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Shouto is late.
Shouto is very, very late.
He clutches his broken pocket watch as he rushes towards the steam trolley puffing up a cloud that ticks the time away louder than his watch is supposed to.
It’s already leaving. He’s never going to make it.
Running is unbecoming. Pushing and shoving even more so. But if Shouto doesn’t get himself on that trolley right this minute, he may as well kiss any chances of getting his sky ship flying license goodbye.
He should have just stuck with the foundry like his brother and father or the ice wells with his mother and other siblings, but Shouto has never wanted anything more in this world than to fly.
And piloting a sky ship seems more practical than attaching a pair of bronze wings to his back, especially considering how reliable his pocket watch is.
So Shouto runs, pushing his way through the crowd as the trolley starts to roll away, knowing that it’ll pick up speed once it reaches the tunnel.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
His eyes and lungs both burn as the humiliation of failure and pure exertion both claw at him at the time, but he can make it. He just has to run faster. He has to grow wings.
“Oi!”
A blond man near his age hangs off the rails with a pair of goggles shoved up to his hairline, barely concealing the furrow in his brow. Shouto expects to be heckled, not that he cares, but then an arm is held out, and it’s literally the light at the edge of the tunnel.
This is probably dangerous.
This is how people get flattened.
But Shouto thrusts himself forward, his hand slapping into the other person’s as his poor watch goes flying and crashing in a million pieces.
His body slams into the bars on the back of the trolley before he’s dragged over, the momentum throwing them both onto the floor in a heap, the other passengers looking at them with a mixture of curiosity and judgement. The bruises he’ll have tomorrow will be impressive.
“Thank you,” Shouto gasps, out of breath. He looks around, amazed to see that he’s both still alive and moving at a speed fast enough to get him where he needs to be on time.
“Call that my good deed for the day.”
He stands up, brushing himself off before he takes a seat on the bench like nothing happened. Shouto stands too and looks around, finding the only space unoccupied directly beside him.
He sits down sheepishly, tugging his clothes back in place before he folds his hands neatly together on his lap to not take up too much space. Jumping onto a moving trolley is enough disruption for one day.
His savior looks at his hands and tuts a laugh.
“What?” Shouto asks.
“Nothing,” he says. “You just reminded me of someone.”
Shouto doesn’t know what he should say to that so he doesn’t say anything.
They sit in silence as the trolley whips through the city like a bullet, dodging in and out of tunnels and through metal bridges built like cages in the air. His hair whips violently, making him wish he too had a pair of goggles to hold it back.
He reaches for his pocket watch before he remembers it’s gone and frowns nervously. He’ll still make it on time, won’t he? It won’t all be for nothing?
“Do you have the time?” Shouto asks, too nervous to care about talking to a stranger.
Said stranger flips out his wrist, his timepiece bound to a band and not dangling from a string. It is marvelous craftsmanship.
“Your timepiece is impressive,” he says.
With a flick of the same wrist, he produces a small card with a neatly typed facing between two of his fingers.
Bakugou & Midoriya’s Cogs and Clockworks
“Best time pieces in the city,” he says. “Got some other stuff too, but since you clearly need one.”
Shouto, too interested to care about being insulted, looks at him with mild amazement. “You made this?”
He nods and sits back against the rail, his elbows propped on the bar behind him. He cocks his head, sending his goggles down over his eyes, and Shouto is aware it’s supposed to look impressive, but the two circular imprints on his forehead kind of ruin the effect.
Unconcerned, Shouto grabs his wrist so he can get a better look, and the stranger—Bakugou or Midoriya, presumably—doesn’t stop him.
“You would never have to worry about dropping this,” he says more to himself. “Not even on a sky ship.”
Bakugou or Midoriya turns his head towards him, his expression nonchalant. “Sky ship?”
“My license exam is today,” he says. “I’m going to be a pilot.”
He hums like he doesn’t believe him, pulling his hand back to himself, and Shouto turns back to look ahead of himself, his cheeks burning slightly. Sometimes adrenaline manifests as enthusiasm, and now he’s made a fool of himself.
It’s not like it matters.
He twists his mouth in irritation as he forces himself to mentally go over what he studied. Flying is too practical to learn on paper, but he can at least go through the safety procedures.
While he thinks, the person next to him shuffles, and suddenly there’s a timepiece hanging carelessly in front of him by the band.
“What kind of air ship pilot lets himself be fucking late for everything? You wanna piss the whole city off?”
“I’m never late,” Shouto says. “My pocket watch stopped working this morning, and I didn’t notice.”
He waves the band and nods like that’s supposed to prove his point.
“No, thank you,” Shouto says. “But thank you.”
“Just take the watch, you squirmy bastard,” he says. Shouto’s mouth opens, offended because no one’s ever spoken to him like that in his life, but he has a feeling this is how this person speaks to everyone. “Take it. It’s good luck.”
“I don’t need any luck,” he says.
“Apparently you do.”
Shouto glares at him silently, his jaw tight before he takes the watch from him. “I’ll bring it back after my test.”
The man shrugs. “Fine with me.”
Shouto ignores him and tries to put it on his wrist, finding the movements much trickier than he expected for his first time. It’s like trying to put on a tourniquet except somehow more annoying.
“Here,” he says, taking his arm. He puts the watch on for him and makes sure the band isn’t too loose or too tight before he points at a small dial on the side. “If you need to keep the time for something, turn this to what you want and it’ll start tweeting like a bird when the clock arms pass over the two marks.”
Shouto’s brows raise. “Something like that is possible?”
“Yeah, my partner’s a bit of a scatterbrain,” he says. “All our timepieces have them.”
Something strange twists in his stomach. “Partner?”
“Yeah, the second name on the card,” he says. “Been making shit together since we were ten.”
Shouto nods, understanding.
Bakugou, he now knows, stands up and tugs the cord on the roof, dragging the trolley to a walking pace. “This is my stop. If you fuck up your test, you better give me my watch back.”
“Why?” Shouto asks, confused how it matters.
He points at him and not at his wrist. “‘Cause that belongs on a sky ship.”
Before Shouto can respond, he swings over the side and disappears into the crowd like a golden windup sparrow.
Shouto sits back into his seat in a mild daze.
Is this what they call serendipity?
He runs his thumb over the soft leather, the band still warm from being on Bakugou’s wrist for so long. It truly is a beautiful watch, the numbers painted black on an unassuming bronze plate with a soft gold filigree around the inner edge.
To think a person could make something like this with their own two hands…
The again, if today goes well, Shouto will be able to fly.
A small, pleased smile tugs at his lips as the morning finally goes the way it’s supposed to. Thanks to a stranger with a foul mouth and a face as handsome as his handwork.
Wow. Shouto was so distracted he barely noticed that. Gratitude really does create the strongest impression.
Suddenly a bird chirps on his wrist, and Shouto looks up, his eyes wide with concern. Did he just make him late for something?
No, that’s why Bakugou jumped off in a hurry. He’s capable enough.
Shouto relaxes, content with his deduction, but suddenly a new and terrible realization seizes him.
Bakugou never told him how to turn it off.