Chapter Text
The hallway of Yuuei Highschool stretched far and wide, bustling with newly found chatter as the first students— seniors, no doubt, had shuffled in early for their classes. It was a warm morning, one that somehow managed to cradle the whole campus in it's glow.
It was delusion to pretend this day would go as planned, Izuku pondered upon the thought that had no business settling within his ribs with the force it did, but maybe he'd spare a chance for today as well. Go Plus Ultra! He refuged in the safer thought, but it couldnt't make much of a difference as he originally hoped.
Classes were bizzare. Long stares given by even his closest friends made Izuku's skin crawl with uneasiness. At first, he kept thinking there was something on his face, maybe since he had lunch at the cafeteria together with Shouto and Ochako. But they would've probably told him by then.
The weight of their long-side glances carried on heavily throughout the day, but Izuku felt idly awkward just by pointing it out and asking about it. So, he remained quiet. Smiled at others even when their eyes started towards the crown of his head nonetheless.
A bad hair day would've been a suitable excuse— but Izuku has bad hair days in the daily, and nobody points it out. Well, as much as they did today, even if subtly, at least.
A grunt of annoyance slipped free from the confines of his otherwise silent mouth, benevolent on just making it to his dorm room. There, nobody could stare— nobody could give false elaborations as for the so-sought after motive of looking him down like he was a stranger.
A pair of red eyes tracked his movements down to the slam of his dorm room.
Once inside, Izuku didn't bluff with himself any further. He matched towards the bathroom, the door opening easily and welcoming cool air in. Izuku didn't have time in basking in the quiet of the after-school time. He needed to do this.
A quick glance by the sink— his All Might themed toothbrush stood obediently by his matching toothpaste, two halves of a whole, he guessed, until his eyes started further upwards until they met his reflection in the small, square minnor illuminated fainly by the artificial lightning.
Izuku's breath got stolen from him.
There, atop his wild mop of curly hair, stood a cowlick— undoubtedly curly alongside the other hair strands, but white. A stark white that could rival the remaining toothpaste in his half empty tube.
Now he was the one staring at himself. It wasn't brittle and grey like the cruel hair of an aging person was, no, but it stood out against his viridian locks of hair. Huh.
Like an afterthought, hypothesis after hypothesis formed, but Izuku half-listened to his train-of-thought, half kept his gaze locked on the whitely parcement against his usually perfectly bland dark green hair. Maybe he got hit with a quirk. Maybe it was flour? Ochako had changed her bread to a one containing more wheat.
A quick rub of his knuckles at the spot sent a wince and a frown to settle on his face, right after each other. So, not flour. He guessed maybe his shampoo products have been acting up, and involuntary reaction to his ordinary hair.
With that half-baked thought he hopped in the tub, school uniform set neatly by the site, while t-shirt and boxers thrown askew. He settled the temperatured hot enough to raise steam upwards, water quickly sprinting rivulets down the curve of his spine towards his bicep, then frolickibg unsuccesefully down from his elbows. Trails of red, irritated skin sprung out across Izuku's whole body.
He worried himself with something else as raw-bitten nails scraped at his scalp with unnecessary force. War had ended 5 months ago, and very slowly, everyone was starting to heal— the last traces of destruction were starting to fade, concealed by the hard efforts to give a bettter chance at the awaiting future, despite the events that occured.
Hope wasn't lost, and that meant a lot.
No one left unscathed from it, that much was clear. Even himself, usually guided by his stubborn-willed mind, had fallen and been bound to the restraints of agony and nightmare-fuel reminders. To his credit, he still vows to help people, even if his embers flicker out. People around him need aid, and he'll give it.
That is, until he suddently needs it himself.
His fingers itched at his scalp dutifully, lathering his strands of hair with way more shampoo than he'd usually use. He huffed a small noise of frustration.
It taunted him. Peeking unfurlingly from the rest of his curls, a lenience amidst the shade he had for the past decade and so, was still the cowlick, even under layers of soapy bubbles. Touching it tentatively, he even found it's texture rough and frayed, in comparision to his soft mop of hair. Maybe the shampoo.
He dipped his head in the water, eyes squinted shut as he held his breath under the hot water. After less than 10 seconds it became unbearing to stay sunken like that, and he pulled out faster than he thought, a gasp rattling his frame. He scrubbed at his hair.
Washing it out didn't work. Izuku stepped out, bare— and did an once-over at himself in the small mirror. His body looked fine. Inflammed red from the hot water, but fine. From within the crown of his viridian hair, the white peaked out, not even dilluted by the product. Panic sent goosebumps from his calves to his abdomen.
He would rather be caught sneaking from hero training class than show up to it like this tomorrow. People will stare, and now Izuku will cower, knowing the motive of the staring was now a living proof just blooming outward from his hair.
Izuku was so, so doomed.