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To be a hero, you must be true to yourself before you show yourself in front of others, infront of the people you protect.
After all, being a hero is a calling. Not everyone can be one, can devote themselves that much, can sacrifice perhaps their whole life to strangers, to do things that went beyond imagination. To be the true core of yourself in front of that many people and still go on like normal, Izuku could feel his skin crawl from the thought of it.
He sighs, adjusting his glasses as the view blurs for a moment. The classroom felt peaceful for once, with distant chattering from nearby students spending their lunch time, taking a moment to breathe as their teacher does need it too. Sunlight went through the windows in a warm glow, shining over the place he spent three years on learning how to be a hero, now he's sitting on a desk with a different perspective. Funny how it changes everything.
Izuku knows that in his mere twenties, there's still lots of things for him to learn, to dig for, that his curiosity is far from being quenched. He knows he'll rejoice in every discovery he finds, throw himself into the rabbit hole and bask in a child-like mind. But there are times when one enlightenment makes him quiet, catching him in a trance-like state as his brain fails to follow. Like now. How the remnants of the previous hours of learning feels like echoes, like distant memories he keeps rewinding over and over. He keeps analysing it, too much, to an obsessive extent.
A sigh escapes his lips again as he slumps more in his chair, the back of his suit gets bunched up, making an uncomfortable bump on his nape. Viridian eyes dared to glance over the lowest shelf of his desk, knowing exactly what's inside, the weight, the things that waited for him, his postponed dream that he thought was lost forever. But now that it's in his grasp again, he can't really decipher why he's looking at it fearfully, with a hesitance he's not familiar with.
Has all of those years, preparing himself to be a mere civilian and telling himself to let go of his want to be a hero, has changed him so much? So much that he doesn't even recognise himself, doesn't recognise the scars on his arms, on his cheek, hidden between strands of fluffy green hair. Has he perhaps overwritten himself? Born as a new soul when he lost One for All, then forcefully gets pulled back into the hollow past he desperately wants to get rid of.
Izuku grimace, feeling guilty from his own thoughts, his own mind sabotaging him when all he should be is being grateful, grateful to have caring friends who didn't want to leave him behind, grateful to be able to relive his dream, grateful that...
What? That he spends all of those times crying, begging for a different ending where he doesn't lose his quirk, pushing down all of his negativity down whenever he catches a glance of a hero, biting his tongue from being so bitter, so angry, so different from who he truly is. And it was all for nothing.
Izuku wanted to laugh and punch himself. For complaining over the dream that has been given back to him, for losing himself over the past few years, for not being able to be the hero he wants, everyone wants, even after he can, he could, he should.
"Hey man, you alright?"
The green head jolts awake, sending his glasses half down. It's funny how red always brings him comfort, like his childhood friend slash rival Kacchan, though this particular pair one makes his heart skip.
"Kirishima- I mean- Red Riot," Izuku straightens himself, clearing his throat, "I'm fine. Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts."
The red haired male only laughs, showing rows of shark teeth that has become one of his trademark with how friendly he could look despite the scary looking feature. His eyes gleam in such brilliance that it makes Izuku wince.
"You never changed, huh. Always lost in your own world. Maybe Bakugo's nickname for you was right."
Bunny.
The new nickname was Bunny.
Izuku only rolled his eyes when his blond friend called him that, knowing it'll be just a new one amongst the collection of names Kacchan already gave him after discarding "deku" from it. Kacchan is just like that, it's a sign that he cares.
But with Eijirou? Izuku's mind went over the moon for any implications, whether it's just a friendly manner, teasing along with comforting words, or, dare he say, something that flashes in that pair of red eyes before that gaze was torn off of him. It's as if he was self aware from how honest he is, or that Izuku could dissect anything that he thinks if he spare another glance.
It was always too fast, too fleeting to make a footing. But Izuku was always scared to take the first step anyway, so he'll keep things the way it is, distant with a wall between them yet it has holes where they can meet up and have a nice conversation with each other before hiding again, peeking through the cracks, through their friends, through the news, through chances like today.
"So what do you think about the class today? Was it too much like before?"
"Not gonna lie, I'll always have the jitters, always do."
Red Riot steps back to the side of the desk, letting half of his weight on it as his thigh propped up, just enough to let him half sit on it, proving how sturdy the wood is as the only creaks Izuku could hear was the jolt from his legs as he saw those muscles bend. He scratches the back of his neck, smiling a tad bit dim than before.
"Be it with your kids, interviews, even after saving someone."
"But you didn't look like you're having any trouble at all though," Izuku gasps, flailing his hands as if it could cancel his previous words, "not that i don't trust you, Kirishima!"
The other male just chuckles before answering, "yeah, it doesn't seem like that on the outside. But on the inside? My mind's short-circuit like Denki's."
He brings his right hand up, three fingers out for a signature style of Chargebolt, or the "three-finger rule" the teacher got the honor to teach on physics a few days ago. Izuku could feel his mouth stretch into a smile when Eijirou's eyes crossed, a few slips of laughter followed like the small pitter-patter of steps in the hallway.
"My heart went crazy, like when I had a race with Bakugo across the buildings. Like man, it's a miracle that I don't slip and bite my tongue. Guess all of that public speaking lesson we had in school got useful, huh? And somehow my brain picks that up and sets it for my autopilot mode."
Izuku's laughing fit calms down a bit.
"Autopilot mode?"
"Yeah!", he nods enthusiastically, even the spiky hair bounces a bit, "you know, like those reels Sero showed me, or was it Jirou? The one with someone who gets into their car then zones out, and somehow they already made their way home without remembering the things in between? I think that kinda sums up what happened to me."
The teacher hums, a distant memory plays out. He remembers one of his students showed him the exact video the hero mentioned, recalling it was quite funny and provoked an interesting question in him.
"If your autopilot mode is being kind and friendly, then you are that in your very own core. Come to think of it, you said you zoned out perhaps because you're tired from your hero duties or simply overwhelmed from all the stimulus, i know i did," Izuku chuckles, "if that shifts you into that mode, shouldn't that be your most... vulnerable self on display? You let your mind, or anything inside you take over. Wouldn't that mean it's the truest part of your being?
"Or rather..."
His back slumps over the chair again, letting the gravity pull him down as his legs bend from the limited space under the desk.
"It was actually your facade to mask what you felt you're lacking. In other words, your shadow, a form of lie you made not only to protect yourself but others too. With creating a divider, it actually benefits both parties. They get what they want, and you have your rest while letting the aliens inside your brain take over."
Green eyes widen as he catches himself delving in something he shouldn't before glancing at his friend, whose jaws are on the floor with the same wide eyes, both blinking in shock.
"Wow- that was really.. uhh..."
"You- you don't need to say anything about it!"
The chair creaks under the shift of weight, making the wheels roll back, adding more distance from him with the desk.
"It's just- haha- me overanalysing stuff," he mussed over his hair, "being... stuck in wonderland. Again."
"Don't say that."
Viridian eyes clash with a tick of anger in Eijirou's face, before it contorts back into discomfort, then an unsure expression with a smile that tries to comfort.
"I mean, it's good that you do. You helped a lot of people with that skill of yours, Midoriya, including me. That thought of yours before? It gives me a new view, something that I could ponder about on getting better of myself. Heck, I think you've just given a brain cell to me!"
Izuku couldn't help but laugh, letting the awkward air waft away into the afternoon heat. The side of his eyes waters from joy and glad, of how things went smoothly between them, between the holes they let themselves see through.
"Anyway, teach," Eijirou gave a side smile before standing up, "you hungry? Was hoping to get you for lunch anyway, before our little talk."
The green haired male looks at the clock, before looking back to his friend.
"Yeah, sounds great, Kirishima."
--
"So about before..."
Izuku looks up from his katsudon, his mind silent for once as he chew slowly. For once, his brain wasn't scattered or left out, at the classroom for the next lecture, at the hallway for how the light always hit just right to the linoleum floors, at the cafetaria for somehow having the sixth sense of knowing what he's currently craving. For once, it stays intact in his cranium, sitting idly with lots of potential energy, but didn't have the strong urge to do anything more than chewing and swallowing slowly, focusing on his tastebuds rather than the loud background noises.
"... Yeah?"
"Ah- well, i was just thinking about what you said before."
He could see the pout morphs into a strained side smile, and Izuku wasn't sure if he liked it or not.
"Being honest, truthful and all... how can you even determine if you were that, at all?"
"Have you ever second guessed yourself that much, Midoriya?"
To that, the green head wanted to laugh. Hell, he even let a grin slipped. It was particularly his job, his life, more than he ever was, been, and current. What is Midoriya Izuku if not doubting himself all the time? Second guessing is a term to put things lightly, cause he'll go as far as tackle himself and say,
'You don't mean all of that, do you? You're always lying to yourself and now you have the audacity to do it to others? After all they've done for you? The effort, the time, the money that your measly paycheck as a teacher won't be able to afford. You want to be a hero again? Don't make me laugh. You're not worthy, not anymore.'
"Couldn't say i never did that," Izuku shrugs, casting his gaze to the corner of the table, "did the voices gets louder, Kirishima?"
The said male blinks once, twice, before smiling again.
"Yeah, it did gets louder, especially on particular times like this."
Izuku sighs. "It's not easy to be a hero, huh?"
"It's not easy for you too, being both a hero and a teacher at the same time."
"It's not like I went all the way with the hero job, Kirishima."
"That doesn't make it less. If anything, it doubles everything."
Those pairs of viridian eyes dared to look at its opponent across the table for once, but his lips remained pursed, sealed, clamped from the words that threaten to spill out.
Because Izuku doesn't think so. Izuku doesn't feel so. It's what he gets for being indecisive. When he was given a second chance, he hesitates. When he was asked to join Dynamight's agency, the one person he trusts with his whole life, he hesitates. He made foolish decisions, things his younger self will definitely beat him up for.
"You carry as much weight as all of us are, Midoriya, even more."
"That's what I get from being so greedy," he said, thumb gripping on the edge of his bowl.
Perhaps his tension gets into Kirishima, that it made him wilt. Izuku hates how hyperaware he is with the deepening frown, the nervous eye shift, and the the way the table shakes a bit from his restless knee. If anything, Izuku knows Eijirou hates to make his friends feel uncomfortable, yet he shows it without mercy when he could've done more, hold it a bit longer for someone he truly adores.
The bell rings, sounding so distant in his once again convoluted mind. Izuku tidy his things before taking his trey.
"Should we get going then, Red Riot?"
--
Izuku was still in his teacher attire as his class trains in the USJ. Lots of proheroes he humbly asked to attend has happily lend him a helping hand, making his job much easier. He just got back from making a few rounds, jotting notes on what he saw and his own opinions, along with backed up knowledge he honed for years. It was then he saw Red Riot walking in short strides towards him. The steps are muffled from the earth ground beneath.
"Hey."
Izuku can only nod, glancing at the unease expression his friend made before going back to his notes. His glasses frames the guilt in his eyes perfectly.
".... Hey."
It was quiet for a moment, save from the sound of how hard his students are working, training with all of their might in each corner of this place. He should've felt proud, yet all he can focus is how Eiji scratches the back of his neck, contemplating in minutes, finding scaterring words in the air as his eyes seems to dart everywhere. Izuku can only watch in silence as his heartbeat picks up, bracing for what will happen next.
"Since you seems to be very expert on this matter," the red head said, almost muttering, "how do you even stop second guessing yourself, Midoriya?"
Izuku stares at him blankly. In his mind, there's this one answer he deemed as the truth.
You don't.
You can't. It can't. It will never stop. When you second guess yourself, it's like you've breath a second entity inside you, something that has a mind of its own with the main purpose of making you doubt yourself, as it think alike, just a mirrored version of you. A shadow. A living, breathing shadow that only haunts you.
Izuku hums. The tip of his pen touches his bottom lip.
"It depends. What are you doubting about, Kirishima?"
Like a ball of yarn falling, rolling, unfurl much to anyone's care. In this case, Izuku does care, enough to place his basket of yarn aside to work on Eijirou's first. Those scarred hands carefully wind the strands neatly, silently admiring the colors, the texture, the weight, of how it was distinct from his and how he feels he could handle this perfectly while making a mess with his own.
"As much as what people thought about me, I don't feel like I'm any of that, even a tiny bit of it. They said I was manly, strong, dependable, confident, but that's just who I strive to be. It's different, isn't it? With who I really am? Doesn't that mean I'm not that honest as a person? As a hero?"
"If I even did show my true self, who would want a wimpy kid as a hero?"
The bash was unnecessary, yet Eijirou delivers it with a dazzling grin that makes Izuku scrunch his nose. He remembers it clearly, back when they were still learning in UA, when slowly but surely each heart fix and mend from the hardships they faced. Perhaps that's what pushes the red head to tell his biggest secret, about how uncool he is back in middle school. Izuku wish he was brave at that time and say directly.
'What's the bad thing in that? You managed to be better, the version you wanted to be. You've grown, and that uncool kid you talked about will thank you for it.'
It was strength to be able to even think of a better version of yourself, let alone the want and the drive to do it. It's a whole other level to take the step, to commit, to displine yourself in mending, shaping everything you knew into something new, something you desire. To pull out something out from your heart and make it real. It's a whole power itself.
"I think, if you want to stop second guessing yourself," the tip of the pen is now pointed at Eijirou, "you should just ask the wimpy kid inside of you."
Who knows the truth better than a kid? Who is in their purest form, almost akin to a god?
Whether it's true or false, as long as someone believes in it, it'll always become a truth for that person. Something that they see as right.
"Sometimes to face something so menacing, so big and powerful that it feels out of our hand, is something so small. That timid voice barely reaches your eyesight when darkness almost consumes you whole."
"Isn't it the same reason why we cherish kids so much? Why do we guide and teach them? Urge and give them every chance they could grasp on to be someone they want? To be their very own truth?"
Izuku looks at his students fondly, twirling the worn all might pen in his hand, the one that he got for teacher's day a year ago.
"We believe... These bundles of surprises, some are brats, some are literal sunshine, and everything good, will be facing the scariest part in life. A future that'll be theirs. The unknown. What's more frightening than that? Yet they trudge along bravely, perhaps blissfully ignorant, all for the present and nothing more, or taking hesitant steps one at a time."
The person Izuku is now is braver than the person he is before. Or perhaps it's the moment that feels perfect, feels intimate, despite being in the middle of work, despite being in a war with himself as he was torn between holding this job or letting it go.
"I'm sure the strong kid inside you has a lot of good things to say to you, Kirishima. Why don't you listen to him, once in a while?"
--
Eijirou's voice always carries a hint of uncertainty, and he's hyperaware of that.
He wished he could stop that meek, uncertain voice, but he never had the guts to shoo the little guy away. His younger self tucked neatly inside his heart, there on his every step. Sometimes as an admirer, a guardian angel, letting him take the lead while watching him with such intent, an expectation weighing his shoulder. But when times are hard, that little kid of him turns into a shadow, into something he recognises all too well. The abstract silhouette that crawls on his bedroom walls, hides in the depth of his closet that couldn't close properly.
How can he listen to a voice that sounds so small on good and normal times, loud and menacing on bad times?
Is the truth really that hurtful? That cowardice? Wasn't it supposed to be loud and clear at all times?
Eijirou isn't sure if he can listen to such a villain.
But if someone so strong, so admirable like Izuku told him to give it a try, he couldn't help but think about it.
So here he is, a few days after that talk, on a rare weekend he gets to spend for himself. After saying hi to his moms, wrestling his brothers a bit, and ruffle his sisters hair only to scurry upstairs, he closed the door after getting inside his childhood bedroom. He wasn't adamant on keeping it, but his mom is, as it's still left untouched until now, until he's 25.
The bed is still covered by that maroon cover, the color of his favorite hero. The walls are a bit less festive, since most of the posters have already retired or already got a new home in his apartment. The closet still faces his bed, the creaking hinge doesn't send a shiver down his spine anymore.
The red head sits down on the bed, letting the mattress support his whole weight as it creaks in protest. He takes a deep breath, leaning against the headboard, his feet dangle on the other side of the bed. Eijirou closes his eyes and concentrates, on his heartbeat, on any voices.
Then there it is. That little meep he mostly missed.
"Hey there," he smiled at the little guy in the empty space, "figured we can.. talk a bit."
Eijirou's younger self, a complete opposite of him with his still black strands, stares at him as if he's something to fear. He can almost feel the itch in his gums, that urge to bite the inside of his lips. It's so weird, how familiar yet not everything is.
Scratching his nape, he starts to talk again.
"I was wondering if you could.. uhh.. speak up more clearly? Especially on easier times? And maybe tone it down when things are hard."
The little boy's frown deepens.
"Why should I get loud when you can handle it just fine?", he said, "the reason why my voice is loud when we're not fine is because you slink back. You became small."
Those same red beady eyes stare back, hardened through time.
"You become me."
Eijirou gives up and bites his lip. Iron fills his tastebuds.
"We're not... exactly the same. I'm all grown up now, not a kid who got scared from shadows in the dark."
"That's because you realised the monsters don't always lurk in secret. They're out in daylight, in anyone we've met."
"Is everyone? You're being ridiculous. There are also nice people. Our friends-"
"A person doesn't need to be labelled 'villain' or bad to hurt us."
The little boy shrinks, gazing around uncomfortably, yet the echo of his voice brings a ringing pain in Eijirou's ears.
"Even Izuku hurt us yesterday. We only want the best for him, but he can't see that."
"Well maybe he has something else to consider. He has lots of things on his plate."
"It's the same with us. We struggle too. But we didn't say no when people needed our help. Or when anyone needs our attention. We push ourselves to the limit, even beyond. Why can't people do the same too?"
"Look. We do that cause we want to. Because it's the right thing to do. Being strong is manly."
"Manly?"
The boy grew a few inches. All with dark roots and tears in his red eyes. Eijirou has never seen himself so frustrated.
"If being manly means this, then I don't want it. If it means us being a punching bag, or having to hold on while being in pain forever, i don't want it."
The red head takes a deep breath as he curls down on the small mattress. The sheet begins to crumple as he pulls on it too hard, making the edges loose its grip.
He wishes he can say something that will help his child self. He wishes he can say something to comfort himself. He wishes he can lie once more. Just once more, that it'll perhaps turn into a truth.
"You're right..."
His voice loses its light. It's bitter, heavy. Like a storm on due time.
"Being manly mostly isn't great. You always have to be there for everyone. Always has to be in your top shape. Always gotta say yes, never no."
The truth hurts. It always does. That's why he always runs away. Always take the longer route. Eijirou gazes at his smaller self again. Really look into himself this time.
"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. Sorry for making you face a lot of scary things while I slink back like a coward."
A shuddering breath, a whisper of a new memory being made in this childhood bedroom of his. The pieces of him scattered all over the bed, the carpet. Drapes on the handle of his closet like an old shirt. On his dumbbells that accompanies him through the night, catching that fiery determination that keeps him from sleeping.
Eijirou feels small. Always were.
"But you managed to grow out of it, right? This wimpy self you're always embarrassed about?"
His younger self gives him a reassuring smile. Nervousness tugs on the corner of his lips, and it only makes it worse for Eijirou.
Always trying to do his best. Never give up even though things are hard. Those are his truth as well.
"I'm taking my words back," he chuckles, wiping the corner of his eyes, "you never were a wimp. Always brave enough to say what's right."
"And one day, I wish I could be like you too."
--
The next time Eijirou comes to UA, it wasn't because he's invited. With a new resolve and good news in tow, his steps feel like flying along the hallways as the students begin to thin.
Eijirou knocks on the door twice, before sliding it open. Just as he expected, Izuku is there, drowning in his own world as he mumbles away. The pink hour starts to set as the late afternoon comes, setting a scene that makes him smile wider as he take small strides inside.
"Hey teach, mind if I discuss something with you?"
Izuku's smile almost matches his, though more timid as the verdanette nods.
"Sure. What is it, Kirishima-kun?"
"I think your plan worked," he flashes a toothy grin, "so how about we work on your problems now?"