Chapter Text
The world would be better off without him.
Kachan was right, wasn’t he? There really wasn’t anything left for him in this life.
All Might had confirmed at least that heroics would be better off without him. But what was heroics to izuku if not his whole world?
He sat on that roof for what felt like minutes but the sky had gone black and the streets had quieted by the time he came to. It was a moonless night. There were no stars either. Was even the Astral world turning it’s back on him? He let out a wet chuckle.
Surprised by the sound he’d made, he lifted his fingers to touch wet tear tracks he hadn’t been aware of. He dried his own tears. He always had. No one had been there to do it for him since the doctor’s visit that ruined his life before it had really started. He thought of his mother, kind and warm, who had started to grow increasingly cold and distant since that day.
At first it was only letting him cry, pretending not to notice because he was quirkless and “you will probably start crying again ten seconds after I get you to stop". Eventually he learnt to hide his tears altogether.
Then it was making him patch himself up after he got hurt (was hurt) because “you have to get used to being more fragile than others". So he learnt to patch up and hide even the worst burns and Bruises.
Finally it was no longer cooking for him or taking care of him altogether because “you have to learn not to be more of a burden than what is inevitable”. So he learnt to let his mother pretend he didn’t exist.
And that was the irony really. wasn’t thinking about your only family member, especially your mother, supposed to push you away from the edge?
For izuku it only solidified the idea as perfectly rational. Because that was it really. The three important things in his life: heroics, his mom and Kachan.
All of which didn’t want him.
So he strengthened his resolve and turned to go through his bag. He pulled out his notebook, a pen and his ID.
What would he write? He’s sure his mother wouldn’t read it, kachan probably wouldn’t care either way. But he felt like he should probably give them the option just incase. Maybe some police officer would read it before finding out he was quirkless and throwing it away. Maybe they’d even laugh at it. Izuku didn’t really care at this point.
Maybe he wasn’t doing this for them. Maybe this wasn’t about them at all. Maybe he was writing this note to pretend one last time that he was important to someone.
Maybe had he been a more vindictive person he would hope they would be devastated and that the note would be a final punch to the gut. But he wasn’t vindictive. He wasn’t delusional either. He knew they wouldn’t read it.
So he wrote. To himself mostly. As a form of closure maybe? He didn’t know. He didn’t think he’d need closure where he was going. But why not? He wasn’t in a rush up here. The night seemed to be an endless expanse of black that wouldn’t leave without him, would wait for him.
It’s when he finished writing that he realized he would never see the sun again.
He’d never see it rise, or set. He’d never feel the autumn rain on his face and the light summer breeze through his curls. He’d never pet another cat, drink another cup of coffee or take another scalding shower.
And in that breif moment he grieved for himself.
No one else would.
Would he even have a funeral? How did things like that work, For people who no one loved ? Maybe he would have a funeral, maybe the school would hear of the news and everyone would show up to mock him until the bitter end.
Maybe all the spider lilies meant for his desk would end up on his grave.
He bent to fiddle with his shoelaces. Why did people even take off their shoes to jump anyway? Were you supposed to take them off before entering the afterlife to prevent from dragging in mud or something? He didn’t understand it, but he figured it was the wrong time to start being avant-garde. So he took them off and placed the folded note underneath them.
He put his ID in his pocket. Might as well make things easier for everyone involved in case he smashes head first into concrete. Might as well save his mother a trip to the morgue to identify his body. Might as well save his lifeless body one last disgusted sneer from his mother.
Once he stood on the ledge the world almost went still. Maybe he’d be afraid of falling from this height if he didn’t have ever intention to die.
He wanted to die .
And all he had to do was give in to the soft embrace of the night air Below him.
So he did.
He didn’t jump. He only leaned into the darkness.
As if he dunked his head under water his senses dulled, time slowed and he lifted his arms out as if it would let him float a little longer, perhaps even soften his landing.
He heard a voice, distant and fuzzy through the cotton in his ears. He couldn't make out what the voice was saying but it sounded desperate, terrified. Too far away. He liked the voice. It was warm in a way. Had it been perhaps a day sooner he would have let himself hope that it would stay warm after hearing of his quirklessness .
But today was the final straw.
the world will be better off without him.