Chapter Text
The thing is— he’s been here, this whole time he’s been right there, at her side, waiting at the corner, waving at her to hurry up. Her face is the first one he knows, and it’s old now, he’s finding new wrinkles, the hair at her temples is graying, the hands she presses to his shoulders shake.
“Please,” his mom says, and it’s the same voice she’d had back then, in the thin room, “please, don’t go anymore.”
He should hug her. If he hugs her, she’ll stop crying. If he hugs her, she’ll look down, she’ll breathe, she’ll stop.
The thing is.
The thing is, and he’s the one looking down, staring at his hands, the crude shapes of them, the thing is, he’s not sure he can use them right now, these hands.
“Mom, I…”
“Being a hero,” she says, “is what you wanted. But, Izuku…” She touches his wrists, and he sees red in her eyes, in the patches under them. “I wanted you to grow up first,” she says, “I wanted you to— I wanted you to grow out of your uniform first, I wanted to make you a proper one before you debuted, I…”
She looks at the ceiling. She’s still crying.
“Please,” she says. “Please.”
His throat’s closing on him. He swallows, bites and bites on his lip until there’s feeling.
He says, “I can’t,” and she shakes her head, steps back, hand hard against her mouth.
The thing is, the thing is—
A weight’s on his spine now, in his stomach, stamped and stapled into the fibers of his arms. And (and) he wants it. He’s sure.
He’s always wanted it.