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It was always there; watching, waiting, in every moment of Izuku’s life. It had been since he was born, and would be until he died, but he didn’t know it yet.
It loved its human, loved his kindness and goodness and heart, felt fierce fondness and protectiveness for his mother, and watched with quiet rage as he was tossed to the ground like so much dirt, because the other children thought they didn’t exist.
They thought that Izuku was quirkless, when it was right there, watching.
—
It had first become aware when its human was about 3 years old; the time when most agree the earliest memories can form.
Its first memory was blurred, much like their human’s, a collection of sounds and images and feelings that formed something like a hug, something like a smile, and it was filled with warmth.
Its next few memories were a jumble of early childhood, seen through the lens of something still learning the world and its place in it, through the eyes of a child, small and new and also feeling out their piece of the world.
It began to think more deeply when the bullying began.
It didn’t truly know what they were at that point. It knew that it existed, that it was something that existed with Izuku only, and that it had its own thoughts and feelings, hopes and nightmares, but it didn’t put things together.
It watched as Izuku’s classmates began to develop their quirks, their own little gifts and tricks, and watched as Izuku remained powerless. They watched in frustration as he became the last and then the only child without one.
Where Izuku felt only sadness, it felt only rage.
The rage simmered through the years, ebbing and flowing, in constant flux with Izuku’s emotions, but never exploded, simply kept existing, a consciousness without agency.
It was frustrating, feeling so strongly that it wanted to help and have agency in the world, but not yet knowing how to achieve it. It felt these things just out of reach, beyond its metaphorical fingertips, and so its own self-loathing and irritation compounded to create a thing made of anger and unable to let go.
—
It figured out it was a quirk when Izuku was nine.
It had been over four years of relative isolation for its human, through a new school and new children, when the teacher was talking about quirk counselling and something clicked.
“There’s a lot we don’t know about quirks,” he explained patiently, antennae twitching slightly at the breeze they could tell sailed through the classroom from the movement of Izuku’s hair, “most of them end up making themselves known, but understanding them takes a bit more time. That’s why you need to go to counselling-”
There was a rising mutter of discontent in the classroom, children reluctant to do what they were told, and he yelled for quiet.
“THAT is why you need to go,” he smirked knowingly, “who knows? Maybe you’ll figure out how to make it stronger.”
There was a sudden increase in conversation, and the teacher gave up trying to keep control, instead continuing almost to himself and glancing in Izuku’s directions.
“Sometimes we even find them where we thought there was nothing.”
It wasn’t quite sure what it was that did it. Maybe it was the use of ‘themselves’, a slightly more personified pronoun, maybe it was the idea of growing stronger, or maybe it was the suggestion of discovering something new. Whatever it was, it suddenly realised what it was.
It was Izuku’s quirk.
Now all that was left was to figure out what the hell it did.
—
It tried for years to figure itself out.
It thought perhaps it might activate when Izuku was in danger, or that it might react to especially intense emotions, but those were proven false when no matter what the bullies did or how far Izuku spiralled, nothing ever changed.
It thought that maybe it was a mental quirk, that it could talk to Izuku in his dreams and just needed time, but every night, no matter how hard it tried, as soon as its human slipped into sleep, its world faded to dark, and the next moment it would become aware, the room lighting up with the early morning sun.
It was glad its human was so interested in quirks, because it meant it had an endless list of ideas for things to try, and even a few things Izuku tried too, not that it thought he was aware that it was there.
Every time, every attempt, it grew more frustrated and hopeless as Izuku’s ever-present hopes and dreams seemed more and more distant.
—
Then, a miracle.
Izuku nearly died, and through the panic and fear it felt something.
Not anger, not sadness, not the general lack of sensation that made up iys existence, but sensation.
It felt a pinching, tingling sensation, and the the cool wetness of the slime villain against the tips of what they were fairly sure were their fingers, and had only a moment to process before its world was blank, and then Izuku was being gently patted awake by all might.
The rest of that day was a whirlwind of things and emotions happening, and through it all, it had moments of feeling, of becoming more aligned with Izuku.
It had no idea what was happening, but as reality dawned on it, and it realised there was hope outside of itself, it felt more.
As Izuku’s emotions aligned with its own, slowly the line between them blurred.
—
The training was gruelling, but it also led to a breakthrough.
It found itself more grounded in their body when both it and Izuku were deeply focused, in the zone of a workout or studying, and the more familiar it became with the ebbs and flows of its own mood alongside Izuku’s, the more it noticed a correlations between how similarly they were feeling and how much it could feel of Izuku’s body.
One day, when it felt the burn of effort all through Izuku’s arms and body, it thought something to itself.
It wasn’t sure what it was, but it made Izuku pause.
It made Izuku pause.
“H-hello?”
Hello?
There was contact, and suddenly it knew what it was to not be isolated, to finally be a part of the person it was always meant to be.
Things didn’t come easily, but they did eventually come.
Establishing the connection was difficult, and maintaining it even more so, but at least they knew that the other existed now. It wasn’t quite so lonely.
Before they knew it, it was the day of the UA entrance exam, and they were approaching the school with a new quirk and butterflies in their stomach.
—
The end of the exam was nearly upon them, they had zero points, and now there was a giant robot about to crush the nice girl from the front gates.
They both felt their body move before they could think, and launched themself into the air in one last ditch effort, both to the tune of one this.
One thought, a single phrase, that drew them together and pushed them forward.
PLUS ULTRA!
Izuku’s quirk bloomed, and they sang out with power.