3rd person POV
The day progressed slowly from there as the classes moved towards until lunch, but not a single student present could truly tell anyone anything as to what they were supposed to learn that day. All of the students of class 1A were watching the new body in the room, their minds burning with questions that they couldn't ask until the break. They all watched the way that Midoryia and Shinso seemed much more familiar with one another than any strangers had a right to be.
The shorter of the two was slouched down in his chair and leaning his head against the brainwasher's desk as the boy in question absentmindedly played with the tuffs of green hair. No one else in the room knew the lengths that it took for the pair to become so comfortable around another after every other touch before them had been something violent, something scarring. But they didn't need to know to see and understand the product of it all.
The bond was something untouchable, even if the pair didn't quite know that.
Not yet anyways.
What drew the attention of everyone in the class other than the unbothered pair was the utter lack of reaction from the resident explosive blond in the class. The lack of anything. All the boy was doing was sitting and staring out the window. For a moment Kirishima wondered if he was even breathing at all, but then he saw the teen twitch at the sound of the vigilante's voice and knew that the boy was alive.
When the bell rang to signal the start of lunch the pair had managed to escape from the room before any of the other students could hope to corner them and question the two, much to Mina's dismay.
Sometimes when Bakugo was young and still possessed the emness belief that all children seemed to hold, he would wonder what it would be like to see a ghost. To witness spirits that should no longer exist persisting and doing so anyways. He grew out of such thoughts not long after the world started viewing him as a hero for his power, but watching the two familiar figures walk away to lunch, their sides pressed tightly together as they allowed the other closer than they ever would anyone else, Bakugo thought that he knew. (Maybe he always did, maybe that was why the thought had lost its wonder.)
The green haired teen, though his features looked like the boy that he once knew, the other boy wore them differently, without any of the lingering light that Bakugo himself had tried so hard to kill. It was as if the world had taken something from the boy as a price to allow him to remain on earth for longer than he should and this was all that was left now, a spirit in a man's corpse.
Bakugo has always been full of himself and today he thought that perhaps he was the world.
(He'd never thought much of the boy after those times that he saw him, but now that Bakugo was put into such a familiar setting with the other, now that he was put somewhere where he knew how the teen should act, the difference was too much to ignore anymore.)
The pair walked to lunch together, their voices dropped into a conspiratorial whisper as they worked their ways through the line, getting ouch from the food hero and grabbing a table.
"You know that they're going to ask questions, right?" Hitoshi asked, picking boredly at his rice as the rest of the students, their classmates, trailed in through the doors.
Izuku shrugged, looking just as much of a corpse as the other boy's mother had once named him. "Of course they will," he agreed, because how could they not? He was the most interesting thing to appear since whatever the children's last shock had been. "We could make it interesting though."
The purple haired teen quirked a brow at the other boy's words. "What do you propose?" He asked, losing all interest in the bowl of rice that he'd been playing with for the better part of a minute now.
But the green haired boy only twirled his chopstick without any emotion in the gesture, but Hitoshi was well versed in the language of the smaller teen and knew mischief when he saw it.
The rest of class 1A, sans some of the more quiet members and one notable blond, made their way to the pair, taking the empty seats around them.
"So where did you go to school before?" Kirishima asked, wondering to himself if there was a connection between the boy before him and the one that he's come to call a friend even if the blond won't quite admit to it yet.
"I was homeschooled," the green haired boy answered, a false note of innocence forcing its way into the boy's voice, a noticeable change that brought a smirk to Hito's lips as Izuku had known that it would.
'So this is the game that we're playing?' Shinso thought to himself.
"Soooo, how did you become a vigilante?" Mina asked, seeming to not be able to hold the question back any longer, ever the gossip.
"I was just walking and someone got attacked," Izuku answered her, but his eyes were locked on the teen sitting opposite to him.
"So is that what we're going with?" Hitoshi asks, crossing his arms in a way that would have almost seemed bratty if it weren't for the most carefree smirk that anyone in the class had ever seen being sprawled across his lips. This was the most alive that they'd ever seen the boy, even if they didn't quite understand as to why.
"I suppose it is," Izuku answers, his posture loosening ever so slightly.
No one else seemed to understand what they were talking about, but it had seemed that the class had come to a silent agreement that they would probably never understand whatever it was that the pair had going on. Not for a long while at least.
"So what's your quirk?" Kaminari asks, leaning across the table excitedly.
And just like that Izuku is shut down again.
"That's a rather personal question, don't you think?" Izuku asks, his voice just as monotone as ever, yet no one seemed to notice the way that it held something of a cold note to it. Hitoshi especially.
Everybody but Kami it seems.
"I mean, not really," the electric boy answers, not knowing of the change. To him it only seemed like a natural thing to know, everyone else already all of the others quirks.
"Back off," Hitoshi snarled protectively, pulling himself to his feet as the smaller boy followed suit, the pair pressed against each other once more.
But even though Hito knew that the other boy was obviously bothered by such a delicate thing being brought up, he knows that he would have been had he been put in this situation, he couldn't stop the small but of joy that coarser through him as a product of the encounter.
'There had been emotion in Izu's voice.'
—-
When the time for hero studies came and All Might did not, Eraserhead sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he would have to be teaching the class. Though really he was secretly pleased by the fact, wanting to be near the newest addition to the class in case something were to happen.
'Because if it were it would be now,' Eraser thought.
Maybe if he was thinking of any other child he would be right.
The students are all gathered in one of the gyms, each dressed in the horrible gym uniform that Eraser still wanted to burn everytime that he saw it. He was sure that whoever designed it had to be a villain of some sort, or at least Mic had said the theory enough over the years that Eraser was inclined to believe it. He blames it on prolonged exposure.
The kids had all already stretched out and were set to spar lightly with their quirks, all except for one that was.
"Icarus," Aizawa spoke out loudly enough to be heard, calling the boy over to him.
He watched as the boy left Shinso's side with some reluctance before making his way over, that stony look of his permanently affixed to his face as his nails seemed to absentmindedly scratch at the bandages. Or it might have been a purposeful reminder of what the teacher had done, Eraser could never truly tell when it was Icarus involved.
"Eraserhead," the boy said tonelessly.
The teacher sighed tiredly. "You know that you really should call me by my name now that you're here and one of my students.
"Then you really should call me by mine," the boy shot back without any of the hesitation that the rest of Aizawa's students would have had the decency to hold.
"You know that I can't let you have most of your weapons," the teacher reminded his newest student, only feeling a twinge of guilt at the fact that the hero now possessed almost everything that the boy had created or modified.
"The gun is non lethal," Izuku reminds the man, wanting to be done with the conversation already.
The hero looked down at the boy with a look that didn't take a genius to decipher. "The beads," the man says in hopes of compromise.
"Fine," the boy agrees, holding his hand out with an almost inpatient manner to the movement, all but itching for the orbs to be back into his possession.
The hero pulls out the bag and places it in his student's hand, watching as the boy holds the bag and shakes it as if to reacquaint himself with the weight that it held.
"I don't understand why your so angry," the hero says, not realizing that he'd spoken the words aloud until it was too late to stop them.
But he really didn't.
To Aizawa the idea that the boy was mad to be at the hero school wasn't something that he could quite wrap his head around. The kid had become a vigilante and now he was being given a chance to use his skills to be a true, legal, hero. He didn't understand why the boy was angered and as far as Midoryia was concerned, he didn't need to.
He didn't need to know about the blood that flowed through Izuku's veins or the potent feeling of betrayal that he felt everytime that he saw the hero's face and remembered the promises that had been so cavalierly broken by the man so soon after they had been made. He didn't need that.
"Guess," was all that the teen said before walking back to the purple haired boy.
'Problem child.'