Work Text:
You’re not a person, you’re my friend.
When Izuku wakes up, his back hurts. He blinks against the blinding light shining from his window, he must have forgotten to close the blinds last night. He lifts his upper body from the obscure position he fell asleep in, stretching and ignoring the only slightly worrying crunch his left shoulder gives when he lifts his arm. He lets his hand drag down his face, pulling the skin as he goes. His eyes are crusty, and he rubs at them, irritating the tender skin further.
He picks up his phone, feeling annoyance flash across his features when it doesn’t turn on and the small red battery icon blinks at him instead. His mom probably called. Maybe All Might.
Muttering, he puts it on the wireless charging pad.
He taps around his room in search of a pair of sweatpants when he stubs his toe against the foot of his chair and can barely repress a string of curses threatening to spill out of his lips.
The clock on his bedside table reads 7:02.
Izuku drops the foot he grabbed in his endless agony and takes a breath. The sweatpants are draped across the back of said chair, probably mindlessly tossed there last night. Izuku sighs at himself.
After he dragged himself to the communal bathroom down the hall, he stands at the long row of sinks. He gets his toiletries out and rummages through the small bag for his contacts, then his toothbrush, and puts the way too minty toothpaste on it.
Izuku lifts his head to take a first look on his face today.
He looks a little shit, if he is being honest.
His hair is a mess, wild curls sticking up in every possible direction. He has been told that his hair is one of his best features, but after looking at that bird’s nest on his head, he highly doubts that statement. It kind of looks like a wig. His eyes are puffy and swollen, the left lid hanging a little further closed than the right. The skin around them is red and slightly inflamed from the constant rubbing.
He brushes his teeth, the sound of it echoing eerily throughout the room. When he spits out the leftover toothpaste unceremoniously, he misses the sink a bit, and carefully wipes the remnant away with his thumb. He packs up and walks out to leave the insufferable silence of the bathrooms behind.
Izuku is certain that no one else is awake yet, no one gets up this early now.
Back in his room, he quickly changes into his uniform, but even the quiet rustling of his clothes reverberates in his ears uncomfortably. He grabs his backpack and heads out. Izuku doesn’t dare use the coffee machine before he leaves, the sounds that century old thing produces would make sure not a single one of his classmates would get one more second of shuteye.
The sky is overcast, a small but welcome change to the unbearable heat of the last weeks. The latter half of July brought unrelenting, humid hot weather that made exam season so much worse than it needed to be. Whatever that means right now, anyway.
The walk to the small store is short – it’s only a few streets away from campus. Izuku watches some birds fly over his head – pigeons, if he is not mistaken. He forgot his earbuds at the dorm and is forced to listen to the constant rumble of traffic and the ongoing chatter of the salarymen going to work.
One of them bumps into his shoulder, raising his fist to angrily reprimand Izuku, but-
His face relaxes as he fully turns around. He recognizes Izuku, from TV probably, the teen knew immediately by the sudden soft look in his eyes.
“My apologies”, he bows deeply and goes on his way. Izuku gives a small bow in return, not much more than a nod of his head. The sun breaks through a cloud and shines into his face. Izuku squints. He is starting to feel an incoming headache.
The bell at the door jingles upon Izuku entering. The old lady at the register seems to be asleep, which he doesn’t mind. He wanders through the small shelves, coming to a stand in the section with the notebooks. Izuku grabs the first one, hesitant. It would be his fourteenth. The other one was almost full though and Izuku hates using other people’s notes for his studies. They are never detailed enough for him. What that says about him and potential obsessive tendencies, he isn’t sure.
He leaves the exact amount of money owed on the register and ever so carefully leaves the store, cringing at the bell chiming despite his efforts.
----------
Izuku can feel the sweat accumulating under his armpits and dampening his uniform shirt by the time he returns to campus. Also, his right sock has slipped over his heel inside his shoe. He sighs. The entrance of the school is not inviting whatsoever, actually the golden letters above his head seem to mock him a little. Too shiny.
He stops in front of his classroom door and takes a moment to look at his reflection on the glass panels on the door. Izuku blinks at himself, unsure of what he is actually waiting for. When he steps inside, he is greeted with a sympathetic look from Uraraka, as well as Kirishima’s and Kaminari’s light laughter.
He smiles. Laughter is good. It’s become a little rare these days, even their dorms have settled into an unfamiliar quiet, the silence lying atop everything like a thick blanket. He sits down and opens his notebook to take some final notes on the remaining three pages, all while trying very hard to not look at the small burnt patch at the top right corner.
At least his new notebook won’t be all rippled from the water it’s been dunked in.
He hears him laugh in his memory at that, as if he wouldn’t let Izuku ignore him, even now. To be fair, it was more of an ugly roaring screech, one that would never fail to make Izuku’s heart swell. Izuku’s heard somewhere that you start to forget details like these as time passes on. He isn’t sure what to make of that.
He takes a seat, the oversized office chair squeaking under his weight. He does a few experimental swifts left and right. The chair squeaks again.
Kirishima and Kaminari are looking at him now, standing an awkward distance away. Izuku regards them with a tilt of his head.
“What is it?”
They share a look. Izuku swallows at their pitying faces. Kirishima speaks first.
“Hey, um- Kaminari and I were wondering if you were up to going to the arcade? Maybe Friday? After the final?”
Ah shit. The exam.
Izuku groans, then puts on his best attempt at a smile.
“Sure, but practice first, so I don’t beat you guys first try”
Both break out in wide grins, sharp and blunt teeth showing.
Kaminari slaps his arm on Izuku’s shoulder. He winces, unnoticeably so.
“Then it’s a deal. Don’t keep us waiting on Friday”
Class is starting. Izuku gets his stuff out.
Aizawa is shuffling into the classroom and Izuku notices the small pause in his step before he comes to stand at the desk at the front. In the brief moment his movements halt his gaze falls to the unoccupied seat in front of Izuku. Hagakure notices too, she even turns around, judging by the way her gloves hover over the back of her chair. That fracture of a second, that miniscule moment in time feels like it stretches on for hours as Aizawa’s gaze snaps from the empty chair to Izuku’s face. There was a small look of understanding etched onto his features.
Izuku isn’t sure what’s there to understand.
He can feel his brows knitting together.
They go through heroic history for the nth time and Izuku spends his time taking sparse notes and looking anywhere but the seat in front of him.
He corrects his posture; he doesn’t need to crane his neck anymore since there is no one there to look past.
----------
At lunch, Uraraka looks at him – a little too long for Izuku’s liking. She quietly chuckles at his raised eyebrow.
“What?”, she smiles.
Izuku pauses, spoon halfway raised to his mouth.
“Nothing, you just…why are you looking at me like that?”
Uraraka cocks her head.
“You look good today, like you actually had a full night’s rest”
Izuku notices the small jab Todoroki gives her under the table. He puts his spoon down at the feeling of bile rising in his throat.
“Thanks”, he manages.
He watches Uraraka’s face fall at his tone.
“I’m sorry, Midoriya – look, I tried to – “
“I know, I know. Sorry for acting like that, I – “
He can feel his lip trembling at the words and swallows.
Todoroki then thankfully changes the subject and Izuku can take a breath. He listens to Todoroki and Iida going over the topics for the upcoming test. Their last one for this year. Izuku hopes that Aizawa has some form of forgiveness left in him, otherwise the chances of him passing are less than minimal.
He pokes around in his bowl.
Izuku then leans down to snatch his phone out of his backpack, an attempt to distract himself from the situation at hand. His All Might themed background reveals no new messages. It is currently 27 degrees out. His battery percentage is also at 27. He huffs a laugh and watches the screen until it times out.
"You haven’t had that in forever"
Izuku’s head snaps up. Uraraka is pointing to the steaming bowl of mapo tofu in front of him. Todoroki looks on edge. Iida is looking anywhere but.
Oh.
"Yeah, I guess I wasn’t in the mood for it" Izuku murmurs, poking around the bowl again with his spoon.
Uraraka nods, eating three, then four spoonfulls of uncomfortable silence before addressing him again:
"How are you um – I mean how are you coping with it? Me and the others are a bit worried that you-"
Todoroki hisses. Iida stops eating altogether.
"I’m fine", Izuku interrupts her curtly. He drops his cutlery on the table.
The chair makes a nasty screeching noise when he stands up a little too abruptly. Heads turn in their direction.
Izuku takes one last look at his friends and then at his untouched food.
Oh well. It was too spicy for him anyway.
“I’m going to the library”, he announces quietly, fists clenched at his side, and leaves the dining hall as fast as he can, head ducking into his shoulders.
----------
The entrance hall of the library is spacious and bright, and way too hot for Izuku’s liking. The past weeks of heat have turned the glass covered building into nothing short of a sauna. Izuku wipes the sweat from his upper lip. Why make a building made of glass with no windows that could actually open?
One of the librarians at the front desk greets him, and Izuku presses the button to call the elevator. The small red ring around it lights up. The plants in here could use some watering, and the carpet is old and stained with…something.
Izuku takes the elevator to the fourth floor. Inside, he focuses on his breathing, shallow puffs coming out of his slightly opened mouth. His tongue feels dry, like sandpaper.
When the door opens, he is greeted with Tetsutetsu. Or, well, Tetsutetsu almost bumping into him, which Izuku can’t imagine feeling nice, even without his quirk activated.
The grey-haired boy jumps back and mutters an apology, uncharacteristically quiet. But Izuku muses that even boisterous people like Tetsutetsu have their limits. Nothing is scarier than the pointed look the fourth-floor librarian sends their way at their sudden movements.
They swap places, Izuku stepping onto the carpet outside, and Tetsutetsu into the elevator. He looks like a reprimanded child when the door closes.
Izuku shakes his head at nothing.
He picks a spot far away from the glass walls, because he thinks that sitting next to those would make his already sweaty underarms turn into a fountain. This floor is almost empty, only one other person Izuku doesn’t recognize sitting at a table further away. Perfect.
He plops down onto the chair, anxiously ready to do some serious damage control for the upcoming test. Aizawa wouldn’t let him fail the year because of one measly test, right? Right?
He puts his notebook, thick workbook on heroic history and beaten-up laptop on the table. Izuku puts the items in a triangle, changes their placements, but then stares at the wall for a bit. The stark white light from the neon lamp above him reflects on the plasticky surface of the table.
One of the stickers on his laptop is raising at the corners. Izuku scratches at it until it comes off and leaves an ugly residue of glue in its wake. He opens his workbook. He needs to retain at least some information about the Glowing Baby for him to have any chance to pass on Friday.
Born in Qing Qing City, China in the year 2014, the Glowing Baby was the first officially recorded person in the world born with a quirk. They went on to use their fame…
So that little brat is kind of responsible for all the shit Izuku’s been through. That does have a certain ring to it.
Izuku turns the page to reveal a picture of a group of maybe ten people from the birth year of the Glowing Baby. The caption says: A group of salarymen on break outside their office, Kyoto, 2014. Salarymen apparently haven’t changed much since then.
Izuku tries to imagine a world without any quirks, no villains, no hero society. A world in which he would have been born into just the same. Maybe no green hair. The men in the picture are exclusively black haired.
But maybe some people in other parts of the world might have had naturally green hair?
He reads through the chapter on the Glowing Baby, how its quirk got stolen, and how it died quite unspectacularly from old age in the year 2106 and takes sparse notes in hopes that that would help retain the information better. He reaches the bottom of the last page in his thirteenth notebook by the end of the chapter. He closes it.
The back of the notebook seems to stare at him. His mouth presses into a thin line. He opens the new notebook, then closes that one too.
He decides that he has studied enough.
----------
The trees offer a nice shade as Izuku walks along the small forest path on campus, earbuds now retrieved from his room and in his ears. He just doesn’t want to stay in there for long, not that he has done that, like ever. The dorms are too busy at this time of day.
Out here, there is just Izuku and the cicadas that are loud enough for their chirping to travel through his headphones and into his ears.
He likes the song he is listening to. Todoroki recommended it to him last week.
Izuku’s phone buzzes. He takes it out of one of the thousands of pockets on his cargo shorts. There is a new crack in the screen he hasn’t noticed before.
All Might wants to meet later. At his office, after school hours. Nothing unusual.
Izuku accepts the invitation and stuffs the phone back into his pants, almost missing the pocket and adding another crack to the already busted screen.
The song changes, and the path Izuku is on leads him to a single sunny spot between the tall rows of trees. The grass looks so green here, almost unnaturally so. He stands in it for a while, head thrown back and squinting at the sun through his overgrown bangs.
He picks up a small movement from the corner of his eye. Izuku whips his head around and raises his fists, One For All simmering beneath his skin.
Danger sense stays quiet. Izuku drops his guard. A squirrel. It looks at him with great displeasure, Izuku probably interrupted its afternoon sleep with his heavy footsteps.
It comes closer anyway, likely in search of food. Izuku looks at it with a helpless shrug of his shoulders, hoping it would understand. The only edible thing he has on him is a packet of months old gum that found its way into one of his short pockets and somehow never made it back out. Izuku doesn’t know all that much about rodents, but he is quite certain that they are not too keen on minty fresh airwaves.
The squirrel retrieves, leaving Izuku standing there with his head hanging low.
The welcoming fresh breeze and layer of clouds from the morning are gone, the sun now burning at the back of his neck. He slaps his hand at the warm patch of skin. He’ll get a sunburn, he forgot to put on sunscreen this morning. But to be fair, it did look like it would rain.
---------
The school looks very different at night when he comes back for the second time that day, the silence almost echoing off the walls. All Might’s office is on the same floor as his class, just further down the hall. Inside, Izuku gets handed a cup of tea and is told to sit. The tea is hot and steams in his hand.
All Might looks at him with a nondescript expression. He somehow looks even skinnier than usual, gaunt figure almost disappearing in the too big suit he is wearing. The circles beneath his eyes are deep and dark, likely products of organizing most of the rebuilding after the war. His skin looks like paper; dry and his wrinkles are stark against the low light of the lamp on the table.
Izuku tilts his head.
“What is it that you wanted to talk about?”
All Might blinks at him from underneath his bangs.
“How have you been holding up, son?”
Izuku is not really sure what he is supposed to say to that.
Is he okay? Is he doing terrible? How is he coping? How are his friends coping? How did the weather change that fast today? Why didn’t they pick up his stuff yet? How will that exam go? Is he excited for the arcade on Friday? Does he feel bad for the others? Why does waking up in the morning feel that strange? Does he feel bad for himself? For him?
His head swims with questions.
All Might probably senses his distress and raises his hand to cover his mouth when he clears his throat. There are specks of blood on his fist.
“Okay, let me ask you something else, then. How are your preparations for your last final going?”
Now that was easier to answer. Izuku is doing terrible. He tells All Might as much, who smiles softly, crows’ feet deepening.
“Ah, I would not sweat it too much. Your homeroom teacher will not grade this test too strictly, I am sure”
Izuku deflates. He hopes All Might is right. But he usually is.
“But that is not really what you wanted to talk about, am I right? You didn’t want me to come to your office after school hours to talk about what – my finals?”
As soon as All Might hesitates for a moment before answering, Izuku already knows where this is going.
“Young Midoriya – “
“I don’t wanna talk about it”
All Might sighs, taking a sip of his tea.
“What did you think I was going to ask you?”
“About…”, Izuku gulps, “Him – I mean, what happened to him”
All Might nods.
“And what makes you think I wanted to talk to you about this?”
Izuku puts his tea on the small table between them, almost spilling some of it. His hands are shaking.
He cracks his knuckles.
“Listen, I get why you’re worried – why everybody’s worried…but I feel like I’m fine? I don’t know, I don’t feel like this is something you should fret about. Life goes on…right?”
He cringes at how unconvincing he sounds.
All Might leans forward, setting his cup next to Izuku’s. Its empty.
“Yes it does, but that doesn’t mean you are not allowed to grief, son”
Izuku breathes out, blinking away tears.
“I’m – I’m doing okay, I guess. Given the circumstances”
All Might remains silent for a moment, leaning back on the couch.
“Have you talked to Kudo? Is he still there?”
Izuku shakes his head.
“I haven’t talked to any former user since…since this ended”
All Might taps his chin.
“Maybe since you are not in immediate danger anymore, and All For One has been destroyed, the former users are finally able to rest”
Rest. Izuku likes that word. Death as the end of all, the final place to repose.
“So you think I finally have my conscious to myself again?”
All Might laughs, the sound wheezing and small.
“I think now that One For All’s purpose has been fulfilled, yes, if you want to put it that way”
Purpose.
Fulfilled?
Izuku mulls over the words. He thinks about what comes next. What does come next? He perfected the use of One For All, the creation of which was to destroy All For One, which was successful.
What is there left for him to do? He's not even 18 yet, and the impetus of his life and him wielding this power are already over.
The trees outside the window are slightly swaying in the breeze.
Izuku thanks All Might for the talk. Whatever its reasonings were, in the end.
----------
He puts his keys back into his left pocket, freezing at the loud, jangling noise they make. The common room is dark. His phone says its past his bedtime.
His stomach grumbles, result of leaving his lunch untouched earlier. He taps around in the dark, the flashlight from his phone illuminating the green carpet flooring in front of him.
He turns on the small lamp above one of the stoves, the yellow shine contrasting weirdly with the bright cold light from his phone. He pockets it, ignoring the fact that it will probably get even more scratched by the keys in the same pocket. Not like the thing was in pristine condition anyway. The stove light is throwing strange shadows at the wall.
Izuku hears a lone cat cry somewhere.
He stands on his tiptoes to reach for the ramen on the top shelf, but all his probing fingertips can feel are cold glass instead of the plastic packaging he is looking for. Grumbling, he pulls over a chair to stand on it. Sometimes he wishes that inheriting One For All came with an additional growth spurt.
The chair gives him the desired boost and allows him to rummage around the cabinet freely. He takes a look inside. Before he can be pissy about the fact that he could have just used Float for this, his shoulders sag.
Six small containers of different self-made spice mixes. All decorated with horribly scribbly handwriting, two of them even adorned with a poorly drawn skull.
He pushes them aside, reaching for the single packet of ramen left at the back. The carbonara kind, the one in the pink packaging. Izuku isn’t sure what the people in Korea have in their genes for their food to be this horribly spicy, but this flavor is the only one from this particular brand he can actually stomach without shitting his pants immediately.
Izuku puts the chair back and a small pot on the stove, the water in it sloshing around as he puts it down. As he waits for it to boil, he notices a small speck of soy sauce on the tiles in front of him.
“What are you making?”
He almost jumps out of his skin.
Uraraka.
He wills Blackwhip away.
“Ramen. If you want some, we can share”
“Thanks, I’m good”
A brief pause.
“What are you still doing up?”
She shuffles around, putting her weight onto her right foot, then the left.
“I can’t sleep, like in general, ever since – “
Izuku nods. Her eyes are sunken, her gaze exhausted. He gets it.
“So, you came for a snack…?”
The water is boiling. Izuku puts the noodles in, hissing at the splash hitting his hand.
“No, I saw that the light was on down here. I figured I’d be you, since you weren’t here for dinner”
“I talked to All Might. About finals”, amongst other things.
“Hmhm”
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
“Yeah”
She walks to the fridge and gets a banana milk for herself and one for Izuku.
Izuku nods, again. He doesn’t know what to say. He strains the water instead.
While he stirs the seasonings and the sauce packet into the small pot, Uraraka takes a seat. She plays with the banana milk in her hand, pulls at the label.
Izuku sits across, mouth already watering.
“I’m sorry about earlier”
He looks at her, cheeks full of his first bite. He mumbles around the food.
“Oh, um, I mean. Its okay. I overreacted. I’m sorry too”
She bites her lip. She still hasn’t taken a single sip of her banana milk.
“I just, I feel…frustrated somehow”
“…frustrated?”
The world is standing still, as it always seems to be when it’s this late at night. Uraraka pulls at the hem of her shorts, avoiding Izuku’s eyes.
“You’re…so different. So… “, she suddenly flails her hands around, frustration clearly visible on her pretty features.
“…far away “
She finally cracks open the plastic bottle. Probably just to busy her hands with something. The little cartoon banana on it is shiny with condensation.
“I miss him too, you know? As weird as that sounds. But…”
She raises the bottle to her lips.
“I think I miss you more”
Uraraka wipes her mouth. Izuku is suddenly not hungry anymore.
“I am still the same”
“No, you’re not”
There is a stain on the table. Izuku scratches at it.
“I’m sorry, I just – “
Uraraka just looks at him, a silent invitation to continue.
“He is just gone, Uraraka”, he looks down into his noodles.
“I’ll…never see him again, I –, he is – he was – “
The sound of a chair scraping across the soft floor.
Izuku doesn’t notice that he is crying until he can feel a wet streak running down his cheek. Uraraka is standing in front of him, arms outstretched.
He gets up, lets himself fall into her embrace.
Izuku sobs into her shoulder, silently.
“I know”
She rubs calming circles into his back. Izuku is so exhausted.
This feels scarily similar to him coming back from his suicide mission to stay away from U.A.
His body shakes and he grips onto Uraraka’s tense shoulders like a lifeline. Hers are bony and lithe, as opposed to broad and corded with muscle. She holds him just as tight.
Izuku has to remind himself that he is, at the end of the day, a weapon. A weapon in human form maybe, but a weapon, nonetheless. Weapons are probably not supposed to cry this much.
He doesn’t know how long they stand there. Uraraka cries too, at some point. He doesn’t touch his banana milk.
Izuku dreams of thin threads and blood-soaked blond hair that night.
----------
Morning class gets cancelled, and Izuku has some time to breathe. After failing at trying to study, he rummages in his small closet in search of his workout shorts.
He feels like he has to work through literally everything that is haphazardly thrown in there to get to them. He holds them up, deems them clean enough, and puts them on.
The gym is full of people, seems like everyone had the same idea, and Izuku is really glad he isn’t alone. He walks up to the unoccupied treadmills for his warm-up, and chuckles. Everyone hates cardio.
Every other part of the gym is packed, echoes of strained grunts coming from every direction.
He starts with speed 8, gradually increasing both speed and incline of the treadmill. Izuku runs five miles before wiping his sweat soaked forehead and cleaning up his sweat stains from the handles on the side.
He takes a look around.
Kirishima and Sato are pushing weights, Shinso is doing pull-ups next to them. Ashido and Kaminari are sparring on the mats, Kaminari’s face beet red at being that close to her. She decks him in the face.
Izuku decides against using his headphones, and just enjoys the sounds of other people being around him. Its nice.
He joins the guys in the weightlifting section, not daring to touch the sparring mats just yet. There isn’t anyone who can keep up with him in this class right now, anyway.
Izuku turns to the mirror wall.
He watches the sinewy cords under his skin shift and flex as he continuously lifts and drops the weights. The scars on his arms and face are flushed a darker shade of red than usual, along with the rest of him. He still can’t get used to the big one on his cheek, the freckles that used to be there ripped away along with the top layer of skin. He hates how asymmetrical his face looks now, so war-torn. Kirishima probably thinks it looks manly.
He catches Shinso staring at him. He quickly looks away when he meets Izuku’s eyes.
When Izuku is done, he takes a shower, back to the wall, forehead bumping against the tiles. The hot water makes him sweat even more, but he doesn’t care. He puts on the clean clothes he brought.
A shirt that says: summery t-shirt.
Izuku smirks. He loves those things.
Back in his room Izuku bends down to pick up his laundry from both the floor and the ever-growing mess inside his closet. He hasn’t washed it in way too long. The weight of the basket makes him huff when he picks it up, without the help of One For All, the thing is kind of hard to carry.
The laundry room is in the basement, and Izuku is glad that U.A. spent some of their gigantic budget for elevators being installed inside the dorms.
There are five mashing machines in the small, undecorated room. Someone has left the light on, probably Kouda. The walls are barren cement, with the exception of one little note next to the door with an instruction on how to use everything. Someone scribbled over the font with black marker and drew a flower on it with white-out.
Izuku stuffs his musty clothes in the wash and selects the hottest program. 2 hours and 40 minutes, the little display says. He sets a timer for it on his phone.
He puts the basket in the corner and takes the stairs this time, since he has nothing to carry.
On his floor Izuku notices that, he too, has forgot to switch off the lights.
He groans and turns back around.
After he comes back up, he looks at the stairwell in front of him, then the hallway to his room, and back at the stairwell.
His free will goes out the window, it’s like his feet carry him to the fourth floor without him actively choosing to do so. He passes Shoji’s room, then Kirishima’s.
There’s a small pile of boxes piled up next to Kirishima’s room for Mitsuki and Masaru to still pick up.
Izuku understands why they haven’t been able to do so yet, and why they are still standing there collecting dust.
He hesitates. Should he?
This kind of feels like it would just rip open old wounds that haven’t even started healing yet. But Izuku is not exactly known for letting his mind and soul rest particularly well.
They are stacked in threes. Three piles, nine boxes. He steps closer to the stack furthest to the left.
He blows away the thin layer of dust, making him sneeze twice.
Izuku carefully opens the one on top.
Clothes. Just a black shirt, a V-neck of all things. Yikes. Izuku chuckles quietly. He used to wear these things religiously, it was like he didn’t even own any other type of t-shirt. Or maybe he just wore this single one? Izuku peeked inside the box to make sure. No, there were more of the same generic cloth in the box, all black, all a size large. He takes out the one on top.
Izuku looks at the piece of clothing in his left hand as if it had any answers to his questions. The lamp above him hums, an artificial sun in the microverse of the hallway.
He puts the shirt up to his nose.
Nothing. The sweet, caramelly smell had faded. The cloth smells like cotton and cardboard. Izuku tries to not be too disappointed and swallows around the tightness in his throat.
What was he hoping for? That his singular scent would stick around for – what, over a month after he-
Izuku interrupts his own train of thought by putting a hand on the doorknob to his room and giving it a gentle turn.
It gives way almost too easily, inviting him inside, even.
He knows that going in there is probably a very bad idea (among his worst, actually, and that’s saying something) but his curiosity gets the better of him, as it so often does.
Izuku takes a tentative step inside the room and holds his breath.
It’s empty. Just the plain beige carpet and the covers that were left on the sheets are still there, the bed unmade.
He probably started his day in a rush, all things considered. Dust particles are dancing around the room, Izuku is probably the first person to have been in here for some time.
The emptiness of the room makes him choke.
Izuku looks to his right, where there is a light white square amidst the slightly darker rest of the wall, where an All Might poster used to be hung up. It is now lying atop one of the boxes outside, neatly folded.
Izuku steps closer to the small twin, letting his eyes roam over the unruly sheets. He chuckles, remembering the weird poses the other used to sleep in when they had sleepovers as kids. Seems like that hasn't changed one bit. He freezes when his wandering eyes discover something in the equally messy pillows.
A short, ash-blonde strand of hair.
Izuku pauses, standing still with his arm raised half-way towards the object. He is unsure what he stopped for.
He picks up the strand, holding it up in front of his face, turning it a little, letting the sun illuminate it from behind. It was strange, really.
The thing in his hand belongs to the body of his oldest friend. A body that was no longer inhabited.
The strand was soft, slightly split – pretty, like everything else about him, even though Izuku would have never ever told him that to his face. He remembers the way the other’s head tilted when he concentrated, making his hair shine slightly golden, just like the strand Izuku was holding against the light. His face would go slack, letting go of his scowl and the everlasting furrow etched into his brow. Whenever he was calm, he messed with his hair, which was one of the many things he inherited from his mom. His features would stand out for once, no longer distorted by whatever nasty facial expression he was wearing. He bit his lip often, too. It was split most of the time.
In these rare moments, he was so strikingly beautiful that Izuku had to hold his breath sometimes. Crushingly so, he looked like the rest of Izuku’s life.
But now, Izuku has no one to lean on, no one to compare himself against. No symbol of victory, no best friend, no rival. Its so strange because his stuff is right there, outside, as if he could just come back at any moment.
Izuku stands in the room, puffing shallow, shaky breaths through his nose.
He pulls himself together.
Izuku walks to the floor length window to step on the small balcony. The handle makes a loud noise when he turns it and he grits his teeth at the sound.
Outside, he leans against the railing, hands folded, legs crossed. The sun is setting, bathing the campus in its last light of the day. Izuku has never seen the school grounds from this perspective before. He tries to imagine it was him standing here instead, brooding over God knows what and having a very sparse moment of silence to himself.
Izuku closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. He is not immediately successful in willing down his upcoming emotional outburst, a small sob does escape him before he can pull himself together.
He puts his hands on the railing and jumps up, One For All giving him the little boost he needs. He remains standing on the railing for a while, the wind combing through his hair.
What if Edgeshot had just been a little faster? What caused him to take longer? Did he take his usual routes? Was he forced to improvise his way there, because there were just so many villains around? Did he save anyone else while he tried go get to them? Who was it? Were they happy? Did they also have a family and friends that would have been devastated if this person would not have returned home? Just like them?
Izuku is like a dog - chewing over this like he would on a bone, picking apart every detail. It is something he wish he could bury - and yet, no matter how hard he tries, he can never get it to stay buried.
----------
Friday is even hotter than yesterday.
Izuku wipes the sweat from his brow, fanning himself with his notebook and internally curses his uniform. Why does it have to come with both a shirt and a jacket? The tie isn’t really helping either. Izuku tugs at his collar. Wasn’t there air-conditioning in here at some point?
Aizawa hands out their question papers. Izuku’s heart hammers. He thinks of what All Might said.
----------
The test goes okay, despite his utter lack of actual preperation. Izuku was able to answer 15 out of 20 questions, and with a bit of luck, 11 of those were correct enough for him to pass.
Uraraka and Todoroki promised to wait for him outside.
Izuku and Kaminari were the last ones to finish, walking out the gate side by side.
Kaminari looks a little devastated, his shoulders slumped. Kirishima is already cheering him up from afar, shark-toothed smile so bright it almost makes Izuku squint.
Summer break was upon them.
Before waving Kirishima and Kaminari goodbye, he promises to crush them at the arcade later.
Izuku finds Uraraka and Todoroki across the street. They have celebratory ice cream that starts to melt as soon as they leave the stall. Todoroki licks some of the sticky mango flavor off his fingers before he speaks.
“I think I didn’t pass”
Uraraka laughs, “Me neither”.
Izuku breaks out in a smile, too “I’ll need all of Aizawa’s good will to end this one on a positive note”.
They all chuckle.
The sun is heating up the pavement, making it impossible to sit on the side of the street. The trio opts to stand under a tree that grew over the confines of the garden walls it was planted in. Its small shade is not providing all that much protection from the heat, but it saves them from immediately getting a sunburn, at least.
The tops of Uraraka's cheeks are already turning a little red. Todoroki has a band-aid on his elbow, the dinosaur kind.
They talk about summer plans, which, none of them actually have that many of. What do you spend your summer break with after saving Japan from the greatest villain that has ever lived?
Uraraka will go on holiday with her parents, to Okinawa, she said.
Todoroki will try to avoid going on holiday with his parents.
Izuku will play video games.
They will all try to forget. But the notion just hangs in the air, forever unsaid, but they all know.
The three of them say goodbye, promising to meet up as soon as possible. Izuku can tell they don’t want to be alone either.
He turns around after watching their backs disappear in the opposite direction. The heat is making him dizzy. He walks past the police arresting a villain who was apparently robbing a store. Some of them are trying to use the shock most of the population is still under after the war to wreak havoc.
He stops in his tracks.
There is paramedics, too. They are carrying a gurney, covered with a white sheet.
Apparently, they protected their sidekick, who is currently standing next to the gurney, unharmed, thousand-yard stare boring holes into the ground.
A hand slips out from beneath the cover, dangling in cadence with the paramedics’ steps. The hero’s nails are painted. No gloves. No age marks, no scarring.
Heroes typically didn’t live that long, kind of an open secret in hero society.
Izuku’s mind unwillingly wanders. Falling in battle at 17 was still early, even for them.
He didn’t even get to graduate. Izuku was quite certain he hadn’t even had his first kiss yet, never held somebody’s hand.
And he never would.
All because he had to save stupid Izuku who was now left alone in this world. Izuku hates him for leaving him. But Izuku hates him even more for leaving in order to save Izuku.
----------
The spacious driveway is not inviting whatsoever. The plants in the garden are impeccably cut, the bushes aligned in a perfectly neat row. Not a single leaf is spotted on the small pathway that leads to the front door.
The cardboard box in his hands is objectively not that heavy, but it contains an entire world that Izuku now carries – the giant Atlas with the earth on his shoulders.
But he couldn’t just show up for no reason. He couldn’t bear to look at the boxes for much longer, he’s seen what it’s doing to Kirishima. So, he figured this might be a good thing.
Which brings him here.
He knocks.
Auntie Mitsuki has never looked old, but today there is an air of brittleness about her, in the way she holds out her hands to take the box from his hands when she opens the door. She puts it next to her on the floor, grunting as she sets it down. He hugs her wordlessly after, leaning into her hand grasping at the back of his shirt.
“Izuku, how lovely it is to see you”, she gasps while wiping at her eyes. He recognizes himself in the redness around them.
He swallows.
“Good to see you, auntie”
They separate. He stands. He brought the box. There is no legitimate reason for him to stay here any longer.
He scratches at the back of his neck, unsure of what to say.
“Do you want to come in?”
He gives a thankful, slight bow, after which he quickly follows her inside, toeing his shoes off and putting on the pair of slippers he is handed instead.
“Uncle Masaru, is he – “
“Work. His first day back”, Mitsuki huffs. “Unfortunately, life doesn’t stop for you even when – “
She sniffles.
Izuku nods in understanding. He is sure no one in the universe understands better.
The flowers in the vase to his right are fresh – white dahlias, probably a gift from a friend to show their condolences.
Mitsuki beckons for Izuku to follow her and they make their way into the downstairs living room. When they pass by the kitchen, Izuku peeks inside.
There are more flowers, the entire kitchen island is covered in white bouquets. For some reason, that makes his heart ache.
All those, and Mitsuki still looks like a shadow of herself.
The leather sofa immediately sticks to his legs when he sits down – these things are more about looks than comfort, Izuku thinks. Mitsuki sits opposite him, the couches just far apart enough to make the distance a little awkward. He hasn’t been here in what feels like forever.
“Ah shit – do you want anything to drink? Food?”
Izuku declines, but his grumbling stomach betrays him. He slaps a hand over his belly, feeling himself turn red.
Mitsuki weakly smiles, fondness radiating off her in waves.
“Come on tiger, I’ll make you something to eat”
She maneuvers around the insane amount of flower arrangements with surprising elegance. Izuku peeks over her shoulder to see what she is making.
“Katsudon”
Izuku beams.
Mitsuki glowers at him with pride for remembering his favorite dish even after all these years. Izuku finds comfort in the constant hum of the fridge and the small sounds auntie is making as she prepares his food.
When she cuts the chives to garnish his dish with at lightning speed, Izuku hurts. She looks so much like him. He inherited nothing from his dad, that boy was a carbon copy of his mother.
Izuku’s dying words – he was just a boy. So brash and unforgiving, but Izuku caught him getting scared of the ice maker machine in the freezer one night.
He swore to never tell a living soul about it.
He thanks Mitsuki for the meal. They sit back down on the couches. Izuku is glad that he has something to do with his hands as well as having an excuse to not look at Mitsuki for too long. The familiarity of that red gaze is too much.
He finishes his food without either of them saying another word. Mitsuki takes the bowl from his hands without even giving him the chance to take it to the kitchen himself.
“Do you…want to look at some pictures?”
Izuku prepares to decline, before realizing that she is probably not asking him because she thinks he wants to.
He nods instead.
She disappears then, leaving Izuku to look at the books on the shelf next to him. He recognizes three of them; A Pale View of Hills by Kazuo Ishiguro, Afterdark by Murakami and the absolute behemoth that is War and Peace by Tolstoi. He picks it out. It looks tattered and torn – like someone has actually read it.
He wonders who in the Bakugou family managed to finish all 1000+ pages of it.
He hears Mitsuki’s returning footsteps and shelves War and Peace.
She is only carrying a single photo in her left hand. She sits down on the same couch as Izuku, handing the picture to him.
They are maybe four or five years old. They’re in the sandbox, with Mitsuki and Izuku’s mom behind them, brightly smiling at the camera. Masaru probably took the picture, Izuku’s own dad was out of the question. Izuku is crying over a destroyed sandcastle that is currently being rebuilt by the other boy.
He turns the photo around, it was taken in July, on this exact day, twelve years ago. He smiles.
“Is this on the playground in – “
“In Shizuoka, yes”
They both giggle slightly. The playground in question was destroyed a few years later, in a fit of prepubescent rage ending with the swings burned to a crisp. No one was hurt.
“You can keep it”
Izuku wants to protest, but she doesn’t let him.
“I’m sure he didn’t let you take that many pictures after…you know”
Izuku knows.
“So, I figured if there is one person in the world, I should give this to, it’s you”
He thanks her.
“You were such a sweet child; I really don’t know why you liked to hang out with that brat so much. You don’t know how many times I apologized to Inko on that little shit’s behalf”
“Yeah, I know. Mom used to ask me if I wanted to play with some other kids instead all the time"
Izuku didn’t.
“He was always excited to play with you, though. Did he ever tell you?”
He didn’t.
Mitsuki interprets his silence as a no.
“He talked a lot about you. I’m sure he didn’t tell you this either, but you were his closest friend”
Izuku hates this conversation. Because he was supposed to have it with him, not have his mom tell him.
Did Izuku even know him that well? There is no way for him to know, now.
“He tried so hard to make sure no one knew that he cared, but I know that brat. He did care. More than what was good for him. Which is probably why things happened the way they did”
Izuku thinks that he did inherit something from Masaru after all.
His clumsy, secretly tender heart.
----------
Mitsuki stands in the door as Izuku walks out, through the gate, and onto the street. When he is almost a block away, he turns around. The door is closed.
He puts his hands in his pockets. The walking is making him sweat again, he misses the perfectly airconditioned Bakugou residency already.
He turns to walk to the train station. Flying would just attract unwanted attention as well as further diminish any sense of normalcy Izuku has left.
There is a small café at the entrance to the station. It promises iced coffee for only 300 yen as well as a place for Izuku to pass the time until his train would arrive.
The café is sparsely decorated. Light grey walls, simple furniture, one small plant on all four tables.
Izuku sits down, in the booth furthest in the back, he is not in the mood to get recognized today. The waiter does anyway, and he gives an autograph on a napkin.
Izuku orders, and the waiter disappears into the small kitchen.
Izuku gets his phone out. Unlocks it, opening the messenger app. He taps in the desired chat and looks at the blinking cursor for a while.
He never set a profile picture. The grey outline of the default icon is there instead.
He scrolls up in the chat.
u still got the hw nerd?
Hi Kacchan, it’s nice talking to you, too
whtevr. u got ts now?
I’ll send it to you tomorrow
k
They have always been kinda terrible at communicating but Izuku realizes that, actually, one of them made it harder than it needed to be.
Gear Shift can actually change the speed of things!
any weaknesses?
Not that I know of, yet
might be the strongest you have. tried combining it with other quirks?
Also no. I’m not sure how it is controlled yet.
im thinking fa jin. it works on momentum. this quirk creates momentum. could turn into an absolute machine
Good thinking! I’ll tell All Might!
whatever shitnerd
Izuku does this sometimes. He knows he will not receive anything back; he isn’t insane.
But this is the closest he’ll get to actually talking to him.
I visited your mom today. Uncle Masaru was at work
She was happy I did, I think
Your house looks the same, still
Lol I looked at baby pictures of us. You were shorter than me at some point
Izuku gets his coffee. He takes a sip. Its good.
People left flowers for your parents. I think you would like them
All Might is worried about me, I think. Uraraka too. Everyone actually
He doesn’t get a reply. Izuku can’t promise that he wasn’t hoping for one, at least a little bit.
----------
The train is packed, as it always is. Izuku enjoys the gentle sway as the wagons drive at unimaginable speeds and take him to his destination. He stands close to the window, with his back towards the rest of the passengers.
When he gets off, he is struck by the still hot afternoon air, and watches life bustling through the station. He is sweating profusely beneath his mask and breathes a sigh of relief when he takes it off in front of the arcade.
The inside is bathed in artificial purple light. Izuku hasn’t been here in a long time. He feels a little too old and a little too forcibly grown for this place.
There are plushies hanging from the ceiling, likely some of the prices you could win. The carpet is green, blue, yellow and black, one of the ugliest color combos Izuku has ever seen.
He finds Kirishima and Kaminari playing Dance Dance Revolution, and Kaminari is absolutely crushing it. Izuku can barely follow the movements of his feet, eyes not fast enough for how quickly he steps onto the correct panel.
Kirishima on the other hand, is struggling to even get a single combo, and its honestly the best thing Izuku has seen in a while. Kirishima is having a hard time moving his bulky body fast enough, inelegantly stomping on the wrong tiles almost every time.
They are both drenched in sweat by the time they step off the machine. There is no questioning who won this match.
“Midoriya!”, Kaminari tries to go in for a hug, but Izuku ducks away. Kirishima barks out a laugh, while Kaminari sniffs the front of his shirt and cringes.
“Sorry, I didn’t – “, he doesn’t finish the sentence, he is interrupted by a group of people breaking out in cheers over what is assumingly a new high score.
Kirishima seems to have recovered from his devastating loss and is giving Izuku a slap on the back that makes him splutter.
He gets a worried look after. Izuku knows why they invited him here. And he is glad they did.
Izuku avoids the Mortal Combat machine.
“Now who wants to get demolished in Street Fighter 2?”, he grins, and Kirishima is visibly excited by the challenge.
They take a stand, and the familiar music plays, and the title screen blinks insert coin at them. They do, and immediately start fighting over which character is the best to pick.
Izuku picks Chun-Li, because he always does.
They drown in the clicky sounds of the buttons and Kaminari’s cheers.
Izuku absolutely destroys Kirishima, who looks like a kicked puppy after being defeated twice. Izuku is just as sweaty as the both of them now and offers Kaminari his spot.
Kaminari plays Ken and gets absolutely destroyed by Kirishima’s Blanka.
That gets Kirishima’s spirits back up, and unfortunately also gets him on a flawless winning streak for the rest of the games they play.
After his fourth consecutive win, Izuku and Kaminari decide that they have had enough. They drag the beaming Kirishima away from the game and towards the small row of vending machines. They all get grape soda, the satisfying crack of the opening cans sending a tingle down their spines.
They talk, deliberately tiptoeing around certain topics.
The sugary beverage does virtually nothing to quench Izuku’s growing thirst, but it does spike Kaminari’s blood sugar, who challenges two other highschoolers to a match of Dance Dance Revolution.
The poor souls don’t know what they have set themselves up for. Izuku and Kirishima can only watch in awe, as he crushes their spirits with his almost perfect score.
“There is no way he didn’t practice this at home”, Izuku wipes at the sweat forming on his forehead, the arcade is not well air-conditioned.
“He has one of these mats in his dorm room”, Kirishima mutters, “be glad you’re not sleeping next to his guy, Koda has been begging him to stop ever since we moved in”
Izuku nods absentmindedly, eyes still transfixed on Kaminari.
After Kaminari celebrates a perfect victory, they head outside in hopes of some fresh air.
Hot wind greets them instead, blowing their sweaty bangs away from their faces. Kirishima unearths a handheld fan from God knows where.
“This was fun, thanks guys”, Izuku smiles.
“Any time man”, Kirishima huffs, his energy suddenly a little drained. “Wanna catch the train back?”
Izuku knows that both of them haven’t finished packing up for summer either. He still declines.
“There is something I still need to do first before going back home. But see you around, have a good summer!”
They separate. Izuku feels like he should’ve said something.
But they aren’t that close, after all.
----------
Izuku stands in front of the small rectangular stone, unsure what to call the feeling that is currently bubbling up in his chest.
There are so so many flowers surrounding it. Similarly to his parents’ kitchen, his name is bathed in a sea of white blossoms.
Bakugou Katsuki.
Izuku dislikes the font his name is written in. The kanji curls in a way that is so unlike Katsuki. He wonders who chose it.
The sun is starting to set. Izuku thinks he can see the shadows growing longer.
He has been here twice since Katsuki died. Once when he was buried, and once when Inko wanted to visit it. Both days were among the worst in Izuku’s entire life.
He sits down. Tells Katsuki about his day.
Izuku thinks he would like how his friends tried to retain a sense of normalcy. He would hate people crying over him.
Izuku plays with some of the pebbles on the ground next to him. Fights the tears threatening to spill. He looks up at the grave with wet eyes.
He hates that he is forced to grow accustomed to a future in which Katsuki no longer is.
He thinks about the one time they hugged, after Katsuki had apologized to him.
Humans fit together so perfectly like that. Arms and shoulders shaped so that they could hold and be held. Katsuki’s skin had been wet and slightly cold, but still contained more warmth than any sun Izuku was feeling right now.
Izuku thinks that that apology was Katsuki’s subtle and slightly emotionally inept way of telling him that he still loved him, in his own messed up way. That he still cared, even after all the things he said.
It was just so unfair. All of it. Hawks getting his wings stolen, Gear Shift getting destroyed, Izuku never getting his best friend back.
Katsuki had a bright future ahead of him, all extinguished by Shigaraki in a singular moment. To provoke Izuku.
It had worked. Izuku doesn’t remember feeling more destructive rage in his life, ever. It was probably what killed Shigaraki in the end.
He shifts, the item in his pocket weighing him down. He has been carrying it around all day, safely tucked away.
He laminated the thing, to protect it from the rain, and punched a hole in it to tie it to a small rock. Can never be too sure. It would be Izuku’s last gift to Katsuki, and he wanted to make sure that wind and weather wouldn’t separate him from it.
He puts the All Might card on the grave, amidst all the flowers. They would wither away in some time, but the card would stay.
Izuku remembers Katsuki’s own card, stained with his blood. Lying next to his lifeless hand.
He can’t stop the tears from flowing now, and silently sobs over his friend’s grave.
His body curls in, unable to withstand the weight of a world in which he lost Katsuki. Izuku hopes, so desperately, that he is okay wherever he is.
Maybe giving Miss Midnight a headache. He smiles at the thought, lower lip wobbly.
He grits his teeth. Why did he have to die, to leave him, to just – stop existing? Izuku doesn’t even care that they won the war, because at what cost?
He doesn’t even want to win anything anymore. He just wants to sit in silence. With Katsuki at his side, preferably.
Izuku doesn’t know how long he sits there and cries.
He leaves with the last rays of afternoon sunlight.
Izuku’s steps pick up speed, as soon as he leaves the graveyard, he wants to put as much distance between himself and that place as possible.
Houses and gardens rush past him as he walks, his mind a blur of memories and feelings he can’t direct anywhere.
He comes to a stand in a street all too familiar to him. He thinks of how excited he was to get that autograph.
The asphalt is bathed in golden light, the still warm wind carrying away Izuku’s sniffles. No one is outside, likely everyone is recovering from the day spent in the heat.
The simple but upsetting truth is that Izuku just misses him. More than his body could take on most days.
He wishes they’d have had more time together, maybe even could have picked up the pieces of their broken past and become actual friends again, maybe something else, just something more than what little they had.
People always tell him that it would get easier as time went on.
Izuku doesn’t want it to get easier, in some sick way, he thrives on the pain tugging at his heartstrings. It reminds him that Katsuki was once alive, a person so complex and multi-faceted, so much more than just the memory of him.
James Joyce once said that absence is the greatest form of presence. Maybe, Izuku thinks, there is some truth to that statement.
The human heart is a muscle that beats approximately 100,000 times a day. It’s been 37 days since Katsuki’s stopped beating. And that makes for an entire lifetime of heartbeats that Izuku has left. However long that may be.
Grief hides behind every corner, in the smallest gestures imaginable. Izuku would run from it, until it would find him on a sunny afternoon, in a street just like this one.