Chapter Text
Osamu sits up in bed with a long, drawn out yawn. Chuuya stirs beside him with a groan, forcing his eyes open to look up at the brunette.
“Why the fuck do you have an alarm at 4am?” He hisses, reaching over to grab Osamu’s phone and shut the offending noise off. Osamu just giggles, snatching his phone from Chuuya before he can shut the alarm off.
He turns it off himself and places his phone back on the nightstand. He pulls the covers away from himself, throwing them on Chuuya who only grumbles at the action, and then stands up.
“‘Cause I have stuff to do, unlike a certain slug lazing around in bed.”
“It’s 4am. Even Mori isn’t up yet.”
“Mori’s a lazy asshole, too.”
“Well- fuck you.”
Osamu snickers at Chuuya’s lack of comebacks. There’s a tired slur to his words, and Osamu doesn’t have to look behind him to know damn well that Chuuya’s closed his eyes and is falling asleep again.
Fair, Osamu supposes. Their classes start at roughly 8.30, after all, and Chuuya’s probably gonna need more sleep to keep himself from lashing out during the day. He’s really such a brute. He’ll yell at anyone who dares to step even slightly out of line. Osamu’s even seen him hit recruits during training when they speak up against him or question him.
Really, it’s much more effective and less energy-wasting to just threaten them with a gun. A punch to the face twice a week won’t kill you, and it’s less intimidating! Put a bullet through their leg and they’ll never be impudent ever again.
Mori might complain that they’re now “incapacitated”, or whatever, but at least they’ve learned their lesson.
Osamu walks over to their closet, looking through it for the uniform that they’re supposed to wear to school. Ugh. He already knows he’s gonna hate it- sitting down all day and listening to old people yap about pointless stuff that he already knows.
His fingers find the familiar gray fabric, and he pulls it off its hanger. A white undershirt, a gray vest with dark blue-green stripes over the sleeves and the collar, a red tie, and dark blue-green pants. Those were their signature colours, Osamu learned. It’s… fine, he supposes. He isn’t much for fashion. Chuuya’s probably gonna complain about them, though. He never shuts up about fashion or how ugly Osamu’s clothes are.
Which they aren’t.
He lays the clothes on the desk, not bothering to care about all the papers he’s spread out there. They’ll find their way back into place. His organization system has always been messy- no one but him can find anything in that mess, and many people have complained about it. That’s why he’s never allowed to sort things again. He sorts in a way that makes sense to him, not for anyone else.
Chuuya had forced him into pajamas before they went to sleep last night. He doesn’t particularly love changing clothes or outfits. He gets used to wearing one pair and never lets go of them after that. That’s why Mori bought him so many outfits that are just identical. “Hygiene”, or whatever.
These clothes were… they were definitely clothes. Soft and loose on him and they didn’t itch, for once. Usually he just sleeps in his work clothes, but these were… fine, too, he has to admit.
He pulls the shirt over his head, throwing it on the bed and ignoring Chuuya’s ensuing grumbling. Picking up the white undershirt, he hums a little tune to himself. He pulls it over his head, adjusting the collar of it until he’s comfortable.
It’s similar to his own shirt. White, thin but not too thin. The only issue he has with it is that it’s not reinforced like his own is. Stupid hero school, stupid rules, stupid everything.
He takes the vest, next, and pulls it over the shirt. It’s surprisingly thin with how thick it looks. Osamu assumes that it’s made with some thought into heat regulation, so that they don’t overheat during hot summer days inside of the school, or get too cold during winter. He can appreciate that aspect at least.
Osamu changes into the pants, too. They’re a bit big on him (even though it’s the smallest size that U.A has), like the rest of his uniform, but he doesn’t mind. He reaches for the belt on the desk- another little thing provided by U.A. He adds it to his pants and tightens it until he’s at no risk of having his pants fall down, folding the excess belt away neatly.
Next, he grabs his tie. Swift fingers tie it around his neck. He’s used to wearing ties. He ties them everyday.
And maybe his practice with tying ropes and nooses come in handy for this, too.
Osamu walks over to the mirror, inspecting himself. He looks very… weird. The clothes are too big on him, and it’s especially noticeable on his upper body. He huffs, pulling the excess fabric behind himself to tighten it. If he can just get his hands on some sewing equipment, he can probably fix the issue himself.
He doubts that U.A will be happy to provide him with it, but it’s worth a shot.
His eyes roam over every single detail in the mirror while he adjusts the bandages wrapped around himself. The ones on his wrists and head are beginning to come loose- this is why he dislikes sleeping. It always messes with his bandages. Skinny fingers adjust them, pulling them tight around his skin again. He unties the ones around his head, silently looking at himself in the mirror again.
Scars mar the right side of his face. They’re not as bad as some other scars he’s seen- they don’t deform him, or anything- but they still aren’t pleasant to look at. Something heavy settles in his chest, making him aware of how heavy his body feels.
He feels weird again. All… funky.
Osamu tears his eyes away from his reflection, hoping that’ll be enough to force the feelings back into his subconscious.
“Are you being self-conscious again?”
Chuuya’s voice jolts him out of his thoughts. He almost- almost- flinches, whirling around to face Chuuya. His eye widens as he stares back at the redhead.
“I don’t get self-conscious,” He snaps back on auto-pilot.
Chuuya scoffs. The redhead has sat up in bed now and is watching Osamu with eyes that know too much. Osamu’s shoulders tense.
“...Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You were mumbling to yourself. Again.”
Oh, fuck.
“...nuh-uh.”
Chuuya’s previously tired and slightly concerned expression morphs into annoyance, his lips curling back and his eyebrows furrowing. The covers are pooling in his lap, keeping him warm.
“You’re an idiot.”
“You’re worse.”
Chuuya pulls the covers off himself and gets up from bed. Osamu’s sharp eyes track every single move, almost paranoid. He doesn’t like it when anyone sees his scars. Chuuya’s seen them many times before, yet he still despises it and how it makes him feel.
Disgusting. Gross. Weird.
Chuuya doesn’t say anything. He grabs the bandages from Osamu’s hand, reaching up to gently tie them back into their proper place.
Osamu blinks. His lips part, and he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say. They close again. Osamu always knows what to say or what to do. He never gets caught off guard- he knows his allies like the back of his hand, inside and out- so why does Chuuya always manage to stun him into this… stupid state.
“There,” Chuuya sighs. “Happy again?”
Osamu just stares at Chuuya. Looking down, but just slightly.
Chuuya raises an eyebrow at him.
“...You good?”
Osamu ignores the heat forming in his chest, instead finally regaining control of his too-heavy body. He steps past Chuuya, their shoulders brushing against each other.
“I’m great! I’m gonna eat breakfast,” He chirps. It’s clearly an excuse and he knows that Chuuya knows it, too.
“Yeah, sure… i’m going back to bed,” Chuuya responds sarcastically as Osamu shuts the door behind him. Some of the tension leaks from his body (after he’s looked around and made sure he was alone). He walks through the living room and then into the kitchen.
He absentmindedly opens the cabinets and the drawers, looking through them for anything he might consider eating as he thinks.
Chuuya usually never just.. patches him up like that. He wasn’t ever quiet and gentle like that, and Osamu hated how it had felt. The gentle brush of fingers against his face, then his hair, the gentle adjusting of the fabric to make sure it covers the scar entirely. The way Chuuya was so concentrated, lips thinned into a small line, eyes focused on only the bandages. Osamu has never asked Chuuya to do anything for him, not in the way of bandaging him back up, at least. Chuuya’s seen him fully without bandages, but only once. He’s seen him without specific bandages before, though.
Sometimes, it’ll be after a health check-up. Sometimes, he’ll catch him freshly after selfharm. He never really comments on it, just sends the bloody towels scattered around Osamu’s container a concerned look before stepping over to the man himself.
So for Chuuya to just… bandage him back up like that. He hates it and he loves it at the same time.
And he hates that he even thought of those words.
He pulls out another drawer and settles on the piece of chocolate he finds in there. Milk chocolate, low cocoa percentage. He sighs happily as he picks it up, unwrapping the wrapper.
Oh, how he loves candy.
He can hear some footsteps beginning to approach, but he really doesn’t mind. He’ll get caught up at… 4.10am, eating chocolate, on a school day. That’s really not the worst thing he could be caught doing.
“What are you doing?”
Osamu turns around and comes face to face with Aizawa. The teacher’s eyes narrow as he takes in the sight in front of him- a teenager, up at 4am, with heavy eyebags, yet no sign of tiredness on his face.
“Eating chocolate!” Osamu chirps brightly, plastering a wide smile onto his lips.
“I can see that. Why are you up at 4am and eating chocolate?” Aizawa sighs, tired eyes meeting Osamu’s.
“Because I was hungry.”
Osamu can practically sense the frustration radiating off Aizawa already as the man steps past him into the kitchen and towards the counter behind him. Osamu follows the movement, leaning on the counter beside Aizawa. Aizawa has his eyes on the coffee machine (which Osamu somehow didn’t notice before), and he reaches out to begin making himself some coffee.
“Want a cup?” Aizawa offers tiredly. Osamu hums and nods, jumping up onto the counter and getting comfortable.
He cracks off another piece of the chocolate before popping it into his mouth, chewing and watching silently as Aizawa makes two cups of coffee.
The man isn’t half bad, honestly. He has a much more… realistic view of the world, despite being a hero. Oh, and he’s also an underground hero, which is even better! He’s rarely ever in the spotlight. The downside is that Osamu hasn’t seen him fight before. He wasn’t active in any of the attacks or festivals that Osamu had researched, which was a bummer. He’s curious about how that scarf works and how Aizawa’s quirk works, too.
It’s fun to mess with him, and it’s even more fun to force him to watch him and Chuuya bicker. He always gets so worked up and so annoyed at them.
Right now, though, he just seems like a sleep-deprived insomniac. Which Osamu can heavily relate to (even though he wouldn’t describe himself as an insomniac).
Osamu swings his legs, head tilting as he leans his head on the cabinet beside him. “Couldn’t sleep?” He asks. He keeps his tone light, bordering on melodic. That sort of tone usually conceals any hint of tiredness quite well- tiredness still shows through calmness or happiness.
Aizawa’s eyes drift up to the brunette before returning to the coffee maker. “No.”
The response is curt but Osamu doesn’t let himself be deterred.
“Why not?”
Aizawa heaves a sigh like this is the most annoying thing he’s done in his entire life.
“That’s none of your business. And why are you even up at 4am?”
Osamu sighs dramatically, too, taking another bite of his chocolate.
“I like getting up early,” he responds through a mouthful of chocolate, giving just enough truth to make it seem plausible, but not the entire thing. He isn’t about to tell Aizawa that he likes getting up because his life demands it from him. He’s one step away from running an entire mafia, he really only sleeps one or two hours a day and functions just as good every day.
Aizawa sends him a skeptical look and Osamu only responds with a bright smile.
“...To each their own,” He eventually sighs, beginning to pour the liquid into two mugs. One has a cat print on it and the other has some generic slogan on it. Aizawa holds one mug out to Osamu, who takes it without question.
He brings it up to his lips and tilts the mug back, the warm coffee tasting almost heavenly. He’s gone way too long without any coffee or energy drinks, honestly, and he’s missed it so, so much. He shifts again, setting the coffee down on his lap, balancing it with his legs. He’s trying not to spill it on himself and he succeeds in it.
It was a bit hot, sure, and the warmth sinks through the fabrics of his pants. It’s almost nice but he might have to pretend he dislikes it or else Aizawa would think he selfharms. He probably thinks that already, but oh well.
Osamu watches Aizawa sip the coffee, the older man’s fingers wrapped around the hot mug as if it doesn’t bother him, either.
Silence reigns over the kitchen for another few minutes, only ever broken by Osamu or Aizawa breathing, or either one of them sipping their coffee. It’s quite peaceful, and it allows him to fully investigate Aizawa’s mannerisms more. He doesn’t doubt that he’ll get more info on their teachers after today, but it’s good to start early.
And he’s falling asleep on the counter, so he might as well do something to keep him awake. He left his phone in the dorm, after all.
Aizawa’s expression never changes. It remains a mix of relaxed and almost tense, as if he’s permanently frustrated. There’s a furrow to his brow, and his lips are set tightly, but his shoulders and body are relaxed. One arm is placed on the counter to hold him up as he leans on it, keeping himself upright with his hips. There’s authority just radiating from him, especially from his eyes. Osamu wouldn’t be surprised if he had learned some trick to make his eyes look like that.
Hopefully, he can teach it to Osamu. Looking even more like an authority figure will definitely help in the mafia. Even though most know not to mess with him, new recruits will still underestimate him, and it pisses him off.
He’s stopped counting how many newbies he’s shot just because they were being bratty to him. Not shot as in killed, but just… a little warning shot to the leg, to the arm. Nothing fatal, nothing that would affect their physical capabilities in the long run. It’s a similar technique to how he had learned the routines Mori drilled into him.
Almost literally drilled.
He remembers when he was first practicing his aim. He’d practiced before the mafia, sure, but only with slingshots and bows, not actual guns, so it took a little while to get used to the different scopes, crosshairs, and the recoil. Mori would drug him, as… bad as that sounds. It’s really a dramatic description, but Osamu can’t think of another word for it.
Mori would slip him a pill later during the day, telling him that ‘it’ll make it go away’. It never worked, it just made him feel all woozy and made him throw his guts up for the whole evening. It was… effective, to a certain degree.
Eventually, when Osamu could accurately hit larger targets, they moved onto smaller ones. Barely a few centimeters wide, so small he could barely see them from a distance.
Each time he missed, Mori would hand him more drugs. Would force him to take them if he refused, and then told him to shoot again. Osamu eventually got used to shooting, normally as well as when he was drugged. That’s half the reason why Mori never cares if he’s high when they go on missions.
Osamu could probably hit an ant while high if he wanted to.
“Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s rude to stare?” Aizawa rasps, black eyes meeting Osamu’s reddish-brown ones. The words snap him out of his thoughts, out of his looking back at his own training.
Osamu resists the urge to respond that his parents are dead. He doesn’t know if they actually are but he hopes they are.
“Well… yeah, they did,” Osamu responds with a shrug, setting his mug down beside him. “But I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Aizawa scoffs in response, but it almost seems amused.
“I see.”
Silence falls again for a few long minutes. Osamu finishes the rest of his coffee, silently lamenting his loss of caffeine now.
Aizawa eventually breaks the silence, setting down his coffee cup with a clink that cuts through the silence sharply. “I’d tell you to go back to sleep, but you just had caffeine,” he rasps, grabbing Osamu’s mug as well and placing them carelessly by the dish washer.
Osamu’s smile falters at the edges before he reinforces it again.
“Yeaahhh… no sleeping for me!” The brunette chirps happily, sliding off the counter now. He watches Aizawa fuss around the kitchen, cleaning up some of the messes from last night. Osamu had skipped dinner and the social part, claiming he needed to sleep to prepare for his first school day.
Chuuya wasn’t happy with him to say the least. He’d complained all night about Osamu skipping dinner again before force-feeding him some gross, disgusting, barely edible piece of food he’d stolen from the dinner table.
Aizawa doesn’t say anything else, for now, as he cleans up after his coffee-making endeavours. There isn’t much to clean— their technology seems to have some sort of self-cleaning function as well— so he just ends up standing around for a little bit.
Osamu pads out of the kitchen and heads back to his dorm. He glances at the clock he passes. It’s only been another twenty minutes. He debates between playing a game and doing actual research while waiting until Chuuya wakes.
One is fun, the other is boring but necessary.
Ehhh, he’ll probably just play some game on his phone until he gets tired of it. He doesn’t get tired of the games he plays- most of them are shooters or merge games that he really loves. It’s his favourite pass time and it’s even better because it annoys the mafiosos around him. Not Hirotsu, though. That man’s nice about his gaming, and Osamu’s had the pleasure of watching him try to figure out how his handheld console works.
Osamu opens the door to his dorm, quiet as a mouse. He doesn’t know anything else and honestly doesn’t understand how some people manage to be as loud as they are. It’s almost impressive. Keyword, almost.
It’s more annoying than anything else.
Chuuya’s gone back to sleep, he notices. He carefully shuts the door again and locks it. He slumps down on the bed beside Chuuya, pulling his phone out from his uniform’s pocket. He turns it on, lowering the brightness so as to not disturb himself just yet.
The room is still dark, exactly how Osamu prefers it. No lights are on, the curtains are still pulled over the windows, and the sun isn’t bright enough to shine through the curtains yet. That’s how it is at home, as well. He doesn’t have any windows- only a small desk lamp- so he lives in perpetual darkness.
Osamu taps on a random shooter game and continues to play it for two hours, until Chuuya wakes up.
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Chuuya fixes his tie for the last time, staring at himself in the mirror. He’s made sure to fix everything about him- his uniform was neatly put on, his hair styled into his usual hairstyle; the half ponytail. He made sure a hundred times over that he looked fine, and Dazai, having sensed his anxiousness, had also reassured him, seemingly tired by his superficial worries.
The anxiety is stupid. Chuuya doesn’t get why he’s so worried about seeming proper, polite, about making a good first impression to a bunch of stupid high schoolers. But his stupid brain has decided to work itself up over his appearance again.
The last time he cared this much for his looks was with The Sheep. Despite being a group of homeless children, they were all pretty well-groomed and took care of their appearances. Now, Chuuya doesn’t have to worry about where he could find a shower or some lotion. He doesn’t have to worry about dirty clothing or how straight his tie is. He could show up to a meeting in pajamas of teddy bears holding hearts and still get the amount of respect he deserves. That’s partly why he likes holding the title of “Executive” - the respect.
He’s been disrespected so many times in his life. The streets weren’t kind to him, especially because he didn’t even know his own identity for most of his life. But now he’s earned a reputation. That he’s dangerous. Powerful. And he loves it.
“Are you done gawking at yourself?” Dazai’s grating voice speaks up from where he’s waiting by the door.
Chuuya rolls his eyes but looks away from the mirror, moving to join Dazai at the door. “I wasn’t gawking, I was making sure that I look presentable,” He corrects as the brunette unlocks the door. “You wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Dazai sends him a scathing glare over his shoulder and Chuuya grins proudly back at him.
“Yeah, right! I look better than you do,” Dazai scoffs, mockingly tossing his hair. He doesn’t even have any hair to toss. It’s just a jab at Chuuya’s slightly longer hair (which is fashionable and makes him look very pretty, compared to the bandage-wasting idiot).
“You’re delusional.”
“You’re delusionaler.”
“That’s not even a damn word.”
“It is now!”
“Ugh. I hate you.”
“Yes, yes, I love you too.”
“You’re gross.”
The common room is noisy when they enter. Chuuya glances over at the clock- 8.20. Most of the people remaining in the common room are the late risers… and probably the ones that are more likely to miss class.
He pretty easily spots Kaminari, Mina, and Hagakure. Having an invisible girl in his class… he’s really gonna have to get used to that one. Jirou’s also hanging around, silently listening to the conversation between the other three.
Mineta’s holed up in a corner, nose buried in some sort of magazine that Chuuya’s not at all interested in looking at.
Chuuya doesn’t bother greeting anyone, instead just passing through the living room with Dazai beside him and exiting the dorms. It’s a cool, fresh morning, the air hitting him pleasantly. It’s a nice change from the dorm room. Dazai’s always on that damned laptop, and it tends to heat up the room and make it smell kind of… like electronics.
He hates it. It’s annoying and it makes it difficult to sleep.
But at the same time, Dazai’s at least making him useful in ways that aren’t harmful to himself and everyone around him. He… really has a tendency to do that. He’ll throw himself into harm’s way, use himself as bait, get himself kidnapped, just for some small pieces of information that’ll be useful later.
He really, really needs to learn how to care for his life.
Not that Chuuya cares. Not at all. He knew what he was signing up for when Mori decided to make them partners. A suicidal maniac and a lab experiment. What an amazing combination!
They walk the path leading back to U.A’s main building in silence. Dazai occasionally grumbles about school and how much it just sucks but Chuuya doesn’t bother listening to him. Chuuya assumes that Dazai had gone to school before he joined the mafia, but he really doesn’t know anything about his past. That man’s a mystery. Even Mori doesn’t know what happened to him, what had fucked him up so badly.
He’s curious, though. Dazai knows Chuuya’s past, why can’t he know anything about Dazai? The most he knows is that he’s a creep who likes stalking through the dark and likes cutting himself when no one’s looking or getting high. Uh, mental issues deluxe, basically.
“...uuuyyaaa! You’re zoning out on me!” Dazai’s incessant whining brings him out of his thoughts.
“Yeah, I couldn’t be bothered to listen to you yap.”
“You’re the one that yaps, dog.”
“I’m not your fuckin’ dog!”
“Yes, you are!”
“Ugh, you’re so damn immature. Let go of the bet already.” Chuuya knows that he’s expecting too much of Dazai when asking for this. That man never lets go of bets or embarrassing moments- honestly, he probably has a years worth of memories of Chuuya doing dumb shit.
Dazai pouts from beside him, poking Chuuya’s side as they walk. Chuuya reels backwards, away from the touch, nose crinkling.
“Fuck off, don’t touch me.”
That look flashes over Dazai’s face for barely a millisecond, before he schools it back to the practiced neutral state.
Dazai’s lips curl into a smirk, “Wooow, Chibi can’t even handle being touched by me! And I’m the immature one,” He grumbles to himself, crossing his arms over his chest like a sulking child. Chuuya rolls his eyes at the action.
They reach U.A, by now. The doors are open, held open by some mechanical device that some student probably invented. Or one of the teachers. Chuuya’s heard some things about some ‘support course’ students before, so he assumes one of them might have made the device. Or not. Honestly, he doesn’t have the brainpower to think this much about school and students at not even 9 am.
Chuuya walks in first- habit. Dazai trails close behind him. It’s a habit they built to disarm traps when they had started to gain their fearsome reputation. Chuuya walks in first- any bullet or item that was shot or thrown at him would be able to be stopped by his ability, and Dazai could easily dismantle any other traps.
They probably didn’t need to do it at U.A, but it doesn’t hurt.
…Besides, that routine isn’t something he could stop, even if he wanted to. It was just second nature- instinct- by now.
Dazai is the one to guide him through the hallways as they chatter and bicker about pretty useless topics. They can’t exactly go around talking about the next drug deal they’re supposed to escort or overview, or the next training drill they’re going to host, or the next executive meeting that they’re going to attend.
So they talk about anything else that they can think of. One moment, they’re bickering about the arcade games that they love to bicker about, and the other one they’re speaking in code about how much they want to go see Yokohama. It’s really nothing special, and to anyone listening in, it would seem like they’re just discussing fire and clothes. Which is… perhaps a weird combination, but teenagers are weird, and Dazai doesn’t look mentally stable anyway, so it’s safe to assume that Dazai’s the type to randomly blurt out some morbid trivia fact.
Eventually they pause in front of the doors leading to 1-A’s classroom. Dazai shoots Chuuya a smug look; “Ready for your first day of school?”
Chuuya’s fingers curl into fists in an attempt to restrain himself from practically throwing himself at the brunette.
“Shut up.”
The ginger steps past Dazai, who only laughs, and shoves the classroom door open. Some eyes turn to them- some are fleeting glances from Uraraka and Tsuyu- the other ones are more curious, like Iida and Midoriya.
“Good morning!” Iida greets in his robotic tone and with a stiff wave as the two step inside. Dazai yawns dramatically, stretching his arms out above his head as he saunters into the classroom. Chuuya’s eyes catch on the yellow… bag… thing curled up by the teacher’s desk but doesn’t question it.
Who knows how quirky this school is, honestly? The people attending have lowered his standards for what’s supposed to be orderly by quite a lot.
It’s not a jab against mutants- he’s learned that that’s the proper name for those kinds of quirks- but more of a jab against the general personalities. Many of them seem unserious, like they don’t take this school seriously at all, and the others are too aggressive, cocky, and arrogant to even make it onto the battlefield in most cases.
“Good morning,” Chuuya responds to Iida, glancing around the classroom.
It seems… ordinary. Well, Chuuya doesn’t have any real experience, but it seems to fit in with the general trend of how classrooms look. He’s seen them in fiction before, of course. Dazai’s insisted on Chuuya joining him for sappy highschool romance movies before (and no, Chuuya definitely did not cry when watching half of them).
“Your seats are here!” Iida informs, gesturing to two seats at the very front of the classroom. Dazai groans behind him, and Chuuya’s lips tug upwards. He mumbles a ‘thanks’ in Iida’s direction before slipping into his seat.
He lets Dazai take the seat closest to the window, knowing damn well that the other would whine and complain and bitch about it if he didn’t let him. As if to prove his point, Dazai lets out a satisfied huff as he takes the seat to Chuuya’s left side.
“Y’know, we should do that more often,” The brunette pipes up and Chuuya, along with the rest of the students, sends him a suspicious glance at the words.
“...do what more often?” Chuuya’s not sure that he wants the answer to that question.
“Play games?” Dazai sends him a mildly offended look. “What the hell did you think I meant?”
Chuuya ignores the way his face heats up.
“You never know when it comes to you,” he grumbles, crossing his legs under the table and looking away from Dazai, who is quickly turning smug. Chuuya ignores- well, tries his best to ignore- how Dazai’s eyes are growing half-lidded, how his lips curve up into a teasing smirk, and how he’s leaning in closer.
He wiggles his fingers at Chuuya, “Chibi’s got his mind in the gutter!” He chirps accusingly and Chuuya’s never wanted to hit him more than he wants to now.
“Shut the hell up!” He snaps in response, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He’s still refusing to look at Dazai. He can practically feel the class staring at them, their gazes burning into the back of his head.
Izuku isn’t quite sure what to make of their new classmates.
They’re… entertaining, in a way, to look at and to listen to when they’re bickering. It’s also slightly concerning how personal their insults get sometimes, but neither one of them seem to be genuinely hurt by it.
Izuku can’t help but think of their first meeting whenever he sees them, whenever he interacts with one of the two. How Dazai’s eyes had seemed so lifeless when he pointed that gun at Izuku’s head, and now, they gleam with life. There’s always that shine to his… well, to his eye, considering he only has one visible. He seems so lively now that Izuku can barely imagine that he’s the same cold, calloused, and frankly terrifying person that had threatened his life.
They’d talked after that, too. Dazai had apologised when Aizawa-sensei most likely forced him to, and after that, he hadn’t done or said anything violent. He’d talked about shooter games once or twice but honestly, so many other people in his class also play shooters that he can’t note it down about the mysterious brunette.
Mysterious is an understatement. Everything about him is unknown. His origin, his qu- ability, and how he even functioned with that many bandages. Izuku imagines that they’d get quite gross after a while, especially if you’re out and about during the day. It can get hot during summer- doesn’t he sweat a lot, and get the bandages all icky?
How much does he spend on bandages per month? Does he wear them for medical reasons or for aesthetic purposes? What purpose do they serve? They only seem like a big bother to Izuku, constantly having to wear bandages that likely snag on door handles, that stick uncomfortably to your skin, and oh, they probably itch, too!
It sounds nightmareish to Izuku.
And then there was Chuuya. He hadn’t been able to get a good view of Chuuya during their first meeting due to… Dazai’s actions, but what he had heard from Iida and Uraraka had chilled him to his core. He was cold, and he almost seemed angry at first, before Iida could identify the expression as apathy. He had perfect control over his ability, pressing them down enough to incapacitate but not enough to seriously injure his friends.
Now that he’s thinking about those two, they’ve honestly made a lot of progress, even if it’s only been three or four days since Dazai and Chuuya arrived. Iida seems to have adopted the ‘guide’ role and has been helping them out in the dorms or the school area whenever they need assistance. He’s gotten over the fear he initially felt about them. Uraraka was making progress, too- she said that she’d paid Aizawa a visit recently and talked about the incident, and that it really helped her get over her fear. She’s still a bit wary, but she’s better than Izuku.
He has considered visiting Aizawa-sensei, too. To outsiders, he doesn’t seem very friendly or easy to talk to about traumatic incidents, but he’s shown a softer side to the class recently. He probably pitied them for what they had gone through- the USJ attack and the near death experiences that came with it.
He hasn’t gone yet, but maybe it’ll help. They are his classmates now, after all, he needs to get along with them and treat them like any other students. It’s difficult, but he’s trying his best.
Anyway- Dazai and Chuuya’s bickering brings him out of his mental ramblings. Uraraka is sitting on the desk beside him. Class hasn’t started yet, so she’s taken her usual spot to chat before Aizawa starts homeroom.
“Deku-kun?”
Izuku looks up at his nickname being spoken, “Hm?”
“Have you talked to Iida recently?” Uraraka’s eyes drift over to the blue haired boy, who’s watching Dazai and Chuuya while trying to pretend he isn’t. Izuku shifts where he’s sitting, fingers twiddling with each other anxiously.
“Yeah, a little,” He responds, “We talked about Dazai-san and Chuuya-san, mostly. He said that he’s been getting over his fear of them, but…”
“It doesn’t look like it,” Uraraka fills in for him. There’s an ounce of worry to her tone.
“Yeah…” Izuku sighs in agreement.
Maybe Iida isn’t doing as well as he thought. He should convince the other to join him with talking to Aizawa. That could probably help both of them a lot.
The last flood of almost late students have arrived by now, lightening the tension that had begun to form in the classroom. Izuku’s grateful for it. It lets him ignore the overanalyzing part of his brain for now.
A few minutes after the latecomers had joined them, Aizawa-sensei steps up to the teacher’s desk, crawling out of his yellow sleeping bag like he always does. Everyone scrambles to get into their seats with Aizawa’s judging eyes sweeping over the teenagers.
“Good morning, class,” He rasps out. Izuku could swear that his eyebags are heavier than usual today, maybe someone upset him this morning? He wouldn’t be surprised if Mic had bothered him in the staff room, he seems to have a knack for teasing Aizawa until the other is twice as tired as he was before the interaction.
“Good morning, sensei,” Most of the class responds in unison.
Aizawa picks up a stack of papers, “Attendance check.”
Izuku would normally be demotivated with a tired, monotone and honestly dull teacher, but Aizawa never had that effect on him. Instead, he feels like he needs to try harder to make a smile crack Aizawa’s lips, to melt his facade down slowly and to get genuine praise from him.
“Aoyama.”
“Here!”
“Yaoyorozu.”
“Here.”
“Bakugou…”
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They’re in english, and Osamu’s finding this very boring. He’s already perfected his English- he knows every grammar rule, every advanced rule, every boring word, hell, he even put effort into changing his own accent into something that seems more native.
And now he’s sitting here at a desk with some teacher- Present Mic- telling him about their newest assignment before leaving the class to it. Apparently, it’s preparation for the exams that were supposed to be arriving soon- a month, or two, Osamu wasn’t really listening.
Osamu is hunched over a few paper sheets containing more ‘advanced’ english that he really can’t be bothered to look too deeply into. It’s just boring shit that he already knows. It’s useless, but like the good boy he is, he scribbles down answer after answer after answer. Chuuya’s pace is slower than his, and he seems like he has to actually think to answer half the questions, but not everyone can be as amazing as Osamu.
Chuuya’s english isn’t bad. Not at all. That’s almost the only backhanded compliment you’ll catch Osamu saying to Chuuya. The only ‘bad’ thing about him is how he keeps forgetting words and that he still has that japanese accent, but it’s been fading more and more as Osamu keeps talking to him in other languages.
It’s actually a lot of fun to just bother Chuuya with other languages- like French. He could say something absolutely horrible and Chuuya would just pretend he doesn’t speak any french. It’s almost cute to see the ginger get so worked up.
“‘zai?”
“Yeah?” Osamu sighs as Chuuya speaks up, probably intending to ask him for help.
“Did you forget to tell me about your little meeting?”
Osamu finally looks up from his papers and looks over at Chuuya, lips thinning into a line. Their conversation is drowned out by the rest of the class chatting, thankfully. Osamu isn’t keen on explaining this to Nedzu, Mic- or to anyone for that matter.
Shifting, he drops the pen, leaning on his fist again to look at Chuuya.
“I did,” he responds in french. Don’t blame him for being careful- their clothes might be bugged. He doesn’t want information like this to just spread. Even though he had checked the clothing thoroughly for any mics or cameras, he isn’t about to take such a careless risk. “I was gonna tell you later today.”
Chuuya isn’t weirded out by his French, thankfully catching on to his intentions relatively quickly. The redhead’s shoulders bleed some tension as he responds. “You never tell me anything.” Osamu would’ve described the tone as bratty if it didn’t amuse him so much.
“Well, Chibi doesn’t need to know! He can make do with whatever he gets, riiiight?” Chuuya’s jaw hardens.
“At least tell me when you’re about to put yourself in danger, you idiot.” Osamu snickers at Chuuya’s pretty poorly concealed worry.
“You’re so cute when you worry.”
“What the hell- don’t say shit like that,” Chuuya spits back at him, an undecipherable look in his eyes before it returns to annoyance and anger.
Osamu blows him a playful kiss before returning to his work, with Chuuya begrudgingly doing the same.
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Ethics are boring, Osamu’s realising.
Perhaps not realising, he’s always been aware that he gives zero shits about ethics and morality, but ethics class is boring as hell. Don’t do this, don’t do that.
Every kid is taking notes, too. Who needs to take notes to know that they aren’t supposed to tear up entire buildings just to take down a villain because it poses a threat to civilians? Is this really what theoretical heroics are supposed to be? Because it’s boring.
Osamu toys with his bandages, zoning out as the teacher continues droning on. Soon enough, it’s going to be lunch time. He’ll have some time to slip away then, maybe even escape Chuuya until the other inevitably finds him afterwards.
He has a talent for that, and it’s annoying as hell. Constantly being able to find Osamu, wherever he hides himself.
But, back to his lesson.
They’re discussing some psychologist that had researched about how ethics and morals were formed, and Osamu supposes this would be interesting if he didn’t already know about all of this. It’s not like he willingly took any psychology classes, but Mori knew it’d be useful for any future plans including manipulation, so his tutor was basically forced into teaching him one too many methods to mess with someone’s head. And Osamu remembers it all. He barely ever needed more than one lesson to remember what he was taught.
“...and this experiment, while highly criticized, proved how far humans are willing to go…”
Osamu tunes the teacher back out with a sigh.
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“You wanna sit with us for lunch?” Kaminari asks, strolling over to Osamu and Chuuya who stare back at him with curious looks in their eyes. Osamu had wanted to slip away, but he probably couldn’t just run away and escape now. He shifts where he’s standing. He misses the presence of his coat, honestly. He doesn’t look as intimidating as he used to.
Chuuya glances over at Osamu, who meets his eyes for a few moments, before slowly nodding in response to Kaminari’s invitation. “Sure, we’ll… join you,” he responds slowly. Kaminari’s face lights up with a bright smile, his hands that had previously been fidgeting now growing more relaxed.
…huh.
“Cool!” The yellow-haired kid chirps and then waves his hand at them, guiding them over to where the lunch line starts.
The cafeteria is pretty large. Well, it makes sense, they probably have a thousand students or something at the school, and everyone obviously needs to eat. Although, everyone is a bit of an overstatement. Osamu’s sure that some people skip lunch- just like he had wanted to. Ugh. Now he’s going to have to put up with school lunch.
Waiting in line takes around ten minutes, if not less. The queue shortened by a lot in a lot less time than he had expected it to. When they reach the main area where you pick up the food, Osamu’s eyes instantly find the person supposed to be making their food. Another hero, he supposes. He looks… weird, though.
He’s dressed in normal chef clothes- white, slightly loose, and a brown belt with U.A’s mark on it. His head, however, is covered by something that looks like a chef hat. Attached to his mouth is a blue-grey mechanical tube that Osamu would assume is for breathing. Definitely not what he had thought the chef would be, but he’s slowly growing used to the odd appearances of everyone.
“Kaminari,” the chef greets and Kaminari beams in response.
“Heya, Lunch Rush!” he greets back, then gestures to Osamu and Chuuya, who are standing beside him, “These are the two new students I told you about!! Make sure their food is extra tasty!”
Lunch Rush somehow seems fond, as if he’s smiling under that chef hat. “You got it, boss.”
Kaminari smiles toothily and takes the food that Lunch Rush hands to him, and he steps aside to let the other two teens take their food, as well. Osamu eyes the rather large portion, eyes flickering between the food and Lunch Rush’s face.
“...Don’t you serve smaller portions?” He eventually asks. Chuuya rolls his eyes so hard that Osamu can practically feel it from here. Lunch Rush seems a little surprised by the request, but then just shrugs.
“Sure,” He agrees, turns around for roughly ten seconds, and then turns back to Osamu with a mildly smaller portion. He barely even made it smaller, for fucks sake! Just… removed a few fries and some pieces of meat. Reluctantly Osamu takes it and returns to his spot as Chuuya’s side.
Kaminari’s already walking away, and Chuuya and Osamu follow without complaints. They end up at a table with Mina, Bakugou, Kirishima, and Sero. And Osamu isn’t surprised to find that it’s quite… chaotic, to put it mildly.
Mina is discussing all the newest gossip in whispers so loud that the neighbouring tables can hear her. At least she’s trying to be discreet. Maybe. Bakugou’s eating his food in an… angry way, somehow, and Sero, Kaminari and Kirishima just chime in every so often to comment on whatever Mina’s saying.
Osamu’s chopsticks remain in their packaging, neatly placed beside his food that remains untouched. Chuuya’s eating, but Osamu’s more interested in the gossip. Most of it is childish- “Did you see what Nejire posted on Tiktok yesterday?” but some of it is more interesting, like “Oooh, hey, I heard Shigaraki was spotted in the mall”. Shigaraki’s a familiar name- he was the man that had attacked U.A during their drill at the USJ facility.
That could be worth looking more into. Maybe he was the one that had been kind enough to invite Osamu and Chuuya for a meeting? Or maybe that was wishful thinking. It might just be some other low-level villain wanting to recruit the two. How would the underground even have access to any information about them? Was this Mori’s doing? Does the mafia still live to this day? It isn’t as visible, if it’s still alive, which makes it harder for Osamu to slip around like he’s used to doing.
But not impossible, still.
“Hey, Dazai.” Chuuya’s grating voice interrupts his peace of mind. He looks up to find the other staring at him. “Eat.”
Osamu rolls his eyes at the demand, but he picks up his chopsticks, slides them out of their paper casing, and then splits them apart. Reluctantly, he picks up a piece of chicken with them and pops it in his mouth. It’s… fine, he supposes. But he’d rather eat crab. He might have to force Aizawa to buy him crab or he’s going to go even more insane during his time at U.A.
Chuuya gives a satisfied huff before returning to his food.
Osamu only eats three, a maximum of four bites of food.
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“Time for your first practical heroics lesson!” Mina cheers as they walk down towards the exit of U.A’s main building. She, along with the other idiots in the group, are carrying suitcases with them. Osamu and Chuuya had been handed theirs earlier that day by Aizawa who had told them to always bring the cases to any practical lessons they had. “How you feelin’?”
She uses her phone to mimic a microphone, holding it up to Chuuya, who doesn’t seem like he’s very eager to answer any questions. Yet he sighs and does it, anyway. He’s like this with Q, too. Always so easily coerced into doing anything that wretched child wants him to.
“Normal,” he responds tiredly. Mina pouts at his boring answer.
“Dude, really?” Kirishima chimes in. “Can’t you come up with anything better than that?” He also seems bummed by the answer, which Osamu finds amusing. A small smile curls on his lips as they leave the building.
Mina turns to him instead.
“How are you feeling, Dazai-san?”
Osamu flashes her his most pleasant smile, “Oh, just great! So excited,” he responds in an overly cheerful tone, but Mina seems delighted at how he’s playing along. “I reaaalllyy can’t wait to have my first practical lesson!”
In reality, he wants to drink coffee until he dies of caffeine overdose.
“Really?” She draws the word out as she talks, pushing the phone more insistently towards Osamu, who nods and gives her a light ‘mm-hmm’ in response. Mina giggles and pulls her phone back to herself. “I like you.”
Chuuya snorts dryly and Osamu elbows his side.
They continue walking through U.A’s campus until they reach one of the training grounds. Mina and Kaminari continued chattering throughout the whole walk, with Bakugou occasionally speaking up too only to get teased until he snaps, barking at the whole gang. It was amusing to see, honestly. He’s far too easy- just like Chuuya is.
Aizawa and the rest of the class are waiting for them. Behind them are big, concrete walls, and Osamu eyes them curiously. Something grand must be hidden behind those, or they wouldn’t be that big.
Most of the class is divided into groups, talking to each other at manageable volumes. Osamu doesn’t quite mind as he finds his place alongside with the rest of the band of idiots. Osamu’s gonna have to think up a nickname for them eventually, but now isn’t the time for that.
Aizawa’s jaw hardens in what Osamu decides is annoyance boosted by sleep deprivation. With a simple activation of his quirk, all the students quiet down. Some even flinched.
Osamu resists the urge to yawn.
“Go change. Meet me here when you’re done.” Aizawa instructs and then gestures to a nearby indent in the wall. Looking closer, Osamu can see the ‘changing rooms’ sign as well as the ones signaling which one is for men and which one is for women.
Osamu is swept along by a crowd of eager students as they begin moving towards the changing rooms. Chuuya does his duty as a guard dog, sticking to the brunette’s side and chasing away anyone that comes too close.
Eventually they manage to enter the men’s changing rooms. It’s a large space, and its roof is tall. Osamu knows now that it’s because they need to accommodate the larger, taller students. Like Shouji. He’s the tallest in 1-A, hitting roughly 190cm, so there definitely have been instances where his height has been a little annoying. Osamu doesn’t doubt that people with quirks that make them taller are infinitely annoyed by how low roofs are.
Chuuya takes one of the corner spots seeing as most of the other ones are taken. Osamu doesn’t bother looking around. He isn’t particularly eager to see the other boys undress. He can hear them, though, and oh god, they’re excited. They’re comparing their muscles. Listening in, Osamu doesn’t really get any valuable information. Most of them are built physically, but the ones who get the most praise are Shouji, Bakugou, Midoriya, Kirishima, and Iida. Most of them just accept the compliment with some awkward laughter.
Osamu shifts to stand in front of Chuuya while the ginger changes. The Port Mafia has changing rooms, and although they dislike using them, sometimes they’re forced to. They aren’t allowed to just run home and switch clothes when they’re in a time crunch, and sometimes disguises need to be changed quickly. So they’ve grown used to covering each other when they change. It gives them some much needed privacy, after all.
Chuuya changes quite quickly. He’s used to fidgeting with suits and ties, so the vest, then the undershirt comes off easily and he slips back into his mafia clothes. Osamu had figured that their uniforms had been stored in the suitcases, and his suspicions had been confirmed when Chuuya had opened his. In not even two minutes, Chuuya has changed, and then it’s Osamu’s turn.
He reluctantly switches with Chuuya in the corner. Most of the other boys are finishing up as he slips out of U.A’s uniform. It is a bit big on him, meaning he doesn’t have to bother with some of the buttons and can just slip right out.
He unclasps the suitcase’s lid and opens it, picking up his normal undershirt as he slips out to the one that U.A had provided. Bandages cover his torso entirely so he knows he isn’t showing skin, but he doubts that all of them are entirely free of any sort of stains, and he prefers to not have any questions aimed at him.
He puts on the white button-up shirt he usually wears, buttoning it up with one hand while the other reaches for his tie. He ties it neatly around his neck and then moves onto his pants.
Meanwhile, the other boys have started looking over at them, curious.
“Woah, Nakahara!” Kirishima gasps, “That’s a manly hero costume.”
“...uhh, thanks?” The hesitation in Chuuya’s voice makes Osamu’s smile return to his lips.
“you sure that’s… comfortable to fight in?” Sero asks next. There’s a tone of curiosity to his voice. Sure, maybe it’s not entirely common for them to see someone dressing up in a suit and tie to go into battle, but they’re also just naive teenagers.
Chuuya sighs as Osamu slips into his pants. “I’ve fought in it before,” he responds dismissively, but that only makes the other boys crowd closer.
Osamu buttons up his pants and then grabs his trench coat, swinging it over his shoulders and setting it back into its correct place.
For the first time in a while, he feels quite satisfied by his clothes. He’s been wearing the clothes U.A provided since day two, and they’ve felt weird on his skin. But these are just right on him. Not too thin, not too thick, not itchy, but not too light on him either.
Osamu turns around and finds the boys staring at them. He leans over Chuuya’s shoulders, hooking his chin over the redhead’s shoulder. Iida and Midoriya are slightly tense at the sight- it probably reminds them of their first encounter.
First impressions stick and all that bullshit, but they should really be getting over it soon, or Osamu’s gonna have trouble keeping up his perfect student charade.
“Yeah! It’s surprisingly comfy,” Osamu pipes up in agreement before Chuuya shoves him off. Rude, he thinks, pouting at the ginger who only storms out of the changing room. “Hey! Wait up!” He whines, chasing after Chuuya out of the changing rooms.
The remaining boys exchange looks before slowly following the duo out.
A few minutes later, every student is changed and ready, standing outside of the training grounds that now knows is called ‘Ground Beta’. Aizawa moves towards the entrance- two large metal doors- and types in a code on a nearby keypad while talking.
“Your task today is a stealthy one,” he begins, letting the doors creak open before he continues talking. Aizawa shoves his hands in his pockets. “You’ll be divided into duos. One of you is supposed to sneak from the bottom floor to the top floor without getting noticed. If the other party notices you, you need to avoid being caught. If you can’t make it to the top floor, you fail.”
As he speaks, he guides the class further into the training grounds. The grounds are made up with accurate house replicas. Osamu can hear noise from another part of the grounds and figures it’s another class doing yet another exercise. Yikes, this place really is big, huh.
“I’ve already divided you into duos,” Aizawa sighs as he begins listing them up. Irrelevant, irrelevant, irrelevant. And then he hears his own name.
“Dazai and Nakahara.”
Oooh, so they’re paired against each other! That’s gonna be fun. He glances over at Chuuya, who’s standing beside him. His lips are curled downwards in annoyance, face set in a heavy scowl. A proud smirk slithers its way onto Osamu’s lips and he huffs, satisfied.
“Hagakure and Mineta. Mina and Momo. Aoyama and…”
Osamu tunes out the rest of the pairings, only zoning back in once Chuuya nudges him. Fuck him, honestly! Why does he always know when Osamu’s about to miss something important? Ugh.
“This is the building you’ll be doing the exercise in.” Aizawa gestures to what looks like an apartment complex, except it’s dark and bare inside. That’s about all he can see from the windows. It’s tall and probably winds up roughly ten floors.
One hand shoots up and Aizawa sighs. “Yes?”
“Do we need to enter the building?” Mineta asks and Aizawa gives him a deadpan look.
“...yes, you must enter and stay inside of the building for the duration of the exercise.”
Another hand.
“Can I freeze it all so that my opponent can’t move?” A monotone voice belonging to Todoroki asks.
…huh. That’s definitely a strategy.
“You are supposed to be stealthy. Don’t give away your positions.” Aizawa’s eyes narrow as he looks around, one hand grabbing at the capture scarf curled around his neck. “Any other dumb questions?”
The class is silent, glancing at each other. Mineta’s cheeks are tinted a light red, probably embarrassed at having his question being referred to as stupid.
Aizawa huffs, and it’s more satisfied than annoyed. “Good. Midoriya and Iida, you’re up first.” Aizawa waves the two students into the building. “You’ll have two minutes to prepare. Midoriya, don’t enter the building until we tell you to.” Midoriya nods, brushing some of his hair out of his face. It’s rather unruly today.
“The rest of you, follow me.”
They’re led to an observation room in the neighbouring building, which is a small, cabin-esque house. It has several screens as well as audio feedback. You can see Iida looking around and familiarising himself, as well as Midoriya waiting outside. There’s a timer above the screen and Aizawa steps closer to the displays, picking up a mic.
“Two minutes of prep starts now.”
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Soon enough, it’s Osamu’s turn. He strolls leisurely beside Chuuya who seems like he’s itching to go up against Osamu again. Stupid dog. When will he learn? He’ll always lose to Osamu- especially in something like stealth.
“Don’t go getting all cocky over there, Chibi,” he breaks the silence between them, his tone a teasing lilt, “you know you’ll lose to me, anyway.”
Chuuya laughs airily in response, rolling his shoulders and Osamu’s heart should not have flipped at the action. “You’re the one getting all cocky, you damn fish.”
They stop in front of the house.
“Two minutes of prep starts now.”
Chuuya enters, snickering and muttering evil words directed at Osamu under his breath as he steps into the building. His shadow disappears relatively quickly, and Osamu is left outside to count the seconds until he’s allowed to enter.
He doesn’t doubt that Chuuya will attempt to set some traps. Who knows what kind of things he has in his suit? Well. Osamu does. But that’s not the point here. He probably has rope- he could set up a tripwire. Or something that would track his footsteps or something that would make a loud noise.
Although Chuuya isn’t much for scheming. He never has been. He likes to just go hands-on and face the problem with blunt, unstoppable force. Osamu has never agreed with that method- it’s such a brutal method and for no good reason!
“Dazai, your ten minutes start… now.”
Osamu’s lips curl upwards. He pulls his coat tighter around himself as he steps into the building without hesitation. His eyes scan his surroundings, adjusting to the dark without issue. Minor things are scattered around- bricks, vases, broken pieces of glass. Things that would make you slip up and cause noise.
He avoids them with ease as he steps further into the building. He’d gotten a good look at the layout while in the observation room, so he doesn’t hesitate to make his way to the stairs. He pulls his coat tighter around himself. It covers up his shirt more as he does that.
He skips over the first three steps of stairs, soundlessly moving up them.
Izuku watches attentively as Dazai moves throughout the building. This is the first time that he’s seen him in something that would resemble a real job, and he’s doing a good job. So far, he’s made it to floor three in under two minutes! Chuuya’s lurking around, too. Their clothes make them slightly hard to see, especially with how fast both of them are.
It’s like watching two shadows slip around each other’s heels.
Chuuya’s on floor five, for now, hidden behind a doorway.
Dazai makes his way through another floor. If he squints, Izuku can see the obstacles scattered around on the ground. He avoids them all, and admiration is beginning to build up in Izuku’s chest. Oh how he wishes he had his notebook right now. He could write down so much about his patterns, about how he moves. The way his coat is used to conceal him, to make him nothing more than a ghost. A black wraith.
Dazai is now on the stairway up to floor five, but he pauses midway through. His head tilts slowly, as if he’s considering, or maybe investigating something. Instead of going the traditional route up the stairs, Dazai climbs onto the railing, balancing precariously on the edge.
The tension in the room spikes.
If he falls from there, he’ll split his head open and bleed out on the concrete floor. They all know that.
Aizawa mutters something about problematic kids under his breath.
Chuuya, who seems to be catching onto Dazai’s plan, is quick to dart out from his corner. Before he can reach Dazai, however, the brunette launches himself up, leaping to the second floor without issue.
It almost looks like he used a quirk to get up there, but that wouldn’t be possible. Even abilities don’t naturally boost someone’s strength like that. Chuuya’s fingers brush the spot where Dazai had been, but he’s only a second too late.
“Too slow!” Dazai teases as he disappears back into the shadows.
Chuuya reaches for nothing, then uses his ability to push himself up, joining Dazai on the sixth floor. Grumbling curses under his breath, Chuuya stalks after his annoying partner. He knows where he is- it isn’t hard to figure it out when you have combat experience and when you’re experienced with Dazai’s bullshittery. He’s a professional ragebaiter, after all.
Then again, Dazai’s also a slippery idiot. That’s what makes it so annoying to work with him, but that’s also what makes him so effective. He’s like a shadow, so invisible during infiltration missions. That’s what earned him the title. Black Wraith.
Chuuya doesn’t bother with the stairs again, and then floats himself all the way up to floor nine- basically his last stand. He can catch Dazai off-guard if he plays this just right. He knows how the other works, inside and out, knows him better than he knows himself.
It doesn’t take a lot of waiting until he can see the signs. Dazai’s coat whirls around corners, attempting to confuse him. Objects crashing around him. He waits until he’s got a definitive eye on Dazai, then-
He lunges.
And misses spectacularly.
Dazai slips out from right underneath his hands like a slippery little eel, laughing to himself as he vaults up to floor ten and lands gracefully. He turns down to Chuuya, hands on his hips, and blows a raspberry at him.
“Loser!” He squawks, “Oh wooow, you ate shit!”
Chuuya pulls himself up from where he had crashed straight into a wall, storming over to Dazai. “Oh, you fucking… I’m going to end you,” he snarls, jabbing a finger straight at the brunette’s chest. His shoulders are so tense he’s hyperaware of them, and his face throbs slightly from the impact. Something warm drips down his face but he doesn’t give a shit about if he’s bleeding or not right now.
All he cares about is throwing Dazai down the stairs and then catching him before he gets hurt, just to strip him off the sweet relief of death that he always whines about.
“Tsk. You’re so sloppy,” Dazai continues on teasing him and Chuuya’s hands ball into fists. “You’re bleeding, Chibi!” Chuuya catches Dazai’s hand before it can touch his face. His fingers curl tightly around the appendage, clutching it so hard it has to bruise.
Nothing in Dazai’s eye ever changes.
The eyes are the mirrors of the soul, they say. Yet Dazai’s eye never says anything. Does he even have a soul anymore?
Chuuya thinks he lost it a long time ago.
The speakers crackling to life interrupts their little stare-off; “Dazai won. Both of you, exit the building.”
Chuuya growls, the sound tearing itself out of his throat without his consent, and he drops Dazai’s arm roughly. The other doesn’t bother with complaining, instead, he only saunters his way over to the stairs and begins descending the house rapidly, with Chuuya using his ability to float himself down.
They meet at the exit to the building, “Remember to be… in character,” Dazai purrs out and Chuuya wants to deck him in his ugly ass face.
Chuuya storms out first, fingers still balled into fists as he makes his way over to the observatory room. Dazai follows, infuriatingly smug. Chuuya wants to wipe that smile from his fucking face, but attacking him here wouldn’t do.
Why’s he even this mad? He usually doesn’t get this mad over losing to Dazai- of course it’s upsetting. No one likes to lose, especially not to their mortal enemy, but he usually doesn’t have the urge to pummel Dazai into the floor.
Chuuya takes a deep, deep breath, and schools his expression back into something… better before they step back into the observation room. The whole class is watching them enter with wide, amazed eyes.
That, in itself, makes some of Chuuya’s anger fade, making room for more confusion.
Why are they looking at them like that? Have they never witnessed good ability, body, and strength control? He’d expected most of them to be able to do stuff like Dazai did- the vaulting. It’s just some simple parkour, with some minor risks of death.
Nothing too bad.
“Wooahhh! That was sick!” Kaminari’s the first one to exclaim. Kirishima follows with proud nods, almost looking like a proud father.
“Dazai, that move was really manly! I like it!” Kirishima puffs out a breath of air.
Dazai grins from beside him, soaking up all the attention he’s been giving, all of the delicious praise. The mafia is scarce with its praise- if you get too cocky, you’re a risk for everyone around you, for everyone on the battlefield.
And they can’t have that, can they?
“Thanks!” Dazai chirps brightly, “I did my best~”
Aizawa turns to them now, and clears his throat. All the students talking over each other quiet down.
“Tell me what you did well, Dazai.”
Dazai blinks and turns towards Aizawa, not expecting the question. Even though it’s been asked to everyone else.
Amateur. Chuuya’s already prepared answers to all the questions Aizawa’s gonna ask.
“Errr… I stayed hidden for the whole round?” Aizawa nods at the answer, accepting it. “And I used my environment to fake Chibi out to get to the top floor.”
“Correct,” Aizawa affirms, and Dazai practically glows. “What about you, Chuuya?”
“...I predicted my opponent’s moves,” He grits out, “then I… miscalculated slightly.”
Dazai stifles laughter and Chuuya smacks him on the back of his head, the sound of the impact echoing through the empty house.
“Owww! Chiiibiiii!” Dazai whines and pouts at the hit, hand rubbing the back of his head.
“You deserve it,” Chuuya huffs, finally reaching up to dab at the blood leaking from his nose. He’s beginning to feel a headache coming on. Getting injured is such a drag. It’s not his fault (it is) that Dazai outmaneuvered him, okay?
Aizawa heaves a tired sigh, “Go see Recovery Girl and get treated. Do you need someone to accompany you?”
“I’ll go with him!” Dazai beams, a toothy grin splitting his lips. “I need to take care of my favourite dog, after all!” Aizawa nods in approval, albeit a little tired and perhaps weirded out by Dazai’s remark, and turns back to the rest of the class to continue on with the exercise.
Chuuya sighs in defeat as he turns to leave the building.
This is gonna be a long day.