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There were three days of radio silence, once again, from Inko, and on the third day, Izuku invited Shouto and Hitoshi over to study. Shouto picked the meal this time and ordered tteokbokki for delivery, with an excess of side dishes — he always had too much fun spending Endeavor’s money, and Hitoshi and Izuku had too much fun enabling him.
When the food arrived, they abandoned their study session in favor of eating, and spread the food out on the table. Shouto patiently explained each meal dish as they laid it out. The tteokbokki was topped with galbi and scallions, then they had gyeran-mari, kimchijeon and pajeon (Shou’s favorites, apparently; Izuku would have to make note of that), kimchi, rice, and a handful of vegetable dishes. Apparently, this was a favorite meal in the Todoroki household — something Shouto’s sister liked to order when she was too tired to cook, and Shouto ordered exactly what they would normally get.
Izuku had only ever had tteokbokki in the instant cups; his mother rarely ordered takeout since she only worked for a few hours a week in the mornings. She claimed cooking dinner was relaxing — Izuku thought she never seemed happy or relaxed at dinner and it was just a way to pass the time, since his mother refused to pick up a hobby like a normal person. Izuku thought she’d be a lot happier if she stopped obsessing so much over her ‘fragile’ baby boy and picked up knitting.
Their school books ended up on the floor out of the way as they dug into the food. The sauce was red and Izuku wasn’t surprised when it ended up having a nice spice to it, but then he found an entire boiled egg in it — Toshi and Shou laughed at the look of surprise on his face when he unearthed it under all the rice cakes.
Being three teenage boys who had rigorous workout regimens, they tore through the food, and there ended up being only scraps left on the table and the boys had moved on to cramming themselves in the kitchen to make mochi by the time Inko was returning home, chattering about the sports festival — not that they heard her, as much fun as they were having. She stood in the genkan for a long while, listening to their conversation —
“Once you two take the sports festival and get into 1-A, fundamentals of heroics will be so much better,” Shouto states, rice flour all over his apron — he won the rock, paper, scissor contest for the green one.
Hitoshi laughs, stirring a pot of matcha filling. “I mean, of course we’re going to win, but you better give us a challenge. You’ve finally started using your fire again, right?”
“All thanks to Izu,” Shouto replies, bumping hips with Izuku as he chops the strawberries like he’s been told to by Hitoshi — he does a better job of it than Izuku was; apparently he has some practice as Fuyumi’s assistant in the kitchen occasionally when Endeavor’s not around to spew sexist nonsense about how it’s women’s work. “He’s... very convincing.”
Both Shouto and Izuku are bright red, and Hitoshi’s sure there’s a story there, but neither was spilling, no matter how much Hitoshi tried to get it out of them. He knows there was a spar that he missed because he had the terrible, terrible luck of needing the bathroom at the wrong moment and when he came back the gym they’d chosen was pretty fucked, and both of his friends were thoroughly beaten up, and barely standing, and Shouto was on fire.
Hitoshi was still pissed he missed it, because he was sure it would have done things for his little gay disaster brain.
Izuku splutters, face and ears bright red, making incoherent noises as he shoves at Shouto, who doesn’t budge an inch under Izuku’s half-hearted attempts. “Don’t — don’t say stuff like that. I didn’t — I didn’t even do anything; it’s your power. I just reminded you it’s okay.”
“Don’t do what? Say true things?” Shouto replies — Hitoshi sometimes forgets how much power they gave him by teaching him how to make jokes, because now he says shit like this and Izu is down for the count, whining as he grabs on to the two of them and leans on Shouto.
It’s cute.
And then his mother comes into the room. She stares at the three of them, with Izuku dusted in rice flour and clinging to Shouto, one hand grabbing Hitoshi by his cat apron to pull him close, and instantly Izuku’s face closes off as he lets go of both of them, straightening up and looking very stiff. The woman says nothing as she stares at Izuku, not even bothering to look at Shouto or Hitoshi.
“Welcome home, Mom,” Izuku plasters a smile on his face, and it’s the most plastic thing Hitoshi’s ever seen.
Shouto looks back and forth between the pair, at that smile on Izuku’s face and Midoriya Inko, and Hitoshi wonders if he’s going to have to stop Shouto from committing a murder, because the expression on his face is thunderous.
Inko doesn’t respond to her son, who clearly loves these boys more than her, and he shouldn’t, when she’s given up everything for him. He’s choosing these boys over her, choosing to use them in his little hero plot — she heard them after all; talking about winning the sports festival and joining heroics courses, and she’d listened to Izuku rambled about it enough when he was little to read between the lines and get a good idea that they were working together on that. Izuku must be planning on using them, even if he doesn’t realize it — since he can’t make it far without a Quirk to call his own.
So yes, it’s clear he loves them more than he loves her, despite all she’s done for him, but it’s not his fault he’s selfish, that he takes and takes, that all he ever does is use people. How can he do anything but, when he’s so weak, when he’s so fragile? That doesn’t mean she will reward him for his unfair behavior. She watches him for a moment, watches the way his expression falters and then crumples, and then she turns around and walks to her room, silent.
All three boys are exceptionally quiet as she leaves, only a muffled whimper escaping her own Izuku, and near silent whispers from one of the other two boys — but she doesn’t realize how concerning it is that three upset teenagers can be so quiet as the kitchen is cleaned, their dessert making efforts abandoned in favor of getting a teary Izuku comforted and an apartment cleaned so he’ll settle down enough to let them lead him into his room and actually soothe him.
Shouto watches that woman leave and says nothing. Hitoshi is the one that’s good with words, the one that knows how to whisper into Izuku’s ear to tell him it’s okay and that they’re there and they’ll take care of everything and not to worry. Shouto settles for blocking Izuku’s view of her with his body so he won’t see her, cradling his head against his chest and stroking green curls. Once she’s gone, it’s then that Izuku begins to really breakdown, anxiously whispering that they need to clean up, and he needs to get into his room.
And it’s sad; it’s so sad to watch, because they have watched as most days Izuku has gained more confidence, has cared less and less what his mother thinks — because Shouto recognizes this tactic, because it’s one Endeavor has tried to employ, when Shouto was younger and more desperate for some sort of approval, one that he still uses on Fuyumi with great effect. The silent treatment. She can get away with using it on Izuku because Izuku is still growing away from her. He has quite broken from her grip yet.
But even as Izuku cries in Shouto’s arms, as Hitoshi throws out what little food was left of their dinner, Shouto can see it in green eyes. There’s hurt, yes — so much hurt. And it won’t be long before Izuku gives up on Midoriya Inko if she’s not careful, and Shouto knows she believes she’s in the right. She’s not going to change. Shouto was there once, with a parent who was so sure he was right, right, right, to hurt him and hurt him and hurt him until he couldn’t take it anymore. It’s not quite the same, but in some ways it’s exactly the same.
He knows Izuku’s going to give up on her, and it’s what she deserves.
(He just wishes it meant they could leave them and be free of them.)
———
Izuku got the morning to himself, but he felt subdued all the same as he made a breakfast of egg over rice and miso soup with some of the leftover enoki in the fridge. He decided to pack a bento, something to occupy his brain, something to make him feel busy, something to make him feel like someone cared enough to take care of him.
Someone did care enough to take care of him — himself (and he’s sure if Toshi and Shou were here, they’d kill him if he didn’t include them in that number). He’d make sure he was in his best shape, no matter what. He packed up the rest of the rice from the breakfast he made, then set to digging in the fridge. There was some leftover kimchi from last night — he thought Toshi threw everything away, but there must have been enough of this that he kept the container of it for Izuku. He was surprised his mother didn’t throw it out either.
He threw all of it in the bento, knowing his mother would throw it away if she saw it, declaring it too spicy for his delicate, Quirkless body. Then he just ended up cooking some leftover bits of whatever vegetable he found in the fridge; some more enoki and a bit of cabbage and carrot, with a bit of soy sauce on it. Good enough.
Wait. An egg for protein, to make it balanced.
Then he packed it up. It was void of the note his mother always included on the days she packed it, but those always felt fake and painful more than anything, anyway. It felt condescending, most days, the way she wrote them, as though she was still talking to someone much younger. And that... wasn’t surprising.
Because Izuku was fragile. (Izuku could read between the lines. Weak, useless, not as smart, stupid.)
He was her burden.
He didn’t enjoy the notes these days. He didn’t even enjoy her bentos anymore like he did as a kid; somehow they felt tainted. He preferred the days when his mother had work and gave him lunch money so she wouldn’t have to deal with him.
Lunch today might have been random leftovers thrown together, but it tasted better than anything his mother would have made. He sat with his best friends and he ate the lunch that he made for himself with love... wasn’t that a thought? A lunch he made for himself, a lunch made with love, and... he thinks it was the first lunch made for him with love in a long time.
Yeah, it was a lunch made for himself, with love, and he was eating with people that meant everything to him.
Things were good.
———
He came home and his mother locked him in his room. He went straight to work on his homework, not that there was much to work on since he kept up with it aggressively, and he could smell the smell of dinner cooking — something with fish. It only took twenty minutes to do the one worksheet he hadn’t completed, a math worksheet, and once he was done, there was nothing to do but lay on his stomach on his bed and scroll through the Quirk-Free forum.
There were plenty of posts lately regarding some new villain group recruiting in the underground — Frees often were close to the underground, being thrown out of their homes young, or even having to turn to things like petty theft to obtain food and money to live. Izuku knew he should judge them for this, as a hero hopeful, but they were only hoping to survive, and if they were only taking from those who would not miss it... he saw nothing terribly wrong with it.
But this was different.
The group was apparently talking about destroying hero society; things of that nature — Izuku wanted to know more. Maybe he should leave a tip as Grey Hat... Then Inko unlocks the door and opens it.
“Come to dinner,” she demands. She looks angry.
Izuku’s quick to close out of the incognito browser for Quirk-Free, losing the tabs he had opened about the League of Villains. He hopes the posts will still be there when he is able to log back in. He pockets his phone and sits at the table, looking at the simple dinner of steamed salmon over rice. Bland, no offerings of anything to add to it, even though she knows Izuku prefers to have sauce or spice on his food.
Still, he takes an unhappy bite, smiling at his mother and thanking her for the meal.
“You’re not allowed to participate in the sports festival,” Inko states. “I don’t want to risk you getting hurt in one of their matches. I need to take care of my fragile little baby, after all.”
Izuku smiles, and it’s a little more genuine this time, a little more sharp. “It’s not optional. All classes and all students participate.”
“Then just drop out early in the first round.” Inko waves her hand dismissively. “Throw the whole thing. You’re a smart boy; I’m sure you can do it without getting hurt.”
Izuku finally breaks the rules. He finally stops playing at being Inko’s obedient porcelain doll. He’s not smiling anymore — his lip curls in distaste as he looks his mother in the eye. “No. I’m not going to. I plan on doing my best to win the entire thing.”
“I don’t want you to take part in UA’s sports festival. I know what you’re planning.” Inko’s voice is firm. This is a command. “You’re trying to get into the hero course with one of those boys. I don’t want you in the hero course, and I don’t want you spending time with people that are encouraging this silly dream of yours. You’re too fragile for this nonsense. Everyone knows this!”
Izuku stands up, and his seat makes a loud noise as it scrapes across the floor. “Well, you can’t stop me. I’m going to keep trying and keep trying until I’m accepted. I’ll never give up, and as for Shou and Toshi — I’ll never leave them, and you could never make me! They actually support me, and believe in me, and love me, and — and — and—”
He finds himself gasping for air, face hot. He imagines his face is bright red with anger — he certainly feels angry. He wants to feel this way all the time when he sees her, instead of this weird mix of hurt, betrayal, love, anger.
“You love Dad more than me,” Izuku says, and his voice is soft, and softer still, as he repeats himself. “You love Dad more than me. A man that wishes I would die, that tells me to kill myself. And you don’t love me enough to stop him, to protect me from that, despite sitting here and calling me fragile — and how dare you have the nerve to call me fragile, me, when I survived that, when I survived constantly being suicide baited, when I survived you trying to force friendship on me of someone who deafened me and suicide baited me, too?”
Izuku shakes his head. “No, I’m not fragile, and the fact that you keep saying I am is offensive. You know the studies you’re talking about are old and untrue. You know that. You just want them to be true. I’m so tired of these games you insist on playing, Mom. I’m not giving up on my dreams for you, or anyone else, and I’m not giving up the people who support me and love me, because I deserve better than what you give me, and that’s what Shou and Toshi give me.”
He’s not hungry anymore.
He heads to his room and starts to try to find what little of those posts remain about the League — but most of the posters seem to realize it’s not wise to leave them up and have taken them down.
Inko doesn’t lock the door behind him.
(He thinks he’s finally given up. She doesn’t love him. She hasn’t loved him in over a decade.)