Work Text:
“Good morning, Izuku.”
“Morning…”
The nurse smiles at him, eyes crinkling are the corners. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Izuku scrubs at his eyes with his fists, tubes rattling faintly with the movement.
The white noise of the room is built up with many bricks, and it slowly seeps back into his ears as he grounds himself back in reality, back in the hospital bed. The noise isn’t uncomfortable, but nor is it comfortable. Izuku is simply used to the never ending beeping of a heart monitor, the endless rattling of the tubes, the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, and everything else. It had become something of an ocean to him, something to lull him to sleep in traffic’s place, a sort of odd comfort when his mother couldn’t be at his side at night and he couldn’t listen to her breathing. It’s just white noise, inoffensive and soft in a way, and Izuku has grown to depend on it.
A shiver travels down his spine as he wonders what the room would sound like if everything went silent, like in a power outage or something of the like. That isn’t a pleasant thought in the slightest. It may be odd to anyone else, but Izuku is sure his neighbors would understand to some degree.
“Wonderful.” The nurse says. She says that a lot. “I’m just going to check your vitals and replace a few bags, alright?”
Izuku nods. This is alright. He could recite what she says by heart, he hears it every morning.
As the nurse works, Hikari she had said her name was, Izuku just lets his eyes go unfocused, fixed somewhere on the ceiling above him. It’s boring, waiting for the nurse to leave, but it is a necessary evil. Izuku knows this fact well by now.
It’s about now that Hikari attempts to start a conversation and, right on cue, she says, “You know, it’s almost Christmas.”
This genuinely shocked Izuku. His eyes widen and he slowly sits up to look at her. “Really?”
“Really.” Hikaru nods, “Have you thought about what you want?”
“Hmm…” Izuku looks down in thought, “Not yet.”
“I’ll bring some paper and markers later and we can make you a list, alright?” Hikari smiles, “Then Santa will know what you want for a gift.”
Izuku finds a small, tired smile spreading on his lips. He isn’t six years old anymore and he’s not sure he truly believes in a Santa Claus, but he doesn’t mind pretending, even if he is ten years old now. After all, it’s fun and harmless. Making a Christmas Wishlist has been something he’d always done, and his mom would always put it up on the fridge with a magnet or two. These lists often came with doodles and small hand drawn renditions of various gifts. He’d once drawn an entire scene with a Christmas tree and gifts and even a fireplace, with messy elves and a slightly cleaner reindeer. He had been so very proud of it and he wouldn’t be surprised if mom has it stored somewhere in the house. Perhaps in a scrapbook or something embarrassing like that.
“Now what are you laughing at?” Hikari brings him back to the present, “Am I attaching this wrong?”
Now Izuku does laugh, though it’s rough and weak and barely there. Hikari never made mistakes, had never made one for as long as Izuku had known her, and he doesn’t doubt that she isn’t making one now. Not that Izuku would know. He hasn’t the faintest clue how to do anything with all this hospital equipment.
“I was thinking about my mom.” Izuku admits, fidgeting with the edge of his blanket. “How she keeps everything I make. She probably has a scrapbook or something.”
“Moms are like that.” Hikari nods, “My mom has all of my baby photos in a massive scrapbook.”
“All of them?” Izuku asks.
Hikari turns to face him and nods gravely. “All of them.”
“Even the embarrassing ones?!” Izuku demands.
“Even those.” Hikari nods once more, smiling again, “Moms are like that. You could never really embarrass yourself with your mom unless you tried really hard.”
That sounds about right, based on Izuku’s experience. Especially with his mom…
“Alright, I’m all done.” Hikari says, “I’ll be back in an hour, alright?”
Izuku nods, “Okay.”
Hikari gives him a wave before slipping out of the room. The door closing behind her is gentle, as it always is with her, and Izuku stares at the handle for a few seconds after the door has closed. He’s not sure why, but he feels like he misses her. But that doesn’t seem like the right way to describe the choked up feeling in his chest, so he gives it some more thought.
He’s lonely, yes that’s it.
Izuku had never been good at being truly alone like this, in a room that is silent outside of the whirring and beeping of machinery. He’d been alright with not having any friends, that was fine, but now he had a few (if one could call the various nurses he knows as ‘friends’) and it was somehow harder to be alone now that he knows what having friends is like. That… doesn't surprise him all that much, really, but it’s still sad.
So, in an attempt to distract himself, he grabs the colouring book and the big pack of crayons from the little side table and spreads the book on his lap. He places the box of crayons next to him on the sheets and he flips open the book to a page he’d been working on last night.
He’d been using this same colouring book for about a month now and he has been putting in a lot of effort into each page. That’s how he’s putting up with both the endless beeping of his heart monitor and the knowledge that colouring books are childish. Not that he really cares, no one sees him doing this after all. And of course, he’s really proud of the pages he’s been able to produce. They all looked really good.
Colouring takes up most of his time now, colouring and doctor’s visits and surgeries and just general nurse visits. But Izuku likes colouring the best out of all of them.
————————————
The knock for breakfast is quiet as always and Izuku calls a quiet ‘come in’ in reply.
The nurse that gently pushes the door open is one he knows well. He’s been here for a few months and he is beyond nervous. He’s still a student, but Izuku thinks he will make a splendid nurse someday. He just has to work through some of his nerves.
The nurse, Kaitaro, smiles at Izuku and calls a soft greeting. He walks over and places Izuku’s breakfast tray on the little side table.
“Today is oatmeal.” Kaitaro says, “And there’s some fruit and some juice for you as well. Oh, and I snuck you a jello cup as well.”
Izuku beams at him. “Thanks!”
Kaitaro puts a finger to his lips. “You can’t tell anyone, though. It’s a secret.”
Izuku nods and whispers, “I won’t tell.”
“Good. I’ll see you at lunch.” Kaitaro smiles softly before slipping out the door once more.
And with that, Izuku is alone again. He doesn’t fault Kaitaro for leaving quickly, he does have to deliver so many meals after all, but Izuku once again feels that little choked up feeling. He doesn’t like being alone.
But he ignores this and moves the table so it extends over his hospital bed and he slowly starts to eat. Kaitaro had snuck some brown sugar onto his oatmeal as well, and Izuku can’t help the little smile that curls his lips when he notices. He mixes it all up and starts eating, the oatmeal steaming a little as he stirs. It’s nice, not too bland (because of the sugar), but it’s still oatmeal and, well, one can’t say too many exciting things about oatmeal.
And so Izuku eats in silence, wishing absentmindedly that he had some sort of company. Mom would be arriving later, after work, and he’s certainly excited for that. They always eat dinner together and she always brings him something exciting. It could be from home, or it could be takeout, but whatever it is doesn’t really matter to Izuku. What matters is that he and Mom can spend some time together.
‘Meals are tastier when you eat them with other people,’ Mom had always told him, ‘That’s why we’ll always eat dinner together, okay?’
And with that to look forward to, Izuku finishes his breakfast and sets the jello cup aside for a snack, before he moves his table away and goes back to colouring with a new level of determination. If he finishes this page, he can show her tonight and that makes it even more exciting.
————————————
Doctors are whispering outside his door.
Well, they’re not really whispering, but Izuku can’t hear them that well through the wall and door. He stops colouring and looks up at their shadows in the frosted glass, putting down his crayon so he can focus better.
Izuku can’t tell what they’re whispering about, he isn’t even sure if he is the topic of conversation, but he has never liked overhearing a conversation between doctors that must be whispered. It usually means something bad is happening or something bad has happened. Like when they were talking outside his door and the next day he learned that his next door neighbour had left. That… hadn’t been a good day.
The doctors leave a moment or two later and Izuku looks down at his colouring page. The air has turned sour around him, he isn’t sure what to do. The conversation hadn’t even been loud enough for him to hear and yet here he is worrying about it to the point that he doesn’t want to do anything else.
Slowly, he picks up his crayon again and starts colouring weakly, not really paying attention anymore. Dread is settling into his stomach and he doesn’t like it. Without thinking, he presses his hand to his stomach and grinds the heel of his hand against it, as if he could shove the dread from his stomach and body with nothing but his sheer force of will.
But of course, that doesn’t work at all, and Izuku eventually stops and goes back to doing his best to focus on colouring.
————————————
He can’t breathe.
It comes as a shock, really, Izuku doesn’t even notice he can’t breathe until his face has begun to go blue and his lungs hurt.
He drops his crayon like it had burned him and he slams his hands down on the mattress on either side of him, eyes bugging in fear. This sends his box of crayons to the floor and they spread out in a rainbow with a clatter or two. Izuku’s hands ball into fists, gripping the mattress so tightly his knuckles go white.
And, slowly, he starts trying to do the breathing exercise Kaitaro had helped him with at lunch a few days ago. It’s a simple trick to help with nerves and, well, everything else. So Izuku counts.
In for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight.
In for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight.
In for four seconds, hold for seven, out-
But he can’t breathe in so how is he supposed to hold his breath if he doesn’t have any?
Frantically, Izuku reaches over and presses the nurse call button. He can hear it pinging at the nurse’s station, but they don’t come. No one comes. They must be busy.
As his vision goes spotty, Izuku reaches over and hits the blue button. The one for emergencies.
Fear laces itself through his veins like a spider’s web, right along side the thing that clings to every muscle in his body. He can’t breathe and it hurts so much. Why does it have to hurt? Why couldn’t this sort of thing be pleasant or, at the very least, be at least not horrible?
Unsure of what to do, Izuku finally clasps his hands together and closes his eyes. He can’t breathe, his vision is spotty and fading, and his lungs are screaming at him. But he just closes his eyes and prays.
Please, he thinks, Please, I don’t want to die. Mom would be so upset. Just… I need an angel. Please. Please…
His body finally gives out and unconsciousness comes like a tsunami, sweeping Izuku away like a leaf in the wind.
————————————
Inko looks down at her phone. It’s ringing.
And, without a thought, she picks it up and answer with a cheerful ‘hello.’
The news she gets is not what she’d wanted.
The new box of crayons in her hand falls to the floor and explodes in a rainbow over the floor, colours rolling and twirling with the momentum. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth.
“Mrs Midoriya,” says the nurse, “Your son is having an attack. It looks bad.
“He may not make it out of this one.” the nurse continues.
“You may want to come say your goodbyes.”