Chapter Text
“Hey! Shouji, right?”
Mezou turned around, surprised that he didn’t recognize the voice immediately. Normally people only approached him when they knew and were comfortable with him; consequently, he was very familiar with any and all voices that would address him directly, especially out of school on a Friday evening. He’d been helping Midoriya with blackwhip in the gym, so either they wanted a turn with the space, or they had searched for him specifically. Turning around, he was surprised to see Tokage Setsuna from 1-B. Quickly hiding his surprise, he returned her greeting.
“Yes,” he said, “and you’re Tokage, correct?” She smiled and nodded in affirmation. “What can I do for you?” Suddenly, she looked slightly nervous.
“W-well, I’m putting together a sort of… support group, I guess? For people who’ve experience quirk-based discrimination.” She hesitated, and through one of his many arms Mezou noticed Midoriya perk up. “And, of course, I couldn’t be sure, but well… I thought I’d ask you if, uh, if you were interested?”
Mezou blinked. He’d thought of doing something like that in the past, but had assumed that since he was in the hero course that not many others would have a need for, or even an interest, in it. It was no secret that most discriminated-against students had a very low chance of getting into a prestigious school like UA, an unfortunate truth that he’d vowed to try and fix with his future influence as a pro. Although she couldn’t see it, he smiled at her.
“That’s a great idea, Setsuna. Of course I’m interested. Do you have a time and a place set up yet?” She let out a relieved smile at his answer, and nodded.
“Nedz’s giving us exclusive use of one of the larger unused classrooms. It should easily fit all of our members, plus any that we find in the future. It’s in the Gen-Ed section of the building, fifth floor; we’re having our first meeting this next Monday after school, mainly so we can all meet each other and set up a schedule. That sound good?” Mezou nodded, still grinning. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Midoriya had gotten closer. He turned to address him.
“Are you interested, Midoriya?” The boy let out a loud ‘eep’ at suddenly being noticed, but recovered quickly, a hand moving to rest on the back of his neck. Before he could respond, however, Setsuna had darted in front of him.
“Do you know someone who would want to come? That’s great! Who are they; I’ll go tell them all about it!” He started to stammer out an answer, but she barreled through him. “Ah, that’s fine! You can tell them. You remember the where and when, right? It’s open to everyone, and no participation is required! No questions asked, too. Let them know!” With that, she detached into several pieces and flew off in a green and purple blur. Mezou turned back to Midoriya, and chuckled at the look on his face.
“Are you thinking of attending, Midoriya?” Of all of their classmates, Mezou was one of the only ones that knew about his late-bloomer status; it had been late one Saturday night, when he was trying to fall asleep and resolutely ignoring the sounds coming from Mineta’s room. It was before his own had been completely soundproofed like Jiro’s, and he’d spent long nights cursing his heightened senses. After a while, he’d realized that a (somewhat poor) solution was to focus on the even breathing from other rooms. Midoriya’s was easiest, since it was next to Mineta’s, and therefore a similar sound level. Slowly, he started to relax, his brain moving the unwanted information and ongoing sounds into the darkest recesses of his mind.
Unfortunately for him and Midoriya, the latter’s brain picked that exact moment to have a nightmare. A severe one, by the sounds of it. The rapid breathing was only interrupted by a few tortured mumbles, words that sounded suspiciously like ‘Kacchan’ and ‘stop’ tearing through his lips before he finally woke up. Interestingly, he only heard the telltale electrical crackle of his quirk after a few minutes of quick panting slowing to a more normal pace. His class knew from experience that one of the first reactions one could have when having a nightmare, especially after the USJ, training camp, and Kamino, was to activate a quirk; enough of Mina’s and Kirishima’s beds had been replaced, and enough power outages had been repaired to give 1-A ample experience when it came to the whole thing. Apparently, it was a defense mechanism of the mind in the face of danger. So, why didn’t Midoriya’s activate until he was conscious?
Soon after, he heard the door open, probably to get some water from the kitchen. Moving out of bed, he went to do the same, hoping to clear up his questions and also offer his help, if Midoriya needed it. Creeping down the stairs to avoid waking anybody else, the first glance he got of Midoriya slumped against the table made him stumble for a moment.
He looked absolutely horrible. His face was pale, a faint layer of sweat covering him, his hand shaking slightly as it brought a glass of water to his mouth. He frowned at it, eventually giving up and just staring at it, gaze unflinching, his eyes staring a million meters away. Telegraphing his movements and making an appropriate amount of noise, he slowly entered the kitchen, feigning slight surprise at the sight of Midoriya. Grabbing himself a glass, he lowered himself into a seat across from him.
“Are… are you okay, Midoriya? I…” He trailed off. Was it rude to mention that he’d heard him go through a bad nightmare? His eyes moved and regained their focus, his face breaking into a carefree smile as his face seemed to regain its color.
“Oh, hey Shouji. Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Even his voice seemed cheerful, if a little tired. It was unnerving, to be honest, seeing how quickly he switched.
“Uh, something like that…” He trailed off as he drank from his cup, regretting not just saying yes when Midoriya’s expression turned guilty.
“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry, I should’ve tried being quieter. I know your room hasn’t been soundproofed yet. Was it my quirk activating that woke you?” Mezou let out a small, relieved sigh. Looks like he wouldn’t have to try to explain why he’d heard it all.
“Actually, it was the beginning of your nightmare. You were breathing really fast, and you started speaking bit in your sleep.” He bit his lip. “You… Midoriya, if you ever need to talk to anyone, you know I’m here, right? And all your other friends. We all know you’d do the same for us in a heartbeat, so try relying on us sometimes, yeah?” All the other boy did was glance away, and Mezou decided not to push it. Instead, he focused on his main question.
“Actually, I have a question for you, Midoriya.” At his lack of response, he added “It’s quirk related.” Instantly, curious eyes turned to face him, and Mezou felt a tad bit guilty for using that as bait.
“Can you tell me a bit more about involuntary quirk activation during nightmares and flashbacks?” The other boy’s face immediately turned to concern.
“Have you been experiencing that, Shouji? If so, you should talk to someone about it. I’m here if you need me, of course, or if you’d prefer Hound Dog, or Aizawa–”
“No, Midoriya, it’s nothing like that, its¬– can you just answer the question, please?” He blinked, confused, but continued anyway.
“Well, basically, it has to do with an evolved fight-or-flight response from what people used to have before quirks. Since most emission- or mutant-type quirks can be used to either run away faster or fight back stronger, they became the best indicators for the type of response people are inclined towards in dangerous situations. Still, regardless of their intention with the quirk, it’s become instinct for their brains and bodies to respond to any threat with the best weapon they have at their disposal, which in most cases happens to be a quirk. It’s the reason for early activation in some cases, such as toddlers suddenly receiving their quirks years early when their parents or they themselves are in danger. When people have nightmares or flashbacks like that, most brains can’t differentiate between fake danger and real danger, which leads to volatile, involuntary quirk activation. It gets worse the closer the dream is to reality, because it takes longer to wake up, causing even more damage. It’s the reason many heroes take drugs to avoid dreaming at all.” He finished his rambling, glancing back up at Mezou. “Why did you want to know?”
Mezou’s head was spinning a bit from the amount of information now in his 12am brain, but he focused on what was important. “Midoriya,” he began slowly. “Why is it that you didn’t activate your quirk until your nightmare was long over?”
The boy immediately stiffened, expression closing off for a fraction of a second before it returned to what Shouji was now sure was only a mask. He didn’t speak for a long while, and Mezou decided to give him a slight push.
“If it’s not something you’re comfortable talking about, that’s fine. But talking through your issues is important. Just know that if you’re worried about me judging you for your answer, or how I’m going to react in general, then there’s no reason to. I know you, Midoriya, and nothing you could say right now could damage my opinion of you.” He waited several tense moments, before finally he slumped, mask shattering and revealing the face that Mezou had originally walked in on. He hesitated, and Mezou waited patiently.
“I…” he started, then stopped. Swallowing, he seemingly forced himself to get the words out. “I don’t activate my quirk as a reflex because for most of my life I didn’t even know it existed.”
Mezou’s brain scratched to a stop. “What?”
“It– it’s a stockpiling quirk, and by the time I was four it had accumulated too much energy for my body to handle.” He started slowly, but soon the words were flowing out too quickly to stop. “If I’d activated it, all my limbs would’ve been blown off my body. It was only when I spent ten months training in preparation for the UA exam that I got the muscle mass necessary to not die immediately. I used it for the first time during the entrance exam, to take down a zero-pointer.” He swallowed. “So most of my life, everyone, myself included, thought I was quirkless.”
Mezou’s brain was scrambling for control, failing as thoughts ran through faster than he could process them. It explained so much; his flinching, shyness, stuttering at the beginning of the year. How he was never confident with his answers in class, despite them pretty much always being correct.
Mezou wasn’t ignorant. He’d seen the statistics for quirkless people, and it had made his blood boil the first time he’d read them. At least mutations quirks could reliably get jobs; besides, suicide rates and abuse records were higher in proportion to the quirkless population that every other group in Japan combined. It was horrible.
The silence stretched out for a long time, Midoriya slowly sinking into himself more by the second, when a question forced itself from Mezou’s mouth.
“Bakugo’s not your rival, is he?” The flinch and guilty look was answer enough. In his grip the glass he was holding shattered into pieces, cutting his hand and several part up his arm. Calmly, he started to clean them, while Midoriya rushed off to get bandages. His arms clean and stinging slightly from the antiseptic, he kept speaking.
“I didn’t have many friends growing up.” Midoriya’s gaze snapped to him, and inwardly he chuckled at the sincerely confused look on his face. “My quirk… it’s more like an octopus than most people realize. And when I was a kid, I thought it was cool; it didn’t matter that I didn’t look like anyone else, there were plenty of other mutation kids, and I thought I looked cool.” Predicting that Midoriya would jump to agree, he silenced him with a look. Continuing, he took a deep breath.
“Like most cephalopods, I had a beak to eat through. It was similar to Tokoyami’s in that it was flexible, letting me make normal expression with it, while still being rigid. It made eating a bit difficult, sure, but before I figured out how to eat through my arms it was the only way I could. I knew some people thought it was weird, and others were straight up disgusted by it, but enough people were nice about it that it was more of a conversation starter to me than anything else. It was a part of me, something I wouldn’t wish to change, but apparently others didn’t agree.” He saw Midoriya’s eyes widen as he realized the direction his story was taking. Closing his eyes, fists clenching and straining the bandages, he took another deep breath before continuing.
“I don’t think they realized what it would do to me, to be honest. They were kids; we all were, and I suppose they were morbidly curious about just how flexible my beak was. They cornered me after school one day, too many of them to wrestle off of me, and they pinned me down before slamming my face down into the pavement until my beak stopped offering resistance.” Midoriya’s gasp was horrified, and when he turned to look at him he was covering his mouth with his hands, tears streaming down his face in rivers.
“I can’t eat through it anymore. Apparently, because of the material it’s made of, they can’t heal it, and can’t perform reconstructive surgery. I can only just talk through it without an obvious change in my voice.” He looked down to one of his arms, idly changing it between an eye, an ear, a mouth, and a hand. “The point is, Midoriya, what happened sucked. But it was a part of me. Just because I have friends that’ll accept me now doesn’t mean that the old me, the one that couldn’t even eat near anyone, much less talk to them, doesn’t exist anymore. I’ll always carry it with me. But pretending it never happened because my situation is different now isn’t only impossible, it’s unhealthy.”
Midoriya directed his gaze downwards, guilty, and Mezou frowned.
“Thank you for telling me, Midoriya, really. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to share it with me. But I can’t be the only person in this class who knows.” He reached over, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder and causing him to glance up at him. “It’s clear you went through some rough shit. Please, just talk to your friends about it. I’m sure they wouldn’t treat you any differently, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
After a few tense moments, a small, genuine smile broke his face. He nodded, determination filling his eyes.
“Thank you, Shouji. And thank you for sharing. It really is horrible.” Under his breath, Mezou just barely caught a mutter saying ‘Those bastards had better hope I never learn their names.’ He laughed.
“Don’t worry, Midoriya, they’ve been taken care of. You don’t need to take revenge.” He politely ignored how red his face became. “Besides, if anything I’m the one that needs to take revenge for you. Has he faced any consequences whatsoever, or even apologized?” It took a little while for Midoriya to realize who he was talking about, before his eyes widened and he waved his hands in front of his face frantically.
“N-no! It’s fine, really! He’ll be a great hero, so please don’t say anything. And don’t attack him out of nowhere; I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Mezou just continued to stare at him. “Please?” he added, voice now barely above a whisper. Mezou just sighed, agreeing silently. Midoriya’s shoulders slumped in relief.
“Alright, thanks. Goodnight, Shouji.”
“Goodnight, Midoriya.” The boy in question paused.
“If you ever want to talk about it, I think it’ll be good for both of us.” With that, they both went back to their respective rooms, both feeling strangely light. Neither dreamed that night.
And if Mezou was a bit more violent towards Bakugo for a few weeks in training, it was nobody’s business but his own.
Snapping back to the present, he took note of Midoriya’s body language. Clearly, he was hesitant at best, terrified at worst. Moving closer to him, he put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, you heard what she said. Open to anybody, no questions asked. You don’t have to participate if you don’t want to, and you can leave whenever you feel like it. You can come with me.”
He took a few moments, seemingly gathering himself. Eventually he nodded.
“I’ll go. It’s like you said, participation isn’t forced.” He let out a sigh. “What do I do if other members ask me what I’m doing there? I’m not exactly the kind of person they were looking for.”
“You can answer them, or you can not. It’s your choice. Regardless, if you keep going you’ll end up telling them all eventually, right? It might be good for you. Of course, it’s still completely your decision.” He considered for a moment, before nodding to himself.
“I don’t know if it’ll be Monday, but I’ll tell them sooner rather than later. I can do it.” The last part probably wasn’t meant for his ears, so he ignored it.
“I’ll be right there the whole time anyway. You’ll do fine.” Midoriya shot him a quick grateful smile, and they finished up their training, both looking forward to the meeting on Monday.