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Off days at U.A. have gotten to feel few and far-between at this point—Midoriya tries not to buckle under the weight of the textbooks in his arms as he sets them down on the coffee table. The last day of break already, and he’d spent every other up until this point working on assignments in advance. Clearly, he’s been having the time of his life.
He makes a mental note to dial back the sarcasm as All Might takes the seat across from him in the office. Probably not a good idea to gripe about last week’s practical exercise in front of the person who assigned it. Plus, you know, it’s All Might. Any problems a hero student has are probably dwarfed in comparison to actually working in the field, so Izuku settles for a drawn-out sigh as he takes his seat.
“The end-of-semester workload’s finally getting to you, hm?” All Might chuckles as he pours out two cups of tea. “Being a second year will do that to you.”
“Tell me about it.” Midoriya drags a hand down his face, then brings it back up to flick the bangs out of his eyes. “Present Mic’s English lectures are killing me. He has us studying slang, for some ungodly reason. I don’t think I’m ever gonna get a handle on it.” All Might shrugs, taking his tea in one hand.
“I wish I could help you, my boy. But I’m pretty sure all that’s changed since the last time I was in America—though all trends do come back eventually.”
"I hope not." Midoriya shakes his head. A veritable mop of hair falls into his face as he does so.
“Have you been trying to grow that out lately?” Toshinori asks. “Your hair's gotten pretty long.”
“You really think so?” Midoriya picks out one of the strands with his fingers, studying it. “I guess you’re right.” Not that there’s a whole lot of time to keep track of his hair between lessons and practical exercises—and the internships, shit, did he fill out that application yet?—but he’s willing to admit it’s harder to see his notes when there’s a curtain of green between his eyes and the paper.
“I know I’m right. And if you don’t want Aizawa docking points for it, you’d better get it taken care of. He’d probably call it a ‘risk to visibility’, and...” Toshinori leans down further, assessing the mass of curls. “...I think he would be right.”
“Too bad One For All can’t make it float like Erasure does.” Toshinori places a hand on his chin, thinking.
“We don’t know that yet. Though I don’t think anyone really knows why his hair does that.”
Midoriya pauses for a moment as if he’s considering it, but shakes his head and pulls a phone from his pocket. Its screen glows, the logo of a certain hero casting primary hues across his face. Toshinori hardly gets the chance to blink before Midoriya’s eyes flicker up to meet his, and the next few seconds become a mad dash for the kid to unlock his phone and swipe the home screen out of sight.
Apparently, the lock screen is All Might themed, too.
“I was, uh…” Midoriya fumbles with his phone, opening a web browser. Its background is a blissfully blank white. “Those are just old wallpapers from middle school. I was gonna change them soon anyway.” His shrug might’ve seemed more nonchalant if it didn’t look like he was suddenly carrying the weight of Ground Gamma on his shoulders. “No big deal.”
Toshinori raises his brow.
“...Right. I didn’t say it was.” He shrugs in return. “I saw nothing.”
Midoriya clears his throat, tapping the screen until a keypad pops up.
“Right. Cool. I can just call to see if there are any openings to get it cut. Maybe they won’t be totally booked?”
Toshinori nods, but the following minute of monotone beeping has Midorya grimacing as the phone drones on next to his ear. Eventually, he shuts off the screen with a click and pockets it again.
“Busy line?” Toshinori asks.
“Busy line.”
The carpet softens his footsteps as Midoriya paces, already falling into that familiar pattern of working out his next move. Toshinori watches his student tread circles into the floor for a minute or so before finally standing up himself. It’s not exactly the largest space in the school, and there's hardly room to maneuver around Midoriya’s muttering spiral before he spots the myriad of office supplies littering his desk. It’s nothing much, just paper and staplers, but there’s a pair of scissors resting in one of the containers off to the side.
People can use scissors to cut hair, right?
He’s halfway across the office by the time he remembers that yes, that’s how haircuts work, and he narrowly avoids tripping Midoriya on his dozenth lap around the room.
“Hold on a minute,” Toshinori calls out, one arm held out to stop the kid as the other holds the scissors. “If you’re that worried about it affecting training, you could just get it out of the way now and take care of the rest later.”
Midoriya eyes them skeptically.
“If you’re suggesting I’m capable of cutting my own hair, I’m gonna have to stop you right there. Do you remember the bowl cut? Because I remember the bowl cut.”
Toshinori throws his hands up in the air.
“It’s not my fault your mother left your photo album open on the table. I stop by one time to discuss your training schedule…”
“I know, I know.” Midoriya shakes his head and shudders, like he’s expelling a bad memory. “As long as there’s not a repeat of that...phase, I’m fine. Not that I’m confident I can avoid it.” Toshinori pauses, considering it for a moment.
“I mean, I’m sure I’ve tried cutting my own hair at least once. Not to mention my time in America taught me plenty about what’s cool and trendy and whatnot.” He grins, practically beaming with pride. “Not to brag, of course.”
Midoriya looks from Toshinori back to the scissors, weighing his options. On one hand, he trusts him—this was the former Number One Hero standing in front of him! He could probably manage it, right? Better to get it out of the way now before it becomes a liability in training.
On the other, Midoriya’s pretty sure the man looks almost as nervous as him.
“And you’re sure about this, right?” Midoriya asks. “I can always call again another day or something.” Toshinori shakes his head.
“Not that there’s time to get off-campus clearing before classes start up, anyway.” He offers a thumbs-up, albeit a little shakily. “I know what I’m doing. Besides!” He threads his fingers through the handles of the scissors. “I used to save lives every day. How hard can this be?”
Midoriya takes his seat again and ducks just as the blades dip dangerously close to his neck.
“Well, just as long as you don’t end mine while holding those,” he mutters. But there’s the edge of a smile on his face as he says it, and that at least puts them both at ease.
“You don’t have to worry about that, Young Midoriya. I’m sure our predecessors would be pretty disappointed if a haircut took you out before All For One got the chance.”
Now they’re both laughing, and Midoriya has to consciously steady himself in his chair before Toshinori can start.
The lighthearted confidence in Toshinori’s chest lasts him all of five minutes before his hand slips and oh, alright, so that’s a bit shorter than what he was aiming for. Midoriya’s right side is now noticeably higher than his left, and it’s at this moment that Toshonori’s glad he doesn’t keep many mirrors around.
His student seems to notice the pause and begins to turn his head.
“...Everything okay?” Midoriya asks. Toshinori forces his voice an octave higher than it’d usually be, praying that it’s convincing enough.
“Yes, of course. Nothing to worry about.”
Midoriya hesitates before turning back around. Toshinori holds his breath. Nothing gets past this kid, that’s for sure.
Still, though, the scissors just get harder to maneuver with his aching wrists—curse these arthritic hands—and Toshinori’s regret piles up along with the hair on the floor.
If he screws this up, Midoriya might never live it down. Even death wouldn’t spare Toshinori of his fate—he’d just go straight to being a vestige in his successor’s mind, an everlasting reminder of his failure. A little dramatic, sure, but Toshinori’s brain is grappling for anything that can fan the flames of his panic. The idea of eternal shame...yeah, it isn’t helping.
Stop that, he chastises himself. You’re just overthinking. It’ll be fine.
Distantly, he can sense the entirety of One For All cringe in unison.
All in all, the ordeal only takes about five minutes. Toshinori’s quick to place the scissors back on the desk, stepping back to check over his handiwork. Compared to his colleagues, Toshinori is among the less harsh when it comes to grading, but this...this is probably a solid fail. Evidently, there’s a reason why you need a hairdressing license for this kind of thing. What’s left of his stomach twists at the thought.
Midoriya straightens once he notices Toshnori has stepped away. He pulls out his phone again and turns on the front camera. For the next few seconds, the silence is deafening.
“Ooooooh.” Midoriya’s teeth clench together, locking his smile in place just fast enough to mask the dawning horror on his face. “It looks...soooo gooood, All Might.” His voice is monotone as he drags out the syllables, probably to stall and try to come up with a better reaction. Toshinori bites the inside of his cheek.
“...It’s not good at all, is it.”
“Noooo, don’t say that.” A smile forces its way into the corner of Midoriya’s mouth. “It’s...great. Fine, even.” He blinks hard, trying to bat away the involuntary twitching in his eye. The last thing he wants is to wound his hero’s pride, but...it’s bad. It’s really bad. It makes the bowl cut from his elementary school photo look like the cover of Vogue, if he’s being honest.
The back of his head’s been salvaged, for the most part. The time one of Aizawa’s cats was caught ripping up a curtain in the commons comes to mind, actually, but it doesn’t look that different from before. But God, the sides look like Stain took a few blind swings at the hair with his blades. Getting himself to look up at his bangs is worse than staring down the zero-pointer from the entrance exam. He braves it, though, and instant regret hits him like a truck.
Maybe, just maybe, he can skip out on Mic’s American pop culture assignment if he turns in a photo of his hair, because this is as close to a mullet as any of them are ever gonna get. Hell, maybe it’s worth extra credit. Whether it’s worth living with this for the next few weeks, though, Midoriya’s not so sure. But it’s not like Tsukaeuchi is here to drag the truth out of him, so Midoriya pastes on his best fake smile and stands. He extends an arm outward, holding it awkwardly in front of him for a handshake.
“Uh...thank you. It’s nice.” Toshinori returns the handshake with a smile equally as stilted.
“Anytime? Although something tells me this should never happen again.”
Midoriya nods, lingering for a second before turning on his heel and walking out of the office, and Toshinori swears he can spot the vague image of Nana shooting him a dirty look as the boy steps outside. Forget Midoriya living this down—he’s pretty sure seven super-powered ghosts now have a vendetta against him for murdering their son’s haircut.
Making his way back to Height’s Alliance isn’t the hard part. The hard part is navigating a building full of nearly two dozen teenagers, each carrying devices that could snap a picture of him in an instant if they wanted to. Midoriya keeps that in mind as he slinks through the halls, checking around every corner before walking up to the first stairwell. He’s busy enough investigating any signs of motion on the stairs that he doesn’t notice Hagakure until she’s right behind him.
“Jesus, who did your hair? You look like your head got caught in a fight with Toxic Chainsaw!”
Midoriya chokes on his shock, turning slowly to face his classmate.
“I know.” He whispers through clenched teeth. “All Might said he knew what he was doing, but—“
“Him? Are you kidding?” Hagakure’s voice is stuck between a gasp and a laugh. “Not to insult a national hero or anything, but the back of that man’s head looks like an electrified haystack on a good day.”
“That’s not tr—I mean, okay, but…” Midoriya scrambles forward, hands clasped together like he’s sending a prayer to the newly appointed goddess of U.A. High. “Could you do me a favor? I’ll lend you my notes from this week, I swear, just please—” He takes a deep breath, dredging up the last of his dignity. “ Please let me walk behind you until I get to my floor. I can’t let anyone see this.”
Hagakure stands there for a few agonizing seconds, considering it. Finally, she bobs her head, the movement of her hoodie giving her away.
“Fine. But I need today’s and yesterday’s chemistry notes. Being seen with you looking like this would destroy the image I already don’t have.”
Midoriya breathes a sigh of relief, his shoulders going lax.
“You’re a true hero, Hagakure.”
“If that’s the case, then it’s Invisible Girl to you.”
Their walk-turned-stealth-mission through the dorms goes smoothly for about five minutes. Unfortunately, sneaking through a building of hyper-vigilant heroes in training isn’t an easy thing to do, and it’s not long before they spot Kirishima down the hall with an empty water bottle in hand. His trek to the kitchen stops cold as soon as he catches sight of his classmate.
“Hey, Hagakure! What’s...up, hey, is that Midoriya?”
The both of them freeze, Izuku stumbling back just enough to keep his upper half out of sight. Hagakure shifts from foot to foot, fumbling for an answer.
“...No?”
“Are you sure?” Kirishima cocks his head to the side. “Sure does look like him.”
“It’s, um...a clone?”
Kirishima’s jaw goes slack.
“Shit, like one of Twice’s? Is the League here?” He turns just enough to grab a phone from his pocket. “We gotta let Mr. Aizawa know.”
“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!” Hagakure’s sleeves flutter in the air as her hands wave back and forth. “Don’t do that!”
“And why not? This could be an emergency!” Their classmate lowers the phone, visibly confused. He takes another step forward, craning his neck to see around Hagakure. “What’s going on, huh?”
Well, shoot. No turning back now.
Reluctantly, Midoriya steps out from behind Hagakure like a prisoner on his way to Tartarus. Kirishima looks him over once, twice, and by the time he opens his mouth again Midoriya already has a hand held up to stop him.
“Wha—“
“I don’t. ” Midoriya grits his teeth. “Want. To talk about it. Please.”
“Aw, no way dude! I was gonna say it looks super manly…”
Hagakure is already choking back more laughter as he backs away from the two of them. Midoriya presses a finger to his lips.
“Listen, I appreciate it, but I have to go. Both of you saw nothing, okay?” He backs down the hall, the tiniest stream of One For All giving him a little extra speed as he escapes. Clearly even invisibility won’t save him now, so his once-secret mission becomes a frantic race towards his floor. Eventually, the sign for 2-F comes into view, and he almost collapses with relief.
Midoriya shuts his door quietly behind him, making sure the noise can’t reach the neighbors on either side. If Aoyama saw his hair right now, he’d probably pelt him with cheeses. And Mineta...well, it’s not like he’s in a place to criticize, but Midoriya would rather not test his luck right now.
Instead, he lets himself slide down to the floor, back pressed to the door behind him as a makeshift barricade. The glare of his phone lights up the room as it’s unlocked. Midoriya does his best to scroll past their class’ group chat—there’s a concerningly large number in the notification bubble of unread messages, and for the first time in his life he hopes they’re about some villain attack and not whatever Hagakure might have to say about her classmate’s new look. But there’s a distinct lack of sirens and alarms tearing through campus, so chances are it’s the latter.
Midoriya swipes the tab away, opening another web browser. The search takes him to a quirk forum; it’s a familiar one, and he wastes no time inputting his question.
‘Can Recovery Girl’s quirk heal damaged hair? Asking for a friend.’