Chapter Text
Izuku liked music.
Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that he loved music, that he lived for it, that he breathed it.
Music was always around him, following him around like a cape, trailing him like his own shadow, curling around him and decorating his face not unlike his freckles. It had always been his, something he innately knew like others knew their name.
Music was a dance and a painting and it's own artform and Izuku took it in and made it his own.
Izuku was music.
Music, sound, had colours, all the colours of the rainbow moving in intricate patterns, in streams, bathing his world in light.
He had always been able to see the colours, had grown up with his mother's voice a deep green interwoven with the highness of what she was saying, the colour so ingrained in their very beings as Midoriyas, as green ones, that he could never think of the word family without seeing it.
His own voice was green too, much much lighter, almost gray, as if he was but a washed out version of Inko, an afterthought, a paint brush stroke with just a bit too little paint on it.
It wasn't the only part in his life where he felt like that.
His mother was all rich colour, from her voice to her steps to the small bursts of brilliant colours when she pulled objects towards her and they connected to her hand with quiet thuds.
Izuku was plain, forced smile the only bright thing on a canvas of emptiness, the spark in his eyes drowned and killed by the orange, red and yellow of fire and the heat blossoming in painful scars across his skin.
It had been at a young age that he learned that not only was his voice almost gray, so was his worth, because valuable things were shiny and Izuku was not, Izuku was quirkless and worthless and a thing, a doll almost, a Deku, wooden and only good for the anger of other people.
Music was his though.
Inko was often busy, working to get her and her son through the day with food and a roof over their heads, but the child support Hizashi still sent was used for music lessons.
Izuku was a prodigy, a quirkless one, a word that mattered little in a world where quirks could replace talent, but he still sometimes held concerts, mostly for the hospital his mother worked in or homes for elderly people. Izuku, the boy who played as easily as he walked or perhaps even better, if the bruises the teachers at school told his mother came from how clumsy he was, were anything to go by.
Izuku lived music.
He practiced every day, for hours, right after finishing homework, he hummed under his breath no matter how often he got beat down for it, he tapped his fingers on his leg, he sang along to every song he heard and made rhythms with his pen.
Him seeing colours was not a quirk, but sometimes he pretended it was.
When he was laying in bed, the world ever colourful from the TV his mom was watching or the steps of the neighbors above, he reached out and carded his fingers through the colours. He liked to pretend that they became brighter and the noises louder to a point where he saw and heard it, liked to pretend he had use and his colours were not only his, but useful to be a hero, useful for more than music.
Not that he didn't adore how effortlessly music came to him.
But still. The bow of a violin moving just right over the strings, the elegant movement pressing down piano keys, the way his fingertips hurt in the best pain known to mankind were just not the same as being a hero.
Music made people lighter, happier, but it didn't save them from fires or villains, didn't find people when they were kidnapped.
His music, his talent, was a gift, a dream, but just not the dream he'd die for.
Or perhaps he would like to die anyway, even without the dream, his thoughts sometimes mingling with the self-depreciating ones, the thoughts that snuck up during the night that a window was right there, thoughts he associated heavily with the dull red of badly suppressed sobs.
However, he knew that being a hero was just not in the cards, so he studied hard for General Education and spent his free time doing music and only occasionally going for runs or to the monthly free self-defense day one of the dojos offered.
It was better that way, a thing he believed if he simply thought about it often enough, if he distracted himself, if he still did analysis because giving up entirely felt like breaking.
Izuku listened to the radio a lot. He especially liked Mic, because he was funny and his voice was the prettiest purple, a shade just a tad off from lavender, which were his favourite flowers. Dutifully, he put the radio on every night and watched the light show his synaesthesia created, humming along to the songs and imagining the callers to be him, speaking to his idol.
All Might was still his favourite hero, but Present Mic came a very close second, such a close second that they were separated by a hair length, one hair from that ridiculous style Mic wore his hair in. Izuku thought it a choice.
"Izuku, darling", his mother called through the open door and the colour of the forests curled towards him, tugging on his wrist. "Are you ready to leave?"
"Yes, Mama", he replied and his voice went towards her in a streak of colourless green as the boy slung his violin casket across his shoulders and walked over to her.
He had promised to play at the hospital today, the violin his favourite instrument to play with a deep, beautiful gray underlining the different notes. It was like a painting and gray went with everything, so it was a delight to watch if he did, despite his eyes being often closed when he played, lost in the sound without willingness to sacrifice it for sight.
"Midoriya-kun", one of the nurses greeted him upon arriving, her voice gentle, a stark opposite to the neon orange that wrapped itself around his shoulders and squeezed almost painfully, her voice not grating, but her colour very much so.
"T-T-Takeda-san", he replied softly, bowing even as halting pale green came in small lines that he associated with his stutter and lifted the orange right off him. The boy fled to tuning his violin, escaping the orange for dark gray and the pastels of notes.
The room was full today, filled with sickly faces full of anticipation for his music, for a little reprieve from days filled with medication and bad news, with pain that wouldn't stop aching and a soul that couldn't be soothed with anything the hospital offered. Some people in his audience were old, but this time they had apparently also invited others because there were children there and their parents, one standing out, a lavender coloured boy with purple eyes and pale skin, an arm in a sling and eyebags so deep they looked threatening.
Izuku immediately liked him. Lavender was his favourite, after all.
Crowds were visually a hard thing for Izuku and this time was no exception, his relief clear on his face when he closed his eyes and his music started to fill the room, a song so familiar he knew how the colours twisted in the air without looking.
The hour went by with applause and Izuku blushing despite him being used to it, with the joyful sounds of a violin being played with the ease of an expert, with slight swaying from Izuku as he moved with the bow.
"Thank you for the lovely music, Midoriya-kun", Takeda-san said and her orange grated against his skin, his relaxed smile growing tenser again, his nerves sneaking back into his system and anxiety settling into the familiar hollow space in his chest.
His skin crawled.
Once again, the boy bowed, face still flushing or perhaps again, who knew, before he had to blink rapidly as colour errupted all over the room when conversations started up as always when such an event was finished.
It was overwhelming.
Deliberately, Izuku took even bigger care putting his instrument away, eyes half-lidded as the colours slowly left the room with their people, following them much like music followed him, only visible to the thirteen-year old in the corner.
"You play really well", a voice commented, deep, the colour and consistency of honey or perhaps amber, making Izuku's fingers sticky. Not in a bad way, not enough for it to be uncomfortable, but simply in the way skin caught on a rough surface would, wrapping around him like a sweet cocoon, almost physically there, but not quite.
"T-t-tha-thanks", Izuku replied, shoulders stiffening slightly at being addressed, him receiving compliments too rare for him to truly trust it and then he turned away from his violin to look and was met with purple and gold intertwining in the most magnificent way. From this close, Lavender boy's eyes were even prettier, with white pupils and the colour of orchids, golden specks lingering from when he'd spoken.
"I'm Shinsou Hitoshi", the other boy introduced himself and Izuku detected a nervous undertone, a touch of anxiety in those pretty, pretty eyes, that he very much recognized from himself interacting with his peers.
"M-Mi-Mi-...", he started, his green dancing around him like periods in the air.
"This is Midoriya Izuku", Takeda-san interjected and Izuku grimaced slightly, not only because he hated when people had no patience for his stuttering, but also because he watched the gray periods get violently suffocated by neon blobs.
A hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped subtly, hiding his frown behind a wobbly smile as he looked up at the woman who smiled widely at both boys.
"We're very proud of him", she added and once again Izuku's face twitched, but his response was swallowed, driven down his throat by admonishments to be respectful with your elders and anxiety so tight it made his chest hurt.
"Right", Shinsou said, looking as uncomfortable as Izuku felt and purple met green as they exchanged a look, before both of them suddenly had to lower their eyes so as to not laugh.
This had never happened to Izuku who didn't laugh often, not anymore.
The other was a kindred spirit, the quirkless boy felt it keenly, felt the slight tug at his soul, the burning desire to become the other's friend, to see him smile and laugh.
"Well, what are you doing now, Midoriya", Shinsou said, not quite asking, tilting his head in a way that curiously didn't make his hair move at all and had Izuku wondering if it was a quirk or hair gel.
Honey dripped against violent orange as Takeda-san once again took it upon herself to answer, as if Izuku could not be trusted to, as if him needing a bit longer to finish sentences was an inconvenience to the woman not even invited to the conversation.
"He will go home", she said friendily and Shinsou scowled at her, making Izuku imagine that he was scowling for him, because he too wanted the greenette to speak for himself, even if that likely wasn't the other's reason.
Nobody wanted Izuku to speak for himself.
"Right", Shinsou repeated flatly and the freckled teen watched in fascination as the slight tone change made the amber dull marginally, as if the boy's colour could sense his lack of enthusiasm. "Would you like to get a coffee and drink it in my room with me", the other asked, pointedly directing the statement phrased like a question but not intoned as such at Izuku and not looking at the woman. "I have some questions about your violin."
For a moment there was silence as Izuku tried to understand the implication that someone wanted to spend time with him, him personally and only him.
"Uhm, only if you want to, of course", the lavender coloured boy added, a tad too hastily and there was the trepidation again, making the honey in the air quiver slightly.
"I-I-I'd l-lo…", he started, because despite his unease with people his age and people in general, really, the other had asked and hospitals were lonely and his arm looked painful, so he wanted to go along.
Besides. He seemed nice and was pretty.
"He'd love to", Takeda-san interrupted, lifting an eyebrow when both teens stared at her, Izuku shyly frustrated and Shinsou openly mad. "What?", she asked mildly.
"Maybe he wanted to say something else", the purple-haired teen proposed, his frown deepening into a scowl when the nurse looked unrepentant.
Izuku made a shaky gesture to tell the other to stay down, that it was fine, that he didn't want him to get into this argument, that he was used to it.
Shinsou seemed to understand, because he clamped his mouth shut, eyes flickering from the woman to the greenette and back and Izuku detected a touch of resignation in there, and sympathy.
"Well, you're a good boy, run along with your little friend now, I will tell your mother where you went", Takeda-san said and Izuku ducked his head, trying to hide his flinch when she reached out to ruffle his wild curls, finger catching on some knots, before following Shinsou quietly.
"You got to tell her that you can speak for yourself", the other hissed and Izuku shrunk away, not even registering the softness in the honey, because of course Shinsou was now mad at him, of course he probably didn't want him to come along anymore.
"I'm not mad", the teen added softly and Izuku felt his skin burn even as the amber soothed it, because of course he had to go mutter around the first stranger his age who didn't immediately kick him down. "Or not at you", the other clarified and Izuku sent him a shy glance and a smile that was even more so.
"Can you sign", Shinsou said and once again, his voice didn't lift, turning the sentence that should have been a question into a weirdly phrased statement. "Because I like signing more than talking", the other added, once again quickly, anxiously, in a tone used to shut down, a tone from someone who knew being kicked down more intimately than being accepted.
Izuku nodded.
Shinsou lit up, not with his face, but with his body language, somehow looking happy even through the neutral line of his mouth and the flatness of pupil-less eyes.
The rest of the way to the cafeteria and then to the boy's room was spent with Shinsou talking, in the same flat tone but still animated, golden honey wrapping around Izuku's wrist as he signed back.
"Where did you learn to sign", the purple-haired boy stated when they were in his hospital room, a single room in what Izuku was pretty sure was the hero ward, which made no sense, Shinsou's hand twitching as if he'd rather sign. But alas, it was hard to do that with one arm completely taken up by a cast and the other holding a coffee.
Izuku had opted for a tea, now putting it down on the table near him, watching the brown spark the cup's sound made when it hit the table. 'My friend's quirk might make him deaf so I learned.'
Both of them had learned even after their friendship had turned sour, Izu knew that for sure, sometimes watching the blonde signing to himself when he was on a run, something that he had only ever let Kacchan catch him at once, a confrontation that had ended with ash on the greenette's tongue and a scar wrapping around his bicep.
"Oh", Shinsou said. "My quirk also affects my ability to speak freely, so I learned."
There was something odd in the way he said it, his voice deepening until blue like the sky joined the yellow of his voice, quivering in the air.
'What's your quirk?', Izuku asked, signs hesitant and almost as if he was compelled to ask, as if the conversation had led them to this point without a fail safe, as if this was where everything crumbled and burnt.
Shinsou's face closed off, eyes shuttering much like Izuku's did and for one hopeful moment even with the boy’s quirk having been mentioned, he almost hoped that the other was quirkless too, a suffering he wished on nobody, but damn, if he didn't want to be less lonely, before the purple-haired boy opened his mouth. "It's a villain's quirk."
Izuku's mind spiraled to a stop, downwards and then halting when he registered the words, the meaning behind it dire.
'Quirks are just tools. Nobody has a villain's quirk', he replied, hands signing fast in his haste to convey his message, as if those few seconds could be crucial in making Shinsou understand.
And Izuku wanted him to understand, wanted him to see, because he himself wished for a quirk, any quirk, so much that it hurt and he would die to have one, so it hurt all the more to see someone put themselves down for their quirk.
"That's what my dad says", the other stated, voice softer than before, still the colour yellow, but underlined by blue still, blue a shade lighter than before. It fit him oddly well, dancing around the indigo hair like waves. "It's brainwashing."
Izuku tried to hold it in, he really did, but the words were forced from him, a non-stuttering, becoming continuously quieter mess, a full on word vomit of grayish green and the yellow of Shinsou's soft sounds of surprise, the colour of the sun.
"You mean that?", the other asked breathlessly, adding a red line to his colour as he leaned forward on the bed to stare at Izuku intensely, apparently forgetting the weird things he did with questions. "That I can be a hero with my quirk?"
A nod and it was all Izuku could do to respond to hide his heart breaking for the other boy.
Shinsou processed for a few moments, eyes wide, as if someone but his parent saying such a thing was unfathomable to him and the air was sticky when he spoke again.
"What's your quirk."
A question that had ruined a great many budding friendships for Izuku and it didn't help that it wasn't intoned like a question, it didn't take away the sharp edges of the word, the inherent danger of admitting that he was quirkless, worthless.
They stared at each other and the greenette's hands lifted, once again without his own free will adding to the action and then he was fingerspelling quirkless, because the sign was derogatory and he never used it, never ever.
The purple-haired boy looked surprised, shocked even, which was an understandable reaction considering the percentage of quirkless teens, before bopping his head into a nod.
Izuku fiddled with his hands, pulling on them in a way that made the quietest of sound, brought forth the most transparent shade of magenta, briefly hovering over his fingers like a tissue sized blanket of colour.
"Y-you do-don't mi-mi-mind", Izuku said and it was as much of a statement as Shinsou's questions was, flat at the end and unyielding, speaking of more certainty than the boy had.
"I don't mind at all", the brainwasher affirmed, voice rough, making the honey stickier and wrapping around Izuku's hand, sticking to his own colours. The greenette watched it absent-mindedly.
Before either of the teens could recover from the earth-shattering reactions of the other, the door opened with a whoosh of canary yellow and then a voice was greeting Shinsou, a voice that was very familiar to Izuku, a voice just one shade off from lavender. Sure, it looked different than it did in the radio, underlayed with the different deepness which mixed gray and beige and the lightest touch of orange into it, but the base voice was the same and Izuku would have recognized it anywhere.
"M-M-Mic?", he whispered, even before turning and he saw Shinsou's sharp look from the corner of his eyes and then he moved his head and green eyes found a man who only very vaguely resembled Mic, without the hair over his hip and blonde waves spilling over his shoulders, wearing nerd glasses.
"Good eye, little listener", the man complimented and this time he was all Mic, before promptly dropping to the same voice before as he turned to the brainwasher and Izuku realized that it was an act. "New friend, Hitoshi?"
Shinsou didn't respond, white pupils fixed on Izuku, a hard set around his mouth as of he was trying to figure out if the greenette was a traitor or not. "How did you know", he demanded, voice flat and eyes narrowed.
"Hitoshi", Mic started, a royal blue warning accompanying the purple, but Shinsou simply shook his head stubbornly. "How did he… I mean, he knew. Without looking at you."
There was an accusation there, even with the rephrasing into a statement and Izuku stiffened.
'I have synaesthesia', he signed. 'M-I-C's voice is purple.'
At those news, the blonde man visibly brightened, before turning to Shinsou to translate the word, which was not commonly used and therefore apparently not known by the brainwasher.
"I see. Sorry", Shinsou said, voice once again gruff, but he didn't look too put out, especially when Izuku sent him an understanding smile. "Papa, this is Midoriya, Midoriya this is… well, you already seem to know him."
The freckled teen felt his face heat up and he stood, bowing, both as greeting and to cover his blush.
"Very nice to meet you", Mic said brightly, lifting a hand into his signature peace sign, before walking over to sit on the other side of Shinsou's bed, the boy shuffling a bit so he could see both of them. "So how did you meet? You're staying here too, Midoriya?"
Izuku thought that it was nice of the other man to not assume that he was visiting just because he didn't visibly look sick or wounded.
The greenette shook his head and sent a glance Shinsou's way, who lifted one purple eyebrow, but still moved to explain, honey filling the room. "He gave a concert for patients."
"With the violin?", Mic asked and the excitement made his voice go higher, until his purple voice was glittering with silvery gray. "Can you play something for me?"
The green boy hesitated, eyes watching as the glitter in the air slowly dissipated, the two other males waiting for his response without pushing, which was nice. "S-sure."
Mic beamed.
Izuku didn't need to tune and as such he just moved his bow over the strings once, to check, watching as colour erupted, before closing his eyes against the brightness and moving into a song that could be considered hard, but came easily to his practiced fingers.
"Wow", the hero said excitedly before the last note was even fully gone and when Izuku opened his eyes, it was to purple circling rainbow, not suffocating it like Takeda-san's orange would have, but joining it.
The quirkless teen ducked his head, blushing.
'I learned early,' he signed after putting the violin down. His mother was proud of his talent, but he'd also impressed on him that bragging about it was not the polite thing to do, that he mustn't show it freely.
Sometimes, when the nights were long and dark, he wondered if she didn't want him to feel special in at least one category of his life.
"Still, you play very well," the hero complimented him, smile light and face lit up by purple which still glittered if Izuku looked at its edges too long. "It must have taken a lot of practice."
The greenette ducked his head into a small nod and he could hear Shinsou snort, but when he looked up he found no derision, only strangely misplaced fondness, oddly reassuring despite its sudden appearance.
However, before either the boy and his father or Izuku could say anything more, a knock sounded on the door, reflecting maroon off the mint door and then it opened to reveal bright green and his mother's familiar face.
"Izuku," she said, surprise making her voice tilt towards yellow, her eyes disapproving even if he wasn't sure yet why.
Shinsou's eyes flickered from the woman to Izuku and back, while Present Mic simply looked politely curious.
"M-m-mom," Izuku replied, standing.
“Shinsou,” the woman said with the smile she only rarely ever used at home anymore. Her professionalism had kicked in ans she had clearly decided to deal with the surprise about her son’s presence in a second. “How are you feeling?”
Green, with the intensity of fresh paint moved through the room, flowing towards the son and father duo on the bed.
Shinsou shot Izuku a look. “Good,” the purple-haired boy replied politely, making the room sticky, his eyes still flickering from his mother to him and back.
“Great,” Inko said brightly. The room was filled with light and unlike when Izuku talked, his mom’s voice didn’t dull it.
There was a sharp edge in her voice though, not audible, but visible, only to Izuku of course, who followed the dots of pastel pink with an ever sinking feeling in his stomach.
She was mad, at him, probably, and he wasn’t even really sure why. Inko rarely got mad at him.
Izuku rarely did stuff she could be mad about.
“So, we would like to keep you one more night just to observe that concussion, but tomorrow you should be good to know,” his mom explained.
Shinsou sighed, as if he had expected it, but also as if he was still pissed about it, the sigh surprisingly enough not amber coloured, but dark red, almost burgundy.
The greenette twisted his hands, still standing somewhat awkwardly, watching the proceeding. He didn’t know why Shinsou was even here, after all and he could keenly feel that the other boy hated it here. It was understandable enough, he supposed.
“Perfect,” Mic said politely, his whole attention fixed on Izu’s mom. And yet, the boy could somehow tell that at least out of his periphery, the hero was watching him.
“Should I have you a dinner brought, Yamada-san?” Inko asked and as always, her voice impossibly brightened when she was eager to do something for someone.
It was weird, Izuku thought, that it never happened when she did something nice for him.
Perhaps, she was too used to it, to find it special anymore.
“That would be great,” the blonde hero said evenly, smiling widely at the nurse who blushed.
This was maybe the first time Izuku had ever seen her blush.
“I’ll do that then,” she promised, leaf green voice bouncing off the walls as she energetically turned away, her eyes dimming slightly when she spotted Izuku, as if she had momentarily forgotten about his presence.
He winced again.
Despite not looking at the two quasi strangers in the room, one of which was one of his favourite heroes, a fact he would definitely freak out about later in the safety of his room, he could very keenly feel their eyes on him.
“Izuku, darling,” she started and the pastel pink of her disapproval almost outweighed the green. It was pretty, like wildflowers in spring grass, but Izuku couldn’t quite appreciate the beauty when bottomless green eyes were trying to bore a hole into him.
Right now, his mother’s eyes looked more like poison ivy than anything friendly.
“Why are you taking advantage of the poor boy? You were supposed to go home after the concert.” It was a leading question, one he could only lose in, lose, lose, lose like a flowery trap full of thorns.
“I- I-...” he started and this time it was gold that interrupted him, accompanied by an apologetic look from purple eyes.
“I invited him. And Papa really wanted to hear him play.” Shinsou gestured towards the violin.
It wasn’t a lie per se, if twisted slightly to fit what the boy with a broken arm clearly wanted Inko to believe and Izuku saw the exact moment when honeyed words reached his mother’s ears and captivated her.
Something about Shinsou’s voice was nice, so nice that one wanted to believe it and Izuku wondered if it had to do with voice quirks.
Mic’s voice was nice too, after all.
He also wondered if other people could sense it, people that didn’t see the extra, glittery quality it added to the colours of their sounds.
“Well, I suppose that’s alright then,” Inko immediately relented, as Izu had known she would and his shoulders untensen slightly, something in his throat loosening.
The anxiety was still there, of course, curling around his biceps and stomach and brain, but it was slightly less sharp-edged right now.
Even if he’d probably get scolded later.
Izuku avoided looking at Shinsou and Mic.
“But you go home now, you have homework and practising to do,” the small woman added, the pink quality now nearly gone, much to Izuku’s relief.
“Yes mom,” he whispered and he knew for sure that it reached nobody’s ears, since he gray simply poofed out of existence a few heartbeats after leaving his mouth.
Too quiet.
The boy took up his backpack and then gently took ahold of the violin, his love, his everything, before bowing towards the purple-haired boy and the man.
He was strangely disappointed that he had to leave now.
Something about Shinsou made him feel right, made him feel whole, less like a discarded piece of wood and more like and actual, living and breathing person.
It was a nice feeling.
“Wait, let me give you my number, Midoriya,” Shinsou said, his voice sounding hasty with the slight insecurity Izuku already recognized shining through the brilliance of his gold.
Izuku chanced a glance at his mom, but the woman didn’t really look disapproving anymore, more like she was moved to tears.
So the greenette smiled shyly at the boy with his broken arm and with a shaky hand pulled out his phone, opened contacts and handed it over.
The numbers got hacked in with the turquoise periods of buttons being pressed.
Izuku’s smile brightened slightly and when he met the other boy’s eyes, Shinsou was smiling too or at least looked like he was trying hard to look upbeat.
It mostly looked miserable with the cast, the pale skin against white sheets and his deep, deep eyebags, but Izu still got the sense that Shinsou was genuinely happy about the prospect of texting and maybe even meeting again.
When the quirkless teen looked at Mic, he strangely saw almost the same expression as was on his mom’s face right now.
Bowing again, the boy turned and followed his mom out.
“Izuku,” Inko said softly, something odd in her voice now, as if the green was struggling to keep the upper hand against something unknown, something Izuku had never seen in her voice.
“Yes, mama?” he asked, his voice now easier to find when it was just her, un-mad, normal mom.
The grayish green drifted through the air and he would swear that she winced right when they reached her.
“Don’t be disappointed if he drops you once he finds out,” she said and then she walked off, as if the green didn’t linger like sickly fungus on his arms, as if the boy wasn’t suddenly struggling not to cry.
Right.
Because being quirkless was that much of a curse that even his mother couldn’t fathom someone staying after they knew.
Much later, in the darkness of his room, when it had long become clear that Inko was working a double shift and wouldn’t be home until he would be fast asleep, Izuku was smiling at his budding conversation with Shinsou.
It was mostly smalltalk which had now devolved into Shinsou sending him cat pictures.
Izuku wasn’t complaining.
The room lit up with the bright, blood red that Izuku associated with the message alert he had assigned to his mom and the freckled teenager clicked on it with well hidden trepidation, so well hidden that even he himself wasn’t aware of it.
‘You should tell him soon, you know,’ Inko’s message read and then the next one popped up. ‘It’s not nice to lead such a polite boy on.’
Izuku sighed, a soft gray in colourless darkness and then he closed his eyes.