Work Text:
There is not much to do in the UA shelter.
Most of Inko’s time is spent fretting over Izuku and checking the news and failing to calm down even when Mitsuki tries to help her breathe evenly. Inko doesn’t know how Mistuki manages so well, but then again, Katsuki isn’t the one directly targeted by all of the world’s most horrifying villains. He’s in the crossfire, but if he were to flee, All For One and Shigaraki wouldn’t bother following him. So it’s…different, Inko supposes.
Izuku has no choice in this fight.
And she knows he wanted to be a hero, but to be a hero is to make a choice to save people, every day. What Izuku is facing right now could hardly be considered heroic duty at all, because it was thrust upon him without his consent, and he is so good at putting on a brave face, but Inko knows her son. She knows that beneath all of his courage and smiles, he must be terrified.
So it’s hard for Inko to do anything except worry over Izuku.
At least she can be comforted by the fact that she is far from the only person here in a constant state of worry. Although, hers is often made worse by her penchant for feeding off of the nerves of those around her as well as all the fears of her own she carries.
In the midst of a particularly bad bout of stress, which has Inko gnawing her fingernails until they’ve begun to bleed, a kind woman with white hair and red highlights suggests she should go for a walk to clear her nerves.
“It’s what I do when I’m feeling anxious about my family,” she says, wringing her hands together. She pushes her glasses up on her nose, offering Inko a weak smile. “I know it seems silly, but a bit of fresh air really can go a long way.”
So, Inko is going on a walk and firmly hoping for the best.
She has no real destination in mind, but she can’t leave the shelter regardless, so she simply wanders aimlessly, allowing her feet to carry her where they wish. Before this, she had only been on campus a handful of times, for parent-teacher conferences and to tour it with Izuku before his first day. It’s changed quite a bit since that first visit, but then again, so has the rest of the world.
She’s finally feeling a bit calmer after walking for a while when the soft lockdown alarm sounds—the one that means there’s a potential threat nearby, so everyone should head into the nearest building and wait for further instruction. Principal Nezu assured them all upon arrival that it’s more precautionary than anything, as they have enough Pro Heroes on call at the school to quickly take care of any issues that may arise outside of the UA barrier well before villains could break through the many layers of security, but Inko is not one to take unnecessary risks, so she looks around for a building to duck into for the time being.
The nearest one ends up being the infirmary building, and while she’s not sure if she’s technically allowed there, she figures these are extenuating circumstances. Casting away her doubts, she quickly slips inside.
She sends a quick text to Mitsuki, letting her know that she’s okay, before looking up to the room around her. She’s in an open waiting area with chairs and low tables, not unlike what might be found in a typical doctor’s office or hospital. There’s no reception desk here, though, which means no secretary to inform Inko of whether or not it’s fine for her to wait here until the potential threat outside of the UA border has been dealt with. In fact, the only other person in the lobby at all is a woman in a wheelchair who glanced up at Inko upon her entrance before going right back to typing on her phone.
She looks vaguely familiar, with dark blue hair falling over her shoulders and a pair of red-rimmed glasses sitting crooked on her nose. A blanket is draped over her legs, and from the waist up, she’s clad in a typical hospital shirt. It’s impossible to say where Inko may recognize her from—she could be anyone from a civilian to a UA parent to an injured pro.
Unsure what else to do, Inko crosses the room and takes a seat near the woman, who seems increasingly frustrated as she jabs her thumbs against her phone screen.
It seems a pointless question to ask, but still, Inko clears her throat, calling the woman’s attention back to her. “I’m sorry to intrude,” she starts, “but you look upset. Is everything alright?”
“Oh, it’s nothing important.” The woman waves her concern aside. “Just trying to figure out what triggered the alarm. Since they won’t let me out of this damn hospital to help yet.”
“You’re in a wheelchair,” Inko points out, and only realizes after the fact that to be under the impression that she would be allowed to help at all must mean she’s a pro hero.
The woman pouts at her. It’s cute, though Inko doubts that’s the look she’s going for. Her eyes are a bright, swirling blue, and Inko racks her brain trying to figure out which pro this is. She knows plenty of random trivia about countless heroes, thanks to Izuku’s lifelong hyperfixation, but to match a face to the name when they aren’t in costume? That’s where Inko’s knowledge runs out.
“I don’t need to walk to use my quirk,” the woman comments. She turns her phone off and sets it face down on her lap. “Say, you’re Midoriya-kun’s mom, aren’t you?”
Instantly, Inko is on guard. The woman’s voice betrays no ill-will towards Izuku, but so many people here have turned against him with the rumors of his having multiple quirks spreading. And even those who don’t distrust him certainly don’t want him back here, at UA, when Shigaraki and All For One are after him.
(They don’t see the child Inko has raised; they see a threat. Something less than human.)
(Inko is beginning to realize that no hero in the world is granted humanity.)
“And if I am?” she shoots back, prepared for a fight. Between her and Mitsuki, most of the others seeking refuge at UA have learned not to talk bad about him where his family and friends can hear. However, Inko has no idea what the pro heroes currently think of her son—apart from the select few who are helping him. She’d like to think they understand the situation he’s in and have sympathy for him.
But there’s no way to know for sure.
“Oh!” the woman exclaims. She smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, you must not have recognized me out of costume—not that I can blame you. I’m one of his teachers. We met briefly during parent-teacher conferences.”
Inko blinks. She thinks, surely she would remember if any of Izuku’s teachers were so effortlessly pretty, able to remain breathtaking even after being stuck in the infirmary for days—if not weeks—on end.
And then she remembers the blushing, stuttering mess she was reduced to when she found herself face-to-face with R-Rated Hero Midnight, and everything suddenly makes a little more sense. Midnight had been injured badly in the PLF battle, with reporters speculating on whether or not she would be forced into an early retirement. Not to mention the night-sky hair and hypnotizing blue eyes should have been a dead giveaway.
Inko buries her face in her hands, cheeks flaming. “Midnight-san,” she mumbles. “I am so sorry.”
Midnight laughs good-naturedly. “It’s not your fault. I’m sure so much time stuck in a hospital bed has not done any wonders for my seductress persona.” Inko glances up through parted fingers just in time to see Midnight wink at her, which only makes her heart beat faster. “And you can call me Kayama.”
Inko takes a slow breath, willing her face back to its normal temperature. She doubts it works, but she lowers her hands anyway and offers Kayama a bow of her head. “Kayama-san,” she greets. “It’s nice to meet you again.”
“You too.” Kayama leans forward. “Though, I wish it could be under better circumstances. You seem like a lovely lady, and I am woefully underdressed for a meet-cute.”
Inko’s heart flutters, but now that she knows who it is she’s talking to, she figures Kayama is just putting on a show to maintain appearances in front of a civilian. Still, she smiles politely. “Thank you, but I think you look perfectly fine as you are. Not many people can make hospital attire look so appealing.” She frowns. “Though, I suppose that comes with your job description.”
Kayama coughs, turning her head. “Oh. Um. Thanks?”
Inko frets, briefly, wondering if she said something wrong. Or maybe her compliments simply came off more flirtatious than intended? It’s been so long since she’s been in a relationship that she can’t recall exactly where the lines are, and while she does think Kayama is gorgeous, she’s also aware that Midnight’s whole thing is being sexy and alluring. As she said, her persona is seductress. And even out of costume, heroes keep up their hero personas in front of civilians.
Inko would know—she’s had to watch Izuku ask plenty of off-duty heroes for autographs after spotting them in public, and she’s seen the switch that happens as soon as they’re recognized.
Kayama clears her throat. “Anyway, you… How have you been?” She grimaces. “I mean— I’m sure not great, considering…” she gestures vaguely, “everything. But is the UA shelter alright, at least?”
“It’s fine, yes,” Inko replies politely. “I’m grateful for the protection UA has offered us. It just feels strange for me to be here while Izuku is elsewhere…” At the thought of Izuku out in the world, somewhere, facing danger around every corner with only a few pro heroes to rely on for help, the back of Inko’s throat starts to ache and tears build in her eyes. She knows he’s in capable hands—after all, the top heroes aren’t at the top for no reason—but that doesn’t ease the worry in Inko’s heart. Nor does it make the thought of everything Izuku is having to go through right now any easier.
She looks down, quickly wiping her eyes before the tears can fall.
“He’ll come back,” Kayama assures her. “His classmates all care for him deeply; they’ll drag him back here themselves so he can rest somewhere safe if they have to.”
She means well, but this only makes Inko cry harder, because for so long, Izuku didn’t have close friends. He had Katsuki, but that was always push-and-pull, and after the doctors told Izuku he was quirkless, something changed between the two of them.
Now, though, Izuku has more friends than Inko ever could have hoped for. And she is so, so, proud and happy for him. Despite the constant worry that has made home in her chest ever since Izuku first enrolled at UA, she can see it was good for him—he’s more confident now than he ever was before, and he has friends and teachers who look out for him.
Inko just wishes the price wasn’t constant threats to his life.
She is selfish, in her core. She would choose Izuku’s safety over the rest of the world in a heartbeat, every single time.
A hand on her shoulder breaks her from her thoughts. She looks up, bleary-eyed, to see Kayama leaning over far enough to offer a comforting hand. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, eyebrows knit together in concern. She’s a true hero, Inko thinks, providing solace even when wheelchair-bound and recovering from injuries that may cost her her career.
“If I wasn’t stuck here, I’d go get him for you right now,” she swears.
Inko laughs wetly. She scrubs her cheeks, wiping the last of her tears away with the sleeve of her sweater. “Thank you, Kayama-san. You’re very kind.”
“That’s not typically the first word people use to describe me, but I’ll take it!” Kayama smiles in a way that has Inko’s heart fluttering in her chest. This conversation has her suffering from severe whiplash, but she’s not particularly put-off by it. It’s nice to have someone else to talk about Izuku with—someone who understands that, at the end of the day, he is still just a child.
And while kind is not necessarily the first word Inko would have thought to use for Pro Hero Midnight, it does seem to fit her nicely. Though, she is certainly alluring and flirtatious as well. Some part of Inko finds it flattering despite knowing it’s nothing more than her hero persona; truthfully, she can’t remember the last time anyone has expressed interest in her. And really, Kayama has no reason to exert her energy performing in front of Inko—certainly not after allowing Inko to use her surname rather than her hero name—which means she must find Inko at least mildly enjoyable to talk to, right?
Speaking of—it’s her turn to respond, isn’t it? She can’t make a very good conversation partner if she doesn’t reply!
“How do people usually describe you?”
A dumb question, which Inko realizes as soon as it’s out of her mouth, even before Kayama laughs, but it’s too late to take it back. And Kayama’s laugh is such a delightful sound that Inko can’t find it in herself to be too embarrassed.
“Sexy.” Kayama winks, and Inko’s face warms again. “Seductive, hot, slutty, a tease, problematic…” She shrugs. “Take your pick.”
Inko frowns. “I’m not sure I like those last few.”
“Hey, I will proudly stand with my fellow sluts and whores!”
Inko raises her hands in defense. “It’s not that I’m judging you, but I hate to think what sort of people might be calling you that in a derogatory manner.”
Kayama’s shoulders slump, and she rests her cheek on one hand. “Yeah. That’s fair. It’s cool if a friend or another hot, slutty, lesbian does it. But when it’s a misogynistic man, I have to remind myself I’m a hero and I can’t just beat up whatever civilians piss me off.”
A laugh bursts out of Inko before she can stop it. “I understand. I admit, I’ve considered using my quirk for some…less-than-heroic things in defense of Izuku.” She has, actually—though not in recent years. Back before he had a quirk, shortly after his father disappeared from their lives, when she was first realizing how truly despicable quirkless discrimination can be.
20% of the population is quirkless, the doctors had said. It may not sound like it, but it’s actually a rather large number. In Japan alone, 20% of the population would equate to approximately 30 million people.
And yet.
She figures, though, that she shouldn’t admit to any crimes in front of a Pro Hero. Even if it’s been a decade since.
“For your son, but not yourself?” Kayama raises an eyebrow. “You’re so selfless, Midoriya-san.”
“I’m really not.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, gaze drifting downwards. “I mean…how can I be selfless if I’d rather have Izuku safe with me than out risking his life to save the world?”
“The fact that you let him go at all proves how selfless you are,” Kayama argues. “Any good parent wants their kid to be safe. I don’t think there’s anything selfish about that; I think it’s how the world is supposed to work.”
Inko lifts her head, surprised. “You do?”
Kayama nods. Her expression has turned solemn. “I never really got it until I became a teacher, but it’s the same thing, sometimes. I want my students to be safe, but I also know that’s not why they’re at UA. To be a teacher is to want to protect your students, but to be a hero course teacher is to know you’re going to have to let them leave and put their lives on the line for the good of the rest of the world. I don’t know much about being a parent, but I know you’re not in the wrong for wishing you could keep your son safe even at the expense of everyone else’s livelihood.”
Something in Inko breaks beneath the weight of relief.
She’s never had anyone affirm her feelings like this before—though, she’s also never truly admitted them aloud before. Something about Kayama makes her easy to talk to, Inko supposes. Or maybe the dam inside of her finally cracked under the building pressure of the past several months.
“It’s funny,” Kayama muses. “I had a similar conversation with one of my friends not too long ago.”
“Another hero course parent?”
“Not exactly.” She smiles apologetically. “I shouldn’t really give details, unfortunately.”
“Oh! Right, right, of course.” Inko shakes her head. She forgot, for a second, that Kayama being a pro hero would mean her friends are likely also pro heroes. And most pros tend to keep their personal lives as private as possible, lest either villains or obsessive fans track down their loved ones. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
“No need to apologize,” Kayama waves her concern aside. “I wouldn’t mind telling you, but my friend would strangle me. And not in a fun way, if you know what I mean.” She winks.
Inko presses her lips together, unsure whether she should laugh or feel ashamed for the fact that she debated laughing in the first place. She wouldn’t consider herself a prude, but she’s never found Midnight’s brand of humor particularly funny.
Coming from Kayama, however, she’s reconsidering. Just a bit.
“Well.” She clicks her tongue. “We wouldn’t want that. I’d hate to see you killed by a friend when I’m only just getting to know you.”
Kayama leans in closer, fluttering her eyelashes and making Inko’s heart leap into her throat. “Would you like to get to know me even better? My room is only one floor up.”
Inko tries to completely ignore the fact that Kayama (one of Izuku’s teachers) (Pro Hero Midnight) just (jokingly!! as a joke!!) propositioned her for a hookup. Because if she thinks about that too hard, she may be rendered completely non-functional until Mitsuki comes to find her and drags her back to the room they’ve been staying in at the shelter.
Which leads to her pointing out, for the second time, “You’re in a wheelchair,” before she can consider maybe that’s not an appropriate thing to say right now.
But Kayama just grins and replies, “When there’s a will, there’s a way.”
That does draw a laugh from Inko, and Kayama’s grin only widens when Inko giggles. Giggles—like a high schooler with a crush! She hasn’t felt like this in ages. It’s a bit refreshing, really. She should thank Kayama for playing along with her like this and providing a pleasant distraction from the horrors of the world.
Although, she certainly wouldn’t mind spending time with her after all of this is over, either. Somewhere outside of the UA shelter, and certainly not in a hospital. Preferably a nice café, or some other restaurant. Hidden away at a corner table, where Kayama is less likely to be recognized by a fan and they can talk without the end of the world looming over their heads.
(Which…sounds an awful lot like a date, the more Inko thinks about it. But it wouldn’t have to be!)
Kayama’s phone rings, then, interrupting both their conversation and Inko’s train of thought. She grumbles under her breath, but flips the phone to look at the screen. She answers it with a huff. “Shouta, I’m busy. Call back later.”
Inko can’t make out what the person on the other end of the phone says, though the name sounds vaguely familiar. Perhaps another of Izuku’s teachers? Or some other pro hero?
“Well,” Kayama says, “you should have answered me when I first texted. I’m doing something more important now. …Shouta?” Kayama pulls the phone back from her ear to look at the screen. “Motherfucker. He hung up on me!”
“You can talk to him if you need to,” Inko assures her. “I don’t mind!”
Kayama waves her hand. “Nah. I’d much rather talk to you than him anyway. I bet you wouldn’t hang up on me mid-sentence.” She quickly types something on her phone, then sets it down again. “You’d be a nice phone conversationalist, I’m sure. It’s a shame I don’t have your number.”
Inko’s breath catches in her throat.
“I–” she stammers, suddenly unsure whether or not Kayama is being serious. Surely she doesn’t go around asking every civilian she flirts with for their number, right? That would be completely illogical—and a huge privacy risk. But at the same time, Inko can’t imagine why Kayama would genuinely see anything in her, of all people. She’s fairly certain she doesn’t give off “fun for one night” vibes. And she already turned down one offer to go back to Kayama’s room, though that she is almost certain was more of a joke than anything else.
Kayama raises an eyebrow. “Playing hard to get? I must admit, I’ve always been fond of the chase~”
“No, no, that’s—” Inko looks down to her lap, where her fingers are twisting together. “I appreciate your kindness, but I don’t…need you to put on a performance for me, or anything.”
“Huh?”
Inko looks up. Kayama seems truly confused.
“I mean—” she gestures vaguely. “You’re Midnight. The R-Rated Hero. I understand being flirty is just your persona, so I’m not upset about it, but I feel awful that you’re having to keep up appearances just because I happened to be nearest to this building when the alarm went off. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
Kayama’s eyes widen, her lips parting, though no sound comes out. Inko wonders if, typically, no one dares to call out her seduction for the act that it is because even if it’s meaningless, it feels nice to be the object of someone’s attention. Inko can’t deny that she fell into the same trap. She understands completely why one would want Kayama’s eyes on them and them alone.
And then Kayama laughs.
“I thought I told you I’m not Midnight right now,” she says, her tone teasing.
“You told me to call you Kayama,” Inko argues. “That’s different.”
Kayama raises her hands in defense. “Fine, fine, okay. I’m not performing for you, though. You struck me as the sort of person who would see straight through that anyway. But if you’re not interested, I won’t be offended.”
Her words hit Inko like a bag of rocks to the face.
Not performing… If you’re not interested…
“Hold on,” Inko squeaks out. “You’re— ?” She points at herself. “Me?”
Kayama nods, cheeks tinted pink. “Yes.”
“But…why?” Inko isn’t anything special—certainly not special enough to catch the eye of one of the most sought after pro heroes in Japan. She’s never been particularly self-conscious about her appearance, but she knows she isn’t the sort of person that would typically attract anyone’s eye.
“Because you’re hot, and I have a thing for milfs,” Kayama replies with a straight face.
Inko blinks.
Kayama breaks then, laughing and shaking her head. “I’m kidding. Well, sort of. I do think you’re attractive, and I might have a thing for milfs, but you’re also kind. And you’re refreshing to talk to. Being a pro hero is a lot of fielding conversations where people see you as an icon or an object or whatnot, and ever since the PLF raid and this wheelchair, all I’ve been getting is a shitload of useless pity.” She sighs, folding her hands in her lap. “You’ve just been talking to me like I’m any other person, though. It’s nice. And I would like to get to know you in better circumstances, if that’s something you’re interested in.”
Inko’s heart pounds loudly in her chest. She’s afraid Kayama can hear the beating of it, because it’s certainly the only thing echoing in Inko’s ears right now. The self-deprecating part of her brain insists she must have heard Kayama wrong, or misunderstood her words, but the logical part knows that isn’t the case.
“I would like that very much,” she breathes out.
“Cute,” Kayama says. “Soo… Can I get your number?”
“Oh! Of course, let me—” Inko fumbles for her purse, hoping she might have a pen and paper in there. Before she can even unzip it, however, Kayama is holding out her phone.
“You can just add your contact info.” It’s so casual, as if she doesn’t likely have the personal information of countless other pros somewhere on this very device, which Inko could access in an instant if she so desired. It’s a level of trust she does not think she’s proven she deserves.
But hopefully, she’ll have time to truly earn it.
She types her name and number into Kayama’s phone with shaking hands, and then passes it back over.
Kayama frowns, and Inko’s heart skips a beat before she says, “No contact photo?” She pouts at Inko. “Can we take one together?”
“Um—” Isn’t this supposed to go the other way around? With civilians asking pro heroes for pictures? “Sure?”
Kayama’s face lights up, and any previous doubt lingering in Inko’s mind dissipates entirely. Inko stands, so Kayama doesn’t have to worry about maneuvering her wheelchair closer. She positions herself behind Kayama, leaning down so their faces can both be in the frame. Kayama snaps several photos, making different faces for each one, while Inko simply smiles until her cheeks hurt.
Finally, Kayama lowers the phone. “Thanks! I’ll send them to you, don’t worry.”
Before Inko can say she doesn’t have to, her fingers are once again flying across her phone screen, and in a few seconds, Inko’s own phone goes off with a text alert.
“You’d better get that,” Kayama says seriously. “I bet it’s from some hot babe.”
She’s certainly a lot to handle, Inko thinks to herself as she retrieves her phone from her purse. It’s a good thing Inko is used to handling a lot, with the whole ‘being a single mother of a kid who was previously quirkless and is now enrolled at UA and acting as All Might’s successor’ thing.
“I don’t know,” she muses, even as she opens the new message. “I might leave them on read, considering there’s someone right in front of me who has already caught my eye.”
Kayama’s cheeks turn red. Inko internally celebrates.
Before either of them can say any more, the front door to the infirmary building bursts open and one very angry looking man marches in. It’s easy to recognize him as Izuku’s homeroom teacher—Aizawa-sensei, also known as underground hero Eraserhead.
“Nem— Midnight,” he grumbles, coming to a stop before them. He has a patch over one eye, and he seems to be favoring his left leg. “Midoriya-san.” He bows his head. “I apologize if she’s been causing you trouble. Midnight, we have places to be. Let’s go.”
Kayama gives an overexaggerated gasp of offense, holding a hand to her chest. “Shouta, you wound me. Why would I ever cause trouble for such a beautiful woman?!”
(Inko remembers Kayama using the same name during her phone call earlier—she must have been speaking with Aizawa, then. Though why he hung up only to come drag her out of the infirmary himself, Inko doesn’t know. Some hero-related thing, she assumes.)
Aizawa looks between them, and then sighs. “I don’t want to know. Hizashi is waiting on us.”
“Okay, but you have to push me. My arms are tired.”
“You are a fucking nuisance,” he mutters, apparently trying to keep his voice quiet but not lowering it enough to prevent Inko from hearing him. “One working leg between the two of us, and now you’re making me do all the work.” He does circle around to the back of Kayama’s wheelchair, though, and begins pushing her towards the exit.
“I’ll see you around, Midoriya-san!” she calls over her shoulder, twisting in her chair so she can bid farewell with a bright smile and a wave. “Set a contact picture for me too, okay? The third one is the best!”
And then they’re gone, the door slamming shut behind them.
Inko clutches her phone to her chest, warmth spilling through her veins. For a moment, she simply basks in it, giddiness rising within her at the knowledge that she’ll get to see Kayama again. And maybe, eventually, when all of this is over, they’ll be able to meet up somewhere outside the bounds of the UA shelter.
It’s not until Inko goes to look through the pictures Kayama sent that she realizes an alert announcing the end of the soft lockdown came through nearly fifteen minutes ago.
Which means Mistuki will probably be expecting her to return—
(Her phone rings.)
—now.
She scrambles, answering the call as she rushes outside, an apology spilling from her lips the moment she hears the call connect.
(But she knows, deep down, she would do it all over again if it meant running into Kayama.)