Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What makes a hero? Was it their intentions, whether it be virtuous, ambitious or driven by a sense of justice? Did it depend on their quirks? Whether it was something that could save people, something that could be useful while battling villains, moving rubble, or putting out fire? Were some people born to be heroes, or were they crafted, shaped, and carved out by the jagged edges or soft curves of their environment?

The truth is, it was a mixture of everything. They needed purpose, they needed power, and they needed just the right mold to fit into society's expectations. That's why they were so revered, so feared, and so well known. Because they were the few who protected many, the strong that defended the weak.

In the eyes of people, heroes were many things. To some they were idols, people to look up to and imitate. To others they were nets of safety, a reminder that they could live their lives in peace. And to some they were obstacles, something to overcome, something to destroy.

To a 14 year old Izuku Midoriya, they were everything.

You can’t become a hero. That was it. All Might himself had said it. It was set in stone. Izuku really shouldn’t have been surprised; if anything, he should have been grateful for the honest response, or at the very least content. And yet, he couldn’t quite put how he felt into words… but he was certain it wasn't gratitude. 

So, his first instinct was to rationalize it. On one hand, he had known this his whole life. The people around him made sure of that. 

“Maybe… you should try being more realistic in your career choices, Midoriya.”

“A hero? Are you delusional? Just look at you, you barely look like you could lift a textbook. And with no quirk? Yeah, that’s hilarious.”

“I’m so sorry, Izuku!”

“There’s no way a quirkless loser like you could become a hero.”

But on the other hand… Izuku enjoyed being ignorant. He chose to ignore the opinions of his peers, counselors and teachers. He decided that despite their words, he’d try anyway. He’d stay in his little world, and plant his head firmly in the clouds. He’d prove to everyone that he could be a hero despite his quirklessness, no matter what.

But like all things, he had to fall back to earth eventually. He had hoped the land would be a little softer, or that his fall would be a little more gradual, something he could adjust to. But that isn’t how it happened. Like a bird with its wings clipped, he plummeted to the ground with nothing to break his landing, or keep the breath in his lungs when he hit the ground.

Even now, his chest felt constricted. His face was numb, his head was empty. He could feel every beat of his heart, neither slow nor fast. His feet carried him begrudgingly, familiarity and habit being all that guided him in the direction that must be home, his ruined notebook still clutched in his hands.

Maybe if he prepared more for this outcome, it wouldn’t have been such a devastating blow. Maybe if he was more realistic, less delusional , it wouldn’t feel like his heart was being crushed between two stones. But that’s not what he did. He refused to see the truth until it slapped him in the face, until it made itself so clear that even a blind man could see it.

Even after he was diagnosed quirkless, he clung to the idea that one day his quirk would manifest, that he'd be as amazing as Katsuki and All Might. But that day never came. When Katsuki abandoned him, Izuku still followed him around foolishly, watching him, demanding his attention, until he stopped liking the kind of attention Katsuki chose to give him. The burn on his right shoulder prickled uncomfortably at the thought.

He heaved a sigh. He should just move on. Maybe that should be his new goal, for now, until he could find something that could ever hope to replace heroism. Because right now, he was stuck in the past, refusing to turn the page in a book that was begging to be read, begging for the reader to stop reading the same block of text over and over to avoid progression. A page was meant to be flipped, a story was meant to be read, and things were meant to change. So he should too, right? It was as simple as that.

But that wasn’t as easy as it sounded. In fact, it wasn’t easy at all. It's not like he hadn't already come to this exact conclusion a thousand times. He was an idiot, he rationalized his chances many, many times during his life. But he could never bring himself to move past his obsession with heroes, his obsession with All Might, or his obsession with a dream he could never hope to fulfill.

In other words, he was completely hopeless.

He didn’t even realize he had made it home until he stood in front of the door to his quiet apartment, his feet unable to take him any farther due to the block of wood that stood in his path. He stood there for a few moments, trying to clear his face of whatever pathetic expression he was wearing. He took a deep, grounding breath, his ribs trembling slightly as he forced air into his stubborn lungs. 

His mother was always able to read him like a book. She managed to notice even the most insignificant details of his expression, and he really didn’t feel like explaining his current mood. So, the last thing he needed was to blow his cover. He’d tell her later. Or never. Never sounded nice.

He twisted the knob and pushed open the door with a halfhearted shove, his movements a tad sluggish. The familiar sound of his mother bustling around in the kitchen filled his ears, some kind of old love song echoing comfortingly through the room. She loved playing music as she cooked, and even though it wasn’t really what he listened to, he appreciated it nonetheless. He hardly even noticed the tensions in his muscles ease as he kicked his shoes off at the door, an aroma of sweet and spice entering his nostrils.

“Oh, there you are, Izuku,” she said, peeking over the counter at him. There was a bright smile on her face, her eyes shining with that vibrant green hue that complimented her dark silky hair perfectly. “You were taking a bit longer this time, I was starting to get worried!”

“I took the long way home,” he explained, forcing a mixture of neutrality and cheerfulness into his tone. “It's a nice day out.”

“It really is,” she hummed, turning back to the stove. “We usually don't get such moderate temperatures during summer like this! I’ve had all the windows open since the morning. It’s nice to have more air flow in here without having to worry about the air conditioning.”

“That’s true,” he said simply, walking past her and turning down the hallway. “I, uh, have some homework to do, so I’ll be in my room.”

“Alright, honey! I’ll call you out when dinner’s ready,” she called back.

Izuku didn’t answer, slipping into his room and shutting the door with a click. A wave of exhaustion washed over him unexpectedly. He didn't realize just how tired he was. He dropped his backpack with a thud and sank into his chair. He set his notebook down with a thud and buried his head in his arms, the smooth wood of his desk pressing coolly against his chin. His gaze rested absentminded on the clock on his desk.

He still couldn’t interpret how he felt about what he was told, which in itself was unusual. Usually his emotions were uncontrollable and abundant, spilling over the edges like an overflowing glass. But right now, they seem to be absent, as if they were detached from his body. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. When Inko called him for dinner, he was a little quieter than usual, but he made sure to make at least somewhat of an effort to prevent any suspicion about his change in behavior. Claiming he was tired, he went back to his room after they finished the dishes, laying on his bed this time. He hadn’t even thought to change out of his school uniform. He just laid there, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, not thinking about anything in particular. It would’ve been peaceful if it wasn’t for the persistent gnawing in his chest that seemed to grow more unbearable by the hour.

By the time he found the energy for his eyes to flicker towards his clock, he was mildly surprised to see it read 8:22. He didn’t remember falling asleep. Maybe he never did, and he's been staring into oblivion for hours. The ache behind his eyelids implied the latter.

Izuku sat up, pushing himself off his bed tiredly. He stretched half-heartedly, his tightly-wound muscles protesting against the movement. He stepped toward his desk, picking up his tattered notebook with one hand. The cover was almost completely imperceptible, the edges curled and frayed, the letters blending into the black, burned paper. But, just barely, he could see it. Hero Analysis for the Future. The very embodiment of his inability to see past his own foolish aspirations. And yet, he still found himself yearning to write, to copy down every one of its pages so the information he wrote here wouldn’t be lost. His fingers were practically twitching for a pen so he could preserve his analyses, his writings, his dream . Because that’s what it really was, wasn’t it? Those notebooks full of notes, ramblings, and questionable drawings were the only thing keeping him clinging to his dream of heroism that he’d wanted more than anything for so long . He wanted to be a hero since he could comprehend images, since he could cheer for the muscular blonde man that smiled relentlessly behind a screen.

But then he remembered that horrible, suffocating feeling as that disgusting fluid was shoved down his throat, the way his nose burned from the smell as his lungs screamed for air. The feeling of helplessness as he clawed desperately at his captor, as his fingers slipped futilely through cold liquid. The tears that stung his eyes in both fear and agony as he glanced down at his notebook, convinced that was the last thing he’d ever see. He clutched at his pant leg at the memory, unable to stop the trembling in his hands as fear clawed up his throat. How could he ever hope to face things like that?

Tears rolled down his cheeks before he even realized water was building up behind his eyes. He squinted to stop them from falling, but it just caused more to spill out, streaming thickly down his freckled cheeks. His throat was closing up, making it impossible for him to swallow the bile that was creeping into his mouth. His heart clenched painfully, only making the tears fall with even more vigor. He couldn’t feel his legs, or his face, or his hands, only the growing, agonizing pain in his chest, as if something was scooping out his organs and replacing them with rocks.

Izuku gritted his teeth and pressed his forehead against the blackened cover of his notebook, of his dream , as he lowered into a crouch. The irony was palpable. His notebook represented exactly how his purpose had gone up in flames, unrecognizable and unsalvageable.

This was stupid. He was stupid. He’s already known this for years, being in denial didn’t make it any less true. Somewhere, buried deep inside his heart, he knew he’d never be a hero.

So why did it hurt so much?

He couldn’t stop the sobs from coming, so he settled for suppressing them the best he could. They came out in wretched, struggling gasps, his chest heaving with every breath. He was being crushed. His lungs couldn’t expand, and his heart was slamming frantically against his ribs. He hated it. He felt trapped, out of control. But there was nothing he could do about it. So he let it happen, muffling the anguished sounds that kept escaping his throat as he stained his ruined notebook with tears.

After what felt like an eternity, the crushing feeling began to fade. The tears dried on his face, leaving an uncomfortable layer of crust. His eyes stung, and his eyelids felt like boulders. The crushing feeling in his chest was replaced by that hollow, aching feeling again. He didn't know which one was worse.

After several more, long moments, he mustered the strength to stand, throwing the notebook unceremoniously on his desk as he collapsed onto his bed, bone-deep exhaustion plaguing his body and his mind. He didn’t know how long it took him to sleep. All he knew is that when he did finally dream, they were full of sludge.

Chapter Text

Izuku’s always been a motivated person, even if you couldn’t really tell by looking at him. He was undeniably driven, whether it came to schoolwork, analyzing heroes, or simply making sure his room was neat and organized, he always seemed to find something to do. He hated sitting around and doing nothing. It grated his nerves, and his already over-active mind would wander to things he didn’t want it to if he had nothing to occupy himself with. So, he always kept his hands and mind busy. He’d feel accomplished, and when he went to bed, he’d often find it much easier to fall asleep after a day full of doing even miniscule tasks instead of doing nothing at all.

But that changed at the drop of a hat.

He didn’t do a single productive thing the weekend following All Might’s proclamation that he couldn’t be a hero. He woke up, scrubbed his skin raw (he could still feel the sludge against his skin, he swore it), ate, stared at his wall, or his bed, or his clock, and then he went to sleep, if he could even manage that. He avoided looking at his posters, he silenced the news app on his phone, and he didn’t once pick up a pen. When he was finally able to succumb to the sweet allure of sleep each night, he was plagued by the same, repeating dream of the sludge villain, suffocating him, and each time he’d wake up in a cold sweat. If he’d had school those days, he had no clue how he possibly would’ve been able to function. And the worst part is, he seemed uncharacteristically unbothered with his lack of productivity.

The empty feeling from Friday evening seemed to follow him like chains dragging at his heels. He couldn’t bring himself to even pick up a book, and he barely spoke to his mother. Time seemed to pass too fast and too slow, while not passing at all. It was a disorienting feeling, and by the time Sunday evening came around, Izuku decided that he hated it.  He hoped that he’d snap out of his funk by the time school came around, since that was difficult enough as it was. If only he was that lucky.

He woke up Monday morning feeling like roadkill, woken by the same horrible dream he had for the past three nights. He dressed sluggishly, barely having time to wash his face. As he looked in the mirror, he swore his hair looked even more unruly than usual, if that was even possible. He had noticeable eyebags, and his skin was pale, making his freckles pop out against the lighter silhouette of his skin. He hoped he was just seeing things, but he doubted it. He had a pretty easy-to-digest appearance, so even small changes were acutely noticeable to him. It’s not that he was plain, per say, he just… never changed. He always looked the same, no matter the day. He woke up with the same messy, curly green hair that resembled a permanent bedhead more than a haircut, wide green eyes that seemed to present every fleeting emotion he had against his will, and an abundance of freckles covering his face and body. But something about how he looked today just seemed… off. Duller. He wasn’t a fan of the change.

He stepped away from the mirror begrudgingly, convincing himself that no one except him would notice such minute and unimportant details, so it didn’t really matter. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, with the distinct feeling he was missing something. He glanced at his desk, his notebook still sitting in the exact place he left it, its cover no less charred and it's worth no less diminished than it was on Friday. For the first time in nearly a decade, Izuku didn't bother to grab it.

He shut his door behind him as he headed into the living room, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut. His mother was in the kitchen, immediately aware of his presence. She looked at him, concern flashing across her face.

“Hey, Izuku, are you feeling better this morning?” She asked, looking unsure. “I know you’ve been feeling under the weather the last couple days. You really don’t have to go to school today, if you don’t want to. I’m sure your teachers would be okay with it.”

I don’t think the teachers care what I do, Izuku thought bitterly. He cleared his throat, pushing his irritation to the back of his mind.

“Uh, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I’m not feeling that sick anymore, really. I can go to school.” He silently thanked himself for thinking of an excuse to cover up his weird behavior, even though he doesn’t remember exactly when he told his mother he was sick. Regardless, at least he didn’t have to try to explain why he was acting like he was. He doubted he would’ve been able to create a believable lie on the spot right now with how his mom was looking at him– he’d feel too guilty, and she'd read him like a book. It’s happened more times than Izuku would like to admit.

“If you're sure,” she said reluctantly, looking him up and down. She crossed her arms. “But tonight you’re going to bed early, no complaining! You haven’t been sleeping nearly enough.” Izuku deflated slightly. Okay, so maybe his change in appearance wasn’t all that unnoticeable. Or maybe his mother was just as over-attentive as him. Now that he thought about it, it was almost definitely the second option.

“Okay, okay,” sighed, snatching the toast on the counter. “But I really gotta go mom, I’m going to be late. I’ll see you later!” He rushed towards the door, putting on his shoes in a hurry.

“Be careful, Izuku! And have a good day at school!” Inko called.

“I will!” Izuku called back, his voice muffled by the toast hanging limply between his teeth as he finished tying his shoes. He shot out the door as he glanced at his phone. 8:18 . He had twelve minutes until school started, but the ten minute walk wouldn’t leave him much spare time.

He gripped his backpack tightly, taking a bite out of his toast as he practically flew down the stairs.

The walk was nice, the cool morning air refreshing against his face after almost three days of doing absolutely nothing in his dark, stuffy room. He should probably open a window when he gets back home. The sun was climbing over the horizon, bathing the buildings in a warm, yellow light. The weather was perfect, the occasional cherry blossom tree poking between buildings as he passed. Spring really was the best time of the year. Except for fall, maybe.

The view got significantly less endearing when he arrived at his destination. Aldera was a large, window-covered concrete building surrounded by brick walls decorated by various vegetation. It was a strange combination of beautiful and dull, cheap and modern. But it wasn’t how it looked that made that vaguely uneasy feeling coil in Izuku’s gut at the sight of it.

Like he always did, Izuku kept his head down as he entered the school. He swapped his chunky red shoes for a pair of plain white uwabaki before he headed into the hallway, making sure his cubby was securely locked before he padded towards his homeroom class. He hated this particular stretch. He had no way to know if he’d get pulled aside by some random students before he reached class, or if he’d be lucky enough to be ignored.

To his relief, this time it was the ladder. He wasn’t always that lucky.

The bell would ring in a few minutes, so he should probably just head straight to class. The halls were too swarmed to find a hiding spot, and he couldn’t risk being late. He sighed. He should just bite the bullet.

He slipped into his homeroom class, dodging the groups of students as he made his way to his desk. He sat down, unsure what to do with himself before class started. Usually he’d write right about now, but seeing as he couldn’t exactly bring his destroyed notebook, he supposed he’d need to find some other way to occupy himself for now; maybe he could write in his school notebooks instead? No, his teachers always got on his case about writing “irrelevant nonsense”. One time his teachers even read his ramblings out loud; it was a nightmare, and Katsuki wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. So, he settled with fidgeting with his fingers. He forgot to change the band aids coiled around his hands, so they were worn and beginning to peel off, crinkled and bent at the edges, revealing his abused nail beds, bitten down to the skin, raw and scabbed. He really needed to stop biting his nails, but he didn’t even realize he was doing it half the time, so he didn’t really know how to break the habit. Yet another thing he had to work on. 

He messed with the band aids in the minutes leading up to class, the room slowly becoming more and more crowded. He vaguely heard snickering behind him, but he ignored it.

All in all, nothing too out of the ordinary. Yet.

He tried to play it off, but he was immediately aware of when Katsuki entered the room, his shoulders tensing despite himself. Katsuki always arrived around that time, a little later than the majority of students a couple minutes too early to ever be considered late. According to him, it was so he didn’t have to “deal with these damn extras” a second longer than he had too. 

Even without seeing him, it was painfully easy to tell when he was in a room. Some of the students would quiet slightly, others would call out, and two particular students would flock to him, often bothering Katsuki before class started, despite his loud and arrogant protests.

It was always a coin toss whether he’d ignore Izuku’s presence or make something as small as Izuku’s breathing pattern his biggest problem that morning.

He could feel Katsuki’s blazing eyes on him for a second, making him flinch as he fidgeted with his fingers more desperately. But, to his relief and to his surprise, Katsuki’s eyes left him within seconds and the explosive boy sat down heavily in his seat toward the front of the class. It wasn’t exactly normal for Katsuki to leave him alone after staring at him like that, but Izuku wasn’t complaining. If anything, it made him more anxious, because that meant he was waiting for something. That was never good.

Within the next minute or two, the bell rings and a middle-aged balding man that unfortunately happened to be their teacher walked into the class, silencing the talkative middle school students.

Homeroom was the same old same old, about ten minutes of the teacher saying a million things and yet nothing at all. Usually Izuku would be attentive, listening to every detail in fear of missing something, but today he just couldn’t focus. His attention kept wandering, and by the time he snapped himself back to reality, the teacher was onto a completely different topic. The endless droning seemed more like a lullaby than anything else with how drowsy it was making him.

This kept happening for the rest of the morning. He didn’t even realize it was no longer homeroom until he was being passed a math assignment. He completely missed how to complete a formula in science, and he didn’t have enough time to finish his assignment in English because he apparently spaced out while staring at the paper, giving him barely ten minutes to complete it.

No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t stop getting lost in thought. He’d linger on random questions for far too long, or get distracted by the most random thoughts like what he wanted to have for dinner that night. By the time the bell rang for lunch, he was unbelievably frustrated. And yet, another side of him was too tired to care. He wasn’t sure how much sleep he got this weekend, but it couldn’t have been much if his behavior was anything to go on. His mom was right, he did need to go to sleep earlier tonight.

With a resigned sigh, he scooped up his things and hurried out into the hallways before his classmates could get any “fun” ideas.

Unfortunately his lack of alertness translated to a lack of situational awareness. He was walking down the hallway, lost in thought (again), when something large and solid crashed directly into him. The sudden impact knocked the breath out of him, making him stumble backwards. Izuku blinked the disorientation away as he felt something wet and cold soak through his shirt, making him shiver uncomfortably. His skin prickled uneasily in protest against the cool, uninvited liquid. He really didn’t like what it reminded him of, but he pushed that thought aside before he could linger on the memory of tasting that toxic, stale sludge. He looked down to see his shirt covered in what probably used to be milk before it became one with the polyester. Great.

Izuku looked up reluctantly, coming face to face with a great hulking mass that was supposed to be a boy. It was the kid with the muscle quirk in his homeroom. He didn’t remember his name, so he always called him “muscles” in his notes, even though there wasn’t much to analyze about his quirk, since it was simply a heteromorphic ability that made him much buffer than the average person. It would be nice to investigate the specifics, like if his muscles were denser than normal and how much he could lift, but the boy wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine.

Muscles smirked at him, an empty carton of milk crushed in his hand brutishly. “You should watch where you're going, loser,” he jeered. Without waiting for a response, Muscles strode past him, shoulder checking him with enough force to jostle an elephant. Izuku stumbled back slightly, ignoring the blossoming pain in his left shoulder as he rubbed it. That was definitely going to bruise. 

With a sigh, he continued walking down the hallway, ignoring the snickers that followed him. He took the hallway adjacent to the lunchroom, headed toward the family bathroom on the first floor. He knew better than to use public bathrooms anymore. He was basically asking to get cornered.

He locked the door of the bathroom behind him and unbuttoned his uniform. Upon further inspection, only a bit of the milk had completely soaked through, so his undershirt was mostly untouched except for a little part in the middle. It was still incredibly uncomfortable, though, and he could feel the substance begin to stick to his skin. Last thing he needed was to suffer through that sensory nightmare for the rest of the day. Luckily, it was nothing a little water couldn’t temporarily fix.

So, for the next twenty minutes, he did what he could with paper towels, sink water, and an electric hand dryer. The finished product was a marginally less sticky undershirt, and, well… a uniform that didn’t look wet, at least, even though he was somewhat unsuccessful in getting all the milk out. So he’d just have to avoid touching the front side of his uniform and wash it when he got home. No big deal.

Unfortunately for him, his next class started in under ten minutes, so getting lunch was pretty much out of the question. That exhaustion he felt earlier wasn’t letting up, and not having any food would surely make it worse. He wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the day, to say the least. At least he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry at the moment, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Heaving a sigh upon glancing once more at his sullied uniform, he grabbed his backpack and walked out of the bathroom, looking around quickly before heading down the hallway. He was able to make it to class once again with no incident, to his relief. Katsuki continued to ignore him.

The afternoon classes went by no differently than his morning ones. His motivation to do his assignments was still tanking, and he couldn’t quite grasp what the teachers were saying, even when he tried to listen. By the end of the day, all he accomplished were a few half-finished assignments and a quarter page worth of notes.

The bell rang and he packed up his things, shoving his school notebooks and textbooks in his bag unceremoniously. He just wanted to go home.

Unfortunately for him, nothing in his life was that simple.

Katsuki stood in front of his desk, making Izuku freeze as he was slipping his last textbook into his bag and the rest of the students finished filing out of the class. He looked up at Katsuki nervously, getting sudden deja vu from a similar happening the previous Friday (when Katsuki fried his notebook and tossed it out of the window before telling him to kill himself). Katsuki scowled down at him, his hands shoved in his pockets and his lackeys lingering near the door, calling out for him to hurry up.

Izuku swallowed his anxiety, waiting for Katsuki to give any indication to why he was there.

“You haven’t said anything.”

Izuku blinked at him. Usually Katsuki made it a point that he hated it when Izuku spoke, so he didn’t really understand what he meant by that. He had to figure it out quickly, though. Katsuki hated explaining himself, so if Izuku didn’t know exactly what he was trying to say within thirty seconds, most of the time it’d end in Izuku sporting a new set of bruises. Those were times when Izuku really wished he could read minds.

“A-about what?” He asked quietly, slowly zipping up his bag. If those two lackeys of Katsuki’s would move out of the way of the door, he might have enough time to bolt.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes further, making Izuku flinch under his gaze. “The Sludge Incident. Why haven’t you asked about it?” Izuku found Katsuki’s unusually neutral tone to be extremely unnerving. He almost rathered when he yelled, it was more straightforward that way.

Izuku cleared his throat quietly, attempting to steady his voice. “And, um… what’s that?”

Katsuki stared at him incredulously. Did he say something wrong? Or maybe Katsuki thought he was lying? He honestly had no clue what he was getting at. Right as he was about to swear on his honesty, Katsuki spoke again.

“You’re telling me,” Katsuki said slowly. “You don’t know about the Sludge Incident.” Oh he one hundred percent thought Izuku was lying. Izuku thought about it for a moment, but nothing rang a bell. Was it something they learned in class today? If that was the case, then that was a lost cause. He’s pretty sure the only thing he retained today was when the teacher corrected another student on their spelling of “towards”.

“Uh, not really,” he tried with a halfhearted shrug, his nerves beginning to get the better of him. “Is it important…?”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki hissed, his mouth twitching like that of a rabid dog. And I’m dead, Izuku thought, recoiling in his seat. “Stop playing dumb with me, I know your nerdy ass is dying to ask about it, so if you’re going to mouth off, get it the hell out of your system, got it?!”

Izuku stared up at him, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.“I’m sorry, Kacchan, but I really have no idea what you’re talking about–” he pleaded, his voice becoming more desperate.

Katsuki’s hands slammed on his desk, making Izuku jump back in his chair. Katsuki lowered his face until it was only inches away from Izuku’s, the latter’s back pressed into the back of his chair uncomfortably. Izuku swallowed harshly as Katsuki stared at him, his expression a mixture of anger and skepticism. They both stayed that way for a few long moments, making Izuku more anxious by the second, sweat beginning to build on his forehead. The burn on his shoulder tingled uncomfortably as his hands findled mindlessly at the edges of his chair, his eyes not daring to stray from Katsuki’s unfaltering gaze.

“You seriously don’t know?” Katsuki snarled. “It was all over the fucking headlines this weekend, Deku , are you fucking blind or something?”

“H-headlines…?” Izuku said unsurely, still shrinking away from Katsuki’s pinning stare.

“Yeah, dumbass , news headlines. The Sludge Incident was a villain attack that happened on Friday.” 

Izuku paused. Oh, he thought, the pieces suddenly clicking into place. Well I wasn’t surfing the news like usual this weekend, so I guess it makes sense I didn’t hear about any of the recent villain attacks. But why does Katsuki think I’d talk to him about it? I haven’t tried to talk about that kind of stuff with him for years. Maybe it was a pretty big one? Izuku was reminded of that strange liquid villain he encountered on Friday. He still clearly remembered that disgusting black sludge being forced down his throat– even the memory was enough to make him gag. He vaguely wondered if that guy had anything to do with this “Sludge Incident”. But didn’t All Might catch him? But the “sludge” thing seemed way too coincidental. Maybe the Sludge Incident happened before the sludge guy attacked Izuku, and that’s why All Might was after him? Or maybe he had a conspirator with a similar quirk?

Izuku snapped back to reality. “I was– uh, sort of busy this weekend, so I guess I didn’t hear about it,” he said quickly, averting his gaze. 

Katsuki snorted. “You were busy ?” he sneered, finally standing up straight. “Yeah, and pigs can fly.” Izuku inwardly sighed with relief as Katsuki backed away, ignoring the obvious jab.

“Maybe he finally gave up on the hero stuff,” the boy with the finger quirk jeered, still lingering by the door with the other mindless lackey. “See? He doesn’t have that stupid hero notebook today. Maybe he finally faced reality.” 

Izuku flinched at the accusation, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. Part of him was hoping they wouldn’t pay enough attention to him to notice it, but of course they did. They had nothing else to do, apparently.

And how was he even supposed to respond to that? Deny it? Affirm it? Neither answer seemed to fit. Yeah, he left his notebook today, but he didn’t really know what that meant. It was just because it was damaged, right? But then why didn’t he just grab a spare one? Was he already subconsciously giving up on heroism? He’d been so out of it those couple of days it didn’t even occur to him to check the news. Which, by itself, was abnormal. Izuku had a routine for constantly checking the headlines and news outlets for villain attacks, interviews, or anything to do with heroes. So was he just out of it, like he thought, or was it intentional? Even the thought made his throat tighten uncomfortably, which confused him further. Wouldn't that be a good thing? He was finally being realistic, moving on. If anything, he should be happy about it. There’s no use lingering on something you’ll never be able to accomplish, it was foolish. And yet, he didn’t know what to feel. That seemed to be a recurring problem in the last couple days.

So, he kept his eyes locked on the floor, opting to stay silent and refusing to glance at Katsuki’s probably smug expression. He waited for Katsuki’s mocking words, for his triumphant speech about how he was “right all along” and how stupid Izuku was to hang onto heroism for as long as he did. And the worst part was that he’d be right.

But, to his surprise, Katsuki didn’t say anything, simply scoffing and walking off, his feet tapping loudly against the floor as he stomped out of the room. As the door to the classroom shut, relief flooded through Izuku’s system. He really didn’t want to have that conversation right now, even thinking about the whole thing was confusing enough. The last thing he needed was Katsuki to rub it in his face.

He’d figure it out once he got some sleep. He was probably just tired from the events of Friday, right? He just had to go get some rest, and everything would go back to normal. He’d feel normal. He hoped.

But as he trudged home, his mind kept wandering back to the subject. Did he really want to just go back to his usual routine? Go back to daydreaming about heroes like nothing happened, ignore the jabs at his quirklessness, and go home just as delusional as the day before? He couldn’t just ignore it forever, high school was right around the corner. If he had to be let down, it should be sooner rather than later, right? Just accepting he’ll never be a hero wasn’t enough. If he didn’t make the necessary changes in his life, he’d just be hanging himself out to dry. He had to do something, something to set this new realization into stone. Something that’d prevent him from relapsing, from falling into his old, habitual ways. Something permanent . Closure, if you will.

And he had the perfect idea. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

Chapter Text

He sat in front of his computer, his finger hovering over his mouse. He peered at the UA Application form that was pulled up on his laptop screen. He submitted it right before school started that year, only two days after they opened applications. He gulped as he stared at it, the “pending” label in the top left corner burning into his eyes. If he went through with this, there really wouldn’t be any turning back. Once an application was withdrawn, a student couldn’t apply for that school anymore. It was permanent, just like he’d planned.

But at the last second, he found himself hesitating. What if he regretted this? What if he was making the biggest mistake of his life? All Might flashed before his eyes, his smile bright and contagious. He was so strong, so revered, and he saved so many, a smile always present on his face. Then there was Katsuki, before Izuku was diagnosed quirkless. They once shared the same dream, both chasing after All Might, never even considering another option. He remembered constantly playing hero with his mother. They were silly little games, acutely embarrassing now that Izuku thought back on them, but they were still endearing in a way, bittersweet. A reminder of a time where Izuku still thought he had a chance, where everyone around Izuku thought he had a chance.

All that would be lost, with the click of a button. All those years reduced to nothing but wasted time dawdling on something that’d turn out to be nothing but a pipe dream. Was he really willing to leave everything behind?

But then the sludge villain shoved its way to the forefront of his mind, a reminder of his towering, shapeless figure making sweat bead on Izuku’s neck. He could do nothing against the villain except wait to be killed, his screams dying in his throat before they could leave his mouth as the sludge choked him, forcing him to fade away in complete silence, without anyone knowing. It was terrifying, the thought that he was dying and no one would have known until it was too late. He’d never forget the feeling as his vision faded to something darker and deeper than sleep, something he knew he’d never be able to come back from. Despite what’s portrayed in comics and stories, death was a very distinct feeling, and to Izuku, it was far from peaceful. If All Might hadn’t arrived when he did, Izuku undoubtedly would’ve died in that tunnel. His hand trembled relentlessly as his finger continued to hover over his mouse. 

He couldn’t do anything against that villain. What made him think he could help anyone else if he couldn’t even help himself? He could hardly even look Katsuki in the eye anymore, what made him think he could protect another person? He tried, when he was younger, to defend people from Katsuki’s harsh words and brutal quirk. But, the only place he ended up was in the dirt, barely able to move, aching pains covering his body. Has he ever once been able to genuinely help another person? 

“If you want to help people, there are plenty of other ways to do it. You could become a police officer. They get crap because the heroes capture most of the villains, but it's a fine profession. It's not bad to dream. But you also have to consider what's realistic, young man.”

Maybe he’d take All Might’s advice. There were plenty of other professions where he could help people, right? He’d just have to find one he’d be able to do. If he ever wanted to be useful, he needed to do so while acknowledging his own faults. He didn’t have an amazing quirk, he wasn’t brave, and he didn’t have what it took to be a hero. That was that. It didn’t mean he didn’t have any redeemable qualities, he just wasn’t cut out for the hero path. It was no one's fault. He was just… unlucky.

He grit his teeth, moving his cursor over to the Withdraw Application button and clicking it with more force than necessary. A warning popped up in the middle of the screen. 

This action can not be undone. You will not be able to resubmit an application at UA High School. Do you wish to proceed?  

Before he could hesitate, before he could overthink it, he clicked confirm.

And just like that, the application was archived, and he was left staring blankly at his screen. He sat there for several minutes, at a loss for words or thought, shell-shocked by the finality of his decision. He really did it. He wasn’t going to UA. An ugly feeling began churning in his gut, but he ignored it. He took a deep breath, and shut his laptop with a click.

He did the right thing. He could find a new way to help people now, some way he could actually be useful. This wasn’t the end of the world, it was just… a change. Change wasn’t bad, it was just a part of life. He could find something else to strive towards, there were plenty of other things he could do. Being a hero was never the only option for him. That was just the naive notion of a young, hopeful child. Nothing more.

“Izuku!” His mother called, jarring him from his thoughts. He glanced at his shut door, contemplating whether to make an excuse to eat later. He really didn’t have an appetite right now, but his mother was already worried about him, he could tell. Little glances here, softer statements there. He should go out, if nothing else, to ease her mind.

He heaved a sigh and pulled himself out of his chair, slipping out his door and headed into the dining room. A rich, comforting aroma hit his nostrils, the familiar smell of a sweet sauce and deep fried pork overwhelming his senses. He’d recognize that mouth-watering smell anywhere.

He practically felt his eyes dilate when his gaze landed upon two plates of Katsudon on their small dining room table, and a nice breeze blowing through the open window the table was placed against. All the dread he’d be harboring throughout the day momentarily disappeared from his system, his mouth salivating for the dish. Now that he thought about it, he was absolutely starving . Between a lack of lunch and the exhausting past couple of days, his stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself from the inside.

“I made your favorite!” Inko said cheerfully, making her way toward the dining room, silverware in hand. “I figured you’d like some to make you feel better. I even rented a new All Might documentary for us to watch later!” Izuku’s mother never looked more like an angel than she did at that moment. He ignored the slight nagging in his chest at the mention of All Might, but nostalgia quickly transcended the feeling.

A goofy smile spread across Izuku’s face and he pulled out his chair. “Thanks mom. It smells really good!”

“I added some more sauce this time,” she said proudly, setting down the forks. “Plus the chicken I picked up took really well, so it won’t be nearly as dry as last time. In fact, I think this might be my best batch this year!”

Dry definitely wasn’t how Izuku would describe his mother’s Katsudon, but he disregarded the statement, picking up his fork greedily. 

He barely waited for his mother to fully sit down before he started digging in. He felt like a ravaging beast as he shoved the chicken in his mouth, basically floating from the concoction of flavors blessing his tongue. Inko raised an eyebrow as he continued to devour his food.

“So,” she began, looking a little taken aback by his surge in appetite. “How is the application process going? Has UA reviewed it yet?” Izuku nearly choked. He snatched the glass of water on the table and guzzled it down, attempting to unlodge a piece of chicken that got stuck in his throat. After placing his water cup back down at the table and wiping his mouth with a napkin, he sat there awkwardly for a moment.

He didn’t expect his mother of all people to bring it up so randomly, since he was usually the one to mouth off about it. The wound was still fresh from his decision to withdraw his application, so Izuku himself hadn't even had time to process it, let alone explain the abrupt decision to his mother. Was there any way to avoid the subject? No, that would only make his mother more skeptical. She didn’t seem like it, but she was actually incredibly insistent when it came to stuff like this. Weirdly perceptive, too, like she could read his mind or something. As interesting as it was, it made it impossible for Izuku to hide things. It was very inconvenient.

Realizing he’d been silent for too long, he cleared his throat awkwardly, finally meeting Inko’s puzzled and marginally concerned gaze.

“Well, um, about that,” he started hesitantly, his eyes flickering across the room in an attempt to avoid his mother’s prying stare. “I, uh, well-” I no longer want to become a hero due to an existential crisis and a realization that the whole thing is completely unrealistic, something that was brought on by nearly being suffocated to death in a tunnel and shortly after being told by the Number One hero that I wasn’t capable of defeating villains without a quirk. For some reason that explanation didn’t really bode well for his already over-reactive mother. So, instead, here he was, tripping over his words, trying to find a good balance of truth and stretched truth that would explain the situation but also give his mother enough substance so she wouldn’t ask any more questions about it. And hopefully, they’d be able to move on and pretend the whole thing never happened.

If only it were that simple.

“Did something happen with UA, Izuku?” Inko asked carefully, her eyes shining with worry. “Is that why you haven’t been feeling well? You can tell me, I’m always here to talk.” 

Crap. So she didn’t completely buy Izuku’s “I-was-sick” excuse, but he couldn’t really blame her. He didn’t exactly look sick, just tired at best, and he was a terrible actor even when he tried. 

Other than that, she pretty much hit the whole something-having-to-do-with-his-UA-application thing on the nose, making Izuku falter slightly. Is that why she brought up the applications so suddenly? It must be, she probably thought something went wrong on Friday, which was a fair assumption. It would explain his mood, and honestly, it was close to accurate. The whole thing started from that villain attack, but it did result in Izuku giving up on applying for UA, so she was half-right. He didn’t have to tell her the details or anything, but she already guessed it had something to do with UA, so it didn’t really matter if he told her half of the truth, right?

He sighed heavily. Just get it over with.

“Um… sort of,” Izuku confided reluctantly, fiddling mindlessly with his fork. “Nothing really happened , I guess, UA didn’t reject me or anything, I just… withdrew my application.” 

The silence that ensued was heavy, Izuku’s eyes wandering everywhere except his mother’s face, guilt gnawing at the edge of his mind. There really was no way to break that sort of news without worrying her, due to his lifelong obsession with heroes and all. But something about speaking it out loud made it feel final. He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes beginning to sting despite himself.

“You did?” Inko squeaked.“Why would you do that? UA’s been your dream since you were a baby. Why’d you change your mind so suddenly? Do you want to go to another hero school?” 

Inko’s questions came one after another with an insistent urgency. She always tended to get ahead of herself when she was excited or nervous, and most of the time Izuku found the habit endearing, but right now all the questions just made him feel even more anxious.

Izuku swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “I just, uh, don’t really want to be a hero anymore. I want to focus on something more achievable, you know?” His mouth felt dry against his tongue, as if all the moisture got sucked out of it. He was right, saying it out loud was so much worse. It felt like someone was clawing his guts out with their bare hands by the time he forced the words out, leaving a bitter feeling to resonate in his stomach.

Inko frowned. “What brought this on so suddenly? If it’s about the money, Izuku, I already told you we’d be fin–”

“It’s not about money,” Izuku interrupted. He took a moment to gather his words, still hesitant. He ignored the weight that began to build up in his chest, looking up at his mom’s wide eyes. A wobbly smile stretched across his face. “I just… moved on, I guess,” he said, keeping his voice as smooth as possible. “It’s not a big deal, really. There are a lot of other occupations where I can help people, like, uh… like being a police officer or something! I’ll figure it out, it’s just…” Izuku deflated slightly, his voice lowering to a mumble. His eyes strayed toward the floor. “...It’s pretty much impossible to become a hero without… without a quirk.” Izuku shrugged. “There’s no real precedent for it, so it’s not really worth the effort. ”

After a few seconds of silence, Izuku’s eyes wandered back towards his mothers. Her eyes shined with barely contained tears, making a new wave of guilt blossom in his chest.

“It’s really not a big deal!” Izuku said quickly, waving his arms flippantly. “There are plenty of occupations that don’t require quirks, so I’ll just have to aim for one of those! It doesn’t have to be anything dangerous, either, I could be a first responder or somet-”

“Just promise me something,” Inko said abruptly, her voice slightly more serious than usual. Izuku snapped his mouth shut, momentarily confused. Inko took a deep breath, looking determined. “I want you to promise me you’re doing this for yourself.”

Izuku blinked. Huh?

Inko inspected Izuku’s face through intense emerald eyes, with an expression Izuku couldn’t quite place. “I want to know that you're doing this for you, not anyone else,” Inko reiterated firmly, more confident this time. “Not for Katsuki, not for me, I want to know you made this decision for yourself .” 

Izuku stared at her, dumbfounded. The change in mood was strange, but what was even more confusing was her bringing up Katsuki. Inko hasn’t so much as uttered his name to Izuku in years. Izuku hadn’t exactly relented the details of their relationship, for obvious reasons, but both Mistuki and Inko got the hint that they stopped being friends years ago. After seeing Izuku’s general… reluctance to discuss exactly what happened to make them grow apart, Inko simply stopped talking about him. Why bring him up now?

But before he had time to respond, she continued. “I– I know I’ve warned you against being a hero in the past because it’s dangerous, even with a quirk. And I stand by that, it’s a very dangerous job, Izuku, and I’m worried about you, but…” Inko swallowed, steeling herself. “I don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dream. I’m glad to hear you're considering other career paths, but don’t stop doing what your heart’s telling you just because of what other people think. And that doesn’t just go for being a hero. If you decide to pursue other things, like being a police officer, or any other kind of unsafe job… I can’t promise I won’t be worried about you, because I will, you’re my baby. But don’t let that stop you from doing what will make you happy.”

Izuku’s eyes stung something fierce, the all-to-familiar feeling of tears building up behind his eyelids. He didn’t even know what was causing this upsurge in emotion. Surprise? Guilt? Regret?

Realizing that at least one person still believed in him?

“So I want you to look me in the eye and promise me,” Inko said, her eyes boring into his. “That you’re doing this for you .”

Izuku wiped his eyes aggressively before the tears could fall, small streaks of moisture left on the side of his hands. He thought about his mom’s statement, already knowing the answer. He wanted to become a hero with a raging desperation he couldn’t even describe. But that just wasn’t in the cards for him, he decided that already. The conclusion he came to was ultimately reached because of other people, yes, but it was his own sake he decided he couldn’t become a hero. He wasn't capable of protecting others if he couldn’t even protect himself.

But he never even considered how his decision would affect his mother, which now that he thought about it, was a horrifying oversight on his part. She was right, of course, becoming a hero with even a strong quirk was perilous, he already knew that. But without a quirk at all? Running into the sludge-man made him realize just how severe the gap in power was between him and a real villain. 

If he really did become a hero, he’d basically be signing his own death warrant. He shivered at the thought, but it was true, wasn’t it? He’d be slaughtered like an animal the second he got out of hero school, assuming he was somehow able to get into one and graduate at all.

And what would that do to his mother if he died? She had no one else, except maybe Mitsuki. They had no other family, and Izuku’s father was reported missing years ago. They were everything to each other, so if he died… he couldn’t even begin to imagine how she’d feel. He couldn’t do that to her. He kicked himself for somehow disregarding something so obvious. Great, now he had to add selfishness to his list of unfavorable traits.

But he already made up his mind, even before coming to that realization, so his answer remained the same. He sniffed, pouring all the certainty he could into his voice.

“I promise,” he said, looking back at her assuredly. “I decided this on my own. I’m sure of this, and I’m not going to change my mind.” The declaration echoed through his mind, making Izuku tense slightly. There, he said it. He needed something permanent, so between this and destroying his one and only chance to get into UA, this was about as close to closure as he was going to get.

He wasn’t going to become a hero.

And it burned , red-hot beneath his skin. It took all he had for it not to reflect on his face. He hoped he was successful.

Inko stayed silent, searching Izuku’s eyes. For what, he didn’t know. After nearly thirty seconds of complete silence, Inko exhaled through her nose, still looking unsure.

“If you’re sure,” she said slowly. “Then I’ll support your decision completely.”

Izuku let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, he was just glad the hard part of the conversation was over, more or less.

An uncertain smile spread across his face. “I guess I’ll have to start searching for other high schools in the area,” he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t really have a back up plan.”

Inko sighed with half-amused exasperation. “Of course you didn’t,” she mused. “Now finish your food, Izuku, it’s going to get cold.”

“Oh, right!” Izuku said quickly, scrambling to grab his fork. 

“And please don’t choke on it this time,” she said, exasperated.

Izuku flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he murmured, recalling his earlier coughing fit. “I’ll, uh… make sure to do that.”

They stayed silent the rest of their meal, Izuku deciding to focus on the Katsudon instead of his racing thoughts. It had gotten slightly cooler during their dramatic conversation, but it was still heavenly. Katsudon really was a gift from the gods, he would never understand how some people disliked it. It was the perfect blend of sweet and salty, the fried chicken and white rice complimenting each other wonderfully. The onion shallots and eggs only enhanced the flavor, making it both savory and filling.

“Oh, and one more thing, Izuku,” Inko said, looking a bit tense. Izuku glanced up at her with a mouthful of Katsudon.

“Yeah, what is it?” He asked, swallowing down the last bit of chicken before placing his fork onto his empty plate.

“Well, it’s just you’ve been acting weird since Friday…” Inko paused, as if she didn’t know what to say. “I know you weren’t feeling great, but I was wondering… It wasn’t because of what happened with Katsuki, was it?”

Izuku froze, an uneasy feeling curling in his gut. She wasn’t talking about that thing Katsuki had said to him after class that day, right? She couldn’t possibly know about it, no one else was in the classroom when he said it; and there’s no way those two cronies would have ratted Katsuki out. 

He cleared his throat, trying to make his face look as unassuming as possible. “...What do you mean? Something happened?”

A surprised look flashed over Inko’s face, followed quickly by concern. “Oh, honey, you don’t know? It was all over the news this weekend. I know you were feeling sick, but I figured you’d at least heard of it…”

Izuku’s heart dropped like an anchor. He really didn’t like where this was going. 

“He’s okay now,” she explained carefully. “But Katsuki was attacked by a villain last Friday. All Might saved him of course… they’re calling it the Sludge incident? His attacker had this weird quirk where he could turn his whole body into sludge, I think. I’m not sure of the specifics. I’ve only seen a couple things about it, and even Mitsuki only got the details recently…”

Izuku tuned out the rest of what she was saying, his mind racing. Katsuki was attacked? Was it after school? It’d explain Katsuki’s strange behavior, of course he was expecting Izuku to ask him about the villain attack, people had probably been asking about it all day, now that he thought about it. The class was much louder than usual when Katsuki walked in, and those two students who followed him around all the time were more adamant than usual about speaking to him this morning.

But what really bothered him was the villain. His mother said he had a quirk that made him turn into sludge, exactly like the person who had attacked him . But that was impossible, All Might had already captured him. With plastic bottles, yeah, probably not the sturdiest choice. And yeah, it turned out he could turn into a super skinny looking guy who spewed a worrying amount of blood out of his mouth, but this was All Might he was talking about! Maybe it was someone with an identical quirk? A conspirator, like he guessed earlier? He needed to know.

“Uh, I gotta go!” Izuku said abruptly, interrupting whatever his mom had been saying. Before she could respond, he jumped up from his chair and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him. He opened his laptop the second he hit his desk chair, typing almost too fast to see.

Upon searching just a couple keywords, what he was looking for immediately came up, dubbed the “Sludge Incident”, as Katsuki and his mom had called it. He clicked on the article. The image of a large building was shown right below the title, completely engulfed in flame. He scrolled through the article, his eyes skimming the words faster than his brain could keep up.

The general overview was that a villain, people called the “Sludge Villain” due to the lack of an actual villain name, had attacked a trio of middle school students on Friday afternoon, namely Katsuki. The explosions Katsuki created in an attempt to free himself set the building on fire, which prevented heroes like Kamui Woods from intercepting the villain. Eventually All Might stepped in and obliterated the villain, reportedly capturing him with plastic bottles.

Which is exactly how he captured the sludge-like villain Izuku himself was attacked by. Pushing aside his confusion, he continued scrolling.

To his horror, the Sludge Villain apparently attacked Katsuki in an attempt to claim a new “host body”, as the villain himself said it, by suffocating his victim and hiding in their corpse. He already had nearly a half dozen reported victims, who’s bodies he used to blend into crowds and avoid detection from heroes and law enforcement. 

It sounded exactly like the person who’d attacked him. It was just too similar to be a coincidence. Plus, the whole “hide in someone’s corpse” thing would explain why he immediately attacked Izuku and started shoving sludge down his gullet. He also swore he remembered the villain saying something about using Izuku to hide himself, but he wasn’t really paying attention, considering that he was being internally suffocating at the time.

Reaching to the bottom of the article, Izuku flinched upon laying eyes on the final image. Surrounded by fire and holding Katsuki hostage was a towering figure made of disgusting, green sludge, two large eyes bulging out of its non-existent skull. Izuku’s throat constricted at the sight, his body shivering involuntarily. There was no question about it. It was the exact same villain.

But according to the time stamp, Katsuki was attacked after Izuku was, and therefore after All Might captured him. Was he really able to escape? But when?

That’s when it hit him. In between when the sludge villain was initially caught and when he attacked Katsuki left only a small window for him to escape, and even then, it’d be almost impossible to get out of those bottles on his own. Unless those bottles, for example, fell out of his pocket.

Like when Izuku clung onto All Might’s leg.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hands as he stared at the screen in horror. There was no way, right?

He revisited that moment, as much as he didn’t want to. As he remembered it, All Might first shoved the sludge villain in multiple 1 litre soda bottles, and then attempted to jump into the sky, which is when Izuku, stupidly, clung to his legs. Then, to keep Izuku from falling to his death, he landed on a roof. Turning into a skinny and slightly scary-looking skeleton man, he then told Izuku he couldn’t be a hero without his quirk, and took the stairwell.

If he remembered correctly, All Might put the bottles into both side pockets of the beige cargo shorts he was wearing. Izuku distinctly remembers not seeing the bottles in All Might’s pockets when he turned into a skinnier version of himself. So, the sludge villain either somehow escaped during All Might’s transformation, or they fell when Izuku grabbed onto his leg.

Both of which were Izuku’s fault.

A stone dropped in his gut, knocking the breath out of him. He clamped his hand over his mouth, tears welling in his eyes.

No, no that’s not true, he thought quickly, swallowing down the nausea that began to creep up his throat. All Might was already hitting his limit, right? It probably would have happened anyway, even if I wasn’t there.

The bottles could’ve fallen out on their own.

What if it happened before I even grabbed him?

Maybe the bottles were in All Might’s pockets after he deflated and the villain escaped while he was in the stairwell.

It wasn’t my fault.

I didn’t do this.

I wasn’t the reason the Sludge Villain escaped.

I wasn’t the reason people almost died.

I wasn’t the reason Kacchan almost died.

But the memories persisted, the events replaying in his head like an endless loop, like a movie that couldn’t be paused. And each time it flashed in his mind and restarted, the truth cemented more and more firmly in his mind. The proof and implications were overwhelmingly out of his favor, no matter how many times he went over them, no matter how many times he tried to refute them or find another explanation. Any other explanation. But there was no way to spin it. There was no other interpretation.

He stopped All Might, he distracted him, and ultimately, he was the reason why the Sludge Villain was able to escape. The building that burned down, the injuries inflicted on the innocent bystanders going about their day? That was because of him. He was the reason Katsuki was nearly killed by that thing . He was forced to go through the exact same thing Izuku did. The burning in his lungs, the vile sludge Izuku could still taste on his tongue. He could so clearly imagine what that had been like for Katsuki, the fear, the panic. How long did it take for the heroes to intervene? Almost a minute?

He looked closer at the image. The quality was far from perfect, due to the distance and the heat of the fire warping some of it. But, even so, he could still see it. The undeniable fear etched on Katsuki's features, so vivid it made Izuku’s breath stop in his throat. In all of his years of knowing Katsuki, he'd never once looked scared. Not when they saw that coyote in the woods, or when they saw that particularly terrifying villain on TV, and not when he fell into that river. Katsuki was many things, but Izuku genuinely couldn't believe he could even manage such an expression if it wasn't staring at him.

He did that. That was his fault.

He was going to be sick. He couldn’t comprehend it. He didn’t mean to.

The tears began falling before he had time to stop them. Why was he crying? He wasn’t the victim here. It was his decision to interrupt the number one hero because of his own self-indulgent curiosities. 

But… he didn’t know . He had no idea that would happen, he just wanted to talk to All Might, cling onto the last sliver of hope he had. He was desperate, that’s why he latched onto All Might’s leg without thinking. And that selfish desperation hurt other people.

Forget being quirkless, or useless, or weak. He didn’t even deserve to be a hero. Because what kind of hero hurts other people for his own gain? He wasn’t the one who landed a punch, or burned down that building, or suffocated a 14-year-old future hero with his whole life ahead of him. But he caused it. And to him, that was enough.

The tears still streamed down his face, but he felt a burning sensation in his chest, his face contorting behind the hand that still covered his mouth, his brows furrowing deeply enough to make the muscles in his face hurt. Anger, guilt, frustration, and something near hate swirled in his chest. But not for anyone else, no, it was aimed at himself.

How could he be so stupid . He should’ve stayed out of the way, he should’ve kept his mouth shut. And it was all because of the dream he still stubbornly clung onto, like a parasite feeding on his mind, on his common sense. It was because of his dream that people got hurt.

He was up before he could stop himself, seizing the burned hero analysis journal on his desk, burning holes into it with his eyes. His hands gripped it fiercely, bending and tearing the paper where his fingers dug into it. It was all slipping away, everything he had worked towards, everything he aspired to be. He still remembers the analysis he did on Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods, the extra notes about all the great things Katsuki could accomplish with his quirk, that obviously All Might inspired costume design he made. He loved writing in his notebooks, it made him feel free, like he could do anything. He often looked back at his old writings, musing on what he could do differently, how he could improve. It was the only thing he could truly take pride in.

But not at that moment. Maybe it was because of the damage to its pages, or the guilt, or the memory of him staring at the sucky drawing of his hero costume, thinking it was the last thing he’d see. It just made the already-crushing weight in his chest feel heavier.

Before he could think it through, he burst out of his room, stalking toward the front door without so much as a glance toward his mother. Her words went unheard, muffled by the buzzing in his mind. He yanked the front door open, muttering, “I’ll be back,” before closing it a little too loudly behind him.

He doesn’t remember deciding to go to the canal until he was walking down a short, grassy slope towards the water, his feet carrying him unsteadily as he trudged through the dirt and grass, his mind occupied in a haze of his own thoughts. The grass shortened suddenly as the ground flattened at the bank of the canal. He padded across the now-flat ground, stopping as he reached the edge of the water.

The canal was wide, maybe 25 feet. It was a vibrant blue, the sun reflecting off the surface of the water as it began to touch the horizon, bathing the area in a yellow-ish orange color. The edge dropped off suddenly a couple feet in front of him, made with bricks and dirt. The drop off was only a foot or two– short enough to touch the water without falling in if he crouched, like he’s done so many times. He loved the feeling of the cool water flowing undisturbed between his fingers, as if his interruption hardly mattered at all. Greenery surrounded the area, a weathered stone bridge crossing over it not too far down stream. If Izuku’s vision wasn’t spinning, it’d be beautiful.

Izuku glowered at his reflection in the water. He could see the blurred outline of himself, still clutching the blackened notebook in his hands. Even without a detailed look at his features, something about the sight made an unexplainable feeling curl in his chest, ugly and slithering.

He wasn’t thinking clearly– but he didn’t care.

Rearing his arm back, notebook in hand, he hurled into the air. It landed almost exactly in the middle of the canal with a quiet flop . For a moment, it remained on the surface, the current rushing it along. But within a second, the pages began to unfurl, the few still-white pages darkening into a dull gray as they became lodged with water. First, a few pages went under, then half of the cover, until it sank completely out of sight, the slight ripples in the water being the only proof it was ever there. But it was only a moment until even that faded. It was like it never existed, the water continuing on, unbothered, as if the paper it had just consumed meant nothing. Just like that.

He felt a tearing in his chest. In his lungs, in heart, in his head. For a few moments, he bore it, waiting for it to go away. But it didn’t. It ripped through his body mercilessly, agonzing, unrelenting. His knees buckled beneath him, planting firmly in the grass. His mind raced, his lungs seized, and a mixture of guilt and regret surged in his chest. His eyes widened, his nostrils stinging, his throat constricting.

His breath catches. He felt it coming like a storm, consuming him, forcing its way into every faucet of his being. He couldn’t even hear the strangled wail that tore from his throat. He felt like he was underwater. He doubled over, clutching at the front of his shirt with both hands. Sobs wracked his body forcefully, each one tearing through his body like a dagger. He tried to draw breath, only for the air to be immediately expelled in an attempt to relieve the pressure that wouldn’t stop building in his chest.

Anguish pulsed through his body like acid, burning through his veins, corroding him from the inside. He felt like he was dying, dark spots appearing in his vision. This feeling was so painfully familiar, so much so he felt a similar desperation to break free, clear his airway, to get rid of the repulsive smell that burned his nostrils so badly it made him recoil just at the memory. Though the beady eyes that were waiting for his breath to finally cease were absent, it didn’t stop an irrational fear from coursing through him, making his blood run colder than ice. All Might wasn’t here to save him this time, and there wasn’t any sludge coating his windpipe. It was just him.

He couldn’t handle it, it was too much. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. He was stuck, being choked by something he couldn’t see, being tortured by something he couldn’t touch. He hated it. But, like everything that seemed to happen in his life, he couldn’t control it, and he couldn’t stop it. He was powerless. So he did what he did best. He endured it.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed as he sat there, choking on his own overflowing emotions. All he knew was that when he came to, the sun had well dipped below the horizon, casting the area in an almost comforting darkness. The moon had begun to make its trek across the sky, covering the area in a dim, white light. The water no longer held its color, now only a dark mass streaked with bright white. It still moved, unfaltering, the gentle sound of flowing water filling Izuku’s ears. After everything, it stayed unyielding, still moving in the direction the canal directed it to.

There was something strangely comforting about water. Izuku always thought so. It could be scary, sure. Dangerous? Of course. But it could also break your fall, or water your crops, or power buildings. It was strong, stronger than any man. It could be directed, but never stopped. And when, above all odds, it was, it flowed anyway, filling up the space until it could no longer be contained by its captor.

There were exceptions, of course, as with everything. Sometimes it couldn’t rise enough to continue its journey, drained of its resources or unsupplied by its environment. Even though it may dry up in some places, it always remained elsewhere, never stopping, never completely ceasing to exist, only moving into the air or into the clouds to fill up yet another space. When it was polluted, it cleansed itself. When it was destroyed, it returned in a new form.

It was, above all else, resolute. But it could also be flexible, it could adapt, despite its struggles or setbacks.

It was exactly what he wanted to be, what he needed to be. He’d likely never stop running into blockades in his life, but that wasn’t something he could control. He just needed to endure, to overcome, to adapt. He needed to move forward, no matter how much he needed to diverge from his original path, no matter how much it hurt.

He wasn’t like Katsuki. He couldn’t just burst through the walls that blocked him, or tear through the strings that held him back. He was weak. So, he had to find other ways to move forward. He needed to take the long way around, find a gap, a hole he could squeeze through. That was just the kind of person he had to be. He didn’t have to like it, he didn’t even have to be okay with it. But he needed to accept it.

His eyes settled on the water. The thought of his mother crept into his clouded mind. She was probably worried, considering how he’d left. He’s been out here a couple hours at least, too, so that certainly wouldn’t help. But he wanted to stay a little longer, just to enjoy the view, if nothing else. It was dark, so he couldn’t see the smaller details like the individual leaves that rustled among the trees that lined the canal or the short blades of grass that shifted lightly under him, but he didn’t mind. 

Sometimes, just a glimpse was enough.

Chapter Text

When Izuku finally returned home, it was well past dusk. Inko was borderline hysterical when he walked through the door, saying something about nearly calling the police. Too tired to deal with much of anything at that moment, Izuku brushed her off, locking himself in his room.

If his mother attempted to talk to him through his door, he didn’t hear her. He was too consumed by the cyclone of thoughts swirling in his mind. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his bones, his eyes dry and bloodshot. His gaze was glassy and distant as he sat on his bed, staring unseeingly at the wall in front of him. He was curled into a ball, his arms wrapped tightly around his shins, his head resting on his knees.

A sense of finality, dread and acceptance all curled in his stomach, as agonizing as they were relieving. Thoughts buzzed behind his eyes, branching into so many directions it made his head spin. He was burdened with so many questions he needed to answer, but was unable to in his exhausted state. But, no matter how much he warded them away, they just kept coming.

What was he supposed to do after this? What should he do with all his other notebooks? Would All Might approve of his decision? How many analyses did he lose when he tossed his notebook into the canal? Would he remember them all? Did it even matter? Could he even be a police officer at this point? Could he really be trusted with other people’s lives? What would Katsuki think of him?

The thought of Katsuki made guilt bloom in his gut once again, shame coursing through his body like vitriol. The boy didn’t know the villain attack was Izuku’s fault, but that didn’t stop it from being true. Would using his quirk in an attempt to defend himself affect his hero career? What if the villain damaged his quirk or something? Was that even possible?

What about the other civilians? None of them got hurt too badly, right? The heroes were there, after all, and the article never mentioned any casualties. They also never mentioned what kind of building was burnt down. Was it an apartment, a business, an office? Did he cost people their jobs, their homes or their livelihoods? Or maybe the damage was insignificant, like an abandoned building or something. But then he remembered that the fire occurred in the middle of downtown Musutafu. Of course there wouldn’t be an abandoned building in the middle of the city. Idiot.

His thoughts continued to run in circles like this, justifying every action only to tear down any flimsy reasoning he had a moment later. He had no idea how long he did this. It could’ve been hours, or it could’ve been minutes.

But eventually, sleep called him. He rolled over onto his side, unable to resist it any longer. Unfortunately, it was far from restful.

…

He stood in a void, unable to see anything past the surrounding darkness. Not even the ground below him had form, as if he were standing on air in an infinite abyss. He called out, to no avail. No one called back. He was alone. 

A chill ran down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, shoulders tensing. He knew this feeling. It was something he felt often walking through the hallways of Aldera, or on his way home, unaware Katsuki and his friends were tailing him. The feeling of being watched. But this was… different. More unsettling. More predatory. He didn’t just feel vulnerable or anxious, he felt like prey . An uneasy feeling crept up his spine, his heart beating a little faster.

He swung his head around like a swivel, trying to find the source of the disturbance. But his eyes were unable to perceive anything through the darkness, rendering him practically blind. He tried another method, slowing his breathing and focusing solely on his hearing. He tried to listen for any signs someone was near him. A scrape, a footstep, a rustle of grass. It was a method he often used for kids trying to sneak up on him, either to scare him or worse. But he heard nothing, only the unnatural silence of the void.

Before he could comprehend it, a repugnant smell hit his nostrils like a punch to the stomach, making him gag as his hand rushed to plug his nose. But the smell remained, as if it were completely unperturbed by the skin that blocked its path. But that wasn’t the worst thing about it, no. It was that he recognized it. And a small part of him knew what was coming, dread and fear pooling in his stomach.

A cold, slimy substance began to wrap around his arms and legs from behind, yanking his hand away from his nose. His skin shivered under his uniform where the liquid began to crawl along his body. He tried to struggle, his fingers sliding uselessly along the cold surface of the liquid. It remained unmoving, as if it were a muscle. His breathing came out in short gasps.

It slithered around his torso, constricted around his neck like a snake, until the sludge finally reached his mouth. He tried to clamp his mouth shut to prevent it from choking him, but his clenched jaw did nothing to halt its progress. The slime slithered through the impossibly small gaps in his teeth, the foul taste stinging his tongue. It went into his nose, into his ears, into his eyes. Everything burned as the sludge shoved its way down his throat, into his ear canals, into his skull.

He was no longer able to draw breath, his lungs screaming for air. His head felt like it was being torn apart, an unexplainable pressure building in his body. He felt like he was being carved out, gutted like a fish, being replaced by something foreign. The pain was blinding, dark spots appearing at the edges of his vision. He felt it, that dark pull toward an abyss separate from the one he was standing in. The icy cold grip of death seized him, trying to rip him from his body.

It wasn't real. It couldn’t be real.

So why did it feel real?

He struggled, he tried to fight back, but he could do nothing against the forces trying to take his life. He was helpless, unable to do anything to prevent his own demise. So he stood there, convulsing, his screams never piercing the air around him, snuffed out before they even formed. Fear clawed at his insides, tears building behind his eyes that were unable to fall, blocked and pushed back by the sludge that  dug into his eye sockets. Darkness began descending over his vision like a curtain, accompanied by that horrible, terrifying feeling…

...

Izuku bolted upright, a strangled cry escaping his throat. His hand jumped to his neck reflexively, his breathing heavy and labored. His vision spun, a wave of nausea overcoming him. Sweat dripped off his chin, running down his forehead in cold, thin lines. His face felt hot, like an oven, radiating heat despite his shivering.

He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat, still struggling to breath as panic pulsed fleetingly through his veins. He hated that damn dream– and it was beginning to turn into a recurring one. Izuku has had bad dreams before, nightmares even. Of his classmates, resembling demons more than people, of his teachers, ridiculing him and screaming at him for how much of a failure he was. And then there were the ones with Katsuki. Those ones hurt the most, both emotionally and physically. But none of them had ever felt that real.

It was as if it had actually happened again. The smell, the taste, the fear, the feeling of death. It was just as realistic, every single time, as if he was cursed to relive that moment over and over again. He would like to say he was getting used to it, that it was worse the first time, but that wasn’t true. If anything, expecting it just made it all the more terrifying.

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to stifle that lingering, icy fear in his chest. He glanced toward his clock, his vision finally clear enough to decipher it. 5:13. Too early to start getting ready, too late to go back to sleep. Not like he’d be able to if he tried.

He flung his covers off of him, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to replenish his still air-hungry lungs. The chilly air of his room bit at his sweat-covered skin, making another shiver run along his body. He felt like he got hit by a truck, and that wasn’t even including the throbbing headache that could nearly be classified as a migraine. Ibuprofen it is.

He stood carefully, his legs threatening to buckle under the pressure of his weight. A sudden wave of lightheadedness hit him, making his vision spin for a moment. But after a few seconds, he was able to get his bearings and trudge towards the door. He opened it quietly, careful not to make any sound as he padded toward the kitchen. He was still only half awake when he reached for the bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet beneath the sink, trying to ignore his aching shoulder. It was a half-filled container full of circular, reddish-orange pellets. He opened the lid absentmindedly, pouring about four tablets in his hand before slapping the cap back on. He tossed them in his mouth, taking a small swig of water from the half empty cup on the counter. He preferred the cool, tasteless liquid greatly to the thick sludge he felt earlier. He really hoped it hadn’t been sitting out too long, as that would be extremely unsanitary, but another part of him wasn’t awake enough to care. Worst case scenario he swallowed a bug or something. Gross, but not the end of the world.

He relished in the pseudo relief as he swallowed the tablets, his headache feeling slightly more manageable now. He knew it was just his brain convinced that the ibuprofen was already in effect (even though it takes at least thirty minutes to start doing anything), but he appreciated it regardless. Unsure what to do with himself, he sank into the couch, not bothering to turn on any lights.

He sat there for a few minutes, blinking away the fogginess of sleep as his mind recovered from the events of his nightmare. Even as his sleepiness faded, his lethargy did not. His eyes felt dry, his eyelids sagged and his neck hurt so badly he could barely turn his head. He could already tell today was going to suck. If he thought he felt horrible the previous day, it had nothing on how he felt now.

His skin began feeling itchy as he realized he was still covered in dirt from the previous night. The sudden need to shower entered his mind, nagging him with infuriating insistence. Heaving a sigh, he dragged himself off the couch and back to his room. His limbs felt like bricks as he dragged his feet across the carpet, wincing internally at the thought of going to school. But, he resolved not to skip school even when he felt like death, because if he started, he knew he’d never stop. If he viewed it as a choice and not an inevitability, he’d probably skip school for more days than he attended. The last thing he needed was to destroy his attendance record on top of everything. 

Entering his room, he flipped on the light switch. The bright, yellow fluorescent lights immediately assaulted his eyes, the throbbing in his head sharpening momentarily as it pierced his vision. He grabbed his spare uniform out of his drawer. He forgot to put his milk-stained one in the washer yesterday, a little distracted by the whole withdrawing-his-application and giving-up-on-his-dreams thing.

Before he knew it, he was stepping under the head of the shower. His hair soaked up the water like a sponge, leaving the excess to cascade over his face and shoulders like a warm blanket. It wasn’t hot enough to be painful, only stinging enough to erase the subtle chilliness that stubbornly clung to his body. The burn on his shoulder tingled uncomfortably from the heat, but it didn’t hurt. The bruise on his other shoulder, however, did. He glanced down at it. It was a deep purple, stretched across the front of his upper arm. Considering that he got shoulder checked by his time’s version of the hulk, it could have been much worse.

His muscles gradually relaxed as water traveled across his skin, uncoiling the tension in his limbs and sweeping away any remaining dirt or sweat from the previous night. A soft sigh escaped his lips, his fingers running through his water-logged hair. His bangs almost completely obscured his vision, warm and comforting as they sat smoothly against his forehead. Steam rose in thick clouds around him, sticking to the tile walls and settling into the cloth of the shower curtain. Some of his exhaustion peeled off as droplets continued to drum steadily against his skin, while the deeper layers repelled the warmth of the water, maintaining a steadfast grip on him. He let his mind go completely blank for a moment, closing his eyes and only focusing on the sensations of the water that soaked into every crevice of his being.

He’s always enjoyed showers. Something about them made him feel at ease, as the water washed all of his problems away, even if it was only for a little bit. Maybe it was how the water stripped his skin of the memories and events of the previous days. Or maybe it was the sound, steady and filling his ears with white noise, neither too loud nor too quiet. Like a lullaby with no melody, just him and the water that surrounded him. This was the kind of isolation he enjoyed. It was so vastly different compared to the feeling of being completely and utterly alone while sitting in a room of people, sitting next to someone and yet not even existing, being stared at without being seen, speaking but never communicating. In those situations, he felt like a bug with no sentience, a robot with no programming. This kind of alone, however, where he was doing something as simply as standing under the shower head, it wasn’t loneliness . It was free from the pressure of others, of their expectations, thoughts, or opinions. He didn’t have to be anyone here, or anything. He was just there, he existed, undisturbed, untainted by anyone else’s perspectives.

He began washing himself over, relishing in the soap that lathered soothingly over his skin, choosing to ignore the bruises that littered his body. By the time he’d finished massaging conditioner into his curls, the water was already beginning to fade into lukewarm territory instead of the steaming hot he preferred.

Taking that as his sign, he turned the faucet sharply, cutting off the flow of water. He stepped out of the shower feeling properly clean and significantly vitalized, despite his persisting headache. He rolled his bruised shoulder tenderly, the slightly cooler, humid air of the bathroom cooling him off. He wasn’t quite cold, though, despite the sudden change in temperature. He was just happy that his skin didn’t feel itchy anymore.

He noticed he’d been more adamant about cleanliness lately. Not completely, of course, his desk still had an amazing amount of crumpled paper all over it and he was convinced he'd never bring himself to clean his closet, but he was addicted to the feeling . He hated feeling dirty, even the thought of it made his skin crawl. He’s never been much of a clean freak or over-obsessed with germs, but right now, the thought of having dirt or mud caked on his skin made him legitimately gag.

After he had his first nightmare about the sludge villain, he woke up in the wee hours of Saturday morning and scrubbed his skin raw, desperate to get any remnants of sludge off of his body. He still felt the tenderness on parts of his neck and back where he scrubbed a little too forcefully.

He knew this obsessive need to keep himself clean was a side effect of that, but he didn’t really know what to do about it. If anything, he just had more motivation to shower, so it wasn’t a big deal, right?

A knock rapped loudly on the door as Izuku was finishing buttoning his blazer, the sudden noise making him jump.

“Are you almost ready, Izuku?” Inko said quietly, her voice muffled by the bathroom door. “You have to go soon, it’s already 8:00. Are you okay?”

Izuku’s brain stalled for a moment, still processing his mother’s words. The realization hit him over the head like a metal spatula. 8:00?! What did she mean it was 8:00?! That’s when he usually left for school. It couldn’t be that late already. How long was he in the shower? Or sitting on the couch? He was doing those two things for nearly three hours ?

“Uh– y-yeah! I’ll be out in a minute!” Izuku sputtered, taking a towel and dragging it across his hair furiously, attempting to dry it faster. But of course his curls didn’t comply, and even after 30 seconds of  aggressive scrubbing, he ran his hands through them to find out they were still very wet. With a sigh of frustration, he deemed his hair a lost cause.

He quickly buttoned the final button on his uniform and burst out of the bathroom, his hair still damp against the cold air of the hallway, making him shiver. He threw open his door and checked his phone. Sure enough, it read 8:02. 

Seriously? Has his time management really gotten that bad?

He tugged two of the closest socks onto his feet hurriedly, not bothering to check whether they were on the right feet. He rummaged through his backpack, making sure all of his books, notebooks and pencils were still there. Did he have homework last night? Probably, but he wasn’t exactly Japan’s best listener yesterday, so that was as much of a lost cause as his hair. He’d make up for the hit his grade probably suffered later, and he doubted the teachers would say anything about it. They didn’t usually expect much from him anyways.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder, running his hand through his hair one last time for good measure. Nope, still wet. The walk to school wasn’t going to be fun.

With a sigh of resignation, he fled back out into the hallway, and headed straight towards the door. Like usual, his mom was drifting around the common space, her eyes locking onto him the second he came into view.

“There you are, Izuku,” she said conversationally, but with an undertone he was far too familiar with. “You’ve really been cutting it close the last couple days. Are you sure you’re feeling alri-?”

“I’m fine mom,” he interrupted neutrally, tugging his shoes onto his feet. “I just sprained my ankle last night while walking last night, sorry I got home so late.” A carefully crafted lie he’s been practicing all morning, accompanied by shame he promptly ignored. Simple, not too detailed, easy to explain and easy to fake. Well, easy to fake if he pretended his ankle magically healed overnight. Hopefully she’d overlook that little detail, because he genuinely couldn’t think of anything else. His only other option was saying he fell into the canal, floated downstream for a bit, and had to walk back. 

…Yeah, it wasn’t his best work. He should really work on his lying.

“Izuku, about that-”

“I’ll see you later, mom, but I really have to leave,” he interrupted again, wincing guiltily. He really didn’t want to talk about that right now, but it still didn’t make him feel better about how obviously he was avoiding the conversation. He’d have to explain himself to her eventually, just not… right then.

Before the guilt made him say something he shouldn’t, he rushed out of the door, yelled goodbye to his mother, and shut it with a little too much force. He quickly made his way down the stairs, just in case she followed him out, guilt gnawing at his chest quite fiercely now. He hated avoiding her like this, but at the moment it was the lesser of two evils. He already had one emotionally draining conversation yesterday, he didn’t want to have another one less than 24 hours after. In fact, he’d prefer they were at least a week apart, maybe a month even, but he knew his mother wouldn’t wait that long, so he’d have to figure out how to deal with that whole thing when he got home.

But, he had to get through the school day first. One problem at a time.

He rolled his shoulders as he walked, the exhaustion that the shower warded away beginning to creep back into his muscles. He was dragging his feet unintentionally against the sidewalk, and he had to correct his posture every minute or so to prevent himself from slouching. His headache dulled into a weak tenderness now (thank god for Ibuprofen) but his neck was still aching. He didn't have the chance to look in the mirror this morning because of the sheer amount of steam that coated it, but he could practically feel the bags hanging under his eyes. He probably looked like shit right now– he certainly felt like it. No wonder his mother gave him that look. 

How much sleep did he get last night? Or, rather, how much sleep didn't he get last night? He didn't really remember much, he was a little busy coming to the realization he almost got people killed because he wanted to ask a question . 

He groaned loathsomely as he tried to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes for the millionth time, to no avail. He needed to be as alert as possible today. He wouldn't get as lucky as he did yesterday, Katsuki would be seeking him out. Days where Katsuki ignored him were rare, but regardless of the reason, he always made a point to make Izuku's life extra miserable the next day to make up for it. Just his luck.

But, a small part of him admitted that he might actually deserve it this time. I mean, Izuku did nearly get him killed, right? It was a idiotic conclusion, he knew that, but the thought lingered in the back of his mind regardless, along with a renewed sense of guilt.

He shoved down the feeling the best he could as he approached the gates of Aldera, students pouring through it as the beginning of the school day neared. He didn’t like when it was crowded like this. He usually made it a point to get to school early so he could avoid the morning rush and find a nook and cranny to hide out in until the bell was about to ring. 

It was a refined art, at this point. He’d get there just early enough to avoid the major crowds, but arriving too early increased his chances of being singled out by students due to a lack of supervision. And, if he did get singled out, it would be a lot longer before the bell rang, meaning they had a lot more time to do whatever they wanted. Arriving during or after the crowd often resulted in being spotted or pulled aside before he could hide somewhere, since many of the… less friendly students weren’t exactly early risers, and since they were just more kids at school the closer it got to the bell. This also made it more likely for him to be followed into a hiding spot, in which case the worst case scenario occurs: getting cornered. But, coming out of said hiding spot too early before the bell risks getting intercepted by other students, but leaving too late and being late for class got him in trouble with the teachers.

It didn’t help that his homeroom teacher in particular usually lectured him in front of the whole class, which attracted unnecessary attention, and nine times out of ten he got stuck with cleaning duty or detention to boot. In this case, students know exactly where to find him after school, so it was even worse than getting cornered in a hiding spot because the school was basically empty a few minutes after the end of the day. Katsuki in particular liked to use this method, since he could “take his time”, as he put it. If it wasn’t implied already, more time with Katsuki was not a good thing. An isolated, enclosed space and his explosions didn’t exactly mix well when Izuku was involved. The leftover bruises on his body and the healing burn on his shoulder were proof enough of that.

So, right now he was in dangerous territory. In fact, now that he checked the time on his phone, it was the worst time to show up– 8:17, meaning it was thirteen minutes before class started, right when everyone arrived. And the perfect time to get spotted. He almost always aimed to get to school at least twenty minutes early, closer to twenty-five if he could– but, he completely lost track of time. Again. Izuku heaved a decrepit sigh. There was no use lingering on it now, it was too late anyway. He could really never win in these kinds of situations.

He weaved through the crowds quickly, beelining for the front door. He really didn’t want to be caught outside right now, there was way too much unsupervised space. Teachers wouldn’t go out of their way to help him, but due to their legal obligation to student safety, they had to stop fights they saw if they got too physical, or it could cause trouble with parents or police if said victim landed in a hospital– even if he was quirkless. 

Yeah, not the most righteous train of thought for people specializing in youth education, but it was what it was. At least he could be somewhat physically safe if he was within a teacher’s field of vision. Verbal remarks, however, did not follow that same rule, but he could ignore those for the most part.

He burst through the front doors of the school, squeezing between two particularly tall third years, narrowly avoiding getting shoved into the door frame. He headed straight for his shoe cubby, which was tucked in the corner of the large room. It was packed with students, but most were too preoccupied talking to one another and changing into their uwabaki to notice him. To his relief, there was no one waiting at his cubby. There had been a couple cases where Katsuki or another rowdy group of students would try to wait him out as his cubby instead of bothering to search for him. Most of the time, Izuku would just go back outside and hide in the hedges that lined the outer face until the bell was about to ring. It often resulted in him being tardy, though, so it wasn’t an ideal strategy. 

There was even a time or two when someone found him in the hedges or heading towards them; one of those times in particular was how he learned to not be caught outside. His split lip was almost impossible to hide, so he just had to say he tripped and face planted. Luckily Izuku was a pretty klutzy kid, so his mom bought it. It still hurt like hell, though. He couldn’t eat any crunchy foods for a week.

Izuku’s eyes darted around the room as he ripped off his shoes and replaced them with uwabaki at lightning speed. He shoved his chunky red shoes in his cubby hurriedly, making sure to securely fasten the lock. 

He walked fast, but not too fast, down the hallways, taking a few carefully considered turns. There’s a slightly less used hallway across from the one with his homeroom that had a stairwell. Hiding under there should do, and if he noticed someone following him before he reached it, he could go up the stairs and try to lose them. He learned not to hide in dead ends.

He approached the final stretch of hallway, taking inconspicuous glances over his shoulder. He didn’t notice anyone tailing him– he should be in the clear, for now.

He slipped his backpack off his shoulder and quickly slid under the stairwell in the narrow gap between the railings, floor, and walls. He put his backpack at his feet and made sure to huddle himself in the corner, to avoid any light hitting him and giving up his location.

He let his head hit the wall behind him with a quiet thud, a small sigh slipping past his lips. The ibuprofen kicked in a long time ago, but he still felt an uncomfortable tenderness in his head that made even the slightest shake of his head painful. His eyelids felt like boulders, and the exhaustion was creeping even further under his skin. He was right, today was going to suck.

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A Few Hours Later…

Just make it to the end of the day. That’s what he thought to himself repeatedly as the teachers began passing out yet another assignment he couldn’t bring himself to actually put effort in. The ibuprofen had long since worn off, and his migraine was back in full force. He wasn't even trying to pay attention anymore, there was no justification for the effort. He could barely stitch together a coherent thought; he was not in the mood to learn a scientific formula.

Katsuki had been giving him particularly nasty looks since he walked in class that morning. Luckily, Izuku had cut it way too close to the bell, so Katsuki didn’t have the chance to walk up to him– even though he looked like he wanted to. That couldn’t be good. Like he theorized the previous day, the concept of Katsuki leaving him alone for two days in a row would happen the day All Might sprouted wings and started flitting through the sky singing melodies like a songbird. So, on top of his crappy mood, he’d have to deal with avoiding a particularly persistent Katsuki. Fantastic.

He chose to ignore the guilt that’d been radiating passively in his chest since he got into class. He didn’t have enough brainpower to think about that right now– he’d deal with that moral crisis later.

But he couldn’t help but glance in Katsuki’s direction occasionally. He seemed normal enough, but what if he had PTSD or something? Would it affect his future as a hero? What if some of that sludge was poisonous, and he was slowly dying of disease–

Yeah okay maybe not the best topic to linger on considering Izuku’s current state of mind.

But neither was pre-algebra so it was a lose-lose situation.

Before he knew it, the lunch bell rang, and he nearly sprinted out of the classroom, bag in hand.

“DEKU!”

Without thinking, he slammed the classroom door behind him, and took off down the hall. Based on the boy’s tone, Katsuki didn’t sound like he was just angry today, he sounded absolutely furious . He wondered if the power of Katsuki’s explosions was directly tied to his anger, because in Izuku’s experience it seemed to be the case. (Evident by the various burn scars on his arms and torso.) He didn’t care if he got in trouble with the teachers, there was no way he was staring that down right now– he already felt shitty enough. 

Best case scenario, he could avoid Katsuki for the rest of the day, and hopefully he’d cool down slightly by tomorrow. His bursts of anger were usually short-term, quickly forgotten and replaced by another bout of anger caused by something else. The only kind of long-term anger he clung to were grudges .

One of these grudges is, for some reason, Izuku’s very existence. Since they were in elementary school, Katsuki’s anger toward Izuku had never dwindled once it ignited. If anything, it’d gotten more severe as time went on. To this day, Izuku could never pinpoint what he did to make Katsuki hate him so much, but he chose not to think about it anymore. Everytime he did, he felt that uncomfortable squeezing in his chest; a mixture of regret, confusion, and resentment. And Izuku would be lying if he didn’t admit that it hurt . Even after all these years, through the punches and the harsh words, none of the pain had dulled. None of it had lost its icy bite, or its burning intensity. It felt exactly as it did the day Katsuki had shoved him on the playground, the day he finally casted Izuku out of his life. And, like lambs following a shepherd, everyone else did too.

He used to have other friends. He wasn’t nearly as close to any of them as he was Katsuki, but they were there. But, like a flick of a switch, they were gone. It didn’t hurt as much as Katsuki abandoning him, but it did always linger in the back of his mind. That all the reason people needed to ditch him was something as simple as someone else’s opinion of him changing. They didn’t see him as a person. They didn’t see anything except a defect, because that’s what everyone else said, that’s what the “important” people thought– the useful ones. The ones that meant something, that had a purpose. Katsuki, teachers, heroes, people who have powerful quirks. They were the only ones with words that held any weight. Katsuki’s hate, the teacher’s accusations. The second someone deemed smarter or more powerful than himself said something, it was always assumed to be the undeniable truth, no matter the context. The mouse’s word means nothing in the presence of a lion. And unluckily for him, he would always be the mouse. Anything he said was like a whisper in the wind, something to be disregarded and forgotten. His thoughts or feelings didn’t matter, and his word would never be taken over anyone else’s. His very existence was always a means to an end.

Izuku pulled his knees to his chest to try to relieve the sick feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t risk going to lunch, not with how amped up Katsuki was, so here he was, tucked into a broom closet on the far end of the top floor. He’d have to go another day without lunch. Terrific.

Tired of being stuck in his own head, he scrolled through his phone to pass the time. His lack of interest in hero-related headlines persisted. New battles and villain reports flooded his notification bar, but none of them jumped out to him. Almost half of them involved All Might, but even those did little to summon any curiosity. He heaved a sigh and pocketed his phone. Afternoon classes would start in a couple minutes, so if he left right then he should get there just before the bell, assuming he didn’t get interrupted on his way.

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Several Minutes Later

He made it. Somehow. He was able to get to class with no trouble, though he did earn another withering glare from Katsuki when he entered the room. He usually didn’t have to worry about Katsuki bothering him during important classes, for two reasons only. One, Katsuki didn’t like dealing with teachers lecturing him (which were the most light-hearted lectures Izuku ever had the displeasure of hearing; the teacher usually just kissed up to him and gave him a light warning, he didn’t know why Katsuki was such a baby about it). Two, he took his academics very seriously. No matter how horrible the curriculum was at their middle school, grades were still important on their transcript.

It made Izuku’s heart ache a bit. His transcript looked average at best– so in the eyes of any kind of prestigious school, that translated to him being lazy or simply lacking any kind of distinguishable qualities or talent whatsoever. It was by design, of course. It was better than doing well on an assignment, just to be given a zero on it because of “unethical student conduct” which also ended up with a mark on his record, even though there was no evidence of him cheating whatsoever. 

He remembered when he first began middle school. He was a great student in elementary school, even if most of his teachers forgot about his existence, but Aldera was a totally different experience. Within the first week of school, he was brought to the principal's office four times for “cheating”, even though Izuku swore up and down that he wasn’t. He aced almost every single pop quiz and evaluations they threw his way, and apparently that was all the evidence they needed. He gave up trying to convince them by his third week– they simply couldn’t comprehend him actually getting a good scores. They didn’t outright say it, but Izuku knew it was because he was quirkless. He was used to the discrimination, the bullying, the isolation. But he didn’t understand how bad it could affect his life before Aldera. 

He learned that if he got over 70-75% on any of his assignments, they’d automatically assume he was cheating. Like he said before, his word didn’t mean a thing. So, he settled with getting average scores. It was irritating, but he had to learn how to aim for exactly those scores or slightly less. It was rough at first, because he’d either score too high or way too low. He actually had to study more because of this, so he knew exactly how many questions to get right and to get wrong. It didn’t look good, but it didn’t look as bad. That’s about as much as he could wish for.

He couldn’t fight villains or lift up cars or make water shoot from his nose, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use his brain . He didn’t understand why people even thought like that. It was as if he was a burden just because he had an extra joint in his pinky toe.

And yet, he couldn’t help but think that maybe they were right to an extent. He was always extra trouble, no matter what he tried– especially for his mother. She had to get on anxiety medication when he was six because of how stressed she was getting about Izukiu’s… condition, among other things. She said it wasn’t about him, but he knew it was. That was around the time teachers started having to call her about “accidents” he’d get in with other kids; they used the excuse of quirk awakenings. The teachers never believed him when he told them what really happened, they always assured him that “it was probably an accident” or that the other kids “didn’t mean it”. 

His mom had to take off work at the hospital multiple times just to go pick him up early or take him to urgent care. The hospital bills weren’t cheap either, and with how many shifts his mom was having to take off from the hospital, she was getting more and more stressed out. That was happening for over a year until his bullies started leaving the marks in less noticeable places, and until he got better at hiding them. He didn’t want to cause his mom any more trouble, and the last thing he wanted was for her to get laid off from her job because of him. In his eyes, it was best for her to know as little as possible. It’s not like the teachers would ever do anything about it anyways. He just wasn’t worth the trouble to them, and lately, Izuku was beginning to agree.

He finished shoving his remaining school supplies in his bag, and secured the buckles tightly. He eyed the clock. He had under a minute until the final bell rang– after that, it was do or die. Not literally, of course, he doubted Katsuki would ever kill him. Even if he was quirkless, that kind of crime would make him ineligible for every hero school on the continent– Katsuki wouldn’t take that kind of risk. But there was also the fact that even Katsuki would probably draw the line at murder. He did want to be like All Might, after all. But sometimes Izuku did wonder just how far Katsuki’s hate for him went. Izuku saw the looks he gave him. Pure rage and resentment, like Izuku was a sharp nail that repeatedly got stuck in his tires during a long drive. Like he was some kind of parasite , something that’d be better off gone.

His mind wandered back to Friday. “Hope you’re born with a quirk in your next life, and take a swan dive off the roof of the building.” He mostly disregarded the statement at the time; he figured it was just another one of Katsuki’s hurtful rants. But now that he looked back on it, it bothered him more than he’d let on. Maybe it was Katsuki’s self-assured tone, or his blatant disregard for Izuku as a person… but it was the look in his Katsuki that really caught his attention. They were narrowed, scrunched up at the bottom, his eyebrow furrowed in amusement. Like he was daring Izuku to do it.

Maybe he really did want Izuku to die.

Izuku shook his head quickly, cutting off his train of thought. Right as he was about to check the clock again, the bell rang, high pitched and obnoxious, making him just about jump out of his own skin.

Shit.

He swung his backpack over his shoulder at lightning speed and bolted. He threw open the door and took off down the hallway. His racing heart did little to clear the fog in his mind or the gnawing in his stomach. The whole day was starting to weigh on him now. The second he got home, he was sleeping for the next 16 hours, homework be damned.

He ignored the eyes that followed him as more and more students crowded into the narrow halls. He needed to get out of the school before it got even more crowded, or else he’d almost definitely be corned. As long as he was able to get outside, all he’d need to do then was choose the right route. Katsuki was persistent, sure, but even he gave up once Izuku was out of sight. Musutafu wasn’t exactly small, and Katsuki had never gone as far to wait at Izuku’s house. 

He heard the familiar uninterpretable yells of Katsuki not too far behind him. Running away always made him more angry– and on top of how mad he was already, Izuku really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Katsuki’s quirk right now.

He turned down another hallway. The second his eyes landed flicked towards the hall in front of him, his heart nearly stopped, stumbling to a sudden halt. The hall had two doors on each side, and it ended in one simple wall. It was a dead end. This was where the science classrooms were– they were rarely ever used and they were always locked. This was one of the worst places for him to be. His heart pounded against his ribs, his eyes widening in horror.

Did he take a wrong turn somewhere? He knew the school’s layout like the back of his hand, how could he make such a rookie mistake now of all times? The last time his own idiocrity had gotten him cornered like this was in his first year of middle school, when he was still learning all the twists and turns.

There was only one logical explanation– he was exhausted. He hardly slept the previous night, and only having one meal in a span of two days wasn’t doing wonders for his energy levels either.

He took a step backwards. If he backtracked now, maybe he could–

He felt the heat before impact, followed by a bang sound loud enough to make his ears ring. A burning sensation exploded across his back, and he was knocked violently off his feet, landing face first on the hard floor. All the air in his lungs was immediately driven out, leaving him reeling for a split second. His backpack slipped the rest of the way off his shoulder and landed in a heap next to him, but he hardly noticed. The familiar smell of sickeningly sweet caramel filled his nostrils, and dread poured over him like icy cold water. There was no mistake. He’d been in this situation enough times to know that Katsuki had found him.

He spun around on pure instinct, rolling off his stomach and onto his back, propping himself up on shaky arms– he knew better than to keep his back turned. Katsuki stood over him, his red eyes almost glowing with rage. Izuku’s back was searing like it was covered in hot charcoal. He could feel charred pieces of fabric brush against his blistering skin, making him stifle a pained gasp. He couldn’t tell if it was the fear or the pain that was making his heart beat so fast, but it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.

“There you are .”

Chapter Text

Raw terror surged through Izuku’s body as he stared up at Katsuki, a mixture of resignation and bitterness settling in his gut, tension coiling in his muscles like hot wire. The blonde boy’s eyes were filled with enough malice to kill an elephant. Izuku's legs began to feel numb.

Two hands enclosed around his collar, making his breath hitch involuntarily. Katsuki yanked him forcefully to his feet, making pain erupt across his back once more. He let out a stifled cry, biting his lip hard enough to bleed. Terrified green eyes met blazing red ones as Izuku’s hands curled uselessly around the wrists holding him up. He always forgot how terrifyingly strong Katsuki was, especially when he was like this– Izuku’s feet were barely able to stay planted on the ground, even on his tippy toes. Izuku desperately sucked in breath, trying not to think about the excruciating pain that pulsed through his body.

“You seriously thought you could run away from me?” Katsuki sneered, his expression smug, like a fox that had finally caught a rabbit. “You’re so fucking pathetic.” Tears stung at Izuku’s eyes as Katsuki tightened his grip, his already-present headache beginning to throb.

“You know, Deku,” he continued, his expression still triumphant. “For someone with such big delusions, you’re about the farthest thing from heroic I could ever even dream of. I would say all you do is run away, but you can't even do that much.”

Izuku had no answer. He just stared, wide-eyed. He had no power in this situation, so it was best to just go with the punches. Literally. He was already caught in a thorn bush, there was no need to cut himself up more than necessary.

“Not going to say anything?” Katsuki challenged. Only silence followed. He always tried to bait Izuku into saying something, anything, he could use against him. Even though, in Izuku’s experience, answering would annoy him more, despite him asking for it. But Izuku could never keep his tongue tied for long– something always slipped out, Katsuki knew that. It was only a matter of time.

Katsuki snorted bitterly at his speechlessness. “Typical. Do you always plan to be this spineless, or is it just for the first couple decades of your life?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Izuku said, his voice feeble despite his efforts to make himself sound calm.

“How about explaining why exactly your dumb ass scurried away like a goddamn mouse?” Katsuki asked with a grin that could only be described as feral.

“I-I was just–”

“Running away like a coward?” Katsuki sneered. “Just like usual.”

“I just didn’t want to fight you–” Izuku tried before being interrupted by a loud scoff from Katsuki.

“ Fight me? I’d love to see you try.”

“I-I didn’t mean it like that,” Izuku stuttered. His tongue felt heavy and his lips felt numb, making it even harder to choke the words out. “I k-know I can’t actually fight you–”

“No shit.” Katsuki barked. “You couldn’t throw a punch to save your fucking life. People like that piss me off.” I noticed , Izuku thought ruefully.

“Everyone has their own strengths,” he said weakly. But even to himself it sounded superficial, a perfectly rehearsed white lie instead of a genuine statement.

“Really?” He said, as if it was the most amusing statement in the world. “So then, Deku, tell me: if you can’t fight, run, defend yourself, talk, or even fucking listen, what are you good at?”

Izuku genuinely couldn’t say, not that Katsuki was looking for a real answer anyway. Hypothetically, the first thing that came to mind was his analyses, but both teachers and other students have told him in detail why that’s the opposite of true–  and that was the only thing he’s ever thought he might have excelled in. Other than that, what did he have? He wasn’t good at sports, he was doing worse and worse at school, and he could barely function in a social setting (even when his quirklessness wasn't a factor). 

Was there anything he’s good at?

Katsuki scoffed. “Guess not. But I’m not surprised.” Izuku's jaw tightened, defensiveness suddenly flooding through him.

“Well I’m still just in middle school, right?” He blurted, more to himself than Katsuki. “A lot of people don’t find things they excel in until high school o-or sometimes even college–”

“Bullshit,” Katuki snarled. “People who are gifted show signs of being greater by the time they’re through elementary school, dumbass. The rest of them will just be a bunch of extras for the rest of their lives, fibbing around fighting over who’ll be the best in a useless ass corporate job until their sixty.”

“That’s not true,” Izuku argued numbly. “People in those jobs still contribute even if they’re not in the spotlight. I mean think about it, those people run schools and businesses and–”

“Give me a break!” Katsuki barked bitterly. “They’re all just replaceable pawns with no actual skill or ambition to be anything better than some normie on the corner.”

Izuku deflated. “What’s wrong with being normal?”

“Are you seriously asking that? I’d never want to live out my life being some nobody, I’d rather die!”

Izuku tensed. “That’s really shallow-minded Kacch–”

“Don’t fucking project on me,” Katsuki spat. “I doubt someone like you will be able to get even that far. You’ll probably be one of those loafers on the side of the road trying to mooch off everyone else. You have nothing going for you at all, it's pitiful . I can’t believe I have to share a class with someone like you.”

“W-well there’s no hurt in trying–” Izuku cut himself off. But was that even true anymore?

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “Like trying is going to do anything for your sorry case. God, I’d hate to be Auntie Inko. She probably thinks of you as some kind of parasite– the teachers do, I’ve heard them say it.” Izuku bit his lip. Did they actually? He knew the teachers never liked him, but he didn’t know by how much. They never said it to his face. He wanted to believe Katsuki was just lying, but the way the teachers looked at him sometimes made him wonder… “She probably hopes you’d never been born at all.”

Izuku’s eyes flicked straight to Katsuki’s in disbelief. His insides felt like they were twisting, but it wasn’t anxiety this time.

“That’s too far!” he yelled, his voice shaky. “She’d never–”

Katsuki yanked Izuku's face closer to his own, his eyes narrowed into slits.

“Then do something, Deku,” Katsuki said coldly. “If you’re not the failure that everyone knows you are, do something . Defend yourself, get me off of you, anything . Go on.”

Izuku felt anger bubble up in his chest, but the second Katsuki lifted his sparking hand, he immediately deflated. Katsuki smirked. “That’s what I thought.” Izuku’s face flushed red hot, shame burning at the back of his throat.

He hated how easily he backed down. It was humiliating– but what happened when he didn't wasn't worth maintaining his pride for.

Being beat into the ground didn't exactly do his ego any favors anyway.

“So tell me, Deku , why the hell are you so convinced you could amount to anything as a hero? You're even worse than all the other extras, you wouldn't even make it as a sidekick to a rank 10,000 hero. So where do you get off, thinking you're still better than me?”

“I-I don't think I'm better than you‐” he sputtered.

Katsuki scoffed harshly, making Izuku wince. “Do you think I'm fucking stupid ? Is that why you strut around, and give me that fucking look all the damn time?”

“What look?!” Izuku demanded, desperation seeping into his voice. And I don’t strut! He decided not to say that last part out loud.

“The pity ,” Katsuki hissed. “Do you think I'm blind, too? Huh?!” Katsuki balled up the fabric of Izuku's shirt in his fist, digging his knuckles into Izuku's windpipe. “You think you're so above me that you pity my fucking existence? Just look at yourself! You're nothing !!”

“I don't–” Izuku erupted into a fit of coughs, his hands prying at Katsuki's wrists, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his neck as his heart hammered against his ribs, panic seeping into his body. “I don't even know what you're talking about!”

“You. Fucking. Liar !” Katsuki roared in his face. The piece of Izuku’s uniform clutched in his fists began to smoke, and Izuku felt his lower neck begin to burn. He tried to shrink away from the heat, but it was no use. His chest heaved with half-breaths interrupted by the pressure Katsuki was putting on his throat. He was beginning to feel lightheaded

Izuku's thoughts raked desperately through the last couple days, trying to find out what Katsuki was talking about. He barely remembered anything coherent, he was too out of it. But he did remember accidentally making eye contact with Katsuki a few times, like when he was thinking about the Sludge Incident earlier today…

Oh.

Oh.

Is that what Katsuki was angry about? Izuku being worried about him? He thought that was pity ? How could he even think that? When had Izuku ever even implied that he pitied Katsuki in any way?

If anything, Izuku envied him. Katsuki had everything . Popularity, support, two loving parents, a great upbringing, intelligence, bravery, motive, a quirk . To Izuku, he was the epitome of heroism– at least potentially. But with Izuku himself, he was the opposite– if anything, he acted more like a villain. Why was it always him? If Katsuki was so above him, why would he even bother with Izuku? Why did he go out of his way just to make his life hell ?

But at the same time, a contradicting part of him, separated from the anger and the bitterness he felt towards Katsuki’s seemingly meaningless cruelty… thought that maybe he did deserve it. That maybe Katsuki wasn’t completely wrong about him. And with everything that happened with the sludge villain, that article, the building that was destroyed, the look in Katsuki's eyes -

“I-I'm sorry,” Izuku blurted, trying to stop that train of thought. He didn't know what else to say– and he didn’t even remember what they were talking about. Because looking into Katsuki's eyes, all he could see was the fear he remembered seeing in them in that photo– something so unlike Katsuki, so unnatural . He averted his gaze, guilt coursing through his body mercilessly. He couldn't stand looking at him right now. “I'm- I'm really sorry, Kacchan,” he said, quieter this time, his voice choked with emotion.

There was a beat of silence.

It was promptly broken.

“I don't need your PITY! ” Katsuki exploded, throwing Izuku to the ground.

He landed on his back with a crash, agony tearing through his body. The numbness was temporarily suspended, replaced by a blinding pain as his back met the unforgiving ground. Izuku sucked in a shocked breath, trying to prop himself back up and get the pressure off of his throbbing back. But, before he could, a hand closed around his arm and started dragging him backwards. Before he knew it, he was being hoisted up by both his upper arms and slammed against a wall. Izuku cried out as another wave of pain shot down his spine, the blistering skin of his back tingling with a new intensity as it was forced against the hard surface of the wall.

He writhed in pain, but stopped once the grip around his upper arms tightened in response. He looked at Katsuki again, feeling like a rabbit who had just been cornered by a grizzly bear.

He hated this feeling the most. The feeling of being completely pinned from all sides. The cold wall pressed unyieldingly against his back as fingernails dug into his biceps. He couldn't so much as struggle– he was powerless .

He hated feeling powerless, he hated it more than anything in the world. Maybe that's why he was so miserable all the time. He was constantly out of control, someone else always steering his life before he could even reach the wheel. It's a feeling he had long since gotten used to– and one that he'd probably never escape.

But for now he just wanted to get away from the vibrant crimson eyes that were burrowing into his skull.

“I-I was just worried about you,” Izuku tried, wincing. “T-that’s all! I wasn’t pitying you, Kacchan!” He tried to ignore how relentlessly his voice was shaking. 

Katsuku narrowed. “And why the fuck would I need you of all people to worry about me?”

“I-it's just, the Sludge Incident–”

“Oh so now you know about that fucking shitshow?” Katsuki snarled, tightening his grip around Izuku’s arms enough to bruise. “So you were lying to me yesterday, too? You have some fucking nerve‐”

“No!” Izuku yelped. “I really didn’t know yesterday! I found out about it last night!” He squirmed under Katsuki’s grip as his arms began to throb.

“So what's? You feel bad for me now?” Katsuki demanded darkly, a vein popping in his forehead.

Izuku backtracked, a shiver running down his spine. “N-no, I just-”

“You thought I was weak, is that it?” Katsuki demanded, his voice rising angrily. “You fucking thought I couldn’t handle myself from some D-lister?! ”

“It's just, I- I was attacked by him too-” Izuku started, his mouth going faster than his brain could keep up with. “A-and I know how it feels, and I was just worried-”

“The fuck are talking about?!” Katsuki snarled.

“The sludge villain, he attacked me before he attacked you, and uhm, I just‐”

“Oh so you're trying to relate to me now? Is that it? You're trying to bring me down to your level?” Katsuki grit his teeth. “Let's get one thing straight, Deku . I don't give a fuck if your lying about the Sludge Villain or not, but don't you dare compare me to you. I don't need your fucking sympathy– I don't want it from some waste of space excuse for a person.” Izuku shrunk in on himself, feeling his heart drop. Here it comes. He kept his mouth clamped shut, trying to emotionally prepare himself for the next volley of insults. It never worked.

“And you seriously still think you can be any sort of hero? Who'd want to be saved by you? You're just some useless nobody who'd probably just do more damage.” Izuku flinched, his heart squeezing painfully at the accusation. Katsuki was more right than he could possibly know.

“Being a hero means you have to be the best . But you? You don't have a quirk, you're a coward, and you don't even have the grades to get into a mediocre high school in Osaka . You’re average in every way, or worse . I mean, seriously, how are you not ashamed of yourself? You'll probably just end up rotting in a ditch somewhere, and if you're lucky, maybe it'll be a warm one.” 

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to listen anymore. He just wanted to cover his ears and wait for it to be over. But he couldn’t move his arms.

“And you still think you can accomplish anything with your life? What a goddamn joke. If I were you, I wouldn't even bother . You'll never be anything important, so what's the point of any of it? It’ll all be worthless in the end.”

Each word felt like a punch to the gut. Usually he could justify Katsuki's insults, defend himself from them, or at least ignore them. But not right now. He felt like a sponge that was tossed into a pool of acid, absorbing each sentence no matter how much he deteriorated.

Was it because he was right? Was Izuku always just going to be a burden, a bother, no matter how much he tried? Was he dragging down his mother? He already gave up on being a hero, but what if that wasn't enough? What if he could never change, never be useful, no matter what he did?

Was it really worth it to try?

But if he didn't… What else could he possibly do? All he ever did was try . Try to make his mother happy, try to please his teachers, try to be a hero like Kacchan was going to be. If he stopped… What was the alternative?

What else was there?

“So let's get this straight, Deku ,” Katsuki hissed. “You'll never be a hero. You're weak-”

“Izuku will never develop a quirk.”

“A waste of space-”

“You can never be a hero.”

“Delusional-”

“Be more realistic in your career choices, Midoriya.”

“Worthless-”

“Wow, you don't have a quirk? Are you defective or something?”

“Pathetic-”

“I'm so sorry Izuku!”

“Quirkless-”

“Hope your born with a quirk in your next life-”

“Useless-”

“And take a swan dive off the roof of the building-”

“ I know, okay ?!” Izuku snapped exasperatedly, his voice tinged with anger. But it wasn’t aimed at Katsuki. Everything was boiling over, his frustration, regret, guilt . If he kept it contained for even a second longer, he was going to burst. So, like his emotions always did, they overflowed.

Katsuki snapped his mouth shut, confusion momentarily replacing the rage behind his eyes. 

“I know I can’t be a hero! I know-” Izuku's voice broke. “I know I'm incapable of saving people.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I already gave up. Is that what you want to hear? I'm not going to try anymore. You win.”

He knew better than to give Katsuki ammo like this, but despite his inner protests, his mouth just wouldn’t cooperate.

“I caused the sludge incident,” he blurted, still refusing to look at Katsuki. He ignored the way his upper arms began to heat up. “I'm the reason you were attacked. It was my fault all those people got hurt and that building got burned down. So I know that I’m not fit to be a hero, you don’t need to tell me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick and covering every crevice of the room. He hated that Katsuki always seemed the first person he aired this stuff out to– he was by far the worst option. All he did was make everything worse, but here he was, mouthing off to him. Why did he always do this? The pressure? The fact that Katsuki was the only person who tried to prompt a response out of him besides his mother, even if it was to hurt instead of help?

For once, he just wanted to keep his mouth shut, but in all his years of life, he just never seemed to be able to.

Just another thing about himself that he hated.

Izuku knew Katsuki was staring at him, but he was too scared to look back. Was Katsuki going to gloat? Hit him? Use his quirk on him? Loose interest?

“I call bullshit.”

A beat of silence.

Izuku snapped his head up in utter disbelief. Katsuki just stared back with a mixture of disgust and annoyance. Izuku’s jaw went slack as anger began to boil beneath his skin. He finally admitted what Katsuki has been trying to make him say for years , and he thinks it's bullshit ? Izuku finally admitted that all his dreams and aspirations were hopeless, and Katsuki has the gall to not even believe him ?

Yeah, “I can always tell when you’re lying” his ass . 

Katsuki scoffed. “So you really gave up on being a hero? I don’t believe that for a second. How gullible do you think I am, Deku? You write in those stupid notebooks all the damn time-” he snorted in amusement “-like that's ever make a Quirkless loser a hero.”

Izuku casted his eyes downward. “I stopped,” he muttered through gritted teeth. He still couldn’t stand saying it out loud– he just wanted to forget about it and move on. But apparently he  couldn’t afford that luxury. “I’m going to throw them away– the notebooks. I already got rid of the one you burned.”

The blonde blinked, apparently not expecting that answer.

“So, what, that’s it?” Katsuki drawled, a smirk curling on his lips. “All those years of obsessing over heroes and you just quit ? Wow, you really are pathetic.”

Izuku’s molars grinded against each other with enough force to crush concrete. “Why do you even care so much?! It’s my life, it has nothing to do with you!”

He barked a laugh, making Izuku flinch. “Because it’s fucking hilarious,” he declared, his expression as smug as Izuku always imagined it’d be if this ever happened. He wanted to rip that smile off his face and set it on fire. “I really thought you’d hang onto that dream until you got your ass killed– I guess you finally took my advice. Took you long enough, shitty nerd. You never had a chance, so this saves us both some time.” Katsuki leaned his face closer to Izuku’s, a crazed look in his crimson eyes. “Not that you ever had a chance in the first place. You’ll still be as forgettable as you always have been, and that’s a promise .”

Izuku’s nails dug into his palm hard enough to bleed, steeling himself.

“I didn’t make the decision because of you,” Izuku said coldly. “Believe it or not, the world doesn’t always revolve around you, Kacchan, and I don’t care what you think about how I live my life.”

There was a beat of silence. Katsuki’s face was blank for a moment, until a wolfish grin split across his face, a vein popping in his temple. “Oh, really?” He hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “Is that what you really think, Deku ? You think you’re better than me, just because you used your fucking head for once? ” 

Inko always told Izuku to think before he spoke, and he took that and ran. In fact, he overthought a lot of things. There was a reason he tried to keep his emotions in check, and this was that reason– he didn’t think when he let his emotions get the better of him.

And now Katsuki looked like the human personification of a bomb that was about to go off.

All the anger drained from him in an instant, followed quickly by an overwhelming wave of regret, followed quickly by an even more overwhelming wave of dread. Izuku’s upper arms began to burn, and his heart was roaring in his ears. He tried to shrink away again, put any kind of distance between him and Katsuki, but the wall still pressed firmly against his numb back. He was stuck, and Katsuki’s hands weren’t budging.

Anxiety churned in his gut like acid. He really did it now.

“You know what, I changed my mind,” Katsuki growls, his eyes glowing with malice. There it was again– the hatred. The eyes that hated Izuku so much it made him feel like he was being burned with a hot iron just by looking into them. Izuku’s hands began to shake. “I don’t think you lied about the Sludge Incident being your fault– it seems exactly like the sort of thing you’d fuck up somehow. Which means it was your fault I was caught up in that shitty mess, your fault that everyone thinks I’m weak . Your fault. ” He spit out the last two words like they were poison against his tongue.

Izuku’s throat constricted, his eyes burning furiously as tears began to build. 

“I am curious though, Deku . How the did you manage to fuck up that badly, huh?”

Izuku’s breathing quickened. Sweat began to build on his forehead.

“So much for saving people. You know what? We should make a bet on how long it takes for you to get someone killed next. Dream or no fucking dream, we both know what kind of person you are. You just can’t ever mind your own business, can you?”

Katsuki bared his teeth like a wild animal. “Why can’t you just leave anyone the fuck alone ?!”

Izuku stared down at Katsuki, waiting for the boot to finally drop. The tension felt like it was crushing him. He just wanted it to be over. Then he could go home and sleep, or eat, or make everything stop burning .

He didn’t even realize he’d closed his eyes, or that Katsuki was still saying something. It all melded into a steady ringing that was building up in his ears.

“ LISTEN TO ME! ”

Something hard plunged into Izuku’s gut like a sledgehammer before he even had a chance to process what Katsuki said, forcing all the air out of his lungs. His eyes flew open as he doubled over with a strangled wheeze. The remaining energy Izuku had clung onto emptied out of his body in an instant, like like it had been syphoned.

The nausea came all at once, bombarding his senses. His vision spun, bile rushing up his throat. He dry heaved as his knees hit the ground, his hands barely catching him before he face planted. His stomach constricted agonizingly, as if it had been crushed, but that wasn’t the worst thing about it.

He couldn’t breathe. His lungs just wouldn’t respond. He tried to force air into them, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing worked, like someone had blocked his esophagus with steel.

He was suffocating.

Feral panic flooded through his system, his hand flying the front of his uniform. His lungs screamed for air, but he couldn’t breathe . His entire rib cage felt like it was going to collapse, and his heart was beating so fast it was going to explode. Dark spots danced in his vision as tears ran down his face.

He was dying. He was dying and he couldn’t do anything to stop it, just like last time. The smell of sludge entered his nostrils, strong enough to make his eyes sting through the tears. He pressed his forehead against the cool ground, dry sobs wracking his chest, making it even more difficult to breathe. The pressure in his head made it feel as though he was submerged underwater. 

But, just as quickly as it appeared, the feeling began to fade. 

Air slowly began filling his lungs, and his heart became less rapid. His head began to clear, ebbing his panic. He couldn’t smell sludge anymore.

A wave of relief washed through him, which was quickly interrupted with the pain that was starting the bleed through. His upper arms stung, his back tingled, and his stomach ached, causing a bout of foul nausea to continue to course through his system. His head pounded so badly he genuinely thought he might pass out. He was just grateful he could breathe again.

“You really are so pathetic.”

Izuku tensed immediately, hesitantly lifting his forehead off the ground to look at Katsuki.

The red-eyed boy stared down his nose at Izuku, his face contorted in disgust. Izuku’s heart sped up again against his will. All the relief Izuku had felt a moment ago vanished instantly, replaced with a renewed sense of dread.

“If you really did give up, then the last thing you had going for you is gone .” Katsuki’s tone was different now. It wasn’t angry or smug. Just… matter of fact.

“You should just do everyone around you a favor and disappear already,” Katsuki said bitterly. Izuku froze. “Everyone would be happier that way– that’s what you want, right? To ‘help’ people? If you’re really as selfless as you make yourself out to be…” Katsuki’s eyes narrowed into slits, the corners of his mouth just barely curling upwards.

“Then just die already.”

Izuku’s blood ran cold. His head emptied. His mouth went dry. He couldn’t even comprehend the statement for several seconds. 

He stared up at Katsuki like a deer caught in headlights. He waited for the boy to say something else, anything else, but he never did. He just turned on his heel and left. Before Izuku could even process, he was completely alone.

That cold feeling lingered long after Katsuki had already walked away. Silence stood still around him, as if time had stopped entirely.

“You should just do everyone around you a favor and disappear already.”

“Everyone would be happier that way.”

Why would he say that?

Is that what Katsuki really thought?

Is that what everyone else thought?

Did they really hate him so much they wished he’d just die?

He felt like he was going to throw up again.

It wasn’t just the statement itself that bothered him… it was the how Katsuki said it so pragmatically, as if it was an undeniable fact, like he didn’t just tell Izuku he’d be better off dead to everyone he knew. Like he didn’t just imply that Izuku is more of a burden than anything else, someone that everyone else just wished would… vanish.

Like he meant less than nothing.

He felt breathless again. How many times was he going to feel like this today? Why could he do something as simple as breathe?

Izuku quickly calmed the agitation that began to swell in his chest. He’s done this before, it was nothing new. He just needed to… he just needed to relax and push his emotions down. He could figure out the rest later.

He worked himself through a breathing exercise. In for four. Out for four. Repeat. In for four. Out for four. He tried to keep his mind blank, but even as he caught his breath, his mind still couldn’t stop lingering on the phrase now branded into his skull.

That’s when he realized he really needed to get home. It was already later than usual, he couldn’t just sit here all day. As much as he’d like to not move for the next several hours, he didn’t want to be in these drab halls a second longer.

He slowly got to his feet, sucking in a pained breath as he pushed himself up with bruised arms. By the time he was standing straight, he was already dead tired. His legs were shaking slightly and he felt unsteady. Not even mentioning the uncanny feeling of being almost completely unable to feel a large portion of his back. It was better than the pain, but he knew it wasn’t a good sign when burns go completely numb.

He immediately saw his backpack on the floor a few feet in front of him. He grabbed it, trying to ignore his aching arms. One of the straps got slightly burned by the explosion, but it was slung on his left shoulder at the time so his back took the brunt of the impact. He didn’t know if he should be grateful his backpack was mostly unscathed or horrified that his back was turned to roasted meat. 

Either way, he felt disgusting . His skin was raw in some places, his clothing was tattered, and he could feel the ache of his scraped palms from catching his fall. He needed to get all of the blood and dirt off of him, or because he was feeling the need to tear his skin off right now.

He half-limped  his way to the family school bathroom, locking the door behind him out of habit more than anything. The school was probably empty right now besides a few teachers who stuck around, but better safe than sorry.

He set his backpack down and trudged towards the sink, glancing at the mirror. His face was mostly untouched, per usual, but the dark circles beneath his eyes were noticeably worse. But, that was the least of his worries.

Worry number one was the state of his uniform. It was wrecked . It was frizzy and damaged around his upper forearms, which was still uncomfortably warm, and he could see charred edges despite how dark the uniform is originally.

He turned around, craning his neck to get a good look at his back. Like he thought, it wasn’t good.

There was a baseball sized hole in his uniform in the center of his back. But, considering how much of his back was numb, he guessed the actual burn spanned almost the entire area, around half a foot around he’d guess. He couldn’t get a great look due to the awkward angle and sucky lighting of the bathroom, but he caught a glimpse of a bright red color where his uniform was burnt off. Great.

But he didn’t have any of his medical supplies with him, so he’d have to deal with it when he got home. It worked out for him, since he wanted to leave as soon as possible anyway.

He picked up his backpack, tensely contemplating whether he should attempt to cover the huge injury on his back with it. His initial answer was no, since the last thing he wanted to do was irritate it further. But, he also didn’t want to walk down the street with his burn exposed to open air (and for any onlookers to see). So, he settled with holding his backpack slightly above his shoulders by the straps so it didn’t put too much pressure on his wound. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best he could come up with.

Before he knew it, his feet finally hit the concrete of the sidewalk and his nose was blessed by open air. (And yet the scent of caramel-scented nitroglycerine still lingered).

He began walking sluggishly down the sidewalk, his slight limp still present. He doesn’t have a clue how he got it, but he chopped it up to possibly twisting an ankle when he ate dirt earlier. 

His back numbness had already begun to wear off again, replaced by a constant, searing pain. He gritted his teeth every time his backpack brushed the wound, making the pain magnify temporarily until it eventually settled down to its regular amount. At least he could take some comfort in assuming the fact he could feel pain at all means it probably wasn’t third degree.

His stomach was still in knots from Katsuki’s merciless punch, and he doubted that’d go away anytime soon. Paired with his throbbing headache, it was a gnarly combination.

As he struggled to keep his pace, he still couldn’t wrap his head around what Katsuki had said.

He’s said similar things over the years, but something changed in the last few days, since after school on Friday– since he told Izuku to take a swan dive. Like a line had finally been crossed, and there was no turning back. It had happened before, with some aspects of him and Katsuki’s dynamic. 

Back when Katsuki first ditched Izuku in preschool, he always used to hit Izuku with his fists instead of his quirk. It wasn’t just that he had no control over Explosion, it was just that it always seemed to be more like a threat or scare tactic instead of an actual weapon. That is, until second grade when Izuku made him so angry he ended up using it without thinking. It was bad– Izuku ended up with second degree burns all across his arms, and he had to be sent to the hospital for a couple days. Katsuki just claimed it was an accident, so he didn’t get in trouble. But after that, Katsuki started to regularly use his quirk on Izuku. It wasn’t a pleasant change.

That had to be what was happening here, right? He really couldn’t think of any other explanation for this sudden shift in behavior, and Katsuki had always had a habit of doubling down when he took it too far.

Unless Katsuki was just finally sick enough of Izuku that he started telling him to off himself to his face.

At this point, he didn’t doubt it. If Katuki really wanted him gone that badly, this was the best way to do it, huh? Just coerce him into ending it. Katsuki knew Izuku would never rat him out, and neither would the teachers or other students. There’d be no strings attached, nothing leading back to him. He’d be completely unaffected.

And that made his gut sink. No one but his mother would care if he just vanished one day. If he did, would they just put a missing person poster up and call it a day? Or would they even bother doing that much? Judging by his upbringing so far, it was the latter.

The kids in particular made their view of him very clear. They certainly didn’t want anything good to happen to him. They never said it to his face, but he wasn’t deaf. They’d sometimes say they wished he'd get into an accident, or be involved in a villain attack, or at the very least switch schools. He’s learned to tune it out now, but every once in a while he’d overhear something he wished he didn’t. Sometimes they’d even joke about him cutting himself. He hated those ones the most.

When other kids talked about that stuff, no one stuck up for him. No one said they were going too far. Not even once. 

Was this just how it was going to be for the rest of his life?

Izuku’s gaze was drawn towards a dog barking. He was walking through one of the neighborhoods near him and his mother’s apartment. In a yard to his right there was a dog resembling a pitbull playing with two kids, who both couldn’t be older than four.

Most friendships aren’t broken up by quirks, or so he’s seen. As long as you have one, most people don’t seem to care. They stay friends anyway, whether their quirk is useful or not. But that isn’t always the case. Sometimes people find their way into different cliques depending on what kind of quirk they have or what it can be used for. And sometimes one ends up quirkless, but that almost never happens. 

So there’s a very good chance the two kids in the yard next to him will stay friends even after their quirk awakenings, if it hasn’t happened already.

But it’s never a guarantee. Sometimes you think you know someone, but really, you know nothing about them.

He averted his gaze back to the plain gray concrete of the sidewalk, zoning out for the rest of the walk, betraying his usual alertness on his way home. He really couldn’t bring himself to care right then.

By the time he got home his back was hurting just as badly as it was before, and he felt like he was going to pass out again. He just wanted to dive into a bath of numbing cream and pillows. But alas, it was not that easy.

His clothing had begun to feel stiffer and more uncomfortably near the burn on his back– meaning his clothes were probably sticking to the injury. He cringed at the thought. He hated when that happened, because it just meant that taking off his uniform was probably going to damage it further– and hurt .

As he trudged up the stairs, he carefully practiced an expression that looked at least marginally less tired and miserable, and braced for when he’d inevitably have to pretend to not have a limp. He really hoped his mom didn’t feel like paying attention today. Too bad that never happens.

But when he got to the door, the morning’s events hit him like an aluminum bat. He completely forgot about the fact he basically slammed the door on her– avoiding a conversation he really didn’t want to have then, and a conversation he wanted to have even less now .

He buried his face in his palms, groaning dramatically. These situations are exactly why he usually just got things out of the way as soon as possible. He gave himself a moment to relish in his stupidity before hesitantly reaching for the nob.

Okay, so he had to do three things– one, avoid any kind of elongated conversation with his mother. Even if he couldn’t avoid the conversation itself, he at least had to postpone it a couple hours so he could deal with the mess that was known as his previously unscathed back skin.

Two, he had to somehow dodge any suspicions of injury. He had NO clue how he was going to pull that off, given his upper sleeves were noticeably burnt, he was flinching every 30 seconds, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in several days.

Three, he had to keep her completely unworried, which is basically impossible if he can’t accomplish the previous two steps.

He internally sighed. Well, there was no use delaying the inevitable– no amount of overthinking was going to help him with this one. He was just going to have to wing it and hope for the best.

He bit the bullet and swung open the front door with a little more energy than he meant, making his arm ache in protest.

“I’m home!” He called, kicking off his shoes and ignoring the impending sense of doom that was hanging over his head like a tree ornament. He was so screwed.

But he was met with nothing but silence. Izuku blinked with surprise upon seeing that his mother wasn’t lingering in the kitchen like usual.

Izuku padded forward, raising an eyebrow. “Mom?”

He turned down the hallway, dropping his backpack in front of his door. He pushed open the door to his mom’s room. It was empty.

He blinked again. Now that he thought about it, his mom always left for work earlier on Tuesdays, but she was still home this morning. Did she have a schedule change? That hadn’t happened in months, and she always let him know beforehand…

Unless she did tell him and he wasn’t listening. Like last night, or when she was trying to get his attention this morning.

Well now he felt even more guilty for not listening to her. And his phone was dead, so he couldn’t check whether she messaged him or not.

But, despite the fact he was a terrible son on top of everything else, he had bigger concerns. Like the fact he felt like literal hell.

His neck and upper arms were throbbing, he felt like he had multiple needles stabbing into his brain, and his back had entered the 9th ring of hell by now. So, first comes first: ibuprofen.

He hurried back to the kitchen, immediately finding the bottle and popping an uncounted number of pills into his mouth, washing it down quickly with the cup of water he’d left on the counter since that morning. Unfortunately, unlike this morning, what he was feeling at that moment couldn’t be ebbed by pseudo relief, so he’d have to wait until it actually kicked in.

Now came the part he really dreaded– dealing with the actual injuries. Bruises were fine, nothing a little ice and some patience couldn’t fix. Burns, however, were in a field of their own. Specifically second-degree ones. Not only did they require more upkeep to prevent scarring and speed up healing, they’re ten times more painful and had an extremely high chance of getting infected. He let a particularly large second degree burn on his arm get infected in 5th grade once– never again.

The difference is he had no clue how he was going to get anti-bacterial cream on his back, or how he was going to clean it. Especially since his arms and one of his shoulders were still bruised.

He was doomed.

He closed the bathroom door behind him softly, mentally preparing himself for a half-hour or so of misery. But, first he had to get a closer look at his injuries, which he was not looking forward to.

He quickly unbuttoned his blazer, eager to get one of the worst parts out of the way. Steeling himself, he let it slide off his shoulders. Right as it began to fall, a sharp, momentary pain ripped through his back like a knife as small pieces of his uniform’s fabric were suddenly ripped off his burn. He bit back a cry, letting the blazer fall to the floor. 

He let out a long, steadying breath and started working on his button up. He could distinctly feel the portion of his shirt that was functionally glued to the burn on his back. He just had to rip it off like a bandaid, and then he could worry about cleaning it.

Once he had it unbuttoned, he carefully slid the sleeves off of both his arms, holding the shirt by the corners with each hand so as to not jostle the portion stuck to his back. In one fluid motion he yanked the shirt downward.

A white hot pain exploded from his back like he’d been literally set on fire, quickly switching to an equally painful freezing sensation. Izuku grit his teeth as hard as he could, giving himself a moment to recuperate. After about 30 seconds of holding back tears, the burn had been reduced to a slightly more bearable pain.

He really hated Katsuki right now.

With his blazer and button up off, he finally had a full view of his injuries. And he looked as horrible as he felt.

There was a small, red patch on the lower portion of his neck from his collarbone to his adams apple that was stinging slightly. A bigger, purple bruise began to form on his lower stomach, followed by a dull pain, like a constant stomach cramp. There were handprint-shaped amalgamations of red and purple, being a mixture of both bruises and burns, that stretched across both of his upper biceps. Between them and his still healing bruise and nearly-healed burned right shoulder, his arms weren’t looking so good. At least they only seemed to be first degree burns and moderate bruises, though, so they wouldn’t take too long to heal. 

He wished he could say the same for the one on his back.

After a couple minutes and a hand mirror, he finally got a good enough angle to get a clear view– and grimaced immediately upon seeing the extent of the damage. There was a large patch of vibrant, blistering red right in the middle of his spine, with a wet shimmer, like gloss. The skin surrounding the bleeding patch was swollen and irritated, turning a purple-red color. The baseball sized hole in his shirt did the actual size injury no justice; it was closer to the size of a small volleyball. Barely noticeable pieces of white and black fabric were stuck to the edges of the injury, and the entire burn was covered in tiny pieces of fuzz. All of which he was going to have to pick out somehow.

He’d be lying if the gruesome sight wasn’t making his stomach churn.

He’d gotten second degree burns of Katsuki before, but they were almost never this large. The closest thing he could think of is when Izuku said Katsuki was “too self absorbed to be a hero” when he got ganged up on by Katsuki and his cronies in his first year in Aldera. His side didn’t stop aching for two weeks. Maybe his theory earlier about Katsuki anger having a direct effect on the strength of his explosions was right after all.

(He was being sarcastic but he still had the distinct urge to write that down anyway. He really was hopeless. It wasn’t his fault that Katsuki's quirk was so fascinating.)

The next hour was exactly what he expected– hell. By the time he was done cleaning the burn on his back and picking out everything that was stuck in it, it felt like his whole back was on fire. But that was nothing compared to the shower that came after. Even at the lowest pressure setting, the cool shower water felt more like hundreds of tiny knives than drops of liquid. After he was done with that torturous endeavor, he had to apply burn cream (after nearly popping his shoulder out of place trying to reach the entire wound) and tightly bandage it. He had barely enough wraps to cover the whole thing.

By the time it was over, Izuku felt like a poorly reanimated corpse. Everything hurt, and he was more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life. His head was pounding, he felt nauseous, he could hardly move his arms, and his ankle was aching. The numbing cream he was miraculously able to get onto his back had begun to take effect, but the wound was still somehow agonizing. It was numbed, yet he could still feel a faint and constant stinging, like water leaking from a pipe. Just out of reach, but still undoubtedly there. 

He was pretty sure that if the ground swallowed him right at the moment, he’d thank it.

Before he inevitably ended up passing out on the bathroom floor, he resolved to dragging himself to his room, throwing on the first All Might shirt that he saw, and collapsing into bed– the only thing on his mind was the sweet lure of unconsciousness that his body and mind desperately yearned.

Within what felt like seconds, his wishes were granted, and he was lulled into the dark bliss of sleep.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up against his will. His alarm beeped relentlessly at his bedside, ringing in his ears like a taunt. It felt like each individual soundwave was directly piercing his brain every time an unnecessarily high-pitched beep entered the airspace.  He was lying on his stomach, one side of his face pressed comfortably against his warm pillow. Irritation flared in his chest by the subconscious implication that the alarm meant he’d have to leave his comfortable position. It took him an undefined amount of time and will to force his eyelids open, his mind still filled with the thick fog of sleep. He glanced at his clock, which read 7:06. He blinked for several seconds, and lifted his arm to turn it off, simply wanting that awful sound to stop blaring in his ears.

The pain that stabbed through his shoulder quickly stopped him, making him flinch. He released a carefully measured breath and set his arm back down in defeat. He decided to wait until he was a little more conscious to do anything, hoping he’d have a bit more range of movement.

He was very wrong.

Slowly, the stubborn grip of sleep was peeled away like torn gauze, revealing only more soreness and fatigue. A familiar throbbing started to make itself present in Izuku’s temple, as well as various other aches from what felt like everywhere. His limbs felt like lead, and his eyes stung against the cold air. Exhaustion was soaked into his flesh like a sponge, making every part of his body effectively dead weight. The thought of leaving his bed sounded more like a death sentence than a basic task.

As consciousness seeped back into him, he began to recall the previous day's events. The overwhelming emotions, the exhaustion, Katsuki's words. But those weren’t what was sticking in his mind at the moment. It was the dreams. To be more specific, the nightmares.

He remembered them vividly. Darkness, sludge, panic, suffocation, desperation, fear, cold. He’d had two that night, both of them equally as horrible as their predecessors. He woke up gasping, clawing for air, followed immediately by an excruciating pain of strained injuries, irritated bruises and jostled burns, passing back out not even minutes after being startled awake.

He groaned weakly into his pillow. No wonder he was so tired.

After a couple more minutes, he somehow managed to sit up on his bed, a pillow propped between him and his headboard in an attempt to ease his tender back, which was objecting heavily to his sitting position. He hit his still-beeping alarm irritably with his palm, finally silencing it.

Forget feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. He felt like he'd been t-boned by a semi, ran over by a hoard of SUVs, and chucked off a cliff. He was really getting sick of this new trend of waking up feeling progressively shittier every day, and having so many consecutive days of misery was weighing on him mentally.

There was also zero chance he was going to school today. It wasn’t a choice at that point, he doubted he could stand up straight if he tried. And there was no way on earth that he was going to manage to stay conscious for seven straight hours, not including the… the extenuating circumstances that made up his school life. He wasn’t even able to get away from Katsuki yesterday– let alone now. He felt a pang of anxiety at the thought. The last thing he wanted was to have a repeat of that incident.

But first thing’s first– he needed Ibuprofen. Like the entire bottle. Plus he’d have to tell his mom that he had to stay home. He guessed he looked as crappy as he felt, so he should have no problem convincing her that he was sick. 

He looked down at the top he was wearing, giving it a once over. It was a blue, long sleeved limited All Might shirt he got at a pawn shop six years ago four sizes too large. It worked out for him though, since it fit him just about perfectly now while still being ever so slightly oversized. He didn’t like his tight clothing anyway. More importantly, it covered up all the marks on his arms and torso, so he didn’t have to worry about his mom seeing them.

But he also realized he was wearing his school trousers, which, now that he was awake, was extremely uncomfortable. He should probably change. And find out what to do with his upper school uniform, considering it was burned to a crisp. He had no idea how he was going to explain to his mother that he needed a new blazer. Maybe he should tell her that he lost it? Or grew out of it? He had no idea.

Izuku just about leapt out of his skin upon hearing a rap on his door.

“Izuku,” his mom called softly. “Are you up? I wanted to talk to you.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, exhaling quietly through his nose. Now or never.

“Uh– yeah I’m awake. Come in.” Izuku cringed at how his voice sounded– strained and thin, like a burnt out wire. At least he didn’t have to worry about sounding convincingly sick.

The door was opened almost immediately, his mother stepping into his room. Her dark viridian hair was tied into a tight bun, and she was already dressed in her hospital scrubs. He didn’t remember when she came home last night, since he was asleep whenever she did, but her hours had definitely changed, because she never left early on Wednesdays either.

She shut the door with a click behind her. “Honey, are you alright? You sound–” her eyes widened slightly upon looking at him, worrying sinking into her features like ink. She was at his side in an instant, cupping Izuku’s face with her hands. Izuku ignored the guilt that sat in his gut like silt. “Oh baby what happened? Are you sick?”

Izuku guided her hands off his face in a light gesture. “I’m fine,” he assured, a little quieter than he meant. “I think I just caught something. Oh and I, uh– probably can’t go to school today,” he added awkwardly. He always felt weird about asking to stay home for some reason, but he wasn’t sure why. He always associated it with the feeling of… disapproval? Disappointment? He wasn’t sure.

“Do you need me to stay home?” Inko pried, her tone seeped in concern. “I can take a day or two off work if–”

“No no,” Izuku said quickly, waving his hands. Which he quickly regretted when a sharp ache shot through his arms and shoulder. He quickly put them down. “It’s really not that bad. I can take care of myself mom, I’m not five anymore y’know.”

Inko blinked, looking reluctant to agree. But, after a few moments of contemplation, she sighed. “I know. But if you need anything, call me , okay?” she insisted, a firm edge to her voice. “That isn’t a suggestion, Izuku Midoriya, I mean it!”

Izuku chuckled fondly. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He frowned. “But speaking of which… Did you have a schedule change again? You weren’t here when I got home yesterday and…” Izuku let himself trail off, looking expectantly at his mother.

“Oh yes!” She said quickly, clapping her hands together. “That’s exactly what I came in here to tell you. We’ve had a lot of staff changes recently, and we don’t have enough ER nurses, so they’re giving me more hours. I don’t know how long it will last, probably until they can secure enough new hires to satisfy the deficit, but that could take months…” her expression turned solemn towards the end.

Izuku understood what she meant. Within the past couple years or so she’d finally been able to secure fairly reasonable hours at the hospital so her and Izuku could spend more time together and they could be home at generally the same times. He still remembered how chaotic her hours were when he was younger. She’d often have to go back and forth from work to drive him to school, and even at that age he could tell how stressed she was. But, that was the best stable job she could get, so she worked those hours so she could keep a roof over their heads.

She’d been working at Musutafu Central Hospital for as long as he could remember– so she reaps a bit more benefits due to her seniority. However, if they’re understaffed, they have no choice but to give their other employees more hours, and said employees don’t have a lot of leeway on the situation typically.

It made his heart clench a little, but he didn’t let it show on his face. She had enough going on.

“It’s fine mom,” Izuku said evenly, offering her an understanding smile. “And it’s only temporary, right?”

Inko brightened. “Exactly! I should be on a regular schedule eventually. I just wanted to let you know, and I know the timing isn’t great, considering how you’ve been feeling lately and all the stuff that’s been going on…”

He immediately thought of the UA Application thing and the Sludge Incident– right, that’s probably the other reason she came in here. He shrunk in on himself slightly as the silence stretched. 

Now it was Inko’s turn to look at him expectantly.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he mumbled. “I’ll get over it.” Yeah, that was really convincing, he thought dejectedly. 

His ability to lie was like the flip of a coin– sometimes he could do it perfectly, but two seconds later he’d give himself away over the smallest things. His most recent theory is that it had some sort of cooldown period, because it’d been like that since he was little. Which is exactly why he didn’t like when people questioned him for longer periods of time, it never took long for people to read him like a book. He hated it.

“And the stuff that happened with Katsuki?” Inko pressed, drawing him from his thoughts.

“Oh– yeah. I just…” Izuku fiddled absentmindedly with his fingers, trying to find a good balance of truth and lie. He was supposed to keep his interaction with All Might a secret, after all, and he didn’t exactly want to explain that whole thing anyway. It was better not to mention it. He was also still somewhat drowsy, and he didn’t want to accidentally let anything slip, so he chose his words carefully. “It was kind of a lot, you know, finding out about the… attack.” He winced, leaving out the part where he found it was his fault. “So I walked around to… clear my head I guess. Sorry I was out so late, I wasn’t really keeping track of time.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Izuku? You looked really upset.”

“I’m fine, really,” Izuku insisted, giving her a reassuring smile. “I just got a bit emotional, that’s all.” He really didn't like lying to her, she didn't deserve it, but it was for the best. His issue wasn't one that could be fixed, it never would be.

Inko peered at him skeptically for a moment, but she gave in eventually. “If you say so,” she says slowly. “But promise me you’ll take care of yourself while I’m gone, okay? Is there anything you need me to get for you before I go?”

“Ah– actually could you grab the ibuprofen and a cup of water?” Izuku asked, internally relieved he wasn’t actually going to have to get up, at least not anytime soon.

“Of course! I’ll be right back.” She hurried out of the room, and within a minute, she was setting down a bottle of ibuprofen and water on his night stand. “I really do have to get going, but I’ll text you when I go on my breaks, so answer your phone!”

“Okay,” Izuku answered simply as his mom kissed him heartily on the forehead.

“I’ll be back around 8:00 and I’ll make something for you, but make sure you eat beforehand, ok? And stay hydrated, it’ll make you feel better!” Izuku nodded, and Inko gave him an approving smile. “I’ll see you when I get home. I love you, Izuku.”

“Love you,” Izuku replied, huffing fondly at his mother’s insistence. She shut the door softly, leaving him in relative quiet once again.

It didn’t seem like she noticed his injuries, so he assumed that he’d successfully flown under the radar in that regard. He definitely didn’t fully quell her concerns regarding his overall feelings towards UA and Katsuki’s villain attack on Friday, but that couldn’t be fixed overnight anyway.

He took the ibuprofen bottle, put a couple pills into his hand, popped them in his mouth and guzzled down the fresh water cup that Inko gave him. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until he’d emptied the entire glass.

It was too early to change his bandages yet, so he settled for trying to fall back asleep. He laid back down on his stomach, burying his face in his pillow, trying his best to ignore the dull, resounding ache that pulsed through his body. Like the previous night, sleep came unusually easy to him, and he was out like a light within minutes.

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Sweat slid down his temple as he struggled to catch his breath. His back throbbed agonizingly from the sudden movement, but he was too freaked out to be concerned by it.

The same nightmare. Again.

Izuku let out a shaky breath as he leaned back against his bedframe, letting his head hit the wall with a quiet thump. He was sitting at the perfect angle where his burn wouldn’t come in contact with anything, but it still hurt. It didn’t help that he was still uncomfortably warm.

He blinked periodically, slowly regaining his composure. The crystal clarity of the nightmare was beginning to fade, replaced by a vague but nonetheless powerful feeling of fear. His heart had slowed after a couple minutes, but still not enough to be considered a resting heart rate. His eyes wandered around the room, attempting to divert his attention elsewhere.

Sunlight peaked through his half-opened curtains, brightening his room even though his lights were off. The air was pleasant, cooling him off quickly upon retreating from the covers.

He’d always had a particular color scheme in his room, obviously inspired by All Might. His bedsheets were blue, his posters and figurines were mixtures of red, white, blue and yellow, the shelving on his desk was adorned with a dozen too many All Might themed stickers, and he even had a small red and yellow rug on the floor in between his bed and his desk. He hadn’t even included the rows and rows of hero figures (mostly All Might) on his shelves, dresser, desk, and pretty much every flat surface in his room one could think of. He wasn’t sure if he actually liked yellow, red, blue and white or if he was just fond of the colors because of their association with All Might, but he liked how his room looked all the same. 

His mother had always been extremely supportive of his infatuation with heroes, even when he was younger. At first, it was just little things, regular stuff a child would ask for. Superhero figures and toys were common among younger children, especially All Might ones, considering his popularity.

But, it quickly escalated in Izuku’s case.

Action figures turned into stickers, which turned into clothes, which turned into room decorations, which turned into collectibles, and so on and so forth. Somehow his normal, childhood fascination towards All Might and other heroes turned into a full blown obsession. He thought about them, he watched videos about them, he dressed like them, he wrote about them. A lot of people judged him for it, saying it was unhealthy, peculiar or unrealistic, especially following his quirk diagnosis.

Unfortunately they weren’t really wrong.

His mom, however, encouraged throughout it. She always tried her best to get him the latest limited collectibles and even the most niche forms of merch if he asked. (He had a limited edition toe clipper– yes, a toe clipper. He never uses it though, he’s too afraid of wearing it down.) In fact, she’s the one who inspired him to start his analysis journals and take up writing as a hobby. She’d never shut him down when he’d ramble, and even when she had no idea what he was talking about (which was often) she’d still try her best to stay engaged. To this day she’d happily listen to him explain the difference between Hydrotrophic and Hydrocratic quirks at the dinner table, content to listen no matter how redundant the topic.

And even now, as he’s decided to give at least some of that stuff up, he is still eternally grateful for all of it. He had no clue how he would’ve made it through the last few years without her.

Because he probably wouldn’t have. 

Izuku’s eyes flicked towards the alarm clock on his nightstand, reading a few minutes past noon.

His back felt uncomfortably tight and itchy, and it was beginning to drive him crazy. It was about time to redress it anyway– putting it off would just make his injury worse in the long-run.

He’d done a lot of  research on burns in the past, due to his familiarity with them. He had to change his bandages once a day, so he was going to have to hunt for the spare bandages his mom kept around the house. Thank god she always kept a surplus of medical supplies around– advantages of his mom being a nurse.

After struggling to get out of bed and nearly falling on his face after severely underestimating the strength his legs currently possessed, he finally managed to meander around the house on semi-stable feet. At least it seemed like the pain in his ankle had completely subsided already. He was extremely relieved by that; he was having a difficult time moving around already.

After hunting for bandages for fifteen minutes, he finally found some in the spare closet in the hallway. He headed into the bathroom and grabbed the burn cream, cleaning wipes and gauze from under his sink, and making sure to place a spare pair of sweatpants on the counter. 

First he’d have to take off his bandages and gauze, then clean the wound of any debris or buildup, apply numbing cream to stall the pain for a couple hours, add antibiotic burn cream to keep the wound moist and prevent infections, and then finally redress it. It didn’t sound too hard, but actually doing it was ridiculously tedious and a lot more stressful than he’d like.

He glanced into the mirror. Surprisingly he didn’t look that much different than yesterday, if not a little more tired-looking. The small bruise on his throat had turned into a very light purple, barely noticeable even if you looked closely. If Izuku didn’t feel the soreness, he would have just thought it was a shadow.

And thank god for it because he completely forgot about it when checking to make sure he was completely covered before speaking to his mother.

He quickly stripped and jumped in the shower, making sure the water was cool but not cold. He preferred the soaking method when removing bandages; it reduces the pain but also the damage done to the injury, while also cleaning it in the process. That didn’t mean there was no pain, though– far from it. He also took the time to clean the rest of himself off while he was in there. If he was dirty it’d just make the whole experience worse.

After he was done, he jumped out of the shower and dried off, trying to ignore the throbbing pain that radiated across his back. He quickly put on the extra pair of sweatpants on the counter and reluctantly grabbed the numbing cream next.

It was even worse treating his burn this time around because of how sore his arms were and how tender his back was after a night of twisting and turning. Putting on the numbing cream was by far the worst part of the process. Applying it hurt like hell, and trying to cover the whole injury was nearly impossible due to him barely being able to reach. He also had to twist around to get to the middle of the injury, which stretched it. Then once he was done with that, he had to do the exact same thing with the burn cream. Luckily that portion was slightly better since the numbing cream was beginning to take effect. It took about 45 minutes until he was content– he had no clue how he did it so fast yesterday.

It bled, which was pretty standard, but still nerve wracking, considering said blood was all over his hands. He wasn’t afraid of blood by any means, he watched some pretty gory hero stuff when he was little that he should have NOT have had access to (Inko doesn’t know about it to this day). But that didn’t mean he particularly liked seeing it, especially when it was coming out of himself. 

He wrapped his torso in non-adhesive gauze (the last thing he needed was it to stick even worse) and loosely wrapped bandages on the outer-most layer, trying to keep minimal pressure on the burn. He put his shirt back on sluggishly, the numb cream taking full effect.

He headed back to his room, and collapsed onto his bed with a groan, not daring to lie on his back. He knew he’d promised his mom he’d eat something before she got home, but it was still early and he really didn’t have an appetite right then.

I’ll eat something later, he thought as he closed his eyes.

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He did not, in fact, eat something later. His mom had to lightly shake him awake when she got home (luckily on his un-bruised shoulder.) She made soup, which was delicious, especially since he’d barely drank or eaten anything. Afterwards, he quickly returned to bed.

The next few days were more of the same. He’d wake up periodically from either his nightmares, alarm or mother. He’d eat whenever she was home, redress his bandages when she wasn’t, take ibuprofen twice a day, and go back to sleep. His burn would go from numb to excruciatingly painful what felt like every other hour, and it was incredibly difficult to hide from his mother, especially when they were eating together.

Despite his mother’s hours becoming increasingly sporadic, she still tried her best to eat with him. On Friday particularly, they both found themselves eating donburi at 11pm. It was a weird schedule, but Izuku would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the spontaneity a little bit.

He tried to stay as clean as he could, but between the constant sweating from his nightmares and sleeping all day, it was surprisingly difficult, despite his daily showers.

It was particularly bad on Saturday. It was early in the morning after he awoke from another nightmare, and he had the burning need to take a shower, but it was way too early to redress his bandages. His skin was relentlessly itchy and no matter how hard he picked at them he couldn’t seem to get all the dirt out from under his nails. He felt like a crackhead, if he was being honest. Well, what he thought being a crackhead might feel like at least.

No matter what he tried, he just couldn’t fall asleep. For four infuriating hours. He couldn’t even describe why he was so uncomfortable, it was just a persistent dirty feeling that was keeping him awake. He eventually caved and redid his bandages three hours early, finally able to cleanse his irritated skin.

Before he knew it, it was 8pm on Sunday. He’d changed his bandages a lot later than usual, and a realization was dawning on him.

He was going to have to go back to school tomorrow.

His mom would probably let him take more time off if he asked, but that’d just make everything worse in the long run. He’d fall behind in school more, Katsuki would be even more eager to take out his anger on him, and his teachers would be even less pleased. They already thought he was a failure, so him “skipping” school for long periods didn’t help, even though he wasn’t skipping– and he almost never missed school.

Still, he was still dreading going back. He’d tried to keep his mind off his last confrontation with Katsuki, but it was gnawing at him almost constantly. He catches himself thinking about it randomly while he is trying to fall asleep or replacing his bandages. It was like a rat in the back of his head, constantly trying to slip its way into his brain. The words kept repeating in his head like a lackluster choir– sometimes they were quiet thoughts, and other times they weren’t.

What was almost worse, however, was the accompanying feelings. The anxiety and dread he felt about having to share a classroom with Katsuki again. That visceral feeling of betrayal every time he remembers what he said. The resentment he felt towards him simply wouldn’t extinguish no matter how much he pushed it down. 

He wanted nothing more to forget and pretend nothing happened, for everything to go back to how it was before Friday. Sure, things with Katsuki were still horrible then, but something was different now, and he didn’t like it at all.

It made it so much worse that Katsuki knew he gave up being a hero now, because Izuku was idiotic enough to tell him. He wasn’t just going to forget about it– not a chance.

It was going to go one of two ways– either Katsuki was going to lose interest in him, or he was going to become even more obnoxious. He craved the former, but he didn’t dare put that hope into words.

On the bright side, at least his back injury was healing a lot quicker than he’d thought it would. He was guessing it’d be pretty much gone in a couple weeks. It might be large, but it wasn’t particularly deep. It would’ve been better if he’d never gotten it in the first place, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He was always going to be a beggar, wasn’t he?

He sat with his elbows propped up on his desk, leaning forward for the sake of his back. He stared absentmindedly at his computer screen, even though the monitor had long since been blank. He was now stuck in a predicament he’d been in very often the last couple days, but not one he was very familiar with– boredom.

He’d scrolled through “Unusual Quirk” forums for two hours (because they’re interesting but they also made him feel better about not having one) and he dived into a rabbit hole about the current state of the economy for a half hour afterwards. In all honesty, he cut that one short because it was making him anxious mostly because there was a statistic about how many more jobs were requiring specialized quirks on their application. He tried reading a novel but got an ugly feeling in his stomach when Boy Wonder got his powers in the second chapter (it didn’t take a genius to know why). He tried scrolling through news articles, but his disinterest in hero news stubbornly persisted. And he couldn’t just go back to sleep– he already tried that. In fact, he’s probably gotten enough sleep in the last couple days than he has the entire week prior. Plus, past the doorway of sleep, nightmares almost always followed. He wasn’t too keen on that– he’d seen too much sludge that morning already.

He slouched forward with a sigh, propping his head up lazily with his hand. His fingers tapped idly against the smooth wood of his desk as his eyes darted around with no particular destination.

His room might be interesting to stare at for others, mostly in a woah this guy’s a weirdo kind of way, but he couldn’t relate. He knew every single figure, poster and miscellaneous piece of merch better than he knew the names of his great aunts. He liked how it looked, sure, but outside of that there actually wasn’t much to do. He stopped playing with his fingers years ago, mostly because he broke one of his favorite collectables when he was ten. After that, his most valuable pieces stayed in their cases, and the rest were carefully and methodically set up in a way he could admire them without risking their condition. 

Before that, he kept them in a small box in his closet or on his desk. He cringed thinking back on it. To this day he will never forgive his younger self  for scratching a 7th anniversary USA manufactured limited Silver Age All Might figure. It was just a small scratch on the side of All Might's head near his hairline, and he’d even considered painting over it a few times, but he was too afraid of compromising its integrity. He’d heard horror stories about certain kinds of paints actually damaging figures due to excess acidic qualities. He wasn’t sure if it was true, so he just decided not to risk it. He was no good with paint anyway– he preferred pens and pencils.

His eyes wandered to his closet. It didn’t have to be open for him to know exactly what was inside. His most recently completed notebooks were neatly placed in a small shelf in the bottom right corner, while the older ones were stored in boxes on the opposite side. He had dozens and dozens of them, filled with random ideas, half-thought out concepts and intrusive thoughts he wrote down for some reason. One series in particular was a favorite of his– “Hero Analysis for the Future.” He started it when he was twelve. He wanted some of his notebooks to contain his more refined ideas for better readability and reflection, since his other ones tended to be difficult to discern. He used the other series like “Support Gear Analysis” (8 volumes), “Villain Analysis for the Future” (11 volumes),“Quirk Database” (19 volumes) and “Miscellaneous” (36 volumes) for things not particularly catered to heroes or for random ideas.

He was always most meticulous with his Hero and Villain Analysis journals, which were most often displayed on his shelf for easier access. His hero analysis series had about 13 volumes to date– even though the thirteenth was sitting at the bottom of the canal.

He still wasn’t sure what to do with them. He knew he told Katsuki he was planning to throw them away, but he didn’t know if he had the heart to. 

But he didn’t want to have to look at them either, especially since he already promised himself he’d stop his analyses, for his own sake. He hated to admit how much he was tempted to just discard that promise and continue writing them anyway, but that just proved why he needed them out of his eyeline.

Maybe he’d put them in the storage closet, and then he could rest easy knowing all his hard work wasn’t rotting away in a dumpster somewhere, just waiting to be crushed with the rest of the trash. He should probably move them pretty soon, but he definitely wasn’t doing it right now.

One of the worst parts about the whole thing, however, was that he didn’t want to give up writing entirely. He still loved it, whether he was actually good at it or not. But he had no clue what to write about. He tried half a dozen times in the past few days, but heroes and quirks were the only thing that came to mind as he stared at an empty page. He tried to brainstorm some ideas, but none of them clicked. Journaling? He was already in his head too much. Storywriting? He wasn’t nearly creative enough, and all the ideas he’d had in the past were hero-centric. Analyzing wouldn’t work since he only was interested in doing it when heroes were involved.

His mind hit a dead end every time without fail. And each time, he ended up closing the empty composition book on his desk without writing a word. A part of him was afraid he’d never be able to write like he used to. It didn’t sound like a big deal, but to him it was.

He shifted his gaze to his window, his curtains fully parted as the sky radiated a blueish purple, the sun nearly out of sight. He always enjoyed sunsets over sunrises– sunrises were like the opening act, representing the beginning of a new day, while sunsets represented the end of the day. He always appreciated the sense of accomplishment and relief associated with sunsets more than the apprehension that came with sunrises.

Though he couldn’t help but think it was much prettier by the canal.

Chapter Text

After five days of staying home, Izuku finally returned to school the following Monday– against his better judgement.

He walked briskly in the direction of Aldera, cool air whipping past his face. He was more alert than he’d been in days, and his injuries were healing as well as he could’ve hoped, especially his smaller bruises and burns. His shoulder was hardly sore anymore, and neither were his upper arms. His back still hurt, obviously, but it was a hundred times more manageable compared to the first few days. Plus, he’d taken ibuprofen that morning, so that would help take the edge off for a couple hours once it kicked in. All things considered, he was feeling pretty good.

Besides how his stomach was being wrung out like a wet rag and he was 30% sure he was going to throw up before he got to school. It was pretty standard for him to be anxious while walking to Aldera, but this was a new level of nerves. By how he was feeling, you’d think he was getting ready to enter a game of russian roulette, not walking to a Japanese middle school in the middle of Musutafu.

He had a horrible feeling sucking on his brain like a leech, and he knew better than to pry it off. People have mixed opinions about the phrase “trusting your gut.” Some say it's inaccurate or illogical to follow a gut feeling, citing that it could have a variety of causes that has nothing to do with how you perceive it. Izuku’s opinion on the matter, however, is that gut feelings aren’t some kind of prophecy, but they shouldn’t be disregarded either. It’s basically just glorified anxiety, and anxiety is usually caused by something that the brain perceives as a potential threat or danger in some way, whether it be social, physical, mental or emotional. And in Izuku’s case, his “gut feelings” are almost always right.

He wished they weren’t.

Izuku keeps his eyes trained on his feet as he walks through the doorway to his homeroom class, and the second he walks in, he feels eyes on him instantly. His heart dropped like a brick.

He felt like he just walked into a room full of piranhas.

He made his way to his seat as quickly as possible, trying to ignore his racing heart. He spared a glance toward where Katsuki sat, just to see his seat empty. Good, he wasn’t here yet. Maybe he had a horrible case of the plague and wouldn’t come to school for the rest of the year. Izuku could only wish.

Izuku set down his backpack when he made it to his seat, only to pause.

Resting carefully on the worn and scratched wood of his desk was a brilliant red flower. Its petals were curled in on themselves every which way, some of them flattened or bent by its own weight as it sat against the desk’s hard surfaces. It had dozens of long antennae-like pieces surrounding the flower, as if protecting it. If you were to ask him what it resembled, he’d say a spider.

It didn’t register at first– he just stood there blinking. But it didn’t take long for the realization to click into place.

His breath caught. A revolting liquid crawled up his throat, and he mentally recoiled as if he was electrocuted. His nausea had multiplied by a hundred, and he was fairly certain he’d throw up right then and there. He wanted to move, but his feet were rooted in place, his brain still catching up.

It was Spider Lily. They were highly toxic flowers, hazardous in high amounts and especially dangerous for children in animals if they ingested it. Some people think they’re unlucky to touch or get near due to their association with death.

In Japanese culture, it’s also a roundabout way to wish bad luck or death on another person.

Take a swan dive off the roof of the building.

You should just do everyone around you a favor and disappear already.

Then die.

Without thinking he snatched the flower, walked swiftly towards the front of the room, and dropped it into the trashcan. He strode back to his seat without a second glance, his face eerily blank as he sat calmly in his seat.

He didn’t feel calm. The last thing he felt was calm .

It felt as if a porcupine had crawled into his chest, ripping through every organ and making itself at home in his chest cavity. Everything was quiet, too quiet. Except the beating of his heart– which was deafening. His head was hurting again.

He just wanted to forget about what Katsuki had said, but that was apparently asking for too much. Why did these things follow him?

He was far too aware of how the breath through his nose was starting to become heavier. So he just focused on that. Making sure air entered his lungs, and making sure it left. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing too fast or too slow, because he felt breathless no matter what he did. He didn’t think of anything else, he didn’t pay attention to anything else.

A small stack of papers landed on his desk with a snap, ripping him from his trance. His eyes darted upwards, meeting the face of his homeroom teacher. He was a balding man, with a tasteless haircut and an apathetic, uninterested stare, looking down his nose at Izuku.

“I need these on my desk by Wednesday,” he said boredly. And without another word, he walks back to the front of the class. No explanation, not even a word of greeting. That’s how it usually was. His interactions with teachers were one of two things– transactional or bothersome. Oftentimes both.

Izuku kept completely silent, waiting for the next boot to drop. Katsuki had long since entered the classroom, but things were different than they were at the beginning of last week. Students were no longer preoccupied with bothering Katsuki about the Sludge Incident. That event had long since passed in their minds, meaning there was nothing to divert their attention. He could feel people staring at him without looking up, and right now, he wasn’t attracting the right kind of attention.

People get creative when they’re bored. Well, they try their best to be creative.

The first instance happened halfway through their first period. A student with sandy blonde hair was walking down the aisle to Izuku’s right on his way back to his seat. Izuku knew what was about to happen before it did.

He watched from under his bangs as an appendage began to sprout from the boy's right elbow, as if something was clawing its way out of his skin. A hand appeared, and then an arm, almost identical to his original one except it was slightly paler and scrawnier– a little creepy, actually.

In one quick movement, the boy pushed Izuku’s textbook with a brutal shove, sending it sliding off his desk and directly onto the floor with a loud thud. Izuku winced at the noise, watching as  the teacher’s head snapped towards him.

“Midoriya,” he said curtly. “Pick up your textbook and be quiet back there!” Izuku muttered an apology that no one heard as the classroom erupted into quiet giggles, followed quickly by the sharp sound of skin to skin contact behind him– probably a high five of some kind. 

Embarrassment sat hot beneath his cheeks, but he ignored it, quickly picking up his textbook and sitting back down as quietly as possible. He spends the rest of the class period going over things he missed in the math textbook, completely tuning the teacher out, his eyes flickering across the room occasionally.

He just needed to do what he usually did. Do his school work while simultaneously avoiding any… incidents with his classmates. The less attention he had on him, the better. He knew what he was doing, he was used to this. He just needed to pay attention.

Throughout his school life he’d quickly learned small things to keep himself out of trouble. Avoid eye contact, making himself look small, weak but not inherently noticeable body language, respectful but not friendly. He’d also learned not to expect much from other people, even if it betrayed what they say outwardly, or what they try to portray. When he was younger, kids would often try to be friends with him, at least pretend to. He fell for it at first, desperate for anyone to accept him, but it always ended the same, nothing but a cruel joke for some meager entertainment. 

The same general rule applied to adults, too, specifically his teachers, because they were the ones aware of his quirklessness. Their disdain wasn’t quite as personal– it mostly came in small looks of disgust, disinterest, unreasonable strictness or accusations. He learned to not get attached or be too friendly with teachers, and he kept his encounters with them to an absolute bare minimum. That’s not to say it wasn’t difficult to accept the idea that the adults closest to him didn’t care enough to even put the barest effort into attempting to protect him, like they did with everyone else. 

He used to hope his teachers just didn’t care about anybody, but that was quickly proven wrong by their obvious concern and interest in other students. Like when that brown haired girl got a scraped knee or when a tall, bony kid was suddenly falling behind on his schoolwork, they actually cared, to an extent. And when Katsuki aced yet another test or someone turned in their homework early, they were praised. When Izuku does the same, he’s scoffed at or accused of cheating off of one of the more “gifted” students. AKA almost everyone except him.

That’s not to say they were great teachers or anything, in fact quite a few of them probably didn’t do enough for other students either, but the difference between how he was treated and how other students were treated was too significant for him not to notice.

It's not long after that Izuku is forced once again out of his thoughts. The next instance was a quick one– just a simple kick to the chair leg as a student was walking through the aisle, making it jolt uncomfortably. That one didn’t bother him much. He hardly even flinched, fixing his eyes on the worksheet in front of him. He was lucky math was one of the only topics he had a significantly hard time with– and lucky that Aldera had such a shitty curriculum. If he keeps up on it, he should catch up relatively quickly in English especially.

His classmates were whispering obnoxiously for the rest of class, barely quiet enough to where Izuku could make out words, but loud enough where he could easily tell they were talking. He didn’t even need to hear what they were talking about, because the glances and smirks in his direction were a pretty dead giveaway. He brushed them off, finding his nails much more interesting.

The bell rang for lunch, but he didn’t let it surprise him this time. In a flash he was on his feet and walking towards the door. He barely noticed a foot appear in the aisle in front of him in time to step over it, stumbling for a second but recovering quickly. He didn’t even attempt to head towards the lunch room, beelining straight for the bathroom instead.

When he wasn’t spacing out, dodging people in the halls was like breathing to him. A foot there, a shoulder here, and a whole damn person blocking his way there. There was a rhythm to it, but one wrong move and he was going to be sent flying into a locker, or even worse, another person.

Once he clicked the bathroom lock in place, he was home free. He felt breathless as his constant anxiety caught up with him, sliding down the bathroom wall in the corner. For a moment, he felt fine. It was fine. It was just school, nothing different.

The warning bell rang thirty minutes later, and he hurried back . He held his breath as he walked into the classroom, but to his relief, nothing sat on his desk.

His afternoon classes were uneventful. Whispers there, books flying off his desk there. Nothing unusual. He had to go to the front of the room to grab a copy of an assignment a student purposely didn’t pass out to him, but again, nothing new.

As the end of class approached, his mood quickly plummeted. He stared at a thin stack of papers on his desk, his grade clearly displayed in bright red ink. 67. 65. 59. 50. 49. 36. He knew he did pretty horribly last week, but actually seeing the numbers made a sour taste linger on his tongue. And the horrid scores he was looking at didn’t even include the assignments and homework he never turned in.

It didn't help that Katsuki was boasting loudly towards the front of his class to anyone that would listen that his application to UA had been accepted early that very same day. That he was permitted to take the entrance exam, and with his grades and quirk, there was no way he’d fail. That he was basically a student of UA already.

Izuku felt something ugly build up in his chest, but he knew what it was this time. Envy. It was envy. Because Katsuki was destined to accomplish the exact thing Izuku was destined to give up.

Katsuki’s gloating and self obsession had its perks, at least, since Izuku would be able to leave class easily while everyone was distracted by his incessant ranting, he thought bitterly.

Could he really blame him, though? If Izuku had a quirk like that, wouldn’t he be self obsessed too? Something in him didn’t think so, but he chose not to address it. He just thought that because nothing about him was special, that’s why he acted how he did. Of course he’d act differently if he grew up like Katsuki, right? Distinguished people acted distinguished, that was the way of the world. At least from what he’d seen. 

But All Might would never do that, so why would Katsuki?

Like he guessed, getting out of his classroom unscathed was a piece of cake. Now he just had to get out of the building unscathed.

He hurried down the halls, taking a route with less foot traffic towards the exit. Right as he approached an intersecting hallway, a shadow appeared in his peripheral vision. Before he had a chance to react, a palm slammed into his shoulder, knocking him off his feet. He landed on the ground, hard, his good shoulder brunting the majority of the impact. He hissed through his teeth as pain shot through the wound on his back.

A student he didn’t recognize was already walking away, looking smugly down at Izuku as he did, another student trailing him with an equally amused look.

“Jut cut your wrists already, null,” he snarled, before the pair burst into barks of laughter and continued down the hall.

Izuku stared after them for several seconds, his brain working about as quickly as an 80s computer. 

What was that?

A random student, not even one from his class, suicide baited him? That’d never happened before. Other kids never had the gall to tell him those things to his face, they only said that kind of stuff behind his back. He didn’t want to believe it, but it happened twice today, if he included the “gift” from this morning. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

It had to be about what Katsuki had said to him, either on Tuesday or on Friday. About dying. The timing was just too convenient. But what puzzled him was that Katsuki never bragged to people about the insults he spewed at Izuku, he was more of a show-by-action kind of guy. The only things that deserved bragging rights in Katsuki’s mind was himself, All Might, and UA.

The only other options was either that someone overheard what Katsuki had said to Izuku either of the times, or the more likely scenario that it was Katsuki’s cronies who told people about it. Unlike Katsuki himself, those two were more than happy to share every single interaction Katsuki has with Izuku, whether it be for their own entertainment or social brownie points. It's how other kids in his grade had gotten the brilliant idea to start “testing” their quirks on him in the corners of the elementary school playground. It was almost like others never crossed certain lines until Katsuki did– then it was free pickings.

Did none of them know bullying someone into suicide is a chargeable offense? Did they think that didn’t apply to them since Izuku was just some quirkless kid?

Based on how people act, you would think the word “quirkless” was a descriptor for a disease or felony or something. It was unbelievable, and not in an amusing way either. It was horrifying because he was the one who had to live through it.

Well, according to his recent suggestions, the “living” part was optional.

Izuku got on his feet, gripping the straps of his backpack a little too tightly. He headed straight to the exit, putting his shoes on without a peep, and leaving through the front door at a speed walk that could nearly be considered a jog. He just wanted to be free of that stupid school, if only for several hours until he had to return.

When he got home, his mom was asleep in her room. He microwaved some leftover food from the fridge, too hungry to wait until dinner time to eat. He guessed after school meals would become an everyday thing from now on, since he wasn’t returning to the cafeteria anytime soon. Or never. Preferably never.

He couldn’t find the motivation to do his assignments that night.

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When he arrives at his desk the next morning, he’s slapped in the face by a familiar sight. A vibrant red flower placed on his desk with an ironic amount of care. Stares pierced his skin from all sides like a thousand invisible needles. 

He did the exact same thing as yesterday. Ignoring the occasional snort or badly concealed scoff, he tosses it in the garbage and goes right back to his seat without saying a word, keeping his face carefully blank. It wasn’t hard, though. He didn’t really know what other face he could possibly make in that situation anyway.

He still felt eyes on him when he sat down. Katsuki entered the room not too long after, and some of the eyes left. Some of them didn’t.

Izuku’s head remained clear, for better or for worse. He bit at his nails vacantly, repeating the same phrase to himself as he attempted an equation he had no clue how to solve.

They’ll lose interest eventually.

The previous day’s events repeated themselves with slight variations.

A piece of paper bounced off his hair.

Someone tossed his pencil across the room.

His eraser vanished.

His backpack was knocked over.

Per usual, the teachers didn’t so much as bat an eye. They simply told him to retrieve his things, or ignored him altogether.

The bell for lunch rang not too long after, and Izuku was in the hallway before he knew it. Someone was coming up behind him as he walked, footsteps brisk but heavy. Not trying to announce their presence but not trying to mask it. He knew exactly who it was.

A part of him hoped Katsuki might start leaving alone after everything he said the other day, and after what Izuku had admitted to him. That after Katsuki had finally claimed victory, he’d lose interest in him, find something else to focus on, another battle to win.

He could not be more wrong. After all, why would he give up a perfectly good punching bag?

He flinched when a hand enclosed around his shoulder, yanking him to the side and forcing him to turn towards his assailant. Izuku barely got a glance at Katsuki’s face before the blonde boy drove both his palms into Izuku’s chest, sending him careening into the lockers behind him. His backpack hit the metal with a resounding bang, sending a jolt of pain across the raw skin near his spine. His knees gave out and he slid down the door of the locker, gritting his teeth. Izuku’s gaze flicked to Katsuki, who was standing above him.

“You should get used to getting the hell out of the way,” Katsuki mocked, his backpack slung over his shoulder. “Practice for when you’re older. You’re going to have to learn your place eventually, so you oughta start now. Especially since you can’t just bury yourself in those stupid notebooks anymore, can you, Deku? ”

Izuku winced and diverted his eyes, not wanting to see the triumphant expression Katsuki probably had plastered all over his face as the blonde boy walked away. He tuned out the snickers and comments from the students passing by, who apparently had nothing better to do than stare at him.

He waited until the chorus of niche laughter had wandered far enough away before he pushed himself to his feet and resumed his trek to the bathroom. 

Old things his elementary school teachers came back to him. When he’d get a particularly bad burn from Katsuki or a bad bruise from Tsubasa's shoulder checking him with one of those large red wings, they’d always say variations of the same thing. “It was an accident,” “it wasn’t on purpose,” “you have to learn to get out of the way,” “you have to stop angering him.” 

They were kind about it, and what they said was slightly different every time, but eventually he knew what they were really saying. That he had to learn how to keep his head down, stay out of the way and avoid being a bother to others. In other words, he was destined to be a doormat. It was just how it was for him; because he was powerless, because he was small , he’d always have to get used to getting trampled on by people bigger than him. That was how he had to live in a world where everyone has something different about them and you have nothing at all.

Maybe it wasn’t a good thing to teach to a child, and Izuku didn’t have to agree with it, but whether he liked it or not, they ended up being right.

By the time he locked the bathroom door behind him, he was already struggling to breathe, his chest heaving. He collapsed into the corner, sinking into a ball. Tears were already falling long before he hit the ground. 

And yet, the advice all his teachers gave him in elementary school wasn’t working anymore. He almost never spoke, he’d been keeping his eyes strictly on his desk, save the occasional glance at his teacher, and he was trying his best to stay out of everyone’s way. What could he possibly be managing to do wrong? It's not like he could just up and disappear when it was convenient for everyone else. Maybe if he just let them have their fun for a few days longer, they’d leave him alone after? He had no clue. The only thing his peers told him they wanted him to do so far is kill himself. He really wished they could meet in the middle and find a less extreme option, but he was delusional if he expected them to be that reasonable.

He was quiet at dinner that night, but he and his mother had a pleasant conversation. He found the same phrase repeating in his head then too. 

They’ll lose interest eventually.

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He wakes up the next day, drenched in sweat, his heart beating too quickly for comfort. His nose was beginning to memorize the smell of the sludge from his dreams, and it was lingering longer after he woke up.

He got up, stretching while being mindful of his injury, and headed to his bathroom. He’d started rebandaging his back burn every other day instead of every day. The risk of infection had gone down significantly since it had started to close, so there was no need to replace bandages daily. The only disadvantage to that was that he had to wait every two days to shower, so he had to do his best with alcohol wipes and paper towels on days in between.

He glances in the mirror upon entering the bathroom, narrowing his eyes. The sleep he’d caught up on was already starting to fade, and he already looked worse than he did on Monday. At least his injuries were healing well. The red mark on his throat had long since disappeared, and the bruising he got on his right shoulder from Muscles and the burn he’d gotten on the Friday of the Sludge Incident from Katsuki had healed days ago. After his upper arms and back injury finished healing, he’d be as good as new. Besides the eyebags– there wasn’t any kind of quick cure for his nightmares, as much as he wished there was. He’d take a point blank explosion from Katsuki any day over those.

He cleaned himself as thoroughly as he could and got dressed in his trousers and original button up and blazer. The fabric was still a little disheveled on his right shoulder where Katsuki had burned him, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as having a gaping hole in the back. He noted that he’d have to get a new one as quickly as possible– he didn’t need to be dress coded on top of everything else.

He settled with telling his mother he lost it, and when she agreed to get him a new one, he quickly buried the “lost” uniform in the dumpster near their apartment under a wad of cardboard before he left for school. He knew she wasn’t going to check or something, but better safe than sorry. He’d rather not explain why it was covered in suspiciously hand-shaped burns.

He waved his mother goodbye, who had just gotten off a shift an hour prior, and headed out at exactly 8:00. He was being especially careful to time when he left for school perfectly . Now wasn’t an ideal juncture to find himself unsupervised on school property– he was already lucky that all that happened when he got found after school on Monday was being told to cut his wrists. He didn’t feel like testing his luck.

As he began his walk to school, he made sure to choose a different route to Aldera. If he wanted to leave at the exact same time everyday, he had to make his schedule unpredictable somehow, or he’d just be begging to get jumped. 

But, he’d starkly avoided that route since the sludge villain attacked. The one that led him under the tunnel, with the storm drain in the middle. He couldn’t bring himself to go back there– in fact, tunnels in general made him anxious now, so he just made sure to steer clear of routes that forced him to go under one altogether.

Despite that, walking to school had still become tortuous within the last couple days. He was plagued by crushing anxiety the entire way, which had just been getting worse since Monday.

By the time he made it into the classroom, he felt like his heart was going to explode from how fast it was pounding against his ribs.

And for a moment he was convinced it might've finally burst when he saw a Spider Lily on his desk for the third day in a row. His face felt hot with something that wasn’t quite embarrassment. Someone laughed in the corner of the room, which was quickly shushed by another student. He didn’t know if it was because of the look on his face or if they really just found the whole situation that amusing. When he threw the flower away this time, his hand shook.

He took a deep breath as he sat down. It was fine, he just had to avoid confrontation as much as possible, right? Stay quiet, stay unreactive, be as uninteresting as possible, just like he thought yesterday. He could do that.

He chewed on his nails subconsciously as he went through his morning classes.

A pencil was thrown at him.

Someone managed to snag his pen.

“You should use those scissors for something else, Deku ,” a student loudly whispered from somewhere to his right.

The student behind him yanked out a strand of his hair, followed by a couple of snickers behind him.

Another wad of paper was thrown at him, just like the previous day, but this time, it hit him right in the cheek, leaving a momentary stinging feeling as the paper fell onto his desk. When he glanced down at it, he could clearly see writing in sharpie within the crumpled paper.

They were idiots if they thought he was going to read that.

Not that he would’ve had time to, since the teacher came up to him and snatched it off the table within seconds. Conveniently, she didn’t seem to notice the part a few seconds earlier when it was being hurled across the room.

“Midoriya,” his English teacher said curtly in that chastising tone of hers. “What did I say about keeping your space clean . In fact, what even is this…” she murmured, unfolding the paper. Izuku cringed internally. He had no clue what they wrote, but it would either be really embarrassing or… well, let’s just say he had a feeling the note had a certain theme.

She paused upon looking at the paper in its unfolded glory, looking ever so slightly surprised. After a moment she crumpled up the paper back into a ball, spun on her heel and tossed it into the trash without sparing Izuku another look.

“Kids will be kids,” she sighed, as if she were addressing something amusing and lighthearted.

He doubted anything about that note was amusing or lighthearted. But what would he know? He was only the one who had it thrown at his face.

The bell rang for lunch again, but Izuku already knew he was dead meat when he caught Katsuki looking at him a few minutes prior. His plan to avoid confrontation wouldn’t work on him – Katsuki was like an unstoppable force against anything he set his mind to, and in this case, that was the degradation of Izuku’s wellbeing.

He quickly found himself being dragged around a corner by his collar, the two musketeers that called themselves Katsuki’s friends not following too far behind. Izuku didn’t attempt to struggle, it’d just make things worse.  Katsuki shoved him against a wall in an empty hallway, holding Izuku’s backpack in his hands.

Without saying a word he unbuckled the uppermost strap of Izuku’s backpack, and flipped it upside down, spilling its contents all over the floor. Izuku stayed frozen in place, Katsuki stared at him, cataloguing a reaction, before glancing down at the mess of things on the floor. A smile spread across his face and he dropped Izuku’s empty backpack on top of the pile unceremoniously.

“You weren’t lying about not having those notebooks anymore,” Katsuki mused, facing Izuku once again. His smile grew a little wider as he drove his heel into the Izuku pile of stuff, sending half of it sprawling even further across the floor. “I guess that means there’s nothing of value in there anyway, right?” Izuku pressed his lips into a thin line to keep them from quivering.

Don’t react. That’s what they want. It’ll be worse if you react. Just let Katsuki think that he won, then he’ll go away.

“At least say something back! You’re always so silent, it’s boring,” one of the musketeers called from behind, his tone a mixture of mocking and pitying. His voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Izuku wondered if he had a second quirk that made him invoke indescribable irritation upon anyone he spoke to. He wouldn’t doubt it.

“You’re giving him too much credit,” Katsuki snorted. “He wouldn’t do anything even if he wanted to– isn’t that right, Deku? Too spineless, just like always.”

Without warning, Katsuki’s open palm came flying at his face. He knew it was a taunt, but it was too late.

He recoiled instinctively, hard enough to accidentally slam the back of his head into the wall, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Katsuki’s hand stopped just shy of his cheek, making him flinch again despite himself.

An indescribable embarrassment simmered in his gut, making Izuku cringe at how badly he proved Katsuki’s point.

God , could he get any more shameful?

After a second, Katsuki lowered his hand with an infuriatingly self satisfied grin. “That’s what I thought,” he spat as he turned and retreated back down the hall, muttering something about Izuku being a “pathetic excuse for an extra.”

Izuku remained there for a second, giving his heart a chance to slow before taking a deep, steadying breath. He swore one of these days he was going to get a heart attack– his heart rate spiked more than someone with chronic heart palpitations. It couldn’t possibly be healthy.

He bent down and began piling all of his things up, not wanting to linger in an empty hallway any longer than he had to. Tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes, making him wipe his face furiously with the side of his hand.

Izuku dealt with worse, this shouldn’t be a big deal.

And yet, that weight in his chest remained.

He ended up in the bathroom, again. His breath came in short gasped as he curled up on the floor, his forehead pressed to his knees. 

He needed to calm down, and think about the situation rationally. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but it could be worse. He just needed to stick to his plan, and things would die down eventually; and hopefully he’d be able to slip under the radar once again. His uselessness did have one perk– once people lose interest in him, he’s utterly unnoticeable.

The problem was, they had to lose interest in him first.

The bell pierced his ears, yanking him out of his stupor, followed quickly by the unmistakable weight of dread that settled in his gut. It was Wednesday, meaning they had PE right after lunch today instead of Social Studies. His teachers never defended him in his other classes, but they also couldn’t allow physical confrontation during class.

PE, however, was a perfect opportunity for every boy in Izuku’s grade to get physical with one another under the pretense of fitness. And, naturally, the victim of that was almost always Izuku.

Izuku walks briskly in the direction of the locker rooms, not wanting to overthink the whole situation. The locker rooms weren’t far from the bathroom he locked himself in on the first floor, so upon entering the locker room tentatively, he was delighted to see he was the first one there. It helped that students usually dragged their feet before gym class, since their teacher gave them about fifteen minutes after the first bell to change before he’d come to get them.

Not wasting a second, Izuku shoved his backpack into his locker, ripping off his abused uniform and pulling on his gym clothes with practiced speed. Within a minute he was decked out in a mediocre gym uniform, donning dark blue shorts and a white short sleeved T-shirt. He quickly shut his locker, making sure it was securely closed, and beelined to the stalls. His only salvation in the prison called the locker room were the floor-to-ceiling stalls. Unlike the rest of the bathrooms, the stall walls in this particular one didn’t have a huge gap at the top that anyone could peek over– it was completely enclosed, from the floor to the ceiling, save for a very small gap at the very top. Even the doors lacked any gap whatsoever; they were perfect. There was a time or two he locked himself in one for over an hour to evade an angry Katsuki, who often threatened to bust the door down. Izuku had no doubt he could easily do so, but he had to restrain himself unless he wanted a vandalism charge on his record. The teachers couldn’t exactly blame the quirkless kid for a scorched door being blown off its hinges.

He quickly got inside a stall at the very end and locked it behind him. Not even thirty seconds later he heard the commotion of a couple students entering the locker room. Just in time.

The locker room gradually became more noisy over the next few minutes as more and more people arrived, a chorus of yelling, laughing and slamming lockers. He waited until he heard the familiar voice of the gym teacher speaking to leave his stall, hurrying towards the main room before the teacher marked him absent (which he’d done multiple times before). He stood towards the edge of the crowd of boys, which were standing in a semi circle around their coach– a man with thin, graying hair and far too much of a belly to possibly be following his own fitness advice. He called out attendance leisurely, marking it down on a checkerboard in his hands. Izuku ignored the pointed glances after he said “here” in response to his name.

After the teacher was finished, he quickly explained they were doing laps on the track that day because of the warmer weather. Izuku didn’t feel here nor there about running– he was irrevocably screwed no matter what they did.

He wasn’t too horrible at running, at least, despite how much weaker he was than his peers; mostly because of how much practice he got running from Katsuki, among others. At the same time, he wasn’t great at it, especially considering his major slip-up on Tuesday. His back prickled at the unpleasant memory. The only thing he had going for him was that he was “slippery,” as some of his assailants have described him, but that wouldn’t help when he was on an open field.

But at least it wasn’t any kind of team sport or god forbid dodgeball , which was the very bane of his existence. Every single time without fail he’d somehow end up with a rubber ball hurled directly at his cranium several times. He swore he got a concussion a couple times, but his teacher just told him to walk it off.

Their teacher led them to the field, Izuku trailing towards the back in an attempt to stay generally unnoticed. The class was instructed to line up behind the starting line. Luckily, Katsuki had to be the best at everything he did, so he pushed his way to the front instead of badgering Izuku, who somehow got stuck crammed in the middle of the “line,” which was essentially just a congested mob of boys with no concept of personal space and too much adrenaline for something as simple as a middle school race. Multiple people kept stepping on his left foot, someone’s shoulder was digging into his shoulderblade and the sheer volume of bodies was making him far too warm for his liking. Izuku wished for nothing more than for their teacher to just blow the whistle already.

Izuku’s wish was granted not even a second later. Boys tore passed him, nearly sending him face planting into the ground. By some miracle Izuku managed to remain on two feet and started jogging, dodging at least three more of his passing classmates. He migrated towards the outer ring of the track, making sure to lag towards the back but made sure he wasn’t dead last. He didn’t need his teacher to chew him out about that too. A couple of his classmates were even slower than he was, somehow, so it wasn’t too hard.

He was a little extra sluggish today, mainly due to his sore back, but he pushed through anyway.

By the time he made it three quarters way around the track, Katsuki had already lapped him, taking a quick detour to shove him hard into the grass lining surrounding the track, yelling “keep up Deku! ” in the most condescending tone he could manage while running. Izuku caught himself before he ate dirt, and continued jogging.

After two more instances of nearly eating dirt by Katsuki’s hand, Izuku found himself sitting behind the bleachers, keeping a watchful eye for students wandering a little too close. A lot of the students were too tired to bother finding him, luckily, but he kept an eye out just in case. Slowly drying sweat clung to his shirt as he sat against the cool metal of the bleachers, thankful for the chilly breeze that blew periodically through his damp clothes.

It was one of those days where the teacher was too lazy to do his job and covered it up as “freetime,” so Izuku and the rest of his class were spread throughout the area of the track, sitting in small groups or in Izuku’s case, alone. But he didn’t mind. The less he had to participate in this class and with his peers, the better. 

Out of all his teachers, he probably disliked his gym teacher the most. Unlike other teachers, he took a complete blind eye to anything and everything involving Izuku and other students, writing it off as normal behavior for “boys his age” and that he should learn to “toughen up.” Not to mention he never failed to mention Izuku’s inadequacies– even though Izuku could see them perfectly fine himself, and he didn’t need his teacher loudly pointing them out in front of twenty other students that hated his guts.

Worst of all, Izuku was 100% sure he did it on purpose. He hid his contempt for Izuku the least out of his teachers, not even bothering to sugarcoat Izuku’s failures or lack of quirk. He’s stated multiple times that Izuku was “incompetent” and “lacked fundamental skills” that his classmates were born with. He never outright stated he was referring to his quirklessness, but it was implied. Izuku learned to avoid those conversations very early. At his core, his gym teacher was lazy, so as long as Izuku stayed out of reach, he wouldn’t bother with him.

Izuku shuffles around the outskirts of the field for the remainder of class, avoiding a meandering Katsuki who was no doubt looking for something to entertain himself. Izuku didn’t feel like volunteering.

The second the teacher spoke the end of class into existence, Izuku was in and out of the locker room at a speed that even impressed himself, shutting the door behind him just as he heard the other set of doors across the room opening. If only he could put half of that effort into something actually useful.

The end of the school day slowly approached as Izuku scratched at a packet adamantly with a mechanical pencil he dug out of the bottom of his backpack. (His last one mysteriously went missing again.) The packet he was rushing through was handed out when Japanese started, his last class before afternoon homeroom. Japanese was also taught by his homeroom teacher, unfortunately, who’d left the room for a bathroom break or something. Izuku wasn’t really paying attention.

But before he could even make it to the third question, the packet was yanked out from under his hands, startling Izuku, who hadn’t even noticed anyone approaching. A student that he recognized but refused to name was standing over him, Izuku’s packet hanging loosely in the boy’s grip in a mocking manner. The boy was bald– not buzzcut, full-on, shiny bald. His grin was wide and his teeth were large, paired with round and wide eyes. His face was almost uncanny to look at. The fact his quirks allowed him to take his eyes out of his sockets didn’t help at all. He always wondered if the boy’s quirk was a health hazard, considering he had to grab his eyes with his fingers to pull them out. It gave Izuku the willies– and made him think that maybe being quirkless wasn’t so bad in this specific scenario.

Izuku sighed inwardly as the boy waved his packet around. Why can’t people just leave my stuff alone, Izuku thought dryly, looking in between his packet and his aggressor.

Unaware of Izuku’s inner monologue, the boy grinned arrogantly, looking a little too proud of himself. “What, do you need this for something?” He jeered, laced with heavy-handed sarcasm.

“Uh, for class…?” Izuku muttered uncertainly, not sure what his classmate wanted him to say. “Could I have it back?” He tried half-heartedly.

The boy snorted, like Izuku had said something funny. “Oh, this?” He mocked with a grin, waving the paper around again. Without another word, he ripped the packet in half, then again, and again, until it was thrown on his desk, reduced to a small pile of uneven squares and bent paper. “A worthless nobody like you would probably fail it anyways,” he taunted. “Better not to waste your time, not like you have anything better to do.”

Giggles and whispers flooded across the room as Izuku clenched his teeth. He averted his gaze to the ripped up pieces of paper on his desk, earning another few barks of amusement to his left as the bald boy returned to his desk towards the front of the class.

Numbly deciding it was no use to do his packet now, he gathered up all that was left of it on his desk and shoved the pieces unceremoniously to the bottom of his backpack with more force than necessary. He ignored the burning in his cheeks, picking at his nails restlessly once again.

Right as the bell rings to deliver him unto freedom from this pit of despair, he’s called to stay behind by his homeroom teacher before he even has a chance to stand. Unease stabbed at his nerves as he made his way to the front of the class, getting a hearty shove by one of Katsuki’s lapdogs from behind. He brushed off the tinge of pain that rippled across his back.

After the classroom empties, he stands awkwardly in front of his teacher’s desk, just barely resisting the urge to tap his foot anxiously against the floor. The balding man was taking his sweet time, and Izuku’s apprehension grew by the second as his eyes flitted occasionally to the door of the class. There was a 50% chance someone was waiting for him on the other side.

His teacher cleared his throat, drawing Izuku’s attention back to him. He stared at Izuku expectantly, but with a clear aura of apathy. “You haven’t been turning in your assignments, Midoriya,” he drawled. “I hope you're aware you need to pass all your classes this year to graduate?” The condescension in his tone was palpable.

Izuku casted his eyes downwards, locking his gaze onto his shoes. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. The topic of his grades has been something he’s been avidly avoiding.

“Then where are the missing assignments I said I needed on my desk this morning?”

“I forgot to do them,” Izuku murmured, barely audible.

“And your packet from last period? I don’t think I remember getting one from you,” he said boredly, marking a random piece of paper on his desk with a red pen.

“One of my classmates tore it up,” he said honestly. It didn’t matter what he said, he already knew exactly how his teacher would react.

His teacher heaved a dramatic sigh, setting down his pen with a click and looking at Izuku, whose gaze was still fixed on his shoes. “One of these days you have to start taking accountability for yourself,” he lectured loftily. “Behavior like this won’t fly in high school. You have to stop goofing off and start focusing more on your schoolwork. You need some kind of substance on your transcript, you know. Between your grades and your delinquency…” he clicked his tongue, as if disappointed. “You're not going to be able to get into any kind of decent high school at this rate, if any. If you want to keep up with your peers, you’re going to have to put some more effort in Midoriya. It's no one’s job to hold your hand.”

Izuku just barely suppressed an eyeroll. By delinquency he means “inciting” fights even though he’s never started one in his life, and by his below-par grades he means the grades they forced on him for three years. His failing grades recently may have been his own fault, but all of his grades before that were because of his teachers’ blatant prejudice towards him. He knew he wasn’t very smart, but he wasn’t dumb enough to fail a curriculum as oversimplified as Aldera’s. He bet any kid in his school system could ace their classes if they just paid enough attention. As far as education went, the bar was on the floor .

But, like always, Izuku didn’t say any of that. He simply nodded, not saying a word, not letting his expression give away anything except sheepishness, because complacency was the best he could ever hope for. His teacher dismissed him, and he quickly exited the classroom, silently closing the door behind him. Some staff still wandered the halls, more than usual. Probably why no one was lingering in wait. Perfect. He took a prolonged route to the exit, hoping that most of his more persistent classmates would get bored or be forced to leave before he made it to the cubby room.

He was able to make it out of school without conflict, but he still walked extra fast on his walk home, his head on a swivel the entire way.

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The following day, he had but one goal– evade his peers for as long as possible, hoping his class’s hyperfixation on him was beginning to fade and the bullying would slow to normal levels.

He’s unaffected by the spider lily left on his desk once again, tossing it into the trash without a second thought. He sits down at his desk, strangely motivated by his new goal.

He pretends he isn’t affected.

He ignores every small thing that happens during his morning classes, pouring himself into his schoolwork. There were still some obvious gaps in his knowledge, but the sporadic studying he’d been doing the last couple days paid off at least a little bit by now, so he was confident he got at least 70s, which is nearly as much as he could wish for anyways.

His back was healing steadily, which he guessed was the reason for his slightly improved mood. He couldn’t even feel his bruises anymore, besides the smaller ones he’d been getting from Katsuki and the other kids lately.

The migraines, however, were still just as horrible as they were before. Ibuprofen had become a part of his morning routine at this point.

As far as his school routine went, it was mostly the same as it was before.

He stayed quiet, didn’t give his teachers reason to ridicule him, and disregarded every quick remark or loud whisper that was meant to provoke a reaction. He narrowly dodges one of his classmates' attempt to trip him as he made his way out of class, and was able to keep his assignments out of reach from prying hands. He wrote everything in pen just in case his classmates would try to erase his answers when the teachers weren’t looking, even using a dark gray color so it wasn’t immediately obvious it was pen.

Lunchtime was a little trickier. He weaved through crowds, dodging half-hearted attempts at bumping into him, ignoring the pointed yells in the halls, turning the other direction when a particularly rowdy group of kids set their eyes on him, and hiding around a corner upon spotting Katsuki’s group who were obviously searching for him. After several minutes of playing hide and seek from what felt like half the school, he finally arrived at his salvation– the bathroom. Just to do the exact thing all over again after the lunch bell rings.

He was steadily getting used to not eating lunch during school, and despite his lack of sleep, he hardly felt a significant energy difference during his afternoon classes. He was still more tired than he liked, but he was beginning to adapt to his new schedule.

Time passed quickly as he plunged himself into his schoolwork once again. Even though his work was still a little sloppier than he’d like, he was just relieved to have it done. 

As quickly as the day had started, it ended. Izuku was in the hallway, speedwalking as quickly as he could without drawing attention as normal. He darted around corners and passed students walking far too slow, a sliver of hope sprouting in his chest. He was almost to the cubbies– if he could just switch his shoes and get outside the gates, he was basically home free. Maybe the last few days really were just a fluke, and things were going back to normal.

Those hopes were quickly crushed.

He heard shouts behind him, the tone of which he recognized all too well– victorious, excited. Izuku looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide as fear shot down his spine like lightning. Just behind him, four boys were running down the hall, wolfish grins on their faces.

Izuku bolted, changing his route instantly to a loop he knew wouldn’t lead to a dead end or an even bigger crowd. One would think a crowd would be a good idea, strength in numbers or blending in or whatnot. Not him. Running into a crowd was just a way to attract even more attention to himself.

He heard the pounding of feet and squeaks of shoes against the tile floor behind him. They weren’t gaining any ground, but they weren’t losing any either. Okay, time to shift tactics. He took sharp turns, zigzagging across the school as the group tailed him. They’d split up now, exactly how he thought they would, trying to corner him. He purposely led them to an intersection, and then dove under a barely noticeable gap between a low-set table in the corner near the stairs. Just like he’d hoped, they all converged at the intersection, and sprinted towards the only direction he could've possibly gone in such a misleadingly open space– up. 

As soon as he heard all four sets of footsteps split up and begin their search upstairs, he quietly slid from under the table and booked it down the hallway, keeping his steps as light as he could with a backpack on. By the time he made it to the cubbies, he’d slowed his pace, sure that the group wouldn’t catch up to him in time now.

He slid his chunky red shoes on, using the opportunity to catch his breath. Without wasting a second, he pushed open the exit doors and half-walked half-ran to the gate, checking behind him hurriedly as he did. He slipped past a particularly slow horde of students, leaving the school courtyard and scampering down the sidewalk.

Relief bloomed in his mind, only for his breath to catch in the same moment.

A hand wrapped around his right arm, yanking him to the side without warning. He yelped in surprise, his head snapping towards the force, digging his heels into the concrete with no avail. In an instant, he was stumbling in a small cluster of trees outside the school fence by a third year student he vaguely recognized. He was shoved into a small clearing, barely managing to remain on his feet. He whipped his head around, trying to get his bearings after his near-heart attack.

He was surrounded by three boys, all donned in middle school uniforms. The one that dragged him there was behind him, with short curly yellow hair, while the other two had plain brown and black hair. None of them were in his homeroom, but he knew they were in his grade.

He was also completely trapped. With two boys on his left, one behind him, a large fence to his right and nothing but crowded trees in front of him, he had no means of escape.

His pulse stuttered, anxiety clawing at his heart. He couldn’t believe he was stupid enough to get caught, again .

“Look who I found,” the yellow haired boy swooned caustically. “The quirkless wonder.”

The other two boys had long since noticed him, the brown haired one looking bored and the black haired one looking at Izuku like an amusing circus animal. The brown haired boy spoke up first.

“Oh yeah, it’s that guy Bakugou is so obsessed with. Deku or something,” he observed. “He’s about as puny as I imagined.” Irritation flickered in Izuku’s chest. Yeah, thanks for talking about me like I’m not standing directly in front of you.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, quelling his annoyance. “I really should be getting home,” he said, faking neutrality as he turned to leave. But before he could so much as take a step, the blonde boy shoved a palm into his chest, pushing him further into the trees.

“C’mon, that’s no fun,” he said, smirking. “Is mommy going to get worried if you’re away for too long?” Izuku blinked at him. Ironically that was spot on, but he couldn’t really say that. So he stayed quiet, standing awkwardly in the clearing like some kind of lobotomized show pony.

The black haired boy to his right scoffed. “What would someone like you have to do that’s so important anyway? Like actually, you have pretty much nothing going for you. It’s kinda sad actually.” Izuku suppressed a wince, his heart clenching. Don’t react. Don’t encourage them. Just let them say what they’re going to say and be done with it. He shouldn’t care what a bunch of random people say anyway– but it was much harder to ignore when there was a bit of truth to their words, even if they were only assumptions on their parts.

“I really don’t want any trouble,” he muttered, refusing to make eye contact with any of them. “I–”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” the blonde boy jeered. “We just wanted to ask you some questions, we’re just curious. Like, for example, you wanted to go to UA, right? Even though you're quirkless? Before you gave up, at least,” he added.

Izuku visibly flinched this time, not fully expecting the question. He should’ve, though– it was only a matter of time until what he told Katsuki on Tuesday started spreading around. In fact, he was a little surprised it took someone besides Katsuki so long to bring it up.

The brown haired boy snorted. “Wait, really?” He snarked. “There’s no way he of all people thought that– UA? I doubt a quirkless kid would even be allowed to apply.” Actually, there was never a rule or standard that said quirkless people couldn’t apply to UA, that’s a myth. But he kept that little tidbit to himself. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore anyways.

“So did you or didn’t you?” The blonde boy pressed, ignoring the other boy’s question.

Just get it over with. “Yeah,” Izuku forced out. It felt as if all the moisture in his throat had been sucked out and replaced with sandpaper.

“So why’d you give up,” he continued, grinning ear to ear. “On being a hero I mean? Did you just finally realize there was no way it was happening? Or maybe you were banking on a late quirk awakening or something. Can’t really blame you,” he mocked. “I’d be on my knees begging for a quirk every night if I was you too.” Izuku said nothing.

“Come on, just answer the question,” the blonde boy hissed, his eyes narrowing in impatience. “Did you just up and decide one day that being a hero was too much work, so you just didn’t apply? Ooo– or maybe it's because you did apply and got rejected? Is that it?”

Don’t react. That’s what they want.

“Oh my god look at his face,” the black haired one said, barking a laugh. “Is that actually what happened? I’m not really surprised, leave it to some rando without a quirk to get rejected even before the exams even start.”

Izuku knew what they were saying wasn’t true, but it still hit a little too close to home. He didn’t even realize he was digging his nails into his palm until pain shot through his hand.

“Hah, and to think I hated my parents because of the dumbass quirk I ended up getting,” the brown haired one said coolly. “Guess I should be thanking my lucky stars I at least have one. How unlucky do you have to be to be born quirkless? What, is your mommy a null or something too?”

Izuku’s eyes flicked towards the brown haired kid, a spark of anger behind his eyes. “Neither of my parents are quirkless,” he said flatly, surprised at how steady his voice came out.

After a pause, laughter erupted around him, as if he’d said the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. At least the topic had strayed from his mother.

“So it really is just you,” the blonde boy sneered. “Man, I guess you really were destined to be a normie, huh? And you were still egotistical enough to think you could be some wannabe hero?” His voice had an edge now. “Why do people with the least skills always think they’re superior? Why do you, of all people, think you could accomplish anything? Are you blind, or just stupid?” His tone had melted into vivid aggression now– in fact, the whole spiel was very familiar.

Izuku had learned over the years that a lot of people were like Katsuki, except the rest of them didn’t have a quirk like he did. This boy was one of those people, eerily similar to Izuku in how any dreams of being something outside of his quirk’s functionality were stomped into the ground. Izuku felt a tiny bit of pity for people like that, but not much, not when they expressed their insecurity by taking it out on other people. People who get pleasure from hurting others didn’t deserve to be heroes.

Then why did Katsuki?

“Are you just going to stare or are you going to answer the question?” The black haired boy piped up, looking morbidly amused.

The blonde boy scoffed. “Of course he isn’t, because he’s too much of a sissy.” The boy strode  forward, taking Izuku by surprise, making him stumble back. Without stopping, the boy used his momentum and shoved Izuku with surprising strength, sending the smaller boy crashing into the ground. He caught himself with his elbows, smashing his right one directly into a rock. He hissed in pain. His back was spared from the impact, but at the price of his throbbing forearm.

“See, not so tough now, huh, wannabe?”

All the boys had gathered in front of him now, looking at him with eyes that could only be described as hungry , craving to take their anger out on something. It was uncanny how similar people looked when they shared a certain goal, and Izuku had seen it dozens, maybe even hundreds of times before. 

His inside squirmed, anxiety and adrenaline shooting through his veins like ice. His mind raced with ways to get him out of this situation, when his eyes locked onto the gap of trees to his right. Now that all the boys had grouped up, he was no longer surrounded. If he could make it past them, it was basically a straight shot to his apartment. His elbow hurt, but his legs were unharmed, he could outrun them… probably. But trying was better than sitting there and doing nothing.

He glanced back at the boys. They were whispering loudly, hyping each other up like a pack of hyenas. They were distracted.

It was now or never. He sprung to his feet in an instant, sprinting past the boys before they could so much as blink. A series of inaudible shouts and yells called out from behind, followed quickly by the sound of snapping twigs and leaves being crushed underfoot. He was hoping they’d just give up once he ran for it– of course it wasn’t that easy.

For how clumsy Izuku usually was, the adrenaline was making him uncharacteristically surefooted. He vaulted over small logs and ducked under branches without so much as slowing down. He didn’t expect the trees to be this close together, and it was slowing him down significantly.

He turned sharply to the left, beelining towards the sidewalk. He stumbled as his foot caught on a small tree root, but he quickly regained his balance, his shoes pounding steadily against the grass beneath him. His pursuers had lost some ground, and he was sure he’d heard a few pained yells and curses behind him. He assumed the boys weren’t surefooted.

Before he knew it he burst out of the trees, skidding to a stop as his shoes gripped onto concrete. Quickly regaining his bearings, he turned to his right and took off full speed down the sidewalk, ignoring the burning in his lungs. Running this much right after running laps a few hours prior wasn’t doing wonders for him.

Before long, he heard familiar yells a good way behind him. 

“ He’s over here! ”

His legs carried him even faster, adrenaline surging through his body. He’d definitely gained a good amount of distance, but he was already exhausted, and he doubted he could keep this up for the entirety of the way home. He was quick, but he was by no means athletic– distance was his weakness.

He was going to have to find some other way to lose them.

Thinking quickly, he took a sharp right, slightly altering his route. There was a nice neighborhood in this area, but most importantly, it was a cramped one. Keeping track of the turns in his head, he ran across the street into an alleyway between two houses and continued dodging in and out of alleyways, streets, and the occasional yard. The boys lagged farther and farther behind, constantly taking wrong turns or having to split up to find him. 

He turned his last corner after losing sight of the boys for the last three turns and ran into a small park, packed with blooming cherry blossom trees. A few people walking on the sidewalk gave him weird looks as he shot into the trees, but he paid them no mind. After taking a few strides into the forest, he stumbled behind a tree with a particularly thick trunk. His surroundings were cast in shadow– it’d be almost impossible to spot him unless they knew exactly where he was at. 

He let himself collapse at the base of the tree, sucking in shallow breaths, his head feeling light. Nausea swirled stubbornly in his gut as his chest heaved, his lungs feeling as if they’d been set on fire.As he sat there, trying to calm his racing heart, a single phrase repeated in his head like an alarm.

Nothing was enough.

He avoided people, he stopped talking, he became exactly what they thought he was– nothing. And it still wasn’t good enough.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand any of it. Was his lack of quirk really all they saw? Was his extra pinky toe joint really all it took to cause all of this? There are people with peculiar or useless quirks all across Aldera, and yet people have no problem with them. They still exist outside their quirk factor. So why was Izuku’s quirklessness the only thing that defined him? Why did they even care? It didn’t affect anyone else– why do they go out of their way to torture him? Did they really believe he was so lowly he didn’t even deserve human decency? He just couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

 Just how far would it go? Once he got out of middle school, would it just continue to go downhill from there? If it was this miserable already, what would it be like when he reached adulthood?

He thought back on all the times he was treated decently in public– like that one man who asked him if he wanted to be a hero the day of the Sludge Incident, when he was note-taking on Kamui Woods’ and Mt. Lady’s joint take down of the giant villain Ooki-Toko. Would he have been so nice if he knew Izuku was quirkless? How about the people in grocery stores, or on the side of the street? What would happen if they knew he was quirkless?

He revisited every single interaction he’s had with someone who was aware of his “condition.” Katsuki, his classmates, peers, teachers, heroes, law enforcement– even All Might himself said he wasn’t capable of being a hero because of it (even though he was by far the kindest about it, but he was All Might , Izuku really didn’t expect anything less.) With the exception of his mother, they all had something in common– they thought he was incapable because he was quirkless. And for most of them, it was worse than that.

But what did that mean? How would he get into high school, or get a job, or a place to live? His quirklessness was displayed on every piece of legal documentation he had . He wasn’t naive, he knew those “quirk equality laws” didn’t always work, especially with the recent influx of quirk-specialized positions. They used excuses of utility, functionality and safety protocols to bypass quirk protections, stating that it was in the best interest of their other employees. And unlike heteromorphs or people with modest quirks, quirkless people had almost no protections. Most of the remaining quirkless population consisted of seniors– the percentage of the quirkless population was dropping rapidly by the day. 

Forget about being a hero– would he even be able to function as an adult? Did he have a future at all?

If you think you’ll have a quirk in your next life… take a swan dive off the roof of the building.

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Several days later…

Days begin passing unnervingly fast.

Each day, school would start the same. A red spider lily would be sitting on his desk without fail, and every time he’d make the same short trek to toss it in the trash and return to his desk before Katsuki and the teacher would walk in.

Anxiety writhed in his chest like a feral animal, just like the previous days. He wanted nothing more than to crawl out of his own skin and escape the confines of his mind. But he couldn’t– so he had to find other ways to occupy himself.

His nails were bitten bloody, reduced to raw numbs at the end of his fingertips after days of relentless picking and biting. He usually didn’t even realize his fingers were bleeding until there was blood dripping onto his desk, the ends of his fingers coated in a sickening crimson. He’d wipe the blood off with his blazer sleeve the best he could, hoping the darkness of his uniform would camouflage the patches of dried blood that went up and down his arms. His nailbeds ached from the nonstop abuse, but Izuku just couldn’t find it in himself to break the habit. He’d tried to do what he did before, covering his fingers in bandaids, but they did little to stop his restlessness.

He spends every lunchtime in the bathroom, trying to reteach himself how to breathe. Sometimes the attacks would happen during class. It was even worse when it’d happen then, because he just had to cover his mouth to bear it. He got dangerously close to passing out a few times, but he didn’t dare ask to go to the bathroom. That’d just attract more attention.

He tried everything to dodge confrontation, to dodge other people. Staying silent, running, hiding, cowering, descalation, keeping in the sights of teachers, never wandering when he didn’t need to, not daring to so much as mutter. But he wasn’t always successful– the bruises that littered his body and the exhaustion that cluttered his brain attested to that.

Most days he could hardly get out of bed. The mere thought of returning to Aldera just to continue the endless cycle of avoid , cower and endure was enough to make him throw up– and he did, a couple times. You’d think it’d make him feel better after he did, like finally releasing built up apprehension, but it just made him feel ten times worse.

He regularly fantasized about skipping school, just staying home and basking in the peace and silence of his apartment. But, he forced himself to go anyway– every single time. There were just too many risks associated with skipping, it wasn’t worth the short-term relief. His mother may suspect something, he’d fall behind in school, his teachers would be even more irritated with him, and his peers would be even more eager to get a shot at him.

Not to mention that even if he did stay home, he’d just be an anxious mess knowing he’d have to return to Aldera the following day. He’d know, that’s what the entirety of his weekends were now; just a countdown until he’d inevitably have to go back to school.

And to make everything worse, he’d almost been followed home twice over the past week– he was starting to suspect that some kids were willing to go as far as to find where he lives just to bother him even more, which was downright terrifying.

He’d conceptualized switching schools multiple times, but he couldn’t help the paranoid thoughts that flooded his mind at the idea. Because what if it was worse? He didn’t know if he could physically handle something worse than Aldera. He just couldn’t . And with the added risk of his academics falling even further than they had already, there were far too many unpredictable variables to justify it. Plus, his mom was busy enough already.

A particularly painful throb in his head dragged him back to the present. He let a tired, inaudible groan slip past his lips as his finger travelled to the side of his head, massaging his temple in an attempt to relieve the tenderness, keeping his head carefully still as he did– even the slight shift of his neck would drive a nail straight into his brain. He vividly felt the lump on the back of his head from the rock some kid had thrown at him in the courtyard– he had him to thank for his persisting migraine.

He stared at his math sheet with unfocused eyes. He’d been keeping up on his schoolwork the best he could the past few days, but his motivation to study had been at rock bottom, which unfortunately translated to doing homework as well. He couldn’t help it– the second he got home, all of his energy was zapped up like a burnt out lightbulb. It was difficult enough to find the motivation to so much as eat or shower. Sleepless nights still haunted him, but sludge wasn’t the only character of his nightmares anymore– demons shaped like people often accompanied him, saying things he’d rather not repeat. He woke up with tears streaming down his face more than once.

He was grateful for his mother, though. He probably would be eating significantly less if she hadn’t been taking the time to make sure they had leftovers in the fridge 24/7. Izuku felt terrible he hadn’t been seeing her as much lately– between his own erratic sleep schedule and his mother’s haphazard hours, it felt like they only see each other for a couple hours every other day. Izuku would be lying if he said it wasn’t attributing to his growing feeling of isolation lately, but he knew it wasn’t her fault. She was just busy, and the last thing she needed was to feel guilty for something that she couldn’t control.

His headache lessened very little as morning classes stretched on. Classes came and went with nothing out of the ordinary– taunts were whispered periodically, random objects were thrown at him and some of his stuff disappeared when he wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t until science class that anything notable happened.

When they occasionally had labs for fourth period, their class would be ushered to a specialized classroom, with high tables and chairs, either on the first story or fourth story. That day, they had to go to one on the fourth story.

The lab itself was about what Izuku expected– he was paired up with random people who occasionally gave him dirty looks but mostly ignored him. He took it as a win, and left instantly when the bell rang for lunch.

He walked quickly down the hallway, straight towards the nearest flight of stairs, since the only locked single bathroom was the one on the first story, and he had to grab his backpack, because students were forced to leave them in homeroom before going to the lab. 

There wasn’t as much foot traffic compared to the lower floors, but Izuku still kept an eye out for trouble. He was at the very edge of the building, so the entire wall to his right was almost entirely made of floor-to-ceiling windows, except for a one-foot slab of wall at the very bottom of each one.

He heard footsteps approaching behind him, immediately tensing. He was about to pick up his pace, but a hand had already had a hold of his backpack strap, abruptly stopping him. His anxiety spikes as he’s roughly pulled backwards, coming face to face with a student he definitely recognizes.

It was a boy in his homeroom class with short, dark blue hair and a horrendous side part. Izuku was very familiar with his quirk– the ability to create flesh-like spikes out of his fists, maybe one of the most dangerous ones in Aldera despite its overall mediocrity compared to offensive quirks usually used by popular villains and heroes. Izuku had been threatened by this kid a few times despite the boy never actually using his quirk on him, which is actually pretty surprising considering the boy’s otherwise calm demeanor. But, needing to prove something can drive people to do things they wouldn’t otherwise do.

This was one of those times.

“What do you want,” Izuku blurted, nervousness and vexation making his voice more wobbly and aggressive than he’d like.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” the boy joked. “And who said I wanted anything, maybe I just wanted to say hi.” His self satisfied smirk betrayed that glass lie.

With his headache still going on strong, Izuku really wasn’t in the mood. “Well if you're done I have to go,” he muttered, trying to go around him. But before he had the chance to, the boy grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with both hands and yanked Izuku back into place, making his head explode with pain. Izuku’s breath hitched sharply, an irrational jolt of panic shooting through him as his hands wrapped around the arms holding him in place.

“What are you in such a rush for?” The boy said, feigning lightheartedness. “No need to be rude, the bell just rang–”

“Let go,” Izuku said, his words clipped as he squeezed the boy’s arms.

The boy’s expression flickered with irritation. “You’re pushier than the–”

“ Let go ,” Izuku snapped, his voice rising. His head felt like it was splitting in two, and his vision was getting blurry at the edges– the extra movement certainly wasn’t helping. He just wanted to sleep. “Let go of me!” he demanded harshly. He tried to yank out of the boy’s grip, but he only yanked back in response. 

“What the hell’s your problem,” the boy snarled, as if he wasn’t the one who stopped Izuku in the first place. Annoyance flared in Izuku’s chest.

“Get off ,” Izuku spat, his migraine nearly unbearable now. Without really thinking about it, he kicked the boy in the knee– hard .

The blue-haired boy cried out in surprise, shoving Izuku backwards reflexively.

Izuku didn’t realize how close to the window he was.

His back hit something solid, but the surface immediately gave, followed quickly by a deafening shattering sound. Thousands of shards of– glass? rained down on him from above, a small, sharp pain slicing across one of his cheeks. He hit the floor, his lower back digging into something sharp. He yelped in confusion and pain, scrambling away from whatever he’d crashed into. Impossibly small shards dug into his palms, making him hiss and lift them from the floor once he was a foot or two back. He glanced at his hands, only to find them covered in blood from dozens of small cuts.

He looked up at what he’d been pushed into.

The color drained from his face.

One of the giant windows directly in front of him was completely shattered, pieces of glass littering the floor around it, a small trail of broken glass leading directly to where Izuku was sitting.

It took several moments for him to process the sight, and several more to process it into words. He was completely frozen, except for how violently he was trembling. His breaths came out in short gasps. He could see the courtyard below from where he was sitting, and the path that led to the front door. It was at least a forty foot drop.

Izuku was overcome by an overpowering sense of height sickness, but he couldn’t look away.

He’d almost fallen to his death.

Take a swan dive off the roof of the building.

He tore his eyes away from the window, finding the blue haired boy standing a few feet behind him. He was wide eyed, nearly as shocked as Izuku.

Their gazes met for a moment, and a new expression formed on the other boy's face.

Horror.

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Inko burst through the doors of Aldera Junior High, striding down the hallway, worry squeezing at her heart as she hurried towards the principal's office. 

She didn’t know much about what happened, just the basics; the school official she’d talked to over the phone had been infuriatingly vague. Inko doesn’t get impatient often, she’d hardly be a good nurse if she did– but in that moment she really wanted to throw something at whoever she was talking to, especially when they had the audacity to tell her to calm down when she wanted more information. God forbid she was worried about Izuku, who’d apparently gotten pushed into a window . She had a horrible feeling about the whole thing she just couldn’t shake, but she decided to chalk it up to anxiety lest she wanted to burst into tears. It wasn’t a far fetched prediction, either, she’d been terrible at taking her medication lately, so she was extra anxious.

But as she walked up to the principal's office doors, she really felt like she was going to burst into tears. You’d think years of nursing would’ve toughened her up a bit, when it came to Izuku’s safety, she just couldn’t seem to hold herself together. 

She’d had that problem ever since she had gotten pregnant with him in her mid twenties. She got teary at every single hospital visit during her pregnancy, even when the doctors said there were no problems, and she’d flip out over the smallest things, like someone bumping into her. Mistuki had to calm her down every other day it seemed like– to this day Mistuki swore that the reason Inko was so emotional was because of the sheer combination of both Izuku and her own emotions was making her go ballistic. Inko didn’t really doubt it– Izuku had taken after her a lot in that way. But a part of that constant worry hadn’t really disappeared, even when he was born, so maybe it really was just her.

She took a deep, steadying breath. Regardless of how she felt, she had to put on a strong front for Izuku’s sake– she didn’t need to stress him out even more than he probably was.

She opened the door to the office, her eyes immediately scanning the room for Izuku. Sure enough, sitting to her right was Izuku, facing away from the door and towards the principal’s desk. On her left, however, were two more people. An older woman with blue hair, likely her age, and a kid with an identical hair color and an… interesting haircut, which she assumed was the other child involved in this incident. Guilt poured from him like a faucet. Usually Inko would assume it was because the whole thing was an accident, but she’d been around long enough to know the difference between innocent, genuine guilt and at-fault guilt. This was the latter. Luckily, his mother didn’t look all too pleased either.

And in the middle of the room behind the desk was a bland looking balding man with light-colored hair, which if Inko remembered correctly, was named Oninaranai Tsukaimon, the principal. Upon making eye contact with her, he spoke.

“Ah, Mrs. Midoriya,” Mr. Tsukaimon drawled. “Welcome. Please take a seat.” He gestured to the empty chair to Izuku’s left.

Inko immediately sat down, not bothering with pleasantries, turning her attention to Izuku. He had his arms crisscrossed and was looking blankly at his feet, his posture unusually slouched. But that wasn’t the first thing she noticed.

He had a large bandaid on the side of his cheek, and smaller ones on his ear, jaw, and nose. Both of his hands were completely bandaged, not an inch of skin showing below the wrist. She was getting an aura from him she couldn’t quite place– anxiety? Surprise? His emotions were more… more muted than usual, and more difficult to read. Her heart clenched, tears gathering on her waterline. But she willed them away almost as quickly as they’d come, replaced by impatience– she couldn’t help but notice that the other kid looked completely fine.

She put a damper on her steadily rising temper, not wanting to assume anything. Her head turned towards the principal. “What happened?” She demanded, though her voice lacked any hostility. She looked the part of an extremely worried mother– which she was. It was best to keep things civil in these situations, she’d learned. She let her right hand land on Izuku, rubbing small circles into his back. He was still ignoring her, making her even more uneasy.

“I’d like to know as well,” the other mother added, shooting her child a dirty look. Inko couldn’t help but gain a little respect for her with that small gesture, especially considering what was implied over the phone.

“Ah, yes,” he said leisurely, leaning back in his chair. “Midoriya and Aohito here got into a little squabble it seems on the fourth floor–”

Inko’s eyebrows shot up, horrified. “The fourth floor?” She interjected.

“Please keep your questions until the end, Mrs. Midoriya– you as well Mrs. Aohito.” Inko tapped her finger impatiently against her thigh. She couldn’t say she was exactly delighted with being spoken to like a child, but she let it slide.

“Like I said,” he drawled, still talking far too slowly for Inko’s taste. “Midoriya and Aohito got into an argument of some kind, during which Aohito here seems to have accidentally pushed Midoriya towards the window.”

“‘Seems to have’ or ‘did’?” Mrs Aohito said, her patience looking to be running thin. Inko couldn’t relate more.

“Well, that is what I’ve gleaned from–”

“You haven’t checked the cameras?” Inko interrupted, confused.

“Er– no, Mrs. Midoriya, there is no need for that. Both of them already admitted to what happened and we had a teacher witness the tail end of it.” He flipped through the pages on his clipboard lazily. “We’ve decided to just label it as a simple accident, so no need to worry about any sort of punishment, but we do ask for future reference that both of you–” he looked at Aohito and Izuku pointedly– “avoid vandalizing school property in the future.” Vandalism? That’s what he chose to focus on?

“So that’s it?” Inko asks carefully, tapping her finger against her thighs even quicker. She noticed that Mrs. Aohito looked as dumbfounded as Inko felt.

“Well, there’s really no need to make a big deal out of this, Mrs. Midoriya,” he responds, as if he were cutting them some sort of break. “You know how kids are, reckless and hard headed. These kinds of things just happen sometimes, there’s no need to treat it as anything more.”

Inko understands where he’s coming from, theoretically, but the whole situation irked her. She wanted desperately to get Izuku’s side of the story, but she bit her tongue. The principal seemed to have his mind made up, and she’d rather talk to Izuku in private.

“And his injuries?” She said curtly, gesturing towards Izuku. She still didn’t like how silent he’d been this whole time.

“Nothing too extreme,” he said loftily. “Just some cuts from the glass, he should be just fine.”

Inko narrowed his eyes on him. She hated how casually he was talking about this– being dismissive was usually one of two things in her field: guilt or disinterest. Both were bad, but the former made her especially anxious. She had talked to this principal once or twice before, but she didn’t expect him to approach things like this so tactlessly. She decided then she definitely didn’t like this man, at all.

She glanced towards the other two. The mother was giving Aohito a dirty look again, and the boy looked guilty and uncomfortable. Contemplating for a moment, she decided to let the boy’s mother take care of his discipline– she didn’t want to make this a big deal if she could help it. Plus, considering how the conversation went, it seemed that Mr. Tsukaimon was convinced Izuku was at fault too, somehow. Pressing any more could end up getting Izuku into unnecessary trouble as well.

“If there’s nothing else, I’d like to take Izuku home,” Inko said flatly, standing.

“Of course, I believe that’s all I needed to say. All of you are free to leave,” Mr. Tsukaimon said, looking pleased.

Inko tapped Izuku’s shoulder. He glanced at her, looking absolutely exhausted. Inko tried to disguise her worry and gestured for him to follow, and he did, standing up. She ushered him out of the room, the other two not very far behind.

As she exited the school, she caught the beginning of Mrs. Aohito’s lecture. “I swear to god, Supaiku Aohito, this is the fourth time I’ve gotten a call about your behav–” the door shut with a click behind Inko, cutting Aohito’s mother off suddenly. 

Inko’s eyes narrowed as she peeked over her shoulder. Izuku’s always been an anti-social kid, and she’d been worried for a long time about his lack of social life, making sure to supply him with everything else he needed to keep himself occupied. She was sure of it now, Izuku was definitely anxious. Maybe he was just tired or not feeling good, he’d nearly gotten into a horrible accident after all.

Accident.

She hoped it wasn’t something else.

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Izuku sat in the passenger seat, staring out of the window, his head resting on a bandaged hand. The first 30 seconds of their trip had been in complete silence– it didn’t last long.

“How are you feeling, Izuku,” Inko asked, badly masking her worry. “Do you want me to make you something when we get home? Maybe a sandwich? How bad are your hands? Can you use silverware or do you need me to–”

“My hands are fine,” he said quietly, still staring out the window. They were taking one of the routes he’d been avidly avoiding. He flinched as they went under a random underpass, basking the car in temporary darkness. Within a second, sunlight flooded through the car window once again. The steadily increasing throbbing in the palm holding up his head was getting hard to ignore, but he didn’t feel like moving.

The rest of the car ride was quiet, surprisingly.

When they got home, they entered the apartment without a word, but Izuku had noticed the fleeting glances she’d been giving him the entire time.

Izuku tried not to think about much of anything until now, but his mind was catching up with him. He kicked off his shoes and headed for his room, but his mother called out to him.

“Izuku,” she called. He turned around to face her reluctantly. She was fidgeting with her hands, looking straight at him with large eyes. He felt a guilty pang in his heart. “Are you okay?” Inko asked earnestly. “I’m still not sure what happened, your principle wasn’t exactly clear. Did anything else happen?”

Izuku pressed his lips together tightly. “I’m just tired,” he said lamely, unable to think of any better excuse. If he was trying to assuage her worries, he was doing a horrible job.

“Are you sure?” Inko pressed anxiously. “You seem–”

“I’m just tired,” Izuku snapped, spinning on his heel and padding towards his room. “I’ll eat later, I just want to sleep.” Without waiting for a response, he closed his door behind him and collapsed onto his bed, disregarding the guilt festering in his chest.

His fingers were still shaking subtly– he didn’t know if it was residual shock from earlier or if it was from how badly they were aching. He hadn't been very careful with the cuts on his hands for the last hour, which wasn’t doing him any favors.

His thoughts wandered back to the window. The blue haired boy looked as shocked as him, guilty, even, after what had happened, but for some reason that didn’t make Izuku feel any better. If anything, it made him even angrier at him. The fact the only time he bothered to feel even slightly bad or guilty is after Izuku almost died was all he needed to know about the boy.

It made him wonder what would happen if he jumped from the roof like Katsuki had said. Would he feel bad, only after Izuku was dead? Would he not care, ignore it, brag about it, or perhaps just forget about Izuku’s existence entirely? How about the rest of his peers? If it had gotten out to the rest of his classmates that Izuku killed himself, how would they react? He had no doubt at least a couple of them would react like the blue haired boy– surprise, and maybe even guilt. But how about the rest? How many would deflect responsibility, tell themselves it had nothing to do with them? How many would just disregard it and go on with their day? How many would laugh ? How many would celebrate ?

It wasn’t exactly encouraging that the only way Izuku’s peers would feel any empathy towards him was if he was a corpse , and some of them wouldn’t spare him any even then.

All because he was quirkless. Because he didn’t have a quirk. It was hard to wrap his head around the idea that someone would completely nullify his value as a living being because of a small– dare he say insignificant difference, something that doesn’t even slightly impact anyone else but himself.

All his life, he’d tried his best to avoid it. If there’s one thing Izuku was genuinely good at, it’d be pretending. Acting like he had a promising future, acting like Katsuki was still just as heroic as All Might, acting like everyone in his life wasn’t praying on his inevitable downfall, acting like he’d have a quirk eventually, that some miracle would happen and everyone around him would finally accept him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to pretend anymore. 

Wishing to not be quirkless was no use. He remembered the first few years of elementary school, when he’d spend every single day researching and trying every single method to awaken a quirk he was sure was in there somewhere. He convinced himself what the doctor had told him was a mistake, that he’d have a quirk eventually. Hours of trying turned into days, which turned into weeks, which turned into months, which turned into years. He remembered how often he’d cry to his mother, or alone in his room, about how unfair it was that everyone else got a quirk and he didn’t. Even his parents had quirks. Everyone else had something special and unique about themselves, and he was just “Deku.” He desperately wanted to prove to everyone else he could be more, that he could be useful, that he could be a hero. That mindset wouldn’t help him now– it never did. He couldn’t expect to meet other people’s expectations when they didn’t expect anything from him.

He used to hope that it’d all just go away. That as he got older, people would start to accept him, see him as a person instead of just some defect. He hoped it was just some childish phase the people around him would grow out of. But they never did. It only got worse, like a wildfire that wouldn’t stop spreading, smoke that wouldn’t stop polluting the air. This was how it was always going to be, he was sure of it now. 

The numbers showed it. He was familiar with the statistics, the suicide rates, the hate crimes. The blatant lack of law enforcement action when a quirkless person is involved in any crime that isn’t a generalized villain attack. The chances of that changing was close to zero.

He knew how minorities work. The smaller they are, the less representation they have. Meaning they don’t get to have a say, or make decisions. Only people who don't understand them get that kind of power; that’s just how the world worked. It would always be a battle of numbers and privilege, and no one will go out of their way for something that doesn’t affect them. It was a combination of avoidance and ignorance. Some people didn’t even know quirkless people still existed. Even if they did, why would you bother fighting for a group of people that’d go almost completely extinct within a few generations anyway? There’s no point, not to them. Not when they’re not the ones feeling the effects.

It’s all about perspective. You can’t feel guilty or obligated to do something about a situation you know nothing about. If you don’t see the color yellow, why would you care whether it’s an eyesore or not? Who cares about overconsuming water if you still have access to it? Who cares about waste when it isn’t being put on a beach you go to? Who cares if someone died in a car accident if you don’t know them? Whether someone takes action towards something completely hinders on whether they truly care about it or not. Some will claim to care about animal cruelty but turn the other way; others will insist they’d help another in need, but when it really counts, they leave, hoping another will do it instead. Because it’s too uncomfortable to go out of one’s way for someone or something else when it doesn’t personally affect them. That’s why Heteromorphs are more likely to defend each other than a quirkless person, and that’s why people with overactive quirks are more likely to defend another with an overactive quirk than someone with a heteromorphic quirk. It just goes around and around, further dividing people whose differences only lie in appearance or ability. The amount of people missing out on so many meaningful interactions because of passive societal segregation is shocking. 

People say that differences are what make us unique, but sometimes it does more harm than good. “No one’s perfect” and yet when someone is portrayed as “perfect” makes a single mistake, they’re the devil. You’re either too dumb, too ugly, too lazy, too unskilled, too rude, too tall, too short, too loud, too quiet, too large, too small, too pale, or too dark. People will always find something to hate about another person, and that one feature becomes all they are. It’s funny how a single negatively-perceived trait is enough to disregard every good thing about a person, even if said negative trait is completely outside of that person’s control.

This is made obvious in hero society. Izuku has seen it daily in interviews, new reports and media outlets. It’s a constant bipolar pendulum between “they can do no wrong” to “they can do nothing right”. People with booster quirks are seen as deadweights, heteromorphs are said to be unpredictable or untrustworthy, unique or situation-specific quirks are seen as one-sided. A hero can have a flashy quirk, an amazing persona, a perfect record, but they’re either too ugly or too dense or too cringy or too attention starved. People who are different from others aren’t allowed to have flaws. They have to be perfect, and even then they’re never quite good enough. They’re mistakes are unforgivable sins, despite being a regularly forgiven occurrence among common society.

Then you have the other side of the equation. Some people are worshipped like gods by certain groups no matter how many mistakes they make. It doesn’t matter, because they’re cool or strong or they have “potential”, so nothing else applies to them. They hurt someone? It’s not a big deal. Say something offensive? You’re being too sensitive. You’re told you're over dramatic or nitpicky or selfish for expressing your opinion, while they’ll hate a different person for the same exact reason. It’s the epitome of hypocrisy, but some people will never see past it, because they would rather stay ignorant than step out of their comfort zone or expend the energy to put themselves in another person’s shoes.

And the worst thing is, there’d always be people like him– defective people who never developed a quirk factor for some unknown reason, due to some unknown mutation during conception. People who are born from quirkless families will become instinct, and there will only be the unlucky few left who weren’t loved enough by fate to be given a gift everyone else had. Outcasts. Mistakes. That’s why it’d never get better, nor would the problem disappear. It’d just repeat over and over for the select few who were unloved by even their own genetic code.

That was the reality of his situation. And he dreaded it. Because there was a chance that everything he’d done, all the effort he’d put into trying to be a better version of himself, even slightly, might all be for nothing. And that was more terrifying than anything.

He buried his head in his hands, biting his trembling lip hard enough to bleed. He was trapped, he’d always be trapped. Maybe not in a cage, or a room, but in a world. In a world that hated him. And they did, that’s what it was. Pure, unadulterated hatred. Katsuki expressed it more, but he saw it in the eyes of almost everyone that looked at him. The disgusted stares of his peers, the smugness of his tormentors, even the quiet disdain in the eyes of his teachers.

He was tired of being the odd one out. It was unrealistic, selfish, even, but he didn’t want to be quirkless. He didn’t want to be different or unusual. He didn’t want to be what he was. A defect .

He wished he had a quirk, more than anything else. It didn’t have to be heroic, or useful, or noticeable. He just wanted to have something . Maybe then he'd have the opportunities that other people have, maybe then he’d be seen as something more than a bother. Maybe Katsuki would still be his friend. Maybe then he wouldn’t have the word “Quirkless” staining his record, directing his life straight toward rocks instead of the open sea.

He just wanted to be like everyone else. He just wanted to be normal .

Was that really too much to ask?

As tears ran down his cheeks, he didn’t bother finishing his train of thought. 

Because he already knew the answer.

Chapter Text

Inko peered at her planner through narrowed eyes. Various papers, documents and sticky notes were spread across the table, about as organized as her schedule. In short, it looked like a tornado had touched down right in the middle of her dining room.

She expected to receive some good news about her schedule, but she was evidently very mistaken. Her supervisor sent her yet another lengthy email that morning about how sorry she was about having to continue giving Inko the most wayward hours possible, with a warning that it may get even more random– somehow. Inko didn’t know how that’d be physically possible, but she wasn’t too excited to find out.

The hospital had been severely understaffed for almost a month and a half now due to a mass firing of almost a third of their nursing staff and two of their main doctors due to a colossal embezzlement scandal, which is why her hours had been increased so acutely with almost zero warning. She went from working steady 40-50 hour weeks to an upwards of 70 hours per week. Her schedule hadn’t been the same week-to-week ever since the whole thing started, so any remnants of a routine had long since withered and died. The whole thing had been jarring, to say the least.

She usually made a point to get very stable and very specific hours so her and Izuku can spend as much time together as possible, or at the very least know when she would and wouldn’t be home; that had always been her number one priority, even though it was a lot more difficult when Izuku was younger, since she had a lot less say due to her lack of seniority in Musutafu Central Hospital back then. But now her hours were basically out of her control, and she felt like she was back to square one.

She considered transferring hospitals a few times in the last month, but ultimately decided against it. The surrounding hospitals had significantly less benefits and lower pay, and transferring to a hospital outside of Musutafu would mean she’d have to relocate. She’d have to pay moving costs, a new deposit, invest time into finding a new place, and she’d have to transfer Izuku to a brand new school in the middle of the school year. All in all, not a realistic option, she hardly had free time as it was.

So on top of that mess, there was Izuku. He’d been acting… strange lately, worryingly so. He looked exhausted all the time, and he hardly spoke. He hadn’t ranted about heroes, quirks, or showed her anything in his notebooks for well over a month. At first she thought that he’d just messed up his sleep schedule again pulling all nighters– she still remembered the first time that’d happened when he was in third grade and Inko kept catching him staying up into the wee hours of the morning for weeks. It took a lot of convincing and threats of taking away his All Might merch to get him back on a half-decent schedule. But this wasn’t that.

Her other assumptions were that maybe he was worried about Katsuki, or disheartened because he withdrew his application to UA, but she wasn’t so sure about those anymore either. She tried to talk to him about it, asking him what was wrong, but he shut her down every time. That alone was enough to make her uneasy, because Izuku never completely avoided her like this. He, bless his heart, always tried to make her feel better even when he himself wasn’t feeling good. He had a habit of “stretching” the truth as Inko called it, and though it was frustrating, she understood that his intentions were good.

So she knew something was wrong this time around. She didn’t want to push him too hard or come off too strong, but he was looking worse every day. She had this horrible feeling that she was failing him, but she just couldn’t figure out what exactly the problem was.

To make matters worse, she got his mid-trimester grades that morning– and for lack of a better descriptor, they were terrible. He was barely passing most of his classes and failing one of them. Izuku’s grades were never outstanding, not since he got to middle school. She always knew Izuku was smarter than he let on or let himself be, but he never let them get this bad. She was beginning to wonder if he should get him back on ADHD medication, maybe even something for anxiety. If he was anything like her, he definitely had some form of anxiety disorder, and he was diagnosed with ADHD when he was very young. His doctor took him off medication originally because he said Izuku would be fine without it, but Inko wouldn’t mind getting a second opinion. 

His grades combined with his recent behavior was making her think he may be developing some form of depression, too. It ran on her side of the family, unfortunately– she’d know.

But she knew it wasn’t just genetic, she wasn’t an idiot.  And between how exhausted Izuku seems to be after school most of the time and the “vandalizing” incident from a little less than a month ago, she didn’t know what to think, especially since Izuku still refused to say anything about it outside of saying exactly what the principle had– that it was “just an accident.” She wasn’t one to jump to conclusions… but she had a feeling.

She found herself dialing Izuku’s school before she could overthink it and change her mind. The phone buzzed as she placed it against her ear, waiting for someone to pick up. After a few seconds, someone did, signaled by a quick beep of her phone being answered.

“Aldera Junior High,” a woman’s voice said on the other side of the line. “This is Marei– er, Zui speaking. How can I help you?”

“I’d like to speak to the principal,” Inko stated, keeping her tone light but otherwise getting straight to the point. “My name’s Inko Midoriya.”

The woman hummed in acknowledgement. “Reason for calling?”

“Just a few concerns I need to talk to him about,” she said smoothly, fidgeting with her free hand.

“Understood. Give me one moment please while I transfer you over.”

She waited a few more moments until another voice appeared.

“Principal Tsukaimon speaking,” a familiar voice said, his voice just as apathetic as it was the last time she talked to him.

“Hi, it’s Inko Midoriya.”

“Ah, Mrs. Midoriya,” he said blandly. “What do you need from me?”

“I was actually wondering, uhm…” Inko paused, not really sure what she wanted to ask. “Is there anything going on with Izuku at school?”

“Hm? What exactly do you mean?”

Inko blinked, trying to collect her thoughts. “I mean, like… is he getting along alright with his classmates and his teachers? He seems a little off lately.”

“Everything is fine,” he says boredly. “Nothing out of the ordinary has been reported since that last little mishap.”

“Are you sure?” Inko pressed. “His grades are lower than normal. If anything weird’s happening with him I want to know.” She hates getting pushy like this, but she really didn’t know what else to do. Plus, Mr. Tsukaimon would live. She wasn’t exactly his biggest fan, considering how he’d handled last month's “mishap” as he called it.

“Midoriya’s grades have never been great,” he droned, sounding less than concerned.

Inko’s irritation flared. “They’ve never been this bad either,” she snapped.

Mr. Tsukaimon heaved a sigh on the other line, which didn’t do wonders for Inko’s growing annoyance. “You know how teenagers are, puberty and all that,” he explained. “Kids these days are always getting distracted by other things, not taking their future seriously. Kids his age always have moments like that, it's not as rare as you’d think.”

Inko frowned. “You’re certain? His homeroom teacher hasn’t noticed anything at all?”

“Look, Mrs. Midoriya,” he said dryly. “Midoriya’s always been a quiet kid– not really on the noticeable side, he usually blends into a crowd, you know. I’m in constant contact with my teachers, they’d let me know if something notable happened. I assure you, Mrs. Midoriya, he’s just fine. Maybe it’s because he’s approaching high school; that kind of thing is stressful for some of the kids, especially the ones with a little harder time in school.”

Inko deflated. Could it really be something as simple as that? She considered it, especially since he’d been banking on UA since he could speak. Maybe withdrawing his application hit him a lot harder than she thought.

“I-I see,” Inko said quietly. “Thank you for your time Mr. Tsukaimon.”

“Happy to help, Mrs Midoriya. Have a good day.” 

The line went dead.

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Weeks had passed since Izuku’s run in with the blue haired boy. It was half way through the first trimester– and nothing had so much as slowed down. Izuku wasn't sure he could be shocked by his peers’ behavior anymore, and the last month and a half had quickly become his new normal. And yet, somehow, it still hadn’t become any easier. You’d think he’d be used to it by now, it’d been weeks after all. But no, of course he wasn’t. It was still just as nerve wracking going to school as the day Katsuki had chased him down and gifted him that giant burn, if not more so.

It was a Thursday morning, and Izuku was getting dressed in his bathroom. The morning air chilled his skin, clinging to the remaining moisture on his forehead from that morning’s nightmare, which made him wake up a good hour before his alarm. Despite being up for about thirty minutes, sleep still hung over him, his eyelids heavy and eyes dry. He hated getting up in the morning, since usually the first thing he’s greeted with is an all-too-familiar feeling of overwhelming dread.

Sighing, he tossed the last of his unwrapped bandages in the trash. The burn on his back was completely painless– no more aching, itchiness when his clothes brushed against it, or jolt of pain when he stretched the skin over his shoulder blades. Only the vague, occasional discomfort of faintly scarred skin. It shouldn’t have taken so long to heal, but considering all the extra “movement” he got at school, he wasn’t at all surprised. He would be relieved to finally have the bandages around his torso gone, but that quick, momentary feeling was immediately swarmed with everything else.

He glanced towards the mirror at his shirtless form. You could clearly see the variety of colors covering Izuku’s exposed skin. His entire torso and the majority of both his arms were littered with bruises and the occasional burn, a cacophony of yellows, purples, reds and blues spread across his skin like a bad finger paining.

Every time he saw them, the same thing came to mind– it could be worse. It could always be worse. It's the same thing he thought yesterday, the day before that, the week before that, the month before that. Sure, it could be better, but he chose not to think that way. It wouldn't get him anywhere, and his delusions have caused enough harm already.

He disregarded how his ribs were more prominent before, or how dark the circles under his eyes had become as he slipped on his abused school uniform. It was slightly ragged, despite being just over a month old, but due to the color it wasn’t noticeable unless you looked closely.

He felt sick to his stomach as he finished getting ready, the same ritual that every weekday followed now.

It didn’t take him long to reach school, and the next thing he knew, he was hiding in a small crevice in the corner of the gymnasium, his heart skipping a beat every time someone so much as passed through the room.

On his way to his class, he kept his head down, like usual, praying no one noticed him, making special care to walk on the side of the hallway without windows, even though he was on the first story. 

Without warning, something blunt but pointy smashed into his side, making him hiss with pain as his shoulder slammed into a nearby locker because of the sudden force. Izuku’s head snapped to the side, just barely able to catch a boy passing him, a smirk on the boy’s face. His arm, which had been propped outward, was covered in large, dull, spine-like ridges, like that you’d see on an Acrocanthosaurus.

Izuku let out a long, bitter sigh as he rubbed his throbbing forearm. Armored ridges on his arm, good for both defense and offensive blunt-force trauma. He wouldn’t be a half-bad sidekick if he wasn’t an insufferable douche bag with zero talent or ambition outside of shoulder checking people in a hallway.

He winced, unsure where that came from. He didn’t quite feel guilty, though– it wasn’t like the comment was undeserved.

When he finally reached his desk, he noticed his classmates had added a little creative touch to the morning’s display: along with the regular spider lily, “null” was written on his desk in red, bold letters diagonally towards the upper right corner in permanent red marker. If you peered a little closer, you’d see faint marks of blue and red across the surface of his desk from badly erased markers, and small scratch marks that would occasionally spell words. The only reactions his teachers had to the previous derogatory comments on his desk was that he should “stop provoking other students” or that “they didn’t know who did it” so there was nothing they could do– he assumed this time would be no different.

As he went through his morning classes, he kept his eyes fixated on his desk, his hands never resting. Whether he was fidgeting with his pen, worksheet, textbook, hair, or his own fingers, he found the day much more bearable if he was moving his hands in some capacity. It gave him something to focus on, a distraction. Even if he sometimes found himself doing that instead of schoolwork. 

He had to be careful about it though– he nearly got detention during social studies last week because he didn’t realize he’d been loudly clicking his pen for several minutes. Safe to stay he stuck to using pencils or capped pens now– the retractable pens were simply too tempting to fidget with, and way too noisy. Luckily he could still fidget with them at home, though. He even started carrying them around the house when he was pacing. He was fortunate his mother wasn’t home lately, she’d probably think he’d finally lost it.

He heard a few of the usual derogatory remarks that morning: “null,” “blank,” “quirkless,” “useless,” “loser,” and “deku” were by far the most common. He hears them so often you’d think one of those was his actual name. They were followed by the occasional, “just kill yourself already,” or “you should’ve listened to Bakugou and jumped.” It was very recent that a couple of the kids in his class gathered enough courage to suicide bait him during class, though. Usually they just said that kind of stuff in the hallways, where there was less adult supervision. If Izuku were to venture a guess, they probably just got sick of not being able to find him outside the classroom. He was good at hiding, after all. He’d been nearly found in his hiding spots a couple times, but he was able to evade his peers one way or another.

He vacantly wondered what would realistically happen if he actually went through with it. If he jumped off the side of the building, and one of the students or teachers found his body on the pavement. Or if they found him covered in his own blood in the bathroom.

It was morbid, he knew that, but he couldn't help but linger on it. That if he were to hypothetically take that way out, would there be an investigation? Would they just rule it as a run of the mill teenage suicide? He wondered if Katsuki or his teachers would be nervous, knowing that if they were found at fault, it could permanently alter their futures, just like being quirkless permanently altered Izuku’s.

Or maybe they’d be relieved, and think they were just fine. After all, they didn’t make him do anything. Even though Katsuki told him to do it, in the end, it was Izuku’s choice right?

Perhaps they’d try to cover their tracks, keep their lips sealed, especially Katsuki. Would he be worried that other students would let it slip about what he did and jeopardize his future as a hero, or would he be overconfident in that way he always seemed to be, sure that the police would take a promising hero’s word for it over the corpse of a quirkless kid? After all, Izuku knew plenty of people in his life who’d probably defend Katsuki’s actions, despite knowing everything, in hopes of “preserving his bright future.”

Because to some people, the past means nothing. But only when it benefits them.

A darker part of Izuku, on the other hand, wondered how Katsuki would react if the blonde was the one who found his body. Would he be disgusted by Izuku’s weakness, that he’d taken the easy way out? Pleased that he’d taken his advice? Ashamed, maybe, that the so-called hero prospect indirectly took a life before he even managed to save one? He almost couldn’t bring himself to envision the last scenario– it just seemed so out of character. But somehow, the thought of making Katsuki feel ashamed of himself in any capacity was strangely tempting; even if there was a chance that after he killed himself everyone would simply forget about him, and he’d just become another statistic, just like all the other quirkless teenagers.

The thought of his mother finding his body, however, was enough to make him drop the topic, guilt piercing his heart like a knife. What the hell was he even thinking?

An English assignment was plopped onto his desk, offering him an escape from his uneasily dark thoughts. For the next two hours, he refused to think about anything else except schoolwork, even managing to finish a piece of social studies homework he’d been avoiding since yesterday.

At one point Katsuki started monologuing in the middle of science, interrupting Izuku’s short period of productivity.

“I don’t need to learn shit from you extras,” Katsuki barked, in response to something Izuku hadn’t fully heard. “I just need to finish this shitty year already. UA already invited me to do the entrance exam– no surprise there, everyone and their mother is invited if they bother to apply. The real challenge is passing the actual exam.”

Izuku gripped his pencil a little tighter. He’d love to tune him out– unfortunately Katsuki was one of the loudest people he’d been around, so it was pretty much impossible. Izuku let out a tense exhale, accepting his fate.

“Honestly, it’s kind of sad,” Katsuki scoffed. “Giving a bunch of extras false hope like that. ‘Giving everybody a chance’ is how they explain accepting such a huge number of applicants just to deny 95% of them– what a load of bullshit. They have a good idea who’s going to pass and who’s not the second they see those damn applications.”

One of Katsuki’s henchmen from the other side of the class, the brown haired one, added, “Yeah, they’d probably deny someone like Deku on the spot.”

Izuku tensed, not daring to tear his gaze from the paper on his desk. He felt eyes on him instantly, an intense feeling of claustrophobia suddenly washing over him. Of course they brought him up.

“No shit,” Katsuki said, his tone unbearably smug. Izuku knew he was looking at him, but he refused to meet the blonde’s eyes. “Giving up on that shit is probably the smartest thing that  nerd's ever done, not like that’s fucking saying much.”

“It would’ve been hilarious, though,” the brown haired boot licker went on. “Going into the UA exams without a quirk? I think I’d die of embarrassment.”

“For some reason I don’t think you’d fare too well with that quirk either,” he muttered bitterly under his breath. He froze, the room falling into complete silence. Did he say that out loud? He didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he glanced upwards, his shoulders tense. The brown haired boy was staring at him, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Before long, giggles rang out across the class, making the boy’s cheeks turn even redder. The look of surprise on his face quickly melted into aggression as he glared at Izuku.

Izuku hurriedly returned his gaze to his paper, trying to hide the amused smirk growing involuntarily on his lips. In any other situation he would’ve felt guilty for accidentally embarrassing someone, but in all honesty, he considered it a victory. Well, besides the fact half the class was staring at him, he wasn’t a fan of that part. He should've known better than to draw attention to himself at all. Idiot, he mentally chided.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be as bad as going in there quirkless, but you gotta admit, he kinda has a point,” the other boot licker was saying, obviously trying not to laugh.

Katsuki snorted loudly. “Compare all your shitty quirks to quirkless Deku over there all you want, none of you have a chance in hell of getting into UA.” A few indignant protests rang out throughout the classroom, the topic of conversation miraculously directed away from Izuku.

But even when the teacher shushed the class after a couple minutes of loud arguments, one pair of furious eyes remained fixated on Izuku, and it wasn’t Katsuki this time.

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Unfortunately, Izuku’s usually short commute to the locked bathroom was even shorter. He could barely make it down the first hallway before the brown haired henchmen basically appeared in front of him.

“You got somewhere to be?” He snarled, failing to put on the smug act Katsuki excelled so much at. He had short brown hair, cut bluntly mid-neck, with narrow, plain looking eyes. His name was Nagayubi, but most people called him Nagayu. And yes, Izuku did in fact know Katsuki’s “friends’” names.

If he was being honest, he knew most of the names of the people in his grade. He’d been in the same school district since he was small, so he picked up on the names of the people around him some way or another, even after he’d been outcast by those very same people. Attendance, random conversations in the hallways, etc. Izuku had to find entertainment in some ways in his early days of isolation, and that’s exactly how he did– eavesdropping. It was a bad habit, especially considering he’s heard things he really wanted to forget because of it, but that’s the best he could get back then. Before he discovered writing, but he didn’t have that anymore either.

But, despite his accursed good memory, he chose to pretend he didn’t know anyone’s names. Teachers, peers, old friends, acquaintances. For some reason, it’d always been easier to digest their harsh words and equally harsh hits if there wasn’t a name to associate them with. It felt less personal when he pretended they were just faceless background characters in his life instead of recurring reminders of his inadequacy.

This especially went for Katsuki’s two lackeys, Nagayu and Bonsetsu– they basically acted like extensions of Katsuki’s limbs anyway, so he referred to them as simply that. It sounded petty, but it gave Izuku a little satisfaction to think of them as mindless followers instead of actual people. Strangers instead of a pair who’d been intimately tormenting or ignoring him for most of his life. In a way, it really was true, though– he really didn’t know any of them anymore, not even Katsuki, and they didn’t know Izuku either. They really were only strangers.

“What do you want,” Izuku asked, not bothering to act sheepishly. In all actuality, he didn’t find Nagayu to be that intimidating. Compared to Katsuki, and even some of the other kids at their school, he was pretty unimposing, nearly as scrawny as Izuku was. And he was one of the ones that annoyed Izuku the most– he in particular always rode on Katsuki’s coattails, benefiting off Katsuki’s “fame” and attempting to copy the blonde’s overconfident personality; unconvincingly, Izuku might add. He’d done so ever since they were in preschool, back before their other friend, Tsubasa had gone missing and was replaced with Bonsetsu. He was cowardly, and he could never stand on his own two feet. He wasn’t as useless as Izuku, but he was dangerously close.

“You’re ballsy today,” Nagayu spat, shoving Izuku weakly in the shoulder. “What, you think you’re suddenly some kind of hot shot for pointing out the obvious?”

Izuku’s eyes narrowed. “You mean how you could never get into UA with a finger elongation quirk? Do you really hate being similar to me that much?” They were in the opposite direction of the cafeteria, so there weren’t a lot of people in the hallway, but the people that were were beginning to stare.

Nagayu’s eyebrows dug into his eyelids, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You really think I’m similar to you? At least I’m not some quirkless nobody– I’d rather kill myself than be like you!”

“I’d rather have no quirk than a quirk that just makes my fingers look like oversized popsicle sticks,” Izuku responded sharply, even if he wasn’t being completely truthful any quirk would be better than no quirk. 

Nagayu had always been self conscious about his ability. He used to be teased constantly for having “popsicle stick fingers” in elementary school, so it was a sore subject for him. Izuku even used to try to comfort Nagayu when he was younger. Just the thought that he tried to make the boy feel better was enough to make him grind his teeth together. “What, is your ultimate move the ability to poke someone in the eye from a distance?” He added condescendingly– for good measure.

Nagayu’s face contorted with rage, his cheeks turning a flaming red. Izuku wasn’t sure what his goal was in provoking the boy like this, but he couldn’t help but be a little proud of his success. Maybe he was good at something after all.

Nagayu grabbed his collar and practically leapt at him, slamming Izuku against the floor, knocking the breath out of him. Izuku squeaked upon hitting the floor, more out of surprise than fear. Nagayu was now completely on top of him, most of his weight pressing against Izuku’s chest. The boy was fairly light, but having a whole person on top of him wasn’t making it easy to breathe.

“I don’t want to hear that shit from a quirkless waste of space!” Nagayu yelled, slamming his fist into Izuku’s face. He couldn’t punch even half as hard as Katsuki, though, so it barely dazed him.

To his own shock, he actually found himself laughing. He had no clue why, but this whole show Nagayu was putting on was suddenly hilariously ironic. Who exactly had scorned Izuku for trying to prove his uselessness wrong before? And now it was the other way around, just because of a little comment. Were their egos really that fragile?

Izuku blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in demeanor. It’d happened this morning too, with the spiky-armed boy. Was he going insane or something?

Nagayu apparently didn’t find it nearly as funny as Izuku. Screaming random curses, another fist hit Izuku’s cheek. Still, it didn't hurt that much, but it’d definitely bruise. Several more hits rained down, and Izuku was starting to get a little dizzy– the yelling that was steadily rising in volume in the background wasn’t helping. Something warm dripped down his cheek– it was suddenly difficult to breathe through one of his nostrils. He heard more unfamiliar yelling until eventually the weight of Nagayu’s body was pulled off of him.

He blinked away the lightheadedness and got to his feet on instinct, his legs a little wobbly. In front of him, Nagayu glowered at him, being held by an arm by their English teacher, who looked even more pissed than Nagayu. There was a small crowd of people surrounding them, some horrified, some that looked like they wanted to laugh.

Izuku felt his face, immediately greeted by a wetness dripping from his nose. He glanced at his finger, smeared with blood. Great. He felt his nose bridge carefully– it didn’t feel broken, luckily, but it was definitely bruised, along with a couple spots on his cheeks. Even his molars hurt a little. Maybe Izuku didn’t give Nagayu’s punching enough credit– but the boy also hit him half a dozen times. Which just proved how much of an idiot Nagayu was– even Katsuki knew not to aim for the face.

“This behavior is unforgivable!” The English teacher began, her tone icy. “You two should know better! You, Nagayu– if you keep getting into fights, I will mark it on your record! And Midoriya,” she barked, snapping her head towards him. “Stop instigating fights, get a hold of yourself and act your age! I’m not afraid to report you too!”

He had to admit the instigating part actually happened to be accurate for once, but still, he wasn’t too worried about being reported. One, if they actually wanted to mark it on the students' records they’d have to pull the footage, which they would see as an obvious case of physically unprovoked assault, which could hurt the school’s reputation if anyone dug into it. Two, the teachers didn’t care enough. Three, the teachers were lazy. So, as long as Izuku didn’t fight back or defend himself, they wouldn’t report fights with normal students. As for Katsuki in particular, they simply wouldn’t report it because he’s “gifted” and “has a bright future”, whether Izuku fought back or not. Not like fighting back against Katsuki would do anything; in fact, it’d just make him more angry.

“Now get yourself cleaned up,” she snapped to Izuku. “You're getting blood all over the floor. And you–” she glared at Nagayu. “I expect no more outbursts from you, I could hear you from three doors down!”

Izuku didn’t wait for her to repeat herself. He grabbed his backpack off the floor and pushed through the crowd, and hand pressed against his still-bleeding nose, and rushed to the bathroom, feeling a bit more tired now after some of the adrenaline had worn off. He felt a headache developing, and needed to get all this blood off his face. He hated the sticky feeling of it, and it was way too close to his mouth for comfort.

He decided to take the most straightforward path to the bathrooms, since by now everyone was usually at the cafeteria and he didn’t want to give students from the crowd an opportunity to follow him. He’d had enough action for today. He still had no clue what had gotten into him earlier, but he certainly didn’t want to repeat it with someone who could throw punches better than Nagayu.

He should’ve just taken the long way.

Right as he turned a corner, an arm wrapped around his neck from behind. He yelped in surprise, his hands jumping to source. His attempts to pry them off were futile, the arm only squeezing harder, cutting off his airflow almost completely. He quickly loosened his grip after that.

He became aware of the other sounds around him– whispers, giggles, undoubtedly male voices. His eyes darted around as he yanked backwards, towards the direction he was already walking. He could hardly get a glance from how fast he was being dragged, but he saw multiple boys trailing him and whoever had him in a chokehold, their heads on swivel. His heart dropped.

He was just about thrown into the bathroom, the one with the lock that he always hid in. He hit the floor, hard, but ignored the dull pain in his side from the fall. He scrambled to his feet, backing towards the far wall just in time to see four boys run in after him, closing the door behind them– and locking it.

He stares at them, aware that his face was turning white, his heart rate accelerating rapidly in knowing apprehension. The two boys towards the front were relatively normal looking– one with smooth white hair and glasses, which Izuku was pretty sure who grabbed him, and another with unruly, sandy red hair, not unlike Izuku’s own if it was wavy instead of curly. The boy who’d come in last and locked the door, had short, spiky black hair, piercing blue eyes and sharp, shark-like teeth.

And in the back, looking a little nervous, was the kid with blue hair who nearly pushed him out of that window– Aohito.

And now Izuku was not only cornered but locked in the bathroom with them. His heart hammered in his chest, fresh blood still drying on his face.

He felt like a rabbit who was caught in a bear trap.

The black haired boy spoke first, whipping his head around to look at Izuku with a wolfish smile. “Looks like we hit the jackpot.” Izuku flinched upon meeting his eyes, taking a half-step back. He wasn’t acquainted with these students in particular, since they were in one of the homeroom classes on the third story, if he remembered right, but he recognized them. They had a… reputation, you could say, not unlike Katsuki’s own.

And they definitely weren’t the kind of people you should be locked in a bathroom with.

“Took us long enough to catch him,” the white haired one said. “You're more slippery than I thought, I’ll give you that, null,” he added, looking directly at Izuku. He swallowed nervously. 

“Uh, guys,” Aohito said, sounding surprisingly unsure. “I don’t really know if this is a good idea.” He was avoiding Izuku’s eyes. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” the spiky haired one barked. “Its been long enough, they won’t even know you had anything to do with it. It’ll be our word against his. Plus,” the boy glanced towards Izuku, flashing him a sharp toothed smile. “I doubt little Deku here will tell anyone.”

Izuku winced, taking a reflexive step back. He was really screwed this time, wasn’t he?

“So, Deku,” the spiky haired boy began, walking lazily towards him. “What’s it like being quirkless? Is it kind of like having a disability? Or is the only thing you get from it being weirdly unnoticeable? I mean, either way, that’s gotta suck– it's like being stuck in the past,” he drawled, his voice soaked with mock sincerity.

“Yeah, don’t quirkless people have two toe joints?” The white haired boy jumped in. “It basically means he’s less evolved– my mom says people like that are dumber too, since they’re closer to monkeys than modern day humans.”

“Maybe we should test whether he’s actually quirkless or not– maybe we could beat a quirk out of him,” the sandy haired boy offered. No thank you, I think I’m okay, Izuku thought, trying to ignore his steadily rising panic.

The spiky haired boy’s hand shoots forward, grasping at Izuku curls and yanking him, until their face is inches apart. Izuku just stared, terrified green eyes meeting violent blue. He didn’t know how eyes could be so different from and yet exactly like Katsuki’s.

“Let’s not write him off yet,” he announced with a venomous smile, staring directly into Izuku’s soul. “Maybe he still has a shot at all that hero stuff– I mean, you were so sure you could do it not that long ago, right, Deku.” He didn’t respond. His tongue felt dry, and his throat felt like it was closing up.

A foot slammed into Izuku’s chest, sending him careening into the wall behind him. Some of his breath left him, and his scalp ached where the boy had yanked his hair, but he kept his eyes locked on the boys in front of him as he barely managed to stay upright. The last place he wanted to be right now was on the ground. The spiky haired boy was still standing within a few feet from him.

“But what would we call him,” the sandy haired boy pondered performatively, tapping his chin. “How about… ‘Deku the Useless Hero?’ Or, oooh, even better, ‘Null the Nothing Hero.’ Pretty fitting, don’t you think?” Laughs echoed across the bathroom, making Izuku feel suddenly nauseous.

The spiky haired boy’s fist smashed into Izuku’s gut, making him keel over. If he wasn’t nauseous before he definitely was now.

Without even giving him a second, the boy grabbed Izuku by the collar and pinned him against the wall again as he gasped for breath. Izuku kept his hands down at his sides instead of grasping at the boy’s wrists– they were trembling too violently to help him in this situation anyway.

“Come on, Deku, have a little faith,” the spiky boy said lightheartedly. His fake tone of voice was like nails against a chalkboard. “Maybe your power is to spread your quirklessness or something, now that’d be terrifying.”

He saw the boy rear back his fist, bracing himself. The world tilted as his head snapped to the side, pain exploding across his already-bruised cheek. Tears stung his eyes like fire. This one didn’t punch anything like Nagayu– he might even punch harder than Katsuki.

The pressure around his collar released, and unable to hold up his own weight, he slid down the wall, hitting the ground with a thump. He cupped his cheek, staring up at the boy standing over him with panicked eyes.

“Show us something Deku!” The white haired boy cheered from behind. “Show us that hidden quirk, it's in there somewhere!” The two boys in the back laughed hysterically, but Izuku couldn’t look at them. His eyes were frozen on the spiky haired boy.

He clicked his tongue, peering at Izuku like a piece of meat. “Man, maybe you are just defective. Such a disappointment.”

The white haired boy trudged up next to the black haired one, looking unimpressed. “You’re not acting like much of a hero, you know.” He showed a quick flash of teeth nearly as white as his hair before his shoe connected with Izuku’s jaw. Blood hits the tile, and his vision went white for a moment, ear ringing. He tasted copper in his mouth.

“Maybe it’s for the best you gave up that pipe dream,” the spiky haired boy mused. “You couldn’t amount to anything anyways– much less a hero.” He wasn’t bothering to hide the hostility in his voice anymore.

Another fist cracked across his face like a hammer, slamming his head back into the wall behind him. Stars burst across his vision, fire spreading through his skull. He clutched his face, warm liquid flowing freely every which way, pooling in his hands.

“At least fight back, this is your chance to make your parents proud for once in your life!” The sandy-haired boy taunted. Izuku desperately tuned them out, squeezing his eyes shut.

Someone drove a heel into his stomach. He was curled up on the floor now, erupting into relentless, hacking coughs as he tried to draw breath. Icy cold fear flooded his veins, the steady ringing in his ears morphing into a deafening buzz. Block spots began to overtake his vision, making it almost impossible to see.

“I thought you were obsessed with playing hero– where’d all that heroic potential go!” One of the boys sneered, followed by even more laughter, melting together like a torturous chorus.

Hits landed on his back, his stomach, the back of his head. An overwhelming sense of sudden exhaustion hit him like a truck. His limbs felt numb, his head was buzzing as if a swarm of bees had crawled through his ears.

At one point, their overwhelming presence fled back, not by much, but they were no longer on top of him. He still heard them– they were farther away now, but still in the bathroom. They were laughing about something, no longer talking to him, but to each other. Until the spiky haired boy spoke up, his voice carrying in Izuku’s direction.

“You’re so pathetic it's funny,” he snarled. “But you’re impressive, in your own little way– because if I were you, I would’ve killed myself a long time ago.” One final obnoxious bout of laughter carried across the bathroom, then slowly trailed off, until the sound of the bathroom door closing cut it off completely, leaving Izuku in sudden quiet.

For a while, all Izuku could hear was the vague sound of water dripping periodically from a faucet. Various aches pulsed across his body in waves, a strange balance of numbness and pain. Cotton had been stuffed so thickly in his ears he barely heard the lunch bell ring, staring unseeingly at the bathroom door.

Finally, the darkness at the corners of his vision finally closed, bathing him in a peaceful void so unlike the blinding white floodlights on the ceiling.

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Izuku didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the bell rang, ripping through his skull like a dagger. He let out a strangled groan, grimacing at the sharp pangs that rang out across his body when he so much as flinched. His limbs were stiffer than stone, his body aching fiercely as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His head felt weightless and yet too heavy for his neck. It took a moment for his vision to stop spinning as he stared across the bathroom, unable to focus on anything specific. It didn’t take him long to force himself to his feet.

At first, he felt surprisingly fine, until he stumbled and his knees almost buckled beneath him. He grabbed the edges of the bathroom sink just in time to keep himself from face planting. His vision went completely black for a second, his hand clinging to the sink desperately through a terrifying few seconds of complete numbness. But light slowly returned and the sudden numbness faded as quickly as they'd come, followed by a faint buzzing in his ears. The lightheadedness, however, remained. For a moment, he thought he might pass out again just from that. He blinked, trying to will away the fog that settled stubbornly behind his eyes. His brain felt light years behind his body.

He heard the sound of dozens of footsteps outside the bathroom– wait, was school out already? Did he seriously sleep through all his afternoon classes? He heaved a sigh, regretting it quickly as his ribs protested vehemently to the movement. That was going to be a fun one to explain to his mom. Unfortunately that was the least of his worries at the moment.

He limped towards the door in a rush, one of his knees throbbing terribly. He flipped the lock, the events of the previous hours coming back to him. That must’ve really done a number on him if he’d actually passed out for hours. The fact people were willing to take things as far as those couple of boys did terrified him. A part of him didn’t want to accept that what had happened a couple hours ago had actually happened. Unfortunately the pain that still lingered was proof enough.

He limped back to the sink, turning towards the mirror and immediately cringing at his appearance. Seeing his reflection was like a jumpscare– he looked like a homicide victim, something you’d see on the news, not in a middle school bathroom mirror.

Half his face was slathered with blood, most of which was from his nose, which had been flowing freely after he passed out; probably the reason why he was so lightheaded. His entire face had blotches of blue and purple all over it. One of his eyes were surrounded with such a dark purple it looked almost black, the entirety of one of his cheeks were now a pale purplish-red, and one of his lips were badly split. His teeth ached, his entire face was tender, and he felt like he was going to pass out again just from the ruthless headache that was beginning to kick in. Not to mention the fact he was becoming aware of how difficult it was to breathe, pain blooming in his side every time he did.

How the hell am I going to be able to hide this from mom? He gritted his teeth. That was a problem for future him.

First thing’s first– he needed to get all the blood off his face. If he left it on for any longer, he was going to claw his skin off. Adjusting the sink water until it was luke-warm, he splashed the water over his bruises, not expecting his entire face to explode with pain; his split lip in particular stung like fire. How could a seemingly small cut hurt so much? He bit his cheek hard enough to bleed to stop himself from crying out. After the pain died down, he went back to trying to get the blood off his face, more careful this time. He rubbed his cheeks in soft circles, powering through the agony every time his fingers so much as brushed the surface of his bruised skin.

Sure enough, the blood began to work its way off, until finally his face felt mostly clear. He washed out his mouth with water while he was at it, just to spit out a concerning amount of saliva-diluted blood. After a moment of feeling around his mouth, he had several cuts around his cheeks and insides of his lips. That was going to be fun to eat with.

As he stared at his shabby appearance in the mirror, reality started to hit him all at once.

“Maybe you are just defective.”

His breaths quickened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of the sink. Flashes of phantom pain snapped across his face, as if he’d just gotten punched. But no one was there. It was just him. 

“You couldn’t amount to anything anyways– much less a hero.”

A visceral agitation builds up in his chest– the more he tried not to think about it, the more aggressive the flashes got. He felt sick to his stomach, something solid crawling up his throat.

“If I were you, I would’ve killed myself a long time ago.”

He needed to leave. He couldn’t be in that bathroom a moment longer.

He pulled his backpack on, pressing his ear to the door to make sure the hall was quiet. Assuming it was all clear after a couple seconds of relative silence, he yanked the door open with shaking hands and hurried out into the hallway, heaving breaths. His vision was swimming, but he ignored it, heading in the general direction of the exit.

He didn’t want to be in that school any longer.

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Katsuki’s palms itched with vague irritation as he wandered across the school, which had been quickly deserted after the bell had rung several minutes earlier. However, Katsuki was in search of a certain someone– he needed to take out his anger on something, after all, and Deku was the perfect person-shaped punching bag.

But he was starting to get impatient. He had been wandering around this shitty place for longer than he liked, searching for that shitty nerd. Surprisingly, the goodie-two-shoes had skipped out on afternoon classes. But, he knew how the damn nerd thinks. He wouldn’t have gone home, since the goddamn mama’s boy would’ve had to explain to Auntie Inko why he came home early. If Deku was anything, he was a coward. So, here Kastuki was, trudging around like an idiot trying to find the green-haired bastard. Which was making him more annoyed which made him want to punch the nerd in the face more.

Just as Katsuki guessed, he caught a glimpse of wild green hair, so dark it was almost black. An animalistic smile spread across his face– found you.

Katsuki strode straight towards him. Coincidentally, the shitty nerd wasn’t paying attention whatsoever, speed walking across the hallway with his head down. That made it easier for Katsuki.

He sunk his fingers into the nerd’s shoulder, the nerd flinching violently when Katsuki touched him. Katsuki spun him around, keeping his hand firmly around Deku’s shoulder so he couldn’t run away like last time. Before Katsuki could so much as utter a threat, the words caught in his throat.

He came face to face with Deku’s battered face, fully developed bruises covering at least a fourth of it, dark enough to make his otherwise ugly-looking freckles almost completely invisible, with a very noticeable split lip. The nerd was panting, his breath coming in and out in uneven wheezes. His eyes were blown wide with more fear than normal, but it wasn’t directed at Katsuki. It was as if Deku was staring straight through him, not quite at him; it was creepy as fuck.

Usually something like that would piss him off, he hated it when the self satisfied freak acted like he was too good to pay attention to Katsuki, but this was different. It was just… unsettling. Like Katsuki was looking at a ghost– or like he was the ghost.

“What the hell happened to you?” Katsuki blurted.

For a moment, Deku did actually look at him, like he’d finally snapped out of a trance. But he quickly averted his eyes, ripping his shoulder out of Katsuki’s loosened grip with a wince.

“I fell,” the nerd said, his voice hoarse, high pitched and breathy– borderline hysterical.

It was the most obvious lie of the fucking century, even an infant would be able to call him out. I fell? Katsuki was pretty certain his senile, dementia-ridden grandma could come up with a more convincing lie on the spot. 

But, Katsuki, too taken aback to challenge it, basically just stood there as a deer in headlights as Izuku practically sprinted-hobbled away, disappearing around the corner at the end of the hall.

Katsuki swore he didn’t have the limp the first time he saw him.

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The panic attack didn’t fully take hold until Izuku got close to his apartment.

He’d half-limped half-speed-walked home, breathless and dizzy the entire time. It was remarkable he didn’t pass out or fall on his face at least once.

As he approached his apartment, his anxiety tripled, his heart racing so quickly he was terrified it might actually give out on him.

That’s when he realized that his mom might be home.

His stomach flipped. She couldn’t see him like this, no way in hell was he going anywhere near her right now.

In his panic, he went around the side of their apartment building to check if his mother’s car was parked in its spot. If she was home, he couldn’t possibly go back right now, not without having to explain what happened and risk having all his lies revealed. He was having a hard enough time trying to find out how to hide the bruises on his face from his mother without her seeing them in broad daylight the second he walked through the door.

Her parking spot came into view. Her car wasn’t there. She wasn’t home.

Izuku wasted no time bursting into their apartment, his hands barely steady enough to get his key in the door. He stumbled inside kicking off his shoes blindly, already unbuttoning his blazer with trembling, sweat slicked fingers.

His skin itched, his mind racing nearly as fast as his heart. His head pounded fiercely like a drum, completely stalling his mind every time it throbbed. His vision blurred periodically, his eyes going in and out of focus. The pain that surged across his body was enough to make him want to jump into a pool full of ice water just to calm it.

His breaths came and went in labored, desperate gasps as he made his way to the shower, ripping off his blazer.

Claustrophobia clawed at his mind– he'd never felt more of an urge to rip his own skin off than he did right then. Grime and sweat and the remaining blood he didn’t get off his hands and neck clung to his skin like a million tiny ants, all burrowing under his flesh and making homes underneath his skin.

He tore off the rest of his clothes in a blur, turning his shower on full pressure and jumping in.

The water burned against his skin, pain searing across his body as the near boiling water made contact with the various bruises, burns and cuts scattered across his body, but he didn’t care. Anything to get the bugs out from under his skin.

Steam billowed around him, thickening the air and rushing into his lungs and nose, making him  even more breathless than before.

He shut his eyes, letting his back slide down the slick shower wall until he hit the ground, putting his head between his knees as his fingers gripped his hair. Burning hot water rained down on him, the sounds of thick droplets hitting the shower floor muffling the sounds of harsh breathing.

Thoughts he wanted nothing to do with plagued his mind, like a mob forcing its way through a barricade.

There’s a reason this is happening to you.

Blood, sludge and burnt caramel-scented nitroglycerine mixed together in his nostrils, making his eyes water more than they already were.

It isn’t anyone else. You’re the problem. You.

Pain radiated across his body, daggers slicing into his flesh and hot irons digging into his skin. He just wanted it to stop.

There’s only one way to fix it. Only one way for you to stop being a burden.

The words, the thoughts– it was too much. He was feeling too much. It was crushing him.

No one would mourn someone with no value.

He dug his fingers into his scalp. He just wanted it to stop.

Pray that you'll be born with a quirk in your next life, and take a swan dive off the roof of the building.

A choked sound escaped his throat before he could stifle it. His chest began to heave in ragged bursts, tearing through his lungs. It wasn’t loud, or dramatic– they were the kind of disparaging, wracked sobs that hurt more than they helped.

Izuku was just glad his mom wouldn’t hear.

He didn’t know how long he sat in there, only that he remained in the same position long after the water had gone cold.

Eventually he found the strength to turn off the now ice-cold water, and step out of the shower. He hazily found the nearest pair of pajamas to his door when he entered his room, slipping them on numbly. He paid no mind to the bone deep cold soaked into his muscles, and how intensely his face throbbed.

He slumped onto his bed, barely bothering to drape the covers over himself.

Izuku felt his eyelids droop as his brain began to fill with fuzz.

He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.

A small part of him didn’t want to wake up.

Chapter Text

Izuku skipped school Friday, more out of necessity than anything. The bruises covering his face stood out so contrastingly against his pale skin it was impossible not to notice them. For almost the entire weekend his face throbbed relentlessly, and he was swollen like a puffer fish. And for some reason, his split lip was the most painful part. He vaguely remembered getting a split lip when he fell down the stairs when he was seven, but he didn’t remember how his mother treated it. So he just put a bandaid over it and hoped for the best.

Izuku was, miraculously, able to hide the bruises from his mother. Due to some absolutely perfect timing and their clashing schedules, he was somehow able to avoid any face to face conversations for the entire weekend. He pretended to be sick, making sure to sound consistently tired (which wasn’t really acting) and retreating under his blankets if she came into the room so she didn’t see his face, but talked to her through the door when he could, just to be safe. It helped that Inko was working day shifts or sleeping pretty much the entire weekend. 

He felt guilty for avoiding her even more, even though they already weren’t seeing each other often, but he didn’t have a whole lot of choice– unless he wanted to come up with a flimsy excuse for why his face was covered in suspiciously fist-shaped bruises. His mother would take his word for it most of the time, but she quite wasn’t that trusting that she’d believe such an obvious lie as “I fell.”

He’d waited with baited breath for the inevitable confrontation on why he missed afternoon classes on Thursday, but if his mother knew, she didn’t mention it. Odd– but maybe the teachers didn’t tell her. He wouldn’t doubt it, they barely told her anything, unless he needed to be hospitalized. But his mid-trimester grades had probably come in the mail by now and he hadn’t heard a peep about those either. Maybe she was just that busy.

The rest of his days off were spent sleeping, or in bed, not really having the energy to get up and do anything besides occasionally grabbing some ice and a snack. He ignored how out of it he felt, figuring it was just residual from what happened on Thursday, which he still hadn’t mentally addressed and wasn’t planning to. He’d much rather pretend it didn’t happen. Was that healthy? Probably not. Did he care? Also no.

Despite being tired for basically all 24 hours of the day, Izuku didn’t exactly relish in the idea of sleeping. His dreams were now filled with blood and taunts, along with the usual sludge, burnt caramel and spider lilies. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept peacefully, if he was being honest.

When Monday rolled around, however, he was forced to accept that it was a lost cause to hide his injuries at school. His bruises had lightened slightly over the weekend and with an amazing amount of icing the swelling had been reduced considerably, but they were still painfully noticeable. He tested in the mirror multiple times different ways to hide the bruises under his bangs, but it was no use, especially the ones on his cheek and by the corner of his mouth. He slapped a comically large white adhesive patch on his face and hoped that would be good enough.

Izuku felt like he was running on autopilot as he made his way to school. His anxiety wasn’t quite as overpowering that morning, replaced by a sort of uncanny sense of numbness and resignation. He didn’t mind, though. It was better than feeling like his heart was about to explode.

When he arrived at Aldera, he did the exact same thing as usual. Hid until two minutes before the late bell. Threw out the day’s spider lily. Disregarded the large words in scribbled permanent markers on his desk. Ignored the occasional taunt or whisper regarding the bruises on his face. He couldn’t focus that morning whatsoever, his mind was too scrambled, even though he wasn’t thinking of anything in particular.

When lunch time finally arrived, Izuku didn’t return to the bathroom. Now that other kids were aware that was a frequent hiding spot for him, it was compromised. Instead, he did the same thing he’d usually do at the beginning of the day and found a random hiding spot. He slunk through the hallways, avoiding any popular routes and taking as many detours as he needed to in order to avoid other students. He eventually happened upon the janitor’s closet, a tiny, cramped room at the very edge of the school, opposite from the cafeteria. None of the staff used it, and it could be locked from the inside. It was incredibly dusty and smelled faintly of mildew, but Izuku didn’t complain. He just sat on the floor, waiting for the lunch bell to ring.

The rest of the school day was just him going through the motions. A taunt here. A thrown object there. His mind felt blank as the end of the day approached, and he lacked his usual amount of overwhelming unease. Before he knew it, school days began to pass in a blur.

Clocks jumped from number to number sporadically, so different from the unbearably slow passage of time that had occurred for the last month and a half. 7:01. 8:14. 10:02. 11:32. 11:55. 2:29. Days and hours and minutes melted together in a flurry of exhaustion and numbness, disorienting but strangely comforting.

Oftentimes his mother wouldn’t be home when he got off school, or she’d be sleeping. So he just went to his room and laid on his bed. Sometimes he slept, sometimes he just stared off into space. When he did fall asleep, he vacantly wished he’d stay that way, that the next day would just decide to never come. But, without fail, his peace was always disrupted– sludge, cruel laughter, burning caramel, the incessant beeping of his alarm. But, the bits of panic and fear would quickly melt away into numbness once again. 

After each time, he’d sit up, and his eyes would land on the clock on his desk. 1:48AM. 5:16AM. 7:02AM. Before he knew it, his eyes were resting on a new clock, an analog one that hung on the center of the frontmost wall behind the teacher’s podium. He read that one with just as much absentminded ease as the digital one on his desk. 7:34. Someone spoke to him– no, at him, but he didn’t hear what they said. 9:09. His desk jolted, as if something had hit it. He didn’t know what. He didn’t care to look. 10:21. Another sheet landed on his desk. He didn’t realize he already had two blank ones sitting under the new one– when had they gotten there?

His mind was constantly clouded, time passed too quickly, and things didn’t feel quite real. He’d find people talking to him when he blinked, even when he swore they weren’t there a second ago. Comments targeted towards him went unheard, even ones by his teachers. He just stared at the clock, his face propped up against his hand. He knew how he was acting wasn’t normal, but he was too sleepy to question it. 

During class, he’d get the occasional push, or shove, or miscellaneous object thrown at him. It hurt mildly when they managed to hit him in the face, but the pain faded quickly. The yells in the halls didn’t bother him so much anymore, since most of the time he didn’t hear what they said. He wasn’t sure they were even directed at him, but based on the previous weeks, he just assumed they were. Sometimes he’d be sitting at his desk, and realize one of his shoulders were aching or that a bruise was developing on his arm, not quite remembering how he got them. It probably wasn’t important.

Days passed, each one just as insignificant as the last. Katsuki had been acting strange, avoiding him, but Izuku had hardly paid it any mind– he was just glad the boy was keeping his distance.

Despite his tendency to lose track of time, he was almost always the first to be out of class before lunch and when school was let out, more out of instinct than anything. His feet carried him where he needed to go, and somehow and some way he ended up home at the end of the day, immediately rushing to his room to keep his mother from getting a good look at him, using homework as an excuse. It wasn’t necessarily a lie to say he had a lot of homework to do, he did– but he just wasn’t doing it. He wasn’t too worried about his teachers reporting him for it either. If they were going to bother to tell his mom about his recent habit of slacking off, they would’ve done so already.

After a week of letting his bruises settle, he raided his mother’s cabinet, specifically her makeup. Eventually he happened upon her concealer, exactly what he’d been looking for. Which hurt a good bit to apply, he discovered. Prodding at his already tender face wasn’t fun. But, since the swelling was basically nonexistant, you wouldn’t be able to notice anything was off unless you looked closely. He made sure to add some convincing looking freckles, since it’d be a dead giveaway if one whole cheek was suddenly missing them. He wouldn’t be able to avoid his mom much longer without making her suspicious, so he hoped it was good enough. It also made his eyebags look significantly better, too. He’d keep that in mind.

Not long after, he finally had dinner with her for the first time in over a week. He made sure to act more lively around her, even if the acting was perpetually exhausting. She was obviously stressed, more about work or him, he wasn’t sure. So, he talked to her as he normally would, steering away from the topic of heroes or school or writing. He assumed he was convincing enough, since by the time they were done eating, she looked at ease– almost relieved even. It made him feel a little guilty. He didn’t know why. If anything, he should be happy to assure her worries. So why wasn’t he?

Another week passed, and he found himself staring thoughtfully at the new spider lily on his desk. Instead of immediately throwing it away, like he’d done for nearly two months before that, he sat down, picking it up carefully. He examined its petals in mild fascination. The vibrant red became even more so when the overhead lights hit it just right. When he twirled the flower between his fingers, it was almost mesmerizing how all the wayward petals blurred together into one bulbous shape.

When the teacher entered the classroom, announcing the beginning of homeroom, Izuku slipped the flower carefully into his desk drawer. He didn’t feel like walking back up front. Plus, even for their purpose of ill will, Spider Lilies were beautiful flowers. It’d be a waste to just throw it away.

Each day started with that now. Izuku would sit down and peer at the new spider lily on his desk, admiring it. Then when the teacher walks in the room, he’d put it in his desk drawer with the one from the day before. He hadn’t realized how tiring it was getting to trek up to the front of the room every morning. Being able to just collapse in his seat was a nice change.

During one particularly boring lecture in science, they were talking about the toxicity of certain kinds of plants. It made him vacantly wonder how many of the spider lilies in his desk would he need to ingest for his body to die of hypotension. Would it hurt? Or would it just feel like he was falling asleep? He knew that spider lilies were laced with some kind of chemical that specifically causes gastrointestinal problems. How did that affect different body types? Would it be more effective on someone who was older or younger? How about body mass? Muscle density? Nutrient intake? He didn’t really know, he was never that interested in flowers before this.

It’s not like many people would bother to mourn him if he tested it.

He was tempted to do some research on it purely due to curiosity, but he knew the second he got home he’d lose interest, and that familiar feeling of heaviness would pull him towards his bed, like it always did. He rarely tried to fight against it, unless it was to shower. It just depended on whether the itching or exhaustion would win that night.

Entranced in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the smirks and pointed giggles directed at him during the lecture. And if he did, he promptly forgot about it.

Within a few more days, the bruises on his face were all but healed. But despite this, he made sure to put a dab of concealer under his eyes anyway, just to assuage his mother. It really did make him appear far healthier, giving the illusion of color to his otherwise pale face. He was surprised he’d never noticed how ghostly the blue-ish black that hung under his eyes made him look. At the same time, he had made it a point to avoid his reflection. Realizing how crappy he was looking wasn’t a great way to start his day, on top of everything else. It made him wonder why he suddenly didn’t care that much.

That very same day, he was pulled aside on his way back from that day’s lunchtime hiding spot by two students he couldn’t bother putting names to. They were saying something, just variations of the same repetitive few insults he’d been hearing, with the occasional shove or intimidation tactic.

He couldn’t repeat exactly what they said if he tried– he was too preoccupied staring at the flower pot in the corner of the hallway. The flower itself was sagging and losing color, as if it had been neglected, but some parts of its petals still had a beautiful purple hue, with a little splotch of bright yellow towards the center of the flower. It had six main petals, two layers of three overlapping one another, flared outward. It was smoother and less complicated than the spider lily, but still pretty, despite its poor health.

At one point, the two boys badgering Izuku had left, leaving him standing in the hallway, alone.

Later in the school day, Izuku found his thoughts lingering once again on the flower he saw in the hallway. He guessed it was a Japanese Iris, though it was a little hard to tell because it was wilting. His mom would take him to this cute little flower shop every once in a while, usually just to window shop, but sometimes to pick up some fresh Wisteria. Inko had always loved flowers, she’d wished for as long as he’d remember for a yard so she could grow a garden one day. Which was precisely the reason why there were so many potted plants in their house. Izuku never complained though, they looked nice, and a few of them smelled really good too.

Hey, Deku!

He wondered if he should go out of his way to water the Iris he saw earlier. It was obviously being neglected, and it wouldn’t take too long. But what if it was already too late? He knew that at some point plants are too damaged to recover from a lack of water, but he didn’t have enough first hand experience with them to know what that looked like. At the same time, it didn’t really matter, trying wouldn’t hurt. Worst case scenario, it’d make absolutely no difference for the poor thing.

Shitty nerd, anyone home?!

Problem is, he never usually carried a water bottle with him. With how much he got thrown around by his classmates, it was too risky to chance water spilling all over his stuff hero analysis notebooks.

Hey, are you fucking ignoring me?

When he got thirsty he just drank out of the water fountain or the bathroom sink, which wasn’t the most sanitary, but it worked. But he couldn’t exactly transport water with his hands for the Iris, it was too far down–

De–

“-ku!” Izuku blinked and looked up, surprised to see Katsuki standing in front of his desk, with a confused and mildly– unnerved(?) look on his face. It was an unusual expression to see on the blonde.

Izuku sat in awkward silence for a few seconds before he realized the other boy was expecting him to speak. He made a half-hearted attempt to clear his throat.

“Were you saying something?” he asked, his voice hollow. Katsuki blinked at him dumbly, looking at Izuku like he was reading a book in a different language. 

After a moment of Izuku staring back at him with a tired, quizzical look, Katsuki scoffed before turning on his heel, muttering, “Nevermind, damn nerd, I don’t have fucking time to deal with you.” He trudged out of the classroom, his lackeys quickly following his lead while snickering about something he couldn’t quite make out.

He glanced at the clock. 2:57. School was let out two minutes ago. Strange, he would usually have left already. He assumed he just got too caught up in his head.

He shuffled out of his seat, heaving his backpack over his shoulders, wanting nothing more than to sit back down and fall asleep right then and there. What had he been thinking about again?

It probably wasn’t important.

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Katsuki tapped his finger annoyedly on his desk.

The nerd was acting fucking weird, even weirder than normal. Usually, he was irritatingly loud, muttering about god knows what and acting far too spiritedly for a dejected quirkless loser. He’d always had the stupid hopeful expression on his face, as if he had a sliver of a chance to accomplish anything of value, the egotistical bastard. It made Katsuki want to punch his face in.

But lately, it’d been the complete opposite, which somehow pissed him off even more. He had the stupid blank look on his face constantly, and he wasn’t even bothering to act like he was paying attention anymore. He’d just stare at the fucking wall for some reason. At first glance, you’d think he was a statue or something. He’d completely ignore pretty much every stupid comment the extras made, like he didn’t even hear them in the first place. Same thing with Katsuki– every time the blonde would try to get his attention, the fucker would just act like he didn’t hear him. He’d been skipping lunch for months now, and every time Katsuki would follow him to see where the hell the loser was scampering off to, the nerd would turn and corner and he’d just disappear. Like a fucking witch or something. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought Deku had developed a damn disappearing quirk.

It started after Katsuki found the prick after school looking like he got jumped by a gang. Deku stayed home the next couple days, and then came back to school the next Monday looking like he hadn’t slept in several years, and somehow the bruises on his stupid face looked worse. And Katsuki wasn’t buying the shitty “I fell” bullshit, he wasn’t blind, the bruises were clearly caused by a person. So the nerd had somehow managed to get his ass beat. Katsuki had no clue how he’d spin this one to Auntie Inko, but he came back to school, so he must’ve come up with something. Naturally Katsuki decided to keep his distance for a while– he didn’t need some other kids’ work being pinned on him. It was their dumbass fault they made the bruises so damn obvious. But, of course, the teachers didn’t say anything. The lazy fucks could give less than a damn about any of these damn extras. But, it worked out for him, so he couldn’t care less. Anyone who needed coddling was just as useless as Deku anyway.

But the weirdest part of the nerd’s behavior was what he did in the mornings. For the last week or two now, everytime Katsuki walked into class, he had a stupid ass flower in his hand, always the exact same one. He didn’t know shit about the nerd except his stuck up attitude and his irritating obsession with heroes (which had also been absent lately– only took the nerd long enough to give up on that pipe dream), but he was pretty sure he’d know if the fucking nerd took up flowerpicking as a hobby. That is, until the brown haired extra Nagayu brought it up.

“I guess he’s finally appreciating the gifts,” Nagayu snickered, floating around Katsuki’s desk like a gnat along with the other extra, Bosetsu. Katsuki was really tempted to tell them to buzz off and go back to their own stupid desks since class was about to start, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes at Nagayu. “What’s the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He demanded.

Nagayu blinked at him dumbfoundedly, his expression bordering on amusement. Katsuki was two seconds from giving him a reason to wipe that stupid look off his face, but held his tongue for now. “Wait, you don’t know? It’s been a recurring joke our class has been doing for months now,” he said, lowering his voice as if he was keeping some kind of special secret. It was pissing Katsuki off.

“Why the fuck would I go out of my way to listen to what you stupid extras say?” Katsuki snarled.

Bosetsu rolled his eyes– looks like the extra really wanted to get his face blown off. “Yeah, yeah Bakugou,” he said nonchalantly. Katsuki was extremely tempted to punch him in his stupid face. But, he allowed Bosetsu to explain. “So basically Gankyu–”

“Who?” Katsuki interjected. Why the hell did these extras always expect him to know the other extras names?

Bosetsu pointed to Katsuki’s right, and the blonde followed as his finger landed on a bald boy. Oh. They were talking about Eyeballs. That extra pissed him the hell off with that useless ass quirk, not much better than the damn nerd actually, even though the guy will show off his creepy ass quirk to anyone who bothers to look. What could the use of pulling your eyeballs out of your sockets possibly have, besides pursuing a career in the damn circus industry?

“That guy,” Bosetsu went on. “Had the idea to put a Spider Lily on Deku’s desk every morning. Everyone takes turns finding one and putting one on his desk before he gets to class. The couple of times he didn’t show up we had to hide it before the teachers came in. It’s pretty funny to see his face when he sees it, though, so it’s worth the extra effort.”

“Why?” Katsuki spat. “It’s just a dumbass flower.”

Nagayu snorted, stifling a laugh. Katsuki felt a vein pop in his temple. These damn extras were just begging to be blown to pieces. “No Bakugou– Spider Lilies represent death or whatever, so it's actually just a roundabout way to tell him to end it, if you know what I mean. It was a pretty genius idea, actually. “ Katsuki stiffened.

“And based on how he’s been looking lately,” Bosetsu added with an amused chuckle. “He looks like he might actually go through with it.”

“Yeah, maybe we should make a bet on how long it’ll take him to finally slit his wrists– he already looks like a walking corpse anyways, it’s kinda creepy, actually,” Nagayu snickered.

They kept going back and forth after that, but Katsuki had long since tuned them out. He stared out of the corner of his eyes at Deku, who was twirling the morning’s spider lily lightly in his grip with a blank, tired expression. The nerd, who was usually an open book, was impossible for Katsuki to read.

The teacher walked in soon after, with his droning voice and stupid balding head, dispersing the extras around his desk. Like clockwork, he watched as the nerd opened the drawer to his desk and put the flower inside, before closing it and resuming his usual slouched position, his eyes staring forward unseeingly.

Katsuki ripped his gaze away, ejecting the visual from his mind, disregarding how tightly he was holding his pencil.

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The end of the day came quickly, Nagayu and Bosetsu once again soliciting at Katsuki’s desk. Izuku had been the first to leave the class after the bell rang, but even though the two extras mentioned it, Katsuki had no interest in following him this time around.

“You know,” Bosetsu was saying. “That new arcade opened up, we should–”

“I have to stay back and ask the dumbass teacher about something,” Katsuki interrupted. “Go without me, I’m busy.”

Nagayu sighed dramatically. “Geez, man, you’re such a perfectionist. I know you’re aiming for UA in all, but with your quirk, your grades don’t have to be perfect y’know. You gotta learn how to take it easy sometimes.” Katsuki glared in response, making Nagayu look slightly uneasy.

“Alright alright,” Bosetsu said, grabbing Nagayu by the arm and heading towards the door. “But if you end up finishing early, meet us there or text us or something.”

“Yeah yeah,” Katsuki snapped. The door shut with a quiet thud.

Katsuki jumped out of his seat, striding straight to Izuku’s desk with an unexplainable sense of urgency. He peers at the nerd’s vandalized desk scrutinizingly, only just now getting a closer look at it. Various slurs and insults Katsuki had come up with over the years were scattered across it, some of them smeared as if someone had attempted to wipe it off. Katsuki clicked his tongue in annoyance. Unoriginal losers, couldn’t they come up with anything on their own.

Katsuki ripped open the desk drawer with more force than necessary, his eyes locking on its content. A peculiar sensation made itself at home in Katsuki’s gut.

Almost completely filling the drawer were dozens of identical flowers, most of them slightly smushed from the cramped space, with the same curved and curled petals as the ones Izuku stared at every morning. The oldest ones towards the bottom were withered and a dull purple, with the newest ones being only slightly duller but still an obvious red. The latest one, however, was towards the side, its petals still maintaining their brilliant red color. 

Katsuki’s throat went tight. If you were to ask him why, he genuinely wouldn’t be able to tell you.

Without really thinking about it, he grabbed as many flowers as he could carry in one hand, including the latest one, and slammed the desk drawer shut. He snatched his backpack from off of his chair and shoved the flowers into the trash next to the door. He didn’t spare them a second glance as he slammed the sliding door behind him.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later.

Inko scrambled for her keys in her purse, standing just outside her front door. It’d been a stressful day at the hospital: management had messed up a few of their nurses' work hours so they were even more understaffed than usual that day. Plus, the front desk workers weren’t keeping up on the paperwork, and they had an extensive backlog of patients constantly. By the time her shift ended, she was half-tempted to yank all of her hair out in hopes of relieving even a fraction of her pent up frustration. 

It really wasn’t helping that her purse seemed to have turned into a bottomless pit, and for the life of her she couldn't find her keys. It was probably around one in the morning now, if she were to guess, so it was pitch black– she just had to dig around in her purse aimlessly and hope for the best. As if the universe had finally decided to give her a break, her fingers brushed against the cool metal of her keychain. With a decisive swipe, she plucked the keys out of her purse. Swiping through the keys haphazardly, she shoved what was probably the correct one into the door handle, and with a soft click, the lock disengaged. She swooned at even the thought of being able to bury herself in her warm bedsheets– which she probably needed to wash days ago. Inko heaved a dramatic sigh as she pushed open the slightly creaky door to her apartment.

Immediately upon stepping inside, she scanned the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. The living space was devoid of life, if you don’t count the plethora of potted plants scattered about. Which she probably needed to water.

Inko wasn’t exactly expecting Izuku to be out in the living room, but there were a few times where she caught him eating crackers in the wee hours of the morning recently. His sleep schedule was probably messed up from her sporadic hours. She sighed, guilt poking at her heart. He already had a difficult enough time sticking to a set schedule, so it didn’t feel great that she was probably making it even harder for him to stay on a good routine right now, not when she was all over the place.

She was itching to go check on him, but she didn’t want to wake him up either: Izuku had always been a light sleeper, and even more so lately. Even a slight creak of his door was enough to make him stir.

She set her purse down on the counter and headed towards the fridge to make sure Izuku still had plenty of leftovers. She opened the door, frowning. He did still have plenty of leftovers– too many. She knew she wasn’t imagining it, food wasn’t disappearing quite as often lately. And it wasn’t just because she hadn’t been home a lot.

A familiar coil of anxiety twisted in her gut. If she was being honest, a big part of why she was so anxious lately wasn’t just because of work– it was about Izuku too. She was worried about him, really worried.

A couple weeks ago, Izuku started acting– well, normal. It wasn’t a very significant difference, given that she’d been away a lot more as of late, but it was noticeable. He was more cheerful, talkative, and all around seemed to be in a better mood– nearly back to his old self, before all the UA and Sludge Attack things had happened. He even looked better– his face was healthier, and more full of color, despite that split lip he said he’d gotten from tripping in the hallway. It was relieving at first, like an invisible weight had been lifted off her heart. She let herself believe that things were going to be okay, and she and Izuku would get through this stretch no problem, just like they always did.

But looking back on it, that was ridiculously naive of her.

The change in mood had happened too fast– way too fast, like Izuku had flipped a switch. Not to mention he still had that tired look in his eye, even if his eyebags were less prominent. She realized this within days, so she started paying more attention, looking a little closer. After a couple weeks now, she was sure; he felt off. She didn’t even know how to put it into words. It was like when she looked into his eyes, really closely, something was missing. Usually, when Izuku was feeling badly, it was like she could feel his sadness. And heartbreakingly, she had plenty of familiarity with it throughout her years of raising him, specifically since he was diagnosed quirkless. When he was feeling down after coming home from school, or when he was getting lonely, or when he was discouraged, she could almost always feel it, as if his emotions were her own– for better or for worse.

Even now, the memory of after he was diagnosed was still burned into her brain, when he was sitting at that computer chair far too big for him, crying while a video of All Might played in the background, one he’d watched hundreds of times before. For some reason, seeing him like that was just too much for her to bear: she burst into tears right along with him, as if she was the one whose whole world had been destroyed by the news.

But this was different. She couldn’t get much of anything from him, like they were disconnected, or like Izuku himself was. It sounded stupid, she knew that, but something wasn’t right, she swore it. That horrible gut feel she’d had weeks ago had tripled now, to the point that she couldn’t get it out of her head.

And yet, she was too afraid to bring it up to him. Something about him was fragile right now, and she wasn’t in a position where she could stay with him to pick up the pieces. She couldn’t risk confronting him and making the problem worse just to leave him to deal with it alone. She wanted nothing more than to write up a rushed resignation letter and stay attached to Izuku 24/7, but being homeless would just make things harder on both of them. And she refused to risk Izuku’s future on a rushed, split second decision. As maddening as it was, she was going to have to stay put. She hoped this mess at her workplace wouldn’t last much longer.

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If you were to ask Izuku how he was feeling, no matter what time of the day, he’d say tired. Because lately, that seemed to be all there was.

The weight of exhaustion dragged incessantly at his heels, wrapping around him like an unbreakable chain, filling his brain with slime. It was that kind of bone-deep exhaustion that feels more like death than a lack of sleep, the kind that made you want to sleep forever, the kind that made you want to never wake up. Everything felt like a chore– walking, talking, blinking, breathing.

Oftentimes, he felt disconnected from his own body, like he wasn’t fully conscious. Reality and illusion had switched places– his dreams were vivid and memorable, while everyday life was a swirl of incomprehensible events, a little blurry at the edges. Sometimes he had to convince himself that things were real, that he wasn’t in just one, drawn-out nightmare.

It didn’t help that he was constantly shadowed by a quiet dread. It wasn’t overwhelming, or even prevalent, but it was always there. Sitting in his chest like silt, numb and unclear but impossible to completely ignore. It was there when he was awake, when he was asleep, when he dreamed. It was one of the last things that kept him rooted, one of the only constants in his life besides his exhaustion. Even his mother wasn’t so much of a constant anymore– she was exhausted too, for different reasons, of course, but that didn’t change that they’ve spoken three times in the last week.

He tried to dissuade his sleepiness a couple times, attempting to force energy into his system. He tried to eat more, only to lose his appetite after three bites. He tried to write about anything that came to his mind, but his hand was tired after four words. He tried to go down a quirk rabbit hole like he’s done so many times in the past, only for him to be shackled with a feeling of unshakeable inadequacy and envy for the next few hours. He even tried scrolling through news articles– heroes, villains, the economy, politics, medical breakthroughs. Not only did the articles not interest him whatsoever, and every single one revolved around quirks.

No matter where he went or what he read, he couldn’t seem to escape the topic. A space station was shut down for quirk research, a new quirk theory was in controversy, a politician running for office was preaching quirk regulation laws to further dissuade villain attacks, civilians were injured in a quirk related accident while a hero and villain were fighting in downtown Musutafu. Quirks were everywhere, and everyone had one– except him. It was as if he was in a world he didn’t belong in, like he was some kind of alien. Sometimes, even when he was younger, he’d often get the distinct feeling he shouldn’t be there, that the world wasn’t made for people like him. And in the end, it was technically true. The world really wasn’t suited for people like him, for people without quirks. To everyone else, they were relics of the past, to be gawked at and quickly discarded from their minds.

It was almost an amusing concept, because if Izuku went out in public right now, surrounded by complete strangers, he’d look like an average middle school kid, nothing more. A little puny, and a little disheveled, and maybe not quite as interesting as some of his peers, but still mostly normal looking. But one word, one little missing piece was enough to erase that normalcy completely.

Quirkless. Null. Blank. Monkey. Useless. Powerless. Defected. 

As you could guess, just skimming through those articles made Izuku even more tired. Which is why he was lying in his bed, not even bothering to shrug off his backpack, which felt more like a bulky dumbbell at the moment. He’d emptied out at least half the things in there the other day, but it still felt too heavy. And unless he wanted to start tossing out required curricular textbooks or bother using his assigned locker, he was out of luck.

He groaned quietly into his pillow, mostly because he was tired and wanted to sleep– the story of his life. But he didn’t want to take off his uniform or his backpack or grab something to eat, so instead he opted to just lie there like a recently-salted slug. It was quite the predicament, and it’d be frustrating if it hadn’t been the same predicament he’s found himself in the last three weeks, with one or two days where he was somehow able to avoid collapsing on his bed until after he changed into clothes that didn’t smell faintly of milk.

Irritatingly, this one kid in particular (or maybe a small group? He didn’t really know) had been pouring milk on him every other day for the past week. Luckily, they just poured them on his uniform, so unless it was very concentrated in one spot, it’d never soak all the way through and he could get most of it out with some water. Mostly harmless, easily ignored, but he didn’t appreciate having to exert the extra effort of washing his shirt or having to go back to that bathroom. It still made him feel uncomfortably dirty the rest of the day and stiffened parts of his uniform temporarily, but at least it didn’t touch his skin.

He wasn’t always so lucky.

Like most other incidents, he was once again walking back to class from his lunchtime hiding spot. 

Most of the time, he didn’t notice any of the little things that happened in the hallway. Even physical altercations were rarely acknowledged by Izuku, he was too busy lingering in his own head, thinking about a flurry of insignificant things he couldn’t bother remembering.

But it’s pretty difficult to ignore the distinct feeling of milk being poured directly down the back of his uniform. Somehow, the kid at fault this time had managed to sneak up behind him and angle a milk carton perfectly above his collar so that the milk’s contents slipped completely under both his top layers. The icy cold immediately pierced through the flesh of his back, spreading like a liquid avalanche.

He froze, figuratively and literally– he swore he felt his body temperature drop in real time as it soaked the inside of his shirt. He distantly heard laughter echo around him, but that wasn’t what bothered him.

It was how disgusting he felt. It was far, far too familiar to how he’d felt in that underpass on that day– the sludge forced down his throat, wrapping around his body and pressing against his skin, chilling him as he fought for breath.

Rationally, he knew this wasn’t even close to the same thing.

He wasn’t feeling rational.

Goosebumps broke out across the entirety of his back, shivers spreading across his body that had nothing to do with cold. He swallowed, suddenly feeling very conscious, his legs still carrying him to class even though he didn’t remember resuming walking.

He halted abruptly. He couldn’t go back to class, not like this. His first thought was to wash off in the bathroom, but that wasn’t going to work. The milk had already soaked into his undershirt, which was significantly less water resistant than his blazer, meaning both his layers were compromised, and he’d rather die than sit for hours with drying and dried milk pressing against his skin. Which left only one other option.

He spun on his heel and began marching in the opposite direction, dodging past people who were still headed to their classes. Within a minute, he was switching his shoes and pushing open the front door, not even attempting to listen to the teacher that had spotted him walking towards the exit.

By the time he’d reached the sidewalk, the drying milk was already clinging to the scarred skin on his back, making him want to cringe out of his body. He was slowly feeling more and more out of breath as he walked, his lungs refusing to cooperate. Anxiety built in his chest like a river blocked by a large steel dam, and it was filling up quickly. His hands had begun to shake, despite how tightly he was gripping the straps of his backpack.

Unlike how quickly time had been passing lately, the walk home dragged on for what seemed like half a millennium. By the time he burst through the doors of his luckily-empty apartment, his chest was noticeably heaving. An overwhelming sense of nausea clawed through his stomach. If he’d eaten today, he was convinced he would’ve already thrown up.

Ignoring the nausea, he rushed to the bathroom. Slamming the door behind him and throwing his backpack to the ground, he peeled off his clothes at lightning speed, cringing even more at the feeling of unsticking his undershirt to his back. He jumped into the shower, not bothering to let it warm up, and turned it to the hottest setting. With some difficulty and protest from his bruised limbs, he scrubbed every inch of dried milk from the surface of his body. Relishing in the painfully hot water, he went over every inch of himself at least three times before he was content, but mostly because portions of his skin were beginning to go numb because of the heat.

He got out quickly, wasting no time drying his hair and body, and getting dressed in the cleanest pairs of long sleeved pajamas he could find, ignoring how his skin tingled from the prolonged exposure to hot water. He couldn’t remember how long it’d been since he wore short sleeved shirts– it just wasn’t worth the chance of his mother seeing the bruises on his arms. Right then, however, it didn’t even cross his mind.

But as he stood there blankly in the middle of his room… the feeling wasn’t leaving. He expected the shower to magically cure what was beginning to build up in his chest, but it hadn’t helped at all.

His whole body trembled.

His heart raced.

His breathing was uneven and labored, each singular breath struggling to pull air into his lungs.

He was dizzy and sick to his stomach, the nausea persisting stubbornly, creeping up his throat despite his stomach lacking anything to empty.

It felt as if bugs were crawling across his skin, undeterred by the unhealthily hot shower he’d already taken.

He felt trapped in his own body, being suffocated by his own skin like he was wrapped in thick plastic that he just couldn’t rip off.

And it was all so disgustingly familiar. It was exactly like last time. The bugs, the dirtiness, the need to pour scalding hot water on every inch of his body, the dizziness, and the feeling of despair and breathlessness, like his chest was going to collapse. Why wasn’t it going away?

Desperation seeped into every crevice of his being, flooding his mind and waterlogging his limbs, laced with a cold, overwhelming fear. 

He didn’t want a repeat of last time.

Without thinking, Izuku stumbled to the kitchen sink, flinging open the drawers and snatched the ibuprofen bottle.

He poured out some of its contents with trembling hands, and tossed the pills into his mouth without a second thought. If you were to ask him how many he took, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. He just needed it to stop. Everything was too loud.

He tossed the bottle back into the cabinet and shut both doors, unsure what to do before it kicked in. By now he was shaking so fiercely he could barely walk straight, and his worsening lightheadedness wasn’t helping. He needed to sit down.

But for some reason, he found himself opening the door to his mother’s room instead of his own. 

Inko Midoriya had a very different decorative taste than he did. The room was surrounded with a comfortable, light gray wallpaper, and the carpet was a dark-ish beige, with a modern looking desk to his right. A small bookshelf sat against one wall, and a nightstand was placed close to the closet to the left of the room, with small, low maintenance potted plants scattered all around, some of which were looking sort of shabby. A queen bed sat squarely in the middle of the room against the far wall, draped in unmade black and gray sheets and blankets, four pillows piled sloppily against the headboard, with extra blankets scrunched towards the bottom. It was fairly unusual for her bed to be unmade when she left for work– she wasn’t quite a clean freak, but she appreciated things being organized, much like Izuku did, save for the closet he still refused to organize for more reasons than one. But, he wasn’t exactly surprised, given how busy his mom had been.

He wasn’t sure why he came here, but now that he did, for some reason he didn’t want to leave. So, he gave in, walking towards the side of the bed. Her bed was set really high, it always was for some peculiar reason, and he didn’t have the energy to jump onto it, so he settled for sitting on the floor. He leaned against the side of her mattress, letting the back of his head sink slightly into the blankets draped over the side. It was surprisingly comfortable, between the thick comforter he was leaning against in the fluffy carpet underneath.

He sat there in relative silence for a few minutes, grogginess quickly overtaking him, though the lightheadedness remained steadfast. After a little while more, a lot quicker than he thought, he began to feel more at ease. The bugs crawling under his skin became less vivid, his heart slowed, his panic ebbed, and the tension in his muscles dissolved.

Something was very comforting about his mother’s room, he decided, as his eyes flickered around lazily. There was a lot less… going on. His room was filled with bright colors and cluttered with objects on every surface, posters plastered over every open space. His mother’s, on the other hand, was decorated with muted colors, the walls only taken up by the occasional sticky note or shelf. Her desk lacked figurines, stickers, or crumpled paper, only featuring an open laptop and a comforting looking desk chair. The shelves were filled with simply colored books, organized carefully. The only occasional pops of color came from the potted plants throughout the room, a lot of them the same shade of dark green as his mother’s and his own hair– though his was always a little lighter.

His mom’s room was simpler, but still undoubtedly lived in. He liked his room, but it was a lot sometimes. He remembered his mom teasing him about how his decor choice reflected how his mind worked: cluttered and sometimes a bit much. Now that he’d gotten older, he couldn’t agree more. He wondered if the reason she decorated how she did was to combat that chaotic way of thinking, since she undoubtedly thought similarly to Izuku. He wondered if it helped at all, or if– or if… wait, what was he going to say?

Izuku groaned in frustration, rubbing his eyes. He hated it when he randomly forgot his train of thought– it was an ongoing problem he had since he was younger, but it’d been more prevalent lately. He revisited his previous thought in an attempt to recall what he was thinking, only to find it was getting extremely difficult to put any kind of thoughts together at all. He didn’t even know how to describe it. Maybe like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite go together, or a key that didn’t quite fit into a lock. Thoughts were just– slipping out of his grasp? Wait, did he already say that?

Izuku blinked, trying to clear his head, only to find that something was wrong with his vision. He was sure he could see just fine a minute ago, but now that he focused on the closet door in front of him, it was sort of… swirling, as if it was being sucked into a portal or something, the very edges of his sight oddly smeared. He tried blinking more rapidly, hoping he just got something in his eye, but his eyelids felt really heavy now, like they were moving in slow motion.

He attempted to stand up, but his limbs refused to heed his request, his legs giving out before he even put any weight on them. They felt heavy and almost completely unmovable, as if they were made of cement. He stopped trying to move around after a couple seconds, feeling significantly weaker than he was a moment ago. He was essentially rooted in place.

In fact, now that he was really paying attention, he was beginning to feel vividly uncomfortable as well. His skin felt like wrinkled, wet cloth, and he was cold. Not freezing, but chilled to an uncomfortable degree.

A whisper of fear shot through him.

This wasn’t right. He blinked furiously, trying to wake himself up out of this odd drowsy spell, not able to find an explanation on why he could be feeling this way– mostly due to his current inability to think coherently. He was overwhelmed by a sense of misplaced and vague confusion, like his brain was lagging, and his blinking strategy wasn’t working. In fact, now he felt even more tired.

Something was definitely wrong. He’d felt a lot of things in his life, some not so good, but this was somehow different. Heavier. Unnatural. He tried to think back on what he could’ve possibly done, only for his brain to immediately lock onto the only possible thing that could be causing this– the ibuprofen.

Did he take too much? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t have a single remote clue how many pills he took. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting the back of his head hit the mattress behind him once again as he tried to pry the answer from his sluggish memory. He couldn’t visualize much from what he remembered– he was probably too distracted at the time, considering the oncoming panic attack and all, or what he guessed was a panic attack, he wasn’t completely sure. 

But he could vaguely remember getting frustrated opening the lid. A black lid.

The ibuprofen bottle had a blue lid. His mind stalled. Then what did he take?

Panic gradually slipped into his veins, surging across his body within seconds as his mind raced across the possibilities of what he could’ve taken. But every time he thought he may have found an answer, it slipped away again, just out of reach. Izuku could scream with how frustrated he was. But he couldn’t move, and he could barely think. He felt helpless.

He vacantly remembered something he’d read once. A hero agency was poisoned– no, spiked. It was a huge scandal a few years ago– would that be before or after All Might’s bronze age? Izuku shook the thoughts off, focusing. Oh, yes, the hero agency, Aquafine or Aquafino or something, had drugs of some kind snuck into their food. No fatalities occurred, if he remembered right, but they started dropping like flies and over half the agency was in the hospital in the next few hours because of high doses of… some kind of complicated drug with one of those unnecessarily long scientific names. What he remembered the most clearly, though, was the symptoms he read the victims having. Drowsiness, slow or shallow breathing, weakness, chills… all sickeningly similar to his own. His heart dropped.

Was he overdosing?

He swallowed, fear clogging his throat like burning hot magma. Was he dying? No, no, probably not, he had to think about this logically. How many pills could they possibly have in the house that’d be fatal, even in large amounts? He probably just took a few too many laxatives or something– wait, no, not laxatives, he meant sedatives. Wait, but weren’t sedatives like, really deadly in large amounts? Could laxatives even have symptoms like these? Why couldn’t he think of any other pills they had in the house? You’d think someone had come and wiped his memory or something.

But at the same time, did it really matter what exactly he took? He knew for a fact that taking too many household pills could probably make you really sick, but this? How he feels now? It wasn’t just some regular pill, they couldn’t cause symptoms like this, and definitely not this quickly. Well– actually, how long had he been sitting here? He couldn’t see a clock anywhere– not that it mattered, he could hardly see much of anything, his vision was spinning too much.

That’s when he realized how breathless he was getting. The heaviness of the rest of his body was beginning to affect his lungs– every breath was difficult, his chest constricting more and more by the second. And the lightheadedness and dizziness was getting even worse, somehow.

He felt like he was going to pass out. He really wanted to pass out, but he had the distinct feeling that if he did he wouldn’t wake back up. He knows he’d been kinda wishing for that lately, but he changed his mind, he very much did not want to sleep forever.

Oh he really screwed up this time, didn’t he? Was he actually dying? Was he actually going to die like this, sitting on the floor, unable to even call for help? His phone was in his backpack, which he left sitting on the bathroom floor. Even if it was in reach, he doubted he could use it right now– so there was absolutely nothing he could do, and who knows when his mother would get back home.

Oh god, his mother. What about her? He couldn’t die, she’d been working herself to the bone just so she could support them. And Izuku had been really shitty to her lately, not on purpose, but that didn’t change that he was. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her like that, especially without even being able to say goodbye. Actually– scratch that. He didn’t want to leave her at all. She didn’t have anyone else, except maybe Auntie Mistuki. That wasn’t enough, that wasn’t nearly enough.

How about what he took? What if she thought he did it on purpose? He didn’t want to follow Katsuki’s advice, he didn’t want to do what the other kids told him. He wouldn’t. But did she know that? The paramedics certainly wouldn’t. They’d see the bruises on his body during the autopsy, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they could be caused by. Bullying, harassment, you name it. Meaning, they’d have a solid cause of death. Between that and his quirklessness,  there’s no way they wouldn’t rule his death as a suicide.

The numbers would support it– overwhelmingly so. There’d been a couple studies done on quirkless suicide rates by the few who even bothered to care, and every single one was horrifying, specifically the youth ones. The quirkless suicide rates for teens, just teens, were ¼ before they turned twenty. A quarter of quirkless kids took their lives before they could even become a full fledged adult. He cried the first time he saw the statistics, refusing to tell his mother exactly why he was crying. To this day, he wasn’t sure exactly what made him cry. Sadness for the victims, fear of the future– it was anyone’s guess.

Tears burned at the edges of his eyes. Right now he was sure it was fear.

He didn’t want to just become another statistic, another number to prove just how many people gave up living in a world where they weren't even viewed as equals among their own kind. He wanted to get up, to call for help, to do something.

But he couldn't move. He could barely feel his limbs, and his mind was filled with cold water. A quiet, resignated dread begins to bloom in his chest. He was powerless, even now. After everything, it was the one thing that never let him go. He was cursed with it in almost every aspect of his life– it’d be fitting that his powerlessness be the reason for his death.

His breath was getting shallower by the minute, making him feel even more faint. He felt detached from his body, as if he was watching what was happening from someone else’s eyes. His lips and fingertips had  gone numb. 

He felt darkness creeping in on him from the back of his brain, just like the day the Sludge Villain attacked him in the tunnel. And yet, for some reason, that didn’t scare him like it should’ve. Maybe it was because he was only partially conscious, but something about the feeling was more peaceful than before. Perhaps it was the lack of sludge, or because he wasn’t being taken by surprise this time. It was more gradual, like he was being eased into it. That wasn’t so bad… right? It wasn’t a horrible way to go out– much better than being suffocated in a tunnel. At the same time, he didn’t want to die alone. But his body wasn’t giving him much choice.

The numbness spreads across his body as a sinking feeling overwhelmed him, as if he was being dragged towards the floor, even though he wasn’t moving. He was exhausted– even thinking was tiring, like wading through quicksand.

He missed his mother. He really, really missed her. He hadn’t had time to linger on it until now, but he felt so lonely without her. He acted like it didn’t affect him, like he didn’t stare at the clock for hours waiting for her to come home just to avoid her when she did. He missed how much they used to talk, even if it was only a couple months ago– though the reason they weren’t so much anymore was mostly his own fault. He didn’t do it on purpose, but he was so distracted with everything else, he didn’t have much energy left to consider her. It made him feel guilty, but even then, he didn’t know what to do about it. Everything that’d happened for the past few months drained him more than he could admit to himself. He’d wanted to talk to her about it, he’d wanted to come to her about every little thing ever since Katsuki had first come up with that cruel nickname when they were four years old. But he didn’t, because he didn’t want to worry her. He wondered what would have changed if he did. Would it have been better? Would it have been worse? He didn’t know.

Even though Inko wasn’t really there, he liked being in her room. It smelled faintly of wisteria flowers. Its fragrance was sweet, almost like cotton candy, musky and intense despite the fact that he could hardly smell it. It reminded him of when Izuku used to build forts on his mother’s bed when she did stuff on her computer, or hide in her closet to try and spook her. It never did work, but she always pretended she got scared anyways. He didn’t know how he fell for it, his mother was a terrible actor. On the other hand, he was really young when he did that stuff, so he couldn’t be too hard on himself about it.

She’d always loved wisteria, often having it somewhere across the house. He remembered asking her why she liked it so much when he was about ten, and she gave him a solemn look, simply stating she liked how they made the house smell. That had always been an obvious half-truth. He knew there had to be more to it because of how she looked at him when she said it, but he didn’t quite know how to ask, so he never did. And he guessed now, he never would.

He could feel himself drifting off. He didn’t want to, he wanted to anchor himself, hold onto something, but he didn’t have the energy to even twitch his fingers anymore.

He really wished she was there.

Silent tears slipped down his face fell to the side, her draping blankets pressed against his cheek. His vision flickered out, darkness overtaking him.

He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.

Because when he was, being alone didn’t feel so bad.

His eyes drifted shut, and it all faded to nothing.

Chapter Text

Inko had been feeling horrible all day.

It wasn’t just the normal amount of stress from work. It was a twisted, writhing snake of nausea in her stomach, and she’d had it since that morning. An inescapable sense of anxiety that not even her medication was helping with. She’d written it off– it was probably nothing. Just a stomach bug or one of those days, she guessed.

And yet, as her finger tapped against her steering wheel, she still found herself pressing her foot against the gas petal a little harder. She wasn’t sure where this sense of urgency was coming from, but she was too queasy to fight it.

As cars drove far too slow in front of her, the sun was getting lower in the sky. It was a little past 2:30, so it was one of the only days in a while where she had a semi-normal work day. If anything, she should be looking forward to the next several hours; her next shift wasn’t until evening the next day, so she’d have plenty of time to cook Izuku some more food and hopefully get him to get out of his room a little bit.

But she wasn’t. She just wanted to get home and see her son, lay eyes on him, stroke his messy head of vibrant green curls until he started complaining about how overbearing she was and playfully swiping her hand away. Maybe that’s why she was feeling so badly; perhaps spending so much time away from Izuku had finally made her snap. She wouldn’t be too surprised– sometimes she felt like she needed Izuku more than he needed her.

As she drove, the dreadful feeling only amplified. Every red light made her fingers tap faster, and every clogged road made her chest constrict. She worried at her lip relentlessly, choosing to disregard how badly it was beginning to sting.

After what felt like a small eternity, she yanked her keys out of the ignition and hurried up the steps of her apartment onto the covered deck, slipping the key into the lock and all but bursting into her apartment. She immediately spotted the bright red shoes thrown haphazardly near the front door, one on its side and the other upside down. Odd. Did Izuku have a half-day she wasn’t aware of?

Unease rose in her chest, but she pushed it down.

“Izuku, I’m home,” she called, “loud enough to be heard but not enough to disturb,” as she set her purse down on the kitchen counter. She clicked her tongue in annoyance upon using that old saying from her childhood. Something her mother used to say. She didn’t want to be anything like her, never did.

She paused, the eerie silence of the apartment pressing in on her from all sides. The apartment was usually quiet, but today it felt… dead quiet. Unnatural. Anxiety pooled in her gut.

Surely he wasn’t asleep already? If it really was a half day (she swore she didn’t see it on the calendar, but she could have missed it) school only ended a little over an hour prior, and between the ten or so minute walk, he’d probably been home less than that.

Maybe he was just taking a nap. She was guilty of taking naps, and Izuku seemed to have picked up that habit a bit. Is that why his eyebags had gotten better?

Is that also why he hadn’t been answering her texts? She checked in when she knew he had lunch every couple of days, and he’d always answer in less than thirty minutes. For months, years even. It was somewhat of a ritual at that point. But today, it’d been almost two hours and she hadn’t gotten a response yet.

Before Inko could process it, she was rushing towards Izuku’s room. She shook her head quickly, swallowing her unease. It was probably nothing. She’d just take a peak in his room, and she’d see him napping or buried in his homework. No reason to stress Izuku out over a weird feeling. She’d just pop in, and that would be that. Her unreasonable nerves would be soothed.

She stopped outside his door, suppressing the powerful urge to burst in. “Izuku,” she called softly, more out of courtesy than anything, because she was already turning the knob. She swung the door open, ready for her eyes to find Izuku, only for him to sigh once again about her forgetting to knock. 

But her eyes were met with nothing. His bed was unmade, his chair askew. But, the messy yet clean room was lacking a fundamental element among the likely ADHD-attributed nightmare. (She really needed to get him diagnosed when she had time.) But Izuku himself was nowhere to be seen.

He came home, right? No, no, he had to have, she saw his red shoes at the door.

She padded down the hallway, chewing more aggressively on her lip as she peeked into his bathroom. The light was on and his middle school uniform was on the floor, and his towels were thrown haphazardly on the counter. Okay, so he had been home. Then where was he now? Did he leave? Why? Her mind couldn’t help but wander to that worrying day two months ago, the night she told him about the villain attack Katsuki was involved in. 

He stormed out of the house in what seemed like a daze, a blackened notebook in his grip. He didn’t return for hours, until long after the sun had set. But when he did, the notebook was gone and he was covered in dirt. It was faint, but his eyes were also rimmed with red, and he had a tired, defeated look sat on his face. He refused to tell her what happened, citing some wayward excuse she doesn’t even remember, because she knew from the second it left his lips that it was a lie. But, she didn’t press, she gave him space, and she still didn’t know what happened that night.

That’s when it all started, wasn’t it?

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, an infuriating mix of frustration and worry building in her chest, her eyes watering. He could’ve left barefoot, she reasoned, or he could’ve used one of his other pairs. She immediately shut down the latter option. He didn’t go anywhere without those chunky red sneakers, he’d been that way for years–

Her eyes caught on her bedroom door. It was cracked open, just slightly. She strode towards it, relief slipping through the cracks of her anxiety. Izuku had probably just been searching for something in her room, and she was freaking out for nothing. Typical Inko, always jumping to conclusions. At least, that’s what she guessed her mother would say. She opened the door with a swift push.

Inko stopped in her tracks.

Crumpled up on the floor was the unmistakable shape of Izuku, sitting with his back against the side of her bed, his head lolled to the side. From a glance, it looked like he fell asleep. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, only to take a step forward and her mind completely screeching to a halt.

The nurse in her took a little less than a second to compute that something wasn’t right. Izuku’s chest lacked the slow, deep breathing of someone who was sleeping, instead replaced by shallow, rushed breaths as his chest visibly struggled to pull in air. Her eyes weren’t caught by some of the bruises on his sleeveless arms, instead zeroing in on the paleness of his skin.

Panic crashed into her like a freight train. She immediately dropped to her knees in front of Izuku, taking his face in between her hands. His skin was clammy to the touch, sweating, yet cold. The proximity only made it clearer just how rapid and raspy his breathing was. His face was deathly pale, and his lips had turned a blueish color.

“Izuku?” Inko whispered in horror, her voice wavering. Her shaking hand patted his cheek firmly. “Honey, you have to wake up. Izuku? Izuku?” Her right hand left his face, her fingers finding his jugular vein and pressing lightly against it. His pulse was quick, too quick, and terribly weak.

The realization tore through her brain, her eyes widening in terror. She recognized these symptoms.

She needed her phone. She planted a quick kiss on Izuku’s forehead and sprinted towards the kitchen. She ripped open her purse, snatching the unmistakably green phone case and sprinted back, unlocking it with a quick swipe of her finger. She dropped to her knees next to Izuku again, dialing 911 with shaking fingers, her free hand quickly finding and monitoring the pulse in his wrist.

Tears were already streaming down her face as the line rang, doing her best to stomp down the feral panic coursing through her body. He’s still alive, she assured herself, pushing his breaths in and out through her nose. He’ll be okay, he’s going to be fine. 

The line clicked, a female voice on the other line, reciting the same stereotypical phrase she hated to hear. “This is 911, what’s your emergency?”

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Inko was hunched over, her hands pressed firmly against her thighs to keep them from shaking. Her eyes were dry and stinging, and her whole face felt puffy from crying. It’d been hours since Izuku was admitted to the ICU. And waiting was torture.

She drummed her fingers relentlessly in a feeble attempt to distract herself, anything to keep her mind from wandering back to Izuku’s deathly pale skin, and how weak and motionless he looked as the paramedics loaded his limp body on a stretcher–

She choked back a sob, one of her hands clamping against her mouth. The fluorescent lights above made the hallway way too bright for her taste, and the entire hallway was clean, bland, sterile. The hallway was quiet save for the occasional medical staff that shuffled quickly by. Other than that, it was suffocatingly silent. Nothing to take her mind off the fact Izuku might be flatlining in the room right behind her, and it’d be her fault.

It’d been hours, and she knew nothing yet. The nurses on duty wouldn’t let her see him, the doctors wouldn’t tell her anything, and she was just sitting here. She knew it was a procedure, she worked at this exact hospital, she knew these people, but she didn’t care. She had half a mind to go get her damn scrubs just so she could do something.

Before she had time to bury herself in her thoughts, a name to her right called out to her. “Inko Midoriya?” She recognized the voice immediately.

Inko shot up like lightning, spinning towards the voice. Several feet in front of her, shutting the door to Izuku’s hospital room, was a man in a long, white coat. Average height, average build, with a kind face and maroon hair, holding a clipboard in his right hand. He was one of the main doctors she worked with as a nurse at Musutafu Central Hospital, Doctor Hoshosuru. His eyes were narrowed, out of weariness instead of animosity, and Inko was picking up a distinct feeling from him. Relief.

She let the feeling wash over her like a tidal wave, draining some of the tension from her tired muscles. But, she’d still have to wait for the final verdict. And yet she wasn’t nearly as terrified for Izuku as she was mere seconds ago.

The doctor smiled softly. “I’m pleased to inform you that Izuku is stabilized,” he assured. For the first time in a few hours, Inko felt like she could breathe again. Izuku was stable. He was fine. He had a heartbeat. She really wanted to break down right then and there, but she resisted the temptation. She needed to hear the rest of the diagnosis. “And we have a good idea what happened.”

Inko swallowed, steeling herself. She already had a pretty good guess what happened, but she refused to address it until she had all the facts. “What is it?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “Is he going to be alright?”

The doctor’s jaw tensed ever so slightly. “He overdosed on SNRIs, likely velafaxine, a kind of anti-depressant.” He began evenly. “Given his symptoms, he probably ingested almost two week’s worth of tablets, but we’re waiting for confirmation. He was administered oxygen and IV fluid immediately upon being admitted into the ICU, and was given Benzodiazepines to prevent possible seizures. We’re monitoring his condition closely, but despite how severe his symptoms were, it doesn’t seem like his organs will suffer from any kind of permanent damage. But, we’ll be keeping him in a medically induced coma for a couple days to prevent the possibility of damage to his brain, and we'll have multiple doctors with specialized quirks help speed up the rehabilitation process.” He flipped one of the pages on his clipboard, pausing as his eyes traveled down the paper. He looked up at Inko, another soft smile curling on his lips. “As long as he remains stable and there are no further complications, he should make a full recovery.”

Inko resisted the urge to burst into tears for the second time in under a minute. But right along with the relief, guilt sat in her gut like a rock.

“However,” the doctor added solemnly. “I heavily recommend psychiatric care after he wakes up. Cases like this, if left without intervention, tend to… repeat themselves.” Inko’s stomach sank.

Inko gnawed at the inside of her cheek. “I understand,” she said weakly.

Just because he was alright by pure luck and timing didn’t erase what happened. She’d almost lost him because she was careless. 

By “giving him space,” she was always expecting him to come to her. She waited for him to initiate conversations and address problems because she was too cowardly to ask. Don’t give me all that nonsense, Inko, you need to look out for yourself. Stop depending on everyone else to hold your hand, and stop being so damn overbearing. You’re just too much. That’s what her mother would say. Did Inko become like her after all? Was she no different?

What if today had been any other day? What if her shift was extended? What if she had gotten stuck in traffic? What would have happened if she found him two, three, four hours later? Would have she found his corpse curled up on the bedroom floor? Would she be sitting outside the morgue instead of the ICU? She felt tears burn in her eyes like hot coal. There were so many other outcomes that included a doctor telling her she’d never seen her son again.

She’d never thought of something more terrifying than that.

“He’s going to be just fine, Mrs. Midoriya,” Dr. Hoshosuru assured again, pulling Inko from her thoughts. “We’ll take good care of him. And don’t worry about coming into work for the next few weeks,” he added brightly. “I’m sure, given your situation, we can get something worked out with your supervisor.”

“R-really?” Inko blurted, wiping away her tears in a hurry. “I- you don’t have to–”

“Nonsense,” the doctor said lightly, waving her away. “You’ve done a lot for this hospital, it’s only right we return the favor.”

Inko pushed her hair behind her ears, trying to compose herself. “Thank you, Doctor Hoshosuru,” she said quietly, her voice wobbly.

“It’s not a problem, Mrs. Midoriya,” he said. He gestured towards the hospital room door. “Would you like to come in?”

Inko nodded vehemently, clenching her shaking hands. She knew how patients looked after situations like this, but nothing could have prepared her for seeing Izuku in that position as she followed Hoshosuru into the room.

The room was almost as sterile as the hallway, save for the mid-gray curtains and ever so slightly dimmed lights. Lying on the bed, tucked into the sheets was Izuku. His skin was pale and greyish, not much better than how he was before. But seeing him in good lighting… It made her sick. An IV drip was taped securely to one his exposed forearms, and various tubes extended and tanged near his head. A breathing mask was strapped to his face, obscuring most of his features and making the room echo with the weak, quiet hiss of oxygen tubes. His breathing was deep and even, so unlike his struggling breathing from only hours ago. His eyebags were dark, and the heart monitor was beeping steadily. 

And despite the obvious signs of life coming from his body he looked so… frail. Weak. Like a simple breeze would finally be enough for his breathing to cease.

She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. She rushed to his bedside, water gushing down her cheeks, her hands clamping around his limp one. His skin was warm to the touch, his skin dry.

She sobbed as she clutched Izuku’s hand, collapsing into the chair placed next to his bed. So many emotions swirled through her mind, regret and relief and guilt and worry and exhaustion all mixing and thrashing in tandem. And yet, she paid little mind to her hurricane of emotions, because despite her outburst, she was thinking clearer than ever.

No– she wouldn’t be like her mother, she refused. Because she was going to fix things. She was going to ask questions, even if it made her uncomfortable, even if she was scared to hurt him or push him too hard. She couldn’t be distant right now, and she refused to let him suffer alone. She knew her son, better than anyone, so she should have known better than to let him decide when to come to her. He’d die before he worried her, and he’d bottle everything up until he exploded. And this was proof. So she wouldn’t let him. She’d stand right next to him, attach herself to his hip if that’s what it’d take to get Izuku to realize he didn’t have to shoulder everything alone.

She’d die before she let Izuku’s life slip away.

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The world was dark.

It took Izuku a moment to compute that it was because his eyes were closed.

He felt a series of strange sensations first. Cool plastic pressed against his face, and a cold, metallic smell entered his nostrils each time he breathed, each breath as refreshing and crisp as the one before despite the fact he could feel the warmth of his breath hitting his skin, as if something was blocking the air from immediately escaping. His lower body and stomach felt warm and covered in some kind of comfortable material. He heard a quiet, rhythmic beeping– somewhere to his right, maybe? The sounds of hissing air, on the other hand, were much closer. Right in front of his face, if he were to guess. He couldn’t see what was making the noise, though. He should probably look.

His eyelids felt heavy, like a weighted blanket. And like a blanket, it was dark and comforting. He wanted to keep them closed.

He forced them open anyway. And immediately regretted it. An impossibly bright white light assaulted his vision, and he instantly squeezed his eyes shut. He squinted in an attempt to make his eyes adjust, but it took quite a few tries for them to stop watering. Eventually, his eyes adjusted to the light and he took in his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was the bulbous shape on his lower face. A mask, no doubt, with tubes connected to a complicated-looking machine to his right. His eyes wandered upwards.

Like the lights, almost everything in the room was white or light colored at least, and it was relatively plain. He looked down at himself. He was propped up at a slight angle, so it was fairly easy to see the rest of his body. He was snugly tucked in a rough but warm white blanket, with his forearms lying atop the blanket at his sides. A small, plastic band was fastened around his right wrist, and what he assumed was an IV was taped to his right forearm. The thought of having a needle constantly under his skin admittedly made him uncomfortable, he was never a fan of getting his blood drawn, but he pushed the thought away for now.

A familiar color drew his eye. A head of dark green hair was buried in a pair of crossed arms to his left, sitting in a chair but leaning fully on his bed. Probably sleeping. He couldn’t see her face, but he could recognize that hair anywhere. Why was his mom here?

He had to be in a hospital, right? How did he get there? He tried to pry an explanation to his still-waking mind, but his brain was too sluggish to heed his request. A quiet, resignated sigh slipped past his lips as he settled back into the pillows behind him. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he also didn’t feel particularly tired. Well, wasn't that a familiar feeling.

He could only pray that some idiot at his school didn’t beat him so badly he needed to go to the hospital; it’d be kind of difficult for him to make an excuse for an obvious case of aggravated assault, even if he was quirkless. Maybe someone pushed him down the stairs or something. Yeah, he could work with that. It could just be written off as an honest accident or Izuku could just say he was just being clumsy. He wasn’t sure which one would worry his mother less. Probably the “honest accident” option? If he said it was because he was clumsy than his mom would be worried about him doing it again, whereas with the first option she’ll be worried for a couple weeks and then forget about it, since accidents like that are very unlikely to happen a second ti–

“Oh, you’re awake Midoriya. Good afternoon.”

Izuku flinched, his eyes snapping towards the voice. An average looking man with a long white coat was standing in the corner of the room, just past the doorway. A doctor, probably. His hair was a cool color, a dark, sort of dull red, the opposite of his own. He’d read that back before quirks, people only had neutral-toned hair, like blonde, black, brunette, and gray. It sounded boring, if he was being honest. But, at the same time, quirks and heteromorphic mutations didn’t exist back then either, so he supposed “boring” was a given.

He blinked, realizing he’d been staring in silence for too long.

“Uh– hi,” he croaked, coughing awkwardly at the odd dryness in his throat. He cringed at how horrible he sounded. He didn’t get strangled or something, did he?

“I assure you, you weren’t strangled,” the doctor chuckled lightly, migrating to stand at the foot of his bed. 

Heat rushed to Izuku’s cheeks. Did he seriously say that out loud? He thought he broke the muttering habit. He sighed internally; he may never be free from that tic of his. 

“Your voice will be a bit rough for a couple days, though,” the doctor pointed out. “You’ve been in a medically induced coma for almost two days, and intubation is expected to make your throat a bit sore.”

Izuku opened and closed his mouth a couple times, not really sure what to say. He was still processing that he was in a hospital in the first place, and medically induced coma and intubation just made the whole ordeal a lot more confusing.

But before he or the doctor had a chance to speak, a familiar green haired woman lifted her head, looking somewhat dead to the world. She had light bags under her eyes, and several strands of hair stuck at the corner of her mouth. Within a second of regaining consciousness, her gaze locked onto Izuku’s.

Izuku braced himself, knowing what was coming out of pure instinct (and experience).

Inko, impressively, instantly burst into tears. “Izuku!” she cried, practically throwing herself at him. But, despite the impression he was about to get football tackled in the chest, Inko simply collapsed into a gentle hug, burying her head lightly against chest. Izuku, unsure of what the big deal was or what to do, just wrapped his arms around her and let her get it out of her system, which was a little awkward considering the doctor was still staring at them. At least he had the decency to look a bit awkward himself.

After a couple minutes, Inko reluctantly detached herself from Izuku, sitting back in her chair and wiping her face with her sleeve. He felt guilty at seeing her break down in front of him, but considering he was still very lost, the emotion felt a bit misplaced.

“Uh… what h-happened?” He rasped. He didn’t miss the odd looks his mother and the doctor exchanged.

“It’s completely normal for your memory to be spotty right now,” the doctor began slowly. “My name is Doctor Hoshosuru, your primary physician. You suffered some pretty serious symptoms, but we had a doctor with a tissue cleansing quirk come in yesterday to heal most of your internal damage, which was luckily very minor.” 

Internal damage? Tissue cleansing quirk? Like replacement, or repair, or disinfecting, maybe? How does it work? Where does the energy come from? Fat? Electricity? Stamina? Now that I think about it, the bruises on my arms are gone. Crap, they didn’t see the burns, did they? No, even the scar on my back is too faint to notice, it could be acne scars for all they know.

“Midoriya,” the doctor said carefully, reclaiming Izuku’s attention. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Well that’s ominous, he thought dryly. He let his gaze fall to his blanket, racking his brain. He definitely remembered going to school, but… not much after that. Honestly that wasn’t too out of the ordinary though, he couldn’t tell you one thing he’d learned in math for the past week. Memory gaps were kind of a given recently. Which was probably a big problem in itself, but Izuku was still too groggy to linger on it.

“Not a whole lot,” he admitted with a shrug. “Just going to school on Thursday, I guess.” What day is it anyway? They said I was in a medically induced coma for about two days, and he said “good afternoon,” so it’s probably around that time on… Saturday, right? Assuming I got hospitalized sometime on Thursday, which is what the doctor’s implying. But why in the hell would they have to put me in a coma in the first place?

He looked back up, feeling a bit uneasy suddenly. “Why? Did I get into an accident or something?”

“Do you remember taking anything when you got home on Thursday? At about 1pm?” Mr. Hoshosuru asked. Inko looked at him with an almost pained look on her face.

Izuku squinted at the doctor, a bit offended. Taking something? Like an object? What could he have possibly stolen from his own apar–

Izuku froze, his heart hitching in his chest. His eyes dropped to his lap. Oh. Oh. 

It was all coming back to him now: stumbling home in a daze, scrubbing himself clean, sitting on his mother’s floor… Everything after that was pretty blurry, just a vague feeling of fear and such an intense bout of drowsiness that he was surprised it wasn’t clinging to him even now. But, he distinctly remembered thinking he was going to die. Well, considering he was in the hospital now, he probably hadn’t been too far off.

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of their gazes on him. He knew how bad this looked from their perspective, but what was he supposed to say? Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t trying to kill myself I was just freaking out so I took a handful of what I thought was ibuprofen, but it turns out it wasn’t ibuprofen, but actually a near-fatal drug of some kind. Oops. Yeah that sounds like a blatant lie even to himself, and he was there.

“I-it wasn’t what you think,” he blurted, still avoiding their eyes. “It was an accident.”

“Midoriya,” Dr. Hoshosuru said calmly, his voice even softer than before, as if he was speaking to a beaten puppy. Izuku wasn’t particularly used to adults babying him, he usually received the “I couldn’t care less” or “I genuinely wish on your gory downfall” side of the spectrum. But he discovered he truly disliked both options. “Your body contained massive blood concentrations of velafaxine, a couple weeks worth of dosages, if we were to estimate. It’s a type of anti-depressant.”

Izuku shrunk in on himself, fidgeting numbly with his fingers. He ignored the uncomfortable tug of the IV against his forearm as he did.

Well, it certainly made sense. He knew his symptoms were too severe to be caused by any kind of run-of-the-mill over-the-counter medication, but anti-depressants? Could his luck have been any worse? He just so conveniently ended up taking a handful of one of the most common drugs used in pill-related suicides? What kind of odds were those?

Frustration bubbled up in his gut as he fidgeted more desperately with his fingers. It really sounded like he was lying now, but he wasn’t. It genuinely was an accident. But trying to prove his case would probably just make him sound guiltier, and he’d have to explain why he was so freaked out in the first place. He’d rather not make this whole mess even more complicated, so he kept his mouth firmly shut instead of digging his grave even deeper.

Another thought occurred to him, making the heat simmering under his skin even hotter.

Even though it wasn’t his intention, he’d almost let those kids get what they wanted. Kill yourself, slit your wrists, take a swan dive off the roof of the building. 

He wasn’t as bothered as he should be that he could’ve died, but he couldn’t help but imagine an alternative where he did, where his dumbassery was labeled as a “suicide,” because the factors behind his death were too coincidental to be labeled as anything else. Where everyone assumed that he finally broke, that he was weak enough to just end it. It was a horrible way to think, but he couldn’t help it. Even imagining the triumphant smirks on his peers’ faces made him sick.

He felt a warm hand land on his own, momentarily stilling his fidgeting fingers. He glanced up, meeting his mother’s round, scrunched eyes. He could practically feel the worry emanating off of her in waves. Guilt once again began to gnaw at his mind.

He tore his gaze away, heat rushing to his face. This was humiliating. It wasn’t what they thought, he wasn’t a victim of his own actions, at least not purposefully. He was already sick of them treating him like glass, and he hadn’t even been awake for five minutes. The worst part was, he couldn’t even explain himself without causing an entirely new slew of problems.

He wished he’d grabbed the stupid ibuprofen bottle. Who knew his closest ally would be the one to betray him. Maybe now would be a good time to switch to tylenol.

If anyone ever let him near pills again, that is.

The doctor cleared his throat, and Izuku reluctantly looked back at him. If he was pitying Izuku, he was hiding it well. Izuku appreciated that, at least.

“I’ll give you two some time alone,” Dr. Hoshosuru said evenly. Izuku took it back, he did not appreciate the doctor at all. “I’ll have one of the nurses come in to do the routine checkup in about half an hour, and then we can discuss next steps.” He bowed his head and left the room, shutting the door with a quiet click.

Izuku stared pointedly at the wall in front of him, blatantly avoiding his mother’s eyes, which were boring into him. He spared a quick glance at her, spotting her watery green eyes staring at his. He quickly rediverted his gaze.

He realized he was being really insensitive, but he really didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t bring himself to “admit” to something he didn’t do, but he also didn’t want to explain how he didn’t do said thing. The whole situation was incredibly awkward, and the guilt swirling in his chest wasn’t helping.

Was she the one who found him? Was she taking time off to be here? The whole point of the last few months was to avoid distracting her, and now she was probably even more stressed because of this whole stunt. What if she lost her job because of him? Izuku clenched his jaw. He was getting tired of how much he was screwing things up all the time. It has been one thing after another lately. So either Lady Luck hated him as much as Katsuki did, or he was just that hopeless.

“I’m so glad you're okay,” Inko whispered, her hand squeezing both of his. The pure relief in her tone made Izuku’s thoughts stutter to a halt, his throat closing up. “I need you to know, Izuku,” Inko said, firmer now. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. I’m so, so sorry.”

It wasn’t your fault. That’s what he wanted to say. But he just couldn’t seem to force the words out.

“But I’m right here now. You don’t need to hide things from me to try and protect me, that’s my job, Izuku. And nothing could ever hurt me more than losing you. So, I’m not going to let you push me away anymore.” Her voice wavered towards the end, but she continued anyway.

“Izuku… I need to know what’s been going on with. I don’t need all the details, but what happened on Thursda–”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he croaked defensively. “I was just overexaggerating.” He cringed. That sounded a lot better in his head.

“About what,” she pried quietly.

“I-” Izuku swallowed. How was he even supposed to explain himself? That his skin itched, how he hated the crushing feeling in his chest, how Katsuki hated him, how he was attacked by the sludge villain, that it was his fault for causing the Sludge Incident in the first place, how every scrap of Katsuki’s hate towards him was probably deserved now, how he was terrified to go to school everyday, how much he missed writing, how much he missed heroes, why his missed them.  He couldn’t even begin to put half of it into words.

He dug his fingers into his palms.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” was all he managed, just barely above a whisper. Ever the coward. Some things never change.

There was a long pause.

“And you don’t have to,” Inko said simply, taking one of Izuku’s hands from his lap and squeezing it reassuringly. “But you have to talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, it doesn’t have to be today, or this week… but you can’t keep going like this Izuku. I won’t let you. Do you understand me? So don’t think that you’re doing me a favor by keeping me in the dark– you’re just hurting yourself.” Her voice broke. “And I can’t bear to lose you, Izuku. I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but you’re not alone, okay? I’m not going anywhere, and I never will.”

For a few long moments, it was silent. 

He tried to suppress the emotions swelling in his chest, but it did little to stop the tears. At first, only a single tear escaped. Then two. Then three. Until they were streaming down his face, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at his hands.

Inko said nothing, simply wrapping her arms around him again. Tears leaked out of Izuku’s eyes faster, despite his internal pleas for them to stop. He couldn’t even figure out exactly why he was crying. Despite everything that had happened, his emotions were as indecipherable as ever.

Izuku didn’t really remember what happened after that, but eventually he ended up wrapping his arms around his mother too. He didn’t let go for a very long time.

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Katsuki stared at his math book as if it had killed his grandma. Not that he’d really care if the old man’s old hag died, she was a grade-a asshole. He did not miss all the fights his mother and her would get into when he was younger. It was irritating as hell, but it was a bit amusing watching the old man try to get involved, like watching a rabbit try to stop a fight between two wolves. It was a mystery how his old man had managed to turn out so quiet and mild-tempered when he was raised by that walking hurricane– that fossil had a worse temper than his own mother, and that was saying a lot considering she’d almost screamed a guy deaf for cursing at the old man last week.

Because of his and the old hag’s louder tendencies, they’d always had a rule in their house to have designated quiet times, or else none of them would get shit done. Right then it happened to be one of said “designated quiet times.” So listening to the old hag talk loudly on the phone downstairs was wearing down his last nerve.

Despite what most extras seemed to believe, he didn’t pull his stellar grades out of his ass. He studied, a lot, and he wanted nothing more than to scream at the old hag to shut her damn trap so he could focus.

But, he reluctantly admitted his interest was piqued. The old hag was obviously trying to keep her voice down, but was miserably failing. Her “inside voice” was a yell to most people. However, he was a dirty hypocrite when it came to that because he was the exact same way, as much as he hated to acknowledge it.

But no matter how hard he strained his ears, Katsuki couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying– just a clipped word here or there. He dropped his pencil irritably, figuring he should probably go investigate since she probably wasn’t going to shut up anytime soon. He definitely wasn’t just undyingly curious. Of course not, it was none of his damn business, and he didn’t care.

He walked down the stairs, not quite sneaking, but also not making his presence known. He stopped just shy of the stair’s landing, where he’d be in view of the kitchen where the old hag seemed to be talking on the phone. He stayed quiet as he shamelessly eavesdropped.

“-s there anything I can do? …Inko, no, honey it isn’t your fault…” 

Katsuki perked up. Auntie Inko? Her and the old hag hardly talked anymore, at least not on the phone. 

“Well what did the doctors say? Mhm… oh my god…” 

Doctors? Did Auntie get into an accident or something? She was always a shitty driver, or at least that’s what the old hag used to say. “Nervous driver,” shitty driver, same damn thing.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything we can do?” Mistuki asked, her voice seeped in so much concern it made Katsuki cringe. “I’ll drive over there if you need company.”

Another long pause.

“He’s awake? Did he… did he tell you what happened?” 

Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows. He? Are they talking about Deku? Is that why the shitty nerd missed afternoon classes on Thursday and skipped on Friday? He couldn’t help but picture how the nerd looked when he found his face bloodied after school a few weeks ago, the last time he’d missed afternoon classes. He shook off the thought.

“I mean, yeah it makes sense why they’d take those precautions, considering…” Mistuki cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’m relieved everything is working out for you two. Tell Izuku I said hi and hope he starts feeling better okay?... Yeah, yeah of course. I won’t even tell Masaru if you don’t want me to… uhuh…”

Katsuki clicked his tongue in annoyance. Did those idiotic fucking extras beat enough shit out of Deku to get him sent to the hospital? Could they be fucking stupider? It’s like they were begging for a damn assault charge.

He sighed irritably, starting his slow trek up the stairs. This was such a waste of time, but at least the old hag sounded like she was finally wrapping this shit up.

“...Advice?” Mistuki echoed, her voice getting quieter as Katsuki marched up the stairs. “I can’t really say, I’d never been particularly worried for Katsuki in that regard, but…”

Yeah, cause I’m not weak, he snorted to himself.

“Keep doing what you're doing, honestly. I don’t think I could be as good of a mother as you… no, I’m serious. I can’t lie, the thought of Izuku resorting to something like that is heartbreaking. Do you think…” Mistuki paused, her voice so quiet now Katsuki could barely hear it as he reached the top of the stairs. “Do you think he’d try again?”

Katsuki froze in his tracks, his eyes widening. 

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“It makes sense why they’d take those precautions, considering…”

“I’d never been particularly worried for Katsuki in that regard…”

“The thought of Izuku resorting to something like that is heartbreaking…”

“Do you think he’d try again?”

Like a puzzle, it all clicked into place.

Things he’d heard the extras saying hit him like a tsunami.

“Oh yeah, that guy? He’s better off just cutting his wrists.”

“I mean, I’d kill myself I was in his position. Not like I’d have a future anyway, am I right, Bakugou?”

“Spider Lilies represent death or whatever, so it's actually just a roundabout way to tell him to end it, if you know what I mean.”

“And based on how he’s been looking lately, he might actually go through with it.”

“If you think you’ll have a quirk in your next life… take a swan dive off the roof of the building.”

His heart was roaring in his ears, and his mouth had been sapped of all moisture.

He bit his lip hard enough to bleed. And for what seemed like the millionth time lately, a feeling he couldn’t identify twisted in his gut. But, one feeling did accompany it, one that he was very familiar with.

Anger.

And for once, it wasn’t aimed towards Deku.

Chapter Text

After Izuku and his mother’s extensive emotional outbursts, they were both exhausted. The nurse checked up on Izuku a few minutes later, and Inko left the room to make a call. But, the second the nurse was finished, Izuku had fallen asleep before Inko had the chance to finish whatever call she was making, despite the fact he’d been asleep for over a day and a half just prior to that.

The next few days were… interesting, for lack of a better term. Inko was at his bedside almost 24 hours a day, except when she had to pick something up from the apartment, talk to one of the medical staff or take a shower. 

Izuku and her talked for most of the day, since he couldn’t really do much else. He liked it– it was refreshing to be able to talk to her normally, without treading on ice. They both steered around concepts like heroes, villains, and quirks in general, but it wasn’t difficult to find other things to talk about, especially since they were both some of the most talkative people on the planet. At least, according to one of the nurses, who’d checked on them twice in the same two hour span just to discover they were still talking about orcas.

Izuku had also apparently redeveloped his muttering habit– that or he never really broke it. He had a feeling it was the latter. There were a few too many incidents during one of their discussions that Inko had to point out she had absolutely no clue what he’d been saying for the last ten minutes. 

Luckily, though, it seemed to only happen when he was around his mother, so he’d acquired at least some self-control over the last couple months. However, there were a few awkward moments where he was muttering about healing quirks he’d heard some of the medical staff speak about in passing, only to realize that a doctor or nurse had come in to check on him. He got a couple strange stares for his incoherent mumbling, but they didn’t seem to mind all that much.

He started eating solid food again within a couple days and they mercifully allowed him to use the bathroom and shower by himself, as long as he was in there for only a few minutes at a time. 

The first time he glanced at himself in the mirror was… surprising. His skin was still more gaunt than it should’ve been, and the bags under his eyes were still quite noticeable, but he looked… better. Significantly better. There was color in his cheeks, and his under eyes weren’t nearly as dark.

He guessed part of the reason he looked better, even after overdosing and all, was because he’d been getting such fantastic sleep since being admitted into the hospital. Apparently sedatives were an amazing treatment for nightmares. He wasn’t a fan of the drowsy side effects, but he’d deal with that any day in exchange for a peaceful night’s sleep.

But it also made him realize how thin he’d gotten recently. He’d always been a bit scrawny, but how easily his fingers could wrap around his wrists was a bit worrisome. Granted, his mother was still being a bit dramatic about his condition. She acted like he was going to snap his spine in half just by walking across the room.

His hospital stay got a bit busier when the psyche evaluation appointments started. But, no matter how much he grumbled about it, his mother and the doctors were very insistent that it was for the best. It still irked him that they had the wrong impression of the whole pill incident, but he’d mostly made his peace with it by then.

But it didn’t stop the anxiety that was burning in his chest. What if he answered wrong? Or if they saw through his lies? Or maybe they’d believe him a little too well and send him to an insane asylum or something? His imagination went absolutely wild with possibilities for hours before his evaluation. He didn’t have a clue what to expect, and he was too nervous to ask.

But to his surprise, it wasn’t too bad. All he had to do was go to a small office in another wing of the hospital and answer a few questions about symptoms he’d been experiencing over the last few months, like the fatigue, frequent nightmares, lack of motivation, etc. The whole thing was wrapped up in thirty minutes. It was a bit awkward having to explain his recent habits and behavior to a complete stranger, but they were nice and they didn’t ask for details, so that was a plus.

He went every morning for a few days before he got a diagnosis, and to no one’s surprise besides his own, he was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder and depression. He could see the anxiety part, but he wasn’t sure what depression was supposed to feel like, exactly. The only kind of research he’d ever done on mental health was related to criminal behavior articles, so he wasn’t very well informed on depression.

But he decided not to question it, since despite not looking too surprised, Inko still looked like she was about to cry when Dr. Hoshosuru informed them of the diagnosis. Within the next day or two, he started taking daily medication, which very ironically included anti-depressants. Which was probably why they were only giving him a single dose at a given time. Again, he was a little annoyed how closely they were watching him when it came to taking his medication, but it made sense from their perspective so he chose to ignore it.

The medication itself, however, sucked. The day he started taking them, he immediately felt like crap. He was drowsy no matter how long he slept, his usually potent emotions felt numbed, and his temper was shorter than it’d ever been in his entire life. He even snapped at a nurse on accident, to whom he apologized profusely to afterward.

The doctors quickly explained that during the adjustment period these symptoms were expected, for up to a few weeks. Izuku was horrified to hear that. Maybe all this medication wasn’t worth it. But he didn’t dare tell his mother that, not with how she was acting lately. She always looked one more piece of marginally negative news away from having an emotional breakdown, and it was starting to freak Izuku out. He could only hope that the medication wouldn’t cause anymore issues, more for his mother’s sake than his own.

Shortly after, he was enrolled in bi-weekly therapy. He was really dreading that. Explaining his general behavior over the last couple months for the sake of a diagnosis was much different than a stranger prying into his personal life with the intention of “fixing” him. He especially wasn’t looking forward to the main reason he was going: his “attempted suicide.” Having to explain why he did something he didn’t do sounded like actual torture. Plus, keeping his lies straight was going to be a pain.

However, he was once again pleasantly surprised. The therapist was a gaunt man, with oily black hair and thin eyes. But, despite his appearance, he wasn’t even slightly intimidating. He introduced himself as Doctor Leonid Morvich, but insisted Izuku call him Leonid, with a placid demeanor and a rather smooth voice. Out of curiosity, Izuku asked him about his quirk, to which the man replied he had a quirk called Soothe. It was, despite what Izuku had guessed, a manually activated quirk instead of a passive one. Leonid explained to him that it worked within a radius and he had a time limit, so he only used it here and there at work.

The rest of the conversation was just as light. Leonid didn’t pry, and just let Izuku talk about whatever came to mind, occasionally popping in lighthearted questions about Izuku’s current hobbies, what he liked to do, and if he was feeling comfortable in his situation. He didn’t mention the reason Izuku was hospitalized, to his relief.

Against his initial expectations, he was feeling a lot better after the appointment. Whether it was because his nerves had calmed down or because of the man’s quirk, he wasn’t sure.

After his first therapy appointment, he was cleared to have access to his phone again, which he was delighted about, especially because he was beginning to lose his voice from how much he was talking to his mom to pass the time. Shockingly, news headlines genuinely interested him for the first time in several weeks. He jumped at the chance of having something to occupy himself with; he was getting restless with all the lying around he was doing.

Upon Leonid’s suggestion, he started writing again too. Not about heroes or quirks, just about little things. Stuff he needed to do, random ideas he had, mental tangents when his mother wasn’t around to listen to his neverending rambling. He even started sketching a bit. Clothing, for whatever reason, was really fun to draw. Maybe it was because all he’d ever drawn were hero costumes, but scribbling down random outfit ideas and designing intricate, nonsensical clothing was very entertaining. It was ironic, considering he couldn’t dress himself nicely to save his life. It was fine, though. Clothes always looked better on other people anyway.

According to Leonid, writing and drawing were supposedly very therapeutic. It was a little amusing, since he’d been apparently self-counseling himself since he learned how to hold a pencil. There was a certain irony in the fact that he’d given up a hobby he thought was contributing to his issues, just to be told it was actually a good idea.

It was a little different now though, since back then, every time he’d write or draw, it’d have something to do with heroes. He missed it sometimes, really missed it. It was uncanny just how much things had changed within just the last few months. He still had his hero merch, he still loved All Might, but he didn’t feel as involved in the idea of heroism anymore. He was more distanced from it, and for the first time in his life, viewing it as a hobby instead of his entire world.

It was a weird change, but at the same time, it felt like an invisible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He didn’t feel that burning dissatisfaction towards himself as much, and he didn’t have a voice in his head saying “you’ll never be as good as them” every time he put a pen to paper, or watched a villain fight on his phone.

According to his therapist, his fascination with heroes wasn’t the problem. It was that he was constantly comparing himself to them and placing “impossibly high standards” on himself, which he assumed was one of the causes of his lack of self esteem. Izuku still had no clue how he figured all that out within a couple sessions.

But Izuku relented that comparing yourself to the best of the best as a quirkless teenager isn’t that difficult of an issue to realize. Well, with the exception of Izuku himself, evidently.

Even though he was distancing himself from heroes for now, with the exception of the occasional villain attack headline, he hoped that one day he could do his analyses again– for fun, this time, no strings attached. He’d always love and admire heroes, and he would never take what All Might told him personally, but he just couldn’t afford to revolve his whole life around them.

There was one thing that had been nagging at him for the last several days, though, something he couldn’t bring up with Leonid. What he’d seen on the roof that day, after he’d clung onto All Might’s leg. He hadn’t had much of an opportunity to linger on the significance of what All Might had said with how preoccupied he’d been the last couple months. But now that he looked back on it, it was stupid that he didn’t.

The image of All Might’s frail, skeleton form was burned into his brain, along with the grotesque, star-shaped injury on his abdomen. It wasn’t until he brought up heroes in therapy that it finally hit him– All Might was losing power. He was burning out, permanently. His idol, his inspiration before he even knew how to spell his own name, was on a timer.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he was back to frequenting news headlines for entertainment, All Might’s appearances have undoubtedly been dwindling the last few months. A regular civilian wouldn’t even suspect a difference due to the sheer multitude of incidents All Might resolves on a daily basis, but to a dedicated fanboy, it was blaringly obvious. His activity had been cut by half– no, cut by nearly three quarters compared to the last five or so years. It fit the exact timeframe All Might had given him, that he’d gotten the injury six years ago in a battle with an unnamed villain. What kind of villain would be able to do something like that to All Might out of all people? And the fact that the battle hadn’t even been so much as whispered in the media made the whole situation even more ominous.

The thought of witnessing the downfall of All Might within the decade– no, within the next couple years made him sick, especially since Izuku had met him in person for the first time just over two months ago.

Sure, it wasn’t under the most fantastic circumstances. After all, Izuku had just nearly got turned into a flesh puppet, and then him and his idol proceeded to have an extremely rushed conversation about whether he could realistically become a hero, to which the answer was no.

All Might’s answer was discouraging, but the fact that his overly-hopeful question had nearly gotten people killed made the entire situation so much worse.

And yet, when he looked back on it, he couldn’t find it in himself to be bitter, or even disappointed for that matter. Even though he couldn’t realistically be a hero, All Might, the All Might, thought Izuku was still capable of saving people, even though he was quirkless. He didn’t call him incompetent, or hopeless, instead the greatest hero of all time genuinely though he was capable of being a police officer, or a doctor, or contributing something meaningful to society. He hadn’t looked down on him, and right now, that’s all he needed.

Plus, he really did have a point about the police officer thing. Police officers didn’t get nearly as much credit for the work they do, considering they’re the ones who actually do most of the arrests and jailing for villains. Izuku probably wasn’t strong enough to be a police officer, but looking into it wouldn’t hurt. That is, if they even let quirkless people into the force. He chose not to linger on that, though.

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After about two weeks of never ending hallways and blinding white floodlights, Izuku was finally discharged. As much as he appreciated the nursing staff and doctors, he was sick and tired of staying in the hospital 24/7– restless couldn’t quite describe how cooped up he was feeling at that point. He’d miss the cleanliness of the hospital, though. His skin didn’t even itch once during his whole stay. It was amazing.

Unfortunately, he’d mourn the sedatives. They’d put him on sleeping meds on top of his other medications once his nightmares began to kick back in, and though the medication definitely helped, it wasn’t quite as effective as the sedatives were.

Getting dressed in normal clothes after two straight weeks of wearing hospital gowns was probably his favorite part of the whole process. He missed his tacky All Might T-shirts and comfortable sweatpants. Actually, he just missed pants in general.

After getting the plastic band on his wrist cut off and a quick wave to Dr. Hoshosuru, Izuku and Inko were on their way home.

The drive was quiet. Not awkward, per se, more like a weary silence. Inko had already told him that she had gotten extended PTO for the next several weeks because of “extenuating circumstances,” and because she had an absurd amount of vacation days built up over the years. But, sitting in the hospital for the vast majority of the last two weeks was probably still pretty draining for her. He’d know that feeling all too well, given that he’d been the one on glorified hospital arrest. 

He leaned back in his seat, his knees sitting against his chest as he stared out of the windshield. He couldn’t wait to see his All Might figurines again. They were weeks overdue for a dusting.

Inko struck up a conversation before long, saying that they should probably get the apartment cleaned up when they got there. According to her, it was a disaster. And upon remembering how his room looked the last time he checked, Izuku agreed.

They didn’t have much to carry in when they finally parked outside their complex, so they got straight to organizing the mess that was their neglected apartment.

It provided a good distraction, since Izuku was trying to figure out what to do about completely missing the last couple weeks of his first trimester. It was summer break now, and he had no clue how to deal with a whole trimester’s worth of ineligible middle school credits, ones he needed to graduate. He groaned dramatically as he swept the kitchen. He’d talk to his mom about it later.

For the first couple days back, it was a tiny bit tense between him and his mother. It made sense, considering what happened, but Inko seemed determined to keep his mind off of it, while keeping Izuku within arms reach apparently. They frequently went on movie marathons, got takeout, and took turns going on tangents about every little thing. He also caught her checking on him while he was sleeping several times per night. It got to the point where he had to lock his door because of how often he’d hear footsteps padding up and down the hallway while he was trying to sleep. He was fine with her being clingy, but it got to a point where they were going to start sleeping in the same room or something if he didn’t put an end to it.

His personal favorite activity to do with his mom, though, was cooking together. It was pretty chaotic the first time around, though– they’d gotten a little too ambitious, and started cooking too many things at once. The cookies were burnt, the chicken was overcooked, and the rice had turned to mush, but neither of them minded.

Spending time with his mother again like this was almost jarring, like they’d skipped a step somewhere, and just ended up reverting to how they were before everything happened. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest that he hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever, and the smile that ended up sneaking onto his face was neither forced nor faked.

Within a few more days, Izuku got a new therapist. He couldn’t keep visiting Leonid, to his disappointment, but the hospital had given his mom a list of referred outpatient therapists, so it didn’t take her long to get him signed up.

He wasn’t dreading the thought of therapy nearly as much as the first time, but he was still nervous about having to commit to a whole new therapist already.

When he walked in, it almost gave him whiplash how different she looked from Leonid.

She was a short, mid-size woman, with blonde hair and pale skin. Her eyes were round and wide, not unlike his own mother’s except they were blue with white, rectangular irises, like a goat's. She had two white horns extending from her forehead, curving towards the back of her head like a ram’s. She wore a light blue cardigan, and had a soft smile. She had long, coily, bright white hair that resembled sheep’s wool. He had a good guess what her quirk was, but he decided not to assume right off the bat. For all he knew it could be a composite quirk.

Another thing that made this woman so much different from Leonid was her space. It was much less plain, with giant floor-to-ceiling bookshelves completely covering both side walls. A large, paned window sat behind a dark wood desk in the middle of the room, which was lined with a few nicknacks, but not overbearingly so like Izuku’s desk. The room was a very interesting combination of pastel blues and purples and the extremely dark wood of the desk and shelves.

“Midoriya, I presume? My name is Histuji Namao. You can call me Hitsuji, or Ms. Hitsuji, whichever you’re most comfortable with,” the woman greeted, her tone light and feathery. She gestured towards the seat in front of her desk. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

He paused for a second, feeling suddenly out of place, before he settled in the chair awkwardly.

Their conversation for the next hour went about how he expected. The tone of it was kept fairly light, with the subject of Ms. Hitsuji’s quirk eventually coming up because of Izuku’s insatiable curiosity. Ironically, Hitsuji’s quirk had absolutely nothing more to it than its heteromorphic characteristics. He found that oddly comforting, though. It reminded him that quirks didn’t dictate everything.

Despite the uneventfulness of their conversation, Izuku noticed some differences between her and Leonid. When he spoke to her, it felt more personal, less distant. Like she was more invested in him. It made her a lot more intimidating, but he couldn’t figure out whether that was a good or bad thing yet. He found that he did enjoy talking to her, though, so that was a relief.

He walked out of their first session with relatively high spirits. He still had no idea what to do about his school situation, his medication was still giving him weird side effects, and all of this was happening because of a colossal misunderstanding, which was still throwing him off. 

And yet, despite how odd the situation was… It wasn't so bad.

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The summer passed in a blitz. Over the next several weeks, he was showing steady improvement with his therapist, even though he still skirted around certain topics.

Ms. Hitsuji was also more thorough than Leonid, but he didn’t mind too much. He wouldn’t say she’s pushier, per se, she just paid more attention to detail. It made him a bit uneasy sometimes, because he was afraid he’d slip up on something, but she always made sure to assure him he didn’t have to answer any questions he didn’t want to, and he could change the subject whenever he’d like.

Eventually they ended up talking about the Sludge Incident. How he was attacked, how he had indirectly caused the villain to then attack a classmate because he’d distracted the number one hero, and the resulting nightmares, though he made sure to exclude the details of All Might’s condition. He couldn’t describe how amazing it felt to get it all off his chest. Ms. Histuji even offered him some insight on the whole thing, without pitying him or giving him empty assurances.

He’d underestimated how much it helped to have an outside perspective on certain things, and someone who would point out what Izuku himself hadn’t considered. He loved his mother, and loved talking to her equally as much, but there were just some things he couldn’t come to her about– or wouldn’t. They were both too emotional for that. Bursting into tears was contagious for the two of them. Once one’s eyes start watering, so does the other’s, and it quickly spirals from there. Plus, he didn’t want her to feel guilty about things he had purposely hid from her. She wasn’t a mind reader, after all, there was no way she could've known.

But Izuku still made sure to leave out anything about Aldera, to be safe. It wasn’t that he liked the school or anything, it’s just that he didn’t want to get anyone in serious trouble. It sounded stupid, but he didn’t want to risk people’s futures getting ruined over a “suicide attempt” that technically didn’t even happen. And despite how much he disliked Katsuki’s attitude, he’d feel eternally guilty if he was the reason he didn’t get to be a hero. The boy was… far from perfect, but he had no doubt a school like UA would whip him into shape in no time. Izuku himself may never be able to see it, but he was content with entrusting that responsibility to Japan’s top hero school. Plus, Izuku was the only one he really seemed to hate– it would have been a different story if he did those things to other people. He was only ever rude to other students, and that was just how he was so there was really no fixing that.

Ms. Hitsuji had long since cleared him to go back to school, too. It had sparked… not quite arguments, but very long discussions with his mother about his school situation. He was able to take online alternatives to his exams over the summer, and miraculously managed to pass all his classes some way or another (he was half-convinced the teachers forged it so they wouldn’t have to deal with him for another year, but that was neither here nor there.) However, his mother was being strangely insistent on the idea of him switching schools, and every single time he shut her down.

He just told her there was no reason for him to, since Aldera was the closest school, and he was already part way through the school year, so switching could mess up graduation. Which was half true– he really didn’t like the idea of screwing up his transcript anymore then he already has, and he needed all the help he could get before high school applications.

The second real reason was a simple case of risk assessment. He didn’t know anything about the surrounding schools in Musutafu, but if they were anything like Aldera, he’d rather stick with what he was familiar with than risk ending up in an even worse situation. He could hypothetically switch schools and keep his quirklessness a secret, but his quirk status was plastered on his school id, so he’d get found out, or ratted out by one of the teachers before long. Plus, he’d have an even bigger target on his back than usual because he’d be the “new kid.” Attracting the least amount of attention possibly was priority number one, and you don’t get much more attention than that. He’d rather know exactly what he was dealing with (and have a detailed memory of the school layout.)

Despite his rationale, he was still jittery when the first day of the second trimester came around. He woke up an hour early and wrote three pages worth of lists and reminders, trying to memorize every single one before he had to get ready. He couldn’t bring his notebook to school, since not only did it have a lot of personal stuff in it, he also didn’t want it to share the fate of his latest hero analysis notebook, which was probably still sitting at the bottom of the canal somewhere.

When his alarm went off, he begrudgingly closed his notebooks and started getting ready for school. Since he’d grown a couple inches over the last few months, Inko decided to get him two completely new uniforms. He had a lot more breathing room in them now, which was nice. If he’d tried to put on his older ones, they’d probably be a tight fit, between how much weight he’d gained back in the past few weeks and the inches added to his height.

As he examined himself in the mirror, he looked weirdly… normal. Like he did before the events of the last few months. For some reason, he had it in his head he’d look like a character from Corpse Bride forever, or horribly deformed from the months of relentless bullying. And yet, besides the ever slight divot towards the left side of his bottom lip, he looked fine. His eyebags were nowhere to be seen, his skin tone was back to a neutral ivory, and his hair was marginally less unruly because of the trim his mother had given him.

Of course, how long that’d last depended on whether his classmates forgot about him over the summer, and how well he was able to keep himself out of trouble. If he utilized all the tricks he learned during the previous trimester, he should be able to avoid the vast majority of conflict with his classmates.

After taking his daily medication and wolfing down the breakfast his mother had made (narrowly avoiding being trapped in a suffocating hug), he was finally ready.

He couldn’t stop himself from being a little anxious as he walked to school, though. After all, he’d never be a huge fan of the place. Or public places in general. Social situations just weren’t for him– even his time at the hospital had quickly gotten old.

On reflex, Izuku slipped through the gates and blended into the crowd, matching their pace and watching his own feet to make sure he could avoid getting tripped as he made his way to the front door.

Once he got to the cubbies, he switched to his uwabaki in an instant, and headed to a hiding spot in the gymnasium. He sat on his phone for a couple minutes, texting his mom that he’d gotten to school fine and scrolling through some news articles that popped up on his notification bar.

Exactly two minutes prior to the late bell, he headed to his class, slipping into the room while avoiding eye contact with any of his classmates. He paused before sitting down, just for a split second, fully expecting a familiar red flower to be sitting on his desk. But, nothing was there. Even the writing on his desk was completely missing, as well as the scratch marks from when particularly motivated students had carved words onto his desk. It was like it’d never happened.

Did the school get new desks over the summer or something?

Izuku sat down, staring closely at the mechanical pencil in his hand as he spun it between his fingers, barely resisting the itch to write. Katsuki walked in seconds before the bell rang, immediately catching the attention of both his lackeys. To Izuku’s surprise and relief, Katsuki didn’t so much as spare a glance in his direction. Looks like he was keeping up the cold shoulder he’d started giving Izuku since the tail end of last trimester. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but maybe Katsuki really did forget about him.

Izuku completed worksheets as usual for the rest of the day, all of which were pretty easy thanks to the catch-up studying he’d done for his finals over the summer.

He was fully expecting the taunts that would inevitably be thrown his way, or the quick shoves he’d be given every time a student passed his desk, or for a wad of paper to be occasionally thrown at the back of his head. But, nothing happened. Students didn’t speak to him, teachers weren’t on his case about missing so much school, and he didn’t hear his name come up even once in the whispers around him.

The same thing happened during lunch. No taunts, no snickers, and no one attempting to yank him away to a secluded hallway. He’d nearly had a heart attack when Katsuki and his henchmen walked right past him. One commented on Izuku’s presence, Nagayu, but Katsuki just snapped at him to hurry up. Besides some uneasy stares in his direction, he was left completely alone.

Izuku hid under a stairwell just to be safe, but when he walked back to class, the streak continued. The same thing happened during afternoon classes. Before he knew it, he was walking out of Aldera’s front gate with all the day’s schoolwork done, and not a single new bruise to speak of. It was like he didn’t even exist.

It was amazing, Izuku couldn’t believe his luck, but he was still really confused about how exactly it happened. He knew he shouldn’t question it and just enjoy the peace while it lasted, but he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly caused such a universal change in behavior.

That is, until he overheard a hushed conversation between some of his classmates in the hallway on Tuesday, which was clearly about him with how much they were sneaking peeks while he was walking past them. He only heard a few snippets, but it was enough to get a good idea of what they were saying.

“–early died or somethin–”

“-ou’re lying–”

“-I swear–!”

“-health complication or some shi–”

“-that’s freaky–”

“-eep your distance–”

“-sounds shad–”

“-disease or someth–”

After hearing that, his classmates’ behavior finally added up. It didn’t occur to him that the school had probably been told about his hospitalization, but it made sense since he was able to pass his classes and take his finals over break despite missing so much school. While he had no clue how the students had managed to find out, he didn’t doubt that a couple of the teachers let something slip. Sounds like something they’d do.

But, it seemed like they didn’t have a clue about the specifics, which he could not be more relieved about. He’d much rather be labeled as the “disease carrying kid” than the “suicide attempt kid.” But it also made him wonder if students were avoiding him because they genuinely thought he was carrying a contagious disease, or if they didn’t want to go near him in case he dropped dead or something. Both reasons were kind of funny, actually. It was nice that people were avoiding him instead of the other way around, it was a lot easier.

The next few weeks of school were better than he could ever imagine. He simply did his school work, scrolled on his phone during breaks, and went home. He didn’t so much as utter a word during school days. Students didn’t bother speaking to him, and teachers didn’t bother calling on him. During group projects, students would blatantly ignore him, and he’d just do the assignment on his own. It was isolating, sure, but he preferred it over the kind of attention he used to get.

He no longer had strange tired spells after school, and would maintain his energy far into the night, despite being up since 6 AM that morning and the occasional stray side effect from his daily medication. He even started getting snacks from the cafeteria. He didn’t stick around, though. There were way too many people– he’d rather not push his luck. Plus, he enjoyed quiet.

Oddly, though, Inko would always insist on checking his face when he got home, practically staring into his soul as she fussed over him for almost five whole minutes before he even got a chance to take off his shoes. Inko went back to work not long after, so the daily face checks slowed down, but never really stopped. Izuku told himself it was just because of the incident with the pills and she was just checking if his eyes were dilated or something, but he was beginning to think his mom suspected Aldera of foul play more than he thought.

Days continued to fly by uneventfully.

He never had anxiety when walking to school anymore, and he only had to wash each of his uniforms once or twice a week instead of every other day.  His fidgeting habit had improved, and he’d stopped picking at his nails too, which had grown out to the point where he might have to start clipping them.

During school, he never gave teachers anything to complain about: he showed up about one minute early for classes every single time, paid attention to lectures, and turned in every single assignment on time. His classes were completely peaceful, except for the the occasional yell from Katsuki to “shut the fuck up extras” and “drop out if you’re just going to run your mouths.” Izuku vacantly wondered if the approach of UA’s entrance exams were starting to get to him. It was a lot of pressure, so he wouldn’t blame him.

He had plenty of time to do homework and study when he got home, as well as fill his drawing journals with random clothing designs he’d come up with. When he wasn’t doing one of those things, he was hanging out with his mom, who was back to having reasonable working hours again. All in all, school was unexciting, exactly how he liked it.

He’d still get flashes of anxiety here and there, though, like when he walked too close to someone or turned corners. He didn’t know if it’d ever completely go away, but it was a hundred times more manageable now, so he’d make due.

His grades had improved a lot compared to the last trimester, too– well, as much as they could. His ability to focus had increased exponentially since his new psychiatrist put him on ADHD medication. He wasn’t too happy about taking even more pills at first, but the difference was too noticeable to ignore. He could study without getting off task every two seconds, he was sleeping better and he was consistently scoring 75s in all of his assignments (80s in classes he thought he could get away with.) Meaning if he wasn’t sabotaging himself, he’d be acing all of his classes. It wasn’t saying much, obviously, since Aldera’s curriculum was less than ideal, but it was something.

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Several months later. Mid January.

 For the first time in months, Izuku was an anxious mess, and for one reason only: regional tests were today.

Regional tests are prefecture-administered tests required towards the end of every school year starting from your third year of middle school all the way through college, meant to make sure students prefecture-wide have the knowledge required to move onto the next grade. It was a kind of testing that originated around when quirks first appeared, since the disorganized Japanese government needed an easy way to judge the educational quality of each prefecture during the chaos of quirk uprisings.

Now, why was this so good for Izuku? Simply put, it wasn’t graded by Aldera’s staff but by the educational board members of his respective prefecture, which was known for having a strict anti-discrimination policy that prohibited regional test graders from having access to students’ personal information, including race, quirk, etc. It was mostly put in place for heteromorphs, mutants and international transfer students, but it luckily worked in Izuku’s favor as well.

If he did well on the test, then despite his meager transcript, he’d have a shot of getting into a half-decent high school instead of the one most Aldera students would probably be going to a mile north. He’d been lucky for the last few months, but he wasn’t keen on testing it for another four years. If he kept his head down at another school, hopefully he could just fly under the radar, especially if it was a larger one, which is what he was aiming for.

He’d been studying non-stop for weeks now. Practice tests, flash cards, study sheets, re-writing his notes until his hand cramped. He’d even done in-depth research using college studies and free online courses just so he was sure he’d be prepared. Aldera had an extremely low regional test average– they were scored in the bottom 20% of the country, so like hell was he going to rely on its curriculum. He wasn’t as smart as Katsuki, but he was hoping that all the studying would make up for it. It was better than not trying at all.

He huffed a breath through his nose and shot up off his bed. There was no use over-analyzing it now, he’d done everything he could. He threw on his uniform, trying to suppress his nerves and nausea as he forced his breakfast down. This test would only decide his whole high school career, and the direction of his very life. No pressure at all.

It didn’t exactly help that he’d gotten terrible sleep that night. He’d had an extremely familiar nightmare, about sludge, specifically. And like always, it was extremely realistic, like it had actually happened. Nightmares weren’t a very common occurrence for him anymore, mostly thanks to the sleeping pills he took every night, but he’d get them every once in a while. He wished they’d just disappear entirely, but he supposed he wasn’t that lucky.

He waved to his mom as he headed out the door, who had been assuring him he’d do just fine all morning. He wasn’t convinced, but he appreciated it anyway.

Unlike most students, he’d chosen not to take the test at his school, but instead at a testing center in Shizuoka city. Even though the tests were mailed to the prefecture to be graded either way, Izuku preferred for his test to be the least involved with Aldera as it could, that way he couldn’t be accused of any kind of misconduct.  It’s not like he thought he was going to ace the test or anything, he’d just rather not leave his future in the hands of the whims of Aldera’s staff. After all, even though he hasn’t been provoking them in any way lately, doesn’t mean they don’t still look at him like a cockroach.

He walked to a nearby train station, triple checking he got the address right. The testing center was ten or so miles north, and it would be hosting Aldera and several other middle schools in Shizuoka prefecture. He’d need to take the 9:15 train at Musutafu Central Station for 45 minutes to Shizuoka Station, and take another 15 minute train north to the testing location. Testing starts at 11AM, and it was almost 9AM now, so he should have plenty of time to spare, if he did his math correctly the previous night.

He technically didn’t need to wake up as early as he did, but he almost never took the train, especially not by himself, so he was anxious as hell he was going to miss his stop or get lost or something. Failing the test was one thing, but missing it altogether was another.

The sidewalk began to fill up with people as he got closer to the train station. He dodged through the crowd, narrowly avoiding stepping on a few people’s heels in his hurry, earning him a few dirty looks. He wanted to get out of the morning rush as quickly as possible. He wasn’t a fan of crowds in the first place, especially not ones filled with adults. He was used to being pretty short compared to his peers, but some of these giants put him to shame. Not to mention he nearly tripped on a lizard tail at one point, and almost got hit with a porcupine quill right after. He wondered if people ever tried to purposely injure themselves near heteromorphs to get an insurance claim. He shivered at the thought. He may be quirkless, but he still did not envy that particular possibility.

He approached Musutafu Central Station, which was even more congested with people than the streets were. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

The second he approached the West Entrance, all he could hear were the sounds of hundreds of footsteps going in every which way, clicking and stomping and scraping against concrete. So many people in one area made the air around uncomfortably warm, and Izuku jumped at every single accidental bump of a shoulder, being practically shoulder to shoulder with the bustling crowd. He had the distinct feel that any of these people could easily snatch him or stomp him into the ground on a whim.

He hated crowds.

When he entered the station, the crowd began to split as people headed in different directions. Most people were dressed in professional attire of some kind, from carefully tailored black suits to long, flowy dress skirts. He spotted some really interesting mutations in the crowd, like an impossibly tall woman with a mouse shaped head and long furry eyelashes, and someone else who seemed to have skin resembling that of a pufferfish. But, while he was staring he nearly missed the stairs, and reasoned he should probably pay attention if he wanted to get to his train on time, as interesting as the quirks were.

He rushed down the stairs, making his way to the concourse level of the station and whipping his head around to find the ticket gates, double checking he had his wallet in his pocket. He quickly approached a row of ticket machines, paid for a ticket, and inserted it into a nearby ticket gate, which opened with a click.

Before he knew it, he was standing at platform 17. Despite the place being so crowded as everyone waited for the train to arrive, it was surprisingly quiet, the only noise being the tapping of feet and the occasional passing whisper or conversation.

Izuku scrolled absently through his phone, his eyes constantly flicking between the time and the platform.

A few minutes later, the train pulled up, and people began gathering around the entrances, Izuku included. People flooded into it the second the doors opened. Izuku grabbed onto the nearest pole, preferring the stand anyway.

The train ride was relatively monotonous, quiet other than the shuffle of people getting on and off.

Going from southern Shizuoka to northern Shizuoka was more of the same. Ticket machine, ticket gate, and finding the right platform. That train ride was luckily a third of the first one.

By the time he got off at his last stop, it was almost 10:20 and he felt like his fingers were going to fall off with how badly he was fidgeting for the last thirty minutes. He walked up the stairs onto the platform level, deciding he had plenty of time to grab a snack before heading to the testing center.

He headed past the ticket machines and to the various shops on the concourse level of the stations. There were a noticeable number of people in middle school uniforms now, undoubtedly there to take the test, all of whom Izuku did his best to ignore.

Before long he spotted a smaller stall selling Western-style soft pretzels, which smelled deliciously salty. Unable to resist the chance to try one, he paid for the largest one he could see and walked away with a wrapped pretzel bigger than both his hands.

He was delightedly surprised by the mixture of salt and oil and the faint sweetness of the bread. So much so he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, and nearly got his eye stabbed out by something broad and sharp.

With a yelp of surprise and stumbled back, half-eaten pretzel in hand.

“Apologies, I didn’t see you there.” 

Izuku looked in the direction of the voice and ended up face to face with… a bird? He realized, with embarrassment, it was not in fact a bird, but a boy with a bird’s head, resembling an Asian Koel or a black Falcon, he guessed. He was wearing a middle school uniform, so he was probably around Izuku’s age.

Once again he found himself staring in silence for an awkward amount of time.

“Oh– uh, it’s no problem,” Izuku blurted, his face heating up to an unbearable degree. Desperate to change the subject, he added, “are you here to take the test? I saw your uniform, so I just assumed…”

“I am,” the bird-boy confirmed, his voice oddly deep for a middle schooler. “It's very crowded here so despite the lack of darkness, it's difficult to traverse.”

“Yeah, I guess it is…” Izuku trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

“Are you taking it as well?” The bird boy inquired. For the life of him, Izuku could not read his face at all. And not just because he was… well… a bird.

“Yeah, I just got here early so I wouldn’t miss it or anything,” Izuku admitted. He glanced at his phone, which read 11:35. “I-I should probably head there right now actually,” he added quickly, waving at the bird boy as he headed towards the stairs. “Bye!”

He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He couldn’t make small talk for the life of him, especially with people his own age, and he basically ran away, too. That boy definitely thought he was mental.

He slapped both palms against his cheeks, ignoring the people that were staring at him. He needed to focus if he was going to do well on the test, so a random social interaction he had should be the last thing on his mind.

He’s plenty early for the test, and he studied as much as he could. There’s nothing left to do but to just bite the bullet and hope for the best.

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The test went about as well as he thought. Not well.

He was 100% sure he got most of the questions in section 3 wrong, and he didn’t have the time to double-check his math answers, so knowing his luck he probably got most of those wrong too.

By the time he got back home, he was completely burnt out. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself under his covers and never resurface.

What if he failed? What if he didn’t study enough? What if the resources he found were wrong? Would they hold him back a year? He really did not want to go to middle school another year, that sounded like genuine hell.

It was a Friday, so he had the entire weekend to endlessly mull over it. Fantastic.

Per usual, all he could do was wait.

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The results didn’t come in until almost a week later. 

Izuku’s eyes were burning holes into the envelope on his desk, one that he simultaneously really wanted and never wanted to open. On one hand, he could have gotten a decent score, which would be accompanied by sweet relief. On another, he could have gotten a horrible score or flunked the test altogether, which would be accompanied by dreadful resignation.

However, both options were better than how he was feeling right now, so he should just get it over with. Swallowing down his nerves, he ripped open the envelope and plucked out the small piece of paper. With tension rivaling that of deactivating a bomb, he opened the piece of paper with such care you’d think it was about to explode.

Izuku stared unblinkingly at the bottom of the paper, unable to comprehend what he was reading.

96.4%

That was his score.

Izuku nearly fell out of his chair because of the abrupt surge of both pride and confusion that flooded across his body.

They didn’t mix up his score with someone else’s, right? No, no, it was graded by a prefecture-scale educational board, they wouldn’t make such a severe blunder. It wasn’t Aldera.

Which means that somehow and someway, Izuku managed to get a 96.4% on a nationally administered test. Not out of luck, and not because it had a shitty curriculum. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, in all honesty. The concept of him doing not only well but extraordinarily on such an important test was extremely foreign to him.

He beamed at the envelope, unable to stop a stupid smile from plastering itself on his face. His transcript still sucked, and he still had marks on his record, but he may actually have a shot now.

He leapt from his seat to show his mother. It was a little embarrassing how eager he was, but he’d take the small victory. He did not, however, prepare for the likely scenario of Inko bursting into tears, and narrowly avoided crying himself due to his mother’s sudden congratulatory outburst.

But of course, nothing was quite that simple for Izuku.

The next day at school, not even two periods in, he was called to the principal’s office. His heart dropped, even though he was half-expecting this.

He was prepared, though. The regional tests were extremely strict, and any cheating would mean a student was immediately given a zero, regardless of their score. Whereas Aldera could have claimed he cheated after seeing his score if Izuku had taken the test at Aldera, he didn’t. He chose to take it at a test center in Shizuoka, so as long as they didn’t find him guilty of cheating, which they didn’t, given cheaters were established before scores were sent out, then the staff of Aldera couldn’t do anything about it.

Of course, there was a small possibility he was being called to the principal’s office because of something completely unrelated, but considering the timing, he doubted it.

He stood in front of the door to Mr. Tsukaimon’s office.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to settle his anxiety, and pushed open the door gingerly. Sure enough, a pudgy, balding man sat at his desk in the middle of the room, his hands clasped together on his desk. The expression on his face could only be described as sour, as if he’d gotten dirt on his favorite pair of white shoes.

His eyes snapped up to Izuku, making the green-haired boy flinch. The irritation was wiped off his face in an instant, replaced by a sickening sweet expression, his smile a bit too wide and his eyes too twitchy for it to possibly be genuine.

“Ah, Midoriya,” he greeted, his voice seeping in so much fake amiability it made him sound almost sarcastic. “Please, have a seat. There is something we have to discuss.” He said the last word like it had personally insulted him.

Izuku swallowed, dropping tensely in the seat across from his principal. He hoped his uneasiness wasn’t showing on his face. But, knowing how horrible he was at hiding his emotions, it definitely was.

“Now, Midoriya,” Mr. Tsukaimon said, more stern now. “I’m sure you're aware of the regional tests that were held recently?” Izuku nodded hesitantly. “And is there anything you’d like to tell me regarding that test?”

And there it was. “No, not that I’m aware of,” he answered, tapping his fingers against his chair awkwardly. 

Mr. Tsukaimon stared at him in complete silence for several moments, as if waiting for something. Izuku couldn’t be more uncomfortable if he tried.

What did he want Izuku to do? To admit to something he didn’t do? He was dealing with that issue with his mother already, he’d rather not repeat it.

“Mhm,” Mr. Tsukaimon hummed disappointedly. “And you expect me to believe that a straight C student, at best,” he added. “Got a 90% on the regional?” 

96.4%. He chose not to say that out loud.

Izuku shrugged awkwardly. “That’s the score they said I got,” he mumbled, refusing to break eye contact. There was another long, expectant pause, but Izuku kept his mouth firmly shut. 

He knew what his principal was trying to do. The only way he would be able to nullify his test score was if Izuku himself confessed to cheating– even a slight slip up or implication that he could have cheated could be extremely risky if his school pushed it. So, he just had to answer plainly and truthfully, and it’d be fine.

He still couldn’t wrap his head around why Mr. Tsukaimon would go out of his way to interrogate him, though. Why did it even matter? What point would he possibly prove by framing Izuku as a cheater? Did he genuinely believe Izuku wasn’t capable of doing even above average on anything?

It made him wonder just how much his principal had to do with his constant cheating accusations of his assignments. He always did find it odd that all of his teachers would accuse him when he got anything over exactly over a 75 or 80%. It was… very specific, now that he thought about it.

Mr. Tsukaimon let out a drawn out sigh, breaking the silence. He narrowed his eyes at Izuku. “I hope you know that Aldera Junior High does not support unethical student conduct of any degree. Are you aware of this?”

Apparently leaving spider lilies on my desk doesn’t count as unethical student conduct, he thought bitterly. 

“Yes,” he replied tensely.

“And you still chose to lie?” He pried, looking unimpressed. “Cheating on such an important test reflects badly on our school.”

“I’m not lying,” Izuku said simply. And me “cheating” is far from this school’s biggest issue, Izuku mentally remarked.

“This is your chance to be honest, I suggest you take it,” Mr. Tsukaimon said through clenched teeth.

“I am being honest, and I have nothing to confess,” Izuku said with a shrug, trying to play off the slight shake in his voice.

The room dropped into a tense, elongated silence. Izuku shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Mr. Tsukaimon peered at him with thinly veiled disgust. It took nearly a full minute for him to finally break the silence with an indignant huff.

“You’re dismissed,” he said disdainfully, shooing him with his hand like a fly.

Izuku took the opportunity and shot up out of the chair, bolting out of the room and into the hallway in the blink of an eye. He gave a long sigh of relief as he sped down the hallway. At least it was over, even though he was fairly certain Mr. Tsukaimon would have it out for him even more now.

Frankly, he was past the point of caring what any of his teachers thought, and he’d retake the damn test as many times as he needed to. He wasn’t going to let them dictate what he did, how he acted or how he lived his life. They didn’t have that kind of control over him anymore, and they wouldn’t have any control over him after he graduated. The end of the school year couldn’t come any faster.

At lunch, the third year students’ regional test scores were displayed in the hallway. He noticed because damn near half the school was standing down the hall from his class, and Katsuki’s henchmen were making quite the fuss, so he assumed Katsuki had gotten top place.

Sure enough, Katsuki was at the top, listed as 95%, and his own name was nowhere to be seen. It took him a moment to contemplate what that meant.

He, the straight C quirkless student, had not only beaten Katsuki’s own score, but was at the top of his class. He quickly walked away from the board, willing his eyes to stop watering. He wanted to tell himself it wasn’t that big of a deal and that he shouldn’t get a big head from a single victory, but it was a big deal. All his life he was only expected to do the bare minimum, if even that, and yet he was able to beat Katsuki, the best, by himself.

He wasn’t exactly heartbroken about not being listed on the scoreboard, the last thing he needed was to draw extra attention to himself. Mr. Tsukaimon’s intention may have been to discredit him, but he actually did Izuku a favor, ironically. The last thing he was looking for was his classmates’ validation or their approval.

As he made his way towards the day’s lunchtime hiding spot, he smiled, allowing pride to swell in his chest. He could let himself have that much, just this once.

But to his dread, he was called out of class the next day too, right before lunch– this time to a spare office. As much as he tried to keep his cool as he walked there, he couldn’t stop himself from envisioning the worst possible outcome.

What if they really did figure out how to delegitimize his test? What if they used the previous marks on his record to prove it? Did what his school say hold more weight than he thought? Or maybe they found some kind of loophole?

It didn’t exactly assure him that he was heading to a guest office, which was for traveling officials to use temporarily, like guest instructors and hero commission representatives– even though it was extremely rare for important people to come to Aldera of all places. The fact that there was someone there probably wasn’t a coincidence.

He was so screwed.

Wanting nothing more than to get whatever invention this was over with, he wasted no time knocking on the office door. A muffled, female voice said “come in,” and without letting himself overthink it, he walked inside.

Sitting behind the desk was a young adult woman with dark brown hair, tied back into a ponytail. A pair of thin, spare glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, and she was looking straight at him, which was more than a little unnerving. However, she still didn’t look quite like he was envisioning. He wasn’t the best at reading people, but she didn’t seem all that hostile, nor did she seem even slightly irritated. Still, the timing was too coincidental.

“You’re Izuku Midoriya, right?” The woman asked, sounding genuinely curious. Izuku nodded nervously. The woman smiled at him. “Perfect! I’m Ms. Donokei, a travelling counselor. Have a seat.”

The woman placed her pen on the table, speaking in the same second Izuku sat down. “I want to speak with you about your test scores.”

Izuku’s heart dropped to his ass. He internally readied himself, shoulders tensing.

“I’ll speak plainly: I’m extremely impressed.” Izuku blinked. What? “Your test scores outrank most of the students in your grade by a significant margin. I’ve taken a quick look at your transcript, and I have an opportunity for you, if you’d like to hear me out.”

Izuku blinked a few more times, momentarily losing his ability to speak or think. “U-um s-sure,” he choked out.

“I see you don’t have a preferred high school listed yet, does that still apply?” 

Izuku nodded unsurely. “I-I haven’t really had a chance to pick one out yet,” he added lamely.

“Perfect,” Ms. Donokei chirped, before grabbing a piece of paper from the drawers on her desk. “I’ll be blunt Midoriya, your test score and your transcript don’t match up in the slightest. I’ve seen quite a few cases like yours over the years, some of which are self-caused, some of which are… not.”

Izuku raised an eyebrow. “Meaning…?”

Ms. Donokei sighed. “I have a nephew who was diagnosed quirkless.” Izuku winced in sympathy. “He’s one of the smartest kids I’ve ever met, and his teachers agree. However, I’ve noticed in some areas, that is not always the case. People with certain quirks, or lack thereof, can be severely… “underestimated.” Especially in smaller schools or work environments with less protections.” 

Izuku’s mind blanked. “I’m… not really following?” Izuku said dumbly.

“What I’m trying to say is that not everywhere is like Aldera– I’d know, I’ve been to my fair share of schools in Shizuoka prefecture. I mainly work with a larger school in northern Musutafu called Kitakawa High. Have you ever heard of it?”

Izuku nodded. He’d heard of the school in passing a few times.

“Well then that makes this easy. Here’s my offer: despite your grades, I could pull a few strings to get you admitted if you can pass the entrance exam. It’s a bit far, so you’d probably have to take the train if you live near here, but it’s a fine school, and I assure you people are a lot more accepting over there.”

Izuku stared blankly at her. “Really?”

“Really,” she affirmed.

“Uh– I-I don’t really know what to say,” he sputtered, registering the distinct feeling of a blush rising in his cheeks.

“You don’t have to decide immediately, you can just email me whenever you make up your mind. No rush,” she said coolly, sliding a card towards him as if it was no big deal. The rational part of his mind assumed it was a contact card, but he was too busy staring into Ms. Donokei’s soul to look at it.

Was she lying? Was this some kind of elaborate ruse to get him to let his guard down and admit he cheated on the test (even though he didn’t)?

But on the other hand, what if she was being truthful? What if this was a genuine offer? He considered it. The odds of it being the former was… unlikely. And if it did turn out to be the latter, then this would be a fantastic opportunity. He wasn’t an expert on high schools in his area, since he’d been so dead set on getting into UA for… well, forever. But he’d heard of Kitakawa. 

It was one of those schools that some of his teachers used as a roundabout way to compliment students, saying things like “with those grades you could get into Kitakawa,” or something like that. On top of that, he’d overheard quite a few of the more ambitious students wanting to either go to Kitakawa or its sister school, Minamiyawa. Plus, like Ms. Donokei said, not only was it far away, it was also a much bigger school than what he was used to, so it’d be easy to keep his head down. And, if what she was implying about it was true, he may not even have to keep his head down. Wasn’t that a thought?

“So, uh…” he started slowly. “If I pass the entrance exam, can I get in?”

“Indeed,” Ms. Donokei said. “And considering the score you got in the regional, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

Izuku blinked away the tears that were trying to build on his waterline. “T-thanks, I really appreciate it.” Understatement of the decade. “And uh, I think I’ll take you up on that offer. I’ll have to talk to my mom about it though.”

“Sounds good!” Ms. Donokei said happily. “Either of you can email me with any questions or concerns you have. Other than that, I probably shouldn’t keep you from your lunch any longer. Have a great rest of your day, Midoriya.”

“Y-you too,” Izuku said, taking the contact card before standing up and bowing deeply. “Thank you again!” He sped out of the room before she had a chance to answer, making sure to close the door without accidentally slamming it.

He strode down the hallways, barely able to restrain his exhilaration. His test scores weren’t getting delegitimized, and not only that, but Ms. Donokei had directly confirmed there were places unlike Aldera. From a rational perspective he always knew that there were probably schools at least a bit better than Aldera, but for his own sake he hadn’t dared to keep his hopes up. But with person-to-person confirmation? That was more than enough evidence for him. 

For the first time since he’d withdrawn his application to UA, he was looking forward to high school. Because he had an actual shot of not just doing okay, but good.

The rest of the day passed without incident, the class buzzing with energy, and for once, Izuku was too, but for a completely different reason. 

He walked home from school in the same, happy daze he’d been in since lunch. He had to make a list of all the things he needed to do to prepare for high school entrance exams when he got home. And he’d have to tell his mom about the news too.

Out of habit, he looked over his shoulder, half-expecting to spot a kid in a middle school uniform looking at him from around a corner or trailing after him on the sidewalk. But, no one was there. No rustling grass or crunch of gravel.

Just… silence.

Chapter Text

Early March

Izuku rubbed the smooth side of the cube he was holding. It was a bright aquamarine, a little too bright, no bigger than a deck of cards. Each side had a different texture, one was rubbery, one was bumpy, another polka-dotted, another striped. But his personal favorite was the impossibly smooth side, because no matter how much pressure he applied, friction refused to do its job, and his fingers would slide across the surface every single time.

“So,” Ms. Histuji’s airy voice cut through the silence “How has your summer break been so far Midoriya? I heard you graduated middle school.”

“Good,” Izuku answered blankly, still staring at the cube. “I only got out a couple days ago, though.” The quiet sounds of pen against paper started for a split second, making Izuku stifle a sigh. Ms. Histuji always wrote things at the strangest times. That was probably hypocritical coming from him, though. 

The writing ceased almost as quickly as it began.

“You don’t seem as excited as you were a few days ago,” the sheep-woman pointed out lightly. “Is something wrong?”

Izuku blinked, his eyes flickering between her and the cube. Is there something wrong? He hadn’t really thought about it, since he was eager to just leave the entirety of his “middle school experience” in the past. But now that he did, besides the basic relief he felt, he really wasn’t nearly as happy about permanently leaving his old school as he thought he’d be.

Izuku shrugged in response. “Not really, it just isn’t as big of a deal as I thought, I guess.”

“Did you expect more from it?”

“No,” he answered honestly. “It was just a middle school graduation. Aren’t those big celebrations something you do for high school?” I don’t think I’d want to deal with that either, though, he admitted to himself.

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Ms. Histuji corrected. “I’m referring to your plans after middle school. Did you expect to have more to do?”

Izuku returned his stare to the cube in his hands. “I already got into high school, so there really isn’t much more to do until after school starts again. Well, me and mom are looking at new apartments, but that’s only something we do on the weekends.”

“How about after high school?”

“After?” Izuku echoed. The very topic he’d been avidly avoiding the last few months: what he wanted to do beyond simply getting into a good high school, beyond escaping Aldera. He’d like to know the answer to that too. Because right now, he hadn’t the faintest clue.

He slouched, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t… really know, actually.”

“No idea at all?” Ms. Histuji said.

Izuku set down the cube on the edge of her desk, suddenly wanting his hands to be free. “Well, I know I want to help people… but I don’t know how. I always thought being a hero would be the best way, but I’m not cut out for it. And I don’t know what else I’d even be good at.”

There was a short, thoughtful pause. “I think you’re looking at it the wrong way,” Ms. Histuji said smoothly.

Izuku gave her a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not about what you think you can do,” she explained. “It’s what you’re willing to do– or how you’ll find a way to achieve it. No one knows exactly what they’re good at, or the extent of their potential. Tell me, Midoriya, how high can you jump?”

“Uh, I haven’t really… jumped recently,” Izuku answered lamely, a little lost.

“Exactly.” Ms. Histuji leaned forward, holding up a finger. “That’s why people experiment, learn, and ask questions. You don’t know how high you can jump until you take that leap. You don’t know if you’re fire resistant until you put your finger near a flame. Information is passed on throughout the generations, so most of us know we cann’t breathe underwater. And yet, some of us can. Whether it be with a quirk or an oxygen tank, some of us are able to defy the very precedents our predecessors set. What I’m trying to say is this: no one truly knows what they can do until they try. So, if you find yourself lost or hesitant, do exactly that. Try. Eventually you’ll find something you want to pursue, even if it’s not what you think.”

⟨⟨⎓⎓⎓⎓⎓⎓⎓⎓⤙◈⤚⎓⎓⎓⎓⎓⎓⎓⎓⟩⟩

A couple days later…

Izuku scrolled obsessively on his phone as Inko mumbled something disapprovingly about traffic. Izuku was sitting in the passenger’s seat, his legs crossed and leaning so far forward his seatbelt locked every time his mother hit the brakes. Midday sunlight poured through the car windows, making it even harder for Izuku to read the article on his phone.

A villain attack had happened somewhere on the other side of Musutafu, towards the southwest edge of the city. What made this particular villain attack so interesting was the nature of their quirk. It was a composite quirk, one with multiple functions. Those themselves were rare, but this one was especially unique. It had transformative, emitter, heteromorphic and enhancement qualities, functionally turning the user into a small kaiju upon activation. With laser eyes to boot. Apparently the perpetrator’s quirk was strengthened by anger, via the enhancement part of it, and they were using it to try and destroy their boss’s beachhouse.

A bit of an underwhelming motive, if you asked him, but at least no one else ended up getting hurt. Apparently the aforementioned employer and his family were visiting a sick relative, so no one was even in the house when it was attacked.Still, it was one of the most powerful quirks Izuku had seen in awhile. He couldn’t wait to track down some footage when he got home. It was a bit disappointing that the person wasted such an awesome ability, though. It could’ve been an amazing power to use in blue collar work like law enforcement or construction if he got a permit. Or just… anything besides attempted murder, he supposed.

But the coolest thing about the entire thing was that All Might had been the one to take him down. In fact, despite All Might’s decline of activity over the last few months, he seemed to be sticking around Musutafu lately for whatever reason. He wondered what that was about. Did it have something to do with his injury? It was possible, but it was strange he’d pick Musutafu specifically.

He put his phone in his lap, letting the back of his head hit the headrest and he stared out the windshield. School had just ended the previous Tuesday, so he was on break for the next month until high school started up in early April. It was a peculiar feeling, walking out of the Aldera school gates on the last day, knowing he’d never come back, and likely never see any of those people again. He had mixed feelings about that also applying to Katsuki.

When he made it into UA and became a pro hero, Izuku would probably see him on TV every once and a while, and that would be the extent of it. There was no use lingering on the friendship they could’ve had if things were different. They’d been living in two different worlds since they’d turned four, and that was no different now. Never seeing one another again was for the best, and Izuku knew that full well, so he refused to let those regrets follow him any further. It’s not like he could’ve done anything to change the outcome anyways, that power had laid solely with Katsuki. And this was the result he chose.

When Izuku finally did finally leave Aldera Junior High on the day of graduation, walking through that gate for the last time, he felt…. Elated. Hopeful, even. Like an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was content to leave his middle school behind, along with all the people he’d known since he was a kid, because that meant he was also leaving all the bad memories he associated with them behind too.

Him and his mom were in the process of moving now too, to the northern side of Musutafu. The decision had been a tender one, since Izuku and his mother had lived in that same apartment since he was born. But, they ultimately decided they needed a fresh start. His mother would be closer to Musutafu Central Hospital, and Izuku closer to his new high school. Ms. Donokei had made good on her promise, and when Izuku passed Kitakawa High’s entrance exam with flying colors in early February, he received an acceptance letter not even a week later. Which is what had originally inspired their idea to move.

They’d been looking at apartments for the last couple weeks, and had even begun to finalize the enrollment process for Kitakawa already. It was pretty likely he’d have to take the train to school because of the areas they were looking in, but he didn’t mind. He was just happy to finally get the heck out of dodge.

In a way, it was like they were turning their backs on everything, but Izuku preferred not to think of it that way. Like Ms. Hitsuji had said: “Change is only bad when you leave things you love behind, not things that have held you back.”

…

Izuku's mouth twitched. I can’t believe I seriously just quoted my therapist.

“We’re here!” Inko announced cheerfully, pulling into a parking spot after circling the parking lot for almost ten minutes. Izuku eyed the surrounding area uneasily. The mall parking lot was absolutely packed, with cars constantly backing in and out of spots, only for the surrounding vehicles to have small wars over them, a cacophony of honks and door slams echoing across the area.

Inko ushered him out of the car, and they made their way through the parking lot. Izuku kept a close eye on the cars, which were driving by a bit too close for his comfort. Getting run over wasn’t on his bucket list, and he’d rather overdosing stay as his only near-death experience, thank you very much.

The mall itself was incredibly tall and… for lack of a better term, shiny, with a bronze roof and pillars, lined with azure stripes and with warm colored walls. The rest of it was covered in huge, blue-tinted windows. In fact, it had to be 80% window. It couldn’t possibly be structurally sound.

It was called Ashrider Mall, and it was actually named after one of Musutafu’s first heroes back when quirks were still brand new to society. He had a transformation quirk that allowed him to turn into a horse with absurd strength, and he was a master of disguise, since he looked like a normal equine when he transformed. After his particularly famous feat of saving half a dozen children from a building fire, he was referred to as “Ashrider.” Not the most creative name, but apparently the media had come up with it, so it made sense.

Usually Izuku and Inko would run errands at smaller shopping districts closer to home, but today was special. Every six months or so, Inko would get her wedding ring cleaned, and she always insisted on getting it done at a specific jewelry store at Ashrider Mall.

Izuku once again fought the temptation to ask about it. Inko had been wearing that ring for as long as he remembered, and probably long before he was born, too. But, like all the questions involving her previous marriage and his father, her answers were incredibly vague, if she didn’t just brush it off altogether. No matter how much Izuku would pry over the years, she remained steadfastly secretive. So eventually Izuku learned to stop asking, because he assumed she had a good reason to keep it to herself.

That doesn’t mean it wasn’t tempting every once in a while, though.

Izuku and Inko approached the entrance, merging into the ever-moving crowd of foot traffic entering and exiting the building. The second they passed through the doorway, the temperature warmed instantly, making Izuku shiver from the abrupt change. 

Izuku looked at Inko from the corner of his eye, wondering if his mother was going to keep her coat on despite how warm it was. He, who prepared for this, opted for a lightweight, zip up hoodie, warm enough where he wouldn’t be too chilled outside in the fifty degree (fahrenheit) weather, but wouldn’t overheat when he went inside a building.

His mother, on the other hand, was wearing a puffy, pink winter jacket, and a large, red scarf. Izuku knew his mother ran cold, but this was just ridiculous. What was she, a lizard?

“Ooooh,” Inko swooned, taking in their surroundings. “Looks like they did some remodeling since the last time they were in.”

“Looks like it,” Izuku remarked, his eyes flicking up.

The mall was much more impressive on the inside than the outside, which was saying a lot. The floors were made of a shiny, pleasant beige tile, with plants, fountains, store stalls and food courts scattered about, people lingering in every crevice of the building. Every wall, floor and piece of pottery had some mixture of beige, gold, bronze and azure, somehow reminding him of All Might’s color scheme, minus the red. 

Shops lined every wall across the mall, on the first and second story. The second story walkways above him were lined with thick glass railing, lining only the edges of the second story where the stores were, making it so that even from the first story you can see the impossibly tall ceiling where a massive chandelier hung, which had to be over a hundred feet in the air. The walkways were held up by dozens of thick, intricately chiseled concrete pillars that looked like they could tank a stick of dynamite. If he was being honest, the sheer scale of the building was making him a bit queasy.

“Okay, let’s hurry, I don’t want to be late,” Inko chided, tapping Izuku on the shoulder and taking off towards the escalators. Taken off guard by the sudden urgency, Izuku quickly trailed after her, dodging around strangers erratically with a birth that was probably wider than necessary.

He reached the escalator, only to realize his mother was already half-way up it. Izuku groaned. Why’d she pick right this second to rush?

He stepped onto the escalator, ignoring the uncomfortable shiver as people got on right behind him. Ignoring the close quarters with people he’d never seen before in his life, he looked over the mall as he was carried towards the second story. Voices, conversations and footsteps all melted together in a pleasant wave of white noise, followed by an equally diverse range of smells. Foods, scents, fragrance. It was nice.

However, his train of thought was interrupted as he got hit in the calf with a briefcase for the fourth time in thirty seconds. He’d never so strongly wanted to push a middle-aged man down the stairs as he squinted at the person behind him. Did some people have no concept of personal space? 

Izuku sighed exasperatedly as he looked forward again. He’d recently accepted that he’d never be a fan of crowds, no matter how hard he tried to get himself used to public spaces. Maybe it was because of his experiences in middle school, his quirklessness, or just his personality, but in the end it didn’t really matter, because the anxiety was still there regardless.

The medication helped, but it didn’t feel like it sometimes. Even now, he wondered how the crowd’s attitude would change towards him if they all knew he was quirkless. He could visualize the possibility so clearly: the scathing stares, loudly whispered remarks, cold disgust in the eyes of people he didn’t even know. Squinted eyes, clenched teeth, tense muscles, as if they wanted nothing more to wrap their fingers around his neck and squeeze the life out of him themselves. The thought made him suddenly sick, and even more desperate to get off the escalator and back to his mother.

It still didn’t make sense how something so small and unnoticeable was enough to make even strangers wish you didn’t exist. Izuku’s mindset might have changed, but he wasn’t so quick to forget. Not like he had the option to, since even though he graduated middle school, being quirkless would never truly go away. And there would always be people who hated him for it.

He shook his head as he stepped off the escalator, redirecting his thoughts elsewhere. He spotted a head of dark green hair in the crowd (with difficulty, since his mother was so short.) He ran up to her, narrowly avoiding tripping on a man’s cat-like tail.

“We don’t have to be exactly five minutes early,” Izuku sighed, staring at his mother through unimpressed eyes.

“Oh, there you are Izuku, I was getting worried,” she chirped. “And like I said, being five minutes early is the bare minimum! You know what I always say, if you’re not early–”

“-You’re late,” Izuku finished dramatically. “Yeah yeah I know, you only say it twice a week, how could I possibly remember.”

Inko smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “Enough with the attitude,” she said firmly, but with no real bite to her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to be late.”

It is when you ditch me in a crowded mall, Izuku thought ruefully. “Where is the jewelry store again?”

“Right up ahead,” Inko replied. “Honestly, Izuku, you should see the roses they have there. They’re actual roses, but they’ve been covered in a thin layer of glass or something to preserve them. I actually saw a green one the other day, it was so pretty…”

Izuku nodded along. It was a pretty simple concept. Without exposure to air or bacteria, the rose can’t wilt. They became a fairly common product in jewelry stores back in pre-quick times, in fact there was a particularly famous one in a history museum and Tokyo that survived a city collapse catastrophe during the dark ages.

It reminded him of that one hero that had retired a few years back. They had a glass manipulation quirk, and actually opened a glass boutique store in Osaka. Turns out all those years of experience in heroism make you a really good glass sculptor. He would definitely visit one of these days when he got the chance.

“...Are you even listening, Izuku?”

Izuku jumped, his eyes flicking back towards his mother, who was now giving him an unimpressed look.

“Uh… yeah?” Izuku lied horribly.

Inko narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Did you take your meds this morning?”

“Wh- yes! What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re zoning out a lot today, Izuku. You know how important it is to take your ADHD medication consistently, I swear I’ve told you this a million times–”

“Mom I am–”

An impossibly loud crash echoed across the mall, followed by such an intense rumble that the floor underneath Izuku’s feet shook violently. Izuku’s heart leapt to his throat as cries and yelps rang out across the mall, along with a distant, earsplitting screech. Within a split second, the entire mall had fallen into an eerie silence, hundreds of heads snapping in the direction of the noise.

Izuku stared in the direction of what had to be some kind of explosion, seeing small wisps of smoke, presumably originating from the floor beneath them. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he sprinted towards the railing, his fingers grasping the glass as he leaned over the thirty foot drop to the ground, trying to get a better look. Others quickly followed his lead, though few dared to get quite as close to the edge.

A storefront several stores down on the first story billowed with smoke, which was swelling out into the mall in huge clouds. Whispers broke out across the building as more people began moving away from the source of the explosion, but most of the crowds still seemed to be shell shocked. He saw distinct blue shapes shoving their way through the crowd. Security guards, probably.

“Izuku, what are you doing?” Inko yelped behind him. Izuku didn’t answer, too deep in thought to hear her.

His shoulders tensed, rationality fighting to calm his racing heart. It could’ve just been an explosion, or a fire of some kind. There was no need to panic– the mall probably had plenty of safety precautions against this very thing. There were many, perfectly reasonable explanations for what Izuku was seeing that didn’t involve some grand catastrophe. For all they knew it was just some kind of accident.

He quickly realized that nothing about what was happening was an accident.

Just as he was searching for more clues as to what exactly was going on, the entire store front exploded outward, making Izuku jump back. More terrified screams rang out as pieces of the front of the store were ripped off in chunks, flying into the store opposite of it, narrowly avoiding some of the people who still lingered. Smoke quickly spread across the entire spaces between the original store and the ones across from it, making it impossible to see what was going on.

Some people began making their way towards the stairs, but Izuku didn’t follow them. Instead, he leaned back over the railing, peering into the smoke hundreds of feet away.

Slowly, the smoke began to float upward, allowing Izuku to see some of the scene below. Izuku’s eyes locked onto the strange objects that now littered the parts of the semi-visible mall floor, his eyes widening.

Rods. Metal rods were embedded in the walls, in the floors, and in what was left of the exploded storefront. They were impossibly long and varied in size, almost perfect cylinders sometimes and rough and splintered shards of metal other times, sprouting out from each other like antlers. Izuku followed the path of the rods origin to the very storefront that exploded, disappearing into the parts of the smoke that were still too thick to see through.

The color drained from Izuku’s face. It wasn’t a bomb that created that explosion. He wasn’t aware of any technology that could sprout huge pieces of metal out of nowhere, it simply wasn’t possible. Meaning, it was a quirk, or a combination of multiple.

This was a villain attack.

He spun around, snatching his mom by the arm. “We need to go,” he said flatly, dragging his mother towards the stairs, disregarding her confused sputters. They needed to get out of here, now. If the villain or villains was capable of doing that much damage that quickly, then he didn’t want to stick around and find out exactly how much damage they planned on doing.

More screams and explosions rattled across the entire building, and all at the same time, people began to run. It seemed to happen in a split second. One moment, everyone was backing up or grabbing their loved ones. The next, hundreds of people were sprinting to the nearest exit, screams and shrieks of fear echoing through the air, drowning out the noise of distant explosions.

The entire mall was in chaos within seconds. Screaming, yelling, cursing and people running in every direction, the very air itself seeped so thickly with fear you could cut through it. Izuku locked his arm around his mother’s, sprinting towards the vague direction of the escalators. 

It didn’t escape his notice that people had begun using quirks to speed up their escape. A boy with stretchy limbs vaulting over tables and railing, using his infinitely stretching forearms to skip the stairs altogether and lowering himself to the ground floor. A heteromorph with a prehensile reptilian tail was hanging off of a store sign, trying to find nearby escape routes. A woman with a quirk that seemed to allow her to ride on a small, partially transparent circle of air zoomed above them, not too different from the Magic Hero Mystic’s own quirk.

He guessed no one really cared about quirk regulation laws when their lives were at stake, and Izuku could hardly blame them.

Despite his efforts, Izuku couldn’t keep his thoughts organized enough to come up with anything resembling a plan– he was having a difficult enough time trying not to get trampled. Feet clipped his heels, shoulders rammed into his, and something solid slammed into his side, making him hiss in pain. Adrenaline coursed through his body, fear not following far behind. He could only hope the heroes would show up soon.

Izuku got a glance at the escalator, and a small opening in the crowd. He shot forward, his hand clamped tightly around Inko’s wrist, somehow managing to get them both on the escalator despite the sheer amount of people trying to squeeze down at the same time. Izuku glanced over in horror as he saw someone fall off the edge of the railing just behind them, his panicked scream muffled by the noise around them. It also muffled the noise of the man hitting the ground. Izuku could only hope someone caught him, but just in case, he refused to look down. He held onto his mother a little tighter.

They made their way down the escalator, luckily the one actually going down, but not bothering to wait for it as they were forced forward by the surge of people behind. They hurried down the steps, almost falling forward a few times because of how many people were pushing them. Izuku had never been so grateful for his grippy red shoes.

The second Izuku’s feet hit solid ground, he took off at a full sprint, half-dragging mother behind him. He beelined to the exit, away from the now deafening chorus of screams behind them.

The distinct smell of smoke hung in the air, making Izuku’s eyes sting and water as he tried to squint the sudden dryness away. If the mall wasn’t already on fire before, it certainly was now.

A burst of wind tore through the air as a stray rod soared into a pillar directly in front of them, the metal screeching as it buried itself in the concrete with a thunderous boom. The people around them erupted into shrieks of pure panic as the pillar snapped in half like a log, crumbling within seconds. Izuku sidestepped quickly, dragging him and his mother out of the range of the destruction, but refusing to stop as he took a small detour to avoid the walkway that was inevitably going to collapse. They ended up running through one of the food courts, pushing past tables and chairs. The ruckus behind them was somehow getting louder as Izuku’s ears began to ring.

Resounding cracks filled the air, making Izuku stop abruptly. He glanced up, his eyes widening in horror. Some of the rafters above them had been broken pieces of thick metal twisted and torn from their bolts, a few hanging freely, threatening to fall. The ceiling above the rafters was cracked, and it was quickly spreading like tree roots. To his horror, one giant piece had dislodged itself from the ceiling, and it was falling– right on top of them.

Reflexively, Izuku shoved his mother as hard as he could, before diving in the opposite direction just as something crashed to the ground exactly where they had been standing a second earlier. He hit the ground hard, knocking some of the breath out of him. Gritting his teeth hard enough to crack them, he pushed himself to his feet, spinning around, his mother’s name on his lips. He was instead met with a giant piece of the ceiling, pieces of rebar sticking out of the ruined, rubble-reduced chunk of metal, concrete, and paint.

His mother. Where was she? Was she okay? Was she on the other side? His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes darted around the rubble, looking for any sound of life. He’d pushed her out of the way… right?

Dread filled his mind like ice cold water as he stared at the lifeless pile of rock in front of him. Was she–?

“-uku!”

Izuku perked up, spying a familiar figure between gaps in the rubble. Relief flooded through his system at the sight of his mother, who was waving desperately at him with both arms a few dozen feet away, the collapsed piece of ceiling between them. He quickly looked around. The rubble had fallen right at a fork between the main entrance and a triangularly shaped food court, meaning his mother was much closer to the entrance. On his current path, Izuku would have to go all the way around the entire foot court.

The best thing to do would be to group up with her and take the shortest route to the entrance, but between the sheer length of the rubble blocking them and the structure of this part of the mall, it’d take too much time to go back and around, and going back towards the destruction was a death sentence. They just didn’t have that kind of time to spare.

He took a deep breath, cupping his hands around his mouth. “I’ll meet you at the entrance!” Izuku shouted as loud as he could. To get his point across, he gestured towards the direction of the exit.

Inko looked reluctant at first, but she nodded quickly. And with the sound of another piece of the ceiling falling somewhere behind them, Izuku took off. He could only hope his mother did the same.

Izuku sprinted with impressive speed across the foot court. He was taking a major detour thanks to the rows of restaurants blocking his path, but the entrance his mother was headed to was still the closest, so he’d have to make do. He dodged around tables and chairs, tossing them aside with little care. The adrenaline was fueling every step he took, his feet flying across the tile.

Another huge boom got his attention, making him look back towards the chaos for the first time, screeching to a halt. 

He didn’t know where to begin describing what he was looking at. Rafters and rods were buried in the floor, huge pieces of rubble scattered everywhere the eye could see. Many parts of the second floor walkways had collapsed, completely blocking several storefronts from view. Fire had engulfed a whole section of the mall further down as people ran for their lives, their faces contorted in terror, and many of them partially obscured from the thick clouds of smoke that had settled across the building.

The rods were everywhere. The floors, the walls, the ceiling, flying at impossible speeds from an unknown location within the smoke, burying themselves in concrete and metal like a knife into butter. Now that he looked closer, small masses were occasionally pinned by them, the rods piercing through them like skewers, an unmistakable brilliant red leaking from their–

Izuku quickly looked away, clapping his hand against his mouth, fighting against the surge of nausea in his gut. He thought he looked away quickly enough, but the images were already burned into his skull. He shouldn’t have stopped.

The heroes will be here, he found himself thinking. They’ll be here soon.

But they were already too late. It couldn’t even have been more than a couple minutes since the initial explosion had gone off, and there were already people dead. There was no way the people he saw could be saved, not with quirks, not with technology, nothing. Bright red smears flashed across his mind. 

Those weren’t people he saw. They were corpses. Dozens of them.

It only fueled his urge to get to the entrance as quickly as possible.

He didn’t remember when he had resumed running.

The entire building seemed to groan, the cracking and screeching of metal against concrete sounding in every possible direction. The air was sharp with dust and debris, stuffy with heat and smoke. Sound entered Izuku’s ears in distorted waves, making everything all the more disorienting as sound came and went in intervals of buzzing silence and deafening booms. Shrapnel rained from the ceiling and glass shattered. Footsteps pounded against the trembling ground and people let out deathly howls.

Izuku felt numb, yet entirely there. He felt like he was going to collapse, yet like he could keep running all day. His lungs were heaving, but he didn’t feel the need to breathe. His mind was disconnected from his senses, and yet perfectly in sync with his body.

He rounded another corner, his feet skidding against the tile as the walls blocked the chaos from sight. There were only a couple people in sight now, running, just like he was.

He was close, just one more corner and he’d be out of the foot court and in sight of the exit. He had to just make it a little farther, across this final stretch. Then he’d find his mother, and they’d both get out of this, alive. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but at that moment, it was the only thing keeping him moving.

Until an enormous rumble shook the ground beneath him so severely he stumbled. There seemed to be a brief pause in time as Izuku and the few people near him glanced upwards, perhaps out of instinct more than anything.

Concrete buckled. Metal tore.

None of them had time to react as the entire mall ceiling came crashing down on them.