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Midoriya Izuku hates that calendar. It shouldn't even be in the classroom. It serves no purpose. Well, no purpose other than constantly reminding him that it is his birthday. His birthday. His day. The day every seems so keen on forgetting.
Let them forget, a twisted part of himself says, you don't deserve their affection. He wants to listen to it. That would be better than listening to the awkward churn of the fan looming above him. There's a nice breeze where he sits. The paper wiggling under his palm flaps wildly when confronted with the air. Right, he has a test to do.
It's disturbing how hollow he feels. He should be feeling disgust, disappointment and other negative emotions starting with d. He shouldn't be feeling so light and yet so heavy at the same time, weighed down by his cursed emotions. He feels like one of the questions on the test. So easy to read and meant to analyze. He can't ignore the glances shot his way from his classmates, looking like deers in a headlight with their naive worry. It's almost ironic how they don't understand. They won't ever understand.
He still hasn't finished the test and it's already been a sold 20 minutes. He's distracted. The calandar sitting innocently across from him wrings harmlessly as wind slaps at it. July 15 is written across it in bold. It's circled in a vibrant, obnoxious red meant to symbolise someone's birthday. His. His name is written in the same obnoxious red under the lettering. It's idiotic how no one seems to see how much the red gleems under the light or how obvious it was. It was so in the way and up in your face that it made him want to laugh. He knows he's going to get a bad grade. He doesn't seem to care.
The test is over. He has English next and he desperately hopes there isn't another calendar in Present Mic's classroom.
There is one. It's also across from him, like the previous one. This one is bright yellow. He doesn't hear a single word his teacher says that lesson.
He used to love calandars as a kid. He loved writing something for each day, whether it be an important event or just a message to cheer himself up. He loved making it as disruptive as possible just to make it pop in his already colorful room. He remembered days of small smiles when he glanced up at the calandar. He remembered sighs of relief whenever it reminded him of an important event. He hasn't gotten to mark it this year.
Midoriya's mom sends him birthday texts. She has, for about five years in a row. She's never forgotten. So there's something to look forward to. He's sitting in the common room anxiously trying to interact with his friends as usual. They don't notice him checking his phone sporadically. They don't notice when he whimpers because it's already 11 and his mom still hasn't said anything yet.
He hadn't marked the calandar this year.
His mom had forgotten.
He doesn't feel hollow anymore. He's gotten that rush of emotion he thought of earlier. It's worse than he thought. His throat is closing up and his tongue feels raw. His lips feel dry even though his hands are warm and clammy with sweat. His body is cold and he thinks he might be shivering even though his insides feel burning hot. His stomach turns with a heat that chards everything in him. His heart beats fast with the fire raging in the pit of his chest. He feels acidic bile splash in him and make him want to puke it out. His mind is filled with empty static as realization closes around him.
No one remembered.
Not All Might.
Not Uraraka.
Not Iida.
Not Todoroki.
Not Kacchan.
Not his mom.
He's alone. He's surrounded by people but he's so, so cold. He seems to be putting up invisible barriers meant to ward off their welcoming warmth. He doesn't want it. Not if they've forgotten. He realizes that his eyes are squeezed shut and he that people will begin to worry. He forces them open.
There's a calandar sitting across from him.
Midoriya Izuku hates calandars.