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“Miruko is kinda cute.”
At first, Tomura isn’t sure he heard those words correctly. Surely, Toga didn’t just say what he thought she did. He turns his head slowly towards the couch where she is curled up into a ball, watching the news on their old, dusty television.
A fire in an office building in downtown Matsuyama earlier that afternoon - no recorded casualties, only a few minor injuries. The screen shows the number five hero clearing out rubble with her bare hands, throwing it to the side in the same way a normal person may throw a small pebble.
“What?” he asks, hoping that maybe, his hearing just played a little trick on him. It happens, after all, especially late at night like this. If he’s lucky he can just ignore Toga, as he often does, and get back to reading and drinking his soda in peace.
“I said, Miruko is kinda cute.”
But there’s no such luck to be had today, apparently.
Tomura generally isn’t one for house rules, not at all. He doesn’t care if the others leave garbage and empty takeout containers out in the kitchen - hell, he does it himself all the time. And it doesn’t matter if they’re being loud in the middle of the night playing games or watching movies, because Tomura’s probably not getting any sleep either.
But if there’s a line in the sand to be drawn, he has to put it somewhere in the vicinity of ‘calling one of their most notorious enemies attractive to his face’. And Toga’s statement is delivered in the most neutral of voices - as if she’s simply stating an indisputable fact like it’s raining, or Dabi ate all the salt- and vinegar chips again.
“Unbelievable,” Tomura says, disgust seeping into his voice. “Some villain you are. I should kick you out of the League right now.”
“It’s true!” Toga throws a finger up and points it towards the screen, just as Miruko flashes the cameras a blinding, glittering smile. She tosses her long, white hair over her shoulder as she walks off, the sunlight setting it aglow. “I know you’re thinking it too. Look at me and tell me you’re not.”
Tomura has to roll his eyes. If it’s not some kid heroes in training, it’s a pro in the top ten - or even worse, fucking Stain.
A short beat of silence later, Toga uncurls herself from her corner of the couch, grinning at him with a look that is annoyingly triumphant.
“A-ha,” she exclaims, and fuck - he’d gotten so caught up in contemplating the hero killer that he completely missed refuting her baseless and frankly disturbing accusations. “I knew it!”
“You don’t know shit,” Tomura sneers, his frown deepening further and further with every word.
But if he has to be honest with himself, kinda cute is, well… a bit of an understatement. To say the least. As the leader of the League, however, he has to hold himself to the same standards he holds all the other members. That means, unfortunately, that if he’s to mentally shame Toga for ogling those annoying little teenage heroes in training, he has to shame himself even more for ogling a goddamn pro.
Tomura rubs his temples with two fingers. A headache is coming on, and fast. He needs to leave. He needs to go to sleep. He needs to forget this ever happened.
“Turn that off,” he says as he throws his empty soda can somewhere in the approximate direction of the sink.
Toga just gives him a noncommittal noise in response, her eyes once again glued to the bright screen of the television. On it, Miruko is giving the reporters some commentary about the rescue operation, her sharp canines flashing every time she opens her mouth.
Tomura slams the door behind him as he goes.
-
If Dabi and Hawks think they are being subtle, they are even bigger idiots than Tomura had first thought.
Apparently, they think no one will notice when they bump their hands together as they walk side by side, or pull each other into empty conference rooms when the others go on lunch break. Not to mention the way Hawks will adamantly refuse to take off the aviator jacket that buttons all the way up to his chin, even when the underground meeting rooms are boiling with heat.
It gets old very fast.
“Hey,” Tomura says, snapping his fingers in Dabi’s direction. He’s pretty sure he’s texting under the table, and frankly, Tomura has had more than enough of that during the past few weeks. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, boss,” Dabi says, still staring at his screen. At least he’s not typing now. Maybe that’s as good as it’s going to get for the remainder of this meeting.
“We’re interrupting the delivery here,” Tomura says, pointing to the map. “It should be there right when the hero patrol shift changes, and it’s possible Edgeshot will be there. We need to be prepared for combat.”
Spinner raises his hand, and Tomura gives him a quick nod.
“Why not interrupt them sooner?” he asks. “If there’s a chance one of the top four will be there, why not do it earlier when we know it’s only number five and eighteen?”
Before he gets the chance to explain his carefully put together plan any further, however, Toga pipes up from her perch on the table.
“It’s because of Tomura’s crush on Miruko.”
His train of thought screeches to a grinding halt.
As does everyone elses, it seems, because the room suddenly becomes so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Then -
“My fucking - what?”
“Your crush! You told me you think Miruko is cute,” Toga continues on, and one of these days he really will kick her out of the League. See who’s Switch you’re going to borrow after that, dumbass, Tomura thinks bitterly to himself.
“I didn’t.”
“You did! I asked you to tell me that you didn’t think she was cute, and you just stared off into space. So you do, and I’m right.”
“I just didn’t want to play along with your ridiculous little games,” Tomura all but snarls at her, and then he makes the grave mistake of glancing at Mr. Compress.
He can’t see his face behind the mask, not even a glimpse. But he knows, feels deep in his bones, that he’s smirking.
“You have most excellent taste, leader,” Mr. Compress says, and Tomura wonders if it’s too late to scratch this whole League business and start over with people who are not out to actively sabotage his life.
-
From there on out, it only gets worse.
Whenever Miruko appears on the news, which is often, the others will shoot him a quick look out of the corner of an eye. If they’re daring enough, they’ll throw in a knowing little smile for good measure.
It’s truly insufferable.
And it’s as though Miruko is upping her media presence just to spite Tomura personally. Some two-bit villain attacks a shopping mall and she’s there, disposing of them as if it’s nothing. A minor earthquake hits a coastal town and she’s there, grinning brightly while carrying civilians off to safety.
One day, Tomura wanders into the kitchen only to find Miruko-branded protein powder on the counter.
The rage that simmers in his blood is at that point is unmatched. Tomura’s not sure what’s worse, the nod to his supposed ‘crush’, or the very unsubtle hint that he should put on some muscle mass. After that, he’s pretty sure he could tear down a skyscraper with his bare hands, not even bothering to activate his quirk.
And who the hell wants carrot cake flavoured protein shakes, anyway?
As he flips the bucket upside down and dumps the powder out into the trash, he can’t help but think that it smells kind of… not terrible.
And then he quickly snaps back to reality.
You are losing your mind, he tells himself as he throws the empty container on top of the pile of pizza boxes and garbage already filling the trash can to the brim. You need to get a grip, and you need to do it fast.
And if, just that once, he finds himself googling her alias - if he late one night klicks ‘follow’ on her Twitter account, and then her Instagram too for good measure - well, who’s to know?
-
If Dabi was flighty before, it’s nothing compared to his behaviour after getting into… whatever it is he’s doing with Hawks. He was already prone to disappear for days without picking up his phone, but it’s reached a point where it’s actively affecting the League’s work.
He zoned out through the last two meetings and didn’t show up at all for the third, which means that Dabi doesn’t know shit about their coming missions, doesn’t know shit about their pick-up points or escape plans, and absolutely doesn’t give a shit about Tomura’s blood pressure.
And so, as their leader, Tomura needs to put his foot down.
At least now Tomura has a good idea of where to find him, and isn’t reduced to waiting around at the hideout, hoping that Dabi hasn’t crawled into a dumpster somewhere and died.
Hawks’ address is an easy thing for someone with their current resources to get a hold of. Soon enough, Tomura’s standing in front of an impressive and newly built apartment complex, staring up at the row of spacious balconies above.
The front door is predictably protected by a passcode, which Tomura doesn’t have.
He considers just decaying the whole thing and having it over and done with, but actions like that are prone to set off alarms, and he really doesn’t have the time to deal with dusting security guards at the moment.
As he digs into his pocket to fish out his phone and try calling Dabi for the probably hundredth time today, the sound of footsteps alerts him to someone else’s approaching presence.
“Hey,” says a voice right next to his left ear, and Tomura almost jumps in surprise. Almost.
When he whips around, the number five hero is right there, glaring daggers at his face.
Vaguely, in the back of his head, Tomura remembers Dabi mentioning that Miruko and Hawks know each other. But he’s become so accustomed to tuning out anything the League has to say about the number five hero for the past couple of months that he can’t recall any other details about their relationship. Friends, maybe, or just coworkers, two young heroes on the rise.
“What are you doing here?"
Miruko’s eyes are narrowed, and she’s shifting her weight in a way that clearly states that she’s ready for a fight. Her long hair is tied up into a loose bun, stray strands hanging down to frame her face and fluffy, white ears. She’s wearing what looks like casual workout clothes, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
Her eyes are piercing and cold.
“I’m here for- to pick up,” is what Tomura manages to get out before his brain suddenly seems to shut down completely.
What the fuck, he thinks, and she’s still looking at him with those wide eyes, sparkling and attentive. Reboot, fucking reboot right now. This is not the time for an error screen.
After all, there’s a hero right in front of him. An enemy. He needs to be on his guard.
“I’m here to pick up my fucking friend,” Tomura says, finally. “He’s not answering his phone.”
My fucking friend who’s probably fucking your friend, he adds mentally.
“Oh,” Miruko says, relaxing her stance slightly. “That pierced guy, right?”
Once again, his mind stutters to a halt. She knows who Dabi is? How?
“That’s the one,” Tomura says, and he can’t help the confusion creeping into his voice. “How did you know?”
Miruko rolls her eyes.
“Bird never shuts the hell up. Get him out of there and leave, and I won’t turn the two of you into smashed burgers. For now.”
She presses the code into the keypad, and the automatic doors quickly slide open. Tomura trails her into the lobby, Miruko pressing a button to call an elevator down. And for a moment, the two of them stand there in crushing, horrifying silence. The elevator doors slide open with a ding, and Miruko presses the button that will take them to the top floor.
“Hawks has been telling me all about… your ideals,” Miruko starts, and it’s almost painful, how bad of a liar she is. She’s a hero built for brutal melee combat, not anything close to subterfuge.
“I know he’s playing us,” Tomura says, “you don’t have to beat around the bush.”
For a second Miruko looks stunned, before quirking a curious eyebrow.
“Why not just sell him out?” she asks, what seems like genuine interest in her voice. It does something strange to Tomura’s stomach that he doesn’t want to think any further about.
Ignoring the uncomfortable sensation, Tomura just shrugs.
“I would probably get cremated in my sleep,” he says. It’s the truth, after all. “What about you? Aren’t you going to…” Tomura trails off, not sure how to put this frankly too complicated situation into words. This is all Hawks’ fault, he thinks, and Dabi’s, too. Once again, the option of just kicking everyone out of his organisation and starting over is looking increasingly appealing.
“What, fight you? Throw you in jail? If I did, you would drag Dabi right in there with you. And I’d have an annoying little chirping bird on my neck.” She pulls a quick grimache, as if the thought of it offends her. “No, thank you.”
It’s not quite the answer Tomura was expecting, but he’ll take it.
At the first knock, Hawks throws open the door to this apartment, thankfully wearing clothes.
“Hey,” Miruko says, shouldering her way past him and into the hallway. “You left your stuff at the agency.”
“Oh, hey,” Hawks replies. “Thanks for bringing it around.”
His voice is casual and light, but his sharp eyes are entirely focused on Tomura, still hovering by the door.
“I’m here for the idiot,” Tomura mutters, and he can practically see the gears in Hawks’ head turning a million miles an hour, trying to come up with a plausible lie to land himself on the other side of this interaction with both his career and cover in one piece.
Obviously, he’s drawing a blank.
At just that moment, Dabi wanders out of the bathroom. At the sight of Miruko in the hallway, he quickly freezes in place, throwing a panicked glance in Hawks' direction. Then, he spots Tomura behind her shoulder, and confusion slowly spreads across his face.
For a long while, everything in the apartment is silent and still.
“Why are you here?” Dabi asks finally, glancing from Tomura, to Miruko, to Hawks, and then back to Tomura.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Tomura says. “I needed to talk to you.”
Miruko looks from Dabi, to Tomura, to Hawks, and then back to Dabi.
“Alright,” she says, finally. “I’m going to pretend this never happened, and I’m going to go home. Hawks, don’t get so lovesick you forget your stuff at the office, and you…” she pauses, looking straight at Dabi. She doesn’t finish her sentence, its meaning obvious without any words necessary.
Then, she turns to Tomura, giving him a quick once-over.
“And you. Nice to meet you, or whatever.”
She throws a hand up over her shoulder as she goes. “Next time, I’ll beat both of your asses.”
The door clicks closed behind her, and Tomura turns back to face Dabi and Hawks, ready to launch into a spiel about how Dabi needs to stop running off to hang out in heroes penthouses when he’s supposed to be working.
Instead, he’s met only by two identical, insufferable, knowing grins.
“What,” Tomura snaps.
Dabi just snorts, hiding his face behind his hand.