Chapter Text
While the quirk helped fix the damage done by Ashido, it doesn’t leave his face unscarred. The skin isn’t particularly smooth, but, then again, none of his skin is. It’s nothing new, and it overwrote some of Izuku’s old scars, so he really can’t complain. He wonders if he could have gotten away without any scarring if he had been able to see what he was doing. Too late for that, though.
The boy walks into English a little late, since Recovery Girl had wanted to check his vision and stuff. He almost wishes he still couldn’t see just because of the way the students’ eyes follow him as he skirts the walls to his seat. Which is worse, the hatred or the… whatever this is? Pity? Guilt? Did he miss something when he left? Izuku does his best to avoid eye contact, keeping his eyes in his notebook for the rest of that class. “I’m fine, Shinsou,” he says during the break when Shinsou turns around. “Don’t worry about it. I can see.” He told them it would be fine. He told everyone it would be fine.
Maybe he shouldn’t have tried. He shouldn’t have attempted to open up. What did it get him, anyway? Acid burns and people worried about him and arguing. People upset at one another because of him. Why the hell did he think anything could turn out okay?
Next class, Izuku doesn’t talk, save working with Tokoyami on a worksheet for math. Which is to say most of the words out of his mouth are numbers or questions about the material and nothing unrelated to the assignment, no matter how hard his classmate tries to steer the conversation.
As soon as classes are over, Izuku grabs his stuff and leaves, waiting for no man as he dances between students and squeezes his way into the stairwell. If anyone’s looking for him, they’d probably go to his dorm room first, so he shouldn’t go there. That leaves support, since he’s supposed to be getting his hero costume, which is an oxymoron, and Aizawa, to ask to go see Inko. He should at least try to see her at some point. And this means he can’t go to either of those places, since they’d probably be the second and third places someone would look for him.
In the end, he decides to go to the roof after getting lost a few times. It’s a split-second decision that makes the boy scale the fence and sit on the very edge of the roof, feet dangling in the open air as he tries to sketch the skyline in front of him with just a pencil and his notebook. It’s soothing, not having to worry about questions or keeping on a content expression as to not worry anyone. Self-imposed isolation has its perks.
-
When she sees the green kid on the roof, Mei feels a spark of an idea. “Hey, Power Loader?” she calls as she helps the teacher carry stuff into the building. Most of it was ordered because of her, so she might as well lend a hand. “Do you think I could test some of my babies from the other side of the fence on the roof?”
“No?” the hero replies almost immediately. “It isn’t safe. Where’d you even get that idea?”
The girl points up to the roof. “The green kid in a sweater who’s on the other side of the fence. He’s not supposed to be over there?”
Power Loader drops the box he was carrying in his surprise. “Midoriya,” he hisses before sprinting inside.
Well… looks like Mei will have to find some other high place to test her babies.
-
Izuku can feel the panic before the door slams open, revealing… Power Loader, he thinks his name is. He’s seen him in the teachers’ dorms a few times, but not much beyond that. “Hi?” he greets, confused. One, how did he find him? Two, why does the hero seem so scared?
“Midoriya, why don’t you come back over here and talk to me, okay?” the man bargains.
The greenette raises an eyebrow. “But I’m comfortable,” he argues, still unsure of what’s going on.
Power Loader tenses momentarily. “You have people who care about you, kid. Whatever sent you up here, it can’t be fixed unless you’re around to see it.”
“I’m aware. I wanted to be alone for a bit. How does one fix that besides being alone for a bit? Why wouldn’t I be around to see it?” A few thoughts lock into place at once. Where he is, the purpose of the fence, the reason the teacher's so worried. “Wait- Wait, wait, I- I wasn’t-” he stammers, clambering to his feet and going back to the correct side of the fence. “I didn’t- That-” His heart hammers in his chest as he tries to fix his mistake. He’s become good at making those lately. “I don’t want to die. I’m sorry to have worried you. I just wanted to be away from everyone for a second. I’m really sorry.”
Visibly relaxing, Power Loader shakes his head. “I’d prefer to have been worried over a misunderstanding than for my assumption to have been correct. Though I’ll have to ask you to stay on the correct side of the fence.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There are much safer places you can go to be away from people.”
“Sorry, sir.”
-
Instead of sitting on the edge of the roof like a dumbass, Izuku ends up locked in his room, not answering the door. Not for Aizawa or Todoroki or Togata or Shinsou or Amajiki or Hado and certainly not Ashido. Why won’t they just leave him alone? He’s fine. He made it through the entire school day with minimal injuries. He didn’t go up to the roof to pull a self-death. He can see again. He has food. He has Bastard. What more do they want? He doesn’t need anything! If anything, he’s tired. Poor kid hasn’t slept in days. And he probably won’t do so until he passes out.
“Midoriya,” Togata calls through the door. Izuku’s almost convinced they have shifts now, that they’re taking turns.
“Please leave me alone,” the boy responds, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in his voice as he hugs his borrowed cat close.
Bastard glares up at him, like she disapproves of him cordoning himself off. “We’re just worried about you.”
“That was a stupid decision,” Izuku grumbles, moving the cat from his lap to his bed and making for the door.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I’ll see you in the morning.” The boy lays down on the floor in front of his door, looking under the crack. Two pairs of feet. Two people out there. And something in Izuku cracks. “I just want to be alone! Just for a bit! Is that too much to ask? Am I not allowed a moment of solitude?! I’ll be out later!” Cue the thing Izuku had wanted to avoid showing: the point of exhaustion that makes him emotional and irritated and weepy. The thing that could have gotten him killed even a week ago. That means he’s relaxing too much. At the first sign of tears, he rolls away from the door and heads to the opposite side of the room, contemplating going out on the balcony and locking the window behind him. The plus side of being in his room is that people know where he is. No one’s going to be worried they lost him. The downside is that people know where he is. It’s easier to be alone when no one can find him.
He’s just so fucking done.
-
Izuku wakes up an hour and a half later to silence, having cried himself to sleep or something. It was a good sleep, at least. No dreams. And he feels a lot better, so that’s a bonus. As he sits up, Bastard peeks up from her position next to him on his bed, nuzzling his hand almost immediately, earning herself a few pets before he gets out of bed.
Not wanting to cut into his emergency supply, the child leaves his room, heading downstairs in search of food. He doesn’t reply to Midnight’s greeting or try to stave off Present Mic’s worried expression or even acknowledge All Might’s presence. He just throws some bread in the toaster, makes a cup of tea (with a shit ton of milk and sugar, because he refuses to let his leaf water taste or feel like leaf water), sits on the counter, and waits. “Izuku.” He looks over the rim of his mug to see Aizawa, looking more tired than usual with a twinge of worry in his expression. “Would you prefer to stay with the third years?” It looks like he has more he wants to say, but he stops there, much to Izuku’s relief.
“Stay with the third years?” the child repeats as his toast pops up.
His uncle nods, grabbing a plate for the toast and setting it beside Izuku. “Go stay in the 3-A dorms rather than here. It’s clear you’re more comfortable around them than you are us. Besides the teachers, those three are best equipped to handle your situation, anyway.”
It sounds… not terrible. Better than being surrounded by heroes constantly. “I wouldn’t want to impose…” mumbles the boy, grabbing his food and tossing it on the plate, stuffing a slice in his mouth.
Aizawa leans against the counter himself, folding his arms across his chest. “Togata and Hado offered it up. Amajiki was there, too. Though he didn’t say anything, he seemed fine with it.”
“... Okay. I want quirk suppressors, though.”
Not too much later, Izuku and his meager possessions find a new home on the third floor of the 3-A dorms.
-
Even after moving in with them, Midoriya doesn't talk too much. He talks decidedly less than he did when they'd first met, which was a small amount to begin with. Save a "Where are the forks?" or a "I can't reach the top shelf," he doesn't talk. He's shut down to the point that he makes Tamaki look like a chatterbox. Tamaki is not a chatterbox.
He moves like a ghost, there but not at the same time. He smiles, but there's no feeling behind it. When he's out of his room, it's as if he wants to take up the least amount of space possible. The boy ignores attempts to check on him, not responding if anyone asks how he's doing. Needless to say, all of them are worried. But what more can they do beyond send him off with a smile when Aizawa comes to take him to therapy?
"I don't like this," Hado announces when the green-haired kid is gone, voicing Tamaki's own thoughts perfectly. "He's different, right?"
Mirio nods, letting his concern come in full-force. His brows furrow and he starts to pace, anxious strides carrying him quickly from one end if the common room to the other. "He's shutting down."
Tamaki's hands start folding over each other, his eyes landing on the small crane on the arm of the couch. "He had probably just started letting himself relax," he posits. "The moment his guard came down, he was attacked. Viciously. Can you blame him for putting it back up, stronger than before?" He's done the same over less. The dark-haired teen remembers the time in his first year when that blond kid wouldn't back off and sent him spiralling into a panic attack. He wouldn't talk to anyone but Mirio for a week, barely looking at that kid for two months.
Understanding frustration will get him nowhere, Tamaki heads up to his room, nearly tripping over that white cat Midoriya brought with him. He might as well get some homework done.
-
“Hey, Shinsou, could I ask you something?” Hitoshi looks up from his book to see Ashido standing over him but looking away. Her hands wring together and she shifts from one foot to another nervously. “I’d ask Todoroki, but I don’t think he’s speaking to me.” As if to make her point, she glances to the other couch in the common room, where the guy in question has his face buried in his phone. The purple-haired teen raises an eyebrow, an indication she takes to continue. She’s learned well. “You’re kinda close to Midoriya, right?”
Well, Hitoshi wouldn’t word it that strongly. Just because he’s not a complete ass and actually stands up for the guy doesn’t mean he’s close to him in any way, shape, or form. He’s not sure anyone is, really. “So?” he replies instead, almost positive she doesn’t want nor need to hear his ramblings.
The girl shifts, gluing her eyes to her hands and leaning back a bit. “I was just… Is there anything you know he likes? Something I could do to… I can’t exactly ‘make up’ for… what I did, but… Anything I can do to apologize?”
Hitoshi shuts his book, sitting straighter and forcing her to look him in the eye. It’s not like it’ll blind her or anything. And that, Hitoshi, tells us you have too much sodium in your diet, you salty fuck. “Cinnamon rolls,” he says laconically. “He went nuts over them yesterday at the mall when Midnight took us out.”
Ashido smiles just the tiniest bit before it grows, starting to fill her face when she thanks him. “Hey, Satou!” she calls into the open air, clearly just hoping the resident baker is somewhere he can hear her. Luckily for her, he pops his head out of the kitchen. “Wanna help me make cinnamon rolls?” He kind of just stares at her for a moment. “Please? I’ll do your chores for a week!”
-
When Izuku comes back after therapy, the common room is empty. The lights in the kitchen are off and so are the ones heading up to Hado’s side of the building. He didn’t really expect them to wait up for him, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel… lonely, maybe? With the teachers, there was almost always someone in the common room after school hours. Sure, it was never him, but still. Nevermind. It was stupid. It doesn’t matter. Just ignore him.
He heads up to his room and shuts the door, pulling out his notebook and pencils and sitting by the window. The room has a pretty good view.