accomplish it all today, but as long as he did some of it. He could start living again.
When he arrived back at his door, he blasted open the window and went to take a shower. His vision was hazy with sweat, and he’d overworked his muscles, but he was stubbornly holding onto whatever piece of determination and purpose he’d managed to amass during the run.
It felt good to move his body, even if he kind of also wanted to die. There was a familiarity in stretching his body to the limits, a callback to his days of impassioned youth in a hero school full of baby soldiers wanting to prove they were the best. If anything, having Midoriya, Bakugou, Kirishima, and Todoroki all in one class at least made 1-A very casual around the topic of running their bodies to the ground. Healthy coping mechanisms? This was a course for jocks who went through the worst of life’s trials by beating emotion into submission with their fists until either it withered away, or they were carted off to Recovery Girl on a stretcher.
His mind wanders back to the discussion in the group chat. This year’s bi-annual reunion was special because it was a joint celebration for the official opening of the DynaDeku agency Midoriya and Bakugou had been planning since school. The news had come while he was still undercover, but it’s not like he hadn’t known. He also knew that there was no way he’d miss the celebration either. He was tempted to, but after half a year of absence, Minoru would admit wholeheartedly that he missed the chaos of their gatherings and the warmth of their friendship. Aside from these gatherings, he didn’t see them often, not even for hero missions, because of various reasons like location, agency, and simply not being the type of hero assigned to missions like theirs. But if he was being totally honest, it was also because, unlike all the others, he didn’t have a dedicated friend group, or a best friend among them to call up at all hours.
If you’d asked first-year Minoru who his best friend was, he’d have said Denki without a second thought, maybe even that Sero was starting to warm up to him. But things didn’t go the way Minoru had planned at all. First year was a total mess. Then the war came and left everyone and everything in its path broken.
Healing took a long time.
By the time they’d stumbled their way to second year, Denki was a full-time member of the Bakusquad, which had become a tight-knit, codependent little group that took up a majority of his time. He no longer flitted from classmate to classmate, showering everyone with his little bursts of electricity, annoying someone to death, and making another’s day. He no longer skipped up to Minoru’s desk to chatter inanely about the pesky inconveniences of his day.
And to be fair, Minoru understood his reasons; being attached to any one of Aizawa’s Problem Children left little time for anyone else. Just keeping them close and out of trouble - or following them into it, *cough* the Dekusquad *cough* - was a full-time job. It even required monetary resources, if Todoroki’s regular contributions to the Deku Bone Protection Club were to be believed.
At first, Minoru thought it was slightly satirical, or like, a bit, that everyone was just super into. Second term was largely him realizing that, no, this was not a joke that everyone was in on; it was really that the class was now divided neatly into two and the ones left in between.
Still slightly baffled by the way dynamics had changed so swiftly, Minoru found himself grasping at any opportunity to spend time with the people who hadn’t signed off all their lives to either of the squads. However, he discovered a few weeks into second term that there had been a window where everyone had reshuffled into the new status quo, or struck up friendships, cliques, pairings, or relationships that he’d entirely missed, still stuck in the disorienting loop of denial. The revelation that he was too late, that he’d missed his chance to be close to anyone, that he’d depended too much on Denki coming around, was unwelcome.
Man, ‘unwelcome’ was an understatement. It was a fresh hell, that second term. He’d grappled with this news very clumsily, dealing with it like it was a physical opponent he could punch into oblivion, or stick shut. It didn’t work. The hours at the gym paid off, but they did not replace his loneliness, just made him sadder. Now that he’d finally found the motivation to put in as many hours as the others, he had no one to care. No one to notice, to compliment, or simply cheer him on.
Figures.
All this ‘screw up handsomely then try to save the day only to realize you’re too late for a redemption arc’ was very much a Mineta thing. He and his loved ones. They were a plucky set, but they weren’t very lucky. Any time they took any risks, they always lost something along the way.
Minoru guessed that’s how the world worked when you didn’t have the benefits of overly-indulgent plot armor. He was well-aware of his own side-characterness, thank you. But it was seriously messed up that it meant he had no one to spend any time with, no one to pick him first in practical exercises or group projects, and no inside jokes to share with anyone.
It was not as if the others isolated him purposefully, Minoru would like to clarify. As previously established, it was due to his own dumbassery that he had no place in the new dynamics, but it was also annoying as all heck that no one could have just adopted him, like what happened with Kouda or Tokoyami or Jirou.
Jirou regularly got together with the band members to keep up their meetings, Tokoyami had been affectionately bullied into a friendship with Aoyama, who could NOT keep his hands to himself when it came to people he thought needed more glitter, and Hitoshi was only there to commiserate their emo-ness together instead of suffering under Aoyama’s obnoxiousness all alone.
Kouda and Shoji, bound by their experiences at Central Hospital during the war, had formed a strong bond and could often be found in each other’s rooms, providing silent, protective company.
Momo, Tsuyu, Hagakure, and, surprisingly enough, Ojiro and Sato, had a whole girls’ group thing going and - despite how much the boys despaired - refused to call it ‘the girls plus the boys’ or anything other than ‘the girls’. They claimed it was the perfect descriptor for their group and that the male members should be honored. Privately, Minoru thought they weren’t wrong. Ojiro and Sato were silent and masculine, but as they opened up to their friends, Ojiro revealed himself to be sensitive, tender-hearted, and rather prone to giggling at the worst of times. He also had every girl of UA falling head over heels if he gave them his full attention for more than a minute. Sato was, as ever, a pillar of untainted mental stability, which the whole class learnt to rely on at all times. His room was their official hub, and his cakes were their bread and butter. Need anything? Go to Sato. Feeling itchy, dizzy, uncomfortable in your skin, or in any way out of place? Go to Sato. In no time, Sato went from occasional pillar of strength to designated Mama Bear status, flanked by Bakugou and Momo.
Turns out, going through a war changed people differently.
And that was a whole new thing, too. After the war, Uraraka, Todoroki, Kouda, Denki, and Momo all showed signs of increased aggression. Their styles evolved into full-frontal attacks, and they ran head-first in hero trainings like they were trying to channel First Year Bakugou.
On the other hand, entirely, Bakugou himself, as well as Tsuyu, Mina, Tokoyami, Iida, and Kirishima began to calm down. Tusyu had never been particularly excitable, but she found new ways to use her abilities that required strategy over her natural instincts, and the rest were much the same.
To Minoru’s disappointment, Iida’s hand-chopping was reduced to about 30% of what it used to be, and took away his early-morning prime-time entertainment for the rest of the year. Mornings felt heavier without his booming voice, loud gestures, and stupid rules. He was still very punctual and an overachieving stickler, of course, but much of what made this habit amusing was gone.
Minoru was sad to see it go.
He always said that the obnoxious attitudes of his classmates and their colorful personalities were what made up for their tendency to get into so much trouble.
After all they had experienced, it was hard to observe the tangible realities of what had changed within them due to something that had been none of their faults. It was hard to think of how things would never be the same again.
If one decided to look, the clues were everywhere: in Bakugou’s red eyes, Kirishima’s sunken cheeks and undyed roots, in Tsuyu’s scarred tongue and sheared hair, in Mina’s burnt palms. In Tokoyami’s perpetual tears and heavy silence as he grieved for his mentor’s quirk. Just seeing Tsuyu’s unique little bow no longer connect, hanging erratically behind her head sent a quarter of the class into devastated tears, Minoru included. And Class 1-A would always call Iida ‘Prez’ and Momo ‘Vice Prez’, but they all knew, despite their fierce loyalty, that there wasn’t a position for that anymore. They were an ungovernable, unthethered, indivisible bunch that had changed the world, but they weren’t anything close to the normal students they pretended to play.
Tokoyami, Mina, and Bakugou, of all people, came to the realization that they all needed to learn restraint and control over their quirks and their impulses, because, for various reasons, they were all holding themselves back from success. Midoriya was overly enthusiastic to provide them with detailed analyses regarding what they could do with their quirks or support items, and it served as a fun little project to keep him distracted through the many, many days of his hospitalization.
Minoru knew it was despicable of him to envy the boy who had been unfairly targeted by the biggest villain of their age and who was now permanently scarred and would likely suffer chronic pain for his fate, but he had never claimed to be honorable. Minoru envied Izuku his future, his easy, strong bonds with those around him, and his annoying ability to make friends with anyone and anything.
Some days, looking around himself as he’s jolted back into reality (this happened a lot; it was fine, he was fine), he had this strange compulsion to go check in the mirror to see if his eyes had indeed turned the green of his inner monsters.
(He had the strangest thought that maybe if they did, he could finally put the past behind him, and be a bit more like Izuku, like a hero. And then maybe, miraculously, people would like him more. Izuku had green eyes, too, after all.)
It was one of his stranger thoughts, ones he did not like to revisit for the surreality of the time they occurred in, and their deluded nature. It was a weird time, okay, and everyone had been struggling with their new circumstances. Minoru had just had many epiphanies in a row, and his mind had not been keeping up in that particular race for mental stability.
It didn’t help that his classmates were great people, ones that, despite his uncharitable thoughts about them, included him in class, talked to him when they needed to in those same, kindly tones, and never told him to his face what a terrible hero he was. Watching them rise to their highest potential, eyes raised to see them arcing over him, yelling to each other for support, quirks out on full display, he realized that they never would. They were just too good to hate him, not a bad egg among them.
In fact, it was perhaps Minoru who was the bad egg, the chink in the armour.
When this answer had come to him, in the middle of Ectoplasm’s Trigonometry class of all places, he had to duck his head under his desk just to breathe. The burden of the realization sat heavy on his shoulders, and he dared not make eye contact with his teacher, all of whom had become incorrigible, unashamed mama bears who reported everything to Hound Dog, who then came looking to give you an unpleasant intro to therapy by barking protests into submission.
It was… a lot, and Minoru was not ready for all of that, so he would, for once in his life, take this lesson without complaint, and let it make him a better man.
At least, that was the goal. Minoru didn’t know if he’d become someone better in the two years it had been since then, but he didn’t particularly want to contemplate that at this moment.
He dried himself off and went to sit at the table, promising himself he’d finally finish that god forsaken report if it killed him.
It took him only two hours.
In his dreams, she dies three times. And there is blood, so much blood everywhere, seeping through the carpet, the tiles, the wood, moving towards him like a chasing tide, crashing against his ankles, lapping at his heels like a trained dog, building, building, building over his head.
He falls off the tide onto the cement floor. It’s cool and refreshing against his heated cheeks, so he stays. This time, they slit her throat, and the facts are all wrong, but dream-Minoru can never tell. To him, every time is the first time.
He drags himself back up to the couch because he can’t even imagine going into the cold sheets of his abandoned bed right now, turns on the TV at low volume, and lets it lull him into another feverish dream, watching her lose her life, over and over again, behind restless eyelids.
He will run again tomorrow.
Minoru doesn’t want to call home. He knows he must. He’s done every single possible thing he can to avoid it, every senseless chore, every possible home exercise, and he can’t do much more without risking his health. He’s even submitted the report, and now there really is nothing to distract him from the wide-eyed hours of the night.
Kaa-san and Tou-chan don’t know anything about the mission. They’re not supposed to, now that Minoru is a licensed pro, especially with the whole undercover thing going on, but not contacting his parents about every little thing feels weird and unnatural. Being free for so many hours, and not mindlessly dialling his Kaa-san, is a new experience. In the last two years of high school, his loneliness had been sharp, but not nearly as painful as it could have been had he not had his family for company. He’d call Kaa-san at least once every two days, and go home every single weekend if he could. He tried not to bother Tou-chan with phone calls, but he saw him often enough when he popped into his video calls with Kaa-san anyway. And of course, Mimi was the undeclared star of every interaction, babbling away at his face in the corner of the screen, and more recently, detailing her adventurous exploits at kindergarten, which grew progressively more concerning and hilarious with each turn.
Thinking about them makes his stomach sour with an unpleasant feeling. He’s missed them so much over the course of the mission, wishing to just have anyone near on the worse nights, but now that it’s over, he feels iffy. It’s almost like he’s reluctant to interact with them now that it’s finally time.
He feels his life separate neatly into two: Before Mission and After Mission, and he can’t make sense of After Mission Minoru talking to his family as if nothing has changed. After Mission Minoru has become dirty, tainted with failure and death, carrying the heavy burden of truth, and desperately unhappy with it all. Even the war had not felt like this, but he guesses it must be because he wasn’t so directly involved. He hadn’t lost anyone, only a distant relative from his dad’s side whom he didn’t even know. It hadn’t felt like Minoru himself had paid the price for it. But he bets Midoriya did. Todoroki, too. And Mina had been distraught over the death of Midnight-sensei.
Suddenly, he feels guilty. Wasn’t it good that he hadn’t lost anyone? But he is ashamed, somehow, that something which had affected everyone and defined their lives had yet again passed him by. How many times would Minoru have to realize how far behind he was? Was it even right to claim he was part of 3-A? Someone who had been in their class should be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with their classmates.
But Minoru definitely was nowhere in their league. He hadn’t seen it at the time, that he had slowly forgotten or perhaps forgone his own ambitions in the chaos of the moment. While his classmates worked like they were running out of time (as they had been), he had been casually standing still with his hands in his pockets as if everything would work out.
But despite how he knows this is true, it really doesn’t feel like he stood still. All he remembers from the war is the tension and the fighting. The rain, the exhaustion of the clean-up, the emotional upheaval of seeing two classmates battle out the biggest villain in Japan on their school grounds. After the war, he remembers the classroom and the gym. The dorm room, Yaomomo’s tutor sessions in the common room. And he remembers working. Always working. Studies, then internships, then working out, then eating, then studying again until his mother’s call. Then falling into bed, wrung out. He could barely breathe for the way UA worked their students. He doesn’t know how his friends managed to shove in ambitions and motivations and personal projects through all of that, he really doesn’t. But it’s 3-A he’s talking about; no one in that class save for Minoru was normal in any conceivable way.
But that is what makes it even more confusing and shameless - despite Minoru not being worthy to stand alongside his classmates, he cannot let them go. There is an affection that pulls at his heart whenever he thinks of them, and he cannot bear to part with it. Whether they’re blowing up his phone during a meeting, or he’s seeing them fly over buildings screaming chaotically, or he’s liking Denki’s horrible meme page and troll tweets, there is a part of Minoru that will always feel like this is exactly where he belongs. He’s watched them grow all these years, and he feels possessive: these are his hare-brained classmates with a penchant for getting arrested while on the job as pro-heroes, no, he does not want to discuss how that is possible. It has happened several times.
This chain of thought brings him back to the phone sitting uselessly on his table, screen gone dark from the time he spent staring into the ether thinking sappily about his friends - who probably don’t even care about him - like a loser. He toys with the cover for a while, then sighs in discomfort.
He dials Kaa-san and ignores his heart doing pirouettes in his throat.
It goes fine. He doesn’t tell her anything.
Mimi has learnt that she loves drawing and is now terrorising the walls of the house with her ‘masterpieces’. He promises to visit soon and that he loves her too.
Then he hangs up and emails Camouflage that he won’t be in for the screening tomorrow because he needs more time (the jerk is a sucker for sob stories), and curls up on the sofa to sleep.
Naturally, the reunion takes place at Vice Prez’s house. Iida had been soundly outvoted, and since 3-A was forever paralyzed by choice, more often than not, one classmate decided to take charge and boss everyone else around.
Minoru can’t even begin to describe how it feels to walk up to her house in the only proper suit he owns. He’s freshly shaved and polished, and doesn’t want to admit how much time he spent getting primped up today, thank you very much. He’s nearly sick of his face by the time he leaves his apartment, and that’s all he will say about it.
It felt good to dress up a little. To look forward to something other than his own company, and to calm his excitement from the prospect of seeing familiar faces. Damn, he must have been way worse off than he thought if he’s having such sentimental thoughts before he’s even greeted a single classmate.
He’d decided to walk and put off his exercise today for this. It’s pretty cold, and Momo’s house is pretty far out for security reasons, so he’s panting lightly by the time he arrives at her brightly lit front porch. If the security guard had failed to see him the first time and he’d had to jump and wave like a lunatic, that was between him and God. The door opens, and something incredibly heavy crashes to the floor in the house at the same time, so he sort of slips in while Momo has her face turned towards the sound, calling “Kaminari-san! That better not be you!”
There’s an outbreak of laughs from the dining room and Denki’s protests, “Why does everyone always think it’s me? I didn’t even do anything this time, it was Kouji!”
“Kouji?” Momo furrows her brow, then she whips towards the dining room, “Kouda-kun, please tell me you didn’t bring your bunny to a reunion party! How could you be so irresponsible!”
Minoru closes the door behind him and heads to where everyone is gathered. When he gets there, Kouda is explaining that it was not his bunny, but in fact a feral raccoon that he was fostering for a few days and had apparently decided to bring to a party of racuous pro-heroes who were notorious for their chaos while operating completely sober. “But why,” pleaded Momo. “Kouda-kun, it’s feral. Why, oh why, would you think it was in any way a good idea to bring it here where all your friends are going to get absolutely drunk and become feral raccoons themselves?”
Kouda looked somewhat sheepish, but he sniffed at her last statement and said rather loftily, “Well, Sakura-san is a raccoon, and she can’t help it. The rest of our friends have a choice, however, and they still choose to act like animals. That is not my problem.”
Guffaws erupted from the room, and Kouda cracked a grin, firmly stuffing the raccoon in his jacket, while Sero slipped out to get the broom and clean up the remains of whatever incredibly priceless, vintage, decorative plate had shattered due to its unfortunate collision with a feral raccoon named Sakura-san.
Minoru grinned. Oh, Class 3-A was so back.
Tokoyami noticed him soon after that, and greeted him, making space for him on the table, and pointing out who’d arrived already and who had yet to. Greeting the others made him nervous, but no one seemed to immediately see through him and declare to everybody how unworthy he was as a hero, so he tried his best to be normal.
Of course, Midoroya and Bakugou arrive together, causing a big hooha as soon as they set foot inside. As the door bangs shut, Bakugou can be heard shouting in the hallway, and there are sounds of an intense scuffle, three loud bangs, muffled swearing, a tiny scream, and then the dulcet tones of one Katsuki Bakugou yelling, “AAGH MY ARM! DEKU STOP BITING ME, YOU FERAL BASTARD.” More screaming. By the time they turn around the corner, Midoriya has been scruffed like a cat, and Bakugou shakes him aggressively. “Say hi.”
Midoriya looks up cheerfully at the command, “Hi, everyone!” while dangling from Bakugou’s hand like a particularly disobedient cat.
“Hi Midoriya-kun,” everyone choruses dutifully, grinning and turning back to their conversations as Iida and Uraraka crowd around Izuku. “Put him down at once!” booms Iida, chopping at Bakugou. Midoriya looks up at Bakugou smugly, “Yeah, Kacchan put me down at once.”
Bakugou immediately points at his arm, where a perfectly circular set of teeth is imprinted into the inside of it, “Class Prez, look at this! This feral raccoon of yours bit me! It’s all red and blue now! I’m gonna bruise, and I have a class presentation tomorrow for the UA brats!”
Immediately, Iida turns a disappointed fatherly look onto Midoriya, who’s gone sulky. “Izuku!” he scolds, “what have we said about biting?”
Midoriya pouts. “Not to do it.”
“And what have we said needs to happen when we do bite someone despite instructions otherwise?”
“An apology,” he drags out.
“Okay, please do that.”
“Sorry Kacchan,” Midoriya responds sulkily, sounding out the words with great effort, made worse by how immaturely Bakugou is responding to the apology, sticking out his tongue and mouthing ‘busted!’, dancing around in victory behind Iida’s back, with Uraraka giggling and trying to stifle it. Right before Iida turns around, she chops him in the back of the neck and he goes down in the middle of his dance with a groan.
Iida turns around at the burst of laughter from the others, but he’s too late. There is no fluffy head of blonde hair to be seen, and Bakugou has completely folded under the hit from Uraraka, lying uselessly on the marble floor, whining and moaning about how unfair it was, he was unprepared, what kind of hell-training was she doing for her hits to be that hard as he challenged her to a gym session where he would beat the heck out of her.
The reunion was, in part, also a celebration of the new DynaDeku agency that was opening up in a few months. It had been under construction for the past three years, since the crazy duo had started working on it the minute the war had ended. Minoru remembers how one could always find the two heads, one curly green and one fluffy blond, bent over some files or binders in the common room, talking in serious, low tones, or yelling passionately about location or recruits. He knows for a fact that Midoriya had kept an incredibly stuffed Shin-chan binder he’d called Elephant-kun (Mina’s influence) in which he’d listed the stats of every potential recruit, both new and old, to offer a place at their agency when it was actualized.
Someone screams, and Minoru jerks himself out of his memories, whipping his head around so fast that his eyes are forced to readjust, his brain rattling in his head. Heart pounding in his ears, he searches levelly for the threat. He darts his gaze back and forth, trying to pay no mind to his rising fear, and telling himself that there are too many ranked heroes here for him to be this scared. Together, they are more than a match for anyone.
But there is no danger.
Everyone looks completely fine. Not even a little disconcerted.
What looked like blood is spilled red energy drinks, and some sort of barbecue sauce on a plate. Everyone else is still just talking, laughing at each other’s antics, and making conversation.
This is so freaking stupid. He feels utterly retarded. This is a Class 3-A celebration. It would be more trouble if someone didn’t scream at least once. Why was he reacting like a scared little mouse over something like this? He was really milking the whole traumatized-undercover-hero-back-from-job thing.
It’s just one night, he pleaded with himself, please don’t embarrass yourself for one singular night. Is that so hard?
He accidentally glances at Tokoyami sitting next to him, and realizes the boy is looking at him with some concern.
“Are you quite alright, Mineta-kun?” he asks, his eyes tilted down over his beak.
“I-I’m okay,” he stutters out, still feeling a little displaced and not up to pretending to be normal yet.
Tokoyami’s eyes narrow further. He looks like a fully evolved predator bird, but Minoru keeps that to himself. Tokoyami gets hurt quickly over such commentary.
He’s still not letting go. “Really?” He asks, “Because it looked like the blood completely drained away from your face. You look very pale.”
Minoru just nods stiffly, feeling a bit like a bobblehead. “I’m fine, really, Tokoyami-kun! No need to worry!”
His seatmate doesn’t inquire further, but pointedly passes over the bowl of finger food and a cup of sake.
The gesture is so kind, and perfectly suited to Tokoyami-kun’s considerate nature, that Minoru feels a lump grow in his throat which he forces down with an oppressive click.
An hour and two and a half jumpscares later, Minoru is gulping down water to escape Tokoyami’s probing eyes, and DynaDeku are causing an absolute ruckus in the game room, battling for final place in what started as a completely normal game of Takenoko Takenoko Nyoki Ki. Momo, Hagakure, and Iida are trying their best to keep up, but Midoriya and Bakugou are demons of challenge, and keep counting faster and faster until their words slur together; just a yell of incoherence before they start pointing and jeering accusations of cheating or laziness.
Minoru shakes his head. He did not envy them their struggles. Being caught between the two of them was like being caught between an active volcano and a hurricane. As it is, Momo, Iida, and Hagakure are putting up a decent fight, and watching them is amusing enough that Minoru forgets to keep up his guard.
Two minutes later, he fights off yet another feeling of intense dread, trying not to puke into his juice, and fending off Sero’s increasingly tipsy demands to lie down for a while in one of Momo’s three hundred guest bedrooms.
It happens as dinner is winding down, and everyone is seated uncomfortably close to one another, catching up and discussing whatever strikes their fancy. This is also the first time anyone brings up heroics, an unspoken rule of reunions: No work-talk before stomachs are suitably full.
Against his wishes - and indeed his efforts - Minoru is seated directly next to Tokoyami, who’s been mothering his food intake all evening, and Tsuyu, across from Shouji, Hagakure, Uraraka, and Aoyama. He hasn’t talked to Denki the entire time he’s been here, and for so long before that, and it’s starting to bother him a little. The boy is the life of the party, but hasn’t so much as turned around to look at Minoru for hours. Didn’t even greet him. And, okay, Minoru knows that it’s too much to expect best-friend status from someone who hasn’t held that title for so long, but he thought that at least there would be some acknowledgment. Some indication that once, they had held space for each other so naturally: reserved seats, and waiting in the hallways impatiently to go to the cafeteria together, ranting about the injustice of school uniforms and having to wake up at six a.m. for training. Usually, Minoru could sweep this hurt away under a rug and go about his adult life pretending his wounds of youth were long since healed, but he kept forgetting that it had only been three years since he’d felt so horribly alone.
He was still so alone. Nothing had changed since that second year at U.A. Denki didn’t even message him anymore. Not even a stupid meme or corrupted links that would force him to buy new devices, and while it sounds insane to say, Minoru misses that he’d once been important enough to prank. Most days, the little Denki-voice in his head kept him company, and it almost felt like he had a friend making various scathing remarks at his terrible life choices, but since the mission, the voice had gone permanently silent. Minoru was half-certain and terrified that it would never come back.
It was perhaps this feeling of intense loneliness and the hurt of being scorned by someone he’d befriended in his head for so long, and the overall relaxed haze of an after-dinner party with his classmates that loosened his tongue.
He wasn’t even sure what started it, but all he remembers is that Shouji had mentioned undercover work, and turned to ask if Minoru was okay after that mission.
Minoru felt his eyes cement themselves into stone, pulled towards the rich, wooden table as if it was a black hole, “I think I’m going to retire, actually,” he says. His face is painted in a wide, plastic smile. He probably looks fake.
Whatever conversation was beginning to bloom halts at the table. There is silence, then Hagakure speaks into the quiet, “What?”
“Yeah,” Minoru feels compelled to nod once again like a bobblehead, slipping words through his smiling lips, a facsimile of self-confidence, “Yeah, I think it’s the best step for me. Retirement.”
“Wh-Why though?!” Hagakure splutters. “This is so out of nowhere, Mineta-kun! Did you finally get a girlfriend, and now you’re done, or what?”
Minoru huffs out a laugh through what’s starting to feel more and more like a grimace than a grin, “Nah. No lady is ready for all this yet.” He tries to inject his usual sleaze, but there is no fuel in the engine. Only bitter, bitter poison.
Aoyama makes a noise of distress, “But mon cherie, you are only twenty! Is it not far too early to put down the sparkling cape of heroism?” By his side, he can feel Tsuyu and Tokoyami’s eyes on him.
The concern and care are all too sudden for Minoru’s poor heart to handle after the isolation and self-hatred of the past few days. He’s been beating himself up, forcing himself to believe that heroics is not for him, and that he is ill-suited for such noble endeavours, mere months after convincing himself that heroism was where he belonged, and it all feels like too much.
“I don’t think I’m much suited for it, honestly,” he says lightly around the lump of tears in his oesophagus, forcing out a weak laugh, “I mean, you guys know, I’ve never been much suited for this hero-stuff, and I tried for a while, because you guys are all so gung-ho about it, but I don’t think I belong here.”
“What does that mean?” Shouji says gravely.
“What?”
“That you don’t belong here?”
Minoru feels incredulity rise to take the place of sadness. There is an anger, too, that they feel the need to act out innocence in the face of a reality that everyone lives in.
“Exactly what it sounds like,” he says sharply, “c’mon Shouji-kun, don’t - let’s not pretend that we don’t all know I’m the odd one out here.”
“Did someone say that to you, kero?”
Tsuyu.
Minoru wants to scream. He finally manages to raise his eyes and glares at Shouji so that he doesn’t have to turn to face Tsuyu. That way lies madness. “Are you serious? You’re joking, right?”
Shouji just stares at him. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. “What’s wrong, Mineta-kun? Did one of us say something to you? I’m sure they didn’t mean it that way. We’ll ask them to apologize.”
Anger eclipses all emotion. He doesn’t think about how humiliating and awkward this will be once he’s said his piece. Well, he does, but in that moment, it’s like he doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks as long as he can smash this forced innocence to pieces. “You'd better be pulling my leg right now. This is some fun act you’re putting up, pretending like there aren’t things we all know. You all just love to sit around pretending you’ve never thought ill of someone a day in your life, but I’m your goddamn classmate. I lived with you all for three and a half years, and let me tell you, you've all made it abundantly clear what you think of me. If you thought you were being subtle, news flash, you’re not. Everyone within a five-foot radius could tell that there was Class 1-A, and then there was me. You all think I’m some oblivious idiot, but guess what!” He laughs hysterically, “Guess what! I’m not. I aced all my tests and passed all my practicals, same as you, but you all still think I’m just some sleazebag who got in on nepotism!”
They’re staring at him. He’s not sure if it’s shock that they’ve been exposed or genuine bafflement. Must be the former. He’s making a scene. This goes against all his training, but it also feels so incredibly freeing to let go of that festering anger he’d been pretending didn’t exist over the abandonment he’d felt for so long.
“Yeah!” He scoffs, “Yeah, I hear you talking amongst yourselves! I see the looks and the smiles. And you know what? I agree with you! I’m not even disagreeing! I know I’m not fit for heroics and that I don’t have what it takes, but you lot are crazy anyway, and it doesn’t give you the right to judge how I live my life!”
“Mineta-kun, what - ” Hagakure opens her mouth to ask, but is interrupted by a familiar rasp.
“Then what did you come into heroics for?” Bakugou demands.
While he’d been making a fool of himself, the rest of Class 3-A had gathered around their table, eyes wide, jaws tense. It occurred to Minoru to feel guilty for creating such an atmosphere, but in the moment, it was not important enough to feel. What’s more urgent is how high and mighty Bakugou-sama the man-eater is asking him what he came into heroics for.
“You’re asking me?” He sounds incredulous, “Same reason as you, I would think, Bakugou! You of all people have no right to judge my intentions.”
“What does that mean,” interjects Midoriya sharply.
“Oh great,” Minoru mocks, “the great Kacchan defender is here. Well, Midoriya, I don’t know what to tell you, but your hero partner’s purposes are not so pure as yours. You may be as white as freshly fallen snow, but we all remember how he always said his only reason for being a hero was that he was powerful enough to beat up villains and soak in the fame afterwards! His greatest role model was All-Might, for God’s sake, because he was super popular and never lost a fight! He came ‘cause he wanted the spotlight on him too!”
“That’s not true,” Midoriya starts hotly, but Minoru interrupts him with a scoff. “Yeah, of course you’ll defend him, won’t you, Midoriya, because he’s all cool and stuff. He’s popular and has a nice quirk, so of course it’s okay if he has unheroic goals! But me, no! I don’t get a break! If I become a hero for the fame, I’m unworthy of it, and nothing positive about me has ever graced your guys’ perception! Some heroes you all are.” The last sentence comes out bitter, spilling his bleeding core onto the expensive furniture, turning all the good things to dust. He feels a sudden kinship with Shigaraki. Turning all his problems into ash is a great escape route; maybe the guy was onto something.
A wild cackle tears through his very concerning thoughts. Bakugou is smirking, slouching heavily against an angry, red-faced Midoriya, looking completely at peace.
“Get one thing through your gigantic grape head, Billie Eilish. I don’t do this for the damn cameras, and I don’t give a rat’s ass if someone likes me. I ain’t in it for the girls or the underwear commercials. Yeah, maybe when I came in, it was to beat up some villains. So what? Villains deserve it. They steal and kill, and harm civilians for their own benefit - they deserve to be kicked around a bit. But if the damn war should’ve taught you anything, it was that heroes fight for ideals. Not for people, or the popularity, or for a free coupon at some piss poor diner. Because guess what?People die, Space Balls! Then what’ve you got? One day, you’re the greatest thing since toast, and the next, you’re on the list of 10 Villainous Heroes To Look Out For! Life is tough, suck it up! If you’re gonna be such a pissy baby that you can’t take a little hardship, then get the hell out of dodge, loser.”
There is nothing but silence for the next several minutes.
Eventually, “He’s right, you know,” Midoriya says. “Not the loser part, but it’s true that heroism is hard. We can’t always win, and sometimes things can go really wrong. But it’s all worth it, right? For the civilians who get to live in safety, and the kids who get to smile without fear.”
“Y’know, Mineta-kun,” Hagakure finally speaks, “I never thought of you as below us, or the odd one out. Perhaps it’s also because I’m invisible, but your antics never bothered me too much. I’m sorry you feel that way, I am, and I’m sure the whole class agrees, but we’ve never seen you the way you’re so convinced we do.” Out of the corner of his eye, Minoru catches Uraraka’s grimace, but she nods tightly along with the rest of the table, regardless. He knows she doesn’t like him - perhaps she feels outnumbered among all these saints.
“Yeah, man,” Sero pipes up, “You’ve had a hard time, but I promise we don’t think about you like that. You said so yourself; you passed all the tests and graduated with us, you’re as much a hero as any of us.”
Well, that’s certainly not true, but Minoru is touched nonetheless. He’d simultaneously wanted and not wanted to be reassured like this, and now that it was happening, he simply wished for the warmth in his heart to swallow him whole. These were good people. And they cared for him when he never deserved it, but he soaked it all up like he was parched.
He feels a rough hand land gently on his shoulder, several sizes too big. “Animals are good at sensing evil or malice, Mineta-kun, and my friends have never hesitated to work with you. I think it is a little insulting to all of us if you assume we think you’re a bad person and keep you around anyway, or if you think we’re too stupid to figure you out.”
Laughter blooms in timid circles, and Bakugou whistles, “Damn, Fox News, that’s cold.”
Kouda shrugs off the appreciation with a proud smile and pats Minoru reassuringly before retreating into the crowd.
Slowly, everyone begins to disperse, and Minoru sits through the humiliation of several condolence pats and sympathetic glances. His face is burning with delayed embarrassment at the scene he’d caused, and he feels hollow, as if none of this anger had ever been worth expressing. But Shouji, Tokoyami, and Hagakure try their best to keep going as if he hadn’t just destroyed his reputation and shattered his dignity at their feet five minutes ago. He can tell they’re determined not to make him feel embarrassed or overwhelmed, but that knowledge alone is almost enough to take him out. Preferably with a sniper rifle. And fast.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur. He can hear Midoriya cajoling Todoroki sweetly and headbutting Bakugou, who yells in pain and then rams his own head as hard as possible against his hero partner. He hears Momo trying to break them up, and Jirou attempting to fan the flames, but he isn’t really present for any of it. He nods when others do, and stays firmly sandwiched between Tokoyami and Tsuyu, who have, in time since his outburst, somehow expanded to nestle him firmly within their arms. It’s kind of nice, but also pretty suffocating. He’s a little guy, people! He can’t breathe between all these muscly arms!
Despite all the commotion and his own struggle to remain conscious, he doesn’t fail to notice how Denki still never looks at him. He can’t gather the courage to seek him out, but he knows the boy does not approach him. He really didn’t think it was possible to feel worse, but that’s just one more lesson he’s learning about adulthood.
He’s said farewell to a lot of things in the past, but saying goodbye to Denki - letting go of his first, real friend - he thinks, will be the closest he’s come to heartbreak. And he’s never been broken up with before, platonic or otherwise, but if it feels anything like this stabbing pain of despair in his chest, then he understands why people die of it. He hasn’t even managed to process the loss of his first real connection with a girl before the world crushes his delusions of camaraderie under its heel, too.
On that day, at that moment, Minoru felt uniquely burdened with a great sorrow that burrowed its way into his chest cavity and stuck itself there with determined optimism. But as the party dies out and Hagakure offers to walk him home, as the cool air hits his face, and as his classmate’s voice quietly guides him out of the darkness, he feels as if it can all be over one day.
He had never much reason to talk to Hagakure - or any of the girls - during his time at school. But Tooru (as she asks him to call her) is a veritable fountain of knowledge regarding underground heroics. How she knew what had happened with him, he doesn’t know, probably Shouji, but she seems to take it in stride and informs him that his strength lies in his creative application of a weak quirk. Tooru had been snapped up by undercover heroics and public hero agencies alike, and currently worked for both sorts as a freelancer, but she’d interned with so many interesting agencies and gained enough experience under her belt at the ripe old age of twenty-one that Minoru felt very, very green in comparison. For once, the gap in expertise didn’t make him jealous or insecure; it felt rather comforting to have an age-mate who had work seniority and could hold his hand through the hard parts. She was reassuring, but stern, like Minoru’s very own Mary Poppins, and as she left at his door, she gave the balls on his head a forceful pat, bouncing her hand curiously, and her phone number.
Within ten minutes of arrival, Minoru is fast asleep on his bed, fully clothed. His sleep is restless, but exhaustion forces his hand, and when he wakes up at one in the afternoon, properly rested, his phone is buzzing.
youre askin Fer it —> me
youre askin Fer it (9:30 am): hey so, just wanted to check on you little man
youre askin Fer it (9:30 am): just wanted to say that it was brave of you to speak out if you felt that way. what you said about bakugou is something weve all thought at one time or another
youre askin Fer it (9:30 am): so dont beat yourself up about it
youre askin Fer it (9:31 am): and try to join us for meet-ups more often, bro. Todoroki and I have a standing manga club date if youd be interested
Sword Art Online—> me
Sword Art Online (10:15 am): I hope you slept well and are feeling better today, Mineta-kun
Sword Art Online (10:15 am): I do hope you do not take these assumptions of yours to heart. I do not think anyone in our graduating class could be so disdainful of one of our own, so set those demons to rest.
Sword Art Online (10:16 am): You walk a dark path like myself, and I can only imagine your sorrow at the injustices of the world is as great as mine, but Mineta-kun, we must not let the shadows swallow us as they do the villains. Rage and fear are understandable, but our friends are sometimes the only light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Isolation and independence do not last long for undercover heroes and we must learn to rely on our family to guide us through when we cannot do so alone. I hope we can become such a family for you, Mineta-kun.
babydoll—> me
babydoll (12:00 pm): good afternoon, mineta-san i hope you slept well
babydoll (12:00 pm): surely you must have heard it from the others by now but i meant what i said yesterday. and i could not say it for the others yesterday but you are very heroic, grape juice. death is so difficult to honor properly and nothing seems like enough but no one who wasnt a hero would react the way you did that day. youre a hero to me if not to anybody else. please dont think such thoughts about yourself. we have nothing but our own minds at the end of the day. who we think we are is who we will become.
what is this behaviour—> me
what is this behavior (12:25 pm): hey bro hows it goin! just got off for my lunch break but i dont see you anywhere your agency
what is this behavior (12:25 pm): day off?
what is this behavior (12:25 pm): anyway
what is this behavior (12:26 pm): pretty manly of you uesterday
what is this behavior (12:26 pm): to let us know
what is this behavior (12:26 pm): im at the gym around 5 everyday, the one near the old konbini we used to get uraraka’s mochi at
what is this behavior (12:27 pm): lemme know which days youre free to train together
what is this behavior (12:27 pm): also also bakubro might not show it but he doesnt liek being misunderstood
what is this behavior (12:30 pm): hes changed a lot since that first year and so have we all so its not super cool to hold ourselves up to the standards of our teenage selves and undo all the hard work
what is this behavior (12:31 pm): maybe we can talk about this at the gym
what is this behavior (12:31 pm): lemme know
talk no jutsu—> me
talk no jutsu (12:27 pm): Good afternoon Mineta-kun! I hope you are having a good day!
talk no jutsu (12:27 pm): Kacchan and I went to your agency today but Ground Break wouldn’t let us in or tell us where you are :(
talk no jutsu (12:28 pm): kacchan said not to bother you if you dont want to be found, but i think we can sort it out if something is bothering you
talk no jutsu (12:28 pm): kacchan also wanted to talk to you because you seemed so upset yesterday, and I told him he was very harsh yesterday so he wanted to apologize
talk no jutsu (12:29 pm): %@*^E* I WILL FO NO SUCH THINGDASAX\
talk no jutsu (12:31 pm): Yes he will. :) Sorry, he stole my phone to type this
talk no jutsu (12:32 pm): but please consider it and let us know when you are available
talk no jutsu (12:35 pm): i'd worry about my privacy if i were you. the nerd won't stop until he's made you his pet project and solved all your problems through the power of friendship or something. and also, he knows something's up with your agency. either you tell him or he'll figure it out himself, but that will drive ME crazy, and then I'll hunt you down and kill you. your choice - b.k.
I’m so SHINAYY—> me
I’m so SHINAYY (8:00 am): ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
I’m so SHINAYY (1:05 pm): ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
There are so many messages that it leaves him quite dizzy, but he answers each one diligently, thanking them for their support and arranging meet-ups. Maybe manga club and gym will be good for him. He promises to make it up to these wonderful people who have no reason to comfort him after the way he insulted them and scoffed bitterly at their accomplishments, but who understand him anyway. He cannot repay them in any way that they deserve, but he hopes he can one day offer a shoulder and a listening ear of his own to someone else who needs it. And then, perhaps, when he’s settled into his skin again, he will head home to Kaa-san and Tou-chan and Mimi.