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When you grow up quirkless, you learn to love small. To love just enough that when your heart breaks, there’s still something left to give and something left in you to hold.
You do not trust in first impressions, because the extra toe joint means you cannot. And you love like a nuclear something—radioactive decay and at the edge of meltdown.
The world does not want to carry you, so you carry just yourself on your shoulders. Yourself, and your mom’s worry; yourself and everyone’s disappointment; yourself and everyone’s expectations; you are carrying your dreams to be a hero on just your shoulders, but the waking nightmare of reality keeps adding weight. You are heavy.
You dare to dream anyways.
So when a miracle comes, when you end up at U.A., of course, you love everyone. You love their potential and their idiosyncrasies, you are reckless. But you still love small, at least for awhile.
You know this about Iida Tenya, at first:
He comes from a legacy of heroes. He’s uptight—a bit of a rule follower—but confident. Competent. Sometimes, a bit ignorant. Astoundingly kind. Good, to the bone.
Good because you have always defined good in terms of how people love and Iida loves like he’s the only light in the room. Like everyone needs to be illuminated. He’s awkward and reserved but he doesn’t hide how much he loves and admires his brother, and you think somewhere, somehow, you might like Ingenium all the more because he is Tensei to Iida.
Most of all, he is unapologetic about how much Tensei means to him. He doesn’t quite know how to act around the class yet, but you think you’ll be quite lucky if you ever get to mean as much as a fraction of that to Iida. You’ll settle for being his classmate.
Like all miracles, the friendship is unexpected. It falls into place like a line of dominoes, and you are Midoriya & Uraraka & Iida. Not quite first names yet.
Everyone is closer. You love a little more recklessly, after the villains attack. The Sports Festival arrives, and you are so focused on Todoroki. But.
But Iida folds. He collapses inward like a burgeoning supernova, and it’s wrong. He is twisting himself, contorting into stiff facades of I’m fine, and you are supposed to newly be Midoriya & Uraraka & Iida & Todoroki, but Iida has never felt so distant.
You learn about Tensei and you think… oh. Iida doesn’t know how to love small like you. Weeks later, when you find yourself in that alleyway, staring at Stain, at Iida on the ground, you are angry at his recklessness. His casual disregard for himself. You are not surprised.
But mostly you understand. Mostly, you are thinking: Oh, Tenya.
The fight is a blur, but you remember the way Iida bled, and you called, and Todoroki answered. You remember the desperation and you break your rules of loving small, and you love them wholly.
Post-Stain, you are closer than ever. You learn some things about Iida.
He has a lot on his shoulders too—the Iida legacy, but also the pressure he puts on himself. To be perfect, to be helpful, to always be there. He’s a bit of a workaholic. He’s a rule follower because he likes the structure that rules provide, and he believes unerringly in good people . He’s loud, but sometimes shy. He has a sense of duty like you’ve never seen, and he’ll always lend you a hand. He always does his best to understand, and he’ll accept you, even if he doesn’t get it yet. He’ll love you, even if he disagrees.
Iida is steadfast.
Steadfast, in the same way the Earth spins and orbits around the Sun, unwavering for billions of years. He is loyal and trustworthy and you want to know him like this until you are old and gray and brittle-boned. But.
But.
Izuku looks down at his hands. At all this reflection he’s been doing. Maybe he’s always known that he would die young.
Maybe that’s why he loves recklessly despite having learned early on to love small. Looking at the way his hands fade and flicker, he never realized he’d passed his half-life. Nuclear something’s fading out.
You don’t predict stuff like this. You can’t.
Izuku runs through what he knows about the villain. It’s not a lot. It’s not enough. The quirk causes disappearance. Progressive onset. Long term. It had seemed like a regular fight, until the villain had touched him. All it took was one touch.
He only knows as much as he does now because of the monologue that had come after, accompanied by the villain’s wild eyes and desperation. That’s the kicker—Izuku had been winning. Maybe it was arrogance, that led to all of this.
It strikes Izuku: he’s running out of time. One for All cannot fade with him. There is so much work to be done still. It hasn’t quite settled in him that he won’t be there to see it all through. It hurts when he thinks about all that he is leaving unfinished. But when it comes to who to hand this legacy down to, the decision is almost easy. His mind works at a million miles as he works through the candidates, weighing each pro and con and going over a list of all the reasons he loves his class while he’s at it.
Iida is steadfast. Trustworthy. Loyal.
Most importantly, he’s good. Good to the bone. He wants to grow, and he’s going to do amazing things. He’s used to carrying heavier burdens.
Izuku pulls out his phone. He hopes Iida can forgive him for this.
ME Your work study is today right?
IIDA Yes, it is. Why?
ME I’ll be in Hosu for the day
I might have the chance to stop by :)
IIDA It would be nice to see you!
When do you think you’ll have the chance?
ME Not sure, but I’ll let you know
IIDA Alright.
I hope to see you later!
As he sets down his phone, Izuku realizes he is crying.
Izuku has so much to say. So much he’s never going to get to. So much he’s leaving behind. It feels too cruel to say I love you like a goodbye. But he does. He just wants them to know, before it’s too late.
I love you in ways I thought I had forgotten. I love you like friend and family and my own right arm. I love you in ways I have learned to redefine every single day.
When he sees Iida, he doesn’t say any of that. He smiles his best—still a little wobbly—and asks, “How are you?” He pretends that his heart isn’t breaking.
The hours he had spent deciding on what to do, start to feel like days. He is tired and aching and wants to rest so badly.
Iida, so kind, so, so Tenya, responds, “I am doing well! Are you alright, Midoriya? You seem a little tired!”
Izuku laughs at the understatement, fully aware of the bags underneath his eyes, the dirtied clothes, and the quiet exhaustion crawling into every bone. His smile brightens in the face of Iida’s excitement, which Iida attempts to restrain—but fails. It’s unapologetic, one of those countless Tenya idiosyncrasies that Izuku loves.
“I’m just fine, Iida. A little tired, yes. But—“ And his body flickers. Izuku had hoped to keep the conversation normal, for just a little longer. To savor it. To have some memory to hold onto of friendship and fondness and affection before tragedy. But the world is not so kind as to afford him that.
“Midoriya!” Iida exclaims, hand jarring in alarm. Izuku falls silent, head tilted downwards. Iida ushers him towards two empty seats, “What happened?”
Izuku’s hands clench in his lap, and he explains, haltingly, about the fight that had occurred early in the morning. As he reaches the conclusion, his voice wavers, and he looks up at Iida, eyes just a touch too shiny. “He touched me. And—and used his quirk. I didn’t know it, at the time. I really only know it now, because he’d stayed to monologue. The quirk, when it first takes effect, feels like nothing I’ve ever felt. Like tasting static and feeling the world blur all at once.” Izuku’s body flickers again, fading into invisibility for a few seconds longer than the first time.
“What was it? What was his quirk? How do we reverse it?” Iida is starting to sense something’s wrong. Izuku reads it in his eyes and aches all the more.
“It’s…disappearance. Progressive onset, long-term,” Izuku summarizes, clinically, trying to distance himself from the way his body fades, even as his pants stay scrunched as his hands grip harder in the face of his anxiety.
“Midoriya, do you know who it was? How do we reverse it?” Iida is more insistent now. Determined.
Izuku feels the fondness well up inside of him, feeling more sure in choice. In Iida’s unwavering urge to help. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not! Come on, I can call Aizawa-Sensei now,” Iida’s tone is urgent.
Finally, Izuku's eyes focus in. “No, no you can’t. You have to listen to me, Iida. I trust you.”
“What are you talking about? Please, explain to me what is happening, Midoriya. I’m not understanding.”
“I’m sorry, Iida. I don’t have time. I can’t. Look at the way I’m fading.” It takes longer for his body to reappear. “You’re going to be a wonderful hero, okay? And I know it, I really do. Tensei is going to be so proud of you. I’m sorry I won’t be around to see it. I’m so sorry.” His eyes well up with tears.
“Why are you talking like this? You’re not making sense. We need to ask someone for help, I can’t help you like this!”
“No, no, you can’t tell anyone. You can’t. It’s important. You can’t, it’s not safe. I trust you, Iida, please, please, just do this for me.” Izuku takes a hair from his head, placing it in Iida’s hand. “You have to take it now, while I’m still here. While you can see me at all.”
Iida shakes his head, “Midoriya, what are you talking about? You aren’t making sense. I can help you, just tell me what’s happening. Why are you in danger?”
“You aren’t listening,” Izuku cries out, desperate. He forces the hair into Iida’s mouth, sobbing out, “I’m sorry. Tell everyone I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanted more time. I really am sorry, Iida. But I know you’re going to be one of the best. I don’t trust anyone else with this.”
Iida reaches out to grab Izuku’s arm, after swallowing the hair. “ Izuku, please, please just talk to me—“ He’s horrified as his hand goes through Izuku, who fades.
The pause is long and sustained, a full three minutes before Izuku reappears. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t tell anyone. There isn’t anyone who can help me.” The last thing he says before he disappears again is “Please take it.”
Please take my quirk. This legacy. Please take care of it. Please take care of you. Of everyone else.
Izuku runs from the office, sobbing as his clothes disappear with him, for the first time. Knowing it won’t be long—he has a few weeks left in him at most.
I love you with inertia. With a consistency impervious to force, untouched by anything else. I love you, Izuku thinks.
He mourns too, for himself. I think I did good, with the time I had. I had a lot left…but that’s okay. I can trust Iida with this. I can trust All Might. I can trust my class and the next generation of heroes. It’s. It’s not okay, but it will be.
He breathes, sits in his faith, thinks about the idea of good men, and keeps moving.
The flickering gets worse over the next few days. The time that he spends visible shrinks and shrinks, and Izuku is drowning in his own thoughts.
He doesn’t regret. But he hurts like nothing else, staring down at his phone, all the unanswered texts.
IIDA Midoriya, you need to talk to someone.
I can’t help you with this
Please come back to UA
I don’t have the resources, any of the teachers would, please
Midoriya please answer.
ME I’m sorry
I can’t go to anyone
There’s nothing anyone can do
Tell All Might I’m sorry, please
IIDA Just come back to UA
Please, Midoriya
IIDA Please say you’re coming back soon.
IIDA Are you still there?
I haven’t told anyone.
I don’t know why I haven’t told anyone. I should have told someone.
IIDA People are starting to ask when you’ll be back.
I don’t know what to tell them.
Please be safe.
IIDA I don’t know why you trusted me with this.
I can’t do anything.
Please be safe.
IIDA Please be safe.
IIDA Please be safe.
IIDA Why me?
I don’t understand, Midoriya.
I don’t think I can do this.
IIDA I’m going to tell someone.
Tomorrow. I need to tell someone.
Please be safe.
He aches when he reads the why me, as if Iida has ever been anything except dependable. Reliable.
Izuku hopes Iida does go to All Might, who can explain about One for All. He hadn’t had the time to say all that he’d wanted, or explain the long story behind the quirk. Or really say that it was a quirk at all. It’s okay if Iida tells someone now.
It’s too late for him anyways. He’s not reappearing anymore.
Iida is good. Loyal. Trustworthy. Steadfast.
I am safe, Izuku wants to tell him. My legacy is safe. I am safe with you right now. One for All is with you. I’m safe, I promise. I’m right there with you. You’re keeping me safe.
He wonders if Iida will see his vestige. If he’ll have one, despite the fact that he’s only had the quirk a few years.
Izuku goes home in the way he’s always meant to, but is unseen, unnoticed, and invisible to anyone who loves him. That’s still a gift, though. To know with certainty that he was loved.
He wants to see them all, one last time. Visiting his mom first, he smiles, seeing her bustle through the house, cheeks glowing with life. She doesn’t know yet, and his chest hurts thinking about her future grief, but he savors her peace for now. How content she is.
Next, he returns to U.A. He wants to yell I’m sorry, as he sees Iida’s exhaustion, his ever present worry. It’s okay, he wants to call out. I’m so proud of you.
He wishes he could. These days, he can’t even touch a phone. Beyond invisible, he’s intangible too. Sometimes, it feels like his consciousness is flickering. He’ll wake up—not remembering ever falling asleep—and never feel rested. It’s tiring. He’s tired.
But he’s thankful for this time, tracing each of his classmates’ faces. Their joy. Listing off each little thing about them he loves.
It’s peaceful, in its anguish. The movies make letting go seem easy. It’s not. But Izuku gets it. He’s tired, and it’s hard to stay awake when it doesn’t even feel like you’re real anymore.
He’s drifting. It’s not long now.
Iida is the one he follows most. Iida, so brave, tells All Might and Nedzu. Izuku can only feel affection, even as it gets harder to think at all.
He sees their search for him in pieces. In flashes between awareness and nothing at all. He wants to reassure Iida that he would never be mad at him for wanting to help.
For wanting to save someone.
His consciousness fades out, but he hears the start of an explanation from All Might, hears the words “quirk” and “Ninth” and feels something like peace.
Next time, he wakes up, watching Iida text him we’re going to find you. I promise. Izuku feels lightheaded from his own grief, unable to tell Iida that he’s been here the whole time. That the phone he’s trying to reach is in a trash can somewhere, untouchable.
But even that fades, as awareness slips again.
He wakes up, disoriented as he follows Iida, who is caught up in a flurry of activity. Awareness is harder to force, but he notes Aizawa-Sensei, and All Might in the background.
The last thing he notices, before awareness fades out, is the address Iida types on his phone. He hopes he’ll wake up in time to make it there. He doesn’t bother asking questions like what happens when I get there? What is the address for? How will they know I’m there? Izuku trusts Iida.
If Iida asks him to be there…of course, of course he would. Even like this. In any world.
He wake up, the address seared in his mind, and does his best to make it there. Through doors, through people, just through and through. Until he can find Iida.
The clock is ticking, and it’s harder than ever to hold on to his sense of self. But the urge to find Iida is driving him forward, and he does, he does. With a single-minded focus, ignoring that they’re in a police station, that Aizawa-sensei is right there, that All Might is right there, that the villain is right there, Izuku thinks Iida. Iida, I’m here.
Iida flinches, before looking right at him. Izuku is filled to the brim with pride and affection as Iida says, “He’s here. Midoriya’s here.” Even though Iida eyes are welling up, Izuku has never seen him look stronger. Has never seen him look like courage personified, not like that.
Izuku hears Iida say, “Reverse it. Reverse it, now,” as if through a tunnel, distant and far.
Then there’s nothing at all.
Before everything slams back in. Sound, sensation, it all explodes in color before him. One for All crackles over him in teal light, but nothing else matters except the way Iida turns around and hugs him.
Izuku has never felt safer, than right here, wrapped in Iida’s arms.
Izuku wants to explain how proud he is. How glad he is that he has Tenya. How lucky he feels. How he has never regretted trusting him.
How glad he is that Tenya is one of the people he counts as home.
“You found me, Tenya,” he chokes out, “I’m home. You brought me home.”
To you. To everyone.