(How To)Forgive and Forget

A Smile(Is All You Need)

Thankfully, it's break. Izuku can stay in his room most of the time without too much inquiry.

He still comes out to help around the house, though. It would be inconsiderate not to. Still, he's starting to run out of things to do by the end of the week.

Thus, he finds himself staring at the ceiling blankly at 1am. His room is stuffy, and Izuku is wide awake, mind buzzing with thoughts. A run. A run will tire him out, maybe help him keep his barely patched together sleep schedule.

Throwing on a hoodie and shorts, he sneaks across the living room to the front door and checks to make sure he has his phone and keys. Once that's confirmed, he opens and shuts the door quietly, locking it behind him and pulling the hood up on his face.

His feet lead him to Takoba Beach. The water glitters in the bright moonlight, a faint breeze carrying the smell of salt to his nose. There isn't a person in sight.

Slowly, he makes his way across the sand. When he's close enough to touch the water, he stops, hands deep in his pockets as he looks out over the water. It's ironic that he'd come here to think, considering this is where it all started.

Something about the ocean calls him. It's wild and unrestrained and so free. It isn't subject to judgement, or bound by rules or morals or legacy. It just is.

The sand shifts behind him as someone else approaches him. Judging from the gait...

"Did you reconsider?" Izuku asks, tilting his head to watch Shigaraki approach him.

Behind him, familiar purple must swirls, almost blending into night around it.

Shigaraki doesn't respond, just walks up to him, face partially hidden underneath hair and hood.

It's silent for a couple minutes, the purple mist still swirling behind them. Finally, the villain speaks up.

"Only for a couple hours. My party members are either boring or annoying. Sensei said you could come as long as you don't try anything." Shigaraki shrugs, and Izuku feels a tidal wave of relief rush through him.

"You got it. Thanks."

"Don't thank me just yet, my party members are fucking wack jobs."

"That says a lot, coming from you." Izuku responds dryly, hands deep in his pockets.

Shigaraki doesn't respond, just walks through the portal with Izuku close behind him.

The smell of alcohol, blood, and sweat assaults his nose, and it only takes a moment to adjust to the low light.

It's a bar. A very well furnished bar, but a bar, nonetheless. Six people are scattered around the room, looking occupied. Behind the bar, Kurogiri was polishing a glass.

Actually...the role of a bartender fits. Without the whole villain thing, with his neck-brace and suit, and the polite demeanor...yeah. It fits.

"Everyone, this is my guest. Be nice." Shigaraki says, and instantly the attention in the room shifts to them. Some of them are better at hiding it, but one girl leaps to her feet and squeals loudly.

"Ooh, who is he? Does his blood taste good?"

Blood?

It's then he spots a pair of fangs in her grin. Oh. Blood based Quirk, then.

"These are most of my new party members. Some of them are out right now."

Izuku nods in understanding, tugging the hood off of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Kurogiri's form flicker.

"He's so cute!" The blonde girl grins even wider and bounces up to him, the glint of metal the only warning before she attempts to stab him.

Years of practice dodging elongated, sharp fingers is how he manages to yank his body violently out of the way, quickly righting himself and watching the girl for any more attacks.

She doesn't move threateningly, just pouts and clutches her knife to her chest. It makes him feel bad. People with blood Quirks had it harder than most, especially when finding a clean source of blood.

"Sorry, you startled me. You have a blood based Quirk, right? Do you need my blood?"

She looks surprised at his question, her smile disappearing for a moment as she scrutinized him. He gives her a small smile, and she slowly steps forwards, a gleam in her eye.

"I haven't had any in weeks. My supply ran out right before I met Handsy." She pouts again, and Izuku raises an eyebrow.

Handsy—oh. Oh. Shigaraki.

He stifles a giggle, his smile getting a little bigger behind his hand.

"Well I'm pretty sure I'm disease free, so if you want some, you can have it. Just don't take enough to make me pass out, please."

And then she lights up, grin even brighter than before.

___________

An hour later, Izuku is resting on a couch, trying to beat Shigaraki and a person with a lizard-type Quirk called Spinner at Mario Kart. He is...terrible, to put it nicely, but the villains are too busy screaming insults at the screen to care.

In the corner, Toga and a person in a bright orange jacket converse, the latter wearing a soft smile as they spoke to the girl. A man with burns disappeared shortly after his blood donation, and the man with a grey and black mask leaning out a window and smoking a cigarette. Another person with a yellow trench coat and a geometric mask is talking to Kurogiri, who seems to be keeping an eye on him.

Overall, it's relaxing. No one calls him Deku or mentions heroism or the pressure of All Might—it's not on purpose, but the man's so oblivious sometimes it's hard to think of him as the Symbol of Peace—or talks of becoming a new symbol—god knows that isn't what society needs—or desperately sprinting through a never ending tunnel just to be on equal grounds with his classmates in a fight. He's just Izuku.

A couple rounds later, he watches the controller disintegrate in Shigaraki's hands. The first thought that comes to his mind is why he doesn't have gloves? Then he remembers Shigaraki is a villain and probably needs his death weapons for hands ready at all times. Still, judging from Kurogiri's long suffering sigh, this happens semi-regularly.

Maybe artists gloves? Those seem like a better option.

Filing away the information for a later date, he looks up at the screen. The game pauses because the controller disconnected. Quietly, he hands his remote to Shigaraki, who's frustrated expression morphs into resignation as he takes it from the scarred, crooked hands.

"Thanks, brat."

With that, they start again, yelling obscenities at the TV.

___________

By the time he stumbles back home, it's eight in the morning and his phone has been blowing up for the past hour.

After a flurry of apologies and a half truth about going for a morning run and stumbling on a couple friends and losing track of the time, he's released to his room. His mom tells him to text her next time and heads to the kitchen to make breakfast.

For the once, he feels light, and a smile is easy to conjure to his lips. It's smaller than his normal forced ones, but it's the most genuine one Inko has seen in a long time.