Despite being the nation’s top hero and an international celebrity, Izuku slips unseen through the general populace without much trouble. He puts on a pair of sunglasses, pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up over his hair, and shoves his hands in his pockets and stalks through the streets. Most civilians still have such a distorted view of Pro Heroes that many of them, once stripped of their costumes and exaggerated personas, can rejoin the public without worry of being recognized.
Izuku is simply one of the more dramatic examples of this phenomenon.
In the early morning, after Aizawa, Yamada, and Eri have all left for UA, he sets out for his agency. It sits off the beaten path, in a section of the city historically underserved by heroes, though that’s changed in recent years. He worries more about being recognized when entering the streets around his agency, pulling a medical mask up over his nose and ducking his head.
Few reporters are visible as he approaches the agency. Between the passage of time and Yuuki’s cold cutoffs of any questions asked, the frenzy and fervor that his absence kicked up have died off.
Even so, he enters through the side door.
He needs to scan his keycard multiple times before he even gets to the stairs, but from there it’s a quick jaunt up to the top floor.
Compared to previous Number Ones (even compared to other heroes in the current top fifty), his agency is miniscule. Most of its aboveground space is dedicated to support staff: secretaries, analysts, Yuuki’s assistant, the budget and finance team, the police-agency liaison, the team dedicated to receiving and sorting through and replying to the absurd amount of fanmail he receives ….
(A long time ago, he used to try to answer as much of it personally as he could, though he quickly learned that he needed to choose between being a celebrity and doing his damn job and. Well. That choice was an easy one.)
The rest of the agency space (and what most of their start-up budget went toward) is dedicated to an underground training facility. It’s far from any of the slick, state-of-the-art facilities that hero schools and other agencies have, but it’s big enough for them to throw each other around in without breaking the walls.
See, the choice in location for his agency was made based on two criteria: it serves a previously underserved neighborhood, yes, which was the most important criteria, but it’s also sitting on top of a defunct subway station they reinforced and remodeled. The space was there—had been sitting there, in fact, since the beginning of the age of heroes—and so they made use of it.
That just leaves the top floor to house the offices of Izuku, his sidekicks, and Yuuki (and Yuuki’s assistant).
It also has a break room containing the most comfortable couches Izuku’s ever crashed on. That was a deliberate choice: there’s nothing like being stuck waiting on the go-ahead for a mission deep into the night and having to crash on bad couches.
They’re also great for mid-day naps.
He steps out of the stairwell and breathes a sigh of relief. It’s like coming home, even after everything. Though a bitter, hurt part of his mind tries to tell him that everyone here is upset at him, that he’s let them down—he knows better.
This is the team he trusts his life to every time they enter the field together, handing it over to them without hesitation.
The top floor is laid out like a big donut. Two stairwells sit opposite each other while the offices and break room wrap around the outer walls, leaving an open space in the middle. Were this a normal agency, that would be the bullpen where the sidekicks set up their desks, but there’s not enough heroes even working here to bother with that.
Instead, that open space is dedicated to a pool table Ryuuzuki—Seiko—brought in and displaying Paladin—Hikaru’s—impressive collection of cosplay costumes, mannequins all dressed up like a handful of her favorite anime characters. One of Izuku’s costumes sits among them, a Hawks cosplay he commissioned someone to make articulated prop wings for the second he had the money to do so.
Given the open setup, he’s not surprised when one of the doors slams open and Hikaru strides out, bow in hand.
“Hey—” she begins, and Izuku can see the exact second when she realizes exactly who he is. “Hey!”
She lays her bow down across the pool table and strides over to him. When she pulls him into a hug, her chin easily rests on the top of his head. His nose stings with the smell of her quirk, something smoky and sweet, and he closes his eyes and returns the embrace.
“Hey,” he replies, voice thick.
After a few moments, she squeezes extra hard and releases him. She steps back and watches as he pulls the mask and hood off and pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head.
“Man, I’ve missed you.” Her voice is thick, too. “Are you doing better?”
He nods in response. “Yeah, I think I am.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “And I missed you, too.”
Another door slams open. “Hey, is that who I think it is?”
Black Ankh—Chiwako—is the youngest member of the team, a fresh-faced twenty-year-old looking even more baby-faced next to the rest of them, who are all in their thirties (or almost there, in Izuku’s case). She rushes over, wings shifting excitedly behind her.
“I guess that depends on who you think I am,” Izuku replies.
Chiwako squeals and hugs him, too. He wraps her up in his arms, easily engulfing her. While he’s not tall, next to even him she’s positively tiny. Her wings and force of personality make up the difference, giving her a magnetic presence few can look away from.
She goes so far as to wrap her wings around him, as well, soft black feathers whispering across the back of his neck.
The activity attracts two more, Seiko and Yuuki both emerging from their offices. Izuku accepts two more hugs and welcome-backs from both women before Yuuki moves the five of them into the break room.
“You look like you’ve been actually sleeping,” Seiko mentions quietly as they leave the central area. “You look better.”
“Thanks.” Izuku smiles, small and wry. “I have been sleeping better recently.”
Seiko nods. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
There’s still coffee, hot in the breakroom pot. Yuuki pours herself a cup and offers some to the other four. Chiwako accepts, while the other three settle down with water and, in Seiko’s case, a bagel.
“Things have been pretty quiet, lately,” Hikaru remarks.
Izuku chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah, that’s good. At least the world hasn’t decided to go to hell the moment I take time off. That would be just my luck.”
“Shhh,” Chiwako hisses. “Don’t jinx it.”
“I mean, there was that one reporter who tried to break in?” Hikaru frowns, finger pressed to her cheek as she thinks. “That was interesting.”
“Yuuki didn’t tell me about any reporters breaking in.” Izuku raises an eyebrow at Yuuki, who shrugs, looking unapologetic.
“Didn’t see the need to bug you with that,” she replies. “Anyway, I guess now is as good a time as any to talk business. Do you have any plans yet for when you think you might be returning to the field?”
Izuku shrugs. “Well, if my attempt had been officially reported, that would be a minimum six-week license suspension and a psychological evaluation before I could even think about returning to the field, so that’s probably good place to start.”
“Hang on, hang on.” Hikaru holds up a hand, eyebrows drawn together in concern. Seiko and Chiwako bear similar expressions. “Are you … implying that you’re taking time off because you attempted suicide?”
“I was … very close, yes,” he replies. “Yuuki didn’t tell you, then?” he says as he turns to look at Yuuki.
“Hey, that’s your thing to tell people about, not mine,” Yuuki replies. She still sits relaxed, leaning back in her chair, and she shrugs loose shoulders.
“Well, shit,” Seiko mutters. Slightly louder, she says, “Too bad there aren’t manuals for what to say when your friend tells you he almost killed himself. That would come in real handy right now.”
Izuku shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “They don’t really write manuals for how to tell your friends that you almost killed yourself, either.”
“Well.” Hikaru pats his shoulder, the left one. “We’re all very glad you didn’t go through with it. Who else would be the Hawks to my Endeavor?”
Something warms in Izuku’s chest despite the awkward air in the room. He relaxes into his chair, while across the table, Chiwako nods emphatically.
“I’m very glad you’re still alive,” she agrees.
Yuuki clears her throat, drawing every eye in the room. “Okay. Enough sappiness. Back to business. So you’re thinking six weeks?”
“More or less.” Izuku shrugs. Slipping back into professional discussion is easy, thankfully, letting him set aside his emotions for the moment. “I’ll be staying where I am for … a little while longer, I think, but once I’m back at my apartment, I’ll start coming into the agency again. Even if I’m not going into the field, I can still work with Kouta and train with the rest of you and do paperwork.”
Hikaru raises an eyebrow. “Where you’re at? … Inpatient?”
“God, no.” Izuku shakes his head. “I don’t even want to know how much money it would take to keep a hospital from reporting me to the Commission. No, I’ve been staying with my homeroom teacher from UA.”
“Besides, I don’t think inpatient would let him out to come here,” Seiko points out.
“Right.” Hikaru nods, blushing. “Forgot about that for a moment.”
“Well, we’ll be happy to have you in whatever capacity you’re ready for when you come back,” Yuuki continues, guiding them back to the topic at hand. “And I don’t think I need to remind everyone, but what you’ve learned today doesn’t get told to anyone. I think we would all prefer not to get a failure-to-report strike.”
Hikaru, Seiko, and Chiwako all nod and voice their agreement.
Perhaps Izuku will have to remember to be a little less candid about everything. Though he trusts that all of his former classmates can and will keep their mouths shut about it, a lot of people stand to get in trouble if it gets reported. A lot of people as in, everyone who knew about it and then didn’t report.
Aside from Yuuki’s order of business, there’s not much official stuff to go over. Hikaru fills him in on what’s happened in the past week-or-so, while Seiko and Chiwako chime in with their own additions. In total, they spend maybe an hour talking before everyone else needs to return to their work, and Izuku heads back to the Aizawa-Yamada house.
He breathes easier as he commutes back. One more step toward re-establishing equilibrium has been taken. A thousand more remain, but as long as he can keep walking forward, they’ll all come with time.
The buzz of his phone in his pocket jerks him out of his train of thought. It’s a text from Mei.
Melissa just told me she’s surprise flying out to see me (and everyone else too lol) you want to come by the workshop sometime this week?