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He can’t breathe. Well, that’s a hyperbole if Izuku was thinking about it. He wasn’t legitimately suffocating. That doesn’t stop him from feeling as if his chest is being crushed into his other organs constantly. It doesn’t stop the feeling similar to an elephant resting atop his shoulders, crushing his body under the weight.
He feels suffocated even though the air he breathes is as clean for a city as it can be.
It’s not that he’s being held captive. He’s as free as one can be in society. He has his dream job, a hero! He can use his quirk to save others with a bright smile on his face. He assures others when they feel helpless, and Izuku has never felt better with what he was providing to the people of Japan.
He doesn’t understand the pressure in his chest when it feels like he’s fighting water from getting into his lungs, making it so he can’t breathe. Thinking of past torture techniques to get information, the closest thing he can think of that describes the way he feels, is waterboarding.
It’s cruel and unjust, and it restrains all capabilities to thrive. He knows it’s untrue; he’s doing the best he can. He’s doing his job flawlessly. There’s little public damage if any at all due to his power. He has a high villain capture rate. He’s made sure to hold up literal buildings on the brink of collapse, so everyone inside could escape and be reduced by fellow heroes before gently letting it collapse over his head.
When Izuku does his job, he feels the freest, and the feeling of being suffocated is released. When he does his career, his lungs don’t feel tight.
He concludes that the stress of not doing anything makes Izuku anxious. It’s when Izuku’s alone in his apartment staring at the news of other heroes doing their job, his job, while he gets to relax at home and not help.
The height of it hits at night before he sleeps. He’s not getting any information. He’s not doing anything productive in his life as he isn’t sleeping quite yet. When he’s alone and supposedly relaxed, Izuku feels suffocated, choking on his own air within the safety of his apartment.
He wonders if talking about his fears and inadequacy would help chase the feeling away, but he would never want to burden another soul with his overbearing need to save others. He would never try to enforce other people to deal with his problems. Deep down, he knows it’s just because he doesn’t want other people to see that he’s weak.
He doesn’t want to return to the weak, useless Deku he was up to at the end of middle school. Because of this, his inability to express these notions of not being enough, of being worthless. It’s insecurity and staying still that Izuku has a problem with. If he’s not actively trying to save others, then he must not be doing enough as a person, as a hero.
He decides that if he has the time, he’d work. He’d put in more hours and drown himself in his work so he wouldn’t be drowning in the safety of his own home.
His friends notice his exhaustion, and how bone-tired he is, yet he continues to persist with his work. He is poorly rested, and everyone at his agency can see it. His best friends whom he regularly sees, ask him time and time again to slow down and get some rest. They offer to take a day off with him and spend it shopping or just catching up.
He refuses, saying there’s more he can do and that he’s managing. It’s a lie, and his friends don’t believe it for a second. Izuku’s grateful, he truly is, but he won’t let his friends pull him back into feeling suffocated. He doesn’t want to feel as if he’s being waterboarded or stuck in a sinking submarine. He can’t handle feeling like that.
Besides, his work has never been more impeccable. He’s never saved more people as he does now. He’s never felt more fulfilled than he does now. It’s positively exhilarating.
He notices his exhaustion. He’s not an idiot. He’s well-versed in how to take care of himself. Seeing the large purple bags under his eyes and his slouching posture when he isn’t puffing it out on duty, he’s aware of his body deteriorating to the lack of rest. He feels his feet dragging below him as he chases after a criminal one day, yet he pushes himself further with his quirk, increasing the output to apprehend him. But if Izuku can avoid the sentiment of being deficient and pathetic, he’ll continue to push his body to its limits.
In the back of his mind, he hears All Might’s voice saying, “You need to rest, my boy. You’re doing quite enough.” Faintly, he hears a, “I’m proud of you,” in there, but Izuku can’t stop now, not when there’s more criminal activity going around, and his body is still moving.
The day comes when his eyes are glazed over and unfocused, contrasting with his nerves that buzz with the fourth cup of coffee inside Izuku’s body. He’s completely unaware of his surroundings within the agency. Walking into walls and bumping hips into the corners of desks briefly pull Izuku out of his daze, but it doesn’t last for long.
Of course, his wonderful friends take notice of his unusual activity. Since their last attempt to get Izuku to calm down and step down from the amount of hero activity he was taking on, Izuku had passively shut them out of his life. He had been distancing himself from them whenever he had the opportunity. He was obviously avoiding them, and as much as it hurt his friends, they were compelled to help Izuku out. They cared for him tremendously. They recalled countless moments when Izuku was willing to help them out in the dorms back in their high school days.
When Izuku helped Uraraka study for a test she was completely unprepared for, sacrificing his own time. When he stepped into Iida’s life and meddled when Iida needed to reevaluate his choice of going after Stain. Izuku made sure to check in with Iida’s mental health every so often without making a big deal out of it, just because Izuku cared. With Tsu, Izuku made sure the common room was stocked with warm blankets in the winter. He made sure when the rainy season came, he took time out of his day to accompany Tsu by running into puddles with her, stomping around his red rain boots. With Todoroki, before they graduated, Izuku offered to be his roommate so Todoroki didn’t have to be completely reliant on his father and could live a life away from him. Izuku offered his home and all the comfort he could provide for his friend to make sure he was safe and comfortable.
Izuku’s friends are hurt by Izuku. His friends saw he was suffering and desperately wanted to help him the same way he was always willing to help them with the same amount of dedication and effort.
Finding him in the office was easy. He wasn’t moving quickly, walking sort of aimlessly around the bright hallways. Quickly, the four friends nodded and approached him from every direction, cornering him where he stood.
“Izuku,” Iida started, “this is our intervention for you.”
Uraraka was next, “We’re here to help.” She approached closer and the fuzz in Izuku’s eyes cleared up, becoming aware of his friends’ presence surrounding him. “We can see how much you’re struggling.”
Izuku, hearing what she was saying and gazing at the people around him, shook his head softly, “I appreciate it, guys. I’m fine, really. No need to worry.” He waved his hands in front of his body, trying to physically brush off the idea.
“No. Izuku you must sleep,” Todoroki declared. There wasn’t any wiggle room with his tone. “You’re inadvertently hurting yourself by not taking care of all your needs.”
“Let us help you. We’ll be with you for all the time you need.” Tsu stepped closer to Izuku as well, meeting him face-to-face. “We aren’t going to stand by and watch you overwork yourself to death.”
He doesn’t know why it doesn’t take any more convincing. Maybe it was because he knew they were right and that he was already on the brink of passing out, but Izuku unleashed a waterfall of tears, draping his collapsed body over Iida’s shoulders.
“Okay,” he sobs. He’s so, so glad he has such stupendous, fabulous, caring friends in his life that care for him just as much as he cares for them.
Weeping into the arms of his best friends, Izuku is finally able to get the support he needs.