Chapter Text
In his defense, it was an accident.
Well. Mostly.
To be truthful, Neito was quite excellent at picking up on what the kids these days call vibes. And quite frankly, Ochaco’s vibes around the station lately had been… unappealing. Rancid, even.
Egregious, if you would.
It wasn’t that she was in a bad mood. On the contrary; she smiled wider than Neito had ever seen. She seemed to be in an amazing mood while she danced around the station, greeted everyone, all blushing and smiles in a way that caused the hair on the back of Neito’s neck to stand fully on end. And no, it wasn’t just because he was gay (although that certainly didn’t help, when she bounded up to greet him and all but shoved her tits in his face. Thanks, but no thanks).
No one else seemed to notice. Still, when her blush and smile didn’t falter even slightly upon seating herself at her desk for the monotonous task of paperwork, the task that everyone dreaded doing, Neito’s suspicions were confirmed. Something was off.
“If it isn’t Uraraka,” Neito sang as he sauntered over to her desk. “You’re in a good mood. What, did a member of your former class win something for once?” Despite his concerns, his body language was languid and relaxed, not an ounce of his expression revealing the unease that squirmed beneath his skin. In his arms, he carried a stack of his overdue paperwork.
What? So he was just supposed to ignore the opportunity? Please. He worked smarter, not harder.
Ochaco looked up sharply, almost too quickly. Her pupils dilated once they latched onto him, then seemed to constrict for the briefest of moments – perhaps he’d imagined it – into slits. “Oh! Hi! It’s… Monoma, right? Nothing happened, I’m just so happy to be here, just, y’know, living the dream!” Her eyes creased warmly. “It’s such a great day, isn’t it?”
Yeah, no. Okay. Definitely a villain.
Still. Maybe they’d be willing to do his paperwork before he found out what happened to the real Ochaco.
“Indeed it is! Why, I was just thinking the very same thing,” Neito simpered cheerily. “Say, how is Ochaco doing lately?”
A look of something indecipherable – panic, perhaps, masked as confusion – fluttered across her features. “Ochaco?”
“Of course I mean you.” Neito clarified with a laugh. “What, haven’t you ever been asked like that before? You don’t ever talk in third person? Don’t tell me understanding something like that is beyond even you.”
“Oh.” ‘Ochaco’ tittered. “Sorry. It’s early, I haven’t had my coffee yet.” She smiled again, although a little more uncertainly. “‘Ochaco’ is doing just fine.”
Neito snapped his fingers. “Coffee! What an excellent idea. Say, are you willing to get started on my paperwork for me while I go grab us some?”
“That sounds like a great idea–” ‘Ochaco’ started.
He didn’t wait for her to finish, eagerly dropping the paperwork onto her desk, then pivoting on his heels calmly despite every instinct urging him to bolt.
“–but, you know, Monoma, we’re not very close, are we?” ‘Ochaco’ puzzled, calling after him. His steps slowed.“This isn’t really like you. Aren’t you always kind of… trying to compete with us over something or another?”
Neito offered a disarming smile over his shoulder. “Why, it’s never too late to make new friends, don’t you think? Besides, I’m hoping some of that good mood can rub off on me. I’ve been having a rough week.” He laughed.
“I see.” ‘Ochaco’ smiled politely at him. “Well, in that case, thank you very much. Can I get a mochi flavored frappuccino? Iced, please!”
“You have great taste,” He complimented sweetly. “I’ll have to try some myself.”
She had horrible taste. But at least it was consistent with the real Ochaco. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to steal her quirk to check; she was flighty as a bird this morning, snatching the cup then running off to whatever duty she had stammered to him. He didn’t recall, and it didn’t really matter, because she’d remained in sight for him to keep an eye on. Just as flighty, though, whenever he tried to discreetly tag along for conversation while she bounced between various coworkers. Eventually he did have his own work to get to.
Neito loudly slurped from the straw of his mediocre iced frappuccino – extra whipped cream, because he had standards – tapping his pen against the table. The mixture bubbled in protest, indicating he was down to the ice, and he frowned, shaking it a bit, before repositioning the straw. Another slow, loud, slurp.
In his wing, particularly his and his hero partner’s prime corner office – the one with the windows and the new furniture, naturally, which he’d definitely not won in a less-than-orthodox manner – he had an unobstructed view of the frontline heroes’ wing. He’d been staring at ‘Ochaco’ for the last hour, but for the most part, she didn’t appear to be up to anything untoward. She wasn’t even gathering restricted information like a villain might, not writing anything extra down. She was just… working. Answering phones in that sing-songy voice, babying her mochi-flavored frappuccino. She’d done all of Neito’s paperwork pristinely and without complaint. Maybe she was Ochaco, then, but had been hit by a weird ‘peppy’ quirk. She was normally obscenely sweet, but not like this. Not in a way that made his skin crawl.
“Can you throw that away already?”
Neito’s eyes snapped over to the opposing desk beside his. Hitoshi was staring at him with equal degrees of frustration and exhaustion, but that was par the course for – what time was it? He glimpsed down at his watch – ten in the morning. He gave one more obnoxious drag of the straw, the corners of his lips curling when his hero partner ran his hands down his face.
“Of course not,” Hitoshi grumbled.
“All the whip cream is at the bottom, Hitoshi,” Neito argued, popping his lips off the straw. “That’s the best part. Say, do you want to try, since you think it’s so easy?” He lazily extended the cup his way, rattling it.
“No, I do not want to inhale your spit.”
“Shame. There goes all my dreams,” Neito sighed dramatically. He returned his gaze to the window, wrapping his lips around the straw once more. Before he could begin trying to drink it, however, it vanished from his hands. He jolted to his feet, crying out in protest as Hitoshi stormed across the room, tossing the offending drink into the garbage. He turned to face Neito, crossing his arms as if to say, and? What of it? Neito’s brow furrowed into a pout, not keen on revealing the way that look alone made him want to launch himself across his desk and–
Woah. It was too early in the day for that kind of thinking. Pack it up, Neito. Save the certainly unrequited pining for later.
“You’re buying me another one,” Neito declared stubbornly.
“Sure, I can pick up coffee tomorrow,” Hitoshi replied simply as he moved to the cupboards, sifting through their supplies.
“Today. I expect nothing less after you so rudely–”
“We don’t have time. We have an assignment. Didn’t you get the notification? Or were you too busy mooning over Ochaco.”
Neito’s jaw dropped, affronted, and he slammed his palms down on his desk in protest. “I was not mooning over–”
“Sure, and there’s surely some other reason why you haven’t been able to take your eyes off her all morning?” Hitoshi drawled flatly, unconvinced.
“Who do you think I am?” Neito seethed, still thoroughly offended that Hitoshi thought he could be straight. Like he hadn’t been thirsting after the bastard since second year. “Me? Mooning over a woman? And a Class A woman, at that? For god’s sake, I have standards, Hitoshi.”
“Whatever you say.” Hitoshi shrugged his capture scarf on. “Are you coming or not?”
Petulantly, Monoma flopped back into his seat, returning his gaze to the window. Still nothing. “Not. I need to stay here.”
“What?” Hitoshi looked at him incredulously. “You’re not serious.”
“As death.”
Hitoshi continued to stare at him. “You’re not going to make me do this mission alone,” He dared, irritation leaking into his words. “This is going to take all day.”
“Well, maybe, if someone hadn’t so rudely thrown away my–”
“What is it, really?” Hitoshi interjected, taking a slow step towards him. “It’s not like you not to jump on an excuse to leave the office.” He followed Neito’s gaze to the cheery brunette. “Did something happen with Ochaco?”
“Maybe,” Neito conceded bitterly. Hitoshi knew him too well. “I’m still trying to figure it out. I can’t act on it yet, though; I don’t have enough evidence, and it would tip her off. So it’s best that you go about your normal duties while I make up some excuse to watch her.” He made a shooing motion with his hand.
Hitoshi’s frown deepened. “She seemed fine to me, this morning.”
“A little too fine, though, don’t you think?”
“I don’t want to know about your love life, Neito.”
Neito reached his arm out to halfheartedly smack his side. “That’s not what I meant, you insomniac buffoon. Can you just work with me, here?”
“I guess,” Hitoshi sighed, scratching at the back of his head. The movement shifted some of his shoulder length hair off of his shoulder, exposing his neck, the faint stubble that peppered his jawline. Neito’s throat felt tight, rather suddenly. “I’ll ask for someone else to come along. You owe me, though.”
“Debatable,” Neito grumbled, settling back into his chair and peering out the window.
Ochaco was pulling her hair up into a bun. Riveting.
Hitoshi cleared his throat.
Once more, Neito’s eyes snapped to him. “What is it?”
A faint dusting of pink, at the top of Hitoshi’s cheeks, while he looked away. That was new. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” His palm was extended halfheartedly towards Neito. The gesture, a bit more forward than what he was used to, quickened the pulse in his wrist.
“Oh? Feeling a bit lonely? Scared, are you? Did you want me to hold your hand, Hitoshi?” Neito needled, gingerly taking his hand. It felt warm in his own. It wasn’t really something he could ever properly explain, but in that contact, an essence bared itself before him, like fruit ripe for the picking. Instinctively, his own essence cradled the familiar gift, the same way he cradled Hitoshi’s hands now; the same tender way he always held it. Other essences were lovely, each unique and fascinating in their own right, but his had always felt the most special.
“Why are you always like this,” Hitoshi grumbled.
“No? Perhaps a kiss then, so that you can feel brave on your mission?” Neito’s eyes twinkled as he delicately pressed the back of Hitoshi’s hand to his lips, delighting in the way that pink rapidly spread across his features.
“Did you copy it or not?” Hitoshi protested, his hand twitching as though to pull it back. “I know it doesn’t take you this long.”
Neito granted him mercy, releasing his hand. “Yes, dear, I’ve got it,” He cooed sweetly.
“Why do I put up with you,” Hitoshi grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets and burying his nose in his capture scarf, as though to belatedly hide the red that had painted his countenance. He made to leave, only to pause in the doorway, uncertainty flecking across his features. “Be careful.”
Neito’s teasing smile softened. “You too.”
Neito didn’t activate the power he’d borrowed, but he did – well, there wasn’t really any other way to put it other than that he played with it, rolling it around in his thoughts, testing the edges of the quirk, where it waited eagerly for his call so that it may hum to life. Hitoshi always let him copy his Quirk, and over the years, Neito had gotten quite skilled at using it, if he did say so himself. Not as good as Hitoshi himself, of course, but close. Even so, once activated, he only had it for half an hour, up from the ten minutes he’d had in high school. The public thought he was at half that. It was a good edge to have when it counted, and having Hitoshi’s quirk regularly in his reservoir had saved his ass on more than one occasion.
Not that it mattered. Ochaco hadn’t even been ordered to go out that day. All day long, she worked at her desk, like there was nothing amiss. It was to the point where even Neito was beginning to second-guess himself, especially when Hitoshi returned near the end of the shift, and he had nothing to show for the hours he’d sat on his ass.
Almost all the rest of the heroes had left for the day. Hitoshi had urged him to leave it be and head home himself, but, perhaps knowing how stubborn Neito could get once he’d set his mind on something, he eventually conceded and went home on his own. In absence of most of the other staff, the halls filled with an esoteric aura while Neito mimed desk work, but he didn’t spring up from his desk until he saw Ochaco slinging her purse over her shoulder.
And that was how he found himself stalking – no, not stalking, that sounded too creepy, even if he was doing so covertly. Following? Nope, that didn’t work either. Tailing – ew, no. Meandering after his coworker, long after the sun had gone down, long after he’d passed the turn that might have taken him home. Ochaco, about thirty paces ahead of him, didn’t seem to notice, her demeanor at ease, all warm greetings for the fans who periodically spotted her and asked for signatures or conversation. Despite the fact that Neito typically worked with underground heroes like Hitoshi, as a top ten hero, he had some degree of media presence; fortunately, he also looked like just about every other blonde man on the street, when he wore a face mask. Never before had it paid to have such a forgettable face, he reflected grimly.
Now, Ochaco had been right about one thing, earlier that day. They weren’t friends. So, really, Neito couldn’t say for sure that the house she stopped at was actually Ochaco’s house. But, he couldn’t say it wasn’t. It was a nice, multi-level urban home, rather understated for the certain wealth that the hero had accumulated, but as he recalled, Ochaco had come from rather humble beginnings. He wouldn’t be surprised if she donated most of her earnings to charity.
Actually, if he thought about it, this was only a few blocks from where Hitoshi lived, too. Convenient.
In hindsight, as he crouched in a bush outside her home, Neito was beginning to feel that this was a bit excessive. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, and his public ranking of Top-Ten Hero was about to change to Top-Ten Creep. Right below Mineta. Ugh. He needed to bleach his brain. Was it too late to go home and take a bubble bath instead of embarrassing himself?
He considered it. He had some new imported oils that he’d been waiting to use.
But even watching her open the door to that house, even watching her body language as she skipped inside, he grew more certain in his resolve. The woman’s vibes were abhorrent. Something was off. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.
He weighed his options for about five minutes after she’d gone inside, and had just risen to his feet to head over and knock on the door, when a soft voice called behind him.
“Um… Monoma?”
Neito’s shoulders rippled with tension, but he allowed it to flutter down his frame, keeping his body language languid as he spun to face Ochaco. Short as she was, she was standing close to him in her everyday clothes, arms crossed over her chest, and he felt himself shrink just so at her presence.
“Uraraka! Just the woman I was hoping to see,” He beamed, as if she hadn’t caught him hiding in the bushes. He puzzled over how quickly she had come from the house, and how he somehow hadn’t seen her approach until she was behind him. Was this the real Ochaco, then? But then who was in her house?
“You were looking for me?” Her brown eyes flecked across his face, a tiny line pinching her brow. And, okay, fair enough, no wonder Hitoshi thought he was mooning over her, she was adorable. But in a kid-sister way, not in a romantic way. “In… my garden?”
“If you must know, and I’d never admit this to anyone else, mind you, I was a little apprehensive to approach you. So I was sitting here trying to get up the nerve, you see,” Neito assuaged, laughing quietly to himself, as though embarrassed. Not entirely fake. “Though, in hindsight, not the best look.”
“Right.” Her frown deepened, unconvinced. “Why were you looking for me? Did I mess something up at the agency?”
“You know, I really didn’t want to bring it up, but yeah. There was a filing issue with one of the papers you did earlier, and since you signed it, it has to be fixed by the person who made the mistake. It’s unfortunately urgent enough that it couldn’t wait,” He sighed apologetically.
“Is this why you were there so late?” She prompted. “Why didn’t you tell me before we left?”
Shit. Okay, maybe this was the same Ochaco as earlier.
Well. One easy way to tell. Maybe he’d have more success now than earlier.
“I had a lot to catch up on. Thank you for that, by the way,” He briefly placed his hand on her arm, giving it a soft squeeze. The essence glimmered before him, and he grasped it, activating it, as though cracking open an egg. The quirk dispersed inside him, filled him up; cool, then hot. “You really saved my– m-my–”
Neito staggered.
This wasn’t Ochaco’s quirk.
But, far from the most concerning thought that flitted in his mind as the quirk took hold. His thoughts shifted, altered. A cold sweat danced along his skin, but he felt hot, his emotions let loose and flurrying violently inside of him, as though they’d been unraveled entirely. He doubled over, suddenly dizzy, and the hand on ‘Ochaco’s’ shoulder wasn’t to steal her quirk anymore, but to steady himself.
“Woah, are you okay?” ‘Ochaco’ fretted, only to freeze when he looked up at her. A complicated expression contorted her face. “Oh, right. You’re the copy one. I forgot,” She giggled sheepishly, pressing a few fingers to her forehead. “Damn. She warned me, too.”
Her throat pulsed as she moved, the vessels against the skin. He stared at them, transfixed, his thoughts flitting away from him. He pictured the lifeblood flowing with each thrum of her heart. His mouth began to water, and he desperately tried to shake himself out of his stupor. “What… who are you? Your quirk… what is this?” He’d never been affected by a borrowed quirk so significantly before. Occasionally, there were some psychological alterations that came with them, but this… this was something entirely different.
“Oh! This is interesting, isn’t it?” ‘Ochaco’ kneeled before him, and it was only then that he realized he’d fallen to his knees. “I’ve never really… gotten the chance to find out what it was like to be me, huh? I mean, I can be other people, those I love and all that, but it’s not as if anyone else can be me. Until you.” Her eyes glimmered, nearly gold, in fascination as she cocked her head. “What does it feel like? How is it different from how you usually feel?”
“It’s…” Like he was starving. Like a star had collapsed inside of him, leaving nothing but vacuum and empty space, and he was yearning for something he didn’t know he was missing. Like his body, the vessel somehow left behind in the collapse, was wrong and he needed to shed it. Like the physical absence of whatever it was he craved was killing him. He whimpered, and he couldn’t even bring himself to feel mortified by it.
Her smile widened, impossible wide, revealing her canines. It looked unnatural, uncanny on Ochaco’s face. “Would you like to try it? It’s fun. You’ll feel better.” She clapped her hands together, eyes suddenly alight. “Ooh! Then there can be three of us!”
“Try?” Neito echoed breathlessly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the pulse of her throat. In his head, he saw red, red, red.
“Blood.” Seemingly from nowhere, a flash of silver; and there, a thin line, stretched across the soft skin of her forearm. It glimmered under the streetlights like small beads of ruby as the blood welled up from the cut. The raw need gnawed at him. “Though… I guess, my blood would turn you into me, not Ochaco. Maybe she’ll share, if you ask nicely. Only I get to cut her though, okay?”
“Oh,” Neito breathed, unable to look away, but his thoughts had finally – too slowly, he kicked himself – pieced it together. “You’re supposed to be dead.” With all his willpower, he tore his gaze away from her arm, from the blood freely streaming there. “Toga Himiko.”
Ochaco’s – Toga’s – gaze sharpened. Her lips, curled into a soft pout. “Can you just come in and talk to Ochaco? I’ve been good. I promise. I know you’re a hero and all, but you’re really nice. And now you get it! This doesn’t need to go badly.”
“You’re right,” Neito conceded, activating the quirk he’d been saving. He all but gasped as it washed over him, familiar velvet across his thoughts, dispersing the previous quirk. He could use two at a time, now, but the default was still for the other quirk to shed. Thank god. “This… This quirk is overwhelming. So yes, let’s talk about it. Is Ochaco inside?” He weaved it into his words like a veil.
“Yeah, she’s just–” Toga fell silent, and the veil fell.
“Okay, my friend,” Neito addressed shakily, his thoughts racing. “You’re going to come with me. Stay looking like Ochaco, for now. We’re just going to go for a walk together.”
She had spoken as if Ochaco was helping her. But could he trust that? She’d always been crazy. Not that he could blame her, he thought with a wince. He’d tried many different quirks, but none had felt so… disarming as Toga’s. In a way, it was like an extreme form of his own; the urge to take, but combined with wholly unleashed inhibitions. What a nightmare. No wonder she’d become a villain.
So Ochaco was either helping a villain, or she was tied up, possibly hurt somewhere, thanks to the villain. If Ochaco was helping the villain, Neito wasn’t confident he could take the two of them on at once. Toga, certainly, but Ochaco was a formidable hero. And if she wasn’t helping the villain, Neito didn’t think Toga would have severely maimed her – she spoke so fondly of her – but either way, just in case, it was probably best that he call someone else to check while he apprehended her. Yes. What a great plan. Good thinking, Neito.
As Neito urged his new minion to follow him, he withdrew his phone. Since Hitoshi was the closest, it only made sense to call his hero partner first, before calling the authorities for back up. And, of course, to gloat that he had been right all along, which was way more immediately pressing than calling the authorities. It definitely wasn’t because the thrumming quirk in his possession, the residual… something, from Toga’s quirk, that, before dispersing, had thrilled, when he’d activated Hitoshi’s quirk, as though grateful for the taste. The unraveling and subsequent re-raveling of his emotions definitely hadn’t scratched clean through the protective barrier he’d built up from his very real feelings for his hero partner. Christ, it wasn’t like he missed him, or anything. That would be gay.
“Yo.”
“I’ll be taking my apology now,” Neito rattled off smugly, his heart racing a little bit at the deep voice resonating so close in his ears. “And you can throw in some praise for my excellent talents, at that. A couple of ‘your majesties’ wouldn’t hurt my ego either. Why, dare I say, I’m probably the most successful in our entire agency, that it was I who spotted it first, that made such a grand discovery! You won’t believe it when you see it! And what shame that it slipped past even a seasoned underground hero such as yourself–”
“Wait, what?” Hitoshi’s voice piqued with concern. “Neito, can you stop rambling for a minute and speak clearly?”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking, but I apprehended a villain. Can you–” meet me, was what he meant to say, but what came out instead was, “–unlock your front door?”
“What? Are you coming over?”
“Yes, well… shit!” He nearly dropped his phone to see that ‘Ochaco’ had obediently began heading back in the direction of Ochaco’s house. “Not you! Hey! Come back!” Robotically, she turned back around, walking towards him. He sighed in exasperation. He’d have to be more careful what he said over the phone.
“Neito, are you with the villain still? Where are you?” Hitoshi demanded.
“It’s fine. Walk beside me,” He instructed to ‘Ochaco’, grabbing her arm thoughtlessly to pull her closer. “No, not you, Hitoshi, I need you to do as I asked. Please. I’ll be there soon.”
His breath caught, his veins flooding with the familiar warmth of a copied quirk. Fuck. Had he activated it, again, without thinking? Or was Toga’s quirk really so overwhelming that even he couldn’t control it?
“Problem–” He started tightly, swaying, only to narrowly dance out of the path of the knife that swung his way. He felt Hitoshi’s quirk slip from his grasp so quickly that its absence only further stirred that vortex he’d felt earlier; not just in frustration, not just in concern over the fact that he was unarmed with a known serial killer, but in unprecedented, overwhelming loss.
He dodged another slash of the knife – god, she was fast, and already the next one was coming, and shit, he really didn’t have any weapons on him, what was he going to do, copy her quirk, and what, drink her blood? Become a naked woman? Okay? That would totally work, that definitely, definitely would help him right now. Awesome. All the emotions that had unraveled in him began to fly free, fear and anger and frustration and self-loathing, clouding up his thoughts.
Stop, he chided himself. This is hardly the worst spot you’ve been in. You’re a hero! Get the knife!
“What, then,” Neito egged breathlessly, dancing backwards to try and keep in time with her attacks. He made a couple of cautious grabs for her arm, but Ochaco must have been teaching her some of the combat training she’d learned, because she seemed to anticipate each opening before Neito could take advantage of it. “Do you plan to kill me? You want to announce your debut with a bang, huh?”
“You’re crazy!” ‘Ochaco’ shouted, warbled as though fighting back tears. “I can’t believe you tried to kidnap me like that! What is wrong with you, Monoma? How could you misuse your partner’s quirk like that?”
“What–?” Neito dodged another swing of the blade. It was only here that he saw, despite the crack in her voice, her face was dry; her eyes steely.
“You need help! Just, leave me alone! I can’t believe you just attacked me!”
A mechanical, barely-there rumble from the speaker of his phone, and it clicked. She must have heard who he was on the phone with, and was sticking with her alibi. Neito laughed incredulously. “You can’t seriously expect–”
He gasped as fire laced up his side, her next attack too quick for him to sidestep. Instinctively, his hand darted to the wound; it wasn’t deep, he could already tell, but the red hot blood that pulsed from between his fingers quieted all other thoughts.
“Look,” ‘Ochaco’ spoke entreatingly, but there was a hidden meaning beneath her words.
His eyes drifted down. Red. Red. Red.
“We can just forget about this, okay, Monoma?” To her credit, ‘Ochaco’ sounded genuine. She stood away from him, her amber eyes wary and calculating, a cat attentive to its prey. But she made no move to get closer. “We can forget this ever happened. Both of us. I won’t press charges or anything. But I really need for you to leave me alone now, okay? I think you should go home and get some rest. Maybe Shinsou can help you? He’s close by, right?”
Neito paled, in spite of the way his body heated at the name.
She cocked her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I think Hitoshi would help you feel better.”
He shuddered at the name, those unraveled parts of him loosening at the second. His blood, dripping in the spaces between his fingers. He wanted to taste it. His hand shook as he brought it up to his face, the scent of iron poisoning the air. Dizzy. Just what was this quirk?
“Why don’t we talk when you’re feeling better? Is that okay?” ‘Ochaco’ coaxed, taking some steps back, and Neito had barely noticed it, but she had gradually put distance between them. “We can talk this out later.”
“Wait,” Neito croaked, his hand shaking as he forced himself to look away from it. ‘Ochaco’ took off in a run, and he staggered after her. “No, wait!”
It was less than a block before he lost her. For as quick as she was in a fight, she seemed equally as skilled at escape. Neito cursed, running a hand through his hair. A pit in his stomach, set ablaze. He wanted to tear his skin off. And still, through all the sheer idiocy that the last twenty minutes had encapsulated, that collapsing star filled him with a resounding, increasingly difficult to ignore hunger, nagging at the back of his thoughts.
It was the muffled sound of a voice which provided him salvation. Echoing from the sidewalk, his phone, the screen broken from when he’d unknowingly dropped it, though the call remained on the line. Neito drifted towards it without thought, transfixed by the sound of that voice. With a shaking hand, he pressed the receiver up to his ear, gasping when the voice alone sent shivers down his spine.
“–eriously, Neito, if you don’t answer me right now–”
“I’m here.”
His voice came out small, strained.
Silence on the other end, and Neito cursed it, something inside him keening for that familiar cadence. No, no, this wasn’t what he wanted by picking up the phone, he wanted, needed, more–
“What the hell just happened?”
Neito pressed his palm to his mouth. Iron. But something more. He could almost – he could almost taste his own essence, in this, that feeling that he got when he touched a quirk, that was what it was like; like a piece of himself had been condensed and liquified. He lapped at it, thoughtlessly, and dizzy, dizzy went his thoughts. He tore his hand back, shoved it into his pocket. “I–I made a mistake,” He answered shakily. “It’s, uh, this has never happened to me before.” He laughed.
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
Neito swayed, closing his eyes, wishing he could savor each syllable of that cadence. He felt dizzy with it. “Keep talking,” He breathed.
“What?” Hitoshi sounded incredulous. It was nearly enough to break Neito free of the spell, to pull him to his senses. Just enough to scatter prickling heat across the make of his features.
“I mean, your day.” Neito excused eloquently. “You didn’t tell me about the mission. I was such a fool, this afternoon, I didn’t even ask. Can you tell me about it?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with whatever happened between you and Ochaco,” Hitoshi rumbled, his voice edged in frustration. “Where are you?”
Neito’s mouth parted, bobbing at nothing, as though to mimic the shape of Hitoshi’s vowels, to taste them on his own tongue. His fingers danced up the side of his neck, trailing up his jaw, returning to his lips. “Please tell me? I really… really want to know.” He closed his jaw over the flesh at the base of his thumb, humming happily when that familiar iron danced across his tongue. He bit down, testing, feeling the sharp prick of a canine he’d surely grown from the quirk.
“Not until I know you’re okay. ”
The quirk.
Right. He needed to… he needed to…
He needed to see Hitoshi. For the first time since he’d taken it, his warring logic and the quirk he’d copied seemed to agree on one thing. Hitoshi would know what to do. Hitoshi would help him feel better.
Neito looked up at a street sign, shoulders sagging in relief. His feet picked up pace, breaths coming a little faster. “I’m almost there.”
“What about Ochaco?”
“She… got away.”
“You mentioned a villain.”
“Yeah– Hitoshi, I’ll be right there, okay? I’m– I’m right here.”
Although it near physically pained him to do so, he ended the call, nearly falling towards the apartment he knew by heart. There, unit 130, and the door was open, and suddenly, suddenly, Neito couldn’t quite move or think or breathe, because there he was.
Neito had always known Hitoshi was handsome. He carried a weary, grungy attractiveness with permanent bedroom eyes that could make any girl swoon, if he wasn’t so horrifically socially awkward. It was a modern tragedy that he didn’t know the slightest what to do with his endowed gifts. Still, just then, half-lit by the porchlight, hair tousled and messy after undoubtedly lazing about on his couch with his cat, in a boring grey sweatshirt that was absolutely out of fashion and swallowed him whole, Neito found himself exceptionally enraptured.
Forget pining. He didn’t know how he’d kept quiet about it for so long; how those feelings that bloomed in his chest like a summer rose, shook his normally assured hands, threatened the stability of his legs beneath him, had ever been anything less than all-encompassing. His voice had been enchanting; to see him in full sight granted Neito something like rapture.
“Hitoshi,” He breathed.
Hitoshi took a step forward, then paused, something odd crossing his features. “Neito?”
Neito felt the way those eyes trailed him, sliding down his figure; felt it so physically that he shivered, in spite of the way his entire body buzzed with warmth. So distracting the sensation was, that, for a moment, he couldn’t even think about what could possibly be causing the alarm that arched Hitoshi’s eyebrows and pulled his spine taut as a bow. Nor care, if he was being honest. A drunk, dizzy smile pulled unwittingly at his lips. He closed the distance between them, flinging the whole of his body weight in one grand embrace. Hitoshi grunted with the impact, his arms dancing around his shoulders uncertainly, before awkwardly settling at his waist to try and hold him up. Neito’s body keened at the feeling of those hands upon him.
“Neito, what– There’s blood–”
“Yes,” Neito breathed. Then, a moment of clarity. “I’m fine. It’s not deep. Shh. You always worry too much.” He raised his hand up, affectionately patting Hitoshi’s hair. He didn’t quite hit his mark, glancing off the side of his face, and Hitoshi grimaced.
“Okay, but what happened?”
Neito’s attention traced the rapid flutter of Hitoshi’s chest; up to his neck, the pulse that echoed there. The collapsing star inside him hummed. Higher, still; the little peppering of stubble, long lashes, and eyes dark as a storm but oh, so lovely. His cheeks were colored with the flush of blood, so red that Neito imagined only the slightest of pricks would free it of its vessel. Neito reached up to brush his thumb along the reddening skin. His own quirk, singing in tandem with Toga’s; the enthusiastic hum as he claimed the essence as his own.
“Oh, absolutely,” Neito mouthed appreciatively to no one in particular.
“What– Are you drunk?”
“No, Hitoshi, I feel that…” His mouth bobbed uselessly, for once, words failing him. Where did he start? That Hitoshi was a guiding star and he’d finally come home? That he had no way of knowing exactly how perfectly his shitty, messy haircut framed his face in that lighting? How he could feel the pulse of his heartbeat through his chest like a chorus of drums, resonating within his own? “We need to go inside, right now.”
“Not until you–”
But Neito didn’t allow him to argue, tugging him into his own apartment as though he was the one who owned the place, dragging Hitoshi along behind him, pressing him against the door as it shut, locking his arms around Hitoshi’s neck. Closing the precious little distance between them with a kiss that he’d been longing for, for nearly a third of his life.
Hitoshi’s body tensed at the contact, at first, his lips not moving. Neito coaxed him, flicking out his tongue to taste worry-bitten lips, and almost, almost he could taste the tang beneath them. Gradually, Hitoshi was kissing back; tentative and uncertain. His hands settled around Neito’s waist until one side thumbed his injury. It sparked with pain, but not unpleasantly so, and he sighed into the kiss. Grateful, he worked the lip between his teeth, eliciting a gasp from Hitoshi. Dizzy, dizzy. Neito melted into him, wishing only that he could get still closer, his breaths, ragged in his chest. Tugging at the fabric between them, tearing at it.
“Wait,” Hitoshi gasped suddenly as Neito’s lips migrated to his jaw, attacking the flesh there with no mercy. “W-wait. Wait, wait.”
Neito’s hand slid under his sweatshirt, clawing up his spine, and he delighted in the way that body shivered against him, back arching. He clawed deeper, testingly, feeling the heat he left in its wake. The collapsing star inside him only seemed to grow larger as he pictured the blood running to the surface of the angry skin.
“N-Neito,” Hitoshi stammered, gasping a little bit as he pulled back and pressed his palm against Neito’s chest. “Ha-hang on.” His eyes widened. “Woah. Your pupils–”
Neito paused, only long enough that he could take in the sharp line of Hitoshi’s jaw, the eager pulse of his neck, before he leaned back in. “Hitoshi, I do love your voice, but you always choose the absolute worst times to try and talk, did you know that?” He mouthed along Hitoshi’s jaw, nibbling at the pulse point there. Hitoshi shivered beneath him, his muscles sagging. “Am I not making myself clear?”
“Wait. Something’s–” Hitoshi tried breathlessly, pulling away from him when he tried again to assault the soft flesh of his lip.
Neito sighed, affronted. “Clearly not. Fine, you want words then? I love you,” He declared, the words pulling themselves freely from his chest. “I always have. I love your face when you walk into the agency half asleep, and your stupid hair that you never bother to do anything with, and the way your breath catches when you’re holding back a laugh. I love your drive and your passion and how composed you keep yourself no matter how scared shitless you are. I love you, Hitoshi.” He felt light. He’d never been able to say it like that before; it had remained nestled in his heart, knock-knocking incessantly in the background of his thoughts. Hitoshi’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a tiny gasp. Neito dove forward, stealing the air of it back from him with his lips. Hitoshi made a sound.
“Neito,” Hitoshi groaned beneath his lips. It didn’t quite sound like protest anymore.
And Neito shut him up again, tasting him on his tongue; what else could he do, when those perfect lips were simply not doing what they were supposed to? Could he not feel the depth of Neito’s longing? Could he not feel the gravitational pull of the earth beginning to sway in its presence?
“Stop,” Hitoshi hissed abruptly, shoving him and holding his arms there to force distance. Still, his hands spoke differently, lingering on Neito’s shoulders with a half-hearted grip. His hold tightened, then loosened.
Like he wanted him to break it.
A slow smile spread across Neito’s lips like a shark, and Hitoshi’s eyes steeled, all confliction vanishing in an instant. His grip tightened. “Neito, your teeth.”
“Like… red riding hood?” He chuckled, dizzying at the thought of the word red. Red, like the skin of Hitoshi’s cheeks and neck. “Kinky. But, Hitoshi, you didn’t even say it right. Oh, very well then, I’ll play along,” He cooed, prodding at the base of Hitoshi’s sweatshirt. His fingers walked up, slowly, dragging the fabric with them, exposing the bare skin of his abdomen. He watched in fascination as Hitoshi’s muscles twitched and heaved with his touch. “All the better to eat you with, my dear,” He simpered, and then he gripped tight to the fabric of that sweatshirt, bunched up around his hand, and yanked Hitoshi forward into a fierce kiss.
“No!” Hitoshi protested, muffled, around Neito’s mouth, though it seemed more in disagreement rather than objection to the kiss.
“If you wanted me to stop,” Neito breathed against his lips, feeling the way they trembled. “You could have stopped me, Hitoshi. But you didn’t, did you?”
“That’s—“ Hitoshi protested weakly. Neito closed the millimeters of distance between their lips once more, this time, gently. Testing. Hitoshi’s lips moved against his, however brief the kiss, he felt it.
“You still don’t. Right now, you could use your quirk. You could force me back. And yet you don’t. You kiss me back. So, then—” His words picked up pace, quickened with the giddy euphoria of it. “Doesn’t this mean—“
Hitoshi slapped him. The shock of it, forceful and sharp, a burn against his face, and distance was between them. Hitoshi, staggering to put space between them while Neito raised his hand to touch the stinging skin.
The echo of it hung in the air between them. “You don’t like me? Is that it?” Neito asked hollowly.
“That’s not–” Hitoshi made a sound of frustration. His face was so, so red, so lovely, oh how Neito longed to taste it. “Listen, clearly something weird is going on with you. You would never– never–”
“Wouldn’t I?” Neito interjected, taking a step closer. Hitoshi choked himself to silence, eyes widening. He staggered back.
Neito took another step forward; Hitoshi, another step back.
“You call me,” Hitoshi forced out, strained. “Talking about how you were right, about Ochaco. And the next thing I know, she’s shouting that you used my quirk to kidnap her. Then you show up on my doorstep, injured, and–” He gesticulated Neito’s way erratically. “So what the hell is going on with you? Clearly something happened. Can you… can you try to focus please? Neito?”
Neito paused. He hadn’t noticed, until just then, how his own body was trembling. He closed his eyes, trying to blink through the haze in his thoughts. Instead, all he saw was red, red, red; the red of Hitoshi’s cheeks, the warmth of the blood in his body. “It… wasn’t Ochaco.” He forced out. “I took her quirk, and…” Images, then, flashing through his mind; the taste of iron. He flicked his tongue out, as if to taste its remnants on his lips.
He wondered what Hitoshi’s essence would taste like.
“So you have a quirk right now?” Hitoshi confirmed, watching him carefully. “Can you get rid of it?”
“I don’t know if I… want to, anymore,” Neito confessed in a whisper. “Everything I’m feeling… it’s like it’s finally free.”
Hitoshi’s brow furrowed.
“What’s your time at, Neito? It happened when we were on the call, right?”
“Say, Hitoshi,” Neito deflected, swallowing. “Can I kiss you, again?”
Hitoshi’s face twisted, a series of complex emotions that moved far too quickly for him to decipher. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, right now,” He said, gently.
“You don’t want to?” Warmth, flooding his veins, a happy thrum. Toga’s quirk didn’t disperse this time, but eagerly lapped up the synergy of it, the copy of Hitoshi alive within Neito.
“It’s… not that.”
The emotion drained wholly of his features, as though rinsed clean. Those storm eyes stared back at him blankly, and Neito closed the distance between them.
The next few moments came to him in flashes. So enthralled in the having, in indulging the longing in his chest, he knew only his lips on Hitoshi’s, then his body on Hitoshi’s, then his skin on Hitoshi’s, then the bed beneath them. His tongue, tracing the line of his jaw; His teeth, tugging gingerly at the flesh of his neck, lapping and sucking. At last, just the tiniest bit, the skin broke, spilling liquid euphoria upon Neito’s tongue. He moaned, cradling Hitoshi’s face, kissed hard on his lips, took his lower lip between his teeth and bit until it bled. It was more than just blood; it tasted like him, and while Neito had certainly put some thought into what he tasted like, he never thought he’d get to experience it like this. With each lap of his tongue, Hitoshi’s essence, the epitome of everything he was, flowed into him.
In some far off place, a chorus of groans and whimpers reached him, a voice that made him dizzy.
More, more, this one bled better, the whole of Hitoshi’s essence filling him in just a kiss, but not nearly enough. The body beneath his resisted, and Neito reveled in the flex and twitch of his musculature as his jaw closed, cracking against the succulent flesh between his teeth. Starburst flavors danced over his tongue. Hitoshi was so cool. So clever and snarky and just beautiful, especially when he looked like this. Neito needed to be closer; he needed more; he wanted to blend their essences until they were indistinguishable. He moved down across the expanse of his now-bare chest, using his teeth to tear into the skin, leaving and lapping at bite marks here and there. God, the flesh was so pliant beneath his teeth, like biting into a delectable taffy; it was almost like they were made for this, how could anyone have ever thought her wrong for this? And the color, so lovely, so red, painting iron and essence across Hitoshi’s perfect form. Neito trailed a tongue up the surface of his skin, starting from his navel. At each junction where his teeth had formerly claimed, he lapped into the flesh there, drew more of that ambrosiac essence onto his tongue. The streams that he had missed, he licked the trail alongside them, watching as the blood smeared the surface of Hitoshi’s skin; his skin, so soft against his lips. Dizzy, dizzy.
Something disrupted his efforts, and perhaps it was the fact that it was soft, unlike the struggles that had been taking place beneath his body while he indulged. Perhaps, the stark polarity of the two sensations was what broke through him; a soft hand caressing his hair, and the touch reverberated along Neito’s skin like tiny fireworks. He leaned into it, gasping, blinking through the haze. His palms smoothed over Hitoshi’s abdomen, thumbing a place where the skin was torn without thought or care.
Tick.
Hitoshi swallowed, wincing, and seemed in a haze of his own, lips swollen and bloodied and beautiful, pupils dilated, storm eyes fading as he gazed down at Neito where he clawed into his skin.
Tick.
Where he clawed into his skin.
Tick.
Where he was clawing into his fucking skin.
Neito jolted backwards so abruptly that he fell off the bed, shouting out when his head smacked against the floor.
“Ow, ow ow—” Neito groaned, rubbing his head. He lifted his head, and somehow, Hitoshi was there, perfectly fine on the floor beside him, looking at him, rubbing his head. His body was naked except for his boxers. He had some blood, around his mouth and trailing down his chest, but he seemed fine otherwise.
“Christ, you’re okay,” Neito exhaled shakily. “Jesus. For a second, I thought—” He reached out, and Hitoshi reached back. Neito stilled. His fingertips came into contact with glass.
A mirror.
Dread plunged Neito like an unfathomable weight, even as the remnants of the quirk began to disperse, the substance sloughing off his skin to reveal the terrified man beneath.
Time’s up.
“Hitoshi?” Neito called, and he was quite certain he’d never sounded scared like this before. Never heard Hitoshi’s voice, echoing from his lips, sound this scared before. He waited, watching as the Hitoshi in the mirror slid off of his skin. Waited with each tick of the watch, face broken on the floor in a pile of his discarded clothes.
No answer.
“Hitoshi please… please answer,” Neito’s voice broke. He squinted his eyes shut. His hands roamed over his discarded clothing, feeling desperately. Empty pockets, another watch. Where was it?
“Please, Hitoshi!” Neito shouted, tears in his eyes as his fingers closed around his cell phone. Blindly, he punched the number into his phone, scrambling to his feet to at last face Hitoshi.
“Emergency services, how can I help you?”
Neito’s lips trembled. He couldn’t speak. He took a staggered step towards the bed, the blood-soaked linens.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
When he at last tried to speak, it wasn’t words that escaped him. Something raw ripped clean from the depths of his chest; the sound pealed into the air, mournful and shattered.