71

Notes:

TW FOR FOOD-RELATED ISSUES!

ALSO POISON AND ENDEVIL'S BAD PARENTING

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Izuku watches as Kacchan enters the Bettencourt Healthcare main office building through the security cameras Shouto has so helpfully brought up on the television screen while he taps away on his laptop. Izuku is perched behind him, kneeling on top of one of the wooden chairs he's stolen from the kitchen area with his arms resting, folded, on the back of the couch by Shouto's head. He wonders what kind of shampoo he uses, because it smells really good. Like...mint, maybe?

(They'd woken up wrapped in each others arms that morning, which had been...really nice, actually. Izuku hasn't cuddled platonically with anyone in a long time.

They'd eaten breakfast together in comfortable silence, and it's kind of weird how not awkward it had felt.)

Izuku blinks, shaking his head to clear it, then burying his face in his arms and taking a deep breath when that doesn't work. He cannot afford to be distracted right now.

"Okay, Bakugou's appointment is in Petersen's calendar," Shouto says, his voice a lot closer than Izuku was expecting it to be. He flails a little, flustered at the proximity, then steadies himself. Resting his chin back on his crossed arms so that he can look over Shouto's shoulder at his laptop screen and still see the security cameras, he says, "Good. Great. Um - "

(He thinks he sees Shouto blush out of the corner of his eye, but that's probably just a trick of the light.)

" - Right. Tsuyu, how are you doing?"

"Well, Izuku-chan," comes Tsuyu's flat voice through his earbud, tinny and echoing. "These vents haven't been cleaned in - I'd say, five and a half months."

Izuku winces. That can't be fun. Even for Tsuyu, who practically lives in vents.

"Otherwise," she continues, "I'm fine. I'll be in position in two minutes."

"Good, good," Izuku mutters absently, watching as Kacchan makes his way to the security desk. It's weird to see his hips swaying the way they are, since it's so different from his usual slouched stalking. The dress is also a strange sight, but less so since he'd been wearing it when he'd left Shouto's safe house.

"Eijirou, you're also ready?"

Izuku watches as Eijirou bumps into someone in the lobby accidentally-on-purpose, lifting the poor sod's ID badge as he apologizes. Eijirou attaches it to his shirt, then makes his way through security. "I'm good. Just waiting for the call."

Kacchan's voice breaks in, over the mics: "You have ten seconds to shut the fuck up before the job starts. I need some damn quiet." Izuku motions for Shouto to take Kacchan's earbud off the main circuit, leaving only a one-way connection. Izuku can hear Kacchan speaking - and whatever Petersen says, too, probably, if he gets close enough - but Kacchan can't hear him unless Izuku actively chooses to let him.

"Three, two, one - " Kacchan counts down under his breath, and then his entire personality shifts as he opens the door to Petersen's outer office.

It's Sera Katsumi who enters the office, greeting the secretary politely. "Hello, Miss Fissler," she says, reading the nametag on the secretary's desk. "I have a nine o'clock appointment with Mister Petersen…?" Sera has a slight accent - not enough to make her words unrecognizable, but enough to be noticeably foreign.

There's a flash of confusion as the secretary scrambles to recall whether or not Petersen has a meeting - there's a reason they're doing this in the morning, before she's had a chance to refresh her memory. She checks the office calendar, into which Shouto has helpfully entered an appointment for one Sera Katsumi. "Ah, yes, of course," Miss Fissler says, standing. "I'll just let him know you're here…"

Sera smiles politely. "Yes, of course."

(It's really weird to see Kacchan smiling, not smirking, and with no vindictive edge. But, then again, he's not really Kacchan right now, is he?)

Izuku glances over to the section of the screen showing the security feed from Petersen's office. Luckily, these ones also have sound, so he doesn't need to brush off his rather rusty lip-reading skills.

Miss Fissler knocks on the door frame before sticking her head into Petersen's office. "Mr. Petersen, your nine o'clock is waiting for you."

"My - ?" Petersen blinks rapidly, possibly a little alarmed by the bright floral pattern of his secretary's dress, then pulls out his phone to check his calendar. "Right, of course. Show them in, please, Miss Fissler."

She nods and ducks back out, only to reappear a moment later with Sera. She closes the door behind her when she exits the room, leaving Sera to step closer to the desk and offer Petersen a handshake. "Good morning, Mister Petersen," she says with a small, secretive smile. "My name is Sera Kastumi. I'm here on behalf of Liu International with a...business opportunity. I believe we might be able to do each other some good. And, of course, Mister…?"

His bodyguard stands behind Petersen silently, leaning against the wall faux-casually. He looks only vaguely interested in the proceedings.

Petersen waves off the question with a few frantic hand movements. "Don't worry about him - that's Dabi, my b-bodyguard." He shoots a quick glance at the newly named 'Dabi' who stares blankly back at him. "He doesn't speak much English, of course, but he's very good at his job."

Which immediately pings something in the back of Izuku's consciousness. Because that is...suspect, at best. It's more than likely something said to make Sera underestimate the bodyguard, but there's always the possibility that it's something else entirely.

Izuku does not like not being certain about these things.

"Dabi," murmurs Sera. "That translates to 'Cremation.' An odd name for a bodyguard."

Izuku resists the urge to groan. By itself, it's a fairly innocent line, but with the way 'Sera' is looking at Dabi...

Izuku, double-taps his earbud, turning on his side of the line long enough to hiss, "Do not seduce the bodyguard, Kacchan."

Kacchan makes no sign that he heard Izuku, but Sera gives Dabi a once-over, then apparently decides that she prefers power over looks in her potential partners and her...focus hones back in on Petersen. Dabi - and that cannot be his real name - doesn't seem to notice, but Petersen certainly does, preening in his chair. He coughs, trying to (badly) hide his smirk behind a raised hand. "Forgive me, Mrs - Sarah, was it?"

Sera smiles. "Just Sera, please."

"Sarah." Petersen returns the smile, though his is considerably more oily-looking. "You said - what was it, Liu something." His accent is absolutely horrendous, and Izuku is very proud of Kacchan for not flinching. He wonders if Petersen does it on purpose, because Bettencourt is an international company - there's no reason for his accent to be that bad. "Are you - you're government, aren't you."

"No, no. Liu International is a private business consortium, Mr. Petersen. We are looking to encourage infrastructure development and economic renewal in China."

"Right - of course, right there in the name. Apologies, Sarah. What is it, exactly, that you do? In English, preferably." Petersen laughs nervously.

Sera laughs lightly. "Oh, I do enjoy a man with a good sense of humor," she says, putting the slightest emphasis on the word enjoy and giving him a look, heated and just this side of appropriate. Petersen shivers visibly, so much so that the security cameras in his office actually pick it up on the screen. Kacchan's really good at his job. "We create jobs and trade in China - and, of course, try to keep the stealing and corruption to a minimum. It's a tricky business, but I am - " She smiles, eyes promising something that Kacchan has no intentions of delivering. " - very good at my job."

Petersen's almost certainly flushing, but he's facing away from the camera so Izuku can't tell for certain. He stutters a few times, trying to find words to start his sentence, but it's hard because Kacchan is doing that thing where he looks you up and down, eyes so heated you can almost feel them caressing your skin - and of course Izuku knows how that feels; who else would Kacchan have practiced on? Ochako? Camie? He doesn't like women - hell, he doesn't even really like people. Izuku had been pretty much his only option, because he'd been the least likely to get weird about it.

(Honestly, that's not even the strangest thing he's done for Kacchan. There are so many contenders, but the time with the badger might take the cake. No, wait, the thing with the boulder and the stuffed pig. Or maybe - there are a lot of options, okay. Nobody mentions this stuff when they talk about meeting your soulmate.)

Eventually, Petersen pulls himself together enough to say, "I'm s-sorry, Sarah, but I don't see how I can - how I could possibly help you with - with that?"

Izuku's pretty impressed that he managed something coherent. Kacchan can be...pretty overwhelming when he's like that.

Sera smiles, leaning forward for a moment so Petersen is afforded a glimpse down her shirt before she says, "Come, Mr. Petersen. Let us discuss this more in a more...private location," and walks, hips swaying perhaps a little more than necessary, towards the office door.

Petersen, the poor sod, is powerless to refuse. He tries, stuttering meaningless attempts at rejoinders, but he's already getting to his feet and following her. He waves at his bodyguard to stay put and Dabi ignores him, obviously, but follows at a reasonable distance.

"Okay, good, Kacchan," Izuku mutters under his breath as Sera leads Petersen out of his office - in the opposite direction of Eijirou, who's down the hall and around the corner, just out of sight. "Tsuyu, you're in position?"

"Yes, Izuku-chan." Tsuyu says it like she's indulging him.

Izuku pinks and coughs. "Sorry - it's just - you're the only one I can't see."

"Yes, vents don't tend to have security cameras," Tsuyu says dryly. "I'm ready, Izuku-chan."

Izuku glances sideways at Shouto, and breathes in sharply when he finds him a lot closer than he was expecting, for some reason. It's not like their positions have moved much, though. It's just that sometimes when he's directing people like this, Izuku has a tendency to kind of...zoom out from his body? He doesn't really notice what goes on around him because he's too focused on the plan.

(The buzzing sound is still echoing in the back of his head - he hopes that's not a sign of permanent brain damage from his concussion the other day.)

Izuku shakes his head slightly, clearing it. "Okay, Shouto, you're up."

Shouto blinks once, then glances at his laptop screen long enough to press the enter key twice.

The first hit of the key causes a small window to pop up in the corner of the television screen, this one connected to the secretary's computer screen.

"Perfect," Izuku breathes, focusing on the security camera feeds and ignoring Shouto's slight, barely noticeable twitch.

The second hit of the enter key comes a few keystrokes later and causes the secretary's computer screen to display the blue screen of death. The poor woman jumps to her feet and shakes the computer monitor, her mouth moving around the word no as she repeats it countless times in vain.

It won't help. Nothing will help.

Because technically there's nothing actually wrong with the computer. It's just that Shouto has control of the screen.

The secretary sits back down, posture brimming with resignation, then picks up the office phone and calls IT. Tsuyu, who's hijacked the phone line, is the one who picks up.

"Hello, you've reached IT."

The earbuds Eijirou acquired from his unnamed military buddy are so sensitive that they manage to pick up the other side of the conversation. "Hi, yes, this is Amanda Fissler, from Mr. Petersen's office? Something's wrong with my computer."

Izuku's impressed that she managed to say that so smoothly without having to prepare herself to make the phone call. People with interpersonal skills are pretty amazing.

"Have you tried turning it off and on again?" Tsuyu asks flatly and Izuku and Shouto both nearly choke trying to stifle their laughter. Tsuyu very rarely tells jokes, but when she does, no one's expecting it, which somehow manages to make it ten times funnier than it should be.

"I - yes," says Miss Fissler, even though Izuku and Shouto can quite clearly see that she hasn't. To be fair, it wouldn't really apply in this situation anyway. "Please, could you just send someone up? I was in the middle of something important and then the blue screen of death happened, so - "

"Don't worry, Amanda," Tsuyu interrupts. "We have someone on your floor; he'll be there shortly."

Miss Fissler sighs in relief, slumping back against her chair. "Thank you very much."

"Of course. Have a nice day."

"Thank you - you too."

Izuku lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He's just glad Tsuyu's peculiar speech pattern hadn't made an appearance - kero. It's pretty easily identifiable. "Good - great job, Tsuyu. Eijirou, you're up."

Eijirou smiles brightly at the security camera in the hallway where he's been loitering before he turns the corner and heads for Petersen's office, where the secretary seems to be doing some deep breathing exercises. Which is understandable. She's probably freaking out about losing two, maybe three hours of work, if she doesn't save religiously.

"Why aren't I the one playing the computer guy?" Shouto asks absently, as if the thought has just occurred to him. Izuku doesn't answer right away, too busy watching the security camera footage.

Eijirou knocks on the frame of the open door, smiling with his mouth closed to hide his distinctive teeth. He's also got his colored contacts in, and his hair is tied in a low ponytail instead of spiked up. "Hey, are you the one who called IT?"

Miss Fissler blushes faintly. Probably because Eijirou's got the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to display his very well-muscled arms. "I - yes, I did. I'm Amanda."

She holds out her hand and Eijirou shakes it warmly. "I'm Eliot - nice to meet you. Now, what seems to be the problem?"

Izuku doesn't bother listening to Miss Fissler explaining the problem and somehow managing to be flirtatious about it, because he's a little busy with the reason Eijirou's distracting her. "Okay, Tsuyu. Now's good - she's facing the opposite direction."

"Okay, Izuku-chan." Tsuyu drops through the grate that leads to the vents and approaches Petersen's computer.

"Shouto, you're - "

" - already looping the videos, Izuku."

"Perfect." Shouto shivers slightly, again. It's barely noticeable, but maybe Izuku should volunteer to go turn up the thermostat? He's not exactly feeling cold - and it is Shouto's safehouse, so shouldn't he have it set at the temperature he likes? - but...wait, he shouldn't be thinking about this right now. "Okay, Tsuyu, the drive?"

Tsuyu plugs in a flash drive into Petersen's computer, which somehow gives Shouto remote access to the files? Izuku has no idea how it works - he's not really a computer guy. He can kind of fake his way through if necessary, but beyond that…

"This is why you're not playing the computer guy," Izuku mutters belatedly. "Because I need you to actually be the computer guy."

Shouto lets out a short little puff of air, shoulders twitching. It takes Izuku a few seconds to recognise the noise as a laugh - albeit a rusty one, like Shouto only half-remembers what laughs are supposed to sound like. Izuku directs a beaming smile in his direction anyway, because he just managed to make Shouto laugh.

Shouto flushes slightly before he returns his focus to his screen, cheeks still lightly dusted pink as he types away.

"I'm in," he says, just as Tsuyu finishes placing a bug underneath Petersen's desk. "I'm - wow."

"What is it?" Izuku asks, leaning closer so he can look over Shouto's shoulder at the screen. It's a bunch of coding, scrolling too fast for Izuku to make sense of it, but Shouto doesn't seem to have that problem. "What am I looking at?"

Shouto doesn't answer, eye too busy scanning the code running across his screen. He types a few lines, faster than Izuku's eyes can track, then a vindictive expression spreads across his face. "We're good."

Izuku trusts him enough to say, "Okay, Tsuyu, Eijirou, get out of there."

Tsuyu nods wordlessly, swipes the drive and a fancy pen from the desk, then hops back into the vent and presumably starts making her way towards her exit point.

Eijirou laughs at something the receptionist is saying about his arms, flexing them for her amusement - Izuku's not entirely sure that he realizes she's trying to flirt with him - and winking at the camera behind her head to show that he's heard.

Outside, Kacchan - Sera - is still finishing up with Petersen. She's not just a distraction to get him out of his office so they can steal the plans, no.

Because that would just be getting back at him.

No, they want to get even.

(Perhaps...slightly more than even. They're thieves, and their pride has been damaged. Izuku's just there to...mitigate the collateral damage. Yeah.)

(And, you know. He also tried to kill them all. There's that, too.)

Petersen's bodyguard is standing beside the sliding doors of the main entrance to the building, smoking a cigarette under the scant amount of shade the awning affords him. He's a good twenty, maybe even thirty feet away from Petersen, which is - odd. Sera's an unknown. Dabi should probably be more concerned by the way she's insinuated herself with Petersen. She's close enough to stab him and melt away into the city before Dabi has a chance to notice.

Kacchan won't do that, though. Probably.

(...Probably.)

Anyway. Izuku's point is that that's kind of - weird for a bodyguard, right? There's not much he can really do about it at this point, but, well. It's certainly something he's going to need to keep in mind for the next stage of the plan. He can't count on Dabi adhering to the way a bodyguard would normally act.

Sera's already masterfully manipulated Petersen into accepting a meeting with a few members of the group she represents, Liu International. (And of course Kacchan chose Liu as the company name. The character means 'kill' or 'destroy' and he's always had a mildly unhealthy obsession with things like that.) She's offered facilities that could be converted, a ready and cheap workforce, some smoothing of international relations, and a vast customer base. Petersen hadn't seemed particularly interested until she mentioned offhandedly that perhaps it would be better for her to go to Rockwell Prosthetics instead - they'd be a better fit.

Petersen had blustered, turning red in the face, then almost immediately accepted the meeting. Sera's in the process of setting it up for the next day, the day before Petersen's big company board meeting - the one where he's going to present 'his' research and probably earn himself a seat on the board - when Izuku tunes back in.

"Tomorrow, then? At the Center for International Business."

Petersen nods, dazed. He probably doesn't even know what hit him - Kacchan can be an...explosive force of nature, when he gets into character like this. "Tomorrow, yes, yes, of course, um - Sarah?"

Sera pauses, half-turned to leave. She glances over her shoulder and Izuku is about ninety percent sure that Petersen's eyes are glued to her ass for a few seconds too long. As expected, Kacchan was right to choose the pencil skirt. "Yes?"

Petersen blinks rapidly. "Um , I was just wondering - would you like to, uh, get some lunch, maybe?"

Sera contemplates the proposition for a moment, and Petersen starts looking hopeful. "No, I'm afraid I'm busy today - logistics things, you know how it is - " Petersen's face falls. " - but, perhaps tomorrow, after the meeting?"

Sera brushes her tongue over her lips, eyeing Petersen with clear interest. "We could do...dinner," she says suggestively, definitely implying some sort of sexual interaction, and Petersen makes a strangled noise. Then she walks off, hips swaying, leaving Petersen to stare at her back - well, perhaps a bit lower than her back.

Izuku frowns. Something seems a little - off, here. Kacchan might be getting a little too into character, which...might have repercussions, later.

Because, see, the way Kacchan grifts is really interesting. Izuku had asked him about it once, a few years ago, on one of their 'good' days - one of the days that they could actually stand to be in the same room as each other without constantly picking fights.

(They didn't tend to have a lot of good days back then.)

Kacchan had been unusually keen to answer the question, and had even taken a few seconds to contemplate his answer.

Kacchan creates a character for every job. He decides their names, how they dress, how they act, how they talk, everything, before the job even starts. He'd said that he takes aspects of people that he knows reasonably well and then pieces them together into a whole new person, one that's wholly unrecognizable to anyone who knows him. Kacchan's strong personality actually helps with the whole 'hard to recognize' thing - who's going to expect someone who curses as much as he does, who acts like someone's pissed in his breakfast most of the time, to be able to pull off a demure forty-year-old woman?

The thing is, though - the part that Izuku was interested in was more along the lines of 'how would Kacchan be able to stay in character if something unexpected happened?'

Like, for example, Kacchan really, really hates having things around his neck, even if they're too loose to constrict his airflow. Izuku's never asked why, because he can tell that it's a sensitive subject and would probably end up with him dying in a ditch somewhere if he ever actually did manage to wheedle the truth out of Kacchan, but it is definitely a thing.

...Except that while Kacchan absolutely, positively, categorically cannot stand having anything around his neck, not even a tie, he still somehow manages to play Sobhi Deveraux, a guy who constantly wears a choker.

(Or possibly a collar. Izuku hadn't been brave enough to ask.)

Izuku had got his answer the next time they'd had a good day, maybe a few months later. They'd both been a little buzzed - it had been Ochako's birthday, and no one was allowed not to drink except for Tenya, the designated driver.

"It's like...a fffffffucking - box. Or some shit," Kacchan had said, possibly leaning a little more towards drunk than buzzed. "You put your - uh, your ssssstupid fuckin' self in - like, in, uhhhh, box."

(Izuku's starting to realize that they'd both probably been drunker than he'd remembered.)

"Yeah, a ffffuckin' box," Kacchan had slurred. "No - uh, not a fucking box, like - a cardboard box in yer - yer head, 'n you stuff all your bullshit in there and fuggeddahbout it. Uh huh."

(Yeah, they'd definitely been absolutely sloshed.)

But, regardless, Kacchan's explanation had been surprisingly decipherable even after they'd both sobered up. Izuku had done some research and come across an acting technique that sounded similar. The actor, in order to actually become their character, shoves everything that makes the actor themselves into a little box in the corner of their mind and lets the character take over. That way, they can react to anything the way that the character would, instead of the actor reacting as the character. Izuku extrapolates that it's almost like a weird form of dissociation.

So, instead of Kacchan-as-Sobhi freaking out over having something around his neck, Sobhi doesn't react at all, because he hasn't experienced whatever happened to Kacchan to make him...apprehensive about things around his neck.

(Izuku suspects that, even if Kacchan had been using that method, he'd still had to deal with a massive panic attack later, though he's absolutely sure that's not what Kacchan called it.)

And Izuku's just...concerned, okay? The way that Sera's acting - Kacchan has clearly decided that she's willing to get this deal by whatever means necessary, up to and including sleeping with Petersen. Which is totally fine, of course, and definitely a believable character...

Except.

The thing is.

Kacchan doesn't do sex.

He doesn't talk about it directly, but Izuku's noticed - of course he has; Kacchan's his soulmate and they've known each other since they were three months old.

Kacchan kisses people sometimes. He's good at it. He dates, sure, occasionally. He had that thing with one of his coworkers, Inasa, for a while - Izuku's pretty sure that Camie set them up. (It was one of her better matches, but that's not saying much. It's a very, very low bar.)

But sex? He doesn't even like the concept of it.

And apart from Kacchan's comfort level, there's also the fact that if Petersen somehow gets the chance to look up Sera's skirt, it would become pretty obvious pretty quickly that she's not a cisgender woman, and Petersen doesn't really seem like the kind of guy who'd be cool with that. He seems like one of those guys who thinks makeup qualifies as lying.

Which would be bad for the job.

Which is the argument he's going to use on Kacchan when everyone gets back, because then it won't be about him being 'weak' but about the best way to finish the job.

...Look, Izuku just doesn't want anyone to have to do anything they're uncomfortable with, okay? Especially not his soulmate. And Kacchan would do whatever it takes to make this job succeed, even if it's something that will probably force him into a panic attack as soon as it's over. And Izuku would prefer to avoid that, if at all possible.

"Izuku-chan, we're out," says Tsuyu, breaking him from his spiralling thoughts. Wow, he hopes he hadn't started muttering again. That would be awkward.

Shouto's brow furrows and he mouths, 'are you okay?' when Izuku glances in his direction to check, which…does not help him figure out whether or not he'd just been unleashing his thoughts on the world.

Izuku blinks rapidly, offering a half-hearted shrug in return. "Great job today, everyone. Can someone pick up some food on the way back? There's basically nothing edible here."

Shouto rolls his eyes, mock-offended, but doesn't disagree.

It's because Izuku is right and he knows it.

(It's a good thing Petersen thinks they're dead, because Izuku is pretty sure that they'd have starved to death by now if they'd needed to go completely off the grid.)

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Tsuyu buys the food - take out from a Vietnamese restaurant. Well, technically, Shouto-chan pays for the food - his credit card, at least. She'd slipped it from his wallet earlier, before they'd left.

She doesn't think he'll mind, and she doesn't like spending her own money if she can help it.

(The money she'd got from fencing the loot from her first big heist went to paying off her parents' mortgage.)

Katsuki-chan and Eijirou-chan took Katsuki-chan's car back to the safe house, but Tsuyu had volunteered to pick up the food, so she took her moped instead. She's always preferred feeling the wind in her hair, and she didn't really want to be stuck in a car with all that...testosterone.

Also, she's probably the only one who can choose meals for everyone without them arguing about it. She's good with people, even if she usually doesn't care enough to show it to almost strangers.

Shouto-chan likes cold things. She's met him before this job - not on a heist, obviously, because more people means that she has to split the money. But she has some mostly civilian friends, like Kyouka-chan and Momo-chan. And they like Shouto-chan, so they've all eaten together a few times. Shouto-chan always orders cold food - cold soba, steak tartare, sushi, salads, edamame; everything he ordered was something served cold and with easily visible ingredients.

(She suspects it has something to do with his father, from the beginning of the conversation she'd accidentally overheard the night before. She doesn't usually condone murder, but...let's just say that if Shouto-chan ever needs an alibi, she'll be happy to provide one.)

Tsuyu gets him Banh Mi, a type of cold sandwich that he can inspect easily, should he so desire.

Izuku-chan had katsudon the other day, when he was feeling adrift. It's a comfort food, not something someone with his almost excessively muscular build would eat often. He's the same as her, except Tsuyu's food of choice is tempura when she's homesick.

He is also seems to spend a large amount of time exercising - lifting weights, mostly, or absently squeezing at the grip strengthener he usually keeps in his pocket (and Tsuyu's actually a little worried that he's going to develop arthritis by the time he's thirty-five, but it's his body so she supposes he can do whatever he likes with it) - so he needs something hearty, preferably something with a good amount of meat in it. But he's also the kind of guy who eats healthy when he has the chance, so the dish she gets for him should probably have some vegetables in it as well.

She gets him a few servings of Bun Bo Hue, a beef soup with lemongrass and pork.

Eijirou-chan definitely has a taste for spice, judging by the way he ordered his curry the other night (extra extra hot). They hadn't even been sitting all that close to each other, but Tsuyu remembers the fumes from his food making her eyes water. Eijirou-chan had just shoveled his curry into his mouth like it couldn't set fire to the ocean, and Tsuyu had been impressed. Her tongue is especially sensitive to spice, so she doesn't really like much on her food.

Eijirou-chan is also a very muscular man, so he also needs meat to keep the muscle he has and build up more. But, given his time in the military, Tsuyu doesn't think that he'll be too picky about eating what lands in front of him.

Although, she's pretty sure that he's Muslim? It's a good thing that this place only serves halal meat.

She gets him several servings of Bo Kho, a beef and vegetable stew, and requests that they make it extra spicy. They shrug, and Tsuyu's pretty sure that they just dump a whole container of Sriracha sauce in it.

Bakugou-chan is harder to read, since every emotion he seems to have is channeled into anger, bluster, or both. To his credit, though, he does seem to be actively controlling his temper - he'd probably be a lot more explosive without all the breathing exercises.

Tsuyu's not quite as familiar with Bakugou-chan as she is with Izuku-chan, but their paths had definitely crossed a time or two, the most recent of which had been in Bali, a month or two before Bakugou-chan had left the company he and Izuku-chan had previously worked for to start a freelance business with some former colleagues.

...Pretty much the only thing Tsuyu knows about him, as a person, and not about one of the personas he slipped on like those fancy, elaborate masks she's seen in Italy at Carnivale, is that he's the type of person who cooks his own food whenever possible. She doesn't think it's a thing, like Shouto-chan, probably - obviously she can't know for sure, but it seems more like a preference than long-term trauma.

But, then again, it's not like Tsuyu's a psychologist.

He also seems like kind of a picky eater, so Tsuyu ends up ordering him some bánh tráng - rice paper - and some fillings so that he can just put together whatever he wants.

She feels pretty satisfied with herself, when all's said and done.

When Tsuyu gets back, it's only Shouto-chan and Eijirou-chan in the main room. There's the sound of raised voices coming from one of the others, and both of them are eyeing it curiously. She has no doubt that Shouto-chan probably has bugs in each and every room in the building, but he either doesn't remember that he does or has enough respect for privacy that he isn't using them. It's a toss-up, really.

"I have food," she says, brandishing her bags of take-out and resolutely ignoring the abrupt silence on the other side of the wall.

"Oh, solid!" Eijirou-chan says. "I was starting to get hungry. Thanks, Tsuyu!"

Shouto doesn't seem too interested - either in her food or the argument happening in the other room - and just extends a hand towards her. "Can I have my credit card back now."

Tsuyu shrugs and sets it in his open palm. She's already transferred about thirty-thousand dollars into one of her offshore accounts, anyway. Not that it'll stay there, obviously - not with Shouto-chan's computer skills. Tsuyu finds she doesn't really mind that much, and she has the feeling that Shouto-chan doesn't either - this is more of a game for them, where the stakes are low enough that they're basically playing for bragging rights. It's fun.

Eijirou-chan gives them a weird look, then goes back to digging through the bag.

Two seconds later, the door bursts open and they're all on their feet facing it and ready for a fight (in Eijirou-chan's case and - surprisingly - Shouto-chan's) or a flight (in Tsuyu's case, because you can't get revenge if you're dead, so fleeing it is), but it's just Bakugou-chan storming inside, Izuku-chan right behind him. He's saying something that causes Bakugou-chan's lips to curl back in a facsimile of a smile that's barely more than bared teeth and a glare, and Tsuyu's not a particularly big fan of confrontation, so she says, "I brought food."

Izuku-chan and Bakugou-chan both blink in the face of the abrupt topic change, but some of the tension drops from their shoulders, so Tsuyu counts that as a win.

"Thanks, Tsuyu," Izuku-chan says, distractedly. His face kind of looks like his thoughts are being pulled in a million directions at once. Tsuyu does not envy him. "Oh, but we should probably - Shouto, did you - ?"

Shouto-chan is apparently psychic now, or has learnt people skills sometime in the past hour, because he says, "Yes, he uses Encode, so I was able to rip all of his passwords and financials from there, and I left a worm in his system so I can access it remotely if need be."

Izuku-chan chokes on air, Eijirou-chan's tiny eyebrows fly to the top of his face, and Bakugou-chan's head whips around so fast that his neck audibly cracks.

Even Tsuyu pointedly raises her eyebrows. Encode is pretty well-known among thieves, corporations (which, arguably, are usually the same thing), and computer technicians for being a good place to store usernames and passwords to sensitive folders and accounts - anything digital, really. It's virtually unhackable, even for hackers of Shouto-chan's caliber, so the fact that he's managed to crack it is...significant.

Shouto-chan notices their reactions, which is progress for him since he usually ignores social interaction in favor of his screens, and shrugs. "It isn't that hard. I left a backdoor hidden deep in the system when I developed the software, so I can hack it pretty easily."

Izuku-chan splutters. "Y-you created Encode?!"

"You didn't know?" Shouto-chan sounds honestly surprised, and when Tsuyu glances over at him, his eyebrows are raised a fraction of an inch. That's his 'absolutely flabbergasted' expression.

Huh. She didn't know he had that much faith in Izuku-chan.

"No, I did not know that,sh0Ut0," Izuku-chan says, somehow managing to make it clear that he's using Shouto-chan's screen name instead of his given name. Tsuyu wants to learn how to do that. She wonders if he'll teach her if she asks.

Shouto-chan glances away, not in any particular direction other than 'away from Izuku-chan,' and says blandly, "Yes, I must have been about fourteen - I'm sure that I could do a better job now."

While Izuku-chan's spluttering, Eijirou-chan picks up Bakugou-chan's food from the spread that he's laid out on the table - Tsuyu has very helpfully labeled each take-out container; there's a reason that she always carries around a Sharpie, though usually it's for decidedly less legal purposes - and presses the small stack of containers into Bakugou-chan's chest.

"Here, bro!" Eijirou-chan says, grinning brightly, while he waits for Bakugou-chan to actually take hold of his meal. Bakugou-chan stares at him, like he's forgotten how to blink, or maybe he's just been blinded by the fluorescent lights glinting off Eijirou-chan's incredibly sharp teeth, and then silently brings up his hand to support the containers.

Shouto-chan passes Izuku-chan's food to him once he sits down at the table with decidedly less weirdness, except that Tsuyu knows that he hates touching anything edible and very rarely does it voluntarily.

So.

What the fuck is going on here.

Has she stepped into the Twilight Zone or something?

...No, no one's sparkling yet.

(It's possible that she's getting her pop culture references mixed up.)

Tsuyu takes her first bite, to give them a little reassurance that, no, she wasn't actually going to be poisoning them that night - not that they expect that from her, probably, but old habits die hard. Then she watches as the others open their containers - some with barely noticeable trepidation - and then feels her lips quirk at the edges when their expressions change at the sight of what she's chosen for them.

The tensed muscles in Shouto-chan's jaw ease when he sets his eyes on a fairly simple sandwich. He lifts the piece of bread on top and examines the contents, even going as far as to sift through the dressing on top and take a subtle look at each individual layer. Apparently satisfied, Shouto-chan makes eye contact with Tsuyu and gives her a tiny, grateful nod.

Eijirou-chan looks quietly pleased that she's marked all his containers as Halal, and he doesn't make it quite as obvious as Shouto-chan does that he's checking his food before putting it in his mouth. He swirls his stew around, like he's making sure that it's mixed together properly - a completely normal movement, except that Tsuyu also knows that that's a way to separate liquids of different viscosities and a way to check for any sort of liquid that shouldn't be there. Like a poison.

(Tsuyu knows a lot about poisons.)

Bakugou-chan glares at his food, and then Izuku-chan's, for a solid twenty seconds, like he's expecting anything that might harm them to vaporize out of sheer self-preservation. Tsuyu wouldn't blame it, to be perfectly honest. Bakugou-chan's glare is pretty intimidating. Then he stirs Izuku-chan's soup the same way that Eijirou-chan does his own, except that he goes counter-clockwise instead of clockwise, before turning his attention back to his own food.

Izuku-chan just rolls his eyes and watches Bakugou-chan resignedly, waiting for him to take a few bites before he even picks up his chopsticks. There's a story there, Tsuyu is sure of it. An interesting one, too - it seems like it's almost routine for them at this point, and Izuku-chan seems pretty ambivalent about it, but also like he doesn't think it's necessary. Like he thinks that Bakugou-chan is overreacting.

(She's not offended that they have to check their food before eating it, that they can't just trust her word - they've only just started working together, even though it feels like it's been years. And, besides, they're thieves - well, perhaps not Bakugou-chan and Izuku-chan, but they're at least thief-adjacent. That usually comes with some food-related...issues.)

(People rarely become thieves by choice.)

Tsuyu waits until she's positive everyone is enjoying what she's picked out for them, then tucks in to her own dinner.

There's a few moments of silence while everyone savours their meals, which is broken when Eijirou-chan exclaims, genuinely surprised, "Wow! This is actually pretty spicy!"

Tsuyu's mouth quirks up a little at the corners, and she blinks twice, hiding her pleasure at making the right call asking the chefs to use all the sriracha sauce.

Bakugou-chan scoffs. "Yeah, right."

"Nah, bro, it really, really is!" Eijirou's eyes are lighting up with excitement now, and he looks like he's restraining himself from doing a dorky little victory dance.

Tsuyu wishes he wouldn't. She bets it would be pretty funny to watch.

Bakugou-chan opens his mouth, likely to say something cutting, but then his eyes catch on Izuku-chan, where he's talking quietly to Shouto-chan. It's a little weird to see them sitting so close together. From what Tsuyu knows of Shouto-chan, he doesn't really like to be touched. So, the fact that he's leaning towards Izuku-chan, and that they're sitting so close that they're shoulders are just barely brushing? It's weird. She should probably text Momo-chan about it.

Tsuyu discreetly takes a picture with her phone. Momo-chan will require proof.

Bakugou-chan clicks his tongue against his teeth instead of saying anything and rolls his eyes wordlessly, crossing his arms in a way that he probably thinks makes him look tough.

Personally, Tsuyu thinks it just makes him look petulant.

Eijirou-chan laughs and stretches out his arm to offer Bakugou-chan his bowl. "Katsuki, bro, you have to try this. Wait - unless you can't handle spice?"

(Izuku-chan's head jerks upward at the sound of Bakugou-chan's name and he stares at the both of them without blinking for a long moment.)

The way Eijirou-chan says it makes Tsuyu think that he's actually concerned, and not in any way challenging him, but, well. Bakugou-chan doesn't seem to see it that way. He's a competitive little shit, that one.

(This is one of the main reasons that Tsuyu doesn't date boys.)

Eijirou-chan starts to retract the bowl, but Bakugou-chan grabs his arm before he can move it out of reach, and Eijirou-chan stills instantly.

Bakugou-chan's glare bores into Eijirou-chan, and he flicks his head like there's a fly or something by his ear before he says, "Bring it, shitty hair."

This is not exactly what Tsuyu was planning when she chose the spiciest dish she could think of for Eijirou-chan, but she couldn't deny that it had perhaps crossed her mind.

Because, see, Bakugou-chan looks like the kind of guy who can eat a ghost pepper without diving for the milk, but, well.

Tsuyu has a feeling that he really, really cannot handle spice. Like, probably worse than her, and she can barely take a couple pinches of chili powder.

Bakugou-chan stabs the stew with his chopsticks violently, picking up some vegetables and beef, then, with all the pique of a man who's had his masculinity insulted, shoves it in his mouth.

His face turns bright red almost immediately, but he stubbornly continues chewing despite the fact that his tongue has to be completely on fire. Tsuyu had ordered the stew extra spicy, after all. With all the sriracha.

Bakugou-chan swallows, and promptly licks his lips - probably to get some air on his tongue - and unintentionally drawing Eijirou-chan's eyes. He parts his lips, too, letting his mouth hang open slightly, in a vain attempt at 'subtly' making his mouth cool down.

Bakugou-chan visibly gives up pretending the spice isn't affecting him when his eyes start watering so much they put waterfalls to shame and sprints to the sink to wash out his mouth, even though Tsuyu is fairly certain that he knows that won't actually help very much, and Shouto-chan and Izuku-chan glance at each other out of the corners of their eyes and burst out laughing, like they can't hold it in any longer.

Izuku-chan's laugh is quiet but bright, and he keeps glancing towards Bakugou-chan reflexively and breaking into new fits. It suits him, somehow, but Tsuyu was kind of expecting him to have a boisterous laugh like Eijirou-chan.

Shouto-chan's laughter is rough and airy, like he's not used to it. Tsuyu knows what that's like - you get out of practice when you live and work alone. At least she has her family, even if they don't exactly know what she does for a living. Shouto-chan has Momo-chan and Kyouka-chan, and family's always been a kind of touchy subject with him. So it's nice to hear him laughing, even if it does kind of sound like someone's taken one of those terrifying sink demons Americans have for garbage disposal to his throat.

As Eijirou-chan grins wryly and shakes his head before going after Bakugou-chan, presumably to bestow some milk upon him like the angel he pretends to be, Tsuyu smiles, letting out a little huff of air, and takes another discreet photo. After a moment, she decides to take a short video as well.

Momo-chan won't believe that Shouto-chan is laughing without undeniable proof.

Thank goodness for Snapchat.

.

.

.

The next morning finds Izuku sitting with Shouto in a cafe across the street from the Center for International Business, even though it would really make more logistical sense for him to be inside the building, since he's supposed to be playing Sera Katsumi's soulmate sometime in the next ten minutes. And, normally, he would be doing the thing that made the most sense logistically, except.

Except, there's something he's noticed about Shouto, when he's hacking.

A couple things, really.

For one, whenever Shouto ventures into the outside world, he does his utmost to conceal his face - which, to be fair, is pretty memorable. There aren't really a lot of people with white hair and an eyepatch walking around outside of conventions - or even just an eyepatch, since Shouto's wearing sunglasses over it in an effort to keep a low profile, in addition to a black wig. Except - anything he does to obscure his face makes him look suspicious. Like, for example, today he's wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and black skinny jeans or possibly leggings - Ochako probably knows what they are; jeggings, maybe? - that are kiiiiinda making Izuku drool a little.

But. Anyway.

The point is that, well, someone dressed like that, sitting alone in a cafe? It looks pretty damn suspicious.

Adding another person sitting across from them, looking at them fondly ever so often? That looks like a date. Which, at a coffee shop, wouldn't be particularly noteworthy.

Then there's the other thing that Izuku's noticed about Shouto. When he starts hacking, it's like his consciousness gets sucked into the computer. He barely pays any attention to his surroundings. Which, you know, wouldn't be problematic were he in one of his safe houses, where every inch is covered by cameras and various other security measures that are most likely connected directly to his laptop.

Except, that's not where they are now. They're on a cafe patio, out in the open, across the street from where a man who tried to kill them will be in the next seven minutes.

Thus why Izuku is sitting across from Shouto at a small table outside the cafe, nursing a take-out cup filled with coffee while Shouto taps away on his laptop with a single-mindedness that Izuku finds himself pretty impressed by, even if he probably shouldn't because what they're doing is kiiiiiiinda illegal.

(Who was he even trying to kid at this point.)

As Kacchan had said, once Izuku had explained the plan: "This sounds pretty fucking illegal, Deku…"

And then Izuku had mentioned what Petersen had said about All Might, and, well.

("That damn sonuvabitch is fucking dead.")

That had been that.

It's great to know that Kacchan's morals can be malleable given a good enough reason.

The coffee from the cafe isn't particularly great coffee, but sipping at it gives him something to do while he surveys the surrounding area for potential threats. Not that he's really finding any, of course, but he's also keeping an eye out for Petersen, just in case he shows up early. They should have another five minutes or so before Izuku actually needs to head inside, though, and another couple minutes after that before Petersen arrives. By that time, Shouto will be aware of his surroundings again -

And, of course, as soon as Izuku thinks that, Petersen's car pulls up outside the Center for International Business.

Damn.

.

.

.

Eijirou's on the third floor of the Center of International Business, where Liu International ostensibly has an office.

(Spoiler alert: They don't actually have an office there.)

(Well, technically.)

Izuku and Shouto sitting at a table in the patio area of a cafe just across the street, Tsuyu is somewhere in the vents or possibly the stairwell (?), and Katsuki is inside the conference room that's adjoined to the empty office that they've claimed as their own for today. Or - is it Katsumi, now? He doesn't really understand how this whole thing works, but it's pretty manly that Katsuki's so good at it!

Katsuki-as-Sera-Katsumi is inside the conference room already, exchanging pleasantries with the guys that Eijirou's managed to round up to be the buyers.

"So, um, I didn't find much in the way of yakuza, but I did find a few guys from the Triads - will that work?"

"Do they speak English?" Izuku had asked, distracted by something on his computer screen.

Eijirou had shrugged. "Not well."

"Then we're good. I've got something even better than the yakuza, and adding in the Triads will just be the icing on the cake."

Izuku'd had a kind of creepy grin on his face when Eijirou had told him about the people he'd been able to contact. It sent shivers down his spine, even just remembering it. No wonder Izuku had been so good at his job in insurance. He's got the kind of face that can look angelic one minute and then shift just slightly into something that makes it look like he'd enjoy eating your face off the next. Eijirou doesn't blame the thieves who'd immediately given up their prizes at that face.

Eijirou has what is pretty much the easiest job today - all he had to do is change out a couple signs. Granted, he had a very short time frame in which to switch them, but he's done now - the name plate by the conference room now reads 'Liu International' - and apart from that, he's just sort of...hanging out on the third floor, in case he's needed to bash some heads. Izuku has assured him that it's a very remote possibility - it only comes into play around Plan V (the letter, not the roman numeral) - but, well, with the way things have been going…

It's Eijirou's favorite kind of job, though. Protecting people - in this case, Katsuki or Katsumi or whoever they are right now, not that they probably need protecting. So he doesn't really mind.

Katsumi steps out of the conference room and gives him a small smile with half-lidded green eyes, and then her stance shifts and - oh, yeah, that's all Katsuki now.

(He has a very distinctive stance, okay?)

Katsuki's hand twitches at his side, like he wants to run his fingers through his hair, but he's refraining since he's wearing a dark-haired wig. It's a good wig, too, Eijirou notes - he only knows a little bit about wigs, mostly just enough to tell when someone could potentially be hiding something other than hair beneath it, but he's also always had a pretty good eye for quality. And Katsuki's wig is - it's definitely top of the line. Eijirou's kind of wondering where he managed to find one of that quality in such a short time period. Unless - well, some soulmates seem to have some sort of...psychic connection, almost? That's not at all what it actually is or what it's called, and there isn't really any empirical evidence proving it, but that's how Eijirou's come to think of it. Maybe Katsuki had subconsciously felt that Izuku was in danger of being exploded and...ordered a wig ahead of time?

Yeah, that sounds a little too outlandish, even to Eijirou.

The psychic connection, though - that's definitely a thing that happens, sometimes. There was this guy in Eijirou's unit, the first time he'd been on a tour in - well, he tries not to think about that too much. But, well, this guy - Pasha, his name had been - he'd found his soulmate in the middle of a battle. She'd been an insurgent on the other side.

They'd locked eyes in the middle of the battlefield and nearly dropped their weapons, so it could only really have been one thing. Eijirou had only seen it out of the corner of his eye, since he'd been a little busy fighting off three other opponents, but - the woman, she'd shot Pasha almost point-blank, and Pasha had dodged the bullet, a feat that was physically impossible unless he'd had some significant prior warning.

It had been so insane that they'd both paused, eyes wide, and Eijirou, of all people, had actually let down his guard for a split second. The two remaining opponents had quickly taken advantage of the distraction, breaking one or possibly two of his ribs, and Eijirou'd had to rip his eyes away from the astonishing sight to take care of them.

He'd looked up seconds later at the sound of a gunshot to see Pasha lying on the floor bleeding from the hole in his chest and the woman fleeing from the battle site.

He'd let her go - of course he had. He'd been a little too busy trying to staunch the bleeding to run after her, but despite his best efforts Pasha had died in his arms moments later.

Finding your soulmate - that was supposed to be some big, life-changing moment. In the movies, it was usually some sort of love-at-first-sight sort of thing, but it rarely worked out that way in real life - and Eijirou kind of thought it was a disservice to the people who'd decided their bonds were platonic. But - regardless of whether soulmates decided their bond was romantic or platonic, or even for people who'd only just discovered each other, killing your soulmate just kind of...broke you. It's like the universe itself gets mad at you for fucking up its plans and decides to punish you anyway it can, even though you're already dealing with the fact that you've irrevocably shattered an important part of yourself and you're trying to put the pieces back together - except that you can't, because you've killed that part of you, and you'll never be able to get it back..

Pasha's soulmate probably hadn't lived too long after killing him.

(Eijirou had ordered mirrored colored contacts the next chance he got. He didn't want to meet his soulmate the way Pasha had.)

(His eyes have looked green pretty much ever since.)

Eijirou's broken from his thoughts by a brief burst of static from his earbud, then Izuku's saying: "Kacchan, Eijirou, he's here."

Fuck. That's not good.

Especially since Izuku is supposed to be playing Sera Katsumi's newly found soulmate.

Which he can't exactly do if he's outside the building and Petersen is between him and the entrance.

So.

"Look, I can't play the hot female mediator and the muscled-up ex-mob guy at the same time, Deku, that's fucking impossible!" Katsuki hisses. "What the fuck were you even doing out there?"

"Fine, Eijirou, you do it," Izuku commands. Man, what happened to the stuttering from the first job?

Then what he says actually registers. "Wh - but? I thought you two were soulmates," Eijirou half-asks, incredulously. "You're fine with me pretending to date your soulmate?"

"We're platonic," Izuku says distractedly. "If it's fine with Kacchan, it's fine with me."

Eijirou blinks rapidly, trying to process that, then turns to Katsuki. "...You down with that, bro?"

Katsuki gives him an unreadable look, tucking a strand of his wig's dark hair behind his ear. "If we do this, you're going to have to call me 'babe.' Think you can do that?" He gestures to his entire body, and apparently he's somehow managed to work out that Eijirou is a hundred percent gay sometime in the whole two days they've known each other.

But Katsuki's already made it clear that Sera Katsumi isn't him. It's a part he plays.

"Dude, I would be happy to call you 'babe,'" Eijirou says, maybe a little too eagerly because, well, Katsuki's hot and smart and anyone would be lucky to have him as a boyfriend, really.

Katsuki clicks his tongue - no barbell for this character, unfortunately (or maybe fortunately? Because that means fewer distractions for Eijirou) - against his teeth. "You also can't fucking call me 'dude,' and we'll have to get you into a less shitty costume in less than five fucking minutes."

Eijirou shrugs, grinning widely. "I mean, it can't be worse than that retrieval job I did in Guatemala." That sentence contains all the information he's legally allowed to say about that job. He's not even allowed to say who had been involved. Or what.

(On an unrelated note, baseball fans can be pretty hardcore.)

Katsuki gives him a sharp look that maybe implies that he'd heard about it and was perhaps a little impressed, but Eijirou isn't going to read too much into it. Even with the revelation that Katsuki and Izuku are platonic soulmates, he doesn't want to get his hopes up. Who knows if Katsuki's even attracted to him?

(But, impressing a hot guy? Definitely a plus in his book.)

Katsuki tugs on his arm, pulling them into the nearby maintenance closet, and Eijirou allows it. He maybe digs in his heels just enough to get the muscles in Katsuki's arms straining, though, because damn.

Katsuki has apparently stashed a duffle bag full of disguise...things (?) behind some cleaning supplies. So that's where his bag had gone… Eijirou had been wondering, since there was no way that Katsuki had somehow managed to tuck it away into the dress he's currently wearing.

Katsuki rifles through the duffle bag, and Eijirou is astonished to discover just how much stuff he's managed to fit in there. It's a small duffle bag, but inside is two suits (one tailored for a man, one for a woman), a pair of jeans Eijirou is pretty sure would need to be painted on if Katsuki wants to actually wear them, two button-downs, a couple t-shirts, a pair of heels, a pair of tennis shoes, and a veritable boatload of makeup...implements that Eijirou doesn't actually know the names of and doesn't really want anywhere near him, if at all possible.

He must look overwhelmed, because when Katsuki glances at him he clicks his tongue against his teeth and kind of twitches his shoulder a little? "You got a way to make your shitty hair - " Katsuki gestures to his spikey, gelled hair, and Eijirou is about to take offense when he finishes with: " - less distinctive?"

Yeah, okay, that's fair. Not many people have bright crimson red hair with six inch spikes sticking straight up.

Eijirou shrugs. "I mean, if I dunk my head in a sink for a few minutes I might be able to get some of the dye and gel out."

Katsuki stares at him - his hair, really - for a long moment. "That's not how hair dye fucking works, idiot."

Eijirou laughs, maybe a little breathlessly. "Normally, it wouldn't, no - but, well, this probably won't make any sense, but last week I kinda felt like I might need to lose the color quickly so I didn't bother bleaching or setting the color or anything, and this particular brand washes out really quickly if I don't. Weird coincidence, huh?"

Katsuki's eyes slide from Eijirou's hair and land squarely on Eijirou's and -

There's this sound - it's like a Jahannam-esque combination of microphone feedback and a song you might hear in a dream, too indistinct to actually identify.

Eijirou instinctively cringes away from the noise, squeezing his eyes shut and twisting into himself. The sound cuts off almost immediately afterwards, which is - strange? Like? What?

It makes no sense.

Eijirou glances back towards Katsuki, and finds him doing the same. Their eyes meet again, and the same unholy mixture of garbled music (if it can even be called that) and the sound of nails on a chalkboard greets his ears. Katsuki winces too, so it seems like he's hearing the same thing.

-̧͉̼͎̼̲͈̪̥͗̃͆͒͗̔̍̃͟͡͠ ̛͍̪̥͙̥̙̤̑̋̔̓̇̀Ả̞̯̯̓̎-͍̑d̨̳̠̰̲̲̳̘̈̒̇̃͐̅̋͛͘͜ ̣̘̯̇̃͘İ̧̜̣̣̖͎̮͆͊̃̈͠͠ ͈̮̮̺́̀̆͠-͙͗-̖͇̯͒͛̂-̨̙͔͕͇̪͚̫̾́̿̇͛̏̇̕zń͈̳̹̜̄̊͌'̢̛̼̱̺̭͉͔̘͇͒͑̔̈́͑͝͠͠t̞͑ ̣̥̻͒̈́͘t̨̪͑̕r̡̢̯̭͙͉͎̎͑̑̉̒̽́-̢̻̺̖̙̏͛̑̊̎͢͠-̗̍-̱̘̺̮̌͆̃̾͜͠n̢̡̦̜̰̙͔͔̈̋̽͂͗̋͂̚ ̘͍̰̱͍̺͆̈́͊̽̊̎̋͟

̡͔͐͘T͓̱̺̻͆̏̕̚ǫ̠̞̜̾͗̃̈͂͘͟͢ m̡͖̙͈͕̯̦̾̋̇͆̉̉͝-̡̥͍̘͓̎̉̾̈̀-͇͘t̠̤̯̠̹̑̓̃̀̚ ̢͈̟̹͈̟̙̠̤̔̉̽̏͗̈́̃͘͞t̡͚̪̲͉́͊̄̂̆̓͟h̓ͅ-͉̹͍̖̅̍̏̈́͟͝-͎͎̥͎͍͂́͗͒̉̆͌̏͜͢ͅ ̛̖͕͈͂̈̃͟h̡̗͇͇̟̳̀̿̍̚̕͞ȩ̞̙̟͔͊͛̾̚͝-̧͔̓͆̀͢-̢͈̺̙̭̪͊̊̀͆̋̕͢͠t̨͔͉͚̻̫̹̭̀̊̂͆͗͑̂̚ ͍̳͖͕̮͎̏͂̍͒́͘-̢̼̟̇͂͠f̣͈͊̉̌͢ ̛̣̥̲͎̝͕̥̀̓̈́͊͗͋ì̘͔͗ṟ̣̩̜̹͇̭̬̽̓̍̂̕̕̚͟͞͞-̧̦̹̬̼͚͆̑̊͆͑̌͛ͅn͈̣͓̟̆̃͊͞ ̡͇̀̊-͇̈́

What the actual fuck?

A burst of static from the earpieces - completely distinguishable from whatever is going on with Eijirou's ears - interrupts the tense silence, and as one Katsuki and Eijirou glance away from each other.

"Guys, where the hell are you? Petersen's in the lobby right now, and we are not in the building directory! I can give you maybe two more minutes, but get your ass down here, Kacchan." Izuku sounds stressed, Eijirou notes absently, which is understandable.

This is quite possibly the worst time to be distracted by...whatever the fuck this is.

Katsuki shoves a suit jacket and a pair of slacks into his arms. "Wear these and get as much of that fucking dye out of your hair as you can."

Eijirou nods wordlessly, eyes still on Katsuki. Their eyes meet again, accidentally, and they wince away from each other.

"What the fuck," Katsuki mutters under his breath, eyes wide, before he shakes his head violently, rearranges the flyaway hairs from his wig, and dashes down the hallway to the stairwell, where Tsuyu is waving urgently at him.

Apparently they aren't going to talk about this now.

Eijirou is absolutely fine with that.

Maybe his brain will cease to be a continuous loop of what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck by the time this part of the job is over.

.

.

.

Izuku has about forty-five seconds to come up with a plan to prevent Petersen from trying to look up Liu International in the building directory - preferably without giving him the chance to see their faces, because that would blow the whole con.

Which would be bad.

His first instinct is to grab the rusty crowbar from the back of the truck parked a couple feet away and use it to smash some windows and set off some alarms.

Except, he isn't with the insurance company anymore, so that would probably get him arrested. And he can't really pull off this con from a jail cell - or even holding.

Also, what about those poor people whose windshields he would have smashed? What if their insurance doesn't cover it?

No, he needs a different plan.

And then, through his panicked haze, he accidentally overhears the conversation of two women as they walk by.

"Ugh, there he is…"

"Who? The guy who cheated on you?"

"Yeah, Mark. I wish I could give him a good slap…"

Just before they step out of earshot, Izuku says, "I'll give you twenty dollars if you do."

They pause, wary, and turn to face him. Izuku pulls his hat down so that it shades his face and particularly distinctive green hair. "...Why would you do that?" one of them asks - the one who got dumped.

"He's a dick," Izuku says, matter-of-factly. He's not wrong, even if he doesn't know the guy. "And now you have an excuse to slap him."

He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a twenty, handing it to her. He is so glad it's autumn and therefore it isn't too suspicious that he's wearing gloves.

The woman stares at him for a long moment, then her mouth twitches into a smile that's just slightly shaded with bitterness at the corners. "You've got it, mister."

She's a woman on a mission now, sprinting across two lanes of traffic to the international business center, her friend not two steps behind.

Yeah, that's a way better distraction. Someone gets revenge, and there's a lot less property damage.

Shouto blinks, glancing up at Izuku when the slap rings out from across the street.

"Are you done?" Izuku asks, gathering his jacket and backpack.

Shouto blinks twice, rapidly. "...Yes?" He probably has no idea about anything that's happened outside the realm of computers in the last twenty minutes.

"Good. Come on, you're with me - Petersen's early."

"Shit." Izuku blinks and Shouto's got his extensive set-up packed away, which is pretty damn impressive. He hoists his backpack over one shoulder and angles his head towards Izuku, in a practiced way that makes his hood fall over his eyes, shading the upper half of his face. "What now?"

Izuku stares intently into the middle distance - Shouto's face just happens to be in that direction - and shuffles through his vast array of plans for one that applies to this situation. That's the trouble with having so many contingency plans - after a certain point, they start to become a little too specific. "We're going to be a distraction."

"So that...you can get...upstairs to Bakugou?" Shouto asks blankly, trying to follow Izuku's train of thought.

Izuku is a little vindicated (okay, maybe a lot vindicated) that he was right about Shouto not paying attention to anything happening around him while he's focused on his computer.

Despite not knowing...possibly anything about what's going on, Shouto still follows him across the street without demanding any information. Izuku shivers a little because - wow. That's a lot of trust, right there.

(He hopes he's enough to deserve it.)

"No, there won't be enough time - Eijirou's going to be playing my part," Izuku answers anyway, a little belatedly and still mildly in shock because - just, wow.

Shouto stumbles and nearly face-plants in the middle of the street, which is kind of weird because he's usually quite well-balanced. Izuku grabs his arm and bodily hauls him along behind him, focused on the doors to the building. Petersen's just waved his hand in front of the sensors for the automatic doors, like he's pretending he's a Jedi and the only way to open the doors is to use the Force - so, like a complete dork.

(Izuku's ignoring the fact that he and Ochako did exactly the same thing at the conbini last week.)

"But - isn't Bakugou your...soulmate?" Shouto asks hesitantly, righting himself. He doesn't wrench his arm from Izuku's grasp, and Izuku doesn't let his arm drop. He's trying not to think about that too hard.

"Platonic. Very much platonic. We tried being romantic once when we were teenagers and we lasted, like, less than week. It wasn't pretty…" Izuku trails off, shaking his head to clear it. "Anyway, there's no physically possible way that I can get up to the third floor, change, and be ready to go by the time Petersen gets up there. Well, actually - " He considers the outside of the building, but it's too sleek - too modern, all steel and glass - to allow much in the way of handholds, so scaling the side of the building is out. That would have been a little too conspicuous anyway. " - no, never mind. Eijirou's already up there and he should be able to fit into my suit jacket easily enough - I mean, Tsuyu could definitely pull off 'dangerous mob woman,' but we want the company to look at least marginally legitimate, and stabbing people isn't really the best way to do that…"

"Izuku, you're rambling…" Shouto breaks in, but he - doesn't seem like he minds too much? His lips are slanted upwards, just a little, when Izuku glances back at him apologetically. That's a first. Especially since they're on kind of a rigid time limit.

Izuku shakes his head violently. He does not have time for a minor gay crisis - well, bi crisis, whatever, he doesn't have time for any of it. He realizes, very belatedly, that he's still holding onto Shouto's arm and removes his hand faux-casually, which is about as casually as he can manage right at this second. "Right, sorry - we need to distract Petersen so that Kacchan and Eijirou have time to prepare themselves."

"What are you thinking? The Blade Runner?" Shouto asks. Izuku glances back at him again, because he can't possibly be serious? Right?

No. Nope, he's actually, legitimately serious.

"We are not going to pretend to hold up an office building." Izuku hisses out of the corner of his mouth as they pass side by side through the doors. He smiles pleasantly at the people passing them in the other direction, making himself easily forgettable. Tapping his earbud to activate it, he broadcasts (perhaps a tad shrilly), "Guys, where the hell are you? Petersen's in the lobby right now, and we are not in the building directory! I can give you maybe two more minutes, but get your ass down here, Kacchan."

Shouto watches him placidly, and instead of coming up with something remotely helpful, suggests, "The Placebo Effect?"

Izuku stares at him, this close to crying. Why is it the dumb guys who have to be attractive. Why. "Where the hell would we find hazmat suits - they're not even drinking champagne!"

Shouto shrugs, annoyingly impervious to Izuku's half-glare, half-suppressed-sob. "How about - "

Izuku presses his finger to Shouto's lips, in a desperate attempt to keep him from finishing that thought. It, astonishingly enough, has the desired effect. Shouto seems just as surprised as Izuku is.

Unfortunately, the action has a second effect: Shouto's tongue brushes against Izuku's finger, accidentally, probably - right? - and Izuku's brain kind of freezes.

They stare at each other for a long moment, Izuku just barely managing to see Shouto's eye widen from his vantage point. They're - really close to each other, and why is Izuku only just noticing this? His spatial awareness is usually impeccable.

(When had Shouto taken off his sunglasses?)

Izuku retracts his finger slowly, blinking rapidly.

Shouto opens his mouth to say something, but Izuku prevents him from saying anything about whatever the hell just happened or some other astoundingly inapplicable suggestion - he's not sure which he's dreading more - by announcing the first relevant con that comes to mind: "We're doing the LA Shuffle, variant three."

Actually, the longer he thinks about it, the more Izuku realizes that that's...not a terrible idea.

Shouto just nods, immediately accepting Izuku's bullshit answer. Damn, now Izuku wishes Shouto had been his middle school Literature teacher. That woman'd had a sixth sense for when a student was making up their analysis on the spot, or when they were just spouting things they'd heard from other people and didn't actually understand the words they were sayin.

Not that Izuku had ever done that, pshhhhhh.

(Okay, maybe sometimes he'd started researching for a paper and ended up going into an information [read: Wikipedia] spiral, then looked up from his screen to find ten hours had passed. His ability to bullshit analysis would've been very helpful then, had Kayama-sensei not possessed the preternatural ability to know exactly when he was bullshitting.)

Actually, on second thought, Shouto having been his Literature teacher would've been weird, especially with the newly developing crush Izuku's apparently picked up somewhere.

"So am I the boss or the employee?" Shouto asks, face completely serious.

Izuku stares at him for a long moment, feeling indescribably relieved when Shouto's mouth twitches at the corner. He's joking. Thank goodness. "Well, I'm the one in the tailored suit and you're the one in the sweatshirt. You tell me," he replies dryly.

Shouto's expression slowly edges into something that could conceivably be called a smirk. "Well, I suppose I'm the boss, then," he says, mock-seriously.

Izuku grins brightly, then spots Petersen making his way to the interactive building directory.

The only reason this has a significant chance of working is because, one, Petersen is on the opposite side of the room with a crowd of approximately fifty people moving between them, and, two, Petersen's only ever seen Izuku dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and leggings and he's probably never seen Shouto at all. So, if they just change their speech patterns a little…

Izuku clears his throat, pastes a scowl on his face, then does his best impression of Aoyama during fashion week. "What the hell are you doing here, Chris? I fired you, two weeks ago!" He pitches his voice to a shrill frequency that draws the attention of anyone in a five meter radius.

"I'm here to get my stuff, asshat," Shouto drawls, in a credible Southern California accent. Izuku's a little impressed.

People start to stare, somehow sensing that a Scene is about to take place. Good.

Well, they wouldn't want to let their audience down, would they?

Izuku can feel his face start to heat up under their scrutiny, so he uses it to his advantage and channels it into his character. Asshat. Thanks for that, Shouto. He couldn't have given the character a real name? He supposed it won't really matter for too much longer, considering this dialogue is perfunctory at best, a prologue to the actual distraction.

Izuku-as-Asshat spits,"How dare you speak to me like that, you insolent - !"

"You fired me, remember? I can speak to you however the hell I like!" Shouto-as-Chris interrupts, broadcasting more emotion in his expression and body language in two seconds than Izuku's seen him do in the entire time he's known him. Which...kind of implies that Shouto purposely keeps his affect emotionless. Before the other night, Izuku would have assumed it was intentional, but now...

Before he can get caught up in that train of thought, Shouto-as-Chris moves past him, intentionally knocking against his shoulder but making it look like an accident.

Izuku-as-Asshat stumbles exaggeratedly, like the impact knocked off balance. "Why, you little - "

"Sorry," Shouto-as-Chris says, not even trying to sound sincere.

Izuku-as-Asshat puffs out his cheeks and he can feel his face heating up even more, so uses that as an excuse to shove Shouto-as-Chris. He telegraphs the movement as much as he possibly can, so that Shouto has a chance to clamp down on his first instinct, which would probably end up with Izuku facing the ceiling, breath knocked out of him.

(Or possibly dead.)

And while the crowd that's started surrounding them, leaving a rough oval clear as they give them a wide berth - it kind of reminds him of those times he and Kacchan got in fights during middle school and their classmates circled around them, trying to get a better view so they could tell their friends about it later - would probably enjoy that greatly, it might draw a tad too much attention from Petersen, who's glancing over with mild interest.

Shouto shoves him back, not telegraphing quite as much as Izuku had but the set of his shoulders says that telegraphing at all physically pains him, so Izuku's probably lucky to get that much warning.

Izuku staggers backwards, then winds himself up again for a heavily telegraphed punch and suddenly they're in the middle of a half-assed sparring match in the lobby of an office building. They're barely hitting each other, and not with any significant amount of force behind the blows, which doesn't sound as hard as it actually is.

Because, see, Izuku's a pretty okay boxer. He's been boxing for years - almost a decade, at this point - and that means that he's used to throwing his weight behind a punch. Which means that not putting much weight behind a punch - they're basically love taps at this point, rather than anything remotely painful - is actually much harder than an all-out brawl. Izuku suspects that it would be even harder for Shouto, who's had much more training than he has.

It's interesting, though - they've only known each other, face-to-face, for less than a week, and somehow they're able to intuit each other's movements. Izuku steps back just as Shouto lands a kick, then Shouto's shifting his weight to invite a punch to the stomach. Izuku takes that invitation, and Shouto curls around the punch slightly before it brushes against the fabric of his shirt so that it doesn't cause any damage. He throws a wild punch and Izuku dodges it easily, responding with a whack to the head with his prosthetic hand...

It's more like a dance than a spar, now.

And - the important part is that it's catching Petersen's attention.

(Not that Izuku kind of wants to ask Shouto to spar with him later.)

(Would that count as flirting? Ochako and Kacchan would probably say yes, but he's not sure if he'd trust them in this situation.)

(Izuku is such a disaster bi.)

He flinches away from Shouto's next blow, a little more than necessary, because a burst of static blasts through his ear bud.

"Bakugou-chan is on his way down," Tsuyu reports, and Izuku breathes a mostly silent sigh of relief. "He - wow."

"What?" Izuku hisses, worried, while he dodges another carefully telegraphed punch to the shoulder.

"He just parkoured down three flights of stairs in high heels," Tsuyu says, admiration leaking into her normally neutral, croaky voice.

(There's also the sound of someone choking on their spit - probably Eijirou.)

Kacchan-as-Sera-Katsumi opens the door to the stairwell, not a hair out of place. Her dress settles elegantly, the hemline a few inches above her knees, the dark fabric heavy enough that it isn't too mussed by Kacchan's preferred method of travel. Izuku's not sure why everyone seems so surprised that he and Kacchan can parkour - how else were they supposed to keep up with the other three throughout their...various exploits? And of course Kacchan decided that he needed to be able to do it in heels - he's a perfectionist, after all.

Petersen notices her - well, the dress - almost immediately, and he visibly starts to salivate - kind of like that one guy from Izuku's high school, whose hair was styled into these weird purple buns that he apparently had thought made him look cool. No one had particularly liked him, just as - as Izuku had inferred from the distinct lack of personal photos in Petersen's office - no one particularly cared for Petersen.

Izuku supposes the dress is pretty enough. It's made of a dark blue fabric, with long, flowing, off-the-shoulder sleeves to de-emphasize Kacchan's masculine shoulders that lead into a ruffled neckline that somehow manages to completely cover his false breasts and yet emphasizes their existence in a way that draws the eye. The back of the collarline drops abruptly, once the sleeve finishes, leaving most of Kacchan's back showing in a calculated display of skin.

It would probably catch Izuku's eyes on anyone else except Kacchan - because, well. It's Kacchan, and they are distinctly not romantically compatible.

Kacchan leads Petersen towards the elevators, and his eyes are distinctly lower than the back of Kacchan's shoulders. The dress is doing its job, then.

(Kacchan had cackled when he'd seen the dress in the store, and he'd bought it without a second thought. This was probably why.)

The elevator doors close behind them, and Izuku and Shouto decide to end the fight simultaneously, communicating their plans for the finale through brief, stolen moments of eye contact. The crowd's getting louder, their buzzing so loud that it's actually starting to affect Izuku's balance a little.

Weird.

They sock each other in the jaw simulatenously - gently, though; that is, as gentle as you can be when you're punching someone in the face. Izuku collapses in a controlled fall to the ground, hand flying to his cheek, leaving Shouto the clear 'winner' of their mock fight as he stands over him. Izuku makes eye contact with him and jerks his head minutely towards the stairs. He receives an infinitesimal nod in return.

Shouto-as-Chris towers over Izuku-as-Asshat, projecting an intimidating and disdainful aura, for a long moment. Then, he takes a casual step back, somehow gives the impression that he's rolling his eye (eyes? Does he have two? Or is the eyepatch covering an empty socket? Izuku's curious, okay) despite Izuku being the only one in a position to tell for certain whether or not he is, and heads towards the stairs.

Izuku stumbles to his feet, brushing off his clothes and blustering to anyone who will listen - which is exactly no one, since the excitement is over now and people want to leave - that he totally could've won the fight against that ingrate but he didn't want to mess up his suit too much. Then, when he's absolutely sure that no one is looking at him, he slips off to follow Shouto to the stairwell.

.

.

.

Sera steps into the elevator, Mr. Petersen following close behind her. She can feel his eyes tracing the arch of her back, the curve of her ass. She carefully smothers a smirk - her dress is doing its job, then. She sincerely hopes that Mr. Petersen doesn't get any drool on the hem; she'd like to get some more use out of it before it's stained beyond repair.

The elevator is empty, thanks to all the commotion outside, and she knows for a fact that the security camera in the corner only shows video - no sound. It's the same for all of the cameras in the building, and there aren't a lot. The company who owns the building prefers to use motion and heat sensors on the exits, including the windows, and mostly focuses their manpower on screening people at the front entrance.

Which means that this place has gotten a...reputation, among certain companies.

It's the perfect place for conducting more...questionable business dealings.

Which reminds her.

"Mr. Petersen, before we walk into this meeting, I feel I must warn you - "

This gets his attention, drawing his eyes away from her neckline. Good. She was a little worried that he would pass out, what with all the blood running to his head.

(He's got enough money to be attractive. She'll allow him to take her out to dinner a couple times before she inevitably has to jet off to her next assignment. It'll be fun.)

"About what?" Mr. Petersen asks, apprehensive.

Katsumi waves her hand elegantly, brushing the question aside as if it were something physical. "The...gentlemen -" she says, although she, personally, wouldn't particularly call anyone involved in the drug or counterfeit clothing trades a gentleman. " - bringing you this...opportunity to work with the Chinese government will be expecting some form of...compensation. Not a bribe, of course…"

Mr. Petersen looks like he's about to bail on the deal entirely, but then the seed she'd planted the other day about his rival company, and how Liu International could just as easily make a deal with them, takes hold. She can see it flash behind his eyes.

"A...finder's fee, one might call it," she says, shifting her legs a little so that her skirt rides up a few more inches.

Mr. Petersen's eyes dart down to the bared skin, then he gulps and replies, "Miss - Sarah, I was under the impression that your job was to prohibit stealing?"

Katsumi smiles, close-mouthed. "Not quite, Mr. Petersen. I...keep it manageable, one might say. In other words - I oversee it."

The elevator doors open at that exact moment, and Katsumi spares a moment to send a prayer of thanks to Ama-no-Uzume for the wonderful dramatic timing before sauntering towards the conference room, swinging her hips perhaps a bit more than strictly necessary.

Mr. Petersen follows her, of course. Men like him are so easy to manipulate.

Katsumi leads him to the conference room, then holds the door open for him. "After you, Mr. Petersen," she purrs, somehow managing to make the innocuous sentences into an innuendo. She astounds even herself sometimes - she's just that good at her job.

She guides him to his seat at the head of the table, across from the leader of the party from Liu International. He's a tough-looking fellow, perhaps in his late forties, with a faint scar splitting his hair on the left side. Underneath his expensive business suit, she can just barely make out the hints of color that demarque his tattoos. The other four people on his side of the conference room are dressed similarly, though their suits are a few careful degrees below his in quality. The blonde one winks at her, and she curves her lips slightly in return, but her attention is for some reason drawn to the man with his long, dark hair in a tight braid.

Their eyes meet -

-̧̫̥̟͈̺̆͛̋̑͛͝ ̠͉̞̽͆͊̾͢n̠̦̬͕̖̲̱̦̫̅͐̆̓́̊͂̓̀-̝̘̖̰̟̩̝͈̇͋̆̄͆̓͐̈́̉͜b̺̠͈̺̤͖̱͔͉͐̎̎͋͒̕͡͠͞-̝̹̱̗̂̋̅̈́͟͡d̡̫̙̤̜͎͇̺̀̊͋̐͋̀̕͢͞͝y̠͙͛̕̚͜ ͙̹̟͇͚͎́̋̆̎͂̋-̡̲̘̱͉͎̐̈̋̀̏̓ş̧͔͔̳̬̌̐͛̇̉͠k̻̥̂̕-̧͙̻̘̍͂͒̐ḋ͓̘̱͌̕ ̧̛̲͕̤̮̞͌̑̏̕͡ỷ̙͖͔͚̓́͝-̧̺̰͍̺͆̎̽͊̐͢͝ų̨̝̟̻̥͚́̆̓̀̎͐̏̚ͅ ̯̍t̛̛̪̫͇͍̺͚̭̰̣͗͗̓̂̂͋̔-̲͈̗̹͈̥̖̈̋̔̈́̅͠ ̢̢̩̥̫͈̭̹̇̀͆͌̈̃͌͝g͖̲̪̣̀̂͞͞-̨̛̩͔̙̩͔͇̻͒̓͗̈́̊͂̇͢͡ţ̢̜̟͔̳̝̌̍̋̀̓͆̂ ̨͍͕̘̘̍̃̆́͡m̧̛̞̱̤̹̮̼̾̆͛̂͑͠-̯̀̐͟ ̢̭̬̩̻̒͌̊̃̀å͔̞̠̤͈͉̟̩͗̓́́̌̌͑̅͜t̥̭̰͑͗͐͋͟t̢̡̙̖̖͊̑̋̎̃͢͡-̛̙̫̳͂̚ç̱̠̖̩͇̻̰̆͒͛̍͑̆̓͟͝͞h̹̭͐͠-͙͖͙͙́̒͛̈́d ̤͙̜̮͍̠̮̏̎̿̒̃͗͊t̞̥̞̙͎̙̽̓̃̎̋́-̥̞͘͠ ̢̡͓̹̈̏̏͂̕ͅy͎̒-͎̕u̧̡̻͙̫̤͙̗̝͆̔͛̎̇̅̽̈́̓̕͟ ̡̨͇̬̳̰̂́̒͒̆͗̀ͅ-̡̛̦̤̃̚

- and with a burst of hellish static Katsumi is suddenly Katsuki and he's suppressing a violent flinch. Eijirou's doing the same fucking thing - Katsuki can tell by the way he's holding himself, shoulders tight but the rest of his body deliberately loose.

Katsuki's hand flies up to cover his mouth daintily - because, yes, he can fucking do dainty even as Katsuki - as he widens his eyes and raises his carefully shaped eyebrows. "Oh," he says, having to consciously remember to raise the pitch of his voice to a shitty, annoying frequency. It comes out a little strangled. "That's...not at all what I was expecting."

His eyes dart sideways, mostly to get away from Eijirou's piercing stare, but also nominally to appraise Petersen's expression and - holy fucking fuck, is that his cousin? What the fuck is Sora doing here.

Huh. Guess he really didn't fucking die fifteen years ago.

(Damn it, he hates when Deku is right.)

(He owes the shitty nerd ten dollars and a Silver Age All Might figurine now. Fuck. He hates losing.)

"I was also not expecting this. I am Wu Eiji," Eijirou says, with an incredibly shitty attempt at a Beijing accent - even shittier than his hair. Petersen doesn't seem to notice, still staring forlornly at Katsuki('s fake breasts), but one of the men from the delegation actually winces noticeably.

It takes a lot to make a highly ranked member of the Chinese fucking Triads to wince.

"Please don't do that ever again," Deku says through the earbud, and Katsuki fervently agrees.

"Sera Katsumi. It's a...pleasure to meet you," Katsuki says faintly, sinking back into his Katsumi persona as Eijirou turns in his seat to face the federation and says something in lightly accented Mandarin. Somehow, his Mandarin actually sounds better than his attempt at a Beijing accent.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to dinner tonight, Mr. Petersen," Katsumi says into Mr. Petersen's ear, voice low. He looks - resigned, mostly, which is good, because that means she hasn't lost this deal yet. "This is actually a great opportunity, believe it or not, because in China the connecting of soulmates is a very auspicious event."

Mr. Petersen looks mildly intrigued, so she continues. "For business, especially, it is said that those companies, much like the newly discovered soulmates, are meant to be together in some capacity. It is considered very lucky, because the meeting is fated - thus, both businesses are likely to prosper from the deal. This meeting today marks the beginning of something - mutually beneficial, you might say."

Katsumi's soulmate - Eiji, apparently - is telling the representatives from Liu International about what had just happened in softly accented Chinese. Katsumi knows just enough Chinese - Mandarin, specifically - to serve as a translator for business transactions like this one, but not quite enough to catch every single rapid-fire word that Eiji is saying.

The blonde man who'd winked at her earlier seems like he might have the same problem, but all of the delegates are smiling and nodding, so she takes that as a good sign.

"So it appears this deal is blessed," Katsumi says, and Eiji translates her words for the others. She sneaks a glance at him - yes, she thinks she could like him very much indeed. "Shall we get on to business?"

.

.

.

Izuku peers through the narrow window on the door to the conference room carefully. It's risky, but he's for the most part out of sight of the business men inside - and, well, this building is known in the insurance business (and the thief business, as well; there's a perhaps not-so-surprisingly large overlap) as a good place for shady dealings to take place. Thus, it wasn't shocking to discover that there are no security cameras or audio recording devices anywhere in the room - and, therefore, nothing that Shouto can hack to give them a better idea of what's going on inside the room.

So.

Izuku has to resort to awkwardly watching through the door. Shouto's sitting on the floor beside him with his back pressed up against the door, laptop resting on top of his knees. They can hear most of what's going on inside the conference room thanks to Eijirou's and Kacchan's earbuds - that's what Shouto is working on right now; he's making sure that, while he and Izuku and Tsuyu can hear what's happening, there aren't any nasty feedback loops that amplify anything they might say and distract Kacchan and Eijirou.

Katsumi leans back slightly in her chair, clasping her hands on the table. "And, about the - other matter?" Izuku hears her ask pleasantly.

A range of quickly stifled microexpressions flit across the head of the group's face so fast that Izuku doesn't have the time to process them all. Petersen seems to have missed them entirely, only noticing the congenial facade that he eventually settled on. "Of course," Izuku hears him say through Eijirou's earbud, a little stiffly - not that anyone who wasn't fluent in Mandarin would know, given Eijirou's smooth translation.

The leader of the representatives from Liu International hands Eijirou a red envelope with a check for two million dollars inside, not that Petersen knows that yet. Eijirou passes it to Katsumi, who switches that envelope with one she's had up her sleeve all afternoon. The envelope looks identical - and it is, except it contains a slip of paper with '$500,000.00' written on it. She hands the new envelope to Petersen and -

"Izuku-chan, Shouto-chan, the bodyguard is coming up the stairs! ETA ten seconds - !"

Shouto sits up ram-rod straight, and then he's on his feet in two seconds, everything packed away in his backpack. Izuku searches frantically for an exit that isn't directly into the conference room where their marks are. The only thing he finds is a closet - probably where Kacchan stashed his duffle bag earlier - so he touches Shouto's shoulder and jerks his head towards it. Shouto follows his line of vision and his face somehow gives the impression of resignation, despite the fact that he doesn't actually move a muscle.

Izuku rolls his eyes and gives him a light push towards the closet, following closely behind him - almost toppling him over, in fact, because Izuku had kind of...tripped. Over his own two feet. Damn it. Usually he's way smoother than this.

Izuku just barely gets a glimpse of black hair and something silvery-shiny - piercings, probably - before the closet door closes behind them.

He'll have to buy Tsuyu a fruit basket or something because she really just saved their asses.

And...pretty much the entire con.

She deserves more than a fruit basket, honestly, but that's pretty much the only thing that Izuku can think of that he knows she'd like, other than a bucket of money. On second thought, that's probably a better idea.

Shouto leans back against the read end of the closet, and Izuku offers him a sheepish smile from where he's got his back plastered to the door in a vain hope of keeping it shut. There's maybe half a meter between them - it's a small closet, and they're two fully-grown men. Oh well. They shouldn't be stuck in here too long unless Dabi decides to -

"Izuku-chan," Tsuyu says tensely, and Izuku's heart sinks just a little bit. "He's still going towards you."

Shit.

That means they have about five seconds to come up with a plan to hide themselves somewhere in a three-by-seven foot closet, which is just. Fucking great.

Izuku revises his criteria with approximately three seconds left - because all they really need to do is hide their faces in a mostly inconspicuous way and they're golden. That's definitely easier to work with, but how - ?

- and then Shouto's rolling his eyes and pulling Izuku in by the collar and - oh.

Oh.

They're...kissing.

That's - it's a really good plan, actually.

(Shouto tastes like strawberries, Izuku notes distantly. Did he have them for breakfast?)

.

.

.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, why did I think this was a good idea, Shouto thinks wildly, lips pressed against Izuku's. And then Izuku's lips start moving - reciprocating - and holy fucking shit, he is good at this.

Shouto almost forgets the whole reason why he had an excuse to this was necessary, and then Dabi opens the door. Light floods his exposed eye, subjecting him to the weird feeling of one of his eyes blinking rapidly, almost blinded, and the other being perfectly fine. Well, as fine as it ever is.

And then Izuku pulls at his eyepatch, using the hand cupping the back of his head underneath his hood, and somehow he manages to tug on the end of the knot at the exact angle that unties it instantly. It falls down the back of his sweatshirt, to the awkward space between his hood and where his back is pressed against the wall.

Shouto squeezes his eyes shut, because his left eye is used to night vision, not bright lights, and also maybe because he wants to savor this feeling a little bit - is that so wrong?

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Dabi asks, amused, moving to block most of the light from the hallway. His voice is gravelly - it almost sounds...burnt, somehow. Like he's suffering from smoke inhalation or - something, Shouto doesn't fucking know; he's a little busy focusing on kissing Izuku.

Izuku's other hand, the one not shifting down from his scalp to the back of his neck and inciting shivers to run down Shouto's spine, slips gracefully from his shoulder to the front of his hoodie and starts pulling lightly at the zipper, asking for permission - or maybe as a warning?

Shouto smooths his palms up and down Izuku's back, agreeing regardless of Izuku's intentions, and Izuku apparently takes that as the go ahead to shift his attentions to the newly revealed skin of Shouto's neck and fuck -

Shouto tilts his head back against the wall, into the shadow of his hood, and groans softly when Izuku starts nibbling lightly at a particularly sensitive spot. Then, belatedly, he remembers that the whole reason they're doing this is because they have an audience. "- the fuck do you want, Sam?" he says, affecting an Australian accent. His voice comes out an octave lower than normal, which wasn't intentional, but it helps to disguise it, so. That's. Fine. "We're on our lunch break."

"Fuck off," suggests Izuku, voice pitched low, the words almost smudged into the skin on Shouto's collarbone and Shouto is so fucking glad that his oversized sweatshirt ends somewhere around his midthigh because damn -

Shouto realizes that Izuku's slowing down the movements of his lips, leaning away just slightly , because - well, it's probably because Shouto isn't really responding since he's fucking stuck in the middle of a gay panic cycle. Which is. Something. That's happening.

(Excuse him for being a little distracted.)

Shouto arches his back a little, causing his undershirt to slide down and reveal a couple more centimeters of bare skin as well as having the additional benefit of bringing his collarbones closer to Izuku's mouth, so. That's. A Thing.

Izuku makes a pleased little sound and Shouto can feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

He is. So fucked.

Dabi chuckles and wow, Shouto had kinda forgotten he existed for a moment there. Which is, you know. Not ideal. "Yeah, okay," he says. "I'll leave you two lovebirds be."

"Much obliged," Shouto drawls sarcastically, distantly astonished that his voice comes out as level as it does because holy shit, Izuku is good with his mouth.

Just to make sure they're selling it, Shouto slides his hand down from the small of Izuku's back to hover over his ass - not actually touching it, but close enough that Dabi probably thinks he is.

Dabi chuckles again, then he's decent enough to close the door behind him, which gives Shouto about fifteen seconds to get himself back under control before he has to face Izuku again. As a colleague. Fuck.

Izuku's still nibbling at his neck, which is not exactly fucking conduscive to fixing his face back into some semblance of neutrality, but is definitely necessary in case - um.

Right. In case Dabi comes back.

That's why they're doing this.

Shouto allows himself five more seconds to ponder the possible reasons that Izuku moving towards his neck hadn't set off any of his more - unfortunate self-defense reflexes, as a way to try and get his mind off the way Izuku's pressing absentminded kisses into his chest.

(It's astonishing how much Shouto's come to trust him, even though they've only known each other face-to-face for about a week.)

And then Shouto leans away slightly. Izuku sways towards him, eyes half lidded, then he blinks and takes a step back.

Straight into the hand that Shouto has hovering over his ass.

Because this wasn't going to be awkward enough, clearly.

Shouto opens his mouth to say something - anything, even just the incredibly obvious Dabi's gone but, like, preferably notsomething like he touched the butt, which is pretty much all that's going through his head right now - but then Izuku looks up and they make unhindered eye contact for the first time.

- Take me my heart and my soul

Pick me apart and look inside -

What.

As Shouto stares bewilderedly into Izuku's eyes, listening distantly to the song that's playing (because Izuku is apparently his soulmate? except? Izuku already has a soulmate?), Izuku blinks rapidly, probably hoping that something changes. Or, like, maybe that the universe would grant him an explanation as to what the actual fuck is happening.

It doesn't.

And the song's still playing.

- Fill me with dreams I can't hold

Keep me afloat in this cold world -

"What the fuck," Shouto whispers emphatically.

Izuku's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and Shouto can't stop his eyes from darting towards it. The music stops, and he is not in a position to deal with the whole situation, so he doesn't look up.

(He can still feel Izuku's eyes boring into him, even as he keeps his gaze averted.)

Izuku taps his earbud, turning it on. "Kacchan. When we get back…"

Shouto ties his eyepatch back on, because he cannot fucking deal with this right now. Izuku seems to be of the same opinion, giving him a small, distracted smile in response.

"...we need to talk."

.

.

.

As soon as Izuku steps into Shouto's safe house and sees Kacchan, he grabs him by the bicep, fingers covering the tail of the dragonfly tattoo he'd gotten the day after All Might died, and drags him back out the door and into the next room. He leaves Eijirou and Shouto in the main room - Tsuyu is nowhere to be found.

(He absently notes the way that Kacchan is studiously avoiding Eijirou's gaze, and vice versa, which is out of character for both of them, but he files it away in the back of his head because he's understandably maybe freaking out a little because his entire perception of the world is being turned on its head, okay.)

Kacchan pulls his shoulder from Izuku's grip as soon as they step foot inside the other room - Izuku's a little surprised that he'd allowed himself to be dragged, honestly - and crosses his arms belligerently. "You said you wanted to talk, so fucking talk..."

Izuku's mind is still swirling, so he misses the way Kacchan trails off, like he also has something important to say, too focused on trying to come up with a way to say 'are we sure we're really soulmates' with, you know, a modicum of eloquence.

"Kacchan, are we sure we're soulmates? Because I just heard music when I looked in Shouto's eyes? And it was definitely not 'You Are My Sunshine?' "

Or he could just blurt it out. Great. Where did his brain-to-mouth filter go?

Kacchan blinks, surprised, which is fair because it is impossible for one person to have two different songs. Even poly soulmates all hear the same songs when they look in each others' eyes, no matter the configuration - "That fucker has two eyes?"

Oh.

That is…

Not what Izuku was expecting him to focus on.

"Yes? I mean? It's definitely damaged and he probably has some impaired vision but - " Izuku shakes his head. " - that really wasn't what I was expecting you to take from that, Kacchan."

Kacchan just shrugs, doesn't even insult him, and that's the thing that breaks through Izuku's barrier of what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck and how he knows for certain that something is up.

"You're acting awfully calm about this, Kacchan…" he says reproachfully.

Usually, just using that tone wouldn't work, even though he'd copied it from his mother and he knew that it gave Kacchan vivid flashbacks to that one time they'd decided setting off fireworks indoors was a grand idea.

(In his defence, they were six at the time.)

But it looks like Kacchan has maybe found a charitable bone somewhere in his body - or maybe he's just taking pity on Izuku, which seems much more likely - because he actually explains himself, kind of.

"It makes some things make a lot more fucking sense," he mumbles.

...kind of being the key words in that sentence.

"Like what?" Izuku asks patiently, because it seems like Kacchan's lost in thought and not actually purposefully withholding information. Probably. It was kind of hard to tell with Kacchan.

Kacchan shakes his head violently, clearing it, then produces a non sequitur instead of an answer: "So y'know how Shitty Hair and me were supposed to be pretending that we're fucking - soulmates?"

Izuku nods because, yes, that had, in fact, been the plan that he'd come up with.

Kacchan takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself and now Izuku's worried. "When we did the whole fucking - look-into-each-others'-eyes schtick, something...fucking. Happened." He pauses again. "It was - " He swallows, like his throat's suddenly dry. "It sounded - broken."

….Izuku would really like to give Kacchan a hug right now, but he knows it'll be rejected because Kacchan likes to pretend that the only emotion he has is anger. He doesn't like feeling vulnerable, so he covers up any emotion he thinks makes him 'weak' with anger that's mostly bluster.

(Izuku has opinions on how Kacchan was raised, okay, and he is very glad that his therapist had realized that Kacchan's family situation was not great for his mental health and found him a good - like, actually good - foster parent among one of his husband's friends because otherwise this whole situation could've turned out very differently.)

So, instead, Izuku breaks out the logic: "You said this happened during the heist, right?"

Kacchan nods jerkily, shoulders tensed in the way that means he thinks he's looking for a fight.

"What color were Eijirou's eyes?"

Kacchan freezes. "...the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question, Kacchan," Izuku says, a smile threatening to pull at the corner of his lips.

"...Green." Then Kacchan flushes, like he's embarrassed that he noticed, which is - interesting.

"And what color were your eyes?"

"...Fucking - green," Kacchan says, a light of dawning comprehension flickering in his eyes.

Izuku lets his smile loose. "I know for a fact that your contacts have mirrored lenses, and I'm pretty sure that it's the same for Eijirou - I know he uses colored contacts, at least. But in any case, I think that your song will sound a whole lot better if it doesn't end up magnified and reflected back on itself."

Kacchan almost smiles - like, actually smiles, not a smirk, no teeth, and yeah, Izuku has a feeling that Eijirou will be good for him - but covers his mouth with his hand, coughing lightly, before it can fully emerge. "...so what the fuck is going on with us, then," he asks, far more calmly. Well, as calm as Kacchan can be.

Izuku taps his chin with his finger, because now that he's slowed his brain down enough to think, he does actually have a hypothesis. "I...might have an idea, but we should probably test it first."

(He's always been better at figuring out other people's problems than his own.)

Kacchan looks...sort of intrigued, except in a kind of glare-y way. "This isn't going to be like the time with the pickles, is it."

Izuku is insulted. The audacity. "Uh, the thing with the pickles was your idea, Kacchan, and we were only grounded for a week, so I would say that it turned out fine." He coughs. "...anyway, it's very safe and it doesn't even involve us moving from this spot if we don't want to. No safety goggles or earplugs necessary."

Kacchan considers this, then shrugs. "What the fuck. Why not. It's not like whatever shitty experiment you have planned will confuse us even fucking more."

Izuku shrugs in agreement because, yeah, that was pretty much his thought process too. "Okay, so - look at me."

Kacchan raises an eyebrow. "The fuck do you think I'm doing?"

"No, I meant - " Izuku shakes his head. "Here, let me just - "

He focuses his gaze somewhere in the vicinity of Kacchan's chest, which is a little awkward since he's still wearing Katsumi's dress, but - yep, he can still distantly hear you are my sunshine, my only sunshine -

Next, he shifts his stare upwards to somewhere around Kacchan's nose. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine -

Then, to the tips of Kacchan's hair, since he's already taken off Katsumi's wig and now his hair is all sweaty and a little less spikey than usual. The song's still playing and, frankly, Izuku can understand why Kacchan's so irritable around him if this is what he hears whenever he looks at him.

(Kacchan has a tendency to make almost aggressive eye contact with anyone he meets, while Izuku has always preferred to - not do that. It was a matter of self preservation.)

Then Izuku looks straight into Kacchan's eyes, and Kacchan looks back - apparently he's been following Izuku's eye movements - and suddenly there's nothing.

No music, no sounds, just - nothing.

Huh.

"...We should probably call mom," Izuku suggests after a long moment.

Katsuki snorts derisively but doesn't argue. He even goes as far as to pull his phone out of his pocket and press speed-dial.

So. Izuku takes that as approval.

His mom - well, she's also basically Kacchan's mom at this point, so what he really means is their mom - picks up the phone almost immediately, despite the fact that it's probably close to seven in the morning in Japan. "Oh, hello, Katsuki-kun! I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon."

Kacchan coughs, but it doesn't do much to hide the heat rising to his cheeks. "Yeah, well - " He doesn't finish the thought, instead blurting out, "Deku's here," and shoving his phone at Izuku.

'Thanks, Kacchan,' Izuku mouths sarcastically, before he puts the call on speakerphone. "Hi, mom."

"Izukkun! I was starting to get worried! You haven't called me since you landed."

"Yes, sorry, mom - I met up with some...old friends who needed my help with something and then things got busy…" Well, that's not a complete lie. It's...truthful, even. Kind of.

Kacchan smirks but doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to - his body language is practically radiating smugness.

But, then again, that's kind of Kacchan's default state.

Izuku clears his throat. "So, uh, mom? I - we have...kind of a weird question for you."

"Go ahead, dear, I'm listening." There's the sound of plates clinking together in the background - she's probably about to start making breakfast.

Izuku takes a deep breath, and he can see Kacchan's shoulders start to tense up again - Izuku decides then and there that Kacchan's next birthday present is going to be a gift card for a masseuse because wow. "So, um...how did you know that Kacchan and I were soulmates?"

He waits for the answer with baited breath, and he can't hear Kacchan's mostly silent breathing either so he's probably doing the same.

His mother hums, and there are more clinking noises before she finally answers what feels like an eternity later but realistically is only five seconds, tops. "I suppose you two wouldn't remember - you were only a few months old at the time. I don't know much about what happened on Mitsuki-chan's end, of course, but I can tell you what I saw."

"Please," Izuku says.

"Well, for the first couple months after I had you, I didn't really leave the house much - your father was still around then, Izukkun, and since he bought all the groceries and such there wasn't really a need to - so that meant that I got to spend my days with you! I read to you, sung to you, even played some of those games with the mobiles - what were they called? I don't remember, oh dear - it seems my memory's going..."

Izuku makes a soft noise of protest.

"Yes, yes, dear. Anyway, the day you first met Katsuki-kun was the first day that I took you to the park. I was heading towards a group of new mothers until I heard someone singing, so I decided to follow the sound instead, since it was so pretty…" His mother hums a tune under her breath that sounds remarkably like you are my sunshine, my only sunshine and Izuku and Kacchan exchange a Look.

"And by following the sound of that music," his mother continues. "I found Mitsuki-chan and Katsuki-kun. As soon as I walked up and introduced us, you and Katsuki-kun started humming the same song, and that was when we knew that it had to have been fate that brought us there that day!"

Izuku bites back a slightly hysterical laugh. No way.

"Afterwards, anytime we were about to go see Katsuki-kun, I would hum the song for you and you would smile so brightly…"

Okay. So. His hypothesis was right. Even as outlandish as it had seemed...

Wow.

"...Why do you ask, Izukkun?"

How the hell is Izuku supposed to answer that?

So instead of coming up with something intelligent, his brain-to-mouth filter decides to go on vacation and he blurts out, "Because-I-just-think-I-found-my-soulmate-thanks-mom-bye" and then hangs up the phone.

He hands it back to Kacchan, who's looking at him very judgmentally.

"Shut up," says Izuku. "Like you would have handled that any better."

Izuku is not immediately murdered, so he takes that as begrudging agreement.

.

.

.

Dabi is waiting for Franklin Petersen outside the door to the conference room, which is an unpleasant reminder that the League or whatever they're calling themselves must have a tracker on him somewhere.

"You are a terrible bodyguard," he informs Dabi, and Dabi just rolls his eyes. He doesn't deny it. Frank isn't even sure that his purpose is to be a bodyguard, but, then again, no one really tells him anything. "How did you find me?"

Dabi rolls his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "We have trackers on you, obviously," he drawls, and it's nice for Frank to know that he isn't being paranoid. It's not paranoia when someone admits that they're tracking your every movement. Though - wouldn't tracking him through his cell phone GPS be easier?

No, because Frank works in tech - even though he's mostly on the business side of things now, he remembers enough to deactivate his GPS as soon as he unboxes a new phone.

"I thought you were reporting back to your boss," Frank says, not quite a question. He has his doubts about the verisimilitude of that, though, since he'd been close enough to hear some girl whine about missing Dabi when he'd got the call earlier that day. A young girl, though - maybe his sister?

"I was." Dabi arches off the wall he'd been leaning against, reminding Frank vaguely of a cat. A severely burnt cat, granted, but a cat nonetheless. He's a little surprised Dabi speaks as well as he does, considering a decent portion of his face is covered in burn scars, some parts held together with staples. He's got a raspy voice, probably from smoke inhalation or something, but he speaks remarkably crisply, in a way that absolutely reeks of an upper-class education and expensive physical and speech therapy.

Frank has no idea what to make of Dabi, honestly.

It's a short, silent ride back to Bettencourt Healthcare, which is good because it gives Frank the chance to mull over something that's been niggling at the back of his head for a few days now. Something is strange, but he can't quite put his finger on what…

...Until he gets back to his office, that is.

It's almost pitch-black inside, since it's evening and almost everyone has gone home at this point so the lights are off.

It's easy to see the red light blinking under his desk.

"I knew it," Frank hisses, bracing his hand against the doorframe so that his arms blocks Dabi from going into his office. Dabi gives him a mildly irritated look, then opens his mouth to say something - something pithy and unhelpful, no doubt - but Frank puts an end to that before it can begin by pushing him backwards and closing the door behind him.

Frank has his back plastered against the door when Dabi says, mildly, "What the fuck was that for?"

(It's the kind of mild that means imminent bodily harm if you answer wrong.)

Frank gulps, then pretends that he didn't because he is days away from a seat on the board of one of the most distinguished medical companies in the world, damn it. "There's a transmitter in there - a recording device of some kind - and they've been listening to me!"

Dabi's expression shifts slightly, into something Frank can't recognise on his mostly-burnt face. "Who has?"

Petersen sputters wordlessly. "Who - who do you think? The - them!" He waves his hands around in the air, gesticulating wildly, as if he can reach out and pluck the words from the air.

Dabi raises an eyebrow.

"The people! The ones that we hired for the blueprints?"

Dabi blinks slowly. "Oh. Right." He doesn't seem to care.

He doesn't seem to care?!

Frank takes a deep breath and tries to explain the situation in small words. "The people we hired for the blueprints have a listening device in my office. That means that they need to be able to hear what goes on in my office, which doesn't help them if they're dead. Therefore, they must not be dead. They're trying to make me pay - I should've known Sarah was too good to be true!"

Dabi blinks slowly, unruffled, and Frank gives up trying to explain anything to him and just rants at him. "I mean - an opportunity like this, the same week as the shareholder meeting? What are the odds of that happening? And I checked the directory in the International Business Center, and you know what? Liu International doesn't even have an office there! They probably don't have offices anywhere in the city! And - come on! The Chinese? That's so 2008. This is all a scam! Who the hell do they think I am?"

Frank storms over to his secretary's office phone, ignoring Dabi's eyes watching him, and uses her computer to search the FBI's phone number. He keys it in, then waits for it to connect.

After Frank has been redirected several times, a low female voice answers, "Hello, this is Agent Rook, Fraud."

Frank lets a shark-toothed smile break out over his face. "Hi, yes, I'd like to report an attempted defrauding of Bettencourt Healthcare..."

.

.

.

The next day, Friday, Frank's day is going pretty well already - he's just presented his (Rockwell's, really, but possession is 9/10ths of the law) prosthetics project to the board; they'd seemed impressed, and Bettencourt's stock has already risen twenty points since the announcement - when he sees Sarah from across the way, holding hands tentatively with her newly found soulmate, and his day gets even better. He doesn't have a grudge against her for bailing on him when she'd found her soulmate; it was completely understandable, really, and she'd promised to introduce him to some of her single friends located in the 'States as a form of recompense.

It'll be a little hard to do that from a jail cell, though, which is his only regret.

Behind Sarah and her soulmate are the Chinese, milling around and mingling with the crowd - perfect, he couldn't have asked for a better set-up.

Frank raises his hand in a wave and calls to her as he makes his way towards her: "Sarah! So glad you could make it!"

And he really is, though probably not for the reasons she's expecting.

She turns to face him, smiling. "Mr. Petersen! It's my pleasure, really. Wonderful party."

Her soulmate smiles too, close-lipped, but his attention is firmly fixed on Sarah. It's completely understandable - she is hot and she's his.

Frank's disappointed they didn't have a chance to fool around together before she found him, but that's life, he supposes.

"You're looking quite pleased with yourself," she adds, with a knowing lilt to her voice.

Frank laughs, ominously close to a cackle. "Yes! Indeed! I'm really on a roll today - actually, is your whole party here?"

Sarah looks slightly taken aback, but she nods. "Yes, everyone should be around here somewhere…"

Frank claps his hands together. "Wonderful, wonderful! Why don't we just go ahead and get all the formalities over with?"

"Yes, that sounds agreeable - as long as you have the whole payment?"

Frank waves off her concern. "Yes, yes, that's no problem - I have a conference room upstairs. Dabi will show you. We just need to sign the papers and discuss the payment, right? That'll take, what an hour, tops? Think of the headlines if we could announce both this partnership and the new prosthetics design in one day!"

Sarah smiles, showing perhaps a few more teeth than conventionally attractive, but she makes it work for her. Her soulmate - Woo something-or-other - is a lucky man. "Very well, Mr. Petersen. I'll go tell Liu International."

She slips her hand from Woo's grasp, settling it delicately in the crook of his arm instead, and they head off to round up the delegation.

Frank putters around the party for a few minutes after Sarah and Dabi lead the Chinese upstairs, making nice with the shareholders and perusing the buffet table - he has a feeling that he won't have much time to eat later.

Everything is going according to plan.

The conference room is set up in almost the exact same configuration as the one from yesterday, except this time there are security cameras in the room, not that the Chinese know it. There's also a panic button connected to one of the speakers that are usually used for conference calls, which is why Frank'd had Dabi lead the delegation to this room in particular.

The supposed representatives from Liu International are sitting at the other end of the table, in the same order as yesterday, except that their translator is standing next to Sarah by the door. They've got their heads bent together and they're whispering to each other in a language that he can't make out enough of to recognize. Frank's just now noticing, but it looks like they've got mood rings around their pinkies now, though he wonders when they'd had the time to buy them. They're the expensive type, not the kitschy ones kids get at the fair - the ones that look like wedding bands, except instead of silver or gold or platinum or whatever wedding bands are made of they have the mercurial liquid that makes up mood rings. He's a little curious as to how they could have afforded them, especially so quickly - they're very expensive, even though the materials necessary to make them aren't. It's a supply and demand thing, probably.

"Is everyone comfortable?" Frank asks, like it actually matters and they won't be sitting in jail cells within the next twenty minutes. Woo what's-his-face translates his words for the Chinese, and they nod, faces expressionless.

The leader of their group says something, which Sarah translates as: "I assume that we all understand the terms of this agreement?"

Frank almost laughs hysterically, but clamps down on it - he can't give away the game too early, after all. "The terms of the agreement? Of course!" he says jovially, then he can feel his mouth stretch into a smug smirk. "The terms of the agreement are these."

He presses the panic button.

"FBI, don't move!" Within seconds, the conference room is swarming with FBI agents, presumably from the fraud division or maybe the white collar crimes division. Frank doesn't really care - he's sure these Chinese 'businessmen' will be going to jail for a long time.

"Are you alright, sir?" one of the agents asks in English, while the woman next to him says something in Chinese - probably reading them their rights or something.

"Yes, I'm fine," Frank replies, getting to his feet and brushing the creases from his suit.

"Shì de, xièxiè," says the leader of the group, and Frank only recognizes 'shay shay' - thank you? Why the hell would he be thanking the person arresting him?

Frank thinks everything is going exactly as planned, right up until the FBI agents start cuffing his hands behind his back. "Um? Excuse me, you're arresting the wrong person - the criminals, they're over there. The people pretending to be from Liu International?"

The FBI agents pay him no attention, and he starts getting frantic. Usually, he'd be waving his arms around, but, well, they're currently handcuffed behind his back.

"Listen!" he screeches, then coughs and lowers his voice to a more reasonable pitch. "Listen to me, please, if you just call Agent Rook, in the fraud department, she can tell you - "

The FBI agent who'd asked if he was alright earlier steps closer, towering a good foot or so over Frank. "I'm Special Agent Rook," he says.

Frank's brain freezes because - what? No. No, that's impossible. "No, no, um - do you have a wife? Or a sister? Or something? Because the Agent Rook I spoke to was definitely a woman - "

The big, bulky man cuts him off quickly. "I'm the only Special Agent Rook in the FBI. And you, Franklin Petersen, are under arrest for soliciting a bribe from these foreign nationals."

Frank blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of the situation. "No, I wasn't - a bribe? No, no, no, they're not even from Liu International!"

The head of the delegation scoffs and says something derisive, and the female agent who'd been speaking Chinese earlier translates: "Of course we're from Liu International," she says, as he brandishes what looks like a letter of introduction with an official-looking stamp on it. "You knew that when your female employee contacted us regarding this 'exciting opportunity.' "

Franks shakes his head, bewildered. "I - who? My secretary?" His secretary hardly leaves her desk, and every professional email she sends is dictated by him, so there's no way she could've - oh. "Wait, do you mean - do you mean Sarah? I thought she was with you! Special Agent Rook, please." He turns back to Rook, having unconsciously twisted himself to look at the translator. "Please, you have to believe me - Sarah works for them!"

The leader crosses his arms, muscles bulging beneath his suit, as he snaps something in Chinese that the translator says means, "She came to our offices in Boston on your behalf, saying that she worked with you on international deals like this."

Frank's eyes dart around the room wildly, looking for Sarah so that she can corroborate his story - the true story.

Except.

She's nowhere to be seen.

She and her soulmate have completely disappeared from the conference room, leaving no traces behind.

"Sarah? Where'd she - "

Damn, now she was never going to introduce him to any of her hot friends.

...which shouldn't really be his priority right now.

"No, no, that can't be right! She took me to - to your office! In the city!" he sputters.

"No, we don't have an office in this city - the closest one is in Boston," the female FBI agent translates with a carefully non-judgemental expression. "We - "

"I know that! I know!" Frank interrupts her.

" - we met her at your other office," she continues, pretending Frank hadn't spoken - which, really, how dare she? Didn't she realize how impolite that was?

Wait.

His other office?

What - ?

A thought occurs to him, unrelated: there are probably FBI agents outside at the party.

Shit. The shareholders.

Frank dashes out of the conference room, completely forgetting that his hands are still handcuffed behind his back until he trips over his own two feet and face-plants down the stairs. He can hear voices shouting behind him, along with pounding footsteps, but they're drowned out beneath the rushing of his blood in his ears. Frank rolls with the momentum, feeling like a cartoon character as he rolls down one flight of stairs and somehow manages to land on his feet before continuing to sprint down the next two flights as fast as he can. It's probably the coolest thing he's ever done - it's a shame no hot chicks were around to see it.

Frank exits his building, reaching up to wipe the blood from his possibly-broken nose, and belatedly realizes that his hands are still, in fact, cuffed behind his back.

This is not a good look for him.

He turns to go back inside, in order to find someone he can bribe into taking the handcuffs off, but then he hears something that just adds on to what is rapidly becoming his worst nightmare.

It's one of the shareholders.

"Hey, Frank!" he says, clapping him heartily on the shoulder. As jovial as his words sound, Frank gets the distinct impression that there's a subtle threat underpinning them. "Do you have any idea what's going on here?"

The shareholder gestures to the police cars encircling Bettencourt Healthcare's main office, lights flashing, and the FBI agents and police officers getting out of their vehicles ready to storm the building.

"No - I - I have no clue," Frank says, completely honestly.

Agent Rook sidles up behind him, probably having taken the elevator. He claps a friendly hand on Frank's other shoulder and asks pleasantly, in a voice most assuredly meant to carry, "Hey, is he involved in the bribe, too?"

"There's no bribe," Frank says miserably as the shareholder's hand grips his shoulder more tightly, almost painfully.

"What's this about a bribe?" he asks pleasantly, glaring directly at Frank, and God, he really wishes he could spontaneously combust right now.

"There isn't one," Frank says again, like anyone's listening.

The translator gives him a pitying look. "Mr. Chen says he gave you an envelope containing a check for two million dollars. I'd call that a bribe, and so does the U.S. government."

"I didn't - I - what? No! - I never got - " Frank sputters, and then he remembers.

Sarah, she'd handed him an envelope.

Except it hadn't been a check, it had been a piece of paper with a number on it -

But there wasn't really a way to prove that, was there.

"I do hope you didn't deposit that check," Agent Rook says companionably. "It'll look a lot worse for you if you did." He squeezes Frank's shoulder harder, so hard that he can practically feel his joints grinding together. The shareholder on his other side matches his grip, and Frank thinks hysterically that he'll be lucky if he can get out of here with both arms still attached.

"I wasn't - there was no check!" he tries, one last time.

Agent Rook looks at him faux-sympathetically. "You know what I hate more than anything? Liars. And guess whose pants are on fire?"

He doesn't wait for an answer - it's a rhetorical question, why would he? - instead turning to the third agent who'd just jogged up. "Report," he orders.

"Sir," the agent says perfunctorily. "We have agents and officers inside the building working on confiscating files and equipment, mostly computers - "

"Not my computer!" Frank blurts and, God, he really wishes looks could kill right now so that the shareholder's glare could just put him out of his misery, because he's just handed the FBI the perfect place to start.

Rook draws himself up to his full height, a solid foot taller than Frank, and says genially, "As of this week, you have government defense contracts, which means that the PATRIOT Act applies here." His smile gets wider and more vindictive with each word.

Rook pauses, for dramatic effect, and both Frank and the shareholder are holding their breath.

"I can take your mother's Sunday best. I can take every piece of equipment in that building. Mr. Petersen, legally, I can take your underwear."

Rook surveys the crowd, sweeping a hand towards the news crew. "And isn't it just dandy that there are so many cameras to do it in front of?"

"No," whispers the shareholder in horror, fingers digging into Frank's arm so tightly that he wouldn't be surprised if he drew blood.

Shredded paper - documents, proof - starts falling out one of the open windows on the third floor, and Frank has a moment to think thank God for my secretary before someone yells, "FBI! Freeze!" and the paper stops falling.

He's so fucked.

.

.

.

"Hawks," his current boss says in Mandarin. "I think it's time we left."

(Hawks is his name now, even if he still thinks of himself as Sora. Sora's dead - legally, at least, and honestly? There's not too much difference between legality and reality at this point.)

Sora unhooks his mirrored sunglasses from his shirt collar, where they've been hanging since Petersen and his people walked into the room, and puts them on again. He agrees with his boss, what with all the yelling from the patio below ("You can't take my computer!") wafting in through the open window. He can't say he isn't tempted to just blow his cover right here, though, where there are plenty of FBI agents to handle the fallout. This assignment is starting to weigh heavily on him.

"Yeah, we should probably get out of here," he replies, his own Mandarin only faintly accented. It's close enough to some of the more rural parts of South-Eastern China that he can get away with his accent not being perfect.

It's been, what, almost five years since he was first ordered to infiltrate the Chinese Triads? Fifteen since he'd faked his death and entered training for Interpol's secret Special Ops division.

(He was kind of regretting that now, but hey. What's done is done.)

(It had been nice to see his little cousin, though.)

In the past five years, he's climbed his way up the ladder from a lowly grunt to the right-hand-man of one of the underbosses, which is...good, even though he's had to do some...morally questionable things to get that far.

(Most of his 'confirmed kills' are in Witness Protection.)

(Only 'most,' though.)

(One thing he's learnt during this job? You can't save everyone.)

(Heroes don't exist in real life.)

Sora's boss gets to his feet, and the rest of the delegation follows his lead a beat later. It's etiquette. Sora isn't high enough up the ladder to start ignoring it yet, but he cannot wait until he can. Seriously, this is the Triads, not some 16th century French court circuit.

(Sometimes he seriously can't tell the difference between the two.)

For some reason, Petersen's bodyguard had stayed behind after he'd face-planted down the stairs. Honestly, Sora couldn't blame him - if he worked for Petersen, he probably would've done the same. Also, that had probably been the funniest thing Sora has seen in, like, at least a year.

The delegation gets into a single file line because, again, etiquette. The higher up in the rankings you are, the closer you are to the end of the line. Sora's pretty sure it's something to do with meat shields and snipers. Therefore, Chen , the underboss, is at the back of the line and Sora, as his right-hand-man, is right in front of him. The rest of the representatives are more…expendable, so they go at the front of the line.

They file very civilly past Petersen's bodyguard, who is kind enough to hold the door for them - which just goes to show that you can't judge a man by his looks, because even though he's wearing a fancy suit (an extremely well-tailored suit, Sora feels like he should mention) he looks like he would be more at home in a heavy metal band, rather than playing bodyguard to some mid-level corporate executive. He's got his hair spiked up, piercings all over his visible skin, staples holding together what look like skin grafts, and...it's almost like he doesn't fit in a suit very well? Not that the suit doesn't fit well because, just, damn, whoever did that work deserves a box of chocolates or something - and that's just what Sora can tell from the front. He feels like he might actually spontaneously combust if he saw this guy from the back. It's just that...he doesn't seem very comfortable in it, or maybe like he isn't used to wearing a suit for long periods of time. But what does Sora know? The man is a stranger.

(A hot stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.)

Sora can feel the bodyguard's eyes (are they blue or grey? He can't quite tell...) piercing into him - the entire group, probably, but he can't seem to shake the feeling that perhaps those eyes are drilling into him specifically, which...doesn't really make any sense?

Unless…

He has a chance?

(Shut up, Sora, you're Hawks. The Chinese Triads aren't exactly the most accepting people in the world.)

Sora shakes his head minutely and keeps walking. It's for the best. Besides, the guy is probably a civilian - he holds himself like ex-military, sure, but he's probably not in the know.

(Sora had been a little surprised by just how many people had some kind of mafia or yakuza or triad connections, though, so who really knew.)

Still, he can get away with being...friendly.

Sora lets his sunglasses slide down his nose, enough that he can make eye contact with the bodyguard holding the door and -

Sora stumbles because -

- I can't change the world

But maybe I'll change you mind -

Well.

Fuck.

(That's not something he'll be reporting to the Commission.)

He recovers quickly, but it's noticeable enough that the guy behind him - his boss, fuck, he'd almost forgotten - says something about it. Sora mutters something about the 'damn carpet' and glances back towards the bodyguard.

Sora...shouldn't get him involved in this, probably.

(But soulmate - !)

Exactly.

He can't not try to get to know his soulmate.

So.

Sora's still a foot or so away from the bodyguard - the only indication that he'd noticed anything is the slight widening of his steel-grey eyes and a minute twitch (trembling?) of the hand holding the door open (which is - interesting, in a way that Sora can't quite describe) - so he slips one of his business cards from his pocket, palming it.

He winks at the bodyguard (he really should find out his name) and slides the card into the pocket of his suit jacket. It's unbuttoned, so Sora's movements are hidden from his boss behind him by the shifting fabric, and it's not like any of the others from the delegation have the guts to look backwards. Even if his boss did notice, he probably wouldn't care.

(And, this way, Sora doesn't have to be the one to make the decision about whether or not he should contact his - soulmate, wow, that still feels a little unreal. He'll have to process that later.)

Sora leaves the building along with the rest of his small group, ushered out by FBI agents and amidst the general ruckus that comes with potential treason. According to Katsuki's soulmate, though, it was technically just grand larceny. Until Izuku had contacted Sora, of course - and how he'd managed to do that Sora had no idea because he was supposed to be legally dead, but whatever; it had been nice to hear from those brats - and he'd got foreign nationals and bribes and treason involved. Fun times.

(Somehow, he can still feel those gunmetal-grey eyes boring into him, and he shivers.)

Things are looking up for the first time in a while, Sora decides.

Also, for some reason he's really craving some KFC.

.

.

.

Izuku's standing on the edge of the roof of a building not too far from the one he'd been holed up in less than a week ago, on the night he'd first started working with Shouto, Eijirou, and Tsuyu. It's windy up there, and a little chilly, even with the midday sun beating down on his shoulders. It's perhaps just past two, and he has an appointment with someone.

Speaking of which.

There's a sound behind him - a shift of detruis, the scrape of metal against concrete, the clink of metal against metal - and the door opens.

Izuku turns slowly towards the sound. He's not particularly worried, if it is who he thinks he is.

He's right. It's a man dressed in a very high-quality suit, one of the arms flapping empty in the wind. His footsteps sound uneven on the rooftop, one of them heavier than the other, and his blonde hair is tied back to keep it out of his face. His eyes flash as they narrow against the sun behind Izuku. He cuts a pretty imposing figure, even though he's only maybe a couple inches taller than Izuku.

"Mr. Rockwell, I presume?" Izuku says, well aware that he himself is cutting a rather...dramatic figure, even though he's only wearing leggings and a plain sweatshirt, what with the sun shadowing his face and making it impossible to see his features. He's spent far too much time around Kacchan to have not picked up a sense of theater. He kind of wishes he had a top hat or something. Just for a little extra oomph.

The man shakes his head jerkily. "Not quite. I'm Erik Edwards, CEO of Rockwell Prosthetics. My soulmate, Whitney - she's in charge of R&D and technically it's her company, but she's too busy tinkering and experimenting to actually deal with the day to day workings, so that's my job."

Izuku shrugs, although Edwards probably doesn't catch it, even with the way he's using his hand to try and shade against the sun. It's good enough for him. "You came alone, of course?"

Edwards nods. "Indeed. I couldn't risk otherwise," he admits.

"Thanks for your cooperation." Izuku takes one of his hands, gloved, of course, out of his sweatshirt pockets and uses it to point to the picnic basket sitting on the ledge beside him, because for some reason that was the only remotely suitable container Shouto had had in his safe house. "Inside this basket, you'll find all of the plans that Franklin Petersen stole from you - complete, of course - in addition to proof that they were on Bettencourt Healthcare's computer systems."

Edwards blinks rapidly. "I - what? Mr - "

"You can call me - Deku," Izuku says, choosing the first thing that comes to mind because while he has fifteen different plans for what happens if it starts raining, he didn't plan for this. Sometimes, he is an idiot.

Kacchan's going to be pretty mad at him, huh. Well, whatever - it's too late to worry about that now.

"Mr. Deku," Edwards says, a little relieved, like he's finally got steadier footing. "I don't understand what's going on here." He's blunt about it, which is pretty refreshing after spending a good portion of this week manipulating people.

Izuku shrugs exaggeratedly. "It's pretty simple, Mr. Edwards. I'm going to leave this basket here - " He points to the basket. " - and then you're going to pick it up, take it to your soulmate, and get your company's plans and evidence for a couple of lawsuits off the drive inside. Personally, I'd get rid of the hidden compartment in the port, though. You never know what someone might take it into their heads to...smuggle."

Edwards blinks rapidly. "Okay, but - why? Why are you giving me this? Why aren't you - I don't know, demanding money?"

Izuku spreads his arms wide, the wrist of his prosthetic one glinting in the sunlight. "Why does anyone do anything, Mr. Edwards?" he asks, then hops down from the ledge. Edwards seems frozen, eyes fixed on where Izuku had just been standing - or, perhaps, the basket containing what is most probably his soulmate's magnum opus.

"Besides," Izuku adds, just as he passes Edwards. "It wasn't necessary. This particular project had an...alternate source of revenue." He chuckles to himself, just a little hysterically. He hasn't seen the numbers just yet, but he's guessing they're going to be a lot higher than he'd initially expected, since both Shouto and Eijirou are working in it.

Izuku's gloved hand is on the door to the stairwell when Edwards calls after him, "We'll call off the investigation - the one looking for the initial thieves!"

Izuku pauses, just long enough to say, "Much obliged, Mr. Edwards," then he disappears into the building.

.

.

.

Frank Peterson is in his office, watching with copious amounts of despair as the FBI cart away everything in his office that isn't bolted down, and even a couple of things that are.

He's finished.

There is literally no way that he can come back from this, even if the FBI can't prove anything - and they can't, because there was never any bribe! - because the board of directors had been right there, and the shareholders, and the news crews…

He can't help but to glance back towards his office's television, where, as usual, the news is playing. And guess what's playing on every single news station.

The systematic disintegration of his life in the corporate world.

Frank watches, almost numb at this point, as in the background behind the reporter, FBI agents cart boxes of files, hard drives, computer monitors, and even office supplies into waiting vehicles. Presumably, they're going to be transferred somewhere and analyzed for treasonous material.

They won't find anything treasonous, of course, but since they've already taken his computer - monitor, hard drive, even the mouse - they'll definitely find instances of corporate espionage, sabotage, grand larceny, and proof of a great many other things that Frank really wishes he'd deleted from his computer. If only he could go back in time…

He's jolted out of his daydream by his phone ringing, and he blinks a few times before he places the sound. Who on earth would be calling at a time like this?

It takes him three more rings before he can muster the willpower to actually pick up the phone. It's from an unknown number, so it's probably just a telemarketer or something. Anything would be a good distraction from this hell, though, so he answers it.

"Franklin Petersen," he says dully.

"You know, you really should have just paid us," comes a bright voice from the other end of the line, slightly accented. Frank immediately recognizes it, and his heart sinks to somewhere around his lower intestine because shit.

Apparently Midoriya Izuku isn't dead. There goes that last thread of hope.

Well, at least that gets the charge down to attempted murder. He's still most likely going to be put away in prison for the rest of his life, though, so it's not like it'll make all that much difference.

"Yeah, probably," Frank agrees morosely. "It wasn't my idea, though - it was my bodyguard's."

He can almost hear Midoriya filing that away. "Interesting," he says noncommittally. He's probably going to have someone fact-check that later, and it's not like Frank can blame him. Really, who would trust the man who tried to kill him? Even if it wasn't his idea.

Which reminds him. "How on earth did you know? I found the transmitter."

More people file past on the screen, not that Frank's actually processing that anymore. He's too focused on his life crashing down around him. And maybe the voice on his phone - he's morbidly curious about how this all came to happen, after all.

"You found the transmitter with the blinking light, yes," agrees Midoriya. "That's the one we wanted you to find. You needed to figure some of it out, you see, and then we could just...give you what you were expecting."

Frank blinks, because, well, shit. He feels like a complete fool. "I can come back from this," he says, full of false bravado. He's not even convincing himself, much less Midoriya, so he doesn't know why he even bothers.

"Well, you might be able to," Midoriya agrees, mildly. "Except, you're forgetting about the bribe."

"There isn't a bribe," Frank says, a little desperately "There is no bribe."

There's a sound of surprise, triumphant, from the FBI agents behind Frank, over by his desk. Frank cringes because, well, he can guess what's about to happen. His English teachers had always said he'd been great at picking up context clues.

Frank glances over his shoulder and, lo and behold, the FBI agents are holding a bag full of money that he's never seen before.

"There was, though," Midoriya says, managing to sound convincingly faintly apologetic. "I mean, that's obviously not the whole two million - we took some for expenses and things like that - but, yeah, that should be enough to put you in prison."

Frank groans, cradling his head in his free hand and wishing that Dabi had never shown up on his doorstep with this idea. It had seemed like a good idea at the time…

"Hey, did you know?" Midoriya continues, politely pretending that Frank hadn't made a sound at all. "If you can tell that stock's going to fall and you sell short, you can make a lot of money. There's a reason people go to jail for orchestrating things like that, you know."

Frank sighs. He sees where this is going.

"We didn't even need you to be arrested - that's just the icing on the cake, really. All we needed was news crews filming the FBI flooding your place, like it's an anthill and the agents are the ants. Guess what that does?"

Frank sighs again. "It scares the investors, and they pull out, which makes the stock prices fall," he says mechanically.

"I haven't looked at the numbers yet, but sh0Ut0 says they're quite high, even for the jobs he usually takes," Midoriya says cheerfully. Then, there's a dramatic shift in his tone, and Frank can almost see Midoriya's friendly face grow sharper, a businessman's cold smile spreading across his features, as his voice hardens. "Mess with my people again, and we won't be so kind," he says, brightly but edged with diamond blades. Frank shivers and doesn't even bother trying to hide it.

"Oh, and I wouldn't bother mentioning anything about us to the FBI," Midoriya adds, almost absent-mindedly. "It's not like anyone will believe you." He hangs up the phone, leaving Frank listening to the dial tone.

Midoriya's right, of course. Who on earth would believe him?

"Who was that?" asks Agent Rook, faux-curiously, like he's making friendly conversation.

"A guy from the insurance company," Frank says bitterly, and he's not even really lying.

.

.

.

The rest of the team - because that's what they are now, Katsuki guesses, a fucking team - is waiting for Deku at the restaurant they'd gone to on Ochako's recommendation after they'd thought they'd finished the job the first time around.

Katsuki hadn't been there at the time, fucking obviously. He'd never have been taken in by such a shitty sob story. Deku'd always had a soft spot for them, though, and apparently the guy had mentioned fuckin' ALL MIGHT, so he can maybe understand what's lead them to this point.

He's still unsure about the fucking food, though. Granted, Round Face generally had semi-decent taste, judging by her choices for celebratory dinners after their agency finished a fucking case, but she also had a tendency to go for the shitty cheaper places rather than anywhere worthwhile.

So he was withholding judgement until the food actually fucking came.

And, like, it'd be pretty nice if Deku could get his dumb ass over here, since he was the one who'd called them all together in the first place.

Presumably, it's for the payout, assuming there is one. Katsuki's already decided that he'd be fine with this particular job being pro bono.

Besides. He found his fucking soulmate.

(Again.)

(Because apparently Deku wasn't actually his soulmate.)

(Fuck, if he were still on speaking terms with his mother, he'd tear her a new one.)

So, that was a mindfuck, and he didn't quite know what to feel about it.

Fucking feelings.

Ugh.

Eijirou seemed pretty okay, on balance, though. Katsuki could... probably stand getting to know him? He'd give it - the whole soulmate thing - a fucking shot, anyway, because why the fuck not. They'd had a kind of awkward start, but...whatever. They were far more compatible than he and fucking Deku had ever been, so the bar was very, very low. He can see them being - friends, although that's not really the right word...

Speak of the devil and he shall fucking appear, apparently, because Deku walks into the restaraunt a whole five seconds later. "It's done," he announces, then sits down next to Shouto and across from Katsuki.

Katsuki, displaying a remarkable amount of self-control, does not immediately kick Deku in fucking the shins. He has no idea what it is about the damn nerd, but something just begs Katsuki to pick a fight with him.

And, well.

Who the fuck is he to refuse the universe?

Deku rolls his eyes like he knows exactly what Katsuki is thinking - which, honestly, he wouldn't put past the fucking nerd - then gives Shouto a small nod, prompting him to reach into his sweatshirt pockets and withdraw five envelopes. He distributes them quickly and efficiently, and then Deku motions for them to open them.

Katsuki tears open the envelope, obviously not because fucking Deku suggested it, expecting maybe a couple hundred thousand dollars or maybe a thank you card if there was no payout and getting - holy motherfucking shitballs.

That is a lot of fucking zeros.

From Deku's high-pitched squeak, Katsuki's pretty fucking sure that he wasn't expecting this much money either.

Shouto shrugs in response to their disbelieving looks and the implicit how the fuck. "Who knows. I have no idea how the stock market works. Eijirou's the one who told me what to buy and sell."

Eijirou shrugs sheepishly, arm brushing Katsuki's. The brief touch almost feels like it fucking burns, the same way that roadburn does, and Katsuki's never heard of anything like this happening between soulmates before so clearly his best option is to ignore the shit out of it. "The stock market is pretty much half luck - and I've always been pretty good at being lucky."

"Somebody should kiss this man so I don't have to," says Tsuyu, making a face at the idea because apparently she's pretty fucking gay. Who knew?

(He did, obviously, with his fucking perfect gaydar.)

Katsuki feels a considering look flashes over his face for a split second as he takes stock of Eijirou's teeth - because how the fuck would he kiss with those sharp motherfuckers? - then he decides why not and suddenly his lips are on Eijirou's.

(What? He's got to figure out if he fucking...likes kissing his soulmate, or whatever.)

(Answer? He's not sure. It's way better than kissing fucking Deku, that's for sure.)

It's a chaste kiss, just a light press of lips to lips, but Eijirou lets out a quiet gasp like it's - a gift, or some shit, and that's...nice.

Fuck. No. What.

Katsuki breaks the kiss, turning away nonchallantly, but he's pretty sure no one actually believes him because can already feel his fucking ears turning red.

Luckily, before anyone can make any kind of fucking comment about that - and Shouto sure fucking looks like he's about to - the door to the restaurant slams open and in stalks a petite woman, maybe just barely five feet tall but no less intimidating for her lack of height.

She spots them immediately - they're pretty fucking obvious since they're the only ones in the place - and once she does, she starts rolling up her sleeves. "Deku-kun."

Deku gulps and shoots him a panicked look.

Katsuki just smirks at him, because fucking duh. Of course he'd told Round Face. They work in the same office - it's not like he can just take the day off without giving his fucking colleagues an excuse.

(And, not that he would ever fucking admit it out loud, she was...kind of the boss, nominally.)

As it turns out, your fucking soulmate getting his dumbass self blown up on the other side of the world? Earns him a couple weeks off.

Ochako had needed to finish up a couple cases before she'd been able to get a flight to the US, but after that - of course she'd come. She's shitty Deku's fucking friend.

And, guess what? Deku hadn't bothered to tell her that he was actually - mostly - fine. Or that he'd been blown up in the first place.

Katsuki leans back in his chair, a shit-eating grin on his face, and watches the fireworks spark.

.

.

.

Tsuyu watches curiously as the woman who'd just stormed into the restaurant starts tearing into Izuku-chan. She's pretty, with her short brown hair and rosy cheeks, and Tsuyu can feel something inside her relax at the sight of her. She supposes she's been spending too much time in the company of men. Too much testosterone.

"Ochako, please," Izuku-chan mumbles, finally finding a place to interject, red-faced. "You're blocking the waitress."

She is indeed blocking the waitress, who seems to be struggling under the weight of her trays - and no wonder, since it seems that Eijirou-chan and Izuku-chan both eat about twice as much as Tsuyu was expecting them to. She supposes it has something to do with building muscle.

Ochako-chan flushes, pouting a little, but instead of flopping down onto a cushion in a huff, she smiles at the waitress. "I'm so sorry," she says, then effortlessly takes two of the precariously balanced full trays before the waitress's trembling arms can drop them.

(Tsuyu falls a little in love with her right there.)

"I was a waitress in high school," Ochako-chan says brightly at the waitress's startled glance. Tsuyu understands her reaction - those trays are two and a half feet long, easily, and a foot wide; it would be virtually impossible for anyone without significant practice to pick them up one-handedly from a counter, much less sliding her arm underneath the two trays and just...lifting them, the way that Ochako-chan just did. She's...strong. And clearly has an excellent spatial reasoning and sense of gravity.

Tsuyu decides then and there that she is not letting this woman leave without getting her phone number - just for friendship, if she's straight. If not…

Well. Tsuyu wouldn't say no to taking her out to dinner, if she's receptive.

...Assuming she doesn't have anything against dating criminals, of course.

Ochako-chan displays remarkable intuition, matching the dishes to the person who ordered it and setting them down gracefully - despite the fact that she hadn't entered the restaurant until a good twenty minutes after they'd ordered, and Tsuyu is pretty sure that she hadn't met anyone aside from Katsuki-chan and Izuku-chan before that.

Eijirou-chan looks a little freaked out, eyes darting from Ochako-chan to his food and back again, so Tsuyu figures she's probably right about that.

Ochako-chan hands the trays back to the waitress, her smile still in place, shining brightly. The waitress smiles back, flustered, then retreats back to the kitchen.

Tsuyu doesn't blame her. That smile is a force of nature.

"Deku-kun," Ochako-chan says sweetly, her smile twisting at the edges a little into something slightly sinister. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

Izuku-chan blanches and leans away from her, almost falling onto Shouto-chan. He goes from bone white to tomato red in less than half a second, and Tsuyu watches this with interest. She hadn't been aware that humans could do that.

Izuku-chan shifts slightly, just barely moving out of Shouto-chan's personal space - to be polite, Tsuyu thinks, or possibly in the vain hope that less physical proximity might lessen the blood rushing to his cheeks. Shouto-chan doesn't seem to like that, the corner of his mouth twitching downward just slightly, but otherwise he doesn't give anything away. Weird. He usually shies away from physical contact.

"Uh - um, r-right," Izuku-chan stutters. It's pretty clear that he's intimidated by Ochako-chan. Tsuyu doesn't really understand that - Ochako-chan seems quite nice. Not scary at all. But, then again, looks can be deceiving, she supposes.

"W-well, you know Kacchan, of course - " Izuku-chan starts.

Ochako-chan's smile is starting to look pasted on, but she's nodding patiently. "Hello, Blasty."

"Round Face," Katsuki-chan acknowledges, putting down his drink.

"I was under the impression that you were on soulmate leave because Deku-kun is in the hospital."

"He's not my fuckin' soulmate, apparently," Katsuki-chan says blandly, blatantly ignoring every other part of the sentence and picking up his chopsticks.

That's news to Tsuyu. Although suddenly the lost expressions on Eijirou-chan's and Shouto-chan's faces when Katsuki-chan and Izuku-chan'd stormed off into the other room for their private meeting thing yesterday made a lot more sense.

Apparently it's news to Ochako-chan, too. "...I'm sorry, what?" she asks delicately.

Izuku-chan winces. "Yes, well. It turns out that our moms were wrong? About the whole soulmate thing? Um. Yeah."

Ochako-chan opens her mouth, then closes it slowly. "...what."

Izuku-chan decided not to expand on that at all, even though Tsuyu thinks that it would be quite interesting to hear. "That's Kirishima Eijirou, Kacchan's soulmate," he says, gesturing vaguely across the table at Eijirou-chan.

Eijirou-chan shoots her a friendly grin, which has the unfortunate side effect of making him look like a shark because of his sharpened teeth.

Ochako-chan, to her credit, doesn't seem fazed at all by this, smiling brightly back at him - though it's possible that Eijirou-chan's rather unique teeth just don't register as weird after the revelation that Izuku-chan and Katsuki-chan apparently aren't actually soulmates. Which is fair.

"And this is To - " Izuku-chan shoots a quick glance over to Shouto-chan, then revises his statement. " - Shouto, my soulmate."

Oh. Interesting.

Tsuyu knows that Shouto-chan doesn't like throwing his last name around - in fact, he prefers to pretend that it doesn't exist - so the fact that he's opened up enough that Izuku-chan both knows his family name and knows enough about the situation to know that Shouto-chan vehemently dislikes using it…

It's heart-warming, she thinks. It's good that Shouto-chan has someone he can trust like that. She should tell Yaomomo-chan about this whole debacle - she's absolutely positive that Shouto-chan won't be able to do it justice.

Ochako-chan appears to forget how to blink for a moment, but seems to note the slight tension in Shouto-chan's shoulders and politely doesn't comment about the whole name thing. Then her eyes bug out as she actually processes the information. "Wait, not the - "

Izuku-chan's face, which had previously been returning to its usual color, is suddenly bright red again. It's obvious to everyone at the table, even as he tries to hide it with his hands. "Yes, shut up," he mumbles.

Ochako-chan laughs, a bell-like sound, and Tsuyu's intrigued, but before she can ask what that means, Izuku-chan changes the subject by introducing her: "And that's - " he hesitates for a moment, seemingly wracking his brains, before giving up and just saying, "Tsuyu."

Tsuyu is immediately reminded that Izuku-chan doesn't actually know her last name, which is kind of strange to realize. It feels like they've known each other for longer than a week.

Well. Technically, they kind of have.

Izuku-chan's chased her before, tried to prevent her from stealing things from absurdly rich people with five houses in one city, tried to get things back from her once she'd stolen them. Tsuyu doesn't hold that against him, not really. He was doing his job, and technically the law was on his side.

(Laws can be pretty stupid somethimes.)

Technically, they've known each other for years, even met face-to-face a couple of times. She'd usually ended up giving him a mild hallucinogen whenever that happened, though. It had been mostly to invalidate his testimony and make him doubt what his own eyes were seeing, but there'd also been a not insignificant part of her that thought it had been kind of interesting to watch the dogged way that Izuku-chan had gone after her and whatever she'd stolen, even while muttering something under his breath about flying pink frogs.

Tsuyu probably shouldn't mention that to his face, though. Yaomomo-chan says bringing up poisoning people - or even giving them mild paralytics - is frowned upon in public. And Yaomomo-chan is a classy lady, so Tsuyu is going to take her word for it.

Tsuyu evaluates her feelings about Izuku-chan, about the team, and she can't believe that she's actually considering this, but. She knows all their names. It's only fair if she reciprocates.

Because, somehow, against all odds, she feels...safe, here.

It's a weird feeling, trusting people.

"Asui Tsuyu," Tsuyu croaks, and Shouto-chan very carefully does not react, even though he knows how much she likes her privacy. Eijirou-chan keeps his friendly smile on his face, expression not changing at all and yet somehow he manages to convey his shock. Even Katsuki-chan's eyes widen at her words.

Izuku-chan's mouth drops open, just the tiniest bit, and she's pretty sure that he knows she has family somewhere so he knows what she's giving them when she gives them her name.

Izuku-chan could find her family now, if he really wanted to. He could interrogate them about her whereabouts, not that that would get him anywhere. He could place them under surveillance and wait for her to return home and then arrest her. He could blackmail her, try to get back the few paintings and artifacts and jewels that she just couldn't bear to part with.

But he won't do that.

Because Izuku-chan's an honest man.

"Please, call me Tsuyu," she adds to Ochako-chan, who seems a little lost in the sudden weight to the conversation.

"Then you can call me Ochako!" she says brightly, bringing her hands together under her chin so that her fingertips are touching. She smiles, again, even more dazzling than before, and Tsuyu finally lets herself glance up to see her eyes and -

- With a single smile

You light the stars around

Can you see them glow? -

"Oh," Ochako-chan says, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, eyes wide. "It's you?"

Tsuyu nods. She's a little surprised by how...unsurprised she is by this development. She'd always imagined something a little more...dramatic, perhaps?

(It's entirely possible that the romcoms she watches with her siblings when she's home have influenced her expectations. Tsuyu realizes they're unrealistic, of course - they're romcoms - but somehow she finds she'd been expecting to be more...surprised, maybe? A shock, or a spark, something sudden, not a subtle, slowly growing realization that this woman is, in fact, her soulmate.)

(Tsuyu thinks she likes it better this way, though.)

.

.

.

So, yeah, Ochako and Tsuyu are soulmates, apparently. Izuku could not say that he'd been expecting that, but now that he actively thought about it? He could see it.

...Probably. There's still the whole 'opposite-sides-of-the-law' thing.

Like Eijirou and Kacchan.

...And him and Shouto.

Huh.

What were the odds?

Did everyone in the insurance investigating business - or, at least, the people who did field work - have a soulmate who was a criminal? That seemed unlikely, somehow.

...What did it say about him, Izuku wondered, that he isn't really as bothered as he should be by that.

Well, in any case. He seems to have been spared Ochako's wrath for now, which makes him breathe a silent sigh of relief. Ochako's wrath usually manifests itself as mildly humiliating pranks and photos for future blackmailing purposes, but the extent of the humiliation mostly depends on how grave the perceived slight had been. This whole situation? Enough for...anywhere from two months to a year, and he has no way of knowing unless she actually tells him.

Kacchan scoffs derisively from across the table. He'd probably been hoping for a show.

Izuku kicks him underneath the table.

Kacchan scowls, but Izuku feels justified. How else is Kacchan supposed to learn how not to be a dick, without positive punishment?

(It's not negative reinforcement. Izuku hates it when people get those terms mixed up.)

Ochako stares at Tsuyu from across the table, apparently struck wordless now that it's sunk in that she's found her soulmate. It's a normal reaction, really - Izuku's internal panicking meant that he's an outlier.

Since Izuku's a good friend (and also in the market for ways to mitigate any future retribution), he gives her a little nudge in the ribs with his elbow. The pressure jolts her out of her stupor and she blinks, surprised, before shooting him a brief, grateful glance.

Tsuyu hasn't moved an inch, still staring in Ochako's general direction, so Ochako circles the table and gestures awkwardly to the space next to her. "Can I sit here?" she asks breathlessly.

Tsuyu nods, dazedly, and Ochako sits down beside her.

The table is silent for a long moment, and Izuku takes the chance to eat some of his meal before it gets too cold to be enjoyable. Luckily for him, it's still warm.

"So, Tsuyu-chan," Ochako says, finally breaking the almost oppressive silence. "What do you do for a living?"

The table is abruptly quiet again, this silence far more tense than the previous one. Izuku catches Eijirou and Kacchan exchanging Looks.

No one knows what's going to happen next. Will Tsuyu lie? Tell the truth? Climb up the wall and into the rafters to ignore social interaction? Something completely unexpected?

(Does Tsuyu even know how to lie?)

It's like the room itself is holding its breath, waiting for the final crack that would break the dam.

"I climb things," Tsuyu says, and Izuku almost chokes on his water.

She's -

It's not a lie, exactly.

"Oh, that's fun," Ochako says, oblivious to the fact that Izuku might actually be dying a few seats over. "You mean, like teaching people rock climbing? I've always wanted to learn!"

"I do that on the weekends," Tsuyu replies blandly, which is - news to Izuku, actually. Huh. It seems that Tsuyu's not particularly keen on lying to her soulmate, but she probably won't confess to her actual job unless Ochako flat-out asks her if she's a thief.

"Oh! What do you do the rest of the time, then?"

Tsuyu glances around the table, making eye contact with Shouto, then Eijirou, then Kacchan, then finally with Izuku, who just sort of shrugs. He has no idea what to say.

Tsuyu looks like she wants to make a face at him, but refrains.

This does not evade Ochako's notice.

"Deku-kun," she says sweetly. "What the fuck is going on here?"

Izuku surveys the room. Technically, there's no one close enough to overhear him even if he does say 'Yeah, so, you know the thieves that we've been chasing pretty much our entire careers? These are them,' no one would hear.

Kacchan rolls his eyes when Izuku looks towards him, silently asking his opinion.

Eijirou eyes Ochako sharply, taking her in, and then gives Izuku a small shrug and a lop-sided smile that means, may as well.

Shouto fiddles with his phone for a second, and then the subtle sound of a white noise machine reaches Izuku's ears. He takes that as tacit approval.

He takes a deep breath, then says finally, "If I tell you, you won't have plausible deniability."

Ochako's eyes widen, and it looks like she kind of...forgets how to breathe for a second.

Honestly? Izuku doesn't blame her.

Ochako's eyes dart towards him again, then to the person sitting next to him - Shouto. She eyes his hands, messing with his phone under the table, and then his hood where Izuku suspects the faint light of a Bluetooth headset is blinking through it.

"Shouto," she says under her breath, then, still quietly - "sh0Ut0?!"

Ochako turns to Eijirou, eyeing his hair - still black from whatever Kacchan had done to it to make it very much not red in less than ten minutes - the little scar bisecting his eyebrow, and then, when he shoots her another friendly smile, his incredibly distinctive serrated teeth.

"Kirishima," she states, before turning back to Tsuyu. "Then you're - Tsuyu Tsuyu?"

Tsuyu deliberately looks into Ochako's eyes, and Izuku knows that they can hear their song, whatever it is. "Does that matter?" she asks quietly.

Ochako contemplates that for a long moment. "Well, at least you've never killed anyone," she says finally.

(Eijirou flinches noticeably, and his eyes dart involuntarily over to Kacchan, but he makes an admirable attempt to transform it into a shoulder roll. Izuku watches Kacchan's eyes flick over to him, but neither of them say anything to draw attention to him.)

(Kacchan rolls his eyes at Izuku's pointed look and shifts in his chair, bringing his arms from where they've been crossed behind his head down towards the table, purposely brushing the inside of his forearm down the length of Eijirou's arm as he goes.)

(Eijirou shivers almost imperceptibly, then looks at Kacchan the same way that Tenya looks at orange juice.)

(Wow.)

Izuku smiles to himself, then turns in his seat to share the moment with Shouto and -

- I write my fears on green notes -

Shouto's eyes widen and he averts his eyes - and, actually, this time Izuku knows why, instead of just guessing, for once.

"The cranes?" he asks quietly, moving closer to Shouto, just near enough for their sides to brush against each other.

Shouto nods slowly. "Yes, it's something - " His voice breaks, just slightly, so he clears his throat before he continues. "It's something Touya-nii taught me, before he - disappeared. Write your fears on paper and fold it into a crane. Then, you put it into a bottle and throw it into the sea. I started writing things in code after I escaped him, obviously, because I didn't want them to give away my position, and the bottles have holes in them so that they sink, but..." He trails off.

"My mom taught me something similar," Izuku says when it's clear that Shouto's starting to drown in his own thoughts, and not in a good way.

Shouto blinks slowly, processing, then raises his head. "She did?"

"Yes, although it wasn't quite the same. For one, we didn't really use codes…"

"Yes, I expect that my family is the only one who does that," Shouto says dryly.

Izuku shrugs, because there's not really much he can say to that. "...and instead of putting them in bottles, we attached the cranes to string and hung them up around the house like garlands. We always ended up using green paper, since it matched our hair color, and after my dad left we liked to emphasize the links between us as much as we could. It didn't hurt that green paper was always the cheapest…" Izuku shakes his head, clearing his cluttered mind. "Our apartment - we had to downsize from our house after we became a single-income household - we always had paper cranes hanging from the ceiling, the counters, the bookcases, and we almost ran out of room since my mom and I are serial worriers…"

Shouto's eyes are fixed on him, and Izuku can feel their weight encompassing him. It's nice - like a weighted blanket - and Izuku kind of wants to snuggle into the feeling, wrap it around himself, and never leave -

Something clicks for Izuku.

He's been pushing it out of his mind for a while now - ever since he'd discovered Shouto was his soulmate, not Kacchan - trying to focus on the job, but Izuku can't escape the fact that his soulmate's pretty staunchly a thief.

And Izuku's dreamt of upholding the law since he was three, when he wanted to be a superhero. Five, when he wanted to be a policeman. Six, when he thought firefighters were better. Seven, when he lost his arm hauling a nursery schooler to safety when the school was hit by an earthquake and the only thing getting him through physical therapy was his desire to help people. Eight, when All Might was rising through the ranks like he was flying and Izuku wanted to follow in his footsteps. Fifteen, when All Might retired from the ranks and spent his time doing community service and outreach and Izuku still wanted to join him. Eighteen, when All Might told Kacchan as his ward that he was going into the insurance business and Kacchan told Izuku and they decided together that they would follow in his footsteps.

(Twenty-two, when the insurance company they all worked for as good as killed All Might.)

Izuku's been helping people, upholding the law, for as long as he can remember, and Shouto's been breaking it for just as long.

The seem pretty incompatible in that respect, don't they?

That's what's been niggling at the corners of Izuku's mind pretty much constantly for the past - wow, has it really only been a day? Somehow, it feels like it's been longer. Much, much longer.

He'd ignored it, of course, as much as he could - he had to focus on the job, especially when one slip could mean that they all ended up arrested or dead or worse, but now that it's over, Izuku actually needs to think this through.

The main question: Does he want to pursue a relationship - any relationship - with his soulmate?

Absolutely, unhesitatingly, Izuku's answer is yes.

The next question: Does he want to test out a soulmate-level relationship with Shouto?

This question takes a little longer to answer, but eventually Izuku comes to the conclusion that, yes, he really would like to have that kind of intimate relationship with his soulmate, be it platonic or romantic.

Which would mean that they would need to spend more time together, getting to know each other.

And Izuku really isn't complaining about that, but that also means that they're going to have to figure out a way to bridge the gap between criminal and investigator.

Obviously, he'd love to get Shouto on the right side of the law, but when you've stolen as much as Shouto has, it's pretty much impossible to pretend that it never happened unless you break more laws and create a false identity. And, not to mention, Shouto has a very good reason to keep himself as anonymous as he can...

So, it looks like Izuku's going to need to be the one taking steps - and he sort of has, already, hasn't he? By taking this job, by going through with it, he's stepped forward.

But, well…

Still.

Izuku grins, taking in the lively scene before him. Ochako's just stolen some of Kacchan's meal and is eating it smugly. Kacchan has finally well and truly exploded - it's been building for a while, and honestly Izuku's pretty impressed that he's managed to keep a lid on it for the past few days, but he'd also been getting a little worried because it can't be healthy to keep all that rage bottled up for so long. He's jumped to his feet, bellowing inarticulately, and the only thing keeping him from launching himself at her is Eijirou's arm, solid as rock, around his waist holding him in place. Eijirou's laughing, and Tsuyu uses Kacchan's distraction to pilfer a few more vegetables from his bowl.

Izuku blinks, the beginnings of an idea coming together in his head.

Maybe…

Maybe, instead of upholding the law, he can try...picking up where the law leaves off?

"How do you feel about becoming Robin Hood, Shouto?" he asks Shouto, still watching the scene with amusement.

Shouto's lips curve into a slight smile, eyes brightening as he figures out where Izuku's going with this. "It's really not all that different from what I'm doing now."

Izuku concedes his point. Shouto, Tsuyu, and Eijirou really only steal from people who can afford it - or banks or museums with lucrative insurance policies. The amount of money they can make from a single heist is insane - Izuku is pretty sure that Tsuyu sends most of her money back to her parents, and obviously Shouto's kept some to buy houses and equipment, but what happens to the rest of it?

(Izuku has a sneaking suspicion that if he takes a closer look at some of the charities nearby the heist sites, he'll find that a suspicious spike in substantial anonymous donations will correlate with each heist. They might be more scattered in Shouto's case, since he mainly deals in virtual heists, but, nevertheless…)

He grins, moving his hand under the table to brush his fingers against Shouto's, letting the sounds of his friends arguing and laughing wash over him. Shouto starts, just slightly, almost imperceptibly, at the touch, but weaves their fingers together before Izuku can back off.

Izuku glances over at him, and he watches as a faint blush rises to Shouto's cheeks.

Vigilantism, huh?

Sounds like it could be fun.

.

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Notes:

this chapter is a whole ass 30k words what the actual fuck

welcome to my first completed chapter fic on ao3

how did this only take me three months

also i kind of left this open-ended because i like this universe and i might write more in it? let me know if that's something y'all might be interested in

soulmate songs:

tododeku: Passenger (Noah Kahan)

kiribaku: I'm Yours (Alessia Cara)

tsuchakko: Let the Rain Fall Down (YOHIO)

hot wings: Catch Fire (5SOS)

momojirou: You're the One (YOHIO)