He didn’t always have this many pens.
It started small, like really small. He was walking home from school, (this was his second year of junior high) when he passed a store advertising All Might merch. Now, this was a common occurrence, as nearly every store sold the merchandise of the number one hero in some way, shape, or form. The difference that day was that he was especially angry at the old man. Especially.
(He was angry at the old man every day, he was just particularly infuriated)
So, he bought a pen.
Not just any pen, no. A big fat pen with a sticker of All Might’s smiling head wrapped around it, in bright blue, yellow, and red. He pocketed his new treasure, walking home with a newfound bounce in his step.
Now, when he walked inside, he was planning to go and sit at the dining room table and do his homework with his secret weapon. Instead he faced a burning room, and his sister and mother frantically trying to put out the flames.
So yeah, he didn’t really feel the urge to get burned to death that day.
That’s the story of pen number one.
The next day at school, he used the pen, just out of pure spite. One of his classmates noticed. “Oh, you like All Might?”
He gave his most sincere smile. “Yeah, I really look up to him. He makes my life at home suck a little less whenever I see his smile.”
Oh, he was a smart boy, he just didn’t realize it then. The classmate’s eyes softened, and they went back to their work.
The next day, there was another pen on his desk. Another All Might pen.
He could only see a good outcome to this new hobby. That was when things really picked up.
He started spreading rumors that he really liked All Might pens, and he would buy something from the vending machine for anyone who got him one. Honestly, this was a win-win situation. He got more pens, and he got to spend his dad’s money. Come on, what could be better than pissing off his dad to the power of two?
He obviously ran out of room for pens at school quite quickly, so he started storing them at home. First in his room. Under the bed, under the mattress, boxes of pens filled every available space in his closet. There were pens under his clothes in the dresser, behind all the books in his bookshelf, there were even pens in his lights (don’t ask questions, he got them up there). His father was sure to find a fun surprise if he took away the area rug, or removed the ceiling tiles.
But alas, the space in his room was finite. It was time to get creative. Like, really creative.
(really, REALLY, creative)
He started small. A few pens in the couch cushions (no one sat there anyway), maybe one of two behind the cereal boxes in the pantry. He hid one in the pickle jar, (no one ate those, why did they have them???) because he was evil like that. Some innocent guest would bite into All Might’s face at some point in the future, and he would be there to film it if it was the death of him.
Unfortunately, his creative spots ran out much faster than he had hoped. Something wasn’t right, there was no way he’d hidden this many pens. Or maybe he had? He didn’t remember. Oh well. The more pens the merrier. (is that how the saying goes??)
By the time he had put a pen in the spine of every book in the library, he was wondering when was enough. Apparently not yet, because no one had found any yet. If his father was so set on ignoring him, there was really no reason to stop. So he didn’t stop.
At one point, he dropped a pen down the kitchen sink when he was washing his dish. Just discreetly, straight down the drain. That probably wouldn’t cause problems in the future. (spoiler alert, it did.)
Another one he was really proud of was putting one in the toothbrush cup. One of these days someone would try and brush their teeth with All Might. He would be getting that one on film too. (honestly it was just a waiting game until his inevitable death at that point, might as well make the most of it.)
It was just a normal day of hiding pens when he was balanced on the couch, setting a few in the hanging lamp so that you could just barely see them from below, when Touya walked in. He looked at his little brother, standing on his tip-toes on their couch with an All Might pen between his teeth and a few more in his hands, and simply turned around and walked out. Somehow, he didn’t think Touya was going to tell anyone. He just had a hunch.
Now we’re back at the present. The cursed, long-awaited day of discovery. Either only one pen would be found, or the whole lot of them at once. (it ended up being the latter, to his utter joy)
The sink, you know, the one he put a pen down? Yeah. It broke. (duh.) So his dad hired a plumber. The plumber pulled a moldy, weeks old, All Might pen out of the drain. Chaos ensued.
Fuyumi turned the ceiling fan on because their father was on fire, and the temperature of the room became increasingly hotter by the second. Pens flew, one of them hitting the flaming man smack in the nose. He was thrilled. All his dreams were unfolding before him. His dad roared, punching the ceiling.
You guessed it, pens poured down.
The man stormed through the house, basically tearing it apart trying to locate all the pens. He had been collecting pens for over a year, it was a long process. Pens in the socks, pens in the books, pens everywhere.
The rest of the family simply followed their father through the halls as he threw pens on the floor and stomped on them in rage. He watched his dad with a huge grin on his face, concealing nothing. He could care less if he was found out. He was a dead man walking anyway. He couldn’t wait until they reached his bedroom, where a majority of the stash was.
When his dad started smashing the ceiling lights to release a whole new onslaught of ink-based writing utensils he could barely hold in his maniacal laughter. He was a genius. An evil genius, but a genius nonetheless.
He barely escaped with his life, and the house may or may not be burning to the ground in front of him with the smell of burning plastic heavy in the air, but he had no regrets. It was so, so worth it.
Little did he know, Touya stood off to the side with a smile, twirling a pen between his fingers behind his back.
(He had one regret. No one ever found the pen in the pickle jar)