Chapter Text
The sound of sneakers sliding across vinyl was his heartbeat in his chest. Sweat flicked off his skin as he moved, muscles fluid as water as he watched his limbs contort in the mirror. His white t-shirt was already darkening with sweat. He teased the hem, before lifting it up, over his shoulders as he sank to his knees, waving it in a circle over and over as he swiveled his hips.
Mina did the same, sports bra a bright pink against her brown skin, trying to steal his spotlight as she shoved into him.
He could see their students' laughter in the mirror. The music came to stop, and the room was filled with the usual cheers. Sneakers were tossed their way as they came to another end of a successful dance practice.
"Yeeeeeeeerrrrr!!!" Someone shouted from the back. They gave their bows. Hooking an arm around Mina's shoulders, he gave her a noogie, ruffling her bright pink curls as he shouted,
"Class dismissed! Good work everyone! See ya' next week! Advanced Crew, stay back for a minute!"
The usuals lingered, stretching out their limbs and loosening tight ponytails. Ochako, his best friend of the past 4 years, hopped right up to him. She was a ball of sunshine, face still beaded with sweat from the exertion, but smiling nonetheless as she winked at him through the mirror.
Aoyama, the self-dubbed *sparkling twink* of the group, whipped his blonde hair out of its sweat band, and posed for a mirror selfie with Mina. Eri and Kouta, the youngest and the last to come strolling up, took a minute to take off their shoes before joining the small group by the dance mirrors.
Izuku waited until the rest of the stragglers were through the door. Once the metal finally squeaked to a shut, he gathered them all in a circle, looked each of them in the eye, and grinned.
"So who feels like shutting down the L Train tonight?"
And if the slide of sneakers against the floors was his heartbeat, then the promise of mischief was his lifeblood.
~
Izuku Midoriya thought of himself as a simple guy. He was relatively strange looking, with more freckles than there were subway rats, pine green curls to match his eyes and a bit of a stiff posture. In a small, suburban town, he was sure to draw attention. In the endless sea of quirky individuals that made up New York City, well-.
He was just a dude who dyed his hair regularly like any other self-respecting bisexual you'd find on Christopher Street at 3 AM. He was one urban youth in a flood of Influencers, film majors, D-List Celebrities, NYU Tischies and failed comedians. The only people that were turning to stare were the tourists (And, yes, sometimes a hottie or two at House of Yes-but that wasn't the point.)
Bunny was different. When Bunny strutted down the street, there was no man that didn't look his way. He could draw crowds with a broad sweep of his hand alone, seduce a man with a flash of skin.
Izuku was a visual arts student at Pratt with lots of deadlines, a bad anxiety problem, and worse reliance on Mary-Jo-Anna to get through the day.
Bunny was an activist. A dancer. A fighter. A creator and art experience all wrapped into one.
It was kind of strange how they could inhabit the same body.
~
He ran through the train stop, hopping over the turnstile in his haste to get away.
"Stop! Stop right there!" A cop called behind him. He laughed, wild and free as he bolted up the steps, through the exit at Union Square.
Behind him, a Brooklyn Bound L-Train covered in red paint left the station.
"MAYOR HISASHI: THIS BLOOD IS ON UR HANDS BBY!!" read the posters plastered to every single train car, before it whisked away towards its next destination.
He could see Pinky exit and turn into the park, so Bunny went the opposite way, cutting into a clothing store on the corner where he knew a package would be waiting for him.
He hardly remembered to rip off the mask before he sauntered in. Easing his pace, Izuku made a bee-line for the sales section, picked up a couple random pieces and took the stairs down to the fitting rooms.
A woman, tawny-skinned with long white hair stared at him with suspicion clear in her eyes. As he approached, she blew out a bright blue bubble, and smacked her gum.
A way to ask for the password.
"Hot Wings and Chicken Nuggets." He muttered. The woman nodded, pushing him into a fitting room all the way in the back.
"Hawks told me to tell you to leave the clothes you're wearing here. He'll pick 'em up later." She said. Her voice was a little rough. It was enough of a warning to back off, as if the loose fitting jeans ripped to shreds, black docs and tight white crop top didn't do enough. He could see her nipple piercings through her shirt, framing the crescent moon at the center of it perfectly. After a brief second of blush-inducing distraction, he found the name-tag.
'Mirko'
So this was the one that got his step-brother laid.
"If you see him, tell him that we got most of the posters up. We'll slap up the rest when we get a chance. And, hey-,"
He held the curtain before she could shut it. At her intimidating quirked brow, he flashed a bright smile.
"Thanks, Mirko. I owe you one."
She gagged. "Not on your life Zuzzy. Don't even try it."
Ah, yeah, that's right.
He looked at himself in the mirror, hair plastered to his forehead, and red still high in his cheeks from running.
The same old Izuku looked back at him. Maybe Bunny would've had a shot...?
A sharp whistle rang out in the stall next to him. He waited a second, frozen in place, till another more insistent melody rang out, then he whistled back.
"Uravity!" came the perky whisper.
"Bunny." He replied, relieved. He began the process of changing out of his clothes, removing the tight black tee and gloves to deposit them neatly in the bag that Keigo left him. His dance shoes were the last to go, scuffed red Adidas on top of the sack.
"Pinky!" came another voice across the way.
"Sharkboy!" He struggled not to snicker as Kota's voice cracked midway. Ah, puberty. He didn't miss it at all.
"Lavagirl!"
"Twinky!"
"Honestly, Yuu, we're going to have to change your codename. No one's gonna take you seriously. Can't you be like 'Twinkle' or something?"
"That's not sexy at all. Trop drole! Thank you next~!"
The man sang the final note as they all stepped out of the fitting rooms. Izuku shoved his hands into his pockets, following at the back as their little group shuffled out into the store. Mirko eyed him as he was leaving. He tried for another smile. She huffed, narrowing her eyes, then turned to help another customer. Trying not to feel the pain of having his confidence trampled into the ground twice over, he scanned the racks with Mina, peddling through clothes at ease.
"Thought you didn't like fast fashion." He said.
"I don't." She replied, grin full of teeth. "But we've got cops outside and time to kill, so I'll make the effort to pretend."
Her hair was hidden beneath a baseball cap, but he could see a few pink strands peeking out. Tucking them back where they belonged, he looked around.
Eri and Kota were eying the candy section with similar yearning looks. Yuuga and Ochako were taking selfies, as per usual.
"You hungry?" He asked absently, watching Ochako press herself against the blonde's side. "There's a good pizza place around the corner. We can grab a slice before we head home."
The girl hummed, setting aside a bright pink fur coat. Adjusting her purse, she called for the other two to fall in line and they made their exit.
He liked working with Mina. She may have been a bit of a hyper-active, scatterbrain sometimes, but she was creative and could get things done by the proper deadline. She ran Ashido Dance Studio full time, while he was only an instructor for a couple classes due to his school schedule, but they both viewed the place as their kid. And co-parenting had never been easier.
The Ad-Crew was his baby though. He had notebooks upon notebooks filled with songs he needed to choreograph for, upcoming competition details, dance scholarships he could promote for the younger students, protest information Ochako sent him...
Ideas for demonstrations.
The 'L Train Murder' scene was just one of many, and they were on a tight crunch. Election season was coming up, and if they had any chance at doing their part to taking down Mayor Hisashi, then maybe they needed to take it up a notch or two? Flash Mob in Times Square? Nah, too many tourists. They needed something targeted next. Maybe a give-back type of thing. It'd been a while since they'd done one of those.
"My old roommate's volunteering at this Women's Shelter. We could do a show for them. Help them make a couple menstrual kits to hand out. Maybe slip voter registration pamphlets in there. Get out the vote. No costumes. Just us, but we'll make sure the pamphlets have Ad-Crew written on the bottom."
He didn't realize he was speaking out loud but it was for the best. Mina confirmed it; the idea was going to be in the works soon. It would be easy. Low stress cause there was nothing they really had to prep. And no costumes meant nothing that could get them arrested.
Perfect.
They rallied the troops to exit. Five-strong, they left as a pack, taking care to talk about some stupid things like The Bachelorette when they caught sight of the cops lingering street-side.
Izuku walked closest to them, making sure the youngest were on the inside as they strolled over to the pizza place.
Then something on the wall gave him pause.
Two days had passed since he had last been to this place. The mural staring him down definitely wasn't there before. He'd recognize that style anywhere: a touch-n-go, stenciled piece with crisp, neat lines and an explosion of color.
Lady Liberty stared down at him through a pair of shades. Her garbs were covered in dollar signs, not unlike the pattern major fashion houses used in their clothes.
"The Price of Freedom." read the caption beneath and, sure enough, the initials 'L.E.M' were scrawled in miniature letters after it. As if the signature were an afterthought.
Lord Explosion Murder's latest piece. God, this would sell for thousands when they took the chunk of the wall out. How long before people started noticing? Another day or two? He needed to get his picture in before the influencers started flocking. He was one of the first to notice it. Oh god, how much stress could his poor little heart take that night? He was gonna explode. This was it. He was dying.
"Zuku, what're you-? Oh."
"Can you take a picture of me in front of it?" He said, handing Ochako his phone. "Please."
She gave him a knowing smile, wordlessly agreeing as she accepted the device. He tried to pose without blocking the image, keeping as far away from the figure as possible but still staying in the frame.
"You really like this guy don't you?"
"'Chako, he's the greatest graffiti artist of all time." He had to consciously not stamp his foot. "His work has-."
Ochako cut in with an eye roll, reciting "Revolutionized the art industry as we know it, while simultaneously mocking the idea of capitalizing off of the creative pursuit. His medium-graffiti-"
"Was purposefully chosen as a means to provoke audience reaction. L.E.M is not meant to appease the masses but to spur them into action against the perils that face society today."
Mina finished. The woman clapped a hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the pizza shop.
"We get it fanboy. Now buy me a Margherita slice, wouldya'?"
He acquiesced, but he still threw a longing, backward glance at the piece. The initials L.E.M glinted bright red in the glow of the streetlights.
~
The sharp tang of paint smelled like home. Despite the black facemask clinging to his nose, it seeped in slow and thick, filling his head till he got that familiar high so crucial to his artistic process. A stream of black fell from his hand to the canvas. He turned it around, quick and precise, again and again till he had a maze staring back up at him.
Clear. Crisp. Lines.
Now what to do with them?
There was the jingle of the key in the lock. The low murmur of voices gradually got louder, followed by the scuffling of sneakers and crunching of paper bags. He could hear them settle around his kitchen table. The squeak of chairs as they slid against his cherrywood floors.
"Hey! Bakugou! We got Halal!"
Jirou's voice. The 'we' would definitely include Kaminari. Kaminari meant noise. He moved fast to close the curtains of the work area, but Jirou was faster.
She caught the fabric, smirk already cocked and loaded. Her black bob cut had grown out since the last time he'd seen her, edges choppy. Dark bags hung under her eyes, stark against the pale color of her skin. Was she alright? Probably putting in too many hours at that radio show. He already warned her about it.
"Nice try Kats. Come down dude. I know you haven't eaten in hours."
"Got work." He mumbled. "I gotta-."
"Nope." She tugged him out, fingernails blunt against his bare arm. There was an assertiveness to her touch, one that made his argument melt on his tongue. The smell of falafel over rice didn't help his declining will power at all.
Sure enough, her boyfriend was already at the table. Rice sprayed from his mouth as he gave his hello. Katsuki ignored him, taking his own tray and a fork from the dishwasher. He ate standing up, wolfing it down like a man depraved, as the two lovebirds carried the conversation.
"Last one did some pretty good numbers." Kaminari was saying. His long fingers were wrapped around a beer can. Jirou neatly swiped it away, cracking it open and taking a swig before her man could complain.
"You guys should've done it somewhere in the outer boroughs though. It's lifespan was low. Mic didn't even think it was worth mentioning on air."
The man cracked a chicken bone between his teeth, amber eyes wincing at the impact before marrow spilled out.
"Well, yeah, we put it in Soho. I'm surprised it lasted the three days it did. But in those three days, how many people came to see it? We won't get that type of show-out in Queens."
"Not to mention the Ad-Crew are out here stealing your thunder."
"Ad-crew?" Bakugou spoke for the first time. His voice was a little hoarse. The post-art sesh dehydration was no joke.
"A dance crew I think, but they do protest art too. Here, check it out."
Jirou took out her phone. A few swipes of her finger and she was pulling up a video on Youtube.
He knew the L-Train when he saw it. The usual train warnings came on, and the doors shuttered to a close. At first glance, the passengers looked totally normal. There was a drastic range of ages, genders, races so no one seemed 'out of place'. The diversity played in their favor. No one could be picked out of the crowd.
Then the lights went out. A rolling darkness for a second or two, till they began to flicker. He saw a flash of movement, then the entire train car burst into chaos.
The passengers were bathed in a red light.
"How did they do that?" Kaminari asked the question that was on all their minds. Katsuki's head was already spinning with answers. LED Lights? Maybe red sheets masking the normal ones? They needed time to prep something like that, and to execute it in a whole train car? When there were only five of them?
Fuck, maybe the video was doctored? But the bystanders were the same. He could see the old man with the cane in the end seat from the earlier shot giving the crew a mean side-eye.
They all took their designated spot, spread across the train car. They seemed young. He wouldn't venture to say that they were older than him, and he had two and a half decades under his belt. Two were definitely underage. Those ones stood at the center, clutching hands like a couple of scared kids. Different masks covered their faces. The one closest to the camera, probably the ringleader, had a green bunny shielding his features, with tall ears sticking out of his head. When the music started, he was the first to move.
Katsuki expected the usual. Some pithy 'Showtime!' with people jumping off of poles and hooking their ankles in the handlebars. One performer while the others waited their turn and applauded.
The typical NYC reaction: blase. Disinterest. Annoyance.
But Bunny assumed a fighting stance. He was looking at something through the window of the end-doors. Right hand outstretched, he made a 'c'mon' gesture.
Then there was a rush of action. Five of them was more than enough for the whole car. They spread out, taking on each end and breaking into a whole dance routine. From their sleeves flew pamphlets. He had no idea what they said, but they were all over the shot.
Not asking for attention. Demanding it.
At once they froze. In sync, their heads cocked to the left. The right. The lights started flickering and they were screaming, scrambling all over the place in their rush. Three left the train car entirely, leaving Bunny and the girl with the unicorn mask behind. Two of them were acting out a scene, he realized belatedly. With surgical precision, they moved through their routine, movements stiff and stern, more like a military march than dance. A beat, then they stood stock still, spines straight as a pole.
The bunny turned, formed a gun with his hand, and 'pulled the trigger'.
An explosion of red burst from underneath the seats just as the train rolled to a stop in the next station. As the subway doors opened, it flowed out onto the platform, but not before the dancers made their getaway. The shot changed from inside the subway car to the station's surveillance system, where the five could be seen running towards different exits.
One of the older girls-the last to leave the trains-blew a kiss at the camera before making her getaway.
That's where the video stopped.
"Apparently they were protesting the recent budget cuts to the public schools. Y'know how there's this wave of extra-curriculars getting shut down in the public schools? There's this concern that cutting out the programs that keep these kids occupied-."
"Keep the kids off the streets." Kaminari corrected, snapping another chicken bone. His girlfriend pressed a hand to his shoulder.
"Is going to affect their chances at success. Which, I mean, let's be honest. Those concerns are valid."
Bakugou was still staring at the final frame. There was something familiar about that girl. She didn't wear a full face mask. Instead, she donned a bright pink surgery mask and a black baseball cap. There was something else peeking out from beneath the rim. A bandana? No.
"This happened tonight. The Ad-Crew uploaded this onto their Youtube account three hours ago. It already has 10,000 hits and is one of New York's trending tags. Apparently, they've been building up a following right under our nose." Her tone turned thoughtful. "The content's pretty controversial though. Some people are arguing that the implications are a bit too explicit with the red paint and all. It generated a lotta buzz. There's no doubt Mic is gonna cut out time for a segment on this tomorrow." Her voice lowered to a murmur.
" I hope he'll let me pitch in."
"They're good, but they're not L.E.M good." Kaminari said loudly. "Like Kats is notorious. They just got a bit of internet clout."
"Clout goes a long way these days."
It wasn't a bandana. It was hair. Pink curls.
"That's Mina."
"Wha-?"
Katsuki pointed at the smug little bitch winking at the camera. His pulse thrummed hot under his skin. Suddenly, he wasn't tired at all.
"That's fucking Mina. Mina's stealing our bit."
He was going to kill her.