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Relief.
He doesn’t want to admit it but that’s what it felt like.
What it feels like, still.
Midoriya dying feels like a relief, the same way a hot bath after a long day of training feels relieving, the same way cold soba tastes like after a hard exam, the same way Touya-nii smiled before saying goodbye, as if he found peace in his all-consuming flames.
Seeing All Might suddenly rush out of the gym carrying Midoriya with him, the world seemed to stop and run along with him, taking all of their breaths away. He knows he should’ve been worried. He knows he should’ve been bothered. Shouto felt none that, nothing but his anger leaving his body and asking himself, “Is it over?” Shouto doesn’t know if he should feel guilty about it, feeling relieved of the fact that his best friend is dead. But he is.
He remembers looking at Uraraka and watching her sink to the floor, realization dawning on her face. He remembers Bakugou and Iida chasing after All Might, Yaomomo calling Aizawa-sensei, and everyone else just in various states of shock. Shinsou pulls at his sleeve and tells him they should tell Inko. Shouto looks around and wonder, why him, he didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but no one else seemed to be able to do it. Even Shinsou looked like he was trying to stop his tears, his voice coming out raspy and wet.
“Okay.”
Okay.
Shouto doesn’t want to tell Inko. Shouto doesn’t think he can. She loves his son very much, and he did, too, which is exactly why he can’t tell her. He doesn’t want her to see that having Midoriya dead makes him feel relieved. Maybe she’d know. Maybe she’d hate him, detest the man he’d become.
He feels disgusted at himself.
Inko doesn’t deserve someone like him to tell her.
But Inko doesn’t deserve to see teary-eyed teenagers barge through her room in the dorms and tell her the news.
Maybe that’s why Shouto said yes.
Maybe that’s why he nods and tells Shinsou that he can do it on his own, he doesn’t have to come, especially when he looks just about ready to breakdown. Shinsou looks at him sceptically, eyes all red and puffy, and all Shouto can offer him is a smile. That’s what Midoriya would’ve done, would’ve said it was fine, he was fine, and he’d grit his teeth and smile. Before Shinsou can stop him, Shouto turns around to make the long walk back to the dorm.
Inko deserves to know without someone else’s grief crushing her.
“Shouto-kun?”
When Shouto arrives, Inko is in front of him, looking at him with mild concern from her spot by the living room, hands turning off the vacuum she had been cleaning with.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?”
Shouto doesn’t know how to tell her. He doesn’t know if there’s an easy way to do so.
“Midoriya is dead.”
All that Shouto knows is that if he’s in her place, he doesn’t want any platitudes. He doesn’t want anyone throwing some pretty open line about how they tried their best, or how he’s with Recovery Girl, or if there was anything else that could soften the blow. They all knew it was coming. It was simply a matter of when.
And when you gently pull off a band-aid over a wound, it hurts the longer it stays.
Kindness is cruelty.
Cruelty is kindness.
Shouto is used to pulling it without hesistation.
“What?”
Inko deserves to know.
“Do you want to see him?”
Inko looks at him, really looks at him, before looking down. He sees her hands shake, her eyes fill with tears, and she takes a deep breath in and out.
In.
He wonders if it’s the right thing to say, if he was the right person to deliver it, to tell her that her son is gone.
Out.
Shouto feels his own tears tickle the back of his eyes.
In.
Midoriya is dead.
Out.
Midoriya is dead.
Saying it out loud makes it feel real.
She doesn’t cry, though. She just stands there and breathes, quiet as she takes in his words and Shouto doesn’t know if he should be here.
“Thank you for telling me,” she says in a soft yet steady voice.
Before he knows it, he’s pulled into a hug.
Inko is a short woman and he had long towered over her yet right here, right now, he feels small. So, so small compared to the woman circling her arms around him.
“Thank you for being there for him,” she tells them. “He loved you very much.”
He is four again when he hugs her back.
He is four and it was the last time he remembered crying hot angry tears that burn his skin down to his soul. He is four and there is an aching stabbing pain over his chest, where his heart should be, and he can’t help but sob at how painful it is. Something keeps clawing against his ribs, pounding against his head, and he holds on to Mrs. Midoriya, to Izuku’s mom, like she is his lifeline and nothing else matters to him but staying alive, staying afloat, something that Midoriya will never be able to do again.
Midoriya is dead and it hurts.
Midoriya is dead and he is relieved.
Shouto cries.
It’s the first time he’d done so since Midoriya had told him the truth.