Somehow, no matter how eventful his night is, he always ends up back here: in 1-C. If someone had told the Izuku of a year ago that he'd spend half his days in a classroom at Yuuei, he would have hit the roof jumping in joy. Now, it feels more like a burden to show up to class. It's not that Yuuei isn't lovely or the lessons are boring. No, Yuuei is wonderful, just not as wonderful as being Revite.

Revite gets to wear a disguise and walk around with Dabi and Hawks, investigating and piecing together plots. Izuku Midoriya sits in a desk and listens to Present Mic drone on about formulas. Revite spends time in action-- whether that's at his intern or spending an evening with Dabi. On good days, 1-C gets to observe the other hero classes and do analysis reports.

Today is supposed to be a good day. They're watching 1-A run through their first training simulation since their internships. It should be fun getting to pick apart each persons new skills, trying to find what they learned from their internship - how they could build on those skills.

Unfortunately for Izuku, his mind is elsewhere; still wandering through ideas for how to write his article on Endeavor. Every time he closes his eyes, he's back in the Todoroki household with a drawing board in front of him. When he see's the 1-A boy with a birds beak, he thinks of Hawks and the commissions lies still coming to light.

School pales in comparison to the thrill of being Revite.

It doesn't help that there's still so much to do. Questions still left to answer. He needs to find out what Stain was talking about when he referenced the commission's pets. He needs to get the police off Hawks' back. He needs to find something that will bring the commission to their knees. He needs to do so many things. His uniform feels heavy on his shoulders.

"You're not muttering much today," Shinsou regards, popping the pink gum bubble he'd blown. Izuku glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow as the by continued. "Come on, don't look at me like that. I need analyst advice. Tell me what they improved on and how I can catch up."

Izuku lifted his pencil to the clipboard in his arms, crossing out the title of 1-A Intern Improvements and writing Hitoshi Shinsou's Personal Guide. Peering at the clip board from beside him, Shinsou huffed and sent him a glare. Izuku forced a sarcastic grin as Shinsou grumbled, "That's not what I meant."

Sighing, Izuku returned his attention to the course 1-A was doing. "I know. I'm just distracted today."

"And grumpy, apparently." He jerked his head towards the hero class. "Is this about your super special intern trip getting cut short?"

The use of a question didn't go unnoticed.

Shaking his head, he said, "No. Just some home stuff, don't worry about it."

Really, it was just home stuff. He was eager to get to his home with Dabi (and the addition of their new free loading bird-man); to get the Todoroki's out of their home. Even if going home meant just sleeping, he'd be happy. He'd stayed up too late last night on the phone with his mom after planning with the Todoroki's. It was nice in the moment to ramble on about his days at school and his intern while his mother told him about the fresh flowers growing in her pots. Come the next day, it didn't feel quite so nice on his energy levels.

There was a moment of silence between Shinsou and himself. The former reached across his clipboard, using the pencil to scribble something in the corner. He drew back, crossing his arms and staring out at the training course.

"Yeah well, I know a little bit about that. If anythings--" he waved his hand around in a vague gesture-- "like that again - whatever that is - you have my number. Even when I'm not your aspiring hero guinea pig anymore."

Izuku blinked at the phone number scrawled across the top corner of the page, then at Shinsou, then back again. A small smile stretched across his lips as he touched the ink briefly with his fingers. An olive branch. So much for not making friends, he supposes.

He spent the following minutes watching 1-A intensely. A boy with tape shooting from his elbows-- Sero, he believes his sheet says-- swings over and under pipes faster then anyone, his agility clean and precise. A different boy with several arms struggles to twist around some of the pipes and is beat out by a girl with acid who decides to slide across the metal with the application of her quirk. It's entertaining, but not a lot of change from their old styles.

"That Froppy girl is looking a little better," Komori notes as she comes to rest her arm on Izuku's shoulder. She points to the girl in question, Izuku's eyes shifting to watch her. She does look better, he can admit that. "She's using her tongue more."

"And is less hesitant. Look at the way she leaps without slowing down," Izuku tacks on.

Komori cocked her head to the side, her bat ears twitching. "Huh. Yeah, she is. Kaseki needs some more of that fearlessness."

On que, Kaseki groaned, plopping himself down on the ground criss-crossed. He put his head in his hands, mumbling, "I hate this. When can we do some real action instead of just hearing you two rant."

"When you put on your big boy pants and get into the hero course like Shinsou," Komori answered, kicking him lightly. He gasped and slapped at her shoe. Watching with interest, Izuku was yet again reminded how close the two are.

He's jerked out of his thoughts as Kaseki shouts, "Hey Midoriya, isn't that your girl?"

He sputtered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He waved around his hands, nearly dropping his clipboard as he protested, "She's not my girl! We're just friends."

He didn't have to look to know they were talking about Uraraka. When he did look, he was happy to see she hadn't exaggerated about the skills Gunhead taught her. Over her intern, she'd hardly texted him, having been to busy, but on the way to school from the train station she'd explained it all. As he watched her run towards the obstacle courses end, he could see how much faster her reflexes were, dodging pipes that came out of nowhere and avoiding classmates.

"We know she's not, Midoriya. We're just teasing," Komori joked, bumping her hip into his.

"Besides," Shinsou said, grinning in a way that was far from comforting, "if anyone's yours it's Todoroki."

His ears and cheeks burned more than before as he tucked his chin in, letting the longer of his curls fall into his face. Kaseki howled with laughter from his spot on the floor. Izuku heard a loud oof!, likely Komori kicking him again, having pulled her arm off him to do so.

"What? It's not like it's wrong? Have you seen the way he stares at him?" Kaseki snapped. Komori sent him a glare as Izuku sank even more into his embarrassment. He's well aware that his feelings for Shouto aren't subtle. Subtlety isn't a Midoriya trait, at least that's what his mom says. Even now he's aware of it as his eyes travel back to Shouto standing with the rest of his class. He's always pulled back to him.

The only comfort he has is that when he does look, occasionally Shouto glances up at him where their class is stationed behind the glass of one of the buildings (for safety purposes Mic-sensei claims). He'll stare, brows pinched together and head tilted. Then, he'll shake his head and look away. Izuku's not sure what to make of it.

"Leave the poor guy alone," Onishi said as she approached their huddle. He sneaked a look at her earrings. Blue ones mean Asami Onishi, red means Yui Onishi. Asami Onishi grinned, flicking at the back of Kaseki's head. Her grin is catlike in the sense it ran shivers up Izuku's spine, no matter whether her intent was kind or not. She jerks her head towards the current group running through the course. "Heard that one's going by Ingenium now."

Izuku hummed, watching Iida make his way through the course. He hurdled over pipes and skidded around corners. He's slower on the ground but there's not much else he can do.

"I heard it's because his brother had to quit hero work. Someone's got to carry on the title," Kaseki whispered at a volume that was not at all whisper worthy. "That or he just isn't capable of coming up with name."

Komori snorted. "You can't come up with a name."

"Excuse you, I have plenty of names at my disposal!"

"Jurassican and Tyrannosaurus-Wreck aren't hero names."

Izuku ignored them, instead speaking to Onishi. "It is his new name. Stain tried to kill his brother and he was given his name. It was a gift, not an attempt to copy."

The last part was directed towards Kaseki who rubbed his neck sheepishly in return. Onishi sighed. "Man, all this Stain stuff is getting crazy. And what happened to Hawks? Wild. Can you believe the commission criminalized him just for being at the scene?"

"We talked about this, Onishi-kun," Kaseki said, falling back on the floor, hands coming to cushion his head. "He's probably working for Revite. I mean, the video says it all. He showed barely any effort in capturing the guy."

"He was paralyzed!"

"And you're just a Hawks fan!

Komori kicks Kaseki again, promptly shutting him up. Izuku curls in on himself, holding his clipboard closer to his chest. Next to him, Shinsou offers a questioning look. He dismisses it.

"It is weird though," Komori says. Her ears twitch as she purses her lips together. "Normally my uncle in law is all over this stuff by now. I swear when Revite first showed up he wouldn't shut up for a month about it."

Shinsou tilts his head to the side. "A vigilante feind, is he?"

Another question. Izuku's eyes skirt to Shinsou for a brief moment as a small ounce of pride settles in his chest. He's been in this hole his entire life, only digging it deeper and deeper by not using questions and fearing his own quirk before others got the chance to. He just needed someone to give him a stepping ladder; a start to a continuous upward path. Izuku can't wait to see him transfer to the hero course in a few weeks.

"Believe me, he's obsessed. If he didn't talk about Revite so much, I'd say he was him," Komori said, chuckling. "Uncle Charlie's been like that since I was a kid."

Izuku froze.

He'd heard that name before. Charlie. In Dabi's summaries from information he's learned. When he came back from visiting Ayumu he mentioned that name-- had said something about his hacking acting as a safety net for the her when she broke free from the commission. Did Komori know about that? What else had her uncle done to provoke vigilantism?

His heart beats faster in his chest. Is there a way Izuku can find him? If he's helped Ayumu then he must know about the commissions hero program. Maybe he has more information of them? Would he help him?

"Uh, Midoriya? You good, man?" Onishi asked, leaning towards him.

Blinking, he's yanked back to the conversation. His four classmates are staring at him, concern clear. He clears his throat and shakes his head. "No, uh, I'm good. By any chance can I have your Uncles number," he says to Komori. "I'm doing an extra-curricular project on vigilantism. I think he'd be a good source if he's as invested as you say."

Komori's eyebrows arch upward suspiciously as she takes her own pen and writes a number down just below Shinsou's. Her writing curls into fancy loops, her periods more like circles than dots. She caps the pen and taps the page. "Just don't call in the morning. He's usually pretty grumpy then."

As he runs his eyes over the neat scrawl on his page, he makes note to not throw the sheet away. This could be something. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Alrighty class!" Present Mic cheers from across the room, signifying the end of both 1-A's training and 1-C's lesson. "Day's about to end, let's get back to class. I want a four-hundred word paper about the most improved hero student on my desk by Wednesday! Shikishi, don't run in the halls!"

Their class lets out a collective sigh as they file out of the observation room. He's mentally writing down a reminder to ask Uraraka more about her new technique for his paper as he walks down Yuuei's halls when he's forcibly yanked back from the rest of his group. A yelp leaves his lips only to be muffled by a hand. He has half the mind to bite his attackers fingers.

The person hisses, drawing their hand back and cursing. Izuku raises his hands, ready to fight if need be, when he see's the person's face. Blonde hair, ruby eyes, a distinct smell of burnt caramel hanging in the air. His nose wrinkles. He never did like that smell.

"Dammit Deku," Kacchan swears, cradling his hand. "Do you file your teeth or some fuckery? Christ."

Gaze flicking to the crescent moon indents in Kacchan's hand then at his face, Izuku winces. He mumbles a quick, "Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"No shit."

Izuku watches as he inspects his hand, drawing it close to his face as his brows knit together. When he was younger, he used to sit at the counter in the Bakugou's kitchen. For hours he's stay there and watch Mitsuki prepare diner; methodically cutting vegetables and stirring pots filled to the brim with different sauces and ingredients, nearly bubbling over. Every time she'd get the same face as Kacchan gets: furrowed eyebrows and slightly pursed lips.

Kacchan always denies it, of course. His resting face reflects Mitsuki's concentrated one no matter how much he tries to argue otherwise. Izuku has seen several too many explosions ignite from said arguments.

"What're you looking at?" he bites, lips pulled back into a sneer.

Aware that telling the truth would lead to the aforementioned explosions, he shook his head and mumbled, "Nothing. Why are you pulling me aside in random hallways? How did you even get over here so fast? Your training ended not two minutes ago."

Kacchan scoffs and gestures at his outfit. "Didn't change."

He's clad in his hero gear, the orange and green themes standing out in the dull beige hallway. His clunky gauntlets rest awkwardly at his sides in a way Izuku's certain isn't comfortable. Hatsume could probably design a better version.

Looking the boy up and down, he asks, "Why?"

Tufts of blond hair hang in his face as he ducks his head into his shoulder. His hackles are raised, almost like a dog's when on defense. He mumbles something quiet enough for Izuku to fail to hear.

"Huh?"

"I wanted to catch you before you left," he snaps, louder this time. Pink invades his cheeks, spreading across his nose and ears. Embarrassed. He kicks at the ground, little flecks of dust drifting up into the air. "Look, I'm sure Inko already told you so I figured I might as well get on with it and just fuckin' apologize already."

Apologize.

Izuku blinked at Kacchan, unfamiliarity pooling within him. He gaped. "What?"

"Making your way through the five W's, huh? Christ," Kacchan said, shaking his head. "I just-- fuck, I did some messed up stuff to you when we were younger, didn't I?"

Frozen and confused, Izuku only nodded. He eyed Kacchan warily before glancing down the hallway he was yanked out of. Should he leave?

Kacchan hung his head, fingers curing around his crossed arms with his teeth grit. "I used to insult you everyday and push you into lockers and make fun of you. I didn't. . . I can't say I didn't realize what I was doing but I know I didn't understand why it was wrong. I was confused and everyone was telling me it was okay to push you down. You were quirkless. It didn't matter."

Izuku watches as Kacchan squeezes his eyes shut, lips upturned slightly, and a feeling-- twisted and angry red-- lashes out inside him like a whip. It coils itself around his chest, suffocating and infuriating. He tames it with a shaky inhale.

He doesn't know what prompted this sudden 'apology' but he does know there are better things he could be doing right now. Better things than listening to excuses.

It's strange-- feeling that rage return, or rather surface altogether. He's never been mad at Kacchan before, not entirely at least. Sometimes he'd stare at the bruises on his elbows in the shower and feel something similar to this arise in him, drawing angry tears to his eyes, but it would fade quickly. Always dissolving into dull and numb acceptance.

This is not the same as those quick flashes under cold water and recent memories. This is old pain that's been festering since he realized what Kacchan had done was wrong. It tells him to yell, it tells him to cry, it tells him to point out every spot he's been bruised on the outside and in.

Instead, he calmly says, "That doesn't make it okay."

"I know," Kacchan replies and Izuku thinks, do you? Almost as if he read his thoughts, he continues with, "I don't have an excuse. I don't even know if someone can have an excuse. Just a reason. You know what Inko says about reasons."

Somewhere in the back of his mind is a memory of his mother floating around. She sits beside his bed, bandaging both his and Kacchan's knees and palms, kissing them better. She tells them they shouldn't have done what they did at the playground after she told them not to, even if they were just curious. She tells them that curiosity may be their reason, not there excuse. She takes their hands and tells them that the best thing about reasons is they're the perfect place to start with when looking to grow.

He didn't think Kacchan remembered that.

"She's right. About reasons," Kacchan follows up. He gestures to himself. "I started there and worked outward. My reason was fucked up and now I get what I did was fucked up. I called you worthless and stupid and Deku. I pushed you and told others to push you more. I told you to jump off a roof for fucks sake-- all becuase you were quirkless."

Izuku remembers. He can still feel how heavy he felt walking away from school that day, his words resting upon his shoulder like weights determined to sink him.

"I'm leaving," he grits out, stepping back. He knew what happened, he didn't need to be reminded. He's not letting Kacchan's words get to him again.

"Wait, shit. That's not what I-- fuck." He can hear him cursing but pays no mind to it, not until, "I'm sorry, okay? Dammit."

Halting in his retreat, he stares wide-eyed at the boy before him. Red eyes, ash blonde hair, scowling lips that for once lay in a straight pursed line. Hands that spark and explode and grip.

"What do you want me to say?" Izuku asks.

"I just wanted you to know. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve any of it."

He's supposed to feel relieved, or something. He only feels less angry. Like those words tore away one part of his rage but no more than that one part.

There's this piece of his soul that asks if this should have been more. He wonders if he should be crying, if Kacchan should be crying. It feels so tame— so simple— in comparison to what he thought it would be like. Should there be more? What else is there to say?

Gazing at Kacchan then— in all his balled fists and regretful eyed glory— he doesn't know what he expected. He didn't plan for Kacchan to apologize.

He lifts his chin. He asks the one thing he knows his mother would ask. "And did you grow?"

Kacchan looks at him then with confusion dancing across his features. "What?"

"Reasons are the best place to start growth. Did you grow?"

The Mitsuki-like pinch of his eyebrows appears as he holds Izuku's gaze. Neither of them look away. They stand still in the hallways of Yuuei, one of the few things that still connects them, waiting for answer or looking for one.

Finally, Kacchan nods slowly. "Yes. I'm growing. R-- Someone's helping me to grow."

The way he stumbles over the word someone says enough. Izuku knows then that Kacchan's spent time in front of his screen, analyzing the words of today's most known vigilante. He read every article.

In his head, Izuku can see himself years down the line looking at the hero rankings and seeing this boy in the top ones, the congratulatory message he would send. He sees coexistence stem from this moment. Not soon and not without struggle, but eventual and hard earned. He can't forgive him, nor trust him yet, but there's this lingering one day that whispers of some tame future acquaintanceship.

"Good," he says, tucking away his past pain for a moment.

Kacchan nods, jaw stiff. It doesn't seem like there's anything else he'll drag out of him. He stands taller, saying again, "I'm sorry, Izuku."

Izuku lets his expression soften. Things will get better. "I'll see you around, Kacchan."

With that, he turns around and walks away. He doesn't look back.