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Upon waking up, still swallowed by the night’s inky darkness, Izuku was immediately convinced that he was going to die.
His limbs were protruding slabs of iron, stationary and solid under a blanket that, typically, brought the boy a needed layer of comfort. Now, its pressure was smothering and uncomfortable. Inescapable, just like the pressing force settled across his ribs. With each failed attempt Izuku made in swallowing a mouthful of air against the tightening in his lungs, he felt the heat of anxiety working from the tips of his ears to sleep-sunken cheeks.
He had many nights like this: spiraling out of nightmares so quick that Izuku could only wrestle with empty space afterwards, dazed, instead of sleeping. Hazy vision unadjusted to the burn of dancing shadows on the wall come morning, leaving the student disoriented and feeling off, even when Izuku fell into the established routine of his own life. The illusion of suffocation left an ache in his chest that was confining. It felt very real . His panicked thoughts were loud like mind-numbing sirens that had no ending.
Izuku had felt it all before, more times than he could count.
Still, every time felt like the first. The longer he waited for everything to fall into place, to breathe without struggle, to think clearly, to move, the more he became convinced: he wouldn’t be able to calm down and, in the midst of his disquiet, he would lose the battle. He would die.
Tears made fiery trails down Izuku’s face as he laid in his bed. He barely noticed, and still couldn’t find the strength to twitch, let alone clear the drops away. The walls of his dorm room frowned down at him, watching the disaster, personified, that had barely saved Eri.
Peering down at the holder of One for All who was unworthy. Undeserving.
Staring at the hero who was there, who could have done more, should have done more. But didn’t. So Mirio still lost his quirk.
And Nighteye lost his life.
Izuku was expected to continue on like those things hadn’t happened. To go to school, to train, like his mistakes made no difference. Like success had been achieved. Like he hadn’t failed. Words of praise had followed Izuku from out of the compound to the hospital after the raid, but he paid them no mind.
Because everyone didn’t know. They had no idea that All Might had made a mistake; Nighteye was right in wanting Mirio to take One for All. Izuku, with all of his scars, broken bones, and disfigured thoughts, carried around the evidence of his shortcomings.
He had months of training, with All Might and the other pros who became his teachers, but he hadn’t moved forward. For every step Izuku attempted to make, another incident would occur to further convince him that he was wasting the effort everyone put into his progress. He needed to do better, to become strong, but Izuku was at a loss on how to proceed. And, with The League of Villains lurking after his every step, Izuku knew that time was running out for him to figure it out.
The thought inflated the boy’s chest with something strong, making room for a whimper to claw upward, darting free from between clenched teeth. With that one sailing out into the stillness of his room, Izuku finally sucked in a deep breath, taking in air and an overwhelming feeling of torment.
Bitter stings of pain flowed through his arms, then his legs, heavy like waves but still remote. It felt like something that hung on the edge of his consciousness; there peripherally, but just out of reach. Then, just as the pangs settled into a senseless buzzing, his fingers began to twitch.
He could finally move.
And so he did. His body still felt burdensome while hiccups began catching in his throat; river trails were still fresh and damp on his face. He ignored that in favor of moving as swiftly as he could out of his room and into the hallway.
A ghost, even to himself, Izuku glided across the floor, so invested in his haste that a swell of surprise rested in his stomach upon walking into the commons. He could barely make out the memory of him riding in the elevator.
The loss of time worried Izuku enough for the edges of his vision to blur, unfocused with the persistent flow of tears. Palms roughly swiped across his eyelids until the boy saw colors in the dark. Just as he pulled his hands away, frustrated with his own pitiful reaction, Izuku caught movement from his left. Shock locked his legs into place just as the echo of a throat clearing sounded through the room.
Aizawa-sensei was also awake.
“Midoriya, are you alright? It’s late.” The gruff voice, soft and patient, pierced through the fog filling Izuku’s mind. He wasn’t sure when that had happened, when he began finding solace in his sensei’s presence, but the boy knew it had been that way for some time now.
Maybe Izuku first noticed the soothing effect during the League of Villian’s attack at the Unforeseen Simulation Joint. Aizawa-sensei had jumped in to protect him and his classmates without hesitation or perceived fear; despite continued damage from Shigaraki and his Nomu, Aizawa continued fighting to keep them out of harm’s way.
And Izuku had been afraid the whole time. Knowing that Eraserhead was on their side, however, brought a glimmer of relief. Because he cared about Izuku and the rest of 1A, he would do anything to keep them safe. The scar cradled under his eye and across his elbow, the way Izuku saw him subtly massage across aches and phantom pain while in class or the dorm, were a testament to that fact.
Coming out of the Shie Hassaikai raid, Izuku had seen the pattern enough to not be surprised by the relatively impassive man’s ability to sit in as a resemblance of sunshine. He was warm and hopeful, during even the darkest of hours.
Surrounded by the shadow of his faults though, Izuku saw no light. He felt no warmth. Aizawa’s voice fell into insistent ringing and, even though Izuku considered getting closer, wanting some sort of comfort, sharpness pierced at his heart. Before he could make sense of it, fire was working its way out of his stomach, up his throat, and onto his cheeks. Izuku almost expected his tears to wilt away into steam.
“On the first day of class, why didn’t you expel me?”
A pause, then, “Excuse me?”
“Why, sensei? During our apprehension test, you said I couldn’t be a hero with my power, and you were right! You were right but you didn’t expel me and I don’t understand why. I-I… I’m not a hero, I can’t be one. I can’t move forward or do better, become better , because I keep failing with everything I do. I’ve been training as much as I can, I pay attention in class, I’m trying so hard but none of it matters because everything keeps falling apart. There’s no way for me to make this quirk my own; I don’t deserve it, and I don’t deserve any of the opportunities I’ve been given. You should have expelled me but you didn’t and I’ve made it all so hard for you and everyone else and I’m s-sorry for not being enough and a-and and”
His stuttering came to a halt when he felt a hand press onto his cheek, immediately extinguishing his internal flames. Izuku hadn’t noticed when Aizawa-sensei had gotten so close, his face looming over him from their difference in height with a kind, though diluted expression, but the proximity and contact were familiar and appeasing.
Something deep within him whispered that he didn’t deserve such kindness. That, for everything he had done, blemished skin and mutilated bones were his reward. And he should be happy with that. Gentle touches were not for him.
Still, he didn’t pull away.
After taking in the emotions swimming around tired eyes, Izuku looked away from the man’s face. There were no hints of hatred. The boy saw no resentment or distaste, yet fear still squirmed into his chest. He didn’t allow his vision to venture past the other’s chest once he focused on it. He took in the slow rise and fall there, a beat that Izuku desperately tried to copy.
“Izuku,” his face tilted upward before he could stop it, not used to hearing Aizawa-sensei calling him that. He missed the warmth of the other’s hand as soon as it slipped away. But instead of steering towards expectant dark orbs, he stared at the crescent scar. He watched it twitch and pull with movement as the man spoke.
“Izuku, do you trust me?”
The boy wiped an arm across his face to buy time. Thankfully, when he pulled away, his cheeks stayed dry afterwards. “I… yes? I trust you.”
“Do you trust my ability to teach? And, as a teacher, to make the most logical choices that ensure I do my job and assist my students?”
The boy nodded.
“Then what do you think kept me from expelling you?”
Izuku didn’t know what to make of how startled that question made him. So much of Aizawa’s concealed warmth came from his ability to nurture the process: Aizawa easily led his students through class and hardship, all their teenage confusion and agitation, by asking questions, requesting elaboration and seeking out understanding.
The rough something that had woken Izuku up and pulsed beneath his skin was consuming, but not enough to ignore his sensei. Never enough to disregard the value of his probing.
He said the first thing that came to mind, moments of thinking leaving him with nothing else. “Because I have a powerful quirk?”
Izuku watched an eyebrow raise from under dark locks. “I’ve had students, entire classes even, with extraordinary quirks of all sorts. That alone did little to protect them from dismissal. Try again, Problem Child.”
“I don’t know, sensei,” Izuku couldn’t help how a huff colored his tongue, that spark starting to ignite again. Before the heat became too much, the boy realized he was tired. He was tired of pretending, of keeping up a facade that had everyone fooled. And Izuku was most tired of his sensei falling for lies, so much that he kept the boy in class as long as he had.
Words were spilling before he could catch himself.
“Maybe it’s because you don’t actually know the truth about me, sensei. All of this, everything you think you know about me, is wrong. It’s all a lie. I kept breaking my bones and falling behind everyone in class because this quirk doesn’t belong to me! It’s not mine and it’ll never be. It doesn’t matter if I have All Might training me, or if I was lucky enough to get into UA; I was quirkless, for so long. I was ignored and thrown to the side by everyone. Things would be better if it had stayed that way.
“I can’t, sensei! I can’t keep up. I can’t do the right thing when it matters; I can’t do anything on my own, and it’s because I don’t belong here! You didn’t expel me even though your first impression was right: I have no potential. I’m u seless , Aizawa-sensei! People have been hurt, have died, because of me! It’s all because of my stupid, hopeless dream to become a hero, to actually be worth someth-”
“Midoriya, that’s enough!”
Izuku’s mouth slammed shut, eyes frantically scanning over the other. He noticed his sensei’s hair first. The strands defied gravity, reaching upward for the ceiling, roof, and sky. Then he noticed Aizawa’s eyes, blazing ruby red. He glared over at Izuku across the arm’s length that separated the two. There was anger there; it didn’t take Izuku much to notice that.
The longer he stared, though, not possessing the strength to avert his gaze, the more confused he felt. Aizawa’s anger was fused with something shiny, a shimmer that he recognized from his childhood, from his mom’s stare. Back then, as she would zero in on poorly hidden scars, or when she would hear the tail-end of her son’s mutters, filled with so much detest and self-hatred , her eyes would reflect in the same way.
Molded to hit his sensei’s gaze, the glistening in the man’s orbs made Izuku feel raw and small, like the child that he forgot he was.
“I understand that you assess yourself with a critical eye, Izuku,” the gritty voice started. “I can appreciate that insofar as it makes you a reliable student and independent person. However, I will not allow you to take blame for things that are. Not. Your. Fault. Perfection is impossible to reach and a dangerous standard to strive for, Problem Child.
“I kept you in my class because you deserve to be here, do you understand?” The man reached for Izuku’s hand, thumb stroking over uneven flesh before pulling it up for them both to see.
“I keep you in my class, Izuku, because, even when you didn’t have the means to do better, you found a way, and you continue to do so everyday. On our first day of class, you proved me wrong: you have potential and you are enough. You can become a hero. Hell, you already are one.”
“Sensei… ”
“I mean it, kid. Don’t sell yourself, or your progress, short. If you trust me, then believe what I’m telling you. It’s that simple.”
From there, scarlet faded into their usual onyx while Aizawa’s hair fell back to his shoulders. Izuku watched his teacher blink through a teary mirage. He desperately wanted what Sensei said to be true. He wanted to be good, to be enough.
But he couldn’t be sure. Even with Aizawa’s assurance, the boy had no way of really knowing if things simply changed once All Might gave him One for All, or because he did. The older man hadn’t known Izuku when he was quirkless. If he had, his opinion probably wouldn’t be the same.
Sensei didn’t give him long to ponder that.
“Izuku, you’re zoning out. Stay with me, kid. I need you to focus so you can tell me something, ” Izuku’s sniffle was loud, his nod timid. “You said a few things that I don’t… understand. What do you mean when you say that your quirk doesn’t belong to you?”
Exhaustion had already seeped into Izuku’s blood, saturating his bones. He knew he had said too much; with the exception of Kacchan, Izuku and All Might had never talked about revealing One for All to anyone else. There was a sting of worry, buried beneath fatigue, irritation, and layers of unregulated self-loathing. Too concealed, then, for the boy to care about the consequences.
“I meant that… Well, it kind of doesn’t. The quirk is called One for All. It can be transferred from person to person at the will of the current holder. All Might passed it to me even though I was quirkless before. So, including myself, there have now been nine holders of the quirk.
“During the first generation of quirk users, All for One, the villain All Might fought before retiring, forced his younger brother to take on a quirk that could stock power. With that, his brother, who everyone assumed was quirkless, realized that he had a quirk that was lying dormant. He had the ability to give away quirks.”
“And that’s how One for All originated?”
Izuku nodded. He considered what else to say, what part needed to be covered next. Drowsiness tugged at his limbs the longer he sat, insistent and compelling, so he stayed quiet.
The teen allowed himself to lean back clumsily, colliding gently with the wall before sliding down towards the ground. He pulled his knees up to sit under his chin, allowing his weight to lean against the carpet with things feeling dark and uncertain. He suddenly wished he had stayed in bed
Aizawa, who had been standing across from him, ever watchful, copied his position. After some adjusting, he gave the boy a small nod, expression inquisitive, but open, before snorting softly.
“I’ll admit, Problem Child, with all the speculation going on, I was beginning to believe the rumor that All Might’s your father.”
Izuku sputtered. “Ah, I-uh, Aizawa-sensei that’s not... I mean, he’s not—”
“Kid, relax. I know he’s not. I just didn’t know what to make of your ‘bond’ beforehand. Nonetheless, despite how… out there all of what you’ve told me seems, it would account for your connection, I suppose.”
Aizawa allowed for a quiet moment. He stirred before pulling out his eye drops. Izuku hadn’t seen from where. Just as he put in the second dose, hands moving with practiced ease, he spoke again. “When exactly were you given the quirk, then?”
Fatigue had brought Izuku to an unintentional state of composure. Revealing the secret of both One for All and All for One outright shouldn't have been that easy. But it was. His sensei had taken it all in stride and, for how
He knew that answering Aizawa’s next question, however, would not be so simple. Anxiety tickled around his lungs.
“Well… All Might and I met a little more than ten months before UA’s entrance exam. We spent the whole time training so that my body would be able to handle One for All’s power once it was transferred.” From there, Izuku lowered his voice, muttering in a manner different from his usual processing whispers.
Again, Aizawa raised a brow. “You wanna repeat that for me, Midoriya?”
Izuku swallowed, throat suddenly tight. “I… I said that All Might gave me the quirk on the morning of the exam.”
“The morning of?” Izuku heard the pitch change in his sensei’s voice; otherwise, he appeared still and blank. Unmoving. Against his better judgement, the boy gave a sound of affirmation.
Silence found a home between them. It stayed for quite some time. Izuku toyed with his fingers, pulling at each of them before calloused fingertips tickled over the rugged uprise of scarred tissue. He wondered what Aizawa-sensei was thinking about. He wondered how the man was feeling, knowing the truth.
Everything that Izuku had told him was a lot to take in. Not to mention that, before telling him about One for All, Izuku essentially had a tantrum and fussed at his sensei when he likely had papers to grade, or lesson plans to go over, or anything more important than a problem child and his dumb problems to worry over.
The boy felt water catch between his eyelashes. “Sensei… Are you mad? At me?”
A sigh disturbed the still air around them. Izuku watched a hand float towards his line of vision, getting closer and closer to his face before he felt two fingers press into his forehead. As his brows furrowed, not sure what to make of the touch, Aizawa added pressure until Izuku got the hint, and raised his head.
Sensei was smiling.
“You’re just proving my point here, Problem Child. While I can’t say that I am thrilled to know that you were thrown into my class with little, to no, training with your quirk, I’m not upset with you. Not for something like that. What I can say, though, is that I’m impressed.”
Izuku frowned at that, prepared to argue his point, but he felt those fingers poke at his forehead again. Aizawa placed three quick jabs there with a grin before pulling away. There was a playful tint to his voice
“Don’t be a brat; it’s impolite to interrupt people when they’re talking, kid.” Izuku huffed, fighting off a smile, but stayed quiet. “Midoriya, I want to reiterate something I already said to you: despite your inexperience, you still came to class and tried your best, everyday. You’ve been learning beside your peers, who have had their quirks since they were four, at least, and you’re still one of my top students.
“I know you’re putting pressure on yourself because you want to make up for lost time, but you’ve got to give yourself some credit, kid. I mean, All Might gave you the quirk instead of anyone else, right?”
Izuku nodded.
“And you got into UA?”
Another nod.
“You also train everyday, yes? You meet problems head on and save people in the process, despite the damage it brings you, for better or worse?”
“I don’t-”
“You do. Not only that, but while you were doing it, you’ve gotten stronger. As your teacher, it’s my job to note your progress. I have to see what you’re improving on, the ways you’re doing it, and continue to foster what you’re doing well. Could I do that if you weren’t in my class? Would I even bother if you didn’t have what it took, Izuku?”
This time, something clicked. Izuku wasn’t completely convinced, he wasn’t sure if he'd ever be, but Aizawa-sensei said his words with such confidence. His smile had dropped but he still looked so warm and sure. Izuku was worn out by the cold. He was over frosty thoughts and doubts sharp like icicles. Even if it was for just a moment, he wanted the man to be right, without question.
So he believed him. And he cried. And he tucked into his sensei’s side at the offer of a hug, holding on as if his life depended on it.
In some ways, it did.
A hand petted at the back of wild curls, gentle like Aizawa, to the class of 1A, was known to be. He allowed Izuku to dry his eyes against his cotton-soft black tee, and he hummed softly at the apology he heard his student whisper into his side.
“It’s what I’m here for, kid. No apologies needed. You don’t deserve to carry all that weight and darkness by yourself. Let me help you when you need it, and trust me when I do, alright?”
Izuku sniffed again, probably for the thousandth time in the last few hours. His eyelids were heavy and he worried about how he would get back upstairs to his room if he didn’t get up soon. But he stayed put anyways. It’s always easiest to sleep surrounded by the sun’s heat.
Even if it was the middle of the night.
“Alright, sensei. Thank you.”
“Sure, kid. Sure.”