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A little boy sits on his unmade bed, his hands desperately grasping his own upper arms as he curls into himself. His stubby fingers tint red at the strain of clutching the fabric of his own shirt. There’s an emptiness around him, leaving him cold. He tries to give himself the human warmth his blankets can’t seem to give. There’s a sense of wrongness, a sense of unfamiliarity that the scrawny figure can’t seem to shake. Today was just so, so wrong. It had to be a dream.
He wasn’t supposed to be quirkless . Kacchan wasn’t supposed to use his quirk on him. Daddy was supposed to come home from work a long time ago. Mommy was supposed to hug him goodnight by now. He was supposed to become a hero.
Izuku refused everything the adults in his daycare had said. He wasn’t going to be a police officer, or an artist, or anything else! He was going to be a hero. He was supposed to become a hero .
The other kids have found a new name for Izuku. Deku. It’s what Kacchan now only calls him as. It’s a chant used tauntingly to tell Izuku of his worth. Poor, stupid, useless Deku.
The little boy grips his arms tighter, letting his overgrown nails dig into the soft skin and leave bright red marks. Somehow, nothing was right anymore. The world turned on its head. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Why is everything so wrong? Why was everyone turning on him? Izuku wearily opens his eyes, letting the little emerald orbs trail down to his bare feet.
Suddenly, Izuku hated himself. He hated his body for betraying him, he hated Kacchan for betraying him, he hated his parents for betraying him. He hated the stupid bone in his stupid pinky toe and the stupid cold almost as much as he hated his stupid dreams of being a stupid hero that’ll now never happen.
Izuku hated his stupid quirklessness.
Izuku Midoriya is the sunniest of kids, his kindness and his bright smiles warming even the coldest of hearts. Whenever someone knocked him down, he’d get back up without a grudge in his big, golden heart, only compassion for the bully. He forgave everyone as easily as he breathed, the thing coming like second nature to him.
Izuku Midoriya is the warm sun in a cloudy sky.
Pale, bony hands grasp the frigid wired fence tightly, the fingers growing numb to the biting cold of winter. A meek boy looks over the edge of the school rooftop, already fantasizing about his lanky body splattering onto the snowy concrete right below his feet, dying the white into a beautiful red. His eyes show nothing but contentment. Yet, his frail stature shakes, from the wind, from the cold, from the inarguable fear he tries to hide. His socks are already soaked from the snow.
There it is again, the feeling of an ever-hungry void in his chest, greeting him like an old childhood friend. It’s a feeling that Deku can’t quite give the reason for. It may be from his quirklessness, it may be from the worn down state of his very soul, it may very well be his dreams of being a hero, being worth something, or what remains of them. His scars ache, as do his new bruises and burns; they throb and sting from the cold, from some of their freshness.
Izuku– no. Deku cranks his head to look up and admire the midnight sky and its millions of stars splattered on the inky, dark blue canvas. For how many times he had seen the view, that much more he surprises himself at the undeniable fascination he holds for it. Of course, when talking about the night sky, you simply cannot forget to talk about the elegant moon as it hangs majestically over his head, glowing much more softly than the brutal sun with it’s pale, comforting light shining on Deku’s face.
Deku has always loved the moon and the night, ever since his diagnosis. The moon seems to embrace him whenever it rises, saving him from the cruel sun– and it always rises . It keeps him company on these types of nights, nights where insomnia is his only option and the painful thoughts come back.
The determined boy looks back at his deathly red sneakers, nestling a neatly folded note, before looking back down. And… he can’t. He can’t take that long-awaited step forward. He can’t upset the moon on such a peaceful night like this.
Izuku Midoriya– Deku – is the gentlest of kids his age. His kind words and small, shy smiles don’t clash well with the others, but it doesn’t stop him from caring. His big heart pours out easily and he gets stuck in his own head too much for his own good. He would ramble on for hours about everything and anything if anyone would listen. He’s painfully underestimated and overlooked, which draws him to believe he is akin to one of his favorite things.
Izuku Midoriya is the benevolent moon, and one day he thinks he’ll join the stars.
It’s been a while since Izuku let himself look at the pavement from so high up. Izuku knows himself, knows his thought pattern, knows how impulsive he is; that’s the main reason he doesn’t let himself do this anymore. That and he doesn’t really have time for contemplating his worth on a rooftop. Though, it’s not exactly like he has time today either, but not being able to concentrate on homework in his stuffy dorm room is a good enough reasons to take a breather… and since no one is allowed off-campus because of the recent– (when is it not recent?)– villain attacks, the rooftop is the only place he’s really allowed.
But it’s not like he’s planning to jump off! Not when the moon’s so pretty. He’s just a little overwhelmed with the fact his ribcage feels much tighter than it should and he’s hyper aware of the emptiness– the void coming back to haunt his chest.
The all-too familiar rot blooms inside his stomach and suddenly Deku registers the fact he's been dragged back to square one, which is annoying since he spent this entire time progressing; trying not to flinch at every slightly loud noise or sudden move, trying to keep his fear of teachers, of Bakugou, of small spaces (and so any more) at bay.
And he tried. He really tried.
But no matter what is said, what is done and what he tries so hard to convince himself and others, he’s still getting awful flashbacks, panic attacks and emotional shut-downs. He still isolates himself, he still picks up old habits better left in the past, he still feels completely hopeless and he still can’t imagine himself being alive in the next twenty years.
Why couldn’t he just never been born at a–
“Hey, problem child.”, a distinct deep voice calls out to him, loud footsteps and an unnecessary amount of shuffling approaching him. His voice has a soft undertone, and Deku can’t help but genuinely smile at his teacher's obvious attempt at not startling him. Which, admittedly, works. “What are you doing up so late? You know you’ve still got classes tomorrow, and I don’t want to see you imitate a zombie during homeroom.”
“I won’t, sensei, I promise. I was just admiring the sky.”, and this is probably the only thing Izuku has said all week that’s actually sort of true.
“Star-gazing?”, Izuku doesn’t have to look at Aizawa to know that the man’s questioning tone almost always goes hand in hand with a raised eyebrow. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see his teacher slightly leaning over the railing, close enough to resemble Izuku’s own posture, but not as far as the student, who painfully obviously doesn’t care if he falls.
“More like moon-gazing, but it’s close enough.” ah, moon-gazing. A cruel way to force himself to look at something he isn’t even worth comparing himself to.
“Moon-gazing? I think I’ve heard of that.”, the moon, something he yearns to be someday. To be the moon is higher praise than he had thought. To be the moon, to be calm and graceful, elegant and–
Deku stops himself there. He is no longer alone. He can’t afford breaking down in front of Aizawa-sensei; he is a teacher after all.
And… the two sit in silence. Almost suspicious silence, but Deku blames that thought on his natural paranoia regarding authority figures. From what he can see, the older man seems to be looking up too, patiently waiting for the conversation to continue perhaps, but still admiring the night sky almost as much as Izuku.
“Do you know that theory? That when you’re dead, you turn into a star? It was scientifically proven at one point and it’s… It’s kind of beautiful if you think about it this way. Death, I mean.”
“Is it?”
“I think so. You can be completely useless as you live, you can be worth nothing– but after that? You’ll be gazed at and admired and connected with other stars to help lost travelers.. It’s like a second chance to do things right, I guess.”, Deku didn’t exactly know what he was rambling about, or if anything that he just spewed out made any ounce of sense, but it was the best way he could communicate his very conplicated feelings.
Aizawa didn’t comment though, only letting out a thoughtful hum, “Are you into astronomy?”
“No. I mean, a little.”, Izuku almost chuckled, “It’s just that everyone used to compare me to the sun when I was little. I guess I kind of picked it up from them.”
“Really?”, Aizawa’s tone took a more curious turn. The student felt the said teacher’s gaze on him, asking him a question left unsaid. Izuku doesn’t know how much he should even say, but he lets words roll off his tongue without a care in the world, letting himself and his nerves be at peace for a little while.
“Yeah.”, He breathed out, not letting his eyes peel off the night sky, “Everyone said I was the sun up ‘til I was four. Then the quirk diagnosis rolled around and suddenly I was left with nothing, so I filled that hole with convincing myself I resembled the moon more.”
“Do you think that now?”, the teacher's voice was comforting to a degree, inviting Deku to spill all his burdens, though he tried to remind himself why it wasn’t a good idea.
Deku tried to hold himself back, to not let his eyes gloss over and not let his mouth run free, as it already bit more than it could chew. How was he going to slither his way out of this, he didn’t know, but he didn’t let whatever uncomfortableness he was feeling bleed into his posture and body language. For once, he had to keep it together.
“Not really.”, he said, before trailing off, “I-I guess it was a little dumb to think I was like any of them. I’m not sunny, bright and energetic enough to be the sun, I’m not soft, calm and elegant enough to be the moon and I am not yet a star, helpful and admirable.”
“Maybe you’re the eclipse. The balance between those two.”, Aizawa suggests out of the blue, forcing Deku to look at him. He tries to supress the looks of pure surprise and confusion, even if it seems to be in vain. His teacher tilts his head a little before explaining, “Not overly flamboyant and optimistic like the sun, but not unbothered and theatrical like the moon.”
“And the stars?”
“You don’t need to be dead to be useful. The stars may be a nifty thing to help travelers, but there are already so many. You do not need to join them to be helpful.”
“Right.”, Izuku almost gives in to the urge to sigh. He has to admit that his self-worth issues really blind him to the easiest of answers sometimes. Deku lets himself process the words said.
He doesn’t have to live up to the roaring, ever-bright sun or the perfect, soft moon. He doesn’t have to let himself die to join the helpful stars.
Izuku Midoriya is not the sun. He is not the moon and he is not even the stars.
Izuku Midoriya is the balanced, imperfect eclipse. He gives hope of new beginnings with his friendly words, gives faith in the most broken of people, gives a sense of belonging and love to everyone around.
He doesn’t need to change himself to fit in his own standards of self.
Izuku is, for once, himself.