Chapter Text
Izuku's eyes slowly opened again as he realized he'd passed out again. It was late in the afternoon, and he vaguely recalled an intense bout of doom-scrolling from the night before. That was always what it had to be... A bout of mindlessly scanning the news articles and social media posts before his consciousness—or what little there was left of it,—faded away.
However many years ago it was, he remembered giving up his quirk for the greater good to save Japan and potentially the world. His last ever moment as a hero. From that point forward, he'd been on a downward mental spiral. In his declining condition, Izuku had eventually dropped the hero course and tried to take support courses. Unfortunately, that wasn't his forte. He was well versed in hero work. He didn't have the delicate hands for tech, nor the creative mind for hero costume design.
Once he came to the realization that he'd no longer be able to contribute to the heroic society, he chose to resign from U.A. and transfer to a normal highschool where he could get his last two years completely over with. The first few months attracted a lot of attention, but after enough time, he became invisible like everyone else. Once again, an unimportant, quirkless waste.
He couldn't bring himself to contact his old classmates. If anything, he went out of his way to avoid them. That was difficult to some degree considering they were heroes in training. They practiced in public all the time. They fought villains. They saved civilians. They showed their amazing potential and abilities, right out in public where everyone could see. They were so incredible.
So what was Izuku supposed to be...?
Izuku's thoughts snapped back into reality as he recognized that familiar pain in his body. He was hungry again. Slowly sitting up, hunched over as he sat on the edge of his bed, he looked blankly at the wall. As per usual, his room was covered with All Might memorabilia. Even moreso than in childhood or highschool. Even so, it almost felt like it was mocking him. Showing him the very man he'd disappointed by becoming such a failure.
That wouldn't stop him from collecting.
Izuku then took a deep breath and stood up, but due to malnutrition, it took him a moment to adjust due to dizziness and a sort of darkness clouding his vision momentarily. He stood up too fast. Groaning quietly, Izuku blinked a few times and waited for his body to recalibrate. He then trudged across his room, trying to ignore all the dirty clothes and food trash.
He didn't mean to leave his apartment in such a mess... He had intended to clean it at one point. As a matter of fact, he still intended to. It's just that his executive dysfunction was making it impossible to get around to it. He regularly had to make active attempts to ignore the intrusive visions of bugs making their way into his home and becoming roommates with him. Crawling through his greasy hair. Laying eggs in the piles of garbage that surrounded him daily.
Cringing and letting out a noise of utter disgust, he gripped at his hair with his fingers and shook his head almost violently, squeezing his eyes shut. He hated being a visual thinker. It made him feel disgusting. He may as well have been disgusting... But he didn't need to think about that right now. He just needed to focus on going through the motions... That's all...
Trying not to gag, he pushed the mental images aside and opened his bedroom door to get out and make his way to his small kitchen. No lights were on. He couldn't handle lights anymore. Izuku had sensory issues all his life, and they were fairly easy to ignore in the beginning because he always pushed himself past his limit. Lately though, he just hadn't had the mental fortitude to ignore those cues. And the longer he hid himself, the more difficult it became. The most he could handle were screens recently. It left him wondering how pale he really was.
As he passed his living room and entered the kitchen, he got himself a cup of noodles from his cabinet, setting it aside on the counter as he searched for a kettle. He knew it wasn't good for him, and he knew it wasn't enough, but he didn't care. He didn't want to get anything delivered. He liked cup noodles anyway. Or so he told himself. When he found the kettle, he filled it with some water and set it on the stove.
He then just... Waited....
For the water...
To begin...
The process...
Of boiling...
It took an annoyingly long time. Then again, he didn't have anything to do. He wanted to get a job, but his mother was taking care of him financially, so he didn't have to worry about it yet.
He felt like such a burden...
While he waited, he ran his tongue along his teeth absentmindedly. When was the last time he'd brushed his teeth? He couldn't remember. Nor was it important. Not now. He'd likely brush his teeth next time he took a shower. That would have to be some time in the next few days...
As the kettle began to whistle, he came back to the situation and prepared his non-nutritious breakfast of sodium packed cup ramen. What a treat.
He couldn't help but wonder what it might be like if Kacchan would cook for him. Make him breakfast. Tell him good morning.
Unrealistic ideas, but they were pleasant enough for him to drift into space before coming back as he realized he'd burnt his hand, feeling it tremor more than usual. It hurt, but not enough to cry. He wished it would make him cry. He didn't remember the last time he could.
He didn't like being like this.
But it was his fault he was here.