Chapter Text
“Again?” Langa’s teacher had mused as Langa presented him his frazzled hero outfit, green hair brushing against his knuckles as he pushes his glasses up to rest on the bridge of his nose. “It’s alright, Hasegawa! Don’t worry about it, okay?” He clasps his scarred hands together, his expression kind. “Just go take it down to the amazing team in the support course, they’ll get it all fixed up for you again!”
Langa saunters down the hallway with his fingers tangled in fabric, embarrassment rising in his gut.
Look, he hadn’t meant to damage his hero costume. Again. The guys in the support course just haven’t found the right materials to handle his snow properly yet.
Which seems stupid, considering that they had been able to help with pro hero Shoto’s costume when he was enrolled in UA just a few years ago.
He sighs, tilting his head back. It’s whatever, it’s not like he’ll hold an unnecessary grudge against them.
He wasn’t raised to be petty over something so small. Nor does he even have the will to do so.
Langa’s steps were steady as he walked down the corridor, watching the view from the large windows that covered the wall from top to bottom. He watched as other teenagers his age mingled and laughed together outside, showing off their quirks, huddling under the cherry blossoms, conversing about their future plans as a pro hero. Like the usual 17 year old would.
Though, Langa wasn’t typically like that. To be completely honest, he doesn’t even want to be a hero at all anymore.
He used to like the idea of being a pro. The fantasy that would swim in his head as a child—saving people, making the world a better place. His father had supported him and all, helping Langa get used to his quirk and brainstorming hero names. He made the fantasy all the more possible.
That dream died along with the man that believed in him.
But, he was already enrolled in UA. Might as well stay put. Even if the passion doesn’t spark like it used to. Like it was meant to.
Rounding the familiar corner, he pokes his head through the door frame labelled ‘support course’, rapping his knuckles twice on the wood. A few students glance his way, the majority of them simply rolling their eyes and going back to their jobs at the sight of sky blue hair and that familiar, awkward glint in his eyes.
“Back again I see, Hasegawa?” A girl with blossom hued hair huffs, not looking up from her phone as she passes by him, ponytail flicking behind her. Miyo is her name, from what Langa can remember.
“Y’can go ‘round to the back. We got a new guy in—needs some experience and all.” She calls out over her shoulder, waving a dismissive hand before disappearing into the mess of costumes and people.
Langa staggers, a stuttered ‘thank you!’ falling from his lips. He inhales, stepping foot into the room, trekking through the maze of tools, machinery and hard-working students. It’s quite loud in there, obviously, as they poke and prod at the hero courses costumes and gadgets.
After weaving through the crowd, he finally makes it to the back of the room—which appears to be a storage room of some sorts, a relieved sigh escaping him.
Only for his breath to catch violently and suddenly in his throat as a wrench hits him dead centre in the chest, his body seizing up on impact, immediately coughing and doubling over.
“Oh shit! Holy shit, holy shit, I'm so, so, so sorry man!”
The cracked, panicked voice seems to seep through the pained fog in Langa’s head, squinting his eyes open.
Fiery red hair is the first thing his eyes latch on to. Bold strands that curl over a deep blue headband—framing a tanned, alarmed expression.
The boy’s hands flail about, apologies spilling out of his mouth over and over like a broken record. “You okay?? Y'need me to take ya to Recovery Girl or somethin’ dude? I’m real sorry!”
Langa puts up a hand, a pained squeak leaving him. “Ah, no, no it’s okay... Thank you.” He stands straight after a moment, heaving a little, before clearing his throat. He takes a moment to size the boy up, who’s placing the wrench down on the desk behind them, not once breaking eye contact.
“Y’sure? I swung it pretty hard—like, n-not on purpose or anything of course!” The redhead continues, biting nervously at the inside of his cheek. Langa notices a yellow hoodie beneath his UA uniform, a warm colour that contrasts with the grey blazer.
Langa’s nod is slightly delayed, forcing himself to snap out of his daze.
“Yeah, ‘m fine. Don’t worry about it.” He consoles kindly, voice rasping a tad.
After a hesitant once over from the other, he lets out a weary laugh. “Phew. Thought I really damaged ya there, my guy!” He lightly punches him in the shoulder, spinning on his heel to wander back over to his spinney chair, flopping down.
“M’names Reki, by the way!” He sing songs, pivoting swiftly in his seat. “But people ‘round these parts call me ‘Mechanic Star Reki’.” He beams smugly, jabbing his thumb at himself in a prideful manner.
“Nobody calls you that, I'm afraid.” A classmate interjects with an amused huff as they steal a screwdriver from Reki's desk, the red head’s grin deflating into a defeated frown, sulking to himself under his breath after they saunter away.
Langa blinks, moving out of the students way as they slide past him, before quickly following after the redhead. “Well, nice to meet you, Reki. I’m--I'm Langa.” He timidly greets, watching as Reki nods with a smile and swings around to continue working at his desk.
After a long pause of comfortable silence, Langa remembered what he came here for.
“Oh, uhm, Miyo sent me back here to ask you if you could fix my costume?” He murmurs, holding up his suit. It’s nothing flashy or anything—being similar to the UA sports uniform with an added black turtle neck beneath it. He’s never been much of a fashionista.
Reki looks back at him over his shoulder, simply blinking for a moment. In a flash, he spins back around, practically leaping off his chair. “Y’serious!? Like, a real project!?” He beams, taking in Langa’s suit with an enthused gaze, the iris’ twinkling with awe. “Oh my Gosh dude, you’re a saint—an angel, truly.” He croons, sighing wistfully to himself.
Well, this guy's certainly a character. Langa finds himself amused, a small wrinkle of a smile blooming on his face.
“Miyo mentioned that you were new…? Have you not worked on anything yet?”
At that, Reki shakes his head.
“Nah, nothin’ but tinkering at old parts they found with the scraps and junk.” He shrugs, eyes roaming over Langa’s costume. “You designed this yourself, did'ja? Kind of looks like the sports jersey in a way!”
Heat rises on Langa’s face. How humiliating, his lack of originality has once again caught up to him. “Er—Yes. Yes, I did… take inspiration from the uniform…”
“Sick! I heard through the grapevine or whatever that Midoriya Sensei used ta’ wear the UA sports uniform as a costume for a while there too! You’re practically following in the pros' footsteps already, man!” Reki exclaims with a crooked grin, in which Langa can’t help but stare in awe at.
The mechanic takes the uniform enthusiastically from Langa’s hands, swivelling around to wander back to his desk. “I like it a lot, really! Simple, not too flashy, and effective! Quite professional, mister Langa.” He exclaims with a proper tone, plopping back down and rolling over to a filing cabinet to flick through a series of folders.
It's a shame they put Reki in the storage compartment of all places. He’d sure to stand out among the rest of the support course. Beaming smile, vibrant hair, golden eyes. He’d practically glow among everyone else. The brightest person in the room. Like the sun, almost.
After a moment, Reki pulls out a file, flicking through it. “Langa Hasegawa, is it?” He skims through the notes, pushing himself back over to his desk, the wheels on the chair squeaking beneath him. “Snow quirk… That’s hella cool, dude! Surely you’d get a tad bit cold though, yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, chucking the file onto his desk.
Langa pauses, snapping out of his daze, before nodding quickly. “Uhm—y-yeah, I do. I’ve tried winter gear and other stuff whilst using my quirk, but it doesn’t seem to work. Plus, it’s just a pain when I’m sparring.” Langa bites on the inside of his cheek, watching the way Reki’s face twists as he ponders.
Of course, by growing up in Canada for the majority of his life, he’s grown accustomed to cold environments. But he doesn’t mind telling a little white lie.
It just means that he’ll be able to talk to this… amusing boy more. In which, he’s growing to like quite a bit—the conversation and all, he means. Duh.
Reki nods along with him, clicking his fingers. “Right! I could add some quirk induced insulation to the inside of your costume. That way, when you’re using your quirk, ya’ don’t get all shivery. It’ll retain your body heat.” He rambles, grabbing a sketchpad to quickly doodle his ideas out. “And it won’t be a hassle when you’re movin’ around. Kind of like a wetsuit. Ugh, now I wanna go to the friggin' beach.” He sulks.
That’s… Not a bad idea. At all. Why didn’t he think of that? Why didn’t anybody else think of that?
He blankly watches as Reki works, his thoughts running freely.
His hair—Good grief it’s practically invading his vision. Not in a bad way or anything. It just… Stands out.
Maybe that’s his quirk? Neon hair?
Is that the best he can come up with? Jeez.
Reki checks the time on his watch. “Oh, yeesh, you should head back to class. Don’t want you gettin’ in any trouble and all. I refuse to have that kind of blood on my hands.” He stretches his arms above his head, flexing his fingers. “I’ll come find ya if I need more info!” He waves him off with a friendly smile, continuing to sketch out his plans.
“Oh, uh, right.” Langa swallows, checking the time on his phone. “Thank you for helping me out, Reki.”
“Don’t mention it! To be fair I should be the one thanking you. I’ll see you ‘round!”
Langa’s eyes squint in a polite smile, hesitating for a brief moment, before walking off and out of the workshop. It proves to be quite an effort to not look back.
By the time Langa’s making his way back to the dorms, the sky is orange and streaked with purple hues. The stars are already starting to make an appearance, sprinkled along the darkening sky.
Langa had managed to get caught up in class, catching up on work he failed to complete during the lectures. His mind was just so busy, filled to the brim with red.
Fiery. Vibrant. Red.
Langa never thought he’d like a colour so passionately, much less have it on his mind every second of every minute. It's like a mantra.
He hoists his bag over his shoulder, adjusting it accordingly so it doesn’t slip. His mind continues to wander, pulled in by this defying force.
Force… Perhaps he has a mind altering quirk? If so, it’s very effective.
In the midst of his analysing, he fails to notice the first year tapping away on his phone in the middle of the hallway until he barges into them, an alarmed squeak leaving the smaller kid as he stumbles over his feet.
Oops. Langa tenses, immediately stuttering out an apology. “Ah crap... 'm sorry, are you alright—?”
The younger makes a quick attempt to regain his balance, straightening his posture, head snapping to the side to shoot daggers at the teenager. “Do you mind!?” The boy hisses, stepping back to glare up at Langa, emerald green eyes piercing through Langa’s own.
Oh. It’s Chinen.
Top of all of his classes—practically a prodigy among the first years. Hell, maybe even the majority of UA. Extremely well known in Musutafu—making it onto news headlines and magazine covers. The media loves him.
“I apologise, I wasn’t paying attention.” Langa mutters, not unkindly.
Miya’s eye twitches, shoulders rigid. “Y’should be! God, stupid slimes always in my way, absolute pests.” The boy mithers, making a show of dusting off his uniform before stalking off and down the hallway, his measly stomps echoing through the silent building.
Huh…
A silent pause settles in the air. His initial confusion fades, a perplexed sigh leaving him, pushing himself forward and towards the dorms. He needs to get himself together.