He’d calmed down, somewhat. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep. He’s not exactly sure which, but he finds himself blinking at his phone again, still curled in the blanket he’d been given, package still tucked against his stomach where he’s got it cradled against him. He’s sifting through messages like he’s been doing, reading and rereading the ones signed off under his name, the ones he doesn’t recognize, the ones he knows... she wrote.
He frowns, anxious.
Slowly, he shifts enough so that he can type properly, tapping out a quick little message:
“Come over?
Please.”
He sends it over, then curls up again, waiting for him.
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It’s the last class of the day. Monoma doesn’t really have the strength or the patience to sit properly through it. Quietly, he skims through the texts on his phone, thinking hard as he devotes what’s left of his attention to keeping his device hidden behind his books.
What’s transpired yesterday goes through his head, over and over, over and over. He’s so tired.
... What was the point anymore? The routine of it all makes him itch, but the thought of straying for even a second is much, much worse. If he keeps pretending he’s okay, everything would be fine. If he just keeps acting normal, everything will be okay. If he just... focuses on what’s around him, on the world around him, on the light in his life instead of letting the darkness grab at him again, then everything... everything would go back to how it was. Before everything around him had started to fall apart.
His phone pings silently a few times. A few new messages, some from the groupchat, most from the few persistent villains who refused to give him space. He answers them, vaguely reluctant, more out of habit, out of some need to...
... No. Normal. He has to separate. He has to regain what he had in the beginning of the year. He has to... remember why he wanted to be a hero in the first place. He’d had a good reason, hadn’t he...?
Grimacing as his thoughts start to spiral, he hunches down in his chair, face starting to blanch. No, no... This isn’t just him getting upset. He’s... There’s something wrong...
A grunt squeezes its way past his mouth. He hunches again, then grimaces, hand slapping to his mouth. No, no, he feels sick... Shaking his head to himself, he suddenly rises out of his seat, chair scraping loudly behind him as he stands, not even caring about the eyes that suddenly snap towards him as his hand instinctively clutches to his stomach and he rushes out of the room.
Bakugou walks in quick strides as he makes his way outside, moving at a slightly faster pace than the usual. With only fifteen minutes before he and Monoma are supposed to be in detention he's not going to take any risks. The last thing he wants is to wind up being punished again on top of the time he's currently serving.
As he heads for the gates — where Monoma said he'd been in the group chat — he wonders back to the game of truth or dare a few days ago, how Monoma had been acting then. How Monoma is acting now. Quiet. Apologetic.
Though everyone else may be quick to accept Monoma's excuse about not feeling well, Bakugou has a vague feeling it isn't just that. There has to be something else going on here. He definitely knows Monoma better than just that.
It doesn't take him long to find Monoma, spotting him sitting in the grass. Staring at his phone. Heading towards him, Bakugou suddenly smacks Monoma over the head with his bag — not enough to hurt him, obviously, but enough to get his attention.
He recognizes that blank stare anywhere. Especially being that he's had that exact same stare before.
"Get up, moron," he snaps. "We need to go."
The smack breaks him out of his thoughts, though he's not really thinking much. He's not really. Processing. Much. There were words on the screen that he'd definitely been reading, and there were words on the screen that he'd definitely typed, though the second he looked away, it's as if he'd never...
...
It's hard to grasp what's really happening in his head. It was like trying to see the world through a filter, but instead of a screen of color it was a solid black wall, blocking everything out. Blocking him from himself.
He wants to rest. Or, he thinks he might. Someone has told him he should, that's what it was, so maybe...
He reaches up and touches where the bag had bounced off his head. "Oh." He glances up at Bakugou and then back at his phone, typing a quick message goodbye before he climbs to his feet. "Sorry," he says softly, not sounding particularly quiet, just... distant. "I didn't realize what time it was," he explains, though he vaguely feels like he's maybe said that already, maybe to a different person, he can't remember. "I was losing track..."
Bakugou stares at him for a moment, lips pursed. Taking in his posture, his appearance. His reactions. Examining him. Then, adjusting his bag over his shoulder, he manages a grunt. "'S fine. As long as we make it on time, I don't care. Come on," he adds, and motions for Monoma to follow him. "Let's get outta here."
As they walk, Bakugou continues to keep a close eye on Monoma. He should've known. There is definitely something he doesn't quite understand at play here, something he doesn't even think he wants to know about. How someone could go from Monoma had been acting earlier to this in such a short amount of time... It can't be possible.
It's like Monoma has become a completely different person. Not once, but twice. And Bakugou isn't quite sure about how he's expected to respond to it, how he's supposed to in the first place.
However, there's definitely one factor he understands for that, that being the distance gaze in Monoma's eyes. He remembers what it was like when he'd been like that, too — is still like, too, but not nearly as bad as before. Hardly noticeable, but there. Being out of the dorms for the first time in over a week is odd, like he's stepped out of this plane of existence and entered a completely new one... One that is familiar but not, one that feels new but he knows isn't...
"Hey," he says after a few moments. They're not too far from the assigned classroom now, barely going to make it on time. And he's certain it's just going to be the both of them the entire time, two hours of just the both of them sitting in an empty room... Gives me the chance to catch up on work, at least.
Then he realizes he still hasn't spoken. "You," he says, "have a lot of explaining to do. About what's going on. And I don't wanna hear crap excuses, you hear me?"
Monoma is still rubbing that little spot on his head that Bakugou had hit. It's not like it... hurts at all, not really. More like he kind of wants it to. More like he's remembering something bad and remembers how it felt and is wondering how something could possibly exist as a sensation that doesn't feel as bad as that. He kind of wishes it was hurting, or, still hurting, because then he wouldn't have to think about how it had hurt, which made no sense, but it's what's drilling-.. driving into him... Stealing every thought away.
He wishes he could rest somewhere.
"... Okay," Monoma answers quietly. For half a second, he almost blurts the truth out. It would've been easy to, like this. Though, he wouldn't have known how to start. There were videos, apparently, and he had them on his phone, a little treat that Toga decided would be useful for him once she'd returned the device to him. He could always show him. That seems easier than having to explain- no, but what had that Deku said? Did he mention any of his secret wants? His desires? Did it reveal what he was doing? What even brought him to that place?
No.
Better to lie about it. But what was he supposed to say? Toga had given him instructions on how to adapt. Deku had as well. He barely remembers them though. Something about being sick. Something about pills. Something. His head hurts, or, wants to hurt, and he can't stop thinking about that. That's probably a crap excuse, though, isnt it...? And he doesn't want to give Bakugou any grief.
They get to the classroom, and he's listless as he finds his desk. There's a teacher there to make sure that they are in place before they're left alone, which... Monoma doesn't like but also can barely concentrate on. He's still thinking about Bakugou's demands. He's still... having trouble... thinking about what he should say...
"... I guess... I'm not... feeling well," he mumbles to his desk, nails digging in lightly to where they're still pressed to his head. "And I haven't been, for a while... aha...."
Bakugou sits at a desk several rows away from Monoma, merely offering a nod in acknowledgement until the teacher gets up and leaves the classroom; at which point he slams his bag down on the ground and then marches over to Monoma, slamming his hands down on Monoma's desk and gazing at him quite seriously.
"It isn't just that, though," he insists, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument. "There's something else going on, isn't there? Something you're not telling me." Then, suddenly, it hits him — like a punch to the stomach, and he reels. It didn't have to with the other night, did it? When we...?
He shakes his head at that thought. No. This isn't about that. This is... Bakugou has never seen Monoma like this before. Never seen him in this state, closed off from the rest of the world... It's such a terrible thing to see in person, and Bakugou briefly wonders if that's what Monoma had seen in him during their fight.
He groans. "Fine," he says. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. It seems pretty serious." However, his volume rises slightly as he adds, "But you'd better be talking care of yourself, you hear me? If not I'll kick your sorry ass!"
With that, he returns to his own desk and sits down.
Monoma blinks, staring impassively as Bakugou struggles through his words. It's almost funny, though he can't really find the humor in him to really laugh about it. It's... almost a lot of things, but nothing he can really place right now.
His eyes follow him as he returns to his desk. He finally brings his hand away from his head, folding his arms on the desk before he lays against them, sighing as the cold surface presses against his cheek. He closes his eyes for a second before he's opening them again, turning his head to watch Bakugou settling into his seat.
"... You really care about me, huh...?" he asks slowly, his voice soft, almost fond. "Trying to make sure I take care of myself... that's kind of funny." His eyes close again, though he's not really tired... more just drifting. "Can't say I mind the attention, really..."
Bakugou merely grunts in response, already reaching for his bag in order to pull out some of the work that needs to be done; and, being that it's been seven school days since the last time he was in class, it's quite a lot to catch up on.
"Well, you're going to have to get used to it either way," he responds at last, resting his face against one hand as he opens up a book and begins to gloss his eyes over the text inside. The words seem to blend together, blur and dissolve. Being that he hasn't slept well in days and he's currently sitting in a quiet, empty classroom, staying awake isn't exactly an easy feat. "We're going to be stuck with each other for a while."
Truthfully, Bakugou isn't too fond of the idea. Not after... what happened. His lips tingle at the memory and the hand rested against his cheek subconsciously clenches. He blinks slowly, taking in a short breath and urging himself to focus.
So he really doesn't want to talk about what's been going on lately, then, Bakugou considers, especially after the truth or dare game. It's almost like... he hadn't been there at all. He falls silent.
Monoma's eyes flit open again. He's back to watching Bakugou quietly, vaguely trying to read his thoughts through the expressions passing on his face. He seems upset. Bakugou upset for him seems like a nice thought, for a little bit.
He sighs. "Is that such a bad thing...? Being stuck together." He shifts slightly, hair falling further into his face as he does. "I was kind of hoping you'd of grown to tolerate my presence just a little bit... considering all the time we've spent. ... Does it really bother you?"
"Honestly," Bakugou replies, looking up from his reading and giving Monoma a brief glance before returning to the paragraph his brain refuses to let him pass, "I don't want to be around anyone right now." Not after the kidnappings. Not after the hospital. Not after Deku.
"You're fine," he adds a moment later, realizing he hasn't done much to answer the actual question. "There are worse people I could be stuck in detention with. That's it."
Monoma nods a little. "It's going to make a funny story, in any case..." he sighs, talking more to keep himself from dozing off. "If people aren't already gossiping about it all. Us, alone..." He smiles vaguely. "In detention, of all places..."
Laughing softly, he sighs again. "The troublemakers of our year... That'll be something to write about in ten years, when we're both pros... hah..."
Bakugou casts a side glance at Monoma, not at al appreciating the half-assed responses - but, then again, he supposes there’s been a lot going on with Monoma lately. The exhaustion, the distance… It isn’t as if there’s no justification behind it… Turning away, Bakugou returns his attention to the work in front of him.
“I get that you’re tired,” he says, “but you probably shouldn’t sleep here. If a teacher walks in and sees you napping through your punishment it isn’t gonna turn out well for you.” However, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t tired himself.
It’s silent for a few moments. Then he says, “Thanks… for the other day.”
"Don't tell me what to do," Monoma mumbles out automatically. "Things aren't turning out well at all anyway, I hardly care..."
Then, shifting a little, he lifts his head, mimicking the way Bakugou has his head propped up against his arm as he stares him down. "Mm... you're welcome. I have to assume, since you're thanking me, that it helped a little? I'm glad..." He smiles again, still as vague and distant as everything else. "I do have to say, though, thinking about it... it was very unlike you. But, if it helped, it helped, mm...? Again..." His smile edges closer to a devious grin, albeit a weak one. "It makes for a funny story."
"Yeah, I know," Bakugou replies, more of a mutter than anything. He grimaces at remembering his own actions, how vulnerable he'd made himself and how he must've looked, being in such a pathetic state. He hates it, the thought that anyone should be able to see him at anything but his best, his strongest... And yet... "It wasn't like me at all. I had... I had no idea what the hell I was doing."
I still don't, he wants to add, but resists. He shifts his gaze and makes eye contact with Monoma. "And it's not funny. It's stupid. It shouldn't have happened in the first place." He turns away. "I don't have time for that kind of thing. I need to focus on hero work and that's it. Can't believe I even managed to let myself get distracted for this long already."
Monoma hums out a thoughtful note. "I think you like being distracted," he muses, voice lowering into a sly purr. "You at least realizes it helps. And you need the help, don't you...?" He pauses, quieting long enough to wonder to himself what he was doing before he brushes the thought away, banishing it to that far-away place inside him that the rest of his identity seemed to have hid itself away in.
"Are you taking your own advice, Bakugou?" he asks. "Have you been taking care of yourself? You look tired." He's smirking now, snickering quietly. "Maybe you need more of my help, hmmm?"
Bakugou doesn't flinch at the suggestion. In fact, he isn't even surprised. Rather, he lowers his gaze and, for what feels like the thousandth time, regards his bandaged arms, the unhealed burns that exist beneath them. From the fight. From Monoma. Not even Izuku had been able to do that kind of damage since their last fight, and even so... It's odd, how he enjoys them being there. How their mere existence affirms the strength that exists within Monoma, too, something Bakugou had grossly underestimated...
Kissing Monoma is different. Everything about Monoma is different. New. Refreshing. Unlike Izuku, who Bakugou's known for his whole life... He hardly knows anything about Monoma. He can't read him, predict him, and it's an exciting feeling, not knowing what the other is going to do next. He has to stay cautious, stay on his toes, and see what happens.
Regardless... Maybe, just this once, Monoma is right.
Slowly, Bakugou begins to push out of his chair. "Fine."
Monoma's eyebrows raises. The scrape of the chair as it was pushed back seemed incredibly loud in the otherwise silent room, demanding his attention, and he blinks as he watches Bakugou start to rise up. "Hm? What? Really? Ha..."
It was the same as before, wasn't it? The way he flirts and teases, playing this little game with his words and never really catching on that he was actually, seriously trying - and succeeding - at lurking Bakugou in. That was a nice little feeling. A powerful one. His heart actually starts to feel like it's beating again, just a teeny tiny bit.
"... What if a teacher walks in? You can't exactly call this a punishment." Another weak, playful smile. "Unless that's what this is all really about. ... What do you think?"
Bakugou, standing, glances towards the door. He squints for a few seconds, considering, before he walks over and clicks the button on the handle; subsequently locking them inside. "There," he says, and turns away. "Now nobody can get in. Happy?"
Then, walking towards Monoma, he stops at the desk in front of Monoma's and pulls out the chair, not caring about the sound it makes as he drags it. Though aware that doing this is only giving Monoma what he wants, he can't help himself. Possibly — probably — this is something he might want, too.
He settles it at the side of Monoma's desk and sits down, now only several inches away from him as he grasps Monoma by the shirt and brings him closer.
Monoma almost wants to laugh as Bakugou locks the door. It's a nervous little giggle that burbles up in his chest, though he can't really place the reason why. Suddenly, he's claustrophobic. Suddenly, his clothes are too tight, and his skin is suffocating, and there's no air in the room, and it's just him and Bakugou and all the thoughts and scars between them. His heart starts racing as he comes closer, and closer, and it's almost exactly like it was before, the way he's grabbed and simply pulled in.
He makes a small, fragile sound as their lips meet again. All over again, he's marveling at how soft they are, how delicately he's kissed, how this seemed to be the one thing Bakugou was still awkward and out of his element for. That especially was what was so addicting about it all.
It takes him a moment to kiss back. Truthfully, he's still feeling dazed, still a little disoriented, the memory of who kissed him last and how still sharp where it sat in his mind. But, after a few seconds of shock, he finally does with another noise muffled into the back of his throat, eyes slipping shut as their lips move together.
Bakugou's hands move instinctively to Monoma's upper arms, holding him there as he lists his head and deepens the contact. Mentally he memorizes the contours of Monoma's mouth, now they feel and how he kisses. It's frustrating, how Monoma can seem to do this so effortlessly, and Bakugou is only left with the sudden need to better him.
Eventually, he pulls away. He drops his head against Monoma's shoulder, letting out a breath as he works to, for the umpteenth time, regain his composure. It doesn't feel right, doing this with anyone but Izuku — because, back then, even if it had been a little awkward it was still them, they were both crap at this kind of thing...
"'S stupid," he says against Monoma, voice muffled. "I don't understand how anyone can handle it." And by it he means change, and how anyone could possibly manage to adjust when life takes a sudden turn — what the correct way to go about things is and what isn't. Just what to do.
He doesn't say all that, though. Instead he slumps against the other and manages an exhausted groan, wishing he could be asleep again. Anything sounds better than this.
This was one of the parts he likes. When he can almost taste Bakugou's frustration and exhaustion nearly brimming past his skin, when he just stops and collapses into him. He likes how that feels, having his body against his. He likes being clutched on to. He moves automatically as his head falls against his shoulder, his own tilting towards him so he could plant a few kisses atop his head.
Then, he reaches up and wraps his arms around him, drawing him closer. It's a little awkward, and more than a little uncomfortable, what with the way their chairs are positioned, but he can't help but try and pull him in, as best as he can. His fingers dig a little into his back, the back of his shirt gathered into bunches inside his fists. Clinging to someone felt nice and bittersweet, a painful sort of comfort that honestly felt like it hurt more than it helped.
"... I don't think anyone can," he answers quietly, though he's not sure exactly what he's trying to convey. Maybe he's just thinking about breaking. Yeah. That sounds about right. It's the only thing he feels certain of in this moment, that the second he lets go of the boy in his arms, something inside him very well may shatter.
"..."
He kisses Bakugou's temple before he rests his head against his, sighing as he breathes the sweet smell of him in.
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His grandfather’s study smelled as rich as it always did, heady with the smoky smell of oak, vanilla, and cologne, thick and intoxicating as it filled the room, redwood soaking it all in and helping it spread. It was a smell he could now recognize as partially belonging to the bourbon the man kept in his cherished collection, though as a child he had no idea how to place it. There were a lot of things he couldn’t recognize as a child that was changing before his eyes in the last few years, wooly blankets that were ripped away in a flourish to reveal its mediocre truth. There was nothing magical about adulthood, he was learning. Everything that wasn’t painful was just... dull.
Which is why they drank so much, he had to assume, as he watched long fingers skim over bottle after bottle, one filled with something clear, another gold, then clear, then gold, before finally making their selection. Waiting quietly at his place besides it, he watched his grandfather sit at his desk, hands smoothing first over his tie and then along the lapels of his suit before they moved along his hair, slicking down what was already pressed neatly into place.
He spent ages doing that, the type of man who was so content and confident in himself that he spent ages enjoying just that. Himself; his presence and its effect on the air around him. Monoma watched him, trying not to fidget as well as he observed him quietly, waiting.
His grandfather stroked his beard for a long time. "Your grades," he decided on, before reaching for the bourbon and fixing himself a glass.
“They’re getting better,” Monoma said, quick to answer. “I’ve been-- there’s been some distractions, as always. I try and deal with them as best as I can.”
“Yes.” His grandfather was pouring another glass of amber. He watched the ice slosh around noisily, chest fluttering, heart fast. The glass slid over to him, just like he hoped it wouldn’t, before he placed the bottle down. “I’m sure there’s much to discover.”
He took the drink. It was cold against his fingertips. He briefly imagined frost growing, spreading across the surface, leaping onto the desk, clawing its way over the wood. He got so lost in the daydream he forgot to really respond, though it went unnoticed as his grandfather sipped at his drink, glancing at him first then brushing an invisible clump of dirt away second.
“You’re a man now, Neito.” His shoulders hiked, then relaxed at the sound of his name. “And becoming a man means awakening to certain... desires.”
He only tensed again. That’s not exactly the topic he was hoping this would land on. “I suppose so,” he said shortly before bringing his glass to his lips.
His grandfather let out a cheeky laugh as he did the same. “I know so. I remember when I was your age...! The things I got away with.” He winked. “What I still get away with.”
He forced a chuckle, sipped.
“Of course, you’re far more studious than I was at that age. I squandered a lot of my youth on silly things, shallow things. I didn’t have all the opportunities you have.”
His grandfather liked to do that. Remind him of their differences, eyes glinting in that knowledgeable way.
”Or the potential,” he added, still staring, eyes boring gently on him.
Monoma slowly worked down another amber sip.
“If I wasn’t pushed and pushed and pushed... Well.” He shook his head.
“Thank you,” he said uselessly, not knowing what else to say. What did he want to hear...?
“No need to thank me, my boy,” he answered gruffly, though a corner of his lips quirked at the gesture of gratitude. “As you were saying. You were catching me up, ah.” He tapped on his desk. “School. Your grades.” Another tap. “What about your power...? Any improvements to boast about?”
He felt sick. “I would say so.”
“It’s a shame I can’t see it in action.” He shook his head again. “They should allow us to sit in your class sometimes, really see for ourselves what kind of an education you’re getting. A demonstration that doesn’t require violence, that would be useful!” He stroked his beard again. “How would you describe it, hm?”
“Oh, just.” He felt sick. “I’m stronger, I would say.”
“Yes, but in what ways?”
Suffering made one stronger. Everyone knew that. Pain taught lessons. He’d withstood so much. He wasn’t breaking, but he was close. Fragmenting, but still together. Normal. Functioning. How could he explain that? Why did he want to? So many people had hurt him, he felt so weak, he had so much brimming under the surface, so much potential to be powerful, so much desire, so much-
Drinking again, he frowned, then placed the glass down. “There’s a boy in the other class. He was number one in the festival, the one that was on TV.” He took a breath. “I beat him, recently. In a fight.”
His grandfather mulled that over. He never showed his pride in a bright outburst of joy ever, always one to keep it in his chest and let it slowly burn through him. His expression eventually shifted into something a bit more smug as he sat back, self-satisfied. ”Isn’t that something,” he finally said.
“I got detention because of it though,” he continued to report.
“Quite alright,” he answered, waving it off with a big hand. “It happens! They’ve all gotten so strict in those schools. Boys fight each other! Let them! How else will they know about themselves without a good old struggle to find out who’s on top!”
He smiled vaguely. If only he knew.
“Make sure he remembers that, too. Who came out on top.” He’s shifting now, moving to pluck a cigar from a silver box he’d withdrawn from his pocket. “In any working relationship, it’s important to establish dominance. If not in strength, then in spirit. If not in that, then in your senses. Intellect.” He tapped his temple. “Common sense. Rational - logical - sense. You’re smart, I know you know that.”
Monoma nodded. He knew it more because his grandfather liked to repeated it, and his lessons, over and over until he could recite them in his sleep, but he didn’t say that.
“You know,” his grandfather continued, refilling their glasses, though neither of theirs had ever quite emptied entirely. “The only good thing that’s ever come from America is their alcohol. Of course, it’s still no sake, but it makes for a good celebration.”
Another nod. Monoma chewed on his lip as he watched the liquor pour and then he shifted in his chair, smoothing his bangs down where they sat just over his eyes. “Speaking of... celebrations... and, erm... working relationships... I’ve been getting close with a few... people,” he started, almost hesitant. “A few that are very good to know. Big names...”
“Oh?” His grandfather leaned forward, cigar forgotten where it was pinched between his lips. “Tell me more.”
“In the other class. A few of them are already quite famous, almost ridiculously so.” He talked fast, trying not to change his mind. “Names you’d probably recognize.”
"Out with it, boy."
"Todoroki," he blurted. "And Iida."
His grandfather’s eyebrows raised. “Endeavor’s boy...?” he asked and then leaned back again, thoughtful. “And the Ingenium line.”
His heart raced fast, pattering against his chest. He didn’t know why the feeling of betrayal started to coil up and around the base of his spine a little, but it did. “Yes.”
“Very good,” he praised softly. “Those are ones with a guarantee in life. They have a ticket to the top, in solid gold. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, ojisan,” he said softly, though his grandfather wasn’t listening, rambling on.
“Those are ones who grew up with a silver spoon welded to the roofs of their mouths. Huh!” He snorted. “Likely haven’t struggled a day in their lives. Souls must have been spoiled rotten from day one. What could they possibly know about life, huh? Looking down on us from their thrones, at all of us having to work hard to get even half of the same. Hah! Why, I--”
Monoma quietly went back to sipping. He can’t stop thinking about fire now. He could taste the smoke in the glass, carefully infused into the flavor of the alcohol he drank. Bourbon mostly just tasted like a mouthful of wet smoke. He imagined it, thick and filling his chest, roiling out of his nostrils. Endeavor must look like a beast when he was angry.
If suffering made one strong, how could he possibly reach the same level Todoroki found himself on...? How could he possibly compete with that much pain...?
His thoughts darkened, the taste on his tongue thick and sour. He didn’t even notice the creak of his grandfather’s chair at first, though it eventually drew his eye to the source, blinking as his grandfather stared expectantly at him, hand splayed on the desk between them.
“What are they like? Up close and in person?” Another lean. “All I know is what I saw on the television.”
“Iida is... hard working, and kind. Very gentle,” he said quickly, as if to make it up to him. “... And Todoroki is an asshole.”
His grandfather barked out a laugh. "Well! Stay close, you hear? There's only one thing you do with men like that." He propped his elbow on the desk and presented his pinky finger, glinting with the rings it adorned. "You do this," he said, twirling a finger from his other hand around it in insistent circles. "You wrap them around and around until you are exactly where you need to be."
He swallowed. "Of course."
“And are you exactly where you need to be...?”
“I’m close...” he forced another laugh, or maybe it dislodged itself naturally from his warming chest. “Who do you think I am...?”
“That’s my boy.” His grandfather smiled.
“As if I’d let those cads get the better of me...!” Monoma continued, spurred on by the way he was being beamed at.
“That’s my boy!” his grandfather crowed, rewarding him with a particularly hard smack of pride on his shoulder. "One day. One day very soon, we’ll have to start getting in the habit of talking business. Real business. Not this dancing around thing we do.” He grinned, a surprisingly wolfish expression “Just because you’re going to become a big-shot hero doesn’t mean you can’t have a hand with the company. It’ll have your name, after all.”
“Yessir...” he mumbled.
“Toppling a few ‘number one’s...” he murmured to himself, expression dreamy in a way he’d never seen, before his eyes snapped to him. “Your hair is getting a little long. You should cut it.” An ironic statement to make, as he literally brushed his own neatly done ponytail from where it sat on his shoulder. “You look more and more like your mother like that.”
“How is she?” Monoma dared to ask.
“Fine,” he replied shortly. “I haven’t seen her. I’ve been busy.”
“Oh.”
“And you?” he asked suddenly. “Have you spoken with her at all?”
“Oh. No.” He frowned. “I’ve been busy.”
The two sat in silence for a few moments. Something in the air dampened.
“... And their power,” his grandfather suddenly said, with a huffing sigh. “Have you taken it?”
Monoma’s mind frantically backtracked through the conversation. Oh. “Todoroki’s, mostly.”
“They call it ‘Hellflame’, you know. Endeavor’s. It’s a dangerous one.” His eyes were glinting again. “Very dangerous in the wrong hands.”
He thought of his nightmare and nodded simply.
“He’s very careful with it, though. Doesn’t have a lot of accidents.” He paused. “His son. He didn’t seem to want to use it much in battle. Seems almost a waste.”
“He uses it now...” he said quietly.
“Good.” He smiled again. “I hope he’s careful with it. He could cause quite the mess otherwise.”
Messes run in his family, he wanted to say. He wanted to tell him everything he’d learned. Everything he’d felt. How heavy it all truly was. How overwhelming. How small he felt. How hard he had to push, only to have every little win feel like the greatest loss. How he’d never been warned all this, despite all the lessons, despite everything his grandfather had warned him about the real world, how much it would all truly cost.
He didn’t say anything. His grandfather finally lit his cigar.
“What an exciting time you’re being raised in,” he softly mused over his silence. ”The last decade or two has gotten so dull. I envy you. If you’re as keen as I know you are, you can feel it. That shift.” He raised a finger, poised in the air. “What I know as a man will become useless soon, if society is truly changing like we all know it is. It’s very exciting,” he repeated. “I can only imagine what happens next. A new system? A revolution? A new world order? Who will lead that change? Who will end up on top?” He laughed out. “Ah, Neito. You’re so close. All you’ll have to do is reach out and touch it, won’t you?”
He shrugged, awkward as he giggled weakly along with him. He wondered if he sounded this insane when he’s similarly carried away. “Hopefully it’ll be that easy.”
His grandfather shook his head. “Of course it won’t. So, you work hard. You work until you get there. And you will. I can feel it in my bones.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
Smile settling away, he looked at his watch. “Ah. I’ve kept you late.”
“Ah!” He glanced up at the clock, confirming the late hour for himself. “I don’t mind. I would’ve been up this late anyway.”
“Hm,” his grandfather grunted. “You inherited that from me.” He placed a pair of glasses on, sliding it over the bridge of his nose, only to peer at him above the rim. “Among other things.”
He smiled sheepishly. His grandfather finally looked away to reach for a newspaper, untucking it from where it sat on his desk and opening it up, eyes searching for something Monoma couldn’t guess. “Finish your drink then, and I’ll think of a story to tell.” He paused, seeming to find what he was looking for, and placed it down, eyes twinkling behind the lenses again as he reached for his glass. “There was a woman I was involved with once whose quirk kept contributing to the amount of floods in the area. Now, when I found that out...”
He continued to ramble. Monoma sat and listened, thinking to himself, wondering as he continued to sip. What other awful things had he inherited...? He supposed he’d just have to wait and see.
