The Analyst

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢-𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎: 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝... 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗

THE AGENCY, ONCE (Y/N) WAS IN HER OFFICE.

It was quiet. The clock on the wall ticked as the vents flicked on, causing the Japanese flag in the corner to billow slightly.

The detective sat at her desk, humming a song and tapping her foot. She looked over a few papers, slipping them in a file folder.

She was at peace.

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Chiharu sat at her desk, reading over some emails. She nodded her head to the beat of the music which played over her one ear bud.

Her mind drifted to her boss and the woman's many suitors. She chuckled and smiled, happy for the woman.

She just felt bad that all her suitors were pro-heroes.

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Daichi sat at his desk, hacking into some douchebags computer.

"I swear to god, swear to god, swear to god if you leave me, me, me," he sang under his breath, listening to the music blasting over his headphones. "It's like the world comes crashing down, down, down."

He was content.

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Bakugo looked out over the edge of the building he was standing on, watching the people below.

His mind drifted to the detective he always found himself thinking about.

I hate her, he thought, I want to to stop thinking about her.

But he knew he couldn't. Bakugo Katsuki had never been in love before, but the rage that filled him when he saw that picture of her and that fucking Deku on the news, that was made him think that he was now.

He was rather conflicted about the whole situation. He just knew that hearing her voice was everything he ever needed in life.

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Mirio sat at his desk, his hand flying over the paper he was grading.

He looked up at the seats in front of him, empty and the classroom barren.

He breathed in, the air smelling like graphite and paper.

So they found out. I guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought.

His mind drifted back to the conversation he and his class had had earlier. He couldn't deny what they had said, he did like the detective. What the hell was a "parent trap" anyway? Whatever it was, it sounded like trouble. But he silently hoped it would work.

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Izuku sat his desk, answering emails on his desktop. He felt the sun shining through the window and onto his back, making his entire body warm.

He sighed, raking a hand through his curls and pulling on one, leaning back and scratching his slight stubble with his free hand.

Sighing, he brought both hands down to his desk. He looked at one, flexing it into a fist and back, examining the scars that ran across it like a subway map.