Chapter Text
Dull eyes looked up towards the endless skies as inky blank swirled within a blank, wistful gaze. Like they would at twilight above a shimmering lake surrounded by a never-ending grassy field, the stars sparkled, light playful as gentle rays came down to trace the freckles that danced across sunkissed skin.
He— Izuku? —leaned against the concrete wall, the cold touch of the hard gray stone causing him to shiver slightly, goosebumps coming to life and littering across his— Izuku’s? —uncovered skin. In slow waves, snow fell, overcasting everything around him in a blinding white, as though heaven itself had come down to Earth amongst the blanketing rays of the moon's tranquil light.
Izuku—
he was Izuku—
let out a soft sigh, a hand reaching forward to catch an icy-snowflake that caused a fiery red to spread across the agonized flesh of his palm.
The pain did nothing more than amuse him, his lips quirking up. His smile wasn’t happy though. It was mocking. Cruel, as he casted a side-glance to the trembling man beside him, crimson red tainting the beautiful white canvas that the snow created over the covered pavement.
Resting between his index and middle finger was a lit cigarette—wait but Izuku didn’t smoke—the warmth from the lit bud radiated amongst the chilly air. It scalded his fingertips, a warmth that he’d had learnt to seek comfort from as yet again, he brought the drug to his lips, moist lips wrapping around it as he took another puff. The familiar feeling of smoke coiling in his gut filled him before he exhaled and the deep grey smoke coiled around him as a serpent would before fading into the chilly air.
His idle hand came up to trace the writing embedded and engraved into the skin of his arm, and even without being able to see it, Izuku knew what the words read.
Why? The letters were foreign to him.
They’d been seared into his mind, after all. They had? Like a tattoo or an imprint burnt into his very being. The words haunted him wherever he went, a mark that would forever taunt him for his mistakes and the failures that cost him the only ones— but who? —that had ever truly loved him.
Like a bee that would forever buzz in his ear, Izuku would never forget the names—
whose?
—written on his arm. Of the words that bid farewell to the one who took his place. Like a song playing on a broken tape recorder repeatedly, it would never-endingly taunt him of their short-coming. Of how they had become the reason behind their own downfall. Their failure.
But what failure?
Izuku knew. He’d never forget.
How?
But even then, despite knowing he was the last person deserving to sit by and mourn upon the lonely, abandoned, remains of a battlefield and a war ground where bodies once wept the last of their blood, where people shed the last of their tears, and murmured the last of their regrets. Where he’d—
who?
—bellowed a roar of revenge; his last ever fight, one that remained revered in the hearts of many.
Still, Izuku couldn’t help but return on the day that marked the coming of winter. It was on this day that his heart had gone cold. When he’d lost everything he’d ever known.
Why had it been this way?
It was on this day he’d known that no matter how hard they’d tried, even if they’d sacrificed his very limbs, they’d forever fall too short. They were weak, despite all the sacrifices they’d made. They were too weak,
he—who was he?—
was too weak, and now he stands alone, mourning their deaths for a cause that went to naught.
Who was he? Who were they? Why did they
fail
?
Izuku knew. It was all his fault.
But why?
But even then, he still came back to visit the lonely graveyard, his eyes monotone as he scanned the rundown gravel where a city once proudly stood–where the forgotten lay to rest, their legacy crumbling down.
He could do nothing for them. Why hadn’t he tried to save them?
The strong were only remembered when they were just that, after all. The winners.
The ones which fell, well, they had no reason to be remembered. It’d be a waste of effort.
Izuku knew this very well. It had been a bitter lesson to learn, really. Helpless as news reports celebrated, and people danced in the streets, cheerful. He watched the press conferences, and the signings as promises were made and he waved with a smile that mocked the very blood that ran through his veins.
Why had he done this? They just wanted to be equal. Normal.
But
who
was he?
It was mediocre, he knew. Their cause went to dust. But he couldn’t do anything else. He felt bitter, even after so many years, why was he still so weak?
As always— always? —he got no answer. Instead, the wind simply howled, a particular gust putting out the end of his cigarette just as Hitoshi took one final puff. He let his head rest against the hard stone, the intoxicating smoke burning as it went down his throat before fading completely when he exhaled.
Then finally, he broke the silence.
sIleNcE?
wHat sIlEnCe?
wHo wEre thEy?
hE dIdn’T uNdersTanD
wHat wAs hE sAYinG wHy couDn’T hE hEaR aNythIng
wHo wAs hE?
hE wAs iZUku
wHo wEre tHey
wHo wAs hE
iZuku
hE wAs iZuku
iZUku
IzuKU
wHo wAs hE?
IZUkU
WHO WAS HE
whO
IZUKU
wHo wAs iZUku?
“Oh my god! Izuku, my baby!”
….
It was yet another cold night in Musutafu.