Hawks is still a little in awe of his life.

For the record, none of this was his idea. He 'd intended to just have a quiet night off for his birthday, bundled up under an electric blanket in his apartment binge watching daytime dramas Miruko keeps recommending to him

.

But apparently that 's not how the newly twenty-one Number Three Hero is allowed to spend his birthday.

He was still a bit pissy and annoyed at the Commission interrupting his life again. You 'd think after becoming a legal adult with his own agency they 'd have less of a stranglehold on his life, but evidently Takami Tomie didn 't care to read the fine print of the contract she signed when she sold him off. He was never going to be truly rid of them.

Anyway, their 'advice ' for the night wasn 't entirely unreasonable in the grand scheme of things. He 's had interpersonal training for

years.

It 's why he 's so good on camera, why he never misses a beat in interviews no matter how bizarre the curveball of a question they throw at him is. He doesn 't lose his cool, even in rapidly escalating situations that would have most pros starting to sweat.

He 'd been expected to be able to hold his own under the influence of alcohol, so that wasn 't the issue here. He wouldn 't say he could drink a guy like Fatgum under the table or anything, but he can keep his composure under a few shots and a mixed drink or two ' the sort of drinking behavior people would expect of a young twenty-something with a charismatic reputation. The problem is, he 's so recognizable the Commission could never dare to toss him into an

actual

social drinking scenario under a fake ID, so he 's still a bit lacking in this area of expertise.

Now that he 's of age, infiltration and information gathering missions involving bars and nightclubs are going to start being a part of his regular repertoire. But he 'll need to get some firsthand experience before they start sending him out for real.

All this has just led to his current situation: unwillingly dragging himself through the miserable winter cold to down a couple drinks and see if he 's still capable of picking people up after it.

It wasn 't even his idea to pick this place in particular. His former espionage teacher had suggested it as a place to find easy marks. It also helps that it 's not as high-profile as some of the more popular spots in downtown Mustafu, as while he cultivates a reputation as being the young, fun, relatable and relaxed hero, they also don 't want him courting scandals. His first impression is ' it 's a bit of a dive, honestly. But the patrons seem to gravitate towards it specifically because of that.

He catalogs everything the moment he walks in: how many exits (three actually marked ones, and four more if he needs to break out in an emergency), how many employees versus patrons (two bartenders at each bar, plus barbacks, and security lightly dispersed around the walls), the loudness of the music (loud) and the average level of inebriation of the populace (very). It 's definitely the kind of place made for dancing rather than lounging on nice couches with a group of friends. Hawks isn 't entirely sure if he dislikes that or not ' one the one hand, the music is loud enough that he 'd have a problem with it after a few drinks with his sensitive hearing. On the other hand, the pounding bass discourages the painfully awkward small talk he generally dislikes and spurs everyone onto the dance floor instead.

This is good for Hawks, because he 's not really in the mood to plaster on a fake smile and turn on his charming and flirty persona.

This is also

terrible

for Hawks, because he absolutely cannot dance.

This is why no amount of theoretical training can ever make up for actually experiencing the real thing,

he thinks, terribly annoyed. Sure he's had plenty of lectures on how to behave in this situation, and read body language and manipulate drunk people, but no one ever told him he might have to

dance

while doing it. He hates when the Commission has a point. He hates it even more when he remembers he could have had these experiences

for real

had he never been signed over to them.

But by that same turn, he also wouldn 't be the Number Three Hero currently, so.

It is what it is, I guess.

He shakes his head and tears his brooding gaze away from the crowds. Alright, that 's enough maudlin thoughts for the night. He needs to get his head in the game here, if he 's going to succeed at all in this particular task.

'What did the dancefloor ever do to you, huh? '

He 's embarrassed to say he nearly jumps at the sudden voice. It 's just not normal, for someone to be able to sneak up on him like that, even if he was lost in thought.

He turns his head to see who managed such a feat and '

Oh.

Oh no.

Hawks panics.

He figured he 'd get a drink or two and flirt a bit just to get some practice before calling it a night and returning to his heated blanket and trash TV. He hadn 't actually thought he 'd find someone here he

actually

wanted to take home.

'You 're staring at it like you want to set it on fire with your eyes, ' the man adds, sounding sort of impressed.

'It 's not that, ' he protests, then realizes if he wants to continue that sentence he 's going to have to admit he doesn 't dislike the dancefloor so much as he 's actively terrified of it.

A slow grin grows on the man 's face. Hawks is both annoyed and turned on in equal parts by how easily the other man looms over him. He 's long and lean

everywhere,

and that smile is dangerous at point blank range like this. The multi-colored lights turn his bright white hair positively iridescent, and Hawks 's stupid raptor hindbrain fixates on the way the cuffs in his ears sparkle tantalizingly.

He leans down, and the impenetrable dark glasses slide down on his nose until Hawks is up close and personal with the breathtaking galaxy he knows is usually referred to on humans as eyes. A prism of color sparkles across their cerulean surface like stardust. There 's no way those are normal; an optic-quirk then, of some kind. Hawks wouldn 't be surprised to hear it 's hypnotizing, from his embarrassing reaction.

'Is it the song, then? If you tell me you don 't like Daft Punk, I don 't think we can be friends. '

He doesn 't even know what Daft Punk

is.

Hawks recovers himself enough to smirk back. 'So you want to be friends? '

He winks. 'Or something like that, yeah. '

Okay. That 's ' Yeah. He can do that. He chuckles. 'Buy me a drink first, then we 'll see. '

His companion doesn 't bat an eyelash at that, tugging him through the crowds towards the nearest bar, and then just conveniently doesn 't remove his hand from his waist as they sidle up to it. Hawks watches with what he hopes looks like sultry amusement but is actually unabashed keen observation, as he catalogs how smoothly the man cuts through the crowd, how he catches the bartender 's eye despite the throngs of people lingering around for a drink. The way he smiles and bends closer to her as if he 's trying to speak over the music, when he could have easily mouthed his order over the bar. The way this action makes her far more amiable, and even gets a smile. He slips her way more bills than Hawks thinks is necessary for two drinks, and she skips the queue to make his first.

He watches all of this with his sharp gaze, analyzing the technique and committing it to memory.

When the white haired man looks back at him, Hawks isn 't entirely sure what he 's supposed to do in this situation. He hopes it doesn 't show on his face as he leans in a bit closer, feeling the heat of the other man all along his side. There 's a flicker in those atmospheric eyes, something hot and cloying that Hawks just recognizes, instinctually, as desire. The open palm sliding up above his jacket to toy with the hem of his shirt is confirmation enough.

There 's something entirely too magnetic about him, something that has him pressing closer, in and up, until their faces are nearly touching and his superior sight can count each ice-white eyelash and the nearly indiscernible splash of freckles across his nose. The hand at his hip curls against his shirt, and searing hot fingers press against his bare skin send a shiver up his spine.

Hawks has no idea how the other man has enough presence of mind to tear his eyes away just as the bartender returns with their drinks. He lets out a breath he didn 't realize he was holding when the other man 's attention is briefly diverted, only for it to seize up in his throat when he turns back around and is once again the center of that intense gaze.

'I hope you don 't mind vodka, ' he says, passing one over to him.

Hawks takes it and glances down at it briefly. 'It 's all the same to me, ' he answers honestly, taking a sip. He blinks rapidly.

'Sweet, ' he remarks, a little surprised. He 's never had a mixed drink before. He 's only ever drank alcohol to build up his tolerance, and drinking it straight is the most efficient way to go about that.

His companion grins widely. 'What 's the point of alcohol without a little sugar? '

Hawks blinks again. Honestly, he has no idea. 'Fair enough, ' he says, easily. 'Thanks ' '? '

'Satoru, ' the man ' Satoru ' fills in.

He nods, smiling hesitatingly. 'Thanks, Satoru-san. ' Is that alright? It seems a little silly to be so formal when he 's fairly certain they 're going to end the night naked together, but he 's not sure how else he 's supposed to respond.

'Yeah, of course ' ' he pauses briefly, as if he 's waiting for something.

It takes Hawks an offbeat second to reply, as a couple realizations slam into him all at once.

One, Satoru has

no idea

who he is. And he actually kind of ' really likes that. Two, Satoru is a first name, and it would be weird to give anything less than his own given name in response. Three, he can either give his hero name instead, or try a name he hasn 't heard aloud in

years.

He has a feeling he 'll regret this, but he answers anyway; 'It 's Keigo. '

Satoru grins brightly. 'You 're welcome, Kei-kun~ '

He only just manages not to spit out his drink. The tips of his ears are probably turning a little red, much to his annoyance. He 's not usually flustered this easily, but now he 's second guessing himself. Was his own response too formal? Fuck, he really has no idea how these things go.

If he 's totally messing it up, Satoru either doesn 't notice or doesn 't care. His head snaps towards the DJ booth as the tempo of the music changes. He turns back towards Hawks, eyes bright behind his sunglasses.

He reaches down for Hawks ' hand and unceremoniously starts to drag him away from the bar. 'Come on, let 's dance. ' He winks at him. 'The music sounds better with you~ '

'Um, ' Hawks says, because he knows enough about flirting to toss a few clever quips at the media and his fans, but he 's never had to do it in practice with someone he 's actually attracted to and has no idea what to say to that.

Fortunately his tongue-tied silence works in his favor, as Satoru tugs him towards the throngs of dancers and the song transitions into the chorus and he recognizes it as an echo of Satoru 's words. Oh. That must be the name of the song or something. A clever pun, then, as he probably meant it as both a compliment and a remark on the music.

'Is this your song, then? ' Hawks asks over the beat.

'It 's a

classic, '

Satoru retorts, which doesn 't really answer the question. 'Doesn 't it just make you want to dance? '

Probably, if I had any idea

how

to dance,

Hawks thinks, with increasing panic.

That was probably a rhetorical question, as Satoru doesn 't wait for his answer, singing along to the lyrics with half the club shouting along with him. Of course he 's also got a great voice.

And

he can dance, evidently, as he very easily finds a rhythm to the beat. Why the hell is this guy so perfect? He 's suddenly intensely thankful to have a drink in hand, so he 's not just standing here looking totally out of place.

If he didn 't feel so out of his element currently he 'd probably be perfectly content to just sit here for hours and watch the lights glint across this man in dazzling colors, bright hues sliding through his hair as he moves. In total contrast to Hawks, he gets the feeling Satoru must be the type who goes to places like this often, given how easily he fits in.

Before he can give it much more thought, a hand tugs him by his elbow and suddenly Satoru is no longer just an enchanting tableau to admire, but a presence taking up all the space in his brain.

'Dance with me? ' He asks, all hopeful tone and killer smile and fuck, guess the gig 's up on this one.

'I don 't know how to dance, ' he admits.

He waits for the laugh, or look of incredulity. Maybe even a mocking smile. Satoru just blinks, head tilted, expression impossibly unreadable from behind those damn sunglasses. Then he downs the rest of his drink, puts it on a nearby table and pulls Hawks closer with both hands. Hawks does the same with his own drink and lets Satoru pull him further into the crowds.

Then the beat changes yet again, into something clearly everyone else in the club besides him recognizes by the cheers going up, even Satoru grinning widely as the rhythm changes. The taller man wraps both hands around his hips and pulls him closer.

'Don 't worry about it, ' Satoru says, smile absolutely wicked as he drags their hips together. 'Just follow my lead. '

//

@Ru-kun | Disco Queen

I AM A MAN OF MANY TALENTS, NO RESPONSIBILITIES, & REALLY GREAT DISCO

https://youtube.com/ru-kuns-disco-mix

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//

(Follow his lead, indeed.)

If the Commission driver is wondering why the hell Hawks of all people is taking a cab from his hotel to the Commission HQ, he 's the sort of squirrely Commission operative who understands the value of tact and wisely doesn 't comment.

Hawks appreciates it, honestly. His head is killing him, and after last night he doesn 't really think he has the energy to fly this early in the morning. By noon he should be fine to fly back to Kyushu, but for now he 'd just rather doze off in the back of a car and try to make up for all the sleep he emphatically did not get last night. Not that he 's complaining. The alternative was ' far more pleasurable, and the sort of experience he doubts he 'll ever forget for the rest of his life.

Is steam coming out of his ears right now? Probably.

He gets it together ' barely ' by the time he has to meet with his handler, who promptly informs him he 's unlikely to make it back to Kyushu today since he 's been tapped for a mission. Apparently they have a developing situation involving an entire factory of hostages, and of course Hawks is an ideal candidate for those kinds of rescues. So he puts his game face on and goes to meet with the coordinator in charge of this mission, privately admitting the mission is a good way to get his mind off of last night.

It was incredible, but probably not the sort of thing he can get away with doing again anytime soon. He just doesn 't have the time, and it 's probably not worth the risk of a possible scandal that could result because of it. And frankly, he doubts he 's going to get a better lay than Satoru, and he has no idea how to get in contact with him since they didn 't exchange numbers. Best to just leave it as a fond memory and move on.

He meets with the key players for this operation, intrigued to see all of them are underground heroes who have been gathering intel for the police. In fact, he 's the only spotlight hero here. It actually makes him feel a little out of place. He 's used to being either the object of ecstatic joy or unrepentant jealousy, but these folks just seem curious and bemused at his appearance.

He doesn 't let the atmosphere of the room get to him, grinning widely. 'Hiya! I 'm Hawks, nice to meet 'cha! ' He claps his hands. 'So, what 's the situation? '

By his side, an underground hero with a scarf around the bottom half of his face and his hair in disarray gives a laborious sigh, as if the mere thought of dealing with someone of Hawks ' upbeat energy for an entire mission is enough to drain him of his will to live.

Hawks smiles even wider, and vows to be especially annoying to this one in particular.

//

@Ru-kun | Disco Queen

My life is a sprite vodka chased by what I think is water, but is actually just another sprite vodka.

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//

Gojo throws an arm over his eyes, which still pound in his head despite both his arm and his blindfold blacking out the sun. This is what he gets for trying to fuck his way out of his own existential angst. He feels like he got hit by a bus, or alternatively, enthusiastically fucked into next Sunday. After drinking half his body weight in vodka.

My life is a sprite vodka chased by what I think is water, but is actually just another sprite vodka,

he types out for his Twitter, which has quickly become his rather convenient replacement for conventional therapy.

And it is entirely my own damn fault.

Not that he regrets it, really. Keigo had been funny, clever, and much sharper than his laidback and amicable persona let on. Also: an incredible lay. And super hot. No complaints on that front. Gojo sort of wishes they 'd exchanged numbers just so he could hit him up for a booty call, but Gojo 's never actually joking when he says he 's got a crippling fear of commitment. Even friends with benefits would be pushing it right now, so it 's probably for the best to go their separate ways.

Still, for how great he felt last night he 's equally as miserable now.

He groans aloud as he flings his phone away from him, even the light of the screen too much for him.

'Dabi-san? ' A tentative voice calls. 'Are you okay? '

Gojo shoves his arm up and cracks open one red-rimmed eye to see Midoriya staring at him in obvious worry.

He wonders what it says that it 's winter break and this kid is still showing up to this roof everyday without fail. Then he wonders what it says about

him,

a grown adult, more or less doing the same. Well, it 's not that he doesn 't have things he could be doing, but rather that he has no desire to do any of it. And he 's spent so long making this bench of his into a place worthy of lounging around, so he may as well make the most of it.

'Just fine, ' Gojo croaks out. 'I 'm running away from all of my responsibilities, and it feels

great. '

'Ah ' okay. ' For a kid who talks so much, Midoriya is pretty easy to stump. He 's such a sweet and innocent bean; he 's definitely never had to put up with someone who trolls quite as much as Gojo before, and doesn 't seem to know what to do with him.

There 's quiet for a while, a reprieve Gojo is keen on taking for as long as its available to him. Midoriya is a chatterbox on the best of days; even endless laps up and down the rooftop or circuit training aren't enough to fully get him quiet. But after a few more minutes of the unerring silence, its unusualness starts to grate on Gojo, instincts telling him something 's wrong here. Midoriya is

never

this quiet, and there 's also a distinct lack of the noise that accompanies physical exercise.

'Izu-kun? ' He asks, without removing his arm from his eyes.

He hears it when Midoriay flails and straightens up in surprise. 'Err ' yes! Yes? '

'What 's got you all up in knots, kid? '

Midoriya wrings his hands. 'You 're ' did you get in a fight? '

'Huh? '

'I mean ' are you injured? You don 't look injured, but you also seem like you 're in pain, so I guess it might just not be a visible injury. Is it an internal one? Those are really dangerous you know, have you gotten it checked out? Wait '

can

you get it checked out? I guess you can 't really go to a hospital, but surely there are underground clinics or something, or maybe you have a healer you go to for these things ' '

Ah, and there 's the rambling. 'I 'm fine, kid, ' Gojo assures him, amused. 'I 'm just disastrously hungover. '

'... Oh, ' says Midoriya.

'Anyway, what 's up? '

There 's another long moment of flustered, indecisive silence. It's awkward and heavy and full of some kind of anticipatory tension Gojo hadn 't expected.

'Have you ever wondered what you could have been, if you 'd been a hero? ' Midoriya finally asks.

Gojo tries to process the question, and fails. '...Uh. What? '

'I ' I 'm so sorry! ' Midoriya stutters, panicking. 'I didn 't mean to offend you! I 'm not implying, I mean, I don 't think '

Gojo sighs. 'I 'm not offended, Izu-kun, I just genuinely have no idea what you 're trying to ask me. '

'Oh, ' Midoriya says. 'Um, well, I guess I just don 't really understand why you decided to be a villain. Your quirk is

incredible.

And you 're so cool and so strong! You could be a top hero easily. '

It 's cute he thinks there were any decisions involved there. 'Nah, I don 't like being told what to do. '

'Oh, ' Midoriya says again.

He sounds utterly confused. Like a sad whining puppy left tied to a fire hydrant while their owner argues with the barista inside over how many espresso shots count as an 'extra '. Abandoned and bereft and a little bit betrayed. Which is ridiculous, because he knew upfront that Gojo was a villain. And Gojo has never seen the need to explain to him just why that is when Midoriya has never asked him about his motivations before. It 's not like he 's got some manifesto or something, or that whatever his reasons may be justify the lives he 's taken.

Gojo sighs. It 's downright unreasonable, how difficult it is to deny this kid anything.

'Look ' heroes are a

profession.

Worse, an outsourced and questionably regulated one. The whole industry is just one big cycle of outlandishly costumed aggression, where the person who goes to jail versus the person who gets slapped on the wrist with a fine is entirely based on who 's holding the bigger stick. Right now that 's the HPSC, who 's got half the Diet bankrolled and enough clout in the World Heroes Association to have them look the other way. '

'Am I saying that the HPSC is terrible and doesn 't do any good for society? Not exactly, although honestly I think it 's debatable. I 'm saying they 've got no accountability for their actions and no transparency and no oversight from the government, and the last place I 'd want to be is under their thumb. '

Midoriya stares up at him with wide eyes, for once shocked into complete silence.

'So ' it 's a political thing for you? ' Midoriya asks, brow furrowed.

'Not really. I 'm just also allergic to responsibility, ' Gojo admits.

Sure, he thinks the HPSC is probably rotten inside and out and if he cared enough to snoop through their dirty laundry he could probably find enough evidence to burn the whole thing to the ground (literally and figuratively). 'But he also has zero interest in doing any of that, because that would require him to actively

care

about the state of this world. Which is something he has emphatically decided never to do again, ever. So.

'Oh. ' Midoriya looks down.

His expression is twisted up into something not unlike a grimace, hands nervously clinging to his arms. Honestly. This kid is an open book sometimes.

He swings himself upright with a groan full of regret for each and every one of his drunken decisions, wincing as the movement makes his head spin.

'Right. Okay. What 's

actually

going on kid? '

'I just ' if I want to be a hero ' does that make us enemies? '

Oof. Okay he 's a little too hungover for this conversation. He sighs deeply, flinging his head back as he squeezes his eyes shut and uses his reverse-curse technique to cure his own hangover. It feels like a sledgehammer bludgeoning against his temples for a few excruciating seconds, and then the pain and the hangover completely evaporate.

He tosses his blindfold off, blinking furiously into the light. As he expected, Midoriya is clutching his arms like a fretful old lady clutching her pearls, worried and nervous and watching him with wide eyes.

Gojo cracks his neck with a grunt. He hates curing his hangovers that way. It's better to just ride it out normally than deal with the intensity of the pain of reversing it.

'You 've always said you wanted to be a hero, what brought this on now? ' He asks, instead of directly answering the question.

There 's clearly something weighing on this kid, and he seems to be having issues just outright asking about it.

'Well yeah, but that was kind of just in the abstract, right? ' Midoriya explains, apprehensively. 'Now I 'm ' I 'm really going to be applying for the U.A. entrance exams. And if I get in ' then I 'll be a real hero in training! '

Gojo just blinks at him, nonplussed. 'Well I would hope so. Otherwise all this training would be going to waste, right? '

Midoriya 's mouth opens, eyes getting bigger. Evidently he hadn 't thought about that. 'Oh. Right. '

The fact Gojo was here at all was his implicit approval of Midoriya 's career goals.

'Look, you should do what makes you happy. If that 's being a hero, so be it. Will that make us enemies? Probably. '

All the color drains out of Midoriya 's face.

Gojo waves him off. 'At least in the eyes of the law. I 'm a villain, and it 'll be your job to arrest me. Whether or not you

can

arrest me... haha, that's a totally different question. '

He looks down, fluffy green hair hiding his expression from Gojo. 'So ' we can 't be friends anymore? ' He asks, in a tremulous voice.

Gojo smiles tightly. 'That 's going to have to be your call to make, Izu-kun. I don 't have any issues consorting with heroes ' at least the good ones ' but I 'm aware that standard doesn 't really go both ways. '

The green-haired teen nods wordlessly.

Gojo watches him work through this at his own pace, feeling rather maudlin. It 's funny, just last night he was considering half-formed ideas about properly training Midoriya for real, and all of those are turning to dust right in front of him. Of course he can 't train Midoriya, or even interact with him in any greater capacity than he already has. Gojo is a villain, and Midoriya is trying to be a hero. And heroes and villains ' are enemies. Certainly not mentor and apprentice, or teacher and student.

'I ' Dabi-san, you 're my very first friend, ' Midoriya admits, after a long moment of silence. 'Or well, my first in, in a really long time. And you 've done so much for me, and been so patient and helpful, and I just ' '

He struggles for words.

'I don 't want to lie to people. I want to stay friends with you, and right now there 's really no one to ask me questions about where I go and stuff so it 's not like I 've

had

to lie about you or anything, I just say I 'm going out somewhere and try not to be very specific. But, you see, a hero asked me to train with him, and I ' '

'You want to train with him, because he 's a hero, and that 's what you 're trying to be, ' Gojo finishes for him, voice gentle.

Midoriya looks up, stricken. 'But I don 't ' I don 't want you to think, I mean, I 'm not trying to, I 'm just worried ' ' He puts his face in his hands as his attempts at explaining himself become increasingly garbled.

Gojo is

a little

sympathetic. 'I 'm not offended, ' he says honestly. Maybe a little disappointed, but that 's his own damn fault. 'You can break up with me if you want to, ' he adds jokingly, just to lighten the mood.

'That 's not what I want at all! ' Midoriya wails. Then his own words catch up to him and he flushes to the roots of his hair. 'Wait ' wait! That 's not ' I didn 't mean it like that! '

Gojo grins roguishly. 'That 's how it is, huh? Izu-kun, you heartbreaker! '

Midoriya glowers at him miserably. 'Dabi-san, ' he whines, helplessly.

'Sorry, sorry. ' Gojo spreads his hands. 'You just make it so easy, Izu-kun! '

Midoriya sighs heavily in response, clearly having no real retort to something so obviously true.

'I 'm not explaining myself very well at all, ' the boy admits, lips pursing. That determined look of his crosses his face, and this time when he tries again Gojo knows he 'll get it right; 'I really value you a lot, Dabi-san, even if you

are

a villain and as an aspiring hero one day we might have to stand on opposite sides. I appreciate everything you 've done and I don 't want to stop, but now that I 'm training with a hero mentor my schedule is going to be all over the place and I don 't want to have to lie to him ' so I 'm not really sure how to solve this situation. '

Gojo hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin.

'Hmm, so let me get this straight ' you might not agree with my villainous ways but you also don 't care that I am one; you 're worried about having to lie to a hero you look up to, and you do in fact want to continue training with

both

of us but don 't want to have to lie to do it. '

Midoriya rubs the back of his head sheepishly. 'Uh ' yeah. I guess that 's about it. '

He claps his hands. 'So! Basically what you 're asking me to do is lie

for

you! '

Midoriya 's anxiety is quickly heading into neurotic meltdown territory. 'N 'N 'No! I could never just ask you to do that! I know I already take up so much of your time ' and you already do so much for me ' '

'It 's really not that big of a deal, ' Gojo waves him off. 'I 'm a villain, Izu-kun! Lying is hardly my worst offense. And I 'm pretty good at it! '

Midoriya slowly perks up, hopeful expression dawning like sunlight over the horizon. Like he can 't believe there 's actually someone in his life that would want to stick with him, despite unfavorable circumstances. 'Okay ' if it 's really alright. '

'Sure! ' Gojo throws him a peace sign. 'I can play nice with heroes! '

And by play nice, he really just means annoy the shit out of them in a capacity in which they can 't retaliate, but Midoriya doesn 't need to know that.

//

@Ru-kun | Disco Queen

My entire existence is causing chaos just to do it interspersed with gentle panic attacks and neurotic shoe purchasing

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//

Later that night, after drinking a sufficient amount of electrolytes and stuffing his face with more pastries than the average human should ever reasonably consume, Gojo meanders his way over to a rooftop where he knows Eraserhead 's nightly patrol passes through. He feels much more awake than he had earlier in the day, and in the damning light of sobriety he finds doubts creeping up into his head once again.

He hadn 't quite agreed to meeting Midoriya 's hero contact, nor continuing their training in light of his new acquaintanceship, but he knows in his heart what he wants to do. And he 's not really in the habit of lying to himself about his own feelings, even if he is in the habit of drinking and/or fucking his way out of having to acknowledge them.

That little green-haired brat has grown on him a bit, is the problem. And he doesn 't trust most heroes as far as he can throw them. And Midoriya, bless him, is demonstrably too naive for his own good, what with befriending a known villain. He doesn 't trust any heroes with the pure-hearted kid, unless he 's properly vetted them. Even the ones that seem squeaky clean on paper ' actually,

especially

those kind.

Because they 're the worst, and he has no interest in consorting with them.

See, he says this.

(And then he apparently went and fucking clowned himself last night by sleeping with quite possibly the worst of the lot.)

'Help me Eraser-kun! ' Gojo shouts cheerfully, as the white blur of a familiar capture weapon wraps against a telephone pole below his perch. 'You 're my only hope! '

The man it belongs to enters his line of vision, looking visibly exhausted at the thought of Gojo. This, of course, just utterly delights Gojo and encourages him to randomly drop by some more.

'Help you with what? ' He says, tiredly. 'You don 't look like you 're in need of any saving. '

He waves his bag of goodies at the man. 'I bought too many nyan cat buns, and I can 't eat them all! You have to help me ' and these ones are taro flavored! '

Eraserhead gives a monumental sigh, clearly working up the mental fortitude to deal with Gojo. Then he uses his capture weapon to leap up onto the roof next to him; he looks as if he has once again eschewed sleep in favor of prowling the city streets like a lost extra out of a dystopian zombie apocalypse film.

'Not you too, ' Eraserhead begs, blandly, as he collapses next to Gojo. 'There 's only so many irreverent and inconvenient upstarts I can deal with in a twenty-four hour period, and my allotment is all used up. '

He offers out a bun to Eraserhead, who politely declines it. Which is amusing, as he 's all but feral as he lunges for the boss coffee Gojo offers him next.

Gojo pouts as he uneaths his own drink ' an extra sweet milk tea. 'Someone beat me to the punch? I 'm offended! Who 's dethroned me? '

'Hawks, ' Eraserhead says, and looks as if just saying the name exhausts him.

'Hawks? ' Gojo repeats. 'Who 's that? '

Eraserhead turns to squint at him with a dumbfounded look. 'You seriously don 't know? '

'Why would I? '

'... He 's the Number Three Hero. ' Eraserhead says, slowly.

'Why would I know anything about heroes? ' Gojo returns.

'You really don 't care at all about heroes, huh? ' Eraserhead remarks drily, smiling around his coffee.

'No, why would I? ' Gojo blinks.

Eraserhead looks as if he 's just given up on ever understanding Gojo or his logic. 'Villains tend to care about heroes ' because they 're in direct opposition of them, ' he explains, patiently. 'But then again, you don 't seem to go after heroes much. '

' or have much in the way of opposition.

He shrugs. 'Let 's just say if I 'm gunning for them, then they don 't deserve to be heroes. '

Eraserhead sighs. 'If that 's the case, the law exists for a reason. '

'The law is hardly infallible, ' Gojo returns.

Eraserhead opens his mouth to protest, but is interrupted by a vibration in his pocket. Which quickly turns into multiple vibrations. Eraserhead looks taken aback at first, but then a look of realization dawns on his face and his expression quickly falls into resigned exasperation.

He takes the phone out, grimaces, and then turns the screen in Gojo 's direction.

'That 's

Hawks. '

Gojo leans closer. It 's a message conversation between Eraserhead and someone listed just as 'Hizashi '.

You should have told me you were bringing me a present Shou!!

You know how I hate surprises!

But seriously I 'm so hyped thank you!!

My listeners are gonna love this!

Below the message spam is a photo of a man with outrageously styled blonde hair, bulky headphones and yellow sunglasses. He 's grinning widely and mugging the camera in what looks like a recording studio of some kind, one arm thrown around '

A very familiar blonde with bright red wings.

Gojo turns away and promptly spits out his drink.

Somewhere in this city, he 's fairly certain Makoto is laughing at him.