Licensed Villains

Brace

The Akito-Sutorimu household reflects well on it's owners pay grades but even with open formatting and expensive counter tops, it's kitchen isn't enough for their ragtag group. The next morning Izuku watches with amusement  as all twelve of his friends pushed and shoved their way past each other, reaching for various dishes and shouting orders - though the last one was mostly Dabi demanding supplies for his cooking and Fuyumi trying to herd the group into some sense of organization. He hears a cry as Natsuo's elbow goes flying into Kaseki's face and Hawks drops a plate.

For once, Izuku was more than happy to stay far away from the group where he sat at the coffee table. He woke up late - his phone screen telling him it was near eleven o'clock - to the sound of Hatsume shrieking about burnt eggs, and blearily found his way to the main room. He thinks all of them have yet to notice he's there; quietly sitting and observing with a small uptick smile. His suspicions are confirmed when Sutorimu exits from the center of the horde and makes for the couch, eyes widening slightly when they catch on him. He waves shyly and lets her sit down across from him.

Izuku's hunched over with morning fogginess. He's weighed down by dark bags under his eyes and an exhaustion that pulls at his very soul. His talk with Shouto offered him a small amount of sleep, but certainty not enough.

"Did we wake you?" Sutorimu asks, taking a seat. The chair she chooses is clearly hers with how easily she sinks into it, body fitting perfectly into it's creases. It's strange seeing her in such a comfortable piece of furniture, her posture sagging where it would normally be so straight it was like her spine had been tightened by string.

Shrugging, Izuku said, "It's not a big deal. I should be awake by now already, anyways."

"You should be resting," she insists.

He bites down on his tongue, trapping his urge to argue. Rest wasn't what was needed right now, not with the commission at large and  the world crumbling before his very eyes. Not with people being turned into creatures, being ripped apart and sewn together in broken misaligned ways.

Sutorimu jerked her head towards the kitchens chaos. "They're worried about you."

That's the worst part, Izuku thinks. He's glad to have the support but he wishes they didn't have to worry; that he could walk away from all that's happened unscathed and simply do what Revite does best: tell the world. But his lungs close every time he thinks to talk about the Nomus. His hands tremble every time he imagines putting them to a keyboard and spelling out what the world deserve to know.

He meets Sutorimu's eyes.

"Are you? Worried, I mean."

She hesitates. He's never known her to hesitate in the short few months they've interacted. After a moment, she nods. "I am, but I didn't worry when you were gone."

Staring, he wonders how she can be so blunt and yet so hard to understand. At least she's not tip-toeing around him like some of the others. This is her normal. He likes the normal much more than whatever confusion is hovering outside it.

He tilted his head to the side, raising his brows, and Sutorimu sighed. She leaned forward in her chair and nodded to him.

"I knew you would be okay - that even if we didn't save you, you would have found a way out yourself," she explains.

"How could you be so certain?" he asks.

In a very Sutorimu-like manner, she doesn't answer the question directly but instead replies, "We have the same weakness, you and I. Weaknesses tell us a lot about how we'll handle situations like the one you were in."

Surprised, he frowns. He thought having the same weakness would be something Sutorimu would have mentioned before. Then again, she didn't say she knew he was Revite until people's lives were on the line.