Chapter Text
The words of his classmates swirled around Midoriya as he sat in the auditorium. They were in for a real treat, a test screening of a band set to perform at the upcoming school festival.
Well, maybe "set to perform" is too strong a phrase. All anyone knew was that Present Mic was tasked with finding an act, put it off after getting distracted by his other duties, booked the first act he thought looked halfway decent, and was now permitted to present them to Class 1-A. Mic wasn't certain what the students wanted to see, he didn't have the time to find out. He figured if the band was a hit with Class 1-A, maybe the rest of the student body would enjoy it.
Each conversation in the crowd centered around who this mystery act could be. But, all Midoriya could think about was the training exercise in Ground Beta earlier that day simulating a villain attack on a populated area..
The heat was sweltering; certainly enough to make Kacchan produce more nitro-infused sweat than usual. This fact alone led him to take out more hostage dummies than practice robots by accident. No, no. Midoriya sighed. Kacchan didn't blow them up by accident and he knew it.
What really stood out in Midoriya's mind was a scenario he overlooked during that session. The hostage dummies were all set up to display various injuries, which the students were meant to assess and treat until paramedics arrived. Midoriya recalled prioritizing the most bloody of them, the ones with the most grievous wounds, even if some of his classmates were already tending to them. He had focused on those dummies so much that he scarcely noticed the one in the corner of the room; the one rigged with a motor, curled up and shaking, but otherwise seemed unharmed. In fact, no one seemed to notice it.
The class was fortunate to have All-Might as the instructor for that exercise. Had it been Mr. Aizawa, he would've laid into them with his almost apathetic yet biting criticism. No, the Symbol of Peace praised the work they put into tending to the other hostages until more help arrived, but still noted the one shaking in the corner. He explained that this one was undergoing symptoms of post traumatic stress, and could've used someone to comfort him. "Always remember," he told them, "not every wound is visible."
Most of the class took this to heart, though as they left Ground Beta, All-Might pulled Midoriya aside. He could tell from the boy's dejected look that his future successor was taking this personally, and told him not to dwell on the matter. "It's something you'll get better at noticing the more you practice," his mentor told him. That cheered Midoriya up a little, but he just couldn't get the scenario out of his head.
"The Sticky Sweethearts."
"Huh?" Midoriya, knocked from his thoughts, turned his head to Kaminari in the seat behind him. "What are you talking about?"
Kaminari smiled, "that's what I heard one of the teachers call the band, 'the Sticky Sweethearts.'"
Midoriya looked towards the seat next to his. Uraraka met his gaze with an equally confused expression. "I don't think I've ever heard of them before," she said.
Midoriya shrugged. "Me neither."
"They could be some sort of experimental group, ribbit," Tsu croaked in, "maybe with a heavy artistic angle."
Bakugou leaned back in his chair and huffed. "Figures," he said, "Mic must be desperate. There's no way anything good could come from a band called 'the Sticky Sweethearts.'"
"Why are you talking about the Sticky Sweethearts?"
The students turned to see Jirō taking a seat next to Kaminari, coming in late. "Do you know about them, Jirō?" Midoriya asked.
Jirō replied with a sigh. "I wish I didn't."
"Called it!" Bakugou shouted, "they're trash!"
"There's no need to jump to conclusions, Bakugou," Iida chimed in, "even if you don't like a band's genre, they might still be capable of producing tasteful pieces."
Iida's words made Jirō raise an eyebrow. "Tasteful? Iida, they're not capable of anything remotely tasteful. I'm pretty tuned in to the music industry and I've never heard a good thing about them. They're a menace."
"'A menace?'" Tsu asked, "do they use their quirks for crimes?"
Jirō shook her head. "Nothing like that. I think they're all quirkless. Let's just say the people in that band were never exactly stable."
Jirō paused, considering her next words. "But the frontman, he really fell off the deep end after his girlfriend dumped him. He never moved on and promised to 'stick to her like glue,' until he found a way to fix their failed relationship. Sure enough, he started writing songs about all the stupid ways he tried to win her back. He even moved his band from America to Japan after she got a job over here."
Uraraka winced a bit. "Talk about living in the past."
"Stick to her like glue," Iida repeated. "He seems to be taking that metaphor to its most extreme end."
"You have no idea," Jirō muttered.
Maybe it was the way Jirō had said that, but something told Midoriya there was more to that statement. "What do you mean?" he asked her.
Jirō sighed. "It has to do with the name of one of their more well known songs."
"What's it called?" Uraraka asked curiously.
A blush appeared on Jirō's face as she looked towards the floor. Midoriya looked back to Uraraka, who winced again. She realized she probably shouldn't have asked that. After a brief but notable silence, Jirō muttered something.
"What did you say?" Kaminari asked. The blush on Jirō's face only grew as she muttered again, slightly louder.
"We still can't hear you," Iida said with an air of helpfulness, only for Jirō to give the same barely audible muttering.
"SPEAK UP, LONG LOBES!" Bakugou shouted, causing Jirō to blurt out "I Glued My Balls to My Butthole Again!" Her whole face flushed red as she turned to see Mineta taking the seat next to hers, his jaw practically hitting the floor as he hesitantly asked "You have balls?"
Immediately, a long frog tongue wrapped around Mineta's small frame as Tsu lifted him into the air and tossed him clear across the auditorium.
There was a long pause after this. Kaminari finally broke it.
"So-" "That's the name of the song!" Jirō interjected, putting her head in her hands. "Why are you guys even talking about the Sticky Sweethearts?"
Midoriya and Uraraka looked at each other nervously, then looked back at Jirō. Finally, Uraraka stated quietly "They're the band Mic found."
Almost at once Jirō's face shot up from her hands with a look of horror. "What?!" she shouted, "You're joking?! What was he thinking?!"
"Who cares," Bakugou said, leaning back in his chair again, "they're probably some lame-" Jirō shot him a look so aggressive and serious, it actually stopped Bakugou mid-sentence, a feat all on its own.
"Didn't you listen to anything I said?!" Jirō shouted. "That band is a menace! Mic has no idea who he-" now Jirō was cut off, by the lights in the auditorium dimming. As the curtain parted, all she could do was give an almost breathless "no…"
Midoriya looked up. There, onstage, were the Sticky Sweethearts, a five man group with drums, guitars, and a saxophonist. Their suits and haircuts made them look like a band with a Buddy Holly style. In fact, they sort of resembled 1950s rock n roll performers; a far cry from the image Jirō put in their heads. Yet, Midoriya could tell from the worried expression on his friend's face, there was more to it.
The Frontman of the group walked up to the microphone, a friendly smile gracing his face. He was a young man with a clean haircut, a dark complexion, and a suit. He looked perfectly normal, certainly not like a menace. Midoriya began to wonder, if only briefly, if this really was the group Jirō warned them about. That is, until he noticed the bottle of glue stuck to the left sleeve of the Frontman's coat.
"Good afternoon, UA!" The Frontman shouted, "This first one's a tender little tune about young love, surprise encounters, and bonding with your future in-laws. More than that, it's about the night I proposed to my true love!"
The first few guitar strums rang out with surprising polish, reverberating through the auditorium with the swagger of a polished rockabilly act. Midoriya, tense in his seat, felt a moment of almost-relief—maybe this wouldn't be that bad.
Then, as the spotlight hit him, the Frontman leaned into the mic.
"I'm just chillin' half-mast under your bed…
I've been sitting in darkness since half past ten…"
A visible wave of discomfort spread across the audience. Shoulders shifted. A few students exchanged glances. Bakugou narrowed his eyes in suspicion, arms crossed. Meanwhile, Mineta leaned forward in his new seat, a gross smirk spreading slowly across his face.
"I finally hear the door open… IT'S YOUR DAD!
He heard me rip ass… and now I'm dead!"
Midoriya blinked, as if he hadn't heard correctly. "What… what is happening?" he whispered in horror.
"He threw the mattress across the room!
Your mother was crying
And your dad was nude—(tight!)"
Jirō dropped her face into one hand, shaking her head. "Oh my god," she muttered. "He's serious. I told you this guy was a menace."
"That was the first time—(whoa-oh!)
Oh, it was the worst time—(whoa-oh!)
Oh, That was the first time…
I saw your dad nude…"
Principal Nezu's ears twitched. From the rear of the auditorium, he slowly raised his phone. Speaking to Mic, his voice deceptively calm, "You need to cut the microphones. Now."
Backstage, a wave of panic had already begun.
"I'm trying!" Present Mic snapped, yanking at the audio board. "They're not connected to the main system! They brought their own rogue PA! It's glued in here! I mean that literally! They actually glued everything in here!"
Aizawa's mouth formed a tight line as he turned to Nezu. "I'm shutting this down the old-fashioned way." With that, he began striding slowly toward the stage, scarf unraveling behind him.
"I saw his balls and his butthole too
I asked if he needed any glue
He got so mad, I didn't know what to do
So I emptied the glue
Onto your mother's boobs—(tight!)"
The auditorium erupted.
Someone screamed. Momo Yaoyorozu fainted with a dainty thud against her seat. Bakugou stood up so fast his chair skidded across the floor behind him, fists clenched and eyes burning with the promise of violence. Principal Nezu hurled himself toward the fire extinguisher on the wall like a man on a mission.
"That was the first time…
I saw your dad nude…"
Aizawa was halfway down the aisle. His eyes remained fixed on the band all the while.
"He tackled so hard, my glue bottle broke," the Frontman crooned, oblivious to the carnage,
"And his balls got stuck to the back of my throat—"
"Bro, what is this song?" Kirishima gasped, laughing and cringing at once.
Somewhere near a very perplexed Ojiro, the voice of Hagakure floated invisibly: "I think this might be a cry for help?"
"Girl, that's when you finally walked in and screamed—
'Dad… What the fuck! What the fuck!
Oh my God! Holy shit! Jesus Christ! Ew!'
It's not what it looks like!"
Midoriya, his jaw still dropped, looked over towards Iida. The class representative was motionless, expressionless; as though the sheer absurdity and inappropriateness of what he was hearing caused his brain to shutdown. He could see Kaminari nearby, cracking up; at least he was enjoying this, somehow. Next to Midoriya, Uraraka covered her ears, her eyes squeezed shut. "Make it stop," she begged. "Make it stop, please."
"Your father tried to break my neck with no remorse
Your mama was screaming that she wants a divorce…"
Aizawa reached the stage, eyes glowing red, ready to erase the entire band from existence. He yanked the power cord from their speaker system—only for it to sputter back to life.
"They wired in redundancies," he muttered. "What kind of maniacs—"
"When his balls unglued
From the back of my throat
That's when I got down on one knee,
to propose!
But hold on, girl! Before you answer…
I must ask your dad
If I can take his daughter's hand
I guess I'm just old fashioned like that…"
In a sudden, merciful blackout, the spotlight vanished. Aizawa had ripped the entire speaker rack from the stage with a guttural growl. Sparks flew as wires snapped. The only sound that remained was the hissing of smoke as the auditorium fell into stunned silence.
Then, through the haze, the Frontman—still holding the mic—spoke into the void.
"…He said no."
The Sticky Sweethearts were zip-tied and seated against the wall like captured villains. They looked less like rock stars and more like disappointed criminals who'd been caught spray-painting their ex's house for the third time. The concert didn't last long, ending as soon as Aizawa dragged them offstage. They weren't exactly difficult to apprehend, though their act still went on longer than it should have.
Aizawa stood in front of them, his patience worn thin to the bone.
"You are never coming within five hundred meters of this campus again."
The Frontman lifted his head slightly. His voice was calm. Sincere.
"…What about just the courtyard?"
"No."
"The gym?"
"No."
"What if no one is in it?"
"No."
Present Mic stood behind him, arms crossed. He exhaled, his voice almost thoughtful. "Admittedly… catchy chorus though." Aizawa shot him a deadly look. It would be a very long time before Mic could live this one down.
Midoriya sat on a bench off to the side, staring at the floor with wide, unblinking eyes. Much to his surprise, he wasn't thinking about the day's training exercise anymore, if only because he felt like the dummy in the corner. "I think I have psychological damage."
"I respect the chaos," Bakugou muttered darkly beside him, "but next time I see that guy, I'm blowing up his PA with my face."
Midoriya didn't respond to him, unable to form a coherent thought to counter that. Still, at least he'd never have to hear the Sticky Sweethearts again.