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***
A lot of the time, Izuku lets it consume him.
A lot of the time, the world feels heavy and he is twisting his ankles, dragging on shaky legs to force himself forward because who is he if not the promises he’s made to everyone who has supported him? It’s a pressure that squeezes around him to clog his ears and clamp around his mouth to keep him from breathing and it’s also an emptiness that settles and stays and yanks at him from the inside to pull until there is nothing left. It’s always the emptiness after the pressure. The pressure after the heavy.
Izuku is on his knees and, not for the first, he wonders how he got here.
His throat is scratched up, raw and it feels like it’s bleeding from the back. Every time he swallows, he swears he can taste a mouthful of pennies, but there is nothing on the back of his tongue except the sour, the bile, the taste that has him dry heaving and squeezing his sticky fingers around the toilet bowl.
It’s disgusting.
Izuku is disgusting for doing this.
He’s disgusting for having to do this in the first place. Like always, he doesn’t even know what came over him. He’s been doing well, he’s been following the rules well. The calories for the week are scribbled down in his calorie book, nice and organized just as he promised himself he’d be, and thanks to it, he’s finally gained some form of control over Blackwhip, and it called for a treat. That cheesecake Sato had baked earlier—Izuku squeezes his eyes shut and his tears slide down his cheeks to drip into the toilet bowl of soiled chunks. He’s gross.
He ate all of the leftovers. His classmates are going to be searching for it tomorrow. They’re going to ask questions. Izuku is going to have to lie and feel the shame hot on his cheeks when he aims his gaze down and no one is looking. It’s always like this. And he doesn’t understand why it has to be like this—why he has to be like this.
Izuku sniffles and cringes at the taste on his tongue, at the burn in the bridge of his nose as he wipes off his four vomit-covered fingers before flushing. He gets to his feet on wobbling legs.
The world spins and it’s colorful in the dullest sense. Blotches and spots of red and yellow and green. The entire stall feels like it’s tilting to the left—Izuku takes it as a sign that he’s done well and the hole in his stomach, the way he sways as he shifts himself forward must be some kind of high because it feels addictive. He finds himself chasing it, somehow. Chasing the airiness, chasing the knowledge that comes with all of the unsteady blotchiness.
His stomach is empty, there is nothing left. He got rid of the damage.
Everything is fine.
*****
Izuku does not allow himself to eat in front of others for one simple reason: they don’t know what he knows about himself.
Izuku hides everything that is disgusting about him well. His friends don’t know the Izuku that he knows. They don’t know about the eating at three in the morning, they don’t know about the throwing up and vomit-covered fingers at four, they don’t know about the long bathroom trips where Izuku is pressing his fingers into his stomach and pushing everything there is inside of him out after he’s taken pills, they don’t know about the seven laps he takes at the break of dawn after he’s messed up, after he’s lost control and treated himself before he deserved it.
Izuku doesn’t want them to know—they shouldn’t. Ever.
But because they don’t know all of the disgusting that comes with Izuku, it’s only natural that they think it’s okay for him to eat before eight. It’s only natural that Uraraka is offering some fish and rice with vegetables. She doesn’t know how disgusting Izuku is with rice. She doesn’t know that a bite of rice will end with three bowls of ice cream. It isn’t her fault. Izuku is the disgusting one here. Normal people don’t have to worry about rice turning into seven other unrelated things in an irrational sense. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s the way it is.
So when Izuku gets back from training at six in the night, he tries to push past everyone before someone can catch his wrist for dinner. Because his friends like making excuses for Izuku and Izuku—because he’s a disgusting glutton who lacks control in every aspect—he welcomes the excuses with open arms and he eats and eats and eats. But someone does catch his wrist. They tug.
It’s dangerous when Izuku stops. When he lets himself be turned around, when he lets a warm bowl be shoved into his palms—it’s dangerous, it’s tempting, it’s too much for him not to give in.
Because Uraraka says he should and Todoroki says Izuku hasn’t had a meal all day and Iida is swinging his arms as he scolds Izuku because it’s important for heroes to consume the correct amount of calories a day and Kacchan is glaring daggers into his soul from the corner of the room and Izuku—he takes all of the excuses.
Because even though Izuku shouldn’t, even though it’s against the rules—he wants to eat. He really, really wants to eat even though he doesn’t need to. Even though he doesn’t deserve to.
Because Izuku is disgusting.
Fish, rice, and caramelized vegetables. It smells amazing. He hasn’t eaten all day. He isn’t supposed to, not today—he’s written out the rules in his calorie book and it's Wednesday; Izuku doesn’t eat on Wednesdays, it’ll ruin everything. It’ll destroy his week’s progress and he’s only halfway through it. He shouldn’t, he really, really shouldn’t.
But Izuku is picking up his chopsticks anyways. He’s putting his mouth over them and biting into the deliciously seasoned chicken anyways. He’s swallowing and going for another bite anyways.
Izuku doesn’t even feel like he’s the one doing it. He doesn’t want to do it—he knows he shouldn’t, but really, he’s never been good at saying no to food directly. He has no self-control, he can’t help it.
He’ll just get rid of it afterward. It’s fine.
He has a reset button. It’s fine.
He’s disgusting. It’s fine.
*****
“Still not working out, huh?” Uraraka says, head tilted to the side. Her brown hair is falling down her shoulder and her cheeks are rosy. The puzzled look on her face is how Izuku feels. “Do you know what the deal with it is?”
“Not at all,” Izuku says and he shakes his head.
He grimaces and puts his arm down. He hurt her when Blackwhip first manifested—he was in danger of hurting a lot more people because he couldn’t get his Quirk under control. He hated that and he never wants it to happen again. The feeling of losing control over something he was so sure he had finally mastered is the worst feeling ever. (Especially something as complicated as One For All—something that has a time limit. He doesn’t have time to lack control with this Quirk, he needs to go faster.)
It’s kind of funny because the restricting thing with food and calories is supposed to be a control thing, too. Clearly, it’s something Izuku just doesn’t have. He can’t even stop himself from eating when he isn’t supposed to—how does he expect to get a handle on Blackwhip? It’s terribly funny because he always seems to spiral with food when something in class goes wrong.
Right now, they’re waiting on him—his group for this exercise is waiting for him. But he can’t do it. He can’t control Blackwhip. He’s holding his arm, and there’s nothing, and Izuku can feel his insides constricting and cramping with how much he’s trying to force it out, but—
“Agh!”
Izuku’s forced forward with the force of Blackwhip, which has finally manifested. He’s trying to control it, trying to tame it, direct it, do something with this new power of his, but he can’t, he can’t—Izuku grits his teeth and he can see Aizawa-Sensei getting ready to use his Quirk. As much as he doesn’t want him to—Izuku can’t handle Blackwhip.
“Deku!!”
“Should we get Midoriya?!”
“He said he was working on it, right? Will he be okay??”
His knees slam against the pavement and his nails sink into his arm over his hero costume, scratching at his skin to try and get the Quirk to stop, to go away, go somewhere, do something Izuku wants it to do, but he—
“Sensei!” Izuku calls.
Immediately, Blackwhip is gone and Izuku falls onto his hands and knees, panting and gasping. He lifts his hand, rolls up his sleeve to look at his arm. There’s no scarring. No feeling from where Blackwhip manifested. He can’t feel enough to work it. It’s just—it’s always too much and overwhelming, the power of it, he … Izuku really doesn’t have control over this new power and he doesn’t know how to get it. He’s never had control over anything in his life and he’s sick of it.
Izuku presses the back of his hand to his teary eyes, sniffling in and sucking up the oncoming cries. He needs to stop. He’s in class right now. He can save the cries of pity and self-hatred for when he’s alone in his room later.
And Izuku promises not to eat for the next three days.
He doesn’t deserve it.
*****
Izuku knows it’s becoming dangerous when his classmates start commenting on it.
The worry and sparkling curiosity in their eyes aren’t too frequent in the beginning, but Izuku can feel the tension getting thicker—the elephant somehow grows with every meal he declines. He can feel the stares on his back when he returns to Heights Alliance after running ten laps at the track in the training field and declining Kirishima’s suggestion to eat a banana, a small protein bar. It makes sense that they’d be concerned, maybe Izuku would be, too, if he didn’t know what he was doing just eight hours later.
Digging into the fridge frantically, eating until he starts to cramp, swallowing until his throat is raw, scraping four fingers down the back of his throat and clawing at his gut with his other hand to erase his fuck ups, to undo the damage he’s done. Izuku hides his disgusting well. He hides his gross, his glutton, his monstrous greed well. He’s lucky the disgusting doesn’t come out of him frequently. At least it builds up. He can go a while with the control, with the tracking and making sure he’s doing good. It takes about a week and a half for him to snap, takes about ten days without indulging for him to push out of his room and rush downstairs for food because he wants to eat and Iida just went grocery shopping and how does Izuku expect himself to hold back when there’s so much his stomach is asking for and it’s right downstairs, within his reach.
It’s one in the morning this time, and Izuku is such a disgusting mess that he can’t even be bothered to take the food up to the privacy of his room. He sits there, in the kitchen, the only light coming from the fridge and he just—he eats. He can’t help it, really, he really can’t and he hates himself for it so much. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, he doesn’t know why he’s like this, he doesn’t know why it has to be like this. It isn’t fair—it isn’t fair.
It’s fine, it’s okay. Izuku has his restart button—he can just get rid of it afterward. He can undo the damage, it’s fine, isn’t it? He’s been good, hasn’t he? For ten days, he’s been restricting, controlling, he’s been doing well, a treat is fine, he can treat himself.
A slice of carrot cake to celebrate his fast. Izuku did good, he deserves a slice. Maybe even two.
And maybe a few brownie pieces, too because those slices of cake were a little small. They’re right there anyways and hardly anyone eats brownies after they’re put in the fridge. And red velvet cupcakes—he hasn’t had any, so it’s only fair he takes his share right now. Come to think of it, Izuku wasn’t very full after he had dinner, so just three more slices of the class’ homemade pizza is fine—they’re extra slices anyways, everyone’s already had two earlier, so he isn’t stealing anyone’s slice.
Halfway through, Izuku realizes he’s eaten way too much. He doesn’t stop because he knows he’s done it again, lost control, played into his greed, used silly excuses to be gross, and indulge in his own fat ass.
He’ll just finish the binge.
Make up for lost time since he’s already ruined it. There’s no point in holding back now.
Besides, Izuku can just throw it up by the end of it. It’s fine. He’ll fast and restrict for the next week and a half anyway. It’s fine. Izuku is disgusting, he’s known this for a while and it isn’t a secret. It’s fine.
“Midoriya?”
Izuku jumps at the voice and drops his fifth slice of carrot cake. He doesn’t look back, though. The voice belongs to Todoroki and he does not want to look him in the eye. This situation is telling and Izuku’s shoulders are already trembling, his mind supplying different excuses and reasons to give Todoroki to explain what exactly he stumbled upon just now.
He draws a blank. He has no excuses—he doesn’t know what to say to this.
“Midoriya,” Todoroki says again, more firm, and his voice is closer. “Are you alright?”
Izuku quickly shakes his head. He doesn’t want Todoroki near, doesn’t want Todoroki close to him—he doesn’t want Todoroki here at all.
“Please go away,” Izuku whispers. His voice is thick with both the cream of the carrot cake and tears and it isn’t long before he’s completely crying, pressing his palms against his cheek as he hiccups. “Todo-Todoroki—please go, go away. I’m f—I’m fine. Please leave me alone. Please.”
Todoroki does not listen. His feet are in front of where Izuku is sitting on the kitchen floor and Izuku keeps his head stubbornly down as his cries turn into sobs. This is disgusting, this is so gross, this is embarrassing, and Izuku wants the floor to open up as big as his fat mouth to swallow him whole.
Todoroki bends at his knees to crouch in front of Izuku. He touches his fingers to the side of Izuku’s face and Izuku shakes his head and turns the other way as he chokes.
“Don’t look at me, don’t look,” Izuku says. He hits Todoroki’s fingers away from his face and covers his own with his large, scarred hands. “Don’t. Please stop. Just go away. Please leave me alone.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you here,” Izuku’s shoulders shake again and he gasps into his palms, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m disgusting. I’m so disgusting and gross—I don’t want - don’t want you to look, please don’t look at me, Todoroki.”
“I don’t think you’re disgusting,” Todoroki says. And he clicks his tongue with a thoughtful hum. “And I don’t think I’m going anywhere, either … Sorry.” Izuku doesn’t say anything and Todoroki sighs. “Do you need help cleaning up?”
“No, don’t touch anything,” Izuku says. Tears are still falling from his eyes and he still refuses to look into Todoroki's even as he’s leaning forward to pick up the empty tupperwares and tins, using the back of his hand to wipe his gross lips, his disgusting messy face. “I can clean—I can clean it up my-myself … It’s my mess. I did this.”
“ … Alright.”
Izuku throws away a few things, but he has to wash a majority of others. Despite his protest, Todoroki helps him dry and they clean up the area in silence.
“I’m not sure … What it is exactly,” Todoroki says, finishing the last dish. “But I think it might be something you should get help for. It’s directly related to you refusing food. The excessive running and skipping meals. This comes with it, with the … Eating disorder. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”
Izuku can’t stop the cry that pushes past his lips.
The floor is cracking, splitting beneath his feet and he feels too unsteady, too heavy, too fat, too full, too confronted with this entire situation. Now someone knows. Todoroki knows. He’s seen his disgusting, his grossness, his ugly, and Izuku has never felt more exposed. He wants Todoroki to shut up, he doesn’t want to talk about this—he wants to lose control in silence, behind closed doors in the dark of the night where no one but him can bear witness to the greedy animal he becomes when he breaks.
“Midoriya, it’s—”
“No. I—I—I don’t—I don’t want to talk - to talk about, about this,” Izuku cries. He uses his trembling hands to cover his face again and he hiccups and gasps into his palms. “Please leave, Todoroki. Please just leave me alone. Please, I’m disgusting—I’m disgusting, I’m gross, just go.”
A warm hand squeezes Izuku’s shoulder before long arms wrap around him and it only makes the tears spill harder, faster, only makes him tremble and shake more violently and Izuku is only gasping and gasping and gasping, clutching at Todoroki’s sleeves before he shudders and loudly sobs into his friend’s chest.
“It’s alright,” Todoroki says. “It’s fine. I’ve already told you that I don’t think you’re disgusting. I don’t think you’re gross. We’ll figure this out, it’s okay.”
Izuku nods into his chest but he already knows there won’t be any ‘figuring out’ this situation. Izuku will be stuck like this forever. He’s already tried to stop it, he’s tried to break the cycle, he’s tried to be normal—it doesn’t work. He ruined himself and he’ll stay ruined forever. This is the way it is now and he accepted that fact a while ago.
*****
To Todoroki’s credit, he does try to figure it out afterward.
He is predictably bad at it. Izuku knows he isn’t trying to be mean, and it’s clear he has no experience with any of this. But the things he says make Izuku want to roll into a ball and die over and over and eventually—Izuku has to tell him he’ll just go to a teacher for help.
But Izuku does not go for help. There is no helping or fixing this. He’s stuck. It’s this forever.
Izuku gets very careful when he binges, though. He waits until three or four now and always takes things up to his room after the incident with Todoroki. Not that it stops the latter from watching him every chance he gets. Todoroki is trying to keep track of Izuku’s eating habits.
For overeating or undereating, Izuku isn’t sure. But it’s uncomfortable. He hates being watched while he eats. But he puts up with it. He’s never had a huge problem with the restricting thing he tries to do—mainly because he can’t restrict. He just isn’t good at it, he can't keep himself way from food at all. And if someone wants him to eat, then he can’t help but give in at the first ask. What Izuku can do, though, is run laps around the track. He can take pills that’ll send him to the bathroom and get rid of his lunch entirely. He can do sit-ups in his room and head to Gym Gamma to train and he can stick his fingers down his throat to take everything away.
So it’s easy dealing with Todoroki’s eyes. Izuku doesn’t really mind too much.
And nothing changes, anyway. Izuku still breaks and heads to the kitchen at three in the morning. He still loses control and shoves cakes and muffins and noodles and fried foods and fruits and vegetables down his throat, all in one sitting. He’s still a disgusting mess as he sits in a corner of shame and embarrassment and self-hatred by the end of it. And he’s getting more used to it.
Getting more comfortable with the fact that it’s this.
He’s going to feel this way forever.
It’s particularly bad tonight. He feels more out of control than he has in a while. He hardly passed his English quiz today, his training with All Might has increased and he’s improved little to none when it comes to Blackwhip. It isn’t blasting out of control anymore, but it’s not … Really doing anything, either. And Izuku doesn’t know what to do. He’s in an ocean and he’s completely still, but instead of floating—he’s somehow drowning. It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.
The only thing that makes sense is how the cream cheese he’s eating from his spoon is melting against his tongue. When Izuku is done with the cheese after he's eaten crackers and muffins and bagels, he sets it down, stands from the floor of his room, and leaves for the bathroom. He needs to reset, needs to restart, undo the damage.
So he does. Scratches at his throat and pokes under his ribs and he makes himself throw up.
Flushes the toilet, washes his hands, rinses his mouth out, and he’s back to his room. The food is still there, still set out …
It’s awful, really, how Izuku starts eating again.
His spoon is back in his mouth for the melted ice cream he placed on his side table, dipping the strawberry and bananas into it. If he just chews and swallows and eats then he can forget about everything he has to do the next day.
Izuku takes a few pills with a swig of his water bottle—which he takes large gulps from as he eats (liquids soften stools and make the process of shitting his entire stomach out easier)—and continues with the ice cream and fruits. He moves on to the chocolate bars, the nutrition bars, and then the chips, eats for an entire forty-five minutes before he’s taking his phone to leave for the bathroom.
Izuku’s nose is running by the end of the trip and his head is killing him. He’s lightheaded, his knees shake as he drags himself back to his room and he hates himself.
Because he doesn’t even know why he’s eating anymore at this point. He’s tired. His stomach hurts and he feels sick, but he’s chewing. And he’s swallowing. And he isn’t even tasting anything anymore. Nothing is sweet against his tongue, nothing tastes good, nothing is sour, nothing is delicious, nothing is gross. It’s all nothing but mush as Izuku eats and eats and eats.
He eats until the bag of chips is empty. He eats until the melted ice cream is gone completely and there are no more fruits, no more candy bars or muffins or bread or cake. And Izuku thinks he can fall asleep in his room like this, on the floor, surrounded by his mess and weighed down by his lack of control, weighed down by his greed and glut. Maybe he could even die here and he doesn’t think he’d mind that so much. Dying as opposed to living like this … It sounds like a nice alternative, really.
But Izuku won’t die. He knows he’ll wake up tomorrow and be more disgusted with himself than he’s been in a long time. And he doesn’t want that. The Izuku that doesn’t binge doesn’t deserve to suffer like that. Binge-Izuku needs to make sure he keeps Good-Izuku away from his aftermath.
So he places his palms on the floor and shakily gets to his legs.
Izuku drags his feet along the carpet as he forces himself through the halls of Heights Alliance and into the communal bathrooms.
He collapses to his knees and hovers over the toilet. He stares at the water in the bowl. It’s still. It is going to be tainted with all of Izuku’s disgusting. With his gross and greed and glut.
Disgusting. Izuku ruins everything he comes into contact with, really.
He drops his jaw and slides three of his fingers down the back of his rough tongue. Still covered in food and his grossness, his spit runs down his wrists where his sleeves are rolled up.
Izuku doesn’t want to. He really, really doesn’t want to. But Binge-Izuku needs to take responsibility for what he did and he needs to leave Good-Izuku with a clean slate. He slides his fingers back and he is already crying because he’s so tired of this. He’s so tired of doing this, he’s tired of living like this and he doesn’t know how he’s going to handle being like this forever.
Izuku is sobbing by the time he manages to get his first spill. He chokes and groans as he hangs his head low because he’s got a searing headache and his stomach is giving up. It feels like it’s being mashed and torn into pieces with a harder force every time it happens. Izuku twists his body as he braces his forearms on the edge of the toilet and whines into the bowl. It hurts. It hurts so much, everything hurts.
He still has more to go, though. He can feel it—can feel his fuck ups sitting in his stomach, weighing him down, taunting him, teasing him. Izuku coughs and spits into the bowl before he adjusts to throw up again. He uses four of his fingers this time and grabs at beneath his ribs, gags, and chokes echoing from the bowl, off the wall of the stall.
It’s not coming up.
Izuku’s head hurts. It hurts. It hurts. His stomach hurts. He sniffles and cringes at the sting, at the taste on his tongue, and goes for it again. Back, sticks his fingers deeper, curls them and presses as he hits his own fist into gut and finally—he’s painfully retching into the toilet. It echoes loudly and it sounds as painful as it is. He should’ve drank more water after taking the laxatives the second time around, it’s probably what made it so difficult.
His nose is running. Dripping snot and it joins the soiled rotten chunks in the toilet. His spit is running thick and it drops into the gross water, too. He can’t believe how disgusting and gross and messy this entire process is, really. It’s hideous and ugly and nauseating—repulsive in every sense …
Izuku really, truly, does not know how it got to be this.
His mind is a mess, his ears are ringing, he feels completely ruined. Smashed into pieces. He’s burning up and even though Izuku knows he has to stand to clean up everything he’s left in his room, he can’t bring himself to get up. He really can’t.
Izuku is tired.
He sinks to his knees and lays his shaking arm on the toilet seat to rest his head against. Izuku is breathing in the stench of his own vomit as he closes his eyes, and it’s so disgusting, but he needs to rest for a minute. Just a second. He’ll clean up in a bit. He’d never let Good-Izuku have to pick up the pieces of Binge-Izuku. How terrible that would be. Good-Izuku doesn’t deserve that at all.
“What the fuck. What the fuck. Open your fucking eyes.”
Izuku does not. He feels terrible, his throat feels raw, Izuku feels gross. His head is swimming but he can still tell that the voice near him is hushed, frantic. And—he’s going to throw up if he keeps being shaken by the hands on his shoulders.
“Stop,” Izuku whispers because he can’t say it regularly. His voice gives out and it breaks and it rasps and his throat feels like it’s flooding with blood when he tries to push out the single syllable. He tries again anyway, “s—top tha’,” Izuku rasps and he weakly hits away the hands on his shoulders.
“Deku,” It’s Kacchan’s voice. “What did you fucking-?”
Izuku knows what’s going on immediately and he shakes his head—as much as it allows him to without the rush of pain and flood of head nausea that he drowns in, at least. Izuku groans and tugs away from Kacchan, he can already feel his eyes stinging.
“No,” Izuku says. His face is twisting and he’s shuddering from where he sits against a toilet seat full of his vomit. “Don’t … Look, don’t—look. I’m disgusting, Kacchan, just - please, go away, please don't look at me—”
“Aizawa said to stay until he gets here so I’m not moving a damn inch.”
“You called him?” Izuku is trembling, trying to push away from the toilet but he can’t. He feels destroyed, his body is aching everywhere and he can’t stop trembling. He’s given everything he’s had to the toilet and the flip and lightness in his stomach still feels like it wants him to give more somehow. “Why did you call him, Kacchan?”
“Because I thought you were fucking dead!” Kacchan shifts and pulls Izuku away from the toilet seat himself, apparently unable to look at his struggle any longer, before flushing and he clicks his tongue, shakes his hand in distress. “You were out with weird-looking vomit in the toilet, you wouldn’t wake the fuck up, I thought you got sick with something real quick and just died. Fuck, Deku. What the fuck.”
“ … How did you even get into the stall?”
“It was open. You left it open.”
Izuku … He thinks he did. That was incredibly stupid of him. But he assumed since he’d be in and out … And not only that—it was so late, or early in the morning, rather that he didn’t think anyone would be up. Izuku frowns and looks up at Kacchan.
“What are you even doing here this early?”
Kacchan makes a face and it looks like he’s trying to figure out if Izuku is genuinely stupid or not. “It’s six in the fucking morning. I’m getting ready for class, dumbass. I just came back from a run and planned on taking a shower. Are we done with your segment of fifty questions? Give me a turn and tell me what the fuck I’m looking at here,” Kacchan’s face is twisted in so much disgust that Izuku has to close his eyes. “You did this to yourself, right? Made yourself throw up.”
Izuku shakes his head and his throat hurts when he swallows, his head hurts when the tears start again. “Kacchan, just …”
He wants to tell him to go and leave him to wilt away, wither and shrivel into a ball of disgustingness, leave him alone to drown in his shame and mortification because he’ll never recover from this, but he can’t find the words. His head is swimming with a rush every time he shifts.
“Just what, Deku? I already fucking told you, if you want me to leave I’m not doing shit. What if you fucking pass out again? How many times did you even do this to make yourself pass out, anyways, idiot?”
“Please, can we just … n—not talk about this, Kacchan? I don’t … I’m tired. I just—Sensei will want to talk about it already, so I’ll do it then.”
“Whatever,” Kacchan says.
But to Izuku’s surprise, he stops talking.
He gets up, leaves the stall for a few seconds, and comes back with a wet rag to start wiping Izuku down. His face and mouth and his fingers. The vomit on his shirt. He does it wordlessly and Izuku allows him to do it, wordlessly. Izuku can’t read his expression, can’t guess what he’s thinking at all. His face is so blank, so steady. A sheet of nothingness. It unnerves Izuku, but he’s too tired and has spiraled too many times tonight (or, this morning) to do so again.
So when Kacchan finishes, Izuku willingly allows himself to be moved around so he’s resting against the now-empty toilet again and Kacchan … He doesn’t leave. He sits with his back against one of the walls of the stall, holding Izuku’s vomit rag. Holding Izuku’s disgusting. Izuku doesn’t know how he’s doing it—he doesn’t know he’s still in the same stall as Izuku after seeing everything he’s just seen.
“Why’re you still holding that?” Izuku asks.
“Dunno.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“It’s just puke,” Kacchan says, rolling his eyes. “Not a big deal. What’s really disgusting is the way you treat your body. You know how this shit is destroying your fucking insides, right? The eating and then puking. You’re fucking destroying yourself, Deku.”
“ … I know,” Izuku says. He closes his eyes and he’s run out of tears to cry. “I know, Kacchan.”
“Alright, so if you know, then why the fuck—”
“Because I can’t stop,” Izuku cries. The feeling of no one being able to understand his irrational impulse when it comes to food and getting rid of it is more lonely than anything else. And it hurts. “I don’t even know why I do it anymore, I don’t know how to stop, I don’t—I’ve tried, but I can’t.” Izuku is pathetically crying into a toilet bowl and again—he does this a lot—is wondering how he got to the point. How he sank so low. He wonders how he wasn’t able to catch himself when it was clear how far he was falling. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t even want to do this anymore, but it won’t let me not do this.”
“It?”
“I don’t know,” Izuku sniffles. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not in control of what I decide to do because if I was, we wouldn’t be here right now. I hate this more than you do, Kacchan. It’s embarrassing and disgusting and I don’t want to be seen like this. But I’m stuck like this. I ruined myself.”
“ … You’re not stuck like this, genius,” Kacchan hisses. “You have an eating disorder. You need to fucking get help and not try to handle this shit on your own. Jesus fuck. You’re like, bulimic or some shit, your mind’s fucked right now. If you think you can handle an entire mental disorder on your own, you’re just an idiot.”
That makes Izuku feel worse.
Everything at the moment is making him feel worse than he already does, and the door to the bathroom opening doesn’t help. He knows who it is, and Kacchan does too, apparently, because he’s getting to his feet, shuffling out of the stall.
“In here, Sensei,” Kacchan mumbles.
Izuku makes the mistake of meeting his homeroom teacher’s dark eyes. He can’t decipher the look he holds in them but it makes him want to curl into a ball of shame and disgust for himself.
*****
Izuku hardly even listens to the vitals and test results as Recovery Girl lists them.
He’s dehydrated, his blood pressure is low at the moment, he needs something to help his acid reflux, and he’s at risk of a fever. Those are the mild and immediate issues.
They’re for Aizawa, mostly, but the way she’s staring Izuku down lets him know she very well thinks he should be paying attention to the information more than Aizawa.
Izuku does not want to be faced with the facts of what he’s been doing to himself.
He still doesn’t know how he got to this point and he never saw it spiraling so far out of control until the supposed control completely slipped from his grasp.
And it’s embarrassing to be here, sitting in an infirmary bed because he can’t find a way to eat right. It’s food. Just eat like a normal person. It isn’t that hard.
It shouldn’t be.
But for some reason, for Izuku, it is.
Aizawa sits down with him when Recovery Girl leaves the room and neither he nor Izuku says anything for a long moment. Aizawa is studying Izuku, he can tell and he hates people looking at him, watching him so closely. Like they’re going over every interaction they’ve ever had with him in their heads and trying to figure out why. When. Where was it—where did Izuku slip, what were the signs, how did they miss them.
This isn’t a cookie-cutter situation, though. And when it comes to things like these—assuming without the proof is dangerous, it’s stigmatizing. Izuku thinks it’s an advantage.
“I’m not an expert on things like this,” Aizawa finally says. And Izuku wants to say it’s fine. It’s okay. Neither is Todoroki nor Kacchan. And experts themselves are baffled by the irrationality of this mind disease every now and again. “But I know how to get you started in the right direction.”
“I don’t want to,” Izuku says. Aizawa gives him a look and it’s … It makes Izuku duck his head, and pull on the curls at his nape. “I mean … I think—I’m fine, I can handle this on my own if you give me enough time.”
“You’re getting professional help, kid,” Aizawa confirms. “That’s non-negotiable. You made yourself puke until you passed out. That’s extremely dangerous and there’s no way around this arrangement. But the way you’ll get it is up to you as of right now. We can see what works and what doesn’t. Does that sound good?”
Izuku shrugs. It doesn’t, not really. There’s no point in trying—Izuku’s been telling himself the same thing for the past, like, four months.
“Problem?” Aizawa asks.
And Izuku has nothing else to lose. So he raises his shoulders and says, “I’m going to be stuck like this forever, Sensei. I don’t see the point in trying to change anything.”
Aizawa blinks. “Okay. What makes you say that?”
“I don't know. I guess because I’ve … tried to stop already. And I’ve had moments where I did stop. Long periods of time where I thought I was fine and would never do it again, but I always end up purging in some way. I can’t—I have to do it eventually."
“ … Yes, but clearly without the help of professionals. It’s something rather vital to the ‘professional help’ route, Midoriya. They’re going to help you break that cycle for good.”
“What are professionals even gonna do?” Izuku scoffs. “Tell me to eat like a normal person in a way that’s more convincing than myself? I don’t see what they can do, Aizawa-Sensei. I’ve been saying this for a while, but I’ve ruined myself forever. It’s this and that’s it, I’m never going back to the way I was before. I can’t.”
“Well, it’s impossible for anyone to ever go back to the way they were ‘before’ anything happens,” Aizawa grumbles. He rubs his fingers between the bridge of his slightly scrunched nose (in what Izuku assumes is stress, he’s the cause of his teacher’s bad habit), and sighs. “We change entirely with every shift we are confronted with in life—big and small.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I think it is,” Aizawa says. He leans back, crossing his fingers over his lap to study Izuku again, and Izuku turns away. He’s tired of people looking at all of his disgusting. “Say I get sick. It’s a regular cough and I end up treating it with medicine. It goes away, I’m fine, not feeling different, but I’m not returning to the exact same way I was before I developed the cough. There’s a change in my immune system that’s already happened and has forever been altered because of the cough. Nothing major. Minor change. I’m not the same as before, but I’m not terribly different, either. It’s fine. It’s normal.”
Aizawa waves his hand, “You’re sick, kid. And you’re right when you say you won’t ever go back to the way you were before you got sick. But who’s to say the change will be a big one? Even if it is—who’s to say the change will be a bad one? You’ll come out on the other side, having gone through this, survived it, and you’ll be able to say you experienced a rough patch and came on the other side of it alright.”
Izuku is crying again. He doesn’t know when he started or why and he has to take long sips of his water to keep himself from dehydrating.
“Will I have to leave U.A.?”
“For a bit,” Aizawa says and Izuku pinches the skin of his thighs. “I’d like for you to save yourself before trying to save anyone else. Focus solely on your recovery. But if you truly can’t take it, I can arrange for lesson plans to be sent to you. Homework and tests so you aren’t missing out on anything we’re going over in class.”
“How long will I be gone?”
Aizawa shrugs. “It depends on you entirely. They’ll do monthly check-ins, evaluate where you are and how you’re progressing. You need to put in the effort and you need to want help if you’re going to return as soon as possible, do you understand?”
Izuku does want help. He does want to get better—he doesn't want to live like this anymore. He doesn't want to be stuck like this forever.
“I understand.”
*****
It actually doesn’t come as a shock to a lot of his friends that he’s on a small leave for recovery. He doesn’t even have to specify for them to get it. Todoroki tells Izuku he’s proud of him and Uraraka hugs him so tight he stops breathing and Iida tells him heroes need breaks, too, and by the time Izuku has to leave for All Might’s office to talk, he’s already in tears.
He doesn’t want to stop training with All Might, he doesn’t want to put a hold on his work with his mentor because he can’t get it together, and he can’t stop apologizing for it, sobs and slurred words spilling from his lips as he stares up at the man, and All Might places a large hand atop of his curls.
“My boy,” All Might says and it only makes Izuku shake harder. He crouches down in front of his student to try and catch Izuku’s teary gaze, wiping under his eyes with his large fingers. “I have no idea what you’re apologizing for. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I’ve … Well, I’ve failed you, haven’t I?”
“What?” Izuku pulls his hands away from himself and frantically shakes his head. “No! All Might—no. You haven’t failed me, not at all.”
“I know it’s difficult, bearing the amount of responsibility you do,” All Might frowns, jaw trembling with his sigh. “When it comes to the weight you have on your shoulders, you should not have to bear it alone. You shouldn’t feel like you can’t tell me what you’re going through for fear of not appearing strong. I’m sorry for making you feel that way, Young Midoriya.”
“No, it … But All Might, you were faced with so much responsibility at my age, too. Everyone has responsibilities, I should be able to handle them, especially as your successor. If I can’t control my eating, how am I supposed to control my Quirk? I don't deserve … I don't deserve your power if I can't even—”
“Young Midoriya, I didn’t choose you as my successor for any reason other than your heart. The amount of gold that sits in it with the care and love you hold for others,” All Might says sternly. He’s frowning, jaw tight and he moves his hand to squeeze Izuku’s shoulder.
“Listen to me. Your eating does not affect your desire to save others, does it? It does not affect your heart and where you stand when it comes to wanting—needing to help others, right?” All Might nods for Izuku. “You need help. That’s alright. You need to accept it and help yourself before you commit to helping others. That was my downfall and I don’t want it to be yours. You can go higher than I ever did—you will. That is certain. But you don't need to rush to get there. What you’re doing right now is incredibly brave and I could not be prouder of you. Do not apologize for needing help—never apologize for needing to take care of yourself. You need to prioritize that. Please prioritize yourself, my boy.”
Izuku’s face is pressed into All Might’s shoulder and he’s sniffling against the fabric of All Might's shirt as he cries. All Might runs his hand over the back of Izuku’s head and continues.
“Your worth does not lie in what you make of the power passed on to you,” All Might says. “You were a hero before One For All. You were my student, my successor before I transferred the Quirk. You understand that, don’t you?” All Might pulls away to squeeze Izuku, like he’s desperate for him to get what he’s saying, and stares at him hard. “You are everything because you are you. I want you to save that part of you before you’re drowning in the part of you that shoulders off your own needs for the sake of others. I’m going to miss you when you’re gone. But you’re doing this and it is excellent that you are. Okay?"
"Okay," Izuku manages around his cries. He's stained All Might's shirt with his tears and the salt of them is strong against his tongue. He's a mess—he's always such a mess.
"You’re going to be okay, my boy," All Might tells him. "And it won’t be like this forever. I promise you, it will not be like this forever.”
Izuku shakily breathes in at those words and he quickly nods.
It won’t be like this forever.
For the first time ever, Izuku actually feels like he can believe those words.
When he leaves All Might’s office with his bag, Aizawa is waiting, ready to drive him to the center he’ll be staying for his recovery. He runs his hands through Izuku’s curls and the corners of his lips are tugged a bit. He looks proud and Izuku can’t fight his own smile.
“You ready, kid?”
Izuku breathes into his nose, out through his mouth. “Yes.”
Izuku is going to make sure that he isn’t stuck like this forever.