Chapter Text
‘The world ain’t made fair, ‘specially not for us.’
His brother used to say. His brother was his best friend. He was with him when he stumbled and aided him to his feet. That was until the Commission got involved.
‘Don’t take shit, sparrow. Not from no one. Ya’ hear me?’
His father used to say. His father was a formidable presence that demanded respect and attention. His strength for his family and caring nature undoubtedly made him the best. That was before he was falsely accused.
Unlike the others, his mother's words didn't leave a lasting impression. She made sure to keep him indoors, not allowing him any freedoms. Locked up. Isolated. Ignored. Instead of words, she relied heavily on her hands and actions to convey the message that he was unwanted. That was before the villain attack that killed her.
‘Useless. Worthless. Freak.’
That's what everyone else said. At school. At home. By teachers. By peers. Things became more difficult for him when he entered the foster system. Upon his transfer to his initial boys' group house, the situation deteriorated significantly. The challenges escalated as he set foot in the household of his first foster parents.
Everyone says that it gets worse before it gets better, yet for nearly a decade, he's been agonizing for that positive turn. His heart longs to embrace his brother, rather than watching from afar, to feel the comforting warmth of his father's arms and reassuring words that everything will be alright. A part of him yearns to unleash his frustrations, to scream at his mother, the Commission, and the system that has torn his life apart. Beneath it all, he craves a sense of wholeness, a restoration of what was lost. Above all, he desires for his circumstances to change, to finally take that pivotal turn towards betterment, to experience the light after enduring such profound darkness.
Do things really get better? Or do we just get better at dealing with them?
_____
Beginning the day can be an exhausting and daunting task when his senses feel overloaded and his head pounds. His skin feels irritated and the thought of fabric touching said skin sounds unbearable, lights seem too bright and jarring, and sounds become overwhelming, an assault on his senses. His limbs feel heavy, as if weighed down by an invisible force. Even though he anticipates one of those days, a day filled with overstimulation once he leaves the comfort of his bed, he still musters the strength to slowly rise from the mattress that lay upon the floor. He makes his way tiredly to the small bathroom, where he is permitted a mere ten minutes of solace each morning.
Looking at himself in the mirror has always been a struggle for Izuku. He's always been insecure to some extent. His hair has grown out, as he has been letting it from the age of 7. (It must be shoulder length though, nothing longer or else he starts getting irritated with the feeling of it.) His avian features have been progressively more noticeable as he’s aged; he has sharper eyes that form a point at the inner corner (just like his brother and father), his ears are slightly pointed and his hearing is enhanced, he’s also noticed his sharper jawline – he quite likes that new development.
Despite his feature developments and hearing changes, there’s one major change that has never happened and never will. His quirk. Or lack thereof.
Loud banging against the bathroom door disturbs him from his musings and causes him to cover his ears.
“Hurry up freak, you've only got three minutes left to use today!” His foster ‘father’.
“It better not be using up all the hot water!” He hears a second, more feminine voice yell from down the hall. His foster ‘mother’.
Izuku gives up on doing anything worthwhile and just runs some cold water to splash on his face. He never uses hot water. He knows the punishment for that one. He has had firsthand experience with said punishment.
Izuku's living situation was far from ideal, with his meager accommodation resembling a cramped shoebox devoid of a door and comfort, with a sole window leading directly onto the fire escape. Despite the lack of privacy, he diligently prepared himself for the school day, donning his worn-out uniform. The fabric's course texture exacerbated his heightened sensory sensitivity, causing him discomfort, a constant reminder of his daily struggles. Nevertheless, he persevered, grimacing as he slipped into the tattered garments. Halfway through his final year of middle school, the uniform had already endured multiple replacements and countless patches, yet it clung precariously, a testament to his perseverance amidst adversity. Izuku then grabbed his ever-present bag, a constant companion filled with his measly possessions, for one could never predict when the need to flee might arise in his precarious situation.
As Izuku steps out of the house, he's met with a wall of indifference from the other occupants, their apathy a stark reminder of his isolation within the so-called "home." Their disregard for his well-being cuts deep, but he's grown accustomed to their neglect. They don't care whether he makes it to school or if he's had anything to eat beforehand – his needs are insignificant to them, mere afterthoughts in the chaos of their own lives.
The journey to school stretches out before him, each step a weary march towards the inevitable hell that awaits him at Aldera Middle School. It's a path he knows all too well, a memorized trail of anxiety and dread. But amidst the tediousness of the walk, there's a strange sense of calm – a fleeting respite from the storm that rages within the confines of his own home. Choosing the longer route, Izuku navigates the familiar streets with practiced precision, timing his arrival to coincide with the ringing of the bell. It's a simple strategy, but one that offers him a sliver of protection against the onslaught of attacks that await him in the classroom.
Slipping into his seat with practiced ease, Izuku opens his notebook and braces himself for another day of torment. It's a routine as predictable as the rising sun, each day a carbon copy of the one that came before. But despite the crushing weight of his circumstances, Izuku refuses to surrender to despair. With his indifferent mask in place, he prepares to face whatever horrors the day may bring, clinging to the faint hope that one day, things will be different.