Wild Goose Chase

Chapter 6

Holy shit.

Eraserhead-?

What the fock- okay, be cool Shinsou. Actually, don't do that, telling yourself to be cool makes you even more uncool- what would Midoryia do-? Actually, no. He would probably freak out and go cry somewhere. That isn't an efficient plan at all- well, actually, it would save him some public embarrassment, considering what he's literally about to do- y'know what, fuck it.

. . .

What was Eraserhead even doing on a beach anyway-? Like yeah, it might be for his own entertainment, but when you go to a beach you don't exactly aim for the ones with shit and rubbish filling the sand, disrupting the beautiful sunset.

.. Is it even actually Eraserhead-? At that moment, all Shinsou could see was the back of someone's head, long black luscious hair flowing down their back. Well, maybe that description doesn't really fit properly. Still, what if it's just some random guy who's coincidentally a twin or family member.

He doesn't know much about the guy's family tree, so really, it could be anybody. The most he knows are small details of Eraser's quirk, and his basic appearance.

Grainy camera footage doesn't do much for you.

Anyway, he was getting too sidetracked. His favourite underground hero was sitting a few metres away from him, and he was getting lost in thought. Really not good enough, Shinsou.

. . .

Okay, now what-?

He's not exactly strong in the social area, and he's not really strong in general. So, the next move-? No clue.

So in conclusion,
he was just going to wing it.

(smart, I know.)

---

Izuku couldn't stand it anymore, and had spent 3 hours writing everything down that he had been muttering about for the past few days. He just wanted to write information about people's quirks, and restricting that, seemed to do a number on him. Maybe it was just the fact that was his only favourable hobby-? Or maybe he wanted to learn more about quirks, as they were an anomaly that he wanted to know the centre of.

He tiredly leaned back, throwing the new notebook onto his bedside table, as he groaned into his hands. Why is he addicted to writing about quirks, of all things-?

That's so lame, especially since he doesn't even have his own quirk to write about-! Honestly, shameful. Then again, he had felt better after scribbling down everything he was thinking about.

. . .

So, was it really that bad-?

Yes.

Well, in some ways, no. But still, he didn't want to be weirder or better or worse at things than other people, he just wanted to fit right in, and make no effort to stand out.

In a way, he didn't stand out. He was plain, symmetrical and pretty boring in many ways. But, in the ways he did stand out, weren't things he wanted to make him different.

(Being quirkless was one of those things.)

After a depressing rant to himself, he curled up in his blankets, and stuck his hand out to reach for his phone. As he scrolled through social media, he thought about other .. less weird hobbies he could take on.