Chapter Text
Hitoshi halts his steps as he comes up to the shady-looking building, double-checking yet again whether this address is the correct one. He trusts Ran, he truly does, but he can’t really comprehend if this here is supposed to be a prank or not. She’d be mischievous enough for that, by all accounts. He groans, pockets his phone and wanders closer to the back entrance of the shabby warehouse, glancing around for any potential threats. Not that he believes his years-long friend would purposefully get him into danger. Still, it’s better to be safe than sorry. This is not what Hitoshi would consider a "low-risk area" around here and the figures he’s come across on his way haven’t exactly been reassuring either. Nevertheless, there’s no need to panic just yet. He’s been warned, it’s his own fault for agreeing to something so brain-dead stupid.
Taking a deep, not-so-calming breath, he knocks on the door, just as Ran had told him to. A moment later it cracks open, security chain still in place, rusty, matted and barely revealing half the silhouette of a stature behind it. “State your business!”, the unknown figure barks.
It’s a male voice, full and deep and a little nasal. Not the youngest, if Hitoshi has to guess, but not quite old yet, either. They’re gruff and unfriendly, though not outright threatening or hostile, just very, very wary. Which is fair, Hitoshi supposes, no matter if this here is actually the place Ran has told him about or really some kind of criminal den. Now that would be a doozy. He may have Aizawa-sensei on speed-dial by now, but he didn’t think he’d have to use that feature anytime soon. Not to mention how he’d have to explain this situation and how or, worse, why he got into it. He could do without judgmental, disappointed blank stares in the middle of the night. There’s enough of them at school already.
“I’m here to defy the voices of those who told me otherwise”, he recites the phrase Ran has given him. It’s a weird one, in Hitoshi’s humble opinion, it makes him feel even more like some kind of drug dealer or Yakuza affiliate, but whatever floats their boat, he guesses.
Promptly, the door is shut in his face. How wonderful. Just amazing. He should’ve known. A rattling from the other side stops him just as he wants to turn around again. Hitoshi doesn’t know whether he should be glad or terrified. Maybe both?
The entry opens again, a lot wider this time, putting him face-to-face with a rather tall (even for Hitoshi), pretty grim-looking guy in his early forties – probably – who gives him a thorough, curious once-over. “So, you’re Blossom-chan’s newbie.” It’s a statement that doesn’t exactly sound like one. Oh, how the turn tables.
“Blossom-cha-?”, Hitoshi blurts out instead, cutting himself off before finishing that query. He’s gotten far too comfortable with direct questions recently, curtesy of both Aizawa-sensei, his other teachers and Yuuei as a whole. But he doesn’t know that guy and he has no idea who ‘Blossom-chan’ is, so questions are out of the, well…, question (pun unintended).
“Ah, I mean Ran-chan, of course. But do try and call her Blossom-chan ‘round here, please. Most of our folks only know her by that. And for good reason, too!”, Doorman-san answers, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. How this brute of a man can actually look sheepish without coming off as incredibly odd, Hitoshi doesn’t know, but it works. “Anyways, come on in. I’ll call someone to show you around. Can’t myself, I’m on door duty. Don’t worry, we’re all nice. Call me Baldy, by the way.” Fair enough. How goes this weird Latin saying that Yamada-sensei’s spouting off every once in a while in English? ‘Nomen est omen’ or something along those lines? Baldy has as much hair on his head as a naked mole rat.
Hitoshi shrugs and gently brushes past his new acquaintance, looking around the unfamiliar space. It isn’t much, just a simple breakroom as it seems. They don’t even have a coffee machine here.
Baldy closes the door, locks the security chain back in place and takes out his phone, tapping away for a bit before a chiming 'ding' announces an answer.
“Give it a moment. Your guide will be here in a sec.” Hitoshi hums and leans on the wall a little off to the side, keeping one eye on the door that leads further into the warehouse and trying not to be too obvious about it, the other eye on his emergency exit if things do end up going south. There’s never a guarantee.
“So, for how long have you known Blossom-chan?”, Baldy asks, leaning against the entrance in a similar position. Hitoshi may not be up for chit-chat at the moment, but he does (theoretically) know how to be polite. And if it lowers this guy’s guard, that’s a plus, too. Besides, he hates awkward silences even more than he hates talking, so he’s going for the obvious lesser evil. Choosing between a rock and a hard place, what a treat.
“Two or three years now, I think. Met her by chance one day and kept in contact via the internet over a few different forums for folks like us. Bonded pretty quickly. She’s surprisingly… not bitter for someone in our position.” Hitoshi thinks of ice cream outings and cat cafés and a comic con (once) that had turned out to be the embodiment of his own personal nightmare. He shudders. Never again. But no matter what, Ran has always been bouncy, bubbly and so full of sparkling rainbows and sugar-farting unicorns you’d never notice what a life she’s lived until she tells you. It’s surreal.
Baldy chuckles at that. It’s a scratchy noise, speaking of seldom use, though not uncomfortable. “Yeah, she’s one chipper kid, that’s for sure. Probably because she’s in so much contact with Sunny. That boy is positivity incarnate. You’ll be blinded by his sheer… everything, trust me. If you don’t try to hurt his friends, that is. He’ll be your guide, by the way.” Sunny, huh. That sounds familiar.
Hitoshi hums yet again. “Yeah, she’s told me about him. Adores him like a doting sister. It’s disgusting.” And she has, quite often even. He isn’t sure if he should expect a literal sun on feet to come bursting through that other door any moment now or if the guy is an actual human being. Neither would surprise him, if he’s honest, but it would be pretty fun to get a modern-day callback to the infamous Luminescent Not-So-Baby centuries later. History is supposed to repeat itself, isn’t it?
“That she does. Pretty much like everyone else. Kid didn’t name himself, after all.”
With that, they fall into a comfortable silence, Baldy playing on his phone while Hitoshi desperately tries to keep his skittish fidgeting to a minimum. Though that little talk did help a tiny bit with his nerves. At least he’ll be following someone around he knows, if only acquainted by proxy and through more weirdly adorable stories than Hitoshi has teeth. Nevertheless, he’s still not sure if he doesn’t regret his decision to come here, even after Ran’s insistence. New place, new people and a lot that could go wrong. Not to mention the neighbourhood they’re in. Aizawa-sensei would have his hide if the man were to know about it. No hesitation, no mercy and no chance for explanation.
A few minutes tick along, the air growing thicker and thicker by the second in the meantime, so much so that Hitoshi’s seriously contemplating striking up another conversation – he’s this out of character right now – until a knock sounds from the unfamiliar door, before it’s nudged open and Hitoshi stands face-to-face once again with a sheepishly grinning…
“…Midoriya?”
What in the…? Oh, hell no! That is not happening!
“Hey, Shinsou-kun! So it was you! Come on, I’ll show you around and you can ask your questions then”, Midoriya – Sunny chirps, before grabbing him by the jacket and dragging him back to where the guy had emerged from, waving shortly at Baldy who sends Hitoshi a knowing wink as a parting gift. Asshole. Midoriya only lets go of his sleeve once they’re a good chunk into the corridor. That doesn’t mean he stops his herding, though, urging Hitoshi forward like he’s some kind of newborn fowl learning how to stand and being encouraged by its (short, green) mother’s snout all the while. That mental image alone has him stumble. Kami…
“You’re Sunny.” It is a statement and clearly not. Hitoshi’s head feels far too full and far too empty at the same time. He physically cannot force any other words out. It’s impossible, his brain-mouth connection is either faulty, disturbed or needs a serious reboot, probably a mix of all of it.
It tracks, though. Ran’s various grandmotherly-esque tales about how this illustrious ‘Sunny’ is, quote, “such a sweetheart” and “so adorable and strong, maybe a little plain, but full of muscles” or just “like a sweet little bunny, fluffy little bunny”. Yeah, Hitoshi can see where she’s coming from. But still! The fuck is Yuuei hero-class 1-A’s smiley, stuttery, bone-breaking, overpowered golden boy doing in a not-so-abandoned Abandoned Warehouse™ next to the slums in the middle of a school night, gushing and fussing over him like an overprotective mother hen? And for how long has he been doing this? Hitoshi’s been hearing about him for as long as he’s known Ran!
“That I am. I’ve heard a lot about you from Blossom-chan, so I kinda already guessed that you’re our newbie. Anyways, you’re here because she vouched for you, so don’t take that on lightly! Blossom-chan put her name on the line for you! So I really hope you have nothing against anyone, and I mean anyone, be it because of quirks, looks, abilities or anything of that matter. We mainly focus on the victims of quirkism, though. I hope you'll be as respectful to the others as they will be towards you. Or else you’ll be faster out the door you came from than you can say ‘All Might’.” Warning received. Hitoshi just chooses to ignore the wagging finger and the forcibly stern stare from a boy who is around ten centimetres shorter than him and looks like he’d apologize to a street lamp for running into it.
Instead, he snorts as the words finally filter through his brain. “I’m not a hypocrite.” Which is somewhat true. All bets are off when it comes to coffee or cats, or his bike, though. But other than that, especially with quirks, no. He may be a certified jackass on a good day, but he’s not that much of an asshole. He has standards, low as they may be.
Midoriya nods and spurs him further again (Hitoshi hadn’t even noticed they’ve stopped walking), leading him into another corridor and through yet another door. They all look the same, bleak and bare and semi-crumbling. It’s half a maze here. If this does turn out to be bad (the possibility is always there), he’ll be in very, very deep shit.
“And what about someone without a quirk?” Sunny’s voice drops at once; it sounds almost dangerous. Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. That’s an odd question, but humouring the guy would probably be his best course of action, if the pressing gaze he’s finding himself squirming under is any indication. How can such a doe-eyed kid be this terrifying?
“Never met a quirkless person before, but so long as they’re not an ass, we’re good.” That seems to be the right answer. Midoriya’s shoulders relax and he gives Hitoshi a small smile. It looks like a mix between friendly affection, reassurance and… Is that pride? Is Midoriya proud of him? Why? And why does Hitoshi feel so accomplished because of it? He’s usually not one to preen, but that look on his schoolmate’s face has him want to puff out his chest like a proud little five-year-old being praised by their teacher for their neat handwriting. Does the guy have an emotional manipulation quirk on top of the one that turns his bones into soup? Hitoshi wouldn’t be surprised at this point.
“So”, he starts, “you’re here, too.” There’s no way in hell he’ll get this conversation going with a direct question, not after the Sports Festival (which he’s still confused about). Besides, he’s good at implying what he wants to know and this kid has to be smart enough to understand that much if he got into Yuuei. Right? Hopefully.
“That I am”, comes the reply, nonchalant, maybe teasing. Midoriya turns away, not fast enough to hide the cruel little smirk he’s sporting, though. Oh, come on! What an ass. Hitoshi’s making an actual effort here! He could do with a compromise…
“And you have an objectively good quirk”, he adds, not deigning this absolute disrespect with an outward reaction. Just a bit more…
“Or a quirk at all. Yes, that I do.” Damnit. Is he serious?
“Right…”, Hitoshi trails off, staring at his guide, unblinking, as they round yet another corner. Kami, is this a warehouse or a labyrinth?! No wonder it takes a guide to get around! What else could he do? There’s no way Sunny’ll be budging, not with that smug of a grin on his face. Hitoshi wants to smack it right off his broccoli mug.
“Right”, Midoriya echoes. Hitoshi bites back a groan. Oh, what he’d give for some social prowess right now. But he’s no Present Mic, much less an All Might or any other of those Limelight clowns, so he has to make do the Eraserhead-way, it seems. Handling it like Ms Joke just isn’t his cup of tea. He prefers coffee anyways.
“So, why the fuck are you here?”, he finally bursts out. The answer he gets consists of a cheeky wink and a beaming smile that lights up the entirety of the gloomy hallway. Yep, nomen est omen, indeed. English (or Latin or whatever) has to be good for something, after all. Sunny gestures towards his red-silver arm cuff, baby blue, white and black stripes sewn at the top and bottom of it, a red spider lily with white tips carefully embroidered smack-dab in the middle.
“’Cause I’m part of this little community. One of the subgroups, to be specific.” … Is that all? Golden Boy is apparently no good guide material; who knew? They enter yet another room, but this time Midoriya stops and motions to a chart on the wall of what seems to be some sort of lounge. Alrighty then. Never could have guessed Midoriya’d be a Management honcho in the making. Hitoshi supposes it’d be worse if he had whipped out an entire slideshow presentation. It wouldn’t have even come as a shock at this point. Still, one simple chart is preferable.
“Everyone here wears an arm cuff. That makes it easier for all of us to identify who’s the same, or, well, at least similar to ourselves. Those with mutation quirks might be obvious, but the cuffs are a sign of solidarity in our little community. People with mutations wear green cuffs, those with so-called ‘villainous’ quirks”, he wrinkles his nose at the phrasing, “wear purple… ironically”, Sunny shoots him a pocking little side-eye; Hitoshi does not react, “and the quirkless folks wear red.” He steps to the side, pointing at another sign. “Then we have mixes. Those with ‘villainous’ mutant quirks have a green-purple one, late-bloomers who basically grew up quirkless for a while usually got red-silver” he signals to his own arm again, “unless you’re a late-bloomer with a villainous quirk, then you get red-purple. And so on and so forth. I think you get the gist. Anyways, there are very few light reds here and there. They have traditionally ‘weak’ quirks. Although those tend to not stay as long in the community as most of the others, because they face less prejudices the older they get. Usually, that is, of course.” He pauses, frowning. Hitoshi has no idea what’s going on, neither with that weird crash course in ‘societal colour theory’, nor in Midoriya’s head.
Taking a deep breath, Sunny continues: “Then we have certain jobs that some people… ‘occupy’ is not a great word… maybe ‘fulfil’? You get what I mean. White stripes indicate you’re part of the medical personnel, meaning trained in at least first aid, though most are actually at an EMT level or higher. Blue stripes designate you as someone qualified to provide psychological support, if not actual therapy – all confidential, of course – and black means you’re part of security. Baldy, for example, is a Purple-Black. Blossom-chan’s currently working towards becoming a Blue Stripe. That’ll still take a while, though. The spider lily shows that you’re part of the actual organization and not ‘just’ one of the community. And yeah, that’s the basics…” He scrunches his nose in thought, before springing up like a jack-in-the-box. Hitoshi flinches. “Hold on, I’ll get you your cuff.”
Midoriya opens a drawer to his left, swiftly grabbing a neat purely purple arm cuff and practically waves it in his face. Hitoshi, however, just stares at him, trying to process all… of this. O-kay…? He gets the gist of it, he supposes, but it will certainly take some time to get used to everything. Not to mention the indication that Midoriya is part of some weird organization doing whatever-the-hell a sixteen-year-old does in their free time lounging around the city’s bad parts. Is a hero student practicing vigilantism? That’d be something. He’s so far away in his contemplations, he almost misses when his “guide” starts to speak again.
“Ah, and when you’re out and about but want to show you’re safe for others of the community, we have different sets of jewellery with the same colour patterns, and even spider lily stuff. That’s a little more covert than a whole arm cuff. You can choose rings, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, chockers, shoelaces and so on and so forth. We could even give you piercings! Although that might interfere with Yuuei’s school dress code. The other stuff is easier to hide…”
Hitoshi blinks. And blinks again as Midoriya quiets down more and more with every word, devolving into a mutterstorm about the various different types of the community’s signs and tells and how and where to show or to hide them. Somewhere along the lines, Hitoshi can make out bits and pieces about shoes or the like in correspondence with Yuuei’s uniform policy, how he himself is using that loophole and maybe it would be something for Hitoshi, too. Hitoshi, who himself is still stuck on that one tiny detail he only just realizes.
“You’re a late bloomer.” And that cuts Midoriya off. He chuckles lightly, scuffing his soles against the blank ground. It’s not exactly apprehensive, though it isn’t his usual happy-go-lucky sunshine either. There’s something pretty uncomfortable about Sunny’s shift in mood. And that’s not just contained to the emotional backlash Hitoshi's experiencing all of a sudden. He’s not used to dealing with – ew – feelings.
“Is that your only take-away from my little introduction?” Midoriya gazes at him through his bangs like a scolded child (thankfully without those infamous tears); Hitoshi doesn’t know if it’s the planned outcome, but there’s a very small coil of guilt slowly creeping into his chest anyway. He shakes his head.
“Nah, I’m just still processing the rest”, he smirks. It seems to help… in some ways, at least. Midoriya grows a concerningly deep red, squeaking out a short “Sorry…!”. Hitoshi’s proud of himself for being able to turn the tide like this without stumbling right into another mess. If it wasn’t so draining, he’d practice his non-existent social skills more. Alas, he’d have to be able to sleep for at the very least six months afterwards, otherwise he’d probably just collapse in a heap of ash like the insomni-pire he is. But now’s not the time for hypothetical musings.
“It’s fine”, Hitoshi replies, shoving on the new arm cuff. Now he just needs to keep the conversation going. Might as well ask for something interesting then. “So, when did you actually get your quirk?” Midoriya just blinks for a moment, but before Hitoshi can salvage the situation, the other’s already answering. Well, not quite.
“Hey, an actual question without force or coercion! Yay!”, Sunny rejoices, dazzling him with a smile. Too bright. “You can ask questions here, no one will hold anything against you. We’re all in the sa-a similar boat.” His grin widens. Somehow. Miraculously. Only a bit wider and it'll split his face in half. “But to actually answer your question: I got my quirk at fifteen.” Now Hitoshi seriously can’t help himself anymore, he gapes like a fish. Fuck his emotionless nature. It’s on vacation or something.
“But you are sixteen!”, he raves, gesticulating without thought. Midoriya valiantly dodges his flying hand and just continues to beam at him, less innocent shine but definitely some devious snark this time, with a glint in his eyes that sends an ice-cold shiver down Hitoshi’s spine.
“Exactly.”