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It's yet another homeroom with Aizawa-sensei looking so dead inside.
Admittedly, he looks a little less dead than usual, because he's standing straight, hands on the podium as he stares at them all, eyes bloodshot and posture weary.
"You've got a written quiz to do, kids." There is, of course, an immediate outcry, shouting and groaning, and their teacher sighs heavily, raising a hand for silence.
"Don't complain, it's important, and has nothing to do with your grades. And there's a... not a catch, but an extra element to it: a truth-based quirk."
Aizawa pauses, gaining a note of gravity that he doesn't often have to use with them anymore, eyes dark and oh-so sombre as he looks over them all, an edge of concern to it,
"You by no means have to consent to the truth quirk, kids; you can answer this without its influence and you will be taken at face value just the same as those who do consent."
There's a long few moments of silence, before a couple of quiet questions pick up, Aizawa-sensei answers them all without thought or falter, addressing their concerns in the same way that he stood up to media or bared his teeth at villains for them. He's taking this very seriously, and that bleeds into all of their attitudes to his words and their meaning.
Izuku, for his part, is thinking. Aizawa-sensei has shared that it's a wellbeing questionnaire, and that fact admittedly puts him off a little bit. Several of his friends definitely have some problems that having help for would be good, that he would push towards talking to Aizawa-sensei because their teacher would undoubtedly do whatever needed to be done for them. But Izuku doesn't need that himself. Of course not. He's pretty much fine. Accordingly, there can't be anything wrong with agreeing to the truth Quirk, Izuku is sure. Well, he has nightmares and bad days, but that's normal, right?
(Some part of him knows that he's suffering, that he wakes up in the middle of the night unable to breathe, hands spasming with static-sharp agony, chest hitching and catching. He flinches from explosions and reaching hands and loud voices, and can barely stomach food cooked for the whole class by Kacchan sometimes. He sees rooftops and remembers the breeze against his face, the settling of his heart-)
So Izuku is one of most of the class who end up going to the other room, pen in hand and chattering quietly about what exactly they think might be on the questionnaire. He pushes aside worries and fears because that's just him being paranoid, he knows, and he takes a seat at one of the twenty desks without a second thought. When a woman walks in, accompanied by Aizawa-sensei, Izuku bites his lip to keep away any rambles about whatever must be working with the truth quirk. It must be more of a blanket compulsion Quirk than the more standardly-discussed conversational truth quirks, else it wouldn't be applicable in this case, and Sensei told them to bring pens so the chances of it being dictated is limited. Unless, of course, the woman has to speak and they write, more akin to Shinsou's Quirk-
Izuku zones back in with the right timing to catch most of the actual explanation, and he really wasn't wrong with the area of effect compulsion idea, which is good. And oh, she does indeed have to dictate to them, reading the questions aloud for them to tick off their answer to, ranging from strongly positive to strongly negative. Well, that doesn't sound too bad at all.
They're told not to be alarmed by the slight trance of the Quirk, and are given one last chance to change their minds before the questionnaire is initiated with the woman speaking again, a velvet-the-wrong-way edge of soft-sharpness to her voice. Everything blurs out then.
Izuku and his classmates come to with their papers passed to the front and the woman waving cheerily at them all before they leave. He can't remember a single one of her features, except for the vaguest impression of serene blue, though whether that was her eyes or hair or nails, he couldn't say. None of them could, apparently. They return to their classroom either way, and the five of the class who had stayed in the room do tell them about some of the questions. Nobody offers up how they answered about anything, and nobody else presses. The class are far too used to trying to respect each others' boundaries, and all too aware of several of their friends' issues; it comes with the territory of being the Hell Class. They know each other, support each other. (But they don't know everything, not when it's been mere months of knowing each other; and one person is particularly good at hiding things, even more so if they're problems-)
The class don't forget about it, but it's lost to the rush of a normal, busy day. Their teacher is the only one that has to deal with the questionnaires again, at least directly.
And with that, the class' papers are piled up, those taken without the influence of the truth Quirk separated from those that were, and they're carried with Aizawa for the entire day. They're not the sort of documents that he's willing to risk losing in any way. So he keeps them with him, throughout the day, and then he gets to his flat in the dorms that evening, Hizashi's voice floating from the radio, bubbling chatter as sweet as sunshine, and he starts with the non-Quirk papers, making notes to himself about conversations to be had and actions to be taken, glad when nothing, as of yet, seems much worse than he had suspected. Two or three are even better. Eventually though, Aizawa gets to Problem Child's page, and it's not normal. Not for a kid who seems to be as almost-okay as Problem Child is. (Which, admittedly, isn't great in and of itself, but on the surface shouldn't be the worst thing ever; he has some sort of trauma, blatantly, and has some Quirk related issues too. And none of his kids sleep consistently well. But this- this is bad.)
Suffice to say, he needs to have a conversation with his Problem Child. An urgent one. And to get him some appointments with whatever therapist he'd prefer, whether that's with Hound Dog or one of their third-party therapists. Just something. Because whilst the choice to not accept the truth Quirk, in some ways, was more of a test of their wellbeing than the exact answers themselves, the fact that the kid had voluntarily chosen to accept a compulsion Quirk only to tick off affirmatives to these awful questions that had hurt Aizawa to even consider in relation to his kids (do you lose an impactful amount of sleep to nightmares or non-clinical insomnia? do you feel unworthy of the good things in your life? have you ever considered forms of self-harm or taking your own life?) doesn't add up well. It adds up fucking awfully. Either Midoriya is aware of how badly he's doing and found this the easiest way to cry for help, or he genuinely wasn't aware that his results would raise red flags.
This is more than red flags, it's fire alarms and a blaze of crimson fabric, the fall of rubble in the distance.
Aizawa is scared for his Problem Child.
But now, at least, he knows some extent of the problems. He has no idea as to the reasons, the trauma beneath it (do your triggers stem purely from events relating to your enrolment at UA? strongly negative-), but he does have a starting point. A basis. It's a Friday now, to give him the weekend to start planning and organising for the upcoming week, and that means that he can pull the kid for a conversation tomorrow easily enough, and both of them will have time to pull themselves together again before the school week afterwards. He needs and wants to address this. Hopefully Problem Child - Izuku - will work with him. Hopefully Aizawa can be his kid's hero.