Chapter Text
Izuku Midoriya sat on the edge of his dorm bed, his journal open in his lap. The pages were littered with meticulous notes, strategies, and observations about quirks, but today, his pen hovered over the page, unmoving. His breathing was shallow, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to his brow. A dull ache in his chest had become a constant companion, but he’d learned to hide it well—too well.
He glanced at his phone. A text from Bakugo sat unread: Oi, Deku, don’t forget the sparring session tomorrow. A faint smile flickered across his lips before disappearing. He typed a quick reply, masking the growing weight in his heart: Of course, Kacchan. See you then.
As the clock struck midnight, Izuku’s gaze shifted to the moonlight streaming through his window. He hugged his knees to his chest, his thoughts swirling. He knew what the doctors had said—knew his body was deteriorating faster than anyone could predict. But how could he tell them? How could he look into the eyes of his friends, his mentors, and say the words that would shatter their hearts?
The door creaked open, breaking his reverie. Aizawa stood there, his tired eyes scanning the room. “Midoriya, why are you still awake?”
Izuku scrambled to close his journal. “Sorry, Aizawa-sensei. I was just… going over some notes.”
Aizawa stepped inside, his capture scarf hanging loosely around his shoulders. He scrutinized Izuku’s pale complexion, the faint tremor in his hands. “You need rest. Overworking yourself won’t make you a better hero.”
Izuku nodded quickly. “I understand. I’ll go to bed now.”
Aizawa lingered for a moment, his gaze softening. “If something’s bothering you, you can talk to me. You know that, right?”
Izuku’s throat tightened. He forced a smile. “Thank you, Sensei. I’m fine, really.”
Aizawa didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Izuku let out a shaky breath, clutching his chest as the pain surged again. “Not yet,” he whispered to himself. “I can’t tell them yet.”