Chapter Text
6:35 AM.
Shouta reached over, without looking, and found Mic’s hand on the table. He squeezed. Hard. His eyes were wet. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
Mic squeezed back.
6:37 AM.
The front door opened. Footsteps in the hall. The kids, probably up early to check on them before class.
But for a second, it was just them.
At the table.
Together.
Moving a bit more.
Just like Mic had hoped.
6:40 AM.
Day 152.
Morning.
And they made it to the table.
---
---
At 7:08 AM, the kitchen had transformed. It wasn’t loud, not like it usually was during class breakfasts, but it was alive. Plates clinked softly as Iida passed them out with the precision of a military drill. Kaminari poured juice with both hands, tongue stuck out in concentration so he wouldn’t spill. Sato had disappeared back into the kitchen and returned with more congee, with fruit, with tea, setting everything down within Izuku’s reach without saying a word. The whole class moved around the table like they were performing surgery: careful, deliberate, terrified of breaking the moment.
Izuku was still eating. Slow, shaky spoonfuls that took everything he had, but he was doing it. His elbow kept slipping on the table, and Shouta’s hand was there every time, steadying him without comment. Mic sat on Izuku’s other side, close enough that their shoulders touched, and he kept up a running stream of nonsense just to fill the silence. He was talking about his radio show, about a listener who called in to request a song for their cat, about how Present Mic was technically a morning person now. Izuku wasn’t really responding, but his eyes were on Mic’s face, and every so often his lips twitched like he wanted to laugh. That was enough.
Bakugo hadn’t touched his food. He was sitting across from Izuku, arms crossed, glaring at his plate like it had personally offended him. But he wasn’t really looking at the plate. His eyes kept flicking up, tracking every time Izuku lifted the spoon, every time he swallowed, every time his chest hitched under the mask. When Izuku’s hand started trembling too hard to hold the spoon, Bakugo clicked his tongue and reached over. He didn’t ask. He just took the bowl, scooped up a bite, and held it out. The whole room froze.
Izuku stared at him. Then at the spoon. Then back at him. For a second, Mic thought he was going to refuse. But then Izuku leaned forward, just a little, and let Bakugo feed him. It was quiet. It was careful. It was the gentlest thing Bakugo had ever done, and nobody commented on it because if they did, he’d probably explode the kitchen. He fed him three bites before Izuku shook his head, exhausted, and Bakugo set the bowl down like it burned him.
Shouta hadn’t let go of Izuku’s hand. Not once. His thumb was rubbing slow circles against Izuku’s knuckles, and his eyes were on his kid’s face like he was memorizing it. He looked wrecked. Worse than he had yesterday. But he also looked… lighter. Like seeing Izuku at the table, eating, breathing, _here_, had taken fifty pounds off his chest. He caught Mic looking and just nodded. Once. That was it. That was everything.
By 7:20 AM, Izuku was done. He’d eaten maybe a third of the bowl, but that was a third more than yesterday. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, utterly spent, but he didn’t ask to go back to bed. He just sat there, listening to the quiet clatter of the class around him, to Kirishima and Sero arguing in whispers about whether All Might could beat Godzilla, to Uraraka and Mina giggling about something on Momo’s phone. He was part of it. Not watching from the couch. Not sleeping through it. Part of it.
Mic had hoped last night that they’d move a bit more today. And they had. They’d made it from the couch to the table. They’d eaten. They’d talked. Izuku had laughed. Shouta hadn’t had a nightmare. It wasn’t much. To anyone else, it would look like nothing. But to them, to this room, it was everything.
At 7:25 AM, Izuku’s head tipped sideways and landed on Shouta’s shoulder. He was out before his eyes fully closed. Shouta didn’t move. Just shifted his arm so Izuku was more secure, and looked at Mic. “Told you,” he rasped, so soft only Mic could hear. “Ready for the day.”
Mic had to look away before he did something embarrassing, like cry into his congee. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “Yeah, you were.”
Day 152. Morning. They moved a bit more. And it felt like maybe, just maybe, they were getting better.
—---
At 7:30 AM, Izuku stirred on Shouta’s shoulder. His eyes blinked open, hazy but awake, and he shifted in the chair like he was uncomfortable. Mic noticed first. He always noticed first when it came to Izuku.
“You okay, Zuku?” Mic asked, keeping his voice low so he didn’t startle him.
Izuku nodded, then winced. He tugged at the hospital gown he’d been living in for the past week, fingers plucking at the thin fabric. It was wrinkled. Stained in places from medicine and sweat and long nights. “Can I…” he started, then stopped. His cheeks went pink under the mask. “Can I get dressed? Please?”
The whole table went quiet again. Shouta’s head turned, slow, and he studied Izuku like he was checking for fever. “You sure?” he rasped. “That’s a lot, kid.”
Izuku nodded again, more sure this time. “I want to. Feel… fresh. Want real clothes.”
Mic was already standing before Shouta could answer. “I got him,” he said. Soft, but firm. He looked at Izuku. “Want some help, kiddo? We can take the elevator.”
Izuku hesitated for half a second. Pride warring with exhaustion. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Please.”
Shouta opened his mouth like he was going to protest, to insist he should go too, but Mic shot him a look. _Rest_, it said. _I’ve got him_. Shouta’s jaw clenched, then relaxed. He nodded once and let his hand fall from Izuku’s. “Be careful,” he muttered.
it was a whole ordeal getting him up. Mic pulled the chair back. Bakugo stood, silent, and moved the oxygen tank so the tube wouldn’t catch. Kirishima hovered by the doorway like he wanted to help but didn’t know how. Izuku stood on shaking legs, Mic’s arm tight around his waist, and for a second they just stood there. Breathing. Making sure he wasn’t going to collapse.
“Elevator,” Mic said. “Easy. You’ve got this.”
The walk to the elevator was slow. Painfully slow. Izuku leaned most of his weight on Mic, and each step looked like it cost him. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t ask to sit down. The class parted for them like the Red Sea, watching with wide eyes and held breath. Nobody spoke. Bakugo followed them to the elevator doors and punched the button, then stood there, glaring at the floor numbers like he could will it to move faster.
the doors closed on them. Just Mic and Izuku and the soft hum of the elevator. Izuku’s head dropped against Mic’s shoulder, exhausted already, but he was smiling. Tiny. Real.
“Proud of you,” Mic whispered, pressing a kiss to green curls. “This is huge, Zuku.”
Izuku didn’t answer. But his hand tightened on Mic’s shirt.
His room was exactly how he’d left it months ago.
Bed made, All Might posters on the wall, notebooks stacked neatly on the desk. It smelled like him. Like clean laundry and old paper and home. Mic eased him onto the edge of the bed, and Izuku just sat there for a minute, catching his breath. The oxygen tank hissed quietly beside him.
“Okay,” Mic said, going to the dresser. “What are we feeling? Comfy? Hero merch? Something to confuse Eraser?”
That got a laugh. Small and breathy, but real. “Surprise me,” Izuku whispered.
Mic opened the drawers and started digging. He pulled out a plain white top, soft from years of washes, and a pair of black jeans that would actually stay up on Izuku’s frame now that he’d lost so much weight. Then he stopped. Hanging in the back of the closet was a hoodie. Black, oversized, with the Eraserhead logo across the chest in dark gray. It was unofficial merch—Mic had gotten it for him years ago after Izuku wouldn’t stop analyzing Shouta’s capture weapon in his notebooks. Izuku had worn it all the time before he got sick.
Mic held it up. “No way you have shoutas merch… ”
Izuku looked, and his eyes crinkled. “Oh. Yeah I've had it for a few years.. .”
“Eraserhead merch,” Mic said, grinning. “amazing…. Have you worn it before.. Awww shou will love it..”
“It’s comfortable,” Izuku whispered, defensive. “And it… helps. With the nightmares.”
“Then it’s perfect,” Mic said. Soft now. “Shouta’s gonna see this and not know what to do with himself.”
Izuku giggled. Actually giggled, and had to grab his chest as a cough threatened but didn’t come. “Okay,” he said, still laughing. “That one. Please.”
At 7:55 AM, getting dressed took forever. Izuku could barely lift his arms, and Mic had to do most of it, gentle and careful and talking the whole time so it didn’t feel clinical. The white top went on first. Then the black jeans, loose but better than the hospital gown. Then the hoodie. It swamped him. The sleeves went past his hands and the hem hit his thighs, but when Mic zipped it up, Izuku looked down at the Eraserhead logo and smiled. Soft. Happy.
“You look good,” Mic said, and he meant it. “You look like yourself.”
Izuku looked up at him, eyes shiny. “Thanks, Mic.”
Mic ruffled his hair. “Eraser is gonna take one look at you in his merch and forget how to function. I can’t wait.”
Izuku laughed again, quiet but real, and for a second he didn’t look sick. He just looked like a fifteen-year-old in an oversized hoodie that smelled like safety.
At 8:00 AM, Mic helped him stand. “Ready to go show sho ?”
Izuku nodded, gripping Mic’s arm. “Ready.”
Day 152. Morning. After breakfast, Izuku wanted to get dressed. He needed help, obviously, so Mic asked and Izuku agreed. Together they went up the elevator to his room. He picked out a white top, black jeans, and Shouta’s merch hoodie. Mic said Shouta would be confused. Izuku laughed.
---
At 8:01 AM, standing was hard.
Walking was harder.
But Izuku was doing it.
In a white top.
Black jeans.
And Shouta’s hoodie.
The Eraserhead logo stretched across his chest, dark gray on black, and the sleeves hung past his fingertips. He looked small in it. Swamped. But he also looked warm. He looked like _him_.
Mic kept one arm tight around his waist, the other hand on the oxygen tank as they rolled it forward. “Slow,” Mic murmured. “No rush. We’ve got all day.”
Izuku nodded, concentrating on each step. His legs shook, but they held. One foot. Then the other. Down the hall toward the elevator.
At 8:03 AM, the elevator doors opened on the dorm floor. Voices drifted from the common room—Kirishima, probably, and Kaminari. Then they stopped.
Because the elevator dinged.
Because the doors slid open.
Because Mic stepped out with Izuku leaning hard into his side, and Izuku was in real clothes.
At 8:04 AM, Shouta looked up from the couch.
He’d been half-asleep again, head tipped back, but the sound made his eyes snap open. And then he saw them.
Saw Izuku.
Standing.
In his hoodie.
Shouta’s brain short-circuited. Visibly. His mouth opened. Closed. His eyes went from Izuku’s face, to the Eraserhead logo, back to his face.
“Uh,” Shouta said. Eloquently.
Mic cackled. “Told you,” he said, way too smug. “Told you he’d forget how to function.”
Izuku’s cheeks went pink above the mask, but he was smiling. He tugged the sleeves down further over his hands, self-conscious. “Hi,” he whispered.
Shouta blinked. Once. Twice. Then his face did something complicated. It wasn’t quite a smile. It was softer. Wrecked. “You,” he rasped. Then stopped. Cleared his throat. “That’s my merch.... How..... I. I forgot they even made it.... .”
“It was in my closet,it's been a while since I last wore it” Izuku said, voice tiny. “Is that… okay?”
Shouta stood up. Slow. Like his joints hurt. Like his heart hurt. He walked over, each step deliberate, and stopped right in front of Izuku. He reached out, fingers brushing the logo on Izuku’s chest. Then he looked up, and his eyes were wet.
“Yeah, kid,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”
At 8:06 AM, the common room exploded.
“NO WAY,” Mina shrieked, then immediately clapped both hands over her mouth. “Sorry! Sorry. But— Deku! Clothes!”“Dude,” Kirishima said, grinning so wide it had to hurt. “You look _awesome_.”
“Very manly,” Iida agreed, adjusting his glasses fast. “The merch is a commendable choice.”
Todoroki just nodded. Once. But his eyes were soft.
Bakugo was by the kitchen island. He looked over, took in the hoodie, and snorted. “Hah? The hell, nerd. You look like a discount Eraserhead.”
Izuku ducked his head, but he was laughing. Quiet. Wheezy. Real. “Thanks, Kacchan.”
At 8:08 AM, Izuku swayed.
Just a little.
But Shouta caught it.
And Mic caught it.
Before Izuku could even think about falling, Shouta had him. One arm around his back, steadying him, easing him down onto the couch. Izuku went without a fight, boneless and exhausted, but he was still smiling.
“Okay,” Shouta said, voice rough. “That’s enough for now. You’re done.”
Izuku didn’t argue. He just curled into the corner of the couch, pulling the hoodie tighter around himself, and let his eyes drift shut. He was asleep in seconds.
At 8:10 AM, Mic sat down on his other side. He looked at Shouta over Izuku’s head. Shouta was still staring at the logo on Izuku’s chest like he couldn’t believe it was real.
“He picked it,” Mic whispered. “Said it helps with the nightmares.”
Shouta closed his eyes. Exhaled. When he opened them again, they were wet. “Idiot kid,” he muttered. But his hand came up and rested on Izuku’s back. Protective. Like he could keep the nightmares away just by being there.
At 8:12 AM, the room settled again.
The kids went back to their breakfasts, to their whispered conversations, to pretending they weren’t all watching Izuku sleep in Shouta’s hoodie.
Mic leaned back and let himself breathe.
They’d moved a bit more today.
Gotten dressed.
Walked to the elevator.
Wore real clothes.
And Shouta— Shouta looked wrecked and whole all at once.
Day 152.
8:15 AM.
And Izuku was asleep on the couch.
In a white top.
Black jeans.
And Eraserhead’s hoodie.
Safe. At home with everyone