Work Text:
Izuku let out a deep sigh, hearing the yelling through the front door. It was becoming more and more common every single day, it felt. Being as quiet as possible, he opened the door. Thank God he could get to the stairs without seeing the kitchen. It seemed that’s where they chose to have their screaming match today.
Izuku didn’t even try to listen in to figure out what it was this time. The kitchen was a mess, laundry wasn’t done—it was always something stupid and mundane that his dad picked a fight about. But it didn’t matter. It never mattered. The outcome was always the same.
Even up in his room, Izuku could still distinctly hear their every word. Choosing to block it all out, he grabbed the headphones left on his desk. Slipping them on, he turned the noise-canceling feature on and started a random playlist. The music started playing, but his heart still hammered in his chest. He tried to lose himself in the rhythm, but the tension in the air still seemed to claw at him.
Sitting at his desk, knowing he had to get his homework done, he decided on the walk home that he should at least get the rough draft of his English essay done tonight so he wouldn’t have to worry about it until the weekend. But he couldn’t find the energy to reach into his backpack and grab his laptop. His fingers rested on the edge of the desk, twitching slightly, but the simple act of moving felt like a monumental effort.
He just felt so tired. Not the kind of tired where you could take a nap and feel better—a more bone-deep exhaustion. It made it hard to get out of bed in the morning, hard to pay attention in class, and hard to think about anything but, I wanna go home, even as he sat in his room. The words repeated in his mind, like a mantra, heavy and suffocating.
Home, they say in books and movies, is a place you feel safe, comfortable. Maybe home is a person, maybe a house. But Izuku finds that he doesn’t feel that in anything at all. The thought brings misty tears to his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. He’d cried too much as a kid, and it never helped. It only made him feel worse.
Izuku feels selfish. He hates how he sits up here in his room feeling pity for himself. His mother is down there dealing with his awful father. The last time Izuku stepped in when they got super-heated, his father backhanded him across the face for getting in the way. The sting of it lingered in his memory, even though it happened months ago.
Luckily, Hisashi has never laid a finger on Inko, and he better keep it that way. Even if he’s quirkless, he’d raise hell if Hisashi ever dared put his hands on her like that. When the fighting was getting really bad, Izuku tried going to the police, but they just brushed him off. Said there wasn’t enough evidence or some nonsense like that. But they couldn’t ignore it if it got violent. They’d have to listen then. Right?
Sucking in a breath, Izuku got his laptop out, forcing himself to focus and get his work done. The screen lit up his face, and for a moment, he stared at his reflection in the darkened part of the screen. He barely recognized himself anymore.
<><><><>
An hour-ish later, a two-page essay outline was done. When he pulled off his headphones, it was quiet. Thank God. The silence didn’t feel comforting, but it was better than the yelling.
Powering off his headphones and putting them on top of his closed laptop, Izuku opened the door, staying quiet to listen for any voices. None. It was eerily silent.
Making his way downstairs, Izuku felt a sudden rush of dread at the lack of any noise at all. Did they leave? Usually, when his father was done verbally abusing his mother, he stormed out of the house to God knows where, while his mom cleaned. It seemed like a weird thing to do, but Inko always cleaned when she was sad, angry, or stressed. Izuku guessed it was a coping mechanism or something. But now, as he crept down the stairs, there was nothing. No vacuum, no movement. No familiar sounds of pots clinking or the hum of the refrigerator door being opened.
Stepping into the kitchen and living room, there was no one. He was about to take a step into the laundry room when he felt a vibration in his pocket. Pulling his phone out, he saw a message from his mother:
Went to go run an errand, won’t be home for dinner. There’s some leftovers in the fridge you can warm up.
Weird. Usually, if she had something to do, she’d come and tell Izuku herself, but she was probably out just clearing her head. He couldn’t blame her. She probably needed it more than anything.
Heading toward the kitchen, he opened the fridge and stared. He knew he should eat—he hadn’t eaten since lunch a couple of hours ago—but just thinking about eating anything made his stomach twist uncomfortably. His appetite had been unreliable lately, and tonight was no different.
Izuku suddenly felt suffocated by the silence surrounding him. Deciding to go on a walk to just do something, anything at all, he grabbed his coat at the door, put his shoes on, and started walking down the stairs of his apartment building. The sun was setting in the distance. The days were getting shorter with the transition from fall to winter. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shivering slightly as the evening chill bit at his skin.
Breathing out and looking at the darkening sky, Izuku walked. To where? Nowhere in particular. He picked a direction and went, not particularly caring where he ended up. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps was the only thing keeping him company.
Sometimes Izuku wished that everything was different. That he got his quirk at age four, right after Kacchan. That they were striving to be heroes, training together, inseparable. That they shared a bond that couldn’t be broken.
That he had a loving, caring father who asked how his day was and took them on little adventures, who would sneak Izuku candy even though his mother said no, with a wink. Dependable.
That his mother was happy, laughing and cooking and dancing. Slow dancing with his dad in the kitchen with Izuku on their feet. Having Mitsuki over for coffee dates. Peaceful.
But then reality came crashing back to Izuku as he stumbled over a raised sidewalk. His hands shot out instinctively to steady himself, his heart pounding from the sudden jolt.
Instead of Kacchan’s cocky smirk toward him, it was hatred.
Instead of Dad’s beaming grin, it was malice and resentment.
Instead of Mom’s carefree smile, it was a cracking facade.
Feeling nausea roll over him, he sat at a nearby park swing. Not yet wanting to go home but not having the strength or energy to keep on walking, he swung. Izuku didn’t recognize the park he was at, but it couldn’t be that far from home. He glanced around at the empty playground, the swings creaking softly in the breeze.
Sitting in silence, he went back to the happy fantasies he made in his head until the chilly breeze became too much, forcing him to walk back. Each step felt heavier than the last, but the thought of staying out in the cold was worse.
It was completely dark outside now, the streetlights and the moon being the only sources of light. Making his way back, he noticed his mother’s car was in the parking lot. At least she got back. Slipping into the house, he heard the distant sound of the vacuum in the living room. The noise made his shoulders relax slightly; at least something was normal.
Dumping his shoes and coat at the door, he went back up to his room. Despite it only being 7, he turned out his lights and climbed under the covers of his bed. The warmth of the blankets didn’t feel comforting, but they were enough to dull the edge of the chill. He stared at the wall for a while, his mind too restless to settle, before finally drifting into a dreamless sleep.
<><><><>
A dull thud startled Izuku awake. He opened his eyes, heart racing as he glanced toward his door. Silence. The house was quiet again, but his pulse still hammered in his ears. For a long moment, he simply lay there, unsure if the sound had been real or imagined. The shadows in his room stretched across the walls, darker and more menacing than usual.
Pushing himself up, Izuku sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, hands cradling his face. The dryness in his throat made him think about getting water, but the thought of walking through the dark, empty house made his stomach churn. Instead, he stayed there, frozen in the cold stillness of his room.
His gaze wandered to his desk. His laptop sat there, closed, next to a small photo frame. He didn’t have to look at it to know what it held—a picture of him and his mom, taken years ago. Back when her smile was genuine, her eyes sparkled, and the weight of the world hadn’t crushed them both.
He forced himself to stand and walk over to it, the floor creaking softly under his feet. Picking up the frame, Izuku stared at the image for what felt like an eternity. They looked so happy. A stark contrast to now. The memory felt like it belonged to another life, to someone else entirely.
"One day," he whispered hoarsely, his fingers brushing against the glass. "One day, things will get better."
But the words felt hollow, like a lie he kept telling himself to make it through each day. The weight in his chest didn’t lift. It pressed harder, heavier, until he set the frame back down, his hands trembling. He blinked back tears he refused to let fall.
Climbing back into bed, he pulled the blanket over his head, shielding himself from the world. The silence in the house wasn’t comforting. It never was. It was a reminder of all the things left unsaid, of all the things broken and irreplaceable.
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for the peace he found only in fleeting moments of dreams. But even as he drifted off, the emptiness inside him lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
In the darkness, Izuku didn’t hope for a better tomorrow. He simply wished for the strength to survive it.