Chapter Text
Autumn is a difficult season. It promises a day of chilled wind and cozy sweaters in the morning and unleashes a heat wave by the afternoon. It convinces the plants that they can take their time to change color and wither away, but then ices over one night and breaks the trees weighed down by frozen leaves. Most days are calm until the occasional typhoon ruins everything. Autumn taunts people with its unpredictability, tries its hardest to keep people guessing and adapting.
Izuku knew about adapting. He knew about taking care of himself, about interacting with the right and wrong people, about society and its prejudices. He knew all of autumn’s tricks.
When a cold wind shuddered past Izuku on his way home from school, he hunched his shoulders to his ears and tipped his chin into his scarf. It was the kind of wind that slid under his clothes and scraped against his skin. There were a few ways to combat that kind of chill, though most were unavailable to Izuku.
The cool autumn air followed the middle schooler into his apartment. It was stagnant and the same temperature as the outside, though at least there was no biting wind. Izuku didn’t spend long in his home. He changed into faded sweatpants and a sweatshirt with holes near the hem before starting on his daily run.
At first, running was a way to get in shape, a form of exercise that didn’t require a pricey gym membership. Then, a few months ago, it became a stress reliever. His habit had the added benefit of helping him outrun his bullies, though he couldn’t outrun all the other problems in his life. As the days shortened and autumn’s penchant for climatic chaos increased, running became a way to stay warm.
The wind nipped at Izuku’s cheeks, but the blood thrumming underneath kept the chill at bay. No matter how much it tried to seep into his bones, the warmth in his veins protected him from the inside out, better than any hot shower or heated blanket. Izuku ran for a long time. He ran until the sun set and the wind died down. Some part of him worried that he was exerting too much energy, that he wouldn’t be able to replenish what he lost, but the rest of him thrived on the runner’s high.
There were other reasons for Izuku to exercise, to stay looking the way he did, though he preferred not to dwell on those. It reminded him of what he had to do in order to pay the bills. It had been 188 days since he had last seen or heard from Inko. If she was going to up and leave her son without any way to support himself, then he had to get creative.
Izuku double checked that his front door was locked and shut the blinds to his bedroom. It didn’t matter that his apartment was on the third floor and the likelihood of someone peeping was next to zero. The assurance of privacy helped Izuku relax. He needed to be calm, collected, and confident for this to work.
As he waited for his laptop to turn on, Izuku tucked his unruly green hair underneath a black wig and changed out of his running gear. His skin was still flushed and the low light in his bedroom highlighted the shine of sweat that clung to his chest. He knew he looked too pale and too thin. He learned how to hide that with tricks of the light and the way he angled his body.
The red light of his webcam blinked on, and Izuku laid on his side on his bed waiting for the livestream to get viewers. He was still warm, still able to ignore the cold in his apartment. Shivering wouldn’t be a good look, though there were probably some twisted viewers who would like to see him look even more vulnerable than he already was.
A few minutes passed before some viewers appeared online. Izuku gave them a sultry smile. He spoke to them, asked about their days while his finger traced languid patterns across his bare skin. They replied in the chat box, and Izuku pretended to care. He pretended to enjoy their company and pretended he liked to show off his body for them. Most of the time his viewers sat and watched. Sometimes they commented and asked him to do certain things. On a rare occasion, they would give him money.
That’s the real reason he was doing this. The real reason he stroked himself and winked at the camera and put various things in his mouth and even, as he got bolder, in other places. They would almost always send him money then.
The money was worth it, he had to keep reminding himself. It was the best income he had despite how sporadic it was. When his mother left and the bills kept coming, Izuku started by selling the furniture she left behind. He sold blood plasma and took surveys. He tried to tutor younger students, but no one wanted a quirkless tutor. He was too young to get a real job. Being a camboy was nowhere near his first choice of income, but it ended up being the only one that could support him and cover all his expenses.
He finished his live stream show, releasing himself onto his own face at the request of one viewer. That person sent him 7,000 yen. It was enough to pay for his groceries. It was worth it, he thought as he smiled at the camera with his mess dripping off his chin. It was worth it as he turned off the camera and rushed to the shower. It was worth it to feel dirty because it meant he was still alive.
But the shower was frigid. Izuku had long gotten used to cold showers and didn’t mind them as much as he used to, but that was in the summer when his apartment was sweltering. Now his home was as cold as autumn’s apathy. It took less than two minutes to get clean and escape the water only to stand shivering in his towel.
All the warmth Izuku felt earlier was gone. The same pattern happened the last few nights and will continue to happen. He’d been lucky until this point, but with winter closing in and the need to pay for heat increasing, his luck would inevitably run out. What’s worse, the number of viewers that attended his webcam shows had been declining. It’s a fast paced industry, he’d learned, that valued only the most popular performers and the freshest faces. Izuku had been a camboy for a few months and his shows were no longer enticing viewers to stay. He’d run out of income within weeks, and soon after that he’d be without a home.
Standing alone in his cold dark bathroom, Izuku thought about the business card he still had stashed away in his desk drawer. He grimaced at the thought of having to call the number on that card. It was the only business that didn’t say no to hiring a fifteen-year-old quirkless boy. As much as he loathed to admit it, it was the only way to not freeze to death this winter.
It was worth it to feel dirty because it meant he was still alive. Izuku found the business card, took a deep breath, and called the owner of Heaven’s Secret Strip Club.