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The dim-lighted room was in complete silence, not until a feeble silhouette broke it completely. It has been a while since izuku first started being a vigilante.
The light breeze of cool air against his skin, spontaneous release of tension and emotions, supplied with his childhood dream (Izuku tries to not think about not being strong enough for becoming an actual hero)
What could be better?
.
Probably, everything, aside from this idiotic, debilitating feeling, which returned to him every few weeks.
Usually, it does not appear so often. Then why did it come back just in a few days?
.
The night was quite exhausting, which could be the cause of Izuku’s well-being. Other nights were difficult as well, but tonight was especially draining.
Izuku Midoriya lay down on the mat, on his favourite one, in a complete mess of dirt and blood scattered here and there all over his vigilante gear. His calloused hands, sealed in some cheap gloves, finally released the weapon the vigilante was holding to fall on the floor with a small stud. His eyes felt heavy, too heavy for staying awake. He could sleep now. He’s at home.
But he couldn’t. The second Izuku tried to shut his eyes, a horrible feeling came to him. Each time.
As if, some brain-eating parasite drilled its way into Izuku’s skull when he was busy running away from his problems. It was an overwhelming feeling. A displeasant one. One, that he would rather forget.
When Izuku tries to close his eyes, Eraserhead lurks into his mind. Some and most of Izuku’s encounters with him were more than pleasant. They felt comfortable. The late night talks, when there's no one aside from them, and, maybe, cool wind in the dead of night. Those were taking special place in Midoriya’s soul. So was Eraserhead.
But when the adult glanced at the kid with eyes of pure disgust, as if the kid did something horrible, something not normal, something like a quirkless would do, something for which he should’ve been dead so long ago, Izuku bolts up with tears on the edges of his eyes. Everything feels so big now, so intimidating. Even the lines of his own room were much more similar to a room of torture, rather than a room full of various hero merch.
Izuku looks up again. There are no snakes. There are no fish. There is nothing to be afraid of. Aside from a law-breaking, wanted, loser vigilante.
God. He is so pathetic.