Chapter Text
Summary:
“I don’t quite understand Problem Child,” Shouta’s voice was soft as it rumbled in his chest, an odd sensation filtering through him as he peered at the boy. Confusion mixed with curiosity perhaps. Mostly drawn from the misunderstoods and the unanswerables and unreadables.
“Sensei?” Problem Child tilted his head upward, his bright green gaze catching in the overhead lights, as he furrowed his brows in confusion, hands stilling in their work. The underground hero sighed lightly and shook his head as he repeated himself.
“I don’t quite understand,” He murmured again, “Why you’d pick me for something like…this.”
The man gestured to the project, and sighed.
“There are better options, Midoriya.”
Problem Child only furrowed his brows more prominently at the rejection and the dismissal, and shook his head in disagreement to Shouta’s words, green curls bouncing lightly as he snorted.
“But you’re…you.” The boy looked somewhat flustered by the admittance as his gaze shifted to peering at anything else but Shouta as he confessed what he really thought. “You’re one of the strongest heroes I know. Of course...it had to be you.”
Chapter 1:
Spark...
‘I’m sorry. I wish things were different.’
She always looked so bitter when those words came out, as she reached forward to grab for him, fingers curling around his shoulders to pull him close.
‘Just reach! Come on! Just a little more, Kacchan!’
Bloodied fingers, slick and slipping, scratching at the air as his voice cracked and shook. The earth crumbled beneath his feet, sparks flew.
‘You were never meant to have that power.’
The slamming of darkness, swirling with energy, and jeering faces that mixed with shadow as they pressed around him. Nighteye's, glaring frown pulsed with criticism and judgment before contorting into one of horrified pain as he gasped at the wounds in his chest.
‘Stay back, Deku.’
The wide, red eyes that stared back through the haze as he was pushed away, pushed down into the dirt, arms shaking, as his fingers just missed the touch...
‘You don’t really think that you will actually succeed at any of this, do you? Why would you waste your time on something like this?’
There was a taunt, a small chuckle as it bore down, its presence everywhere at once, critical and judgmental and familiar and unfamiliar all in one swirl.
He knew the voice but didn't. Knew that *feeling* but didn't.
‘Do I think you can be a hero without a quirk?’
‘Are you going to break your bones again and expect someone else to save your useless body?’
‘Time to stop daydreaming.’
‘I see you’ve found a successor, All Might. Hardly qualified though. What a pity.’
“Do…do you think I could be a hero someday?”
Izuku’s eyes snapped open, bottle green orbs zeroing in on the scattered papers on his desk, hand still gripping the pen he’d been using to make notes for Cementoss’ class when he’d first started to doze.
An echoing voice chimed in his ear as a wince twisted his features, the nightmares beginning to dissipate into the heaving shuddering and the hammering of his heart against his chest.
He hadn't meant to fall asleep. But of course…knowing him as he always was, he had anyway.
The ghosting of a headache thrummed in the back of his mind as Izuku slowly pulled himself to sit upright, neck stiff, muscles protesting.
‘You’re nothing more than a liability.’
Phantom faces scaled his memory, mixing in with the present as the boy sucked in a small breath and peered down at his hands, watching the way they shook as sparks of red mixed with green, the small trembling laugh continuing to reverberate through him.
He always hated the aftereffects. They left him...drained, more exhausted than when he'd gone to sleep, even if it was starting to feel more familiar.
But this time?
‘Can…I be a hero someday...like you?’ The boy’s eyes narrowed at the question, the repeated thought as he blinked a few times to will away the unwanted and steady his agitation the query continued to play and replay in his head.
He needed to study.
‘Can I be a hero someday?’
‘It’s never gonna happen kid.’ The boy halted in his movements, staring down at his notes, and the messy scrawl of thoughts that dotted the page as he frowned, the bright red eyes blinking in his memory, peering carefully at him.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hoping for a better answer.
From him.
As if he could give it.
“Can I be a hero some day?”
'Can someone like me be a hero?'
"Like you?"
Izuku’s grip on his pen tightened as he turned to his drawer and pulled open the small compartment, deft fingers carefully retrieving a worn notebook.
‘I’m so sorry, Izuku.'
The boy let out a long breath as he nudged the other pages aside for now, turning towards the blackened edges of the book, fingers, carefully pulling the edges open as he searched for an empty page, eyes narrowing as he pointedly ignored the flurry of images that scorched his memory, and the taunting voices that echoed in his ears.
“Do you think…I can be a hero someday?”
The boy hummed softly, bringing his pencil to the empty page, swallowing as the thought took hold.
“Of course, you will,” He murmured into the darkness as he began to sketch.
“The best.”
The clock read 3:35 am.
Shouta liked to think he understood kitten behavior.
He wasn’t an expert by any means. In reality who was?
They were kittens after all.
Still, Shouta supposed that what he did know (and admittedly that was quite a bit) came from years of observation and interactions with them, particularly on patrol when the days were quiet and there was little else to occupy his time. Not that it was a negative outcome really. He preferred it to the alternative of getting a fist to the jaw or a knee to the sternum.
If the enemy could catch him that is. Which wasn’t too often. They were too fucking slow most nights.
Or mostly they were slow…or rather, not as quick as Shouta cared to admit to anyone, though ‘Zashi would always roll his eyes and grumble about the ‘messiness’ of underground work when Shouta came home bloodied and scuffed and covered in dirt and whatever else he might have fallen into.
‘Seems like you just like to play dirty ‘Shou,’ he’d teased once when the underground hero trudged home with mustard stains on his clothing and blood dried on his face from having fallen into a dumpster after a robbery gone sideways. “God, there’s even noodles in your hair!”
There hadn’t in fact been noodles in his hair, thank you. Shouta wasn’t so glib to simply wander around with old food trapped on his person.
He wasn’t a slob, whatever Kayama might fuss and prattle on about otherwise.
Shouta knew how to take care of himself and didn’t make a habit of keeping food in his hair.
It’d only been a few wayward pieces of…yarn. A byproduct of a tattered rug that was coming undone in the dumpster when he’d made his landing, with the spindly tangle of limbs of a metal manipulation quirker ramming into his chin and clawing at his arms and face, trying to get him to blink and release his hold on their quirk.
Hadn’t happened of course, because Shouta wasn’t an idiot.
And he wasn’t one to simply let the enemy get the upper hand with a cheap shot to the nose like they’d tried, long skinny fingers and a large, wide palm ramming into his face with a sound ‘crunch’ that sent a trail of crimson trickling down his face.
Admittedly, it fucking hurt, but Shouta didn’t blink. There’d never been the risk of that, in truth.
All it’d really done was incite the underground hero to growl in annoyance at the other’s underhanded potshot at him, and hoist his own leg upward and around, placing the heel squarely into the man’s lower back with a firm ‘kick’ as he brought the capture weapon up and through the clawing arms and frantically scratching and punching fingers and hands of the enemy.
Wasn’t the prettiest job or the best use of his power, but it’d been effective, especially when Shouta was annoyed.
Of course, the scuffle had left him less than pristine looking.
‘You never look pristine, Shou.’
That was, obviously, beside the point.
The fight and the resulting bloodied nose that was swelling and turning an awkwardly dark shade of purple, and the yarn–not noodles–were probably why most people avoided him the rest of that evening.
It was also probably why ‘Zashi had nearly spit out his coffee in surprise when he’d walked through the apartment door, with a blossoming bruise blooming across his nose and beneath his eyes, and those damned pieces of yarn woven into his hair.
Like he said, if given the option? There were worse things to do than observing kittens.
The feisty little creatures were entertaining enough in the stillness and dark, when the streets were calm, and the lights overhead dolloped the darkness with cascades of gold. With no reports to go off of and no immediate threats on his patrol, the man would take a break every now and then to simply observe the world and watch alley cat and the scruffy tufts of the tiny replicas that would be one day the alley cat successors as they scampered and mewled ferociously.
That is to say as ferociously as a kitten could with its inquisitive, wide eyes, and high-pitched timbre.
In truth, he somewhat favored observation of this kind, leaning lightly against the wall of a building, arms crossed, face tilted gently into his scarf as he reveled in the stillness of thought and sound, simply existing among the rabble of the kittenish kind.
It was almost…calming in a way…to observe the furious tufts of fluff and fur as they scuttled and scampered through alleys and down sidewalks, either towards or away from him, their calls and soft pad-footing through his legs and around puddles.
It helped to settle his thoughts, easing the listing and rolling of the darker veiled things that Shouta would rather not remember, alongside the minutiae of the things he could not afford to forget.
The mewling back and forth seemed simple enough to understand too. One kitten would enter the other’s territory, self-assured and utterly curious, with head raised high, ears alert and nose twitching as their tail flicked back and forth, a high-pitched meow reverberating in their chest as they sniffed the air.
The other would watch them, wary, curious, and more than a little annoyed by their presence.
And then a small scuffle would erupt, where play learning would take place, both parties hunching down lower, faces tilted towards the ground as eyes were blown wide and their front ends were crouched down low, shoulders dipping low as their back ends raised and flicked back and forth.
‘The infamous butt wriggle,’ as ‘Zashi so crassly called it. Which…there really wasn’t another term for it, in all truthfulness.
It was a butt wriggle, however stupid it was to use that terminology. But Shouta was dealing with kittens, with their wiggling and twitching and rolling and soft rowling.
Fearsome warriors in the making, the lot always portrayed themselves to be…with their butt wriggling…
God, he hated that term.
Still, he supposed it wasn’t so far a stupid assertion of their movements than any of the other definers out there, which is why he didn’t bother to think of or consider any other way to describe it.
And for the most part Shouta remained an outsider to the shenanigans of the kittenish kind, merely a spectator to the small wars waged in the alleyway and the disgruntled and playful nature of the inquisitive and curious pipsqueaks that thought themselves far bigger than they were.
Most of the time, these same kittens, whenever he happened a chance to sit and view them, were naturally inquiring, determined in their movements, and concerned with studying their surroundings, relating themselves to their companions as much as the environment that they deemed their home, with the cardboard boxes and the dumpsters that provided shelter, or the stairwell that offered exercise and a vantage point for observation.
The underground hero often had a chance to merely exist in time with the rabble, and see the world as they saw it, quite content to be a witness than a participant.
But then there were times when the understanding of the nature of cats came in handy when the blasted creatures decided that he was also a part of the community and deserved their time and attention…and unabashed curiosity.
Normally this happened when he just so happened to bring food with him, but Shouta preferred to think it was because the animals naturally felt contented around him enough to be as open and accepting of his presence rather than coerced into it with treats.
Either way, the straightforward nature of the inquiring kittens and the realization that cats tend to see others much as themselves– simply just other cats of varying shapes and sizes–gave Shouta an understanding that these diminutive felines wanted to understand who Shouta was in relation to them as one of them.
So, whenever they stared at him, with their overly large pupils that widened into pools of ink, and they let their whiskers twitch and tails sway back and forth gently, meowing every now and then to get his attention, Shouta was certain–or almost certain–he could understand the ‘why’ behind it.
They were trying to distinguish his motives, as one cat to another, and determine whether he was an ally or a hindrance to them. Their staring and analyzing was a byproduct of their protectiveness of self, and also their curiosity of his presence there, as a bigger cat, determining whether he was a threat to them or not.
And of course, this was all well and fine. It wasn’t like he actually needed to understand that ‘why’.
Nor would he ever admit, out loud, to the fact that he often responded, quietly, to those kittens who decided he was worth their while for attention and affection, even if they were misguided and simplistic little creatures in expecting or believing him to be so.
Shouta wasn’t a very good representation of the quality of humankind. He was blunt and disproportionately disingenuous whenever the situation suited him.
Some had even called him selfish before, which was a fair assessment, he knew, given the parameters of how he interacted with others, what he said, and how he showed he cared.
Or didn’t care.
But kittens didn’t notice that, it seemed, too busy in their assessment of studying him where he stood, as he stood, peering down on them, and understanding him on the level of the strange connection of…cat-ness they believed he possessed, along with well he provided food and how little of a threat he was to them (because he’d never considered harming them. He wasn’t a fucking monster) so it was all easy enough for Shouta to parse through and pick apart and understand.
When they’d deemed him safe, he’d been given access to exist amongst the fold.
And he could see, through this simple existing, observing, pondering, that the nature of kittens was simplistic.
When they stared at you, for instance, Shouta learned and understood they were staring to gauge your kitten- ness and how well a member of the group you were.
So, it was easy for Shouta to react, to engage, to read whether or not they saw him as the ‘tall cat’ and the ‘threat’ or if they wanted or would allow for some touches of affection behind the ears.
God, Shouta wished everything were that easy.
Because would-be hero students were not kittens however similar they could act sometimes.
No.
They were fucking complex, little enigmas of contradicting emotions and actions that often-set Shouta on edge and made him stop and struggle to assess what was going on behind the eyes that peered back at him.
But dammit all he wished that kittens and Problem Children were as easy to compare. It’s why his thoughts had turned to the notion in the first place, with the lingering hope that maybe his understanding of those feisty rabble, he could understand the human rabble that dared to call him their Sensei.
Especially when Problem Child–Izuku Midoriya himself–was about as kittenish in his behavior as any of the alleyway kittens he’d come in contact with.
At least initially.
The boy, prone to the rough and tumble pouncing and exploration of his power and tousling with the others in his class as a means of growth and learning, was very much the curious kitten that Shouta knew from the alleyways.
He was lively, energetic, deceptively fierce, even with his child-like expressions, and wide-eyes that searched and sparked with that natural, youthful curiosity.
Always asking questions, muttering, pondering, speculating.
Izuku Midoriya was a hero-successor, always practicing, always engaging with his classmates to be better, to understand more.
To get his feet under him and be the better future hero.
Much like a kitten, learning to be a cat.
However, the boy was far more the aloof persona than the kittens. He was quiet and studious and chronically stuck in his head, sifting through the unspoken thoughts that were lodged in a mind coiled like a steel trap, his gaze never fully betraying what he was thinking as his lips muttered something or other indistinguishable to anyone else but him.
Which was why, right now, the man was having a hard time understanding the kittenish behavior of one Problem Child, in action at least, and extract the meaning from it as his students sat in their classroom, waiting for the final bell to ring for the day, a small study period signaling an opportunity to finish homework or practice their studying skills rather than engage in idle chatter or useless doodling, which is what Kaminari and Kirishima were doing at this very moment, their voices lifting and dipping as soft laughter echoed in Shouta’s ears.
They weren’t alone either. Iida and Uraraka were also conversing quietly, the girl’s movements animated as young Iida explained something, pointing at his paper a few times.
The same held true for Yaoyorozu and Todoroki who were comparing notes, their expressions dawn thoughtful and almost grim as they studied each other’s work.
Far too serious for Shouta’s liking, with their brows drawn into critical, frowning faces, and agitated glances towards one another, before another thought trickled in.
Perhaps it was kittenish, in its own sort of way. The ferocity was certainly there. The territorial nature.
The desire to appear far more assertive and grown-up than one actually was, though Shouta wished that wasn’t always so. It was often better, he knew, to let children just be children.
Even ones as strong and capable as this.
No one needed to grow up before their time.
The man sniffed lightly and blinked, gaze sliding.
And as for Problem Child?
The boy was staring at Shouta, much like those alleyway kittens did when they were trying to understand the man’s motivations in the treat-giving department, seeking out whether he’d trick them or hurt them.
Or if he was one to live up to his name of ‘hero’.
But those were just kittens seeking treats. Shouta wasn’t an actual hero to them. Not really.
But this time?
For this boy?
The same sort of stare, the one that those growling little tufts of fury gave, was locked in the bottle-green of the boy at his desk, more intense, more serious, more piercing.
Certainly not for something so simplistic as treat-giving either.
Problem Child sat in his chair, at his desk, pen poised between his fingers as his wide gaze searched Shouta’s, peering over his face. Brows furrowed thoughtfully, as Izuku’s cheeks pinched lightly, small wrinkles prickling around the edges of the viridescent gaze as the boy’s lips moved in a silent assessment of one thought or another.
The kid was deep in thought, a shroud of quizzical apprehension seeping outward from his fingertips and bright gaze.
It was a solid minute of staring (that Shouta noticed), almost unseeing as Izuku seemed to assess the underground hero, critically analyzing, trying to understand something as he scrutinized the man.
Which was rather off-putting if Shouta were to think too hard on it.
And if were anyone else but Midoriya because Shouta knew that the move was not intentional by any means. Nor malicious.
The boy was hardly malicious.
And he was completely oblivious to the fact that Shouta was also peering back at him, so caught up in his own thoughts that he couldn’t rightly see anything around himself.
Which was…odd to say the least and more than a little concerning, given the soft whispering mutters that spilled from the child’s lips as he was lost in himself.
Lost in himself and yet…
Shouta watched the boy blink as Bakugou straightened in front of Midoriya, his elbow knocking against the other boy’s desk in a less than subtle manner. The blonde rolled his eyes and let out a soft ‘tch’ as he rocked in his chair, his arm sliding forward, and off Midoriya’s desk as he caught Shouta’s curious gaze with a slight, flickering gaze of his own that swirled with a measure of gruff harried indifference and…embarrassment?
Worry?
Something that Shouta couldn’t quite identify swirled in those crimson eyes that hastily shifted to staring at his desk and notebook, the explosion quirker picking up his pencil again to return to his studying, keeping his silence and distance from both Shouta and the boy behind him who suddenly appeared far redder than he had a moment ago as Shouta’s own expression shifted to thoughtful as he flicked his attention back towards Problem Child, watching the way the boy held Shouta’s gaze for another second before he realized that his Sensei was staring back at him.
Finally realizing it, that is.
Midoriya’s cheeks and ears blossomed with a rosy hue and the viridescent gaze shifted downward again as well as the boy brought his pen to the paper of his notebook, his lips continuing to move in a silent blustering of thoughtful commentary that only he understood, swirling thoughts that remind locked in his mind as the pen ran lines across the page. The boy’s hand moved lightly across the page, pen swooping gently in circles and as the boy seemed to be…doodling in his notebook rather than utilizing his time to study for the upcoming test later that week.
A test that was primary to the success of the students within the hero course itself, one that would distinguish their standing in the class and further determine the boy’s placement during the next team trials coming up in a few weeks.
The lower his score, the less likely he would be to participate in the trials altogether.
A notion, Shouta was sure, Problem Child, was not keen to have happen.
And yet…
The man watched the child peek up once more to stare at the underground hero briefly, bright gaze searching Shouta’s own for a brief, flicker of a second, before it returned to the notebook once more.
More doodling ensued and the man narrowed his eyes carefully as he tilted into his capture weapon, the filtering of voices tickling his ears as he folded his arms and tapped his boot lightly against the floor carefully, wondering what the hell was so important that the boy couldn’t remember to apply his attention to studying instead.
Indeed, the boy was certainly nothing like the kittens that favored the alleys.
And yet, at the same time, he was.
Izuku nearly kicked Kacchan’s chair in surprise when the bell signaled the end of the day, his pen carefully drawing a last line through the curve he’d made near the neat partition of notes that were crammed across his page.
His notes were starting to look somewhat messy as he hastily shoved scanned the page, his thoughts churning a flurried mishmash of concern, as he tried to think of the next step, he needed to take to get the–
“Problem Child, wait a moment if you would.”
Shit.
Izuku’s hands shook, a bright spark of anxiety flashing through him as he blew out a soft breath, the image of his notebook, with the sketch and notations blurring briefly as a flare of panic set in.
As it always did whenever Izuku was being called out for something, something simple and stupidly obvious that he should have been more aware of and should have paid attention to rather than getting caught up in the same things over and over again.
Making the same mistakes, doing what he wanted and losing track of…everything else.
It was a bad habit.
A dangerous habit that he’d been warned could lead to bad consequences if he wasn’t careful about when and where he ‘zoned out’ as others called it.
“Izuku?”
The boy stiffened at the call that was both expectant and bored, and curled his fingers around the edge of the pages of his notebook. Izuku slowly turned them over until the images were encased in the cover once more as he snapped the book shut, peering at the simple writing on the front for a moment more before he slowly lifted his head in resignation and dread.
God, he hated this.
He always felt like he was on trial with his Sensei, never measuring up, always doing something wrong.
Making a mistake.
Screwing something up.
Especially when Aizawa-Sensei used his first name. No one ever used his first name unless he was in trouble or something bad had happened. Usually, it was the first.
And really, it was almost like waiting for the other shoe to drop with his Sensei as he peered at his notebook once more, a flicker down to stare at his hands before he leveled on dark, coal eyes that were trained on him.
And yep, that was a mistake. A really, really bad mistake. Certainly not something that the boy wanted to repeat as he returned to peering down at the notebook, his hands shaking harder than they had a moment before.
‘It’s like you’re keeping a secret from him…’ that familiar voice in the back of his mind taunted. ‘What a pity you can’t trust him with this.’
And he wasn’t keeping a secret. Not really. Not…not much of one.
And it’s not like he didn’t trust Aizawa-Sensei. Not at all.
That wasn’t…
That wasn’t the issue here…
‘Liar.’
Izuku grimaced briefly and stared at his hands, tracing the cover of his notebook with his eyes for a second.
It was all that remained as a reminder of what the contents of what the book contained, notes and thoughts that it held that very few had ever gotten the chance to see.
Or cared to see really.
‘Analysis for the future.’
Ha.
Maybe just his own analysis. A fool’s hope…
Hadn’t that been what it always was?
With a wary, slow lift, the boy’s eyes settled once more on his Sensei as the rest of his classmates continued to filter out of the room, only Uraraka and Iida casting a curious look towards him and then their Sensei as the pair stared down one another in silence, neither willing to move or say anything to settle the tension that was growing in the room.
Which was…wonderful for Izuku.
Kacchan, who was usually quicker than the rest, lingered a few moments, casting a hard glare at Izuku, catching the shorter boy’s harried expression with a firm one of his own.
He was trying to convey something with that look but Izuku…wasn’t…he didn’t know what to make of it or really why Kacchan would care.
Sure, he’d caught the boy staring and muttering but he hadn’t really known the full situation…
Had he?
“Bakugou, I need to speak with Midoriya alone, if you don’t mind.”
There was no brooking an argument with Aizawa-Sensei’s clipped tone as he spoke to the blonde and Kacchan didn’t even bother to look towards his Sensei as he continued to stare down his classmate.
And…and shit.
Green eyes sparked with confusion as the silence lapsed longer, Iida and Uraraka slowly edging through the doorway as Aizawa-Sensei folded his arms and a crimson gaze narrowed further before Kacchan huffed and rolled his eyes at Izuku as no one made another step to leave the room or get closer or further from one another.
“Bakugou–”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya.”
There was a soft ‘slap’ of the boy’s hands against his desk, sparks igniting beneath his touch before he shouldered his bag and trudged past the pair who lingered in the doorway, eyes straying between the two of them.
“Fucking idiot,” The boy muttered, far louder than he needed, though that was probably on purpose. “Just tell him.”
Izuku swallowed and caught the crimson gaze as Kacchan rolled his eyes again, pushing between Iida and Uraraka who both looked more confused than ever at the blonde boy’s comments, and Aizawa-Sensei’s sharp look that settled on the explosion quirker.
Dark eyes narrowed at the doorway as the man frowned, a soft hum escaping him as he nodded curtly towards the pair who still stood for a moment more before slowly nodding to Izuku and slipping out.
And then it was just the pair of them, and Izuku didn’t know if that was…better…or worse.
Probably worse though, judging by the way his hands shook when Aizawa-Sensei’s sharp glance refocused on him again and his frown deepened.
“Do you want to explain what was going on?”
The underground hero’s question was short and clipped as he peered down his nose at the boy, fingers tapping lightly against his desk as he leaned forward, waiting for Izuku to answer.
And really…?
Izuku didn’t want to explain at all. He didn’t want to dive into any of the particulars if he could help it.
The boy just shook his head softly and offered an apologetic smile to his teacher, hoping that it’d be enough to convince the man that everything was fine.
Really Izuku had hoped…
He’d hoped that Aizawa-Sensei hadn’t noticed him…staring in the middle of class in the first place.
Because that was so fucking embarrassing.
And really…
Really, he hadn’t wanted to explain anything to his Sensei...mostly because Izuku hadn’t realized he was staring at first.
Hadn’t realized he was staring any more than he’d realized he was muttering, which was probably worse. He'd been told so many times that he did that and that he was so loud and needed to control himself.
And he hadn't.
Again.
So, so fucking stupid of him to not notice, to not pay attention. Again, and again.
Not until Kacchan had dropped his elbow on Izuku’s desk, making him jump back to the present, his thoughts and words dropping to a silent halt as the other hissed lowly.
'You’re being fucking loud, nerd. Just fucking ask him already.'
Ask him.
Tell him.
Say something about the thoughts that were constantly running rampant in his head. The thoughts about his potential.
The thoughts about the future.
The past…
And this?
Ask him about this?
Was Kacchan serious in his comment? Why…?
The boy shook his head.
That…
He couldn’t do that. It was…the boy glanced back at his notebook and soft outline with the smudge where he’d hastily erased a note and added a few more details as a new idea sparked.
A smiling face grinned back from the page.
“Problem Child.”
And no.
That wasn’t possible. It was ridiculous really.
He shouldn't do that. He wouldn’t dare. It was too–too embarrassing. And really it was just a waste of the man’s time to ask him a question like that. After all, he was a hero and he had more important things to worry about.
Not Izuku.
Not this.
'It's a pipe dream, kid.' The words echoed long distant as the boy cringed, the thoughts coupling with the current wariness that fed into his agitation.
Right?
Stupid question. Hardly worth the man's time. Hardly worth anyone's time. This idea was just as…silly as the older ones and Izuku was being dramatic.
He was just being…
'You can't keep holding onto things that'll never happen, Izuku.'
So, he just needed to forget it and keep it to himself.
Yes. Right. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of halfway memories and different ideas that begged his attention.
Pulled him in a dozen different cringey directions.
Ideas and fears and hopes that were all too personal to speak, to acknowledge, to care for.
To hope that someone else might care too.
No. No, he needed to end it. Tamp them down. Stop it.
The boy could feel the tingling in his fingers as he struggled to right himself and his thoughts, considering the issues, the ways this could go.
The ways it always had whenever he trusted someone with something like this.
Even if this time it wasn’t just about him or his stupid, childish dreams.
Even if there were a dozen things from his past gnawing and seeping into this moment too.
The boy clenched his teeth together and pursed his lips, his thoughts straying to the dream he’d had last night.
The conversations that’d happened earlier in the week.
The past teachers that had never cared about any of these things before. And probably wouldn’t care about them now. Not that it mattered because it really wasn’t about him at all. Not this time. Not with this.
Not really.
‘Except, it kind of is, isn’t it kid?’ There was a murmur in the back of his mind, gentle and prodding.
Questioning.
But no. No, it wasn’t. Even if the dream had…Even if he’d woken up this morning with that thought tearing him up and mixing in with the bitterness about not being able to do much of anything--
“Kid?”
Izuku straightened and stood carefully to face Aizawa-Sensei, widening his tentative smile, though his ears burned, and his eyes stung. Because God, he hated this. He hated how small and stupid he felt for even doing this or getting caught like this.
'Just stop thinking about it Izuku.'
Yes. Right. Good. He just…he just needed to stop.
Just stop.
'Stop.'
“H-hai, Sensei, there’s…nothing going on really!” He tried to downplay the situation and why he felt the way he did with a small wave of his hand, the corners of his mouth quirking into a ghosting of a smile. Because he shouldn’t feel this way.
He was getting worked up over nothing.
Stupid thoughts and stupid dreams and stupid…just stupid…
“I was just…lost in thought and didn’t…didn’t realize I was…s-s-staring.”
Izuku winced.
Stuttering.
Ah…well shit.
‘That was pathetic, Izuku,’ he caught the berate in his own tone ringing in his head as he averted his gaze to stare beyond his teacher’s face and towards the board, memorizing the smudge in right hand corner.
Who knew how long that had been there.
‘That was a fucking terrible lie’ someone else’s voice chimed with a snort.
‘Lie better, kid.’
Fuck.
It was a pathetic, stuttering excuse that Aizawa-Sensei didn’t believe at all, judging by the way he narrowed his gaze on Izuku and frowned deeper, staring the boy down silently for a moment as he tapped his fingers lightly against his desk, matching the ticking of the clock overhead.
Oh god.
Because Izuku probably wouldn’t believe it either.
“You mean it wasn’t more important than studying?”
It was somewhat unsettling, the way the man questioned him so bluntly and hit right at the issues without hesitation, that Izuku swallowed back his unease as he felt his hands shake more. The heat on the back of his neck grew in intensity, warmth spreading over his cheeks and into his hair as he reached for his notebook to shove it into his bag, wanting to just…run from the room and never make eye contact with his Sensei again.
Because that was the entire problem.
‘You know it’s not,’ A voice hummed mockingly. ‘You know it’s more than that, kid.’
And no. No, it wasn’t.
Because it was just so damned stupid that he’d end up staring in the middle of class and not have a fucking good excuse for it. That was all.
‘Liar.’
He wasn’t lying.
And that was plenty worry about anyway. The staring. This had nothing to do with anything about him or his feelings about–
‘Terrible liar,’ the voice continued as Izuku quashed the thought and shook his head again, trying to smile, trying to downplay the conflict he felt about something this… this stupid.
Izuku didn't want to be a nuisance any more than he already was, asking question after question after question.
Seeking validation, advice…help when he knew how to do things on his own instead of relying on someone to fix things.
Especially someone like Aizawa-Sensei.
Because really, who just stared like that?
And talked as much as he did? And let stupid things like dreams and…and the past and the questions of the other day bother him this much?
And…and just did anything that Izuku tended to do? He…those weren't things that heroes tended to do. They didn't want to do these weird…stupid things and didn't want to be…like who the hell stared?
Creepy ass weirdos that’s who. And here Izuku was trying to convince Aizawa-Sensei that he was normal and a good candidate to be a hero. Not some…some fanboy who couldn’t concentrate on more important things. Do the hard work.
Not some stalker or anything like that.
Not some pathetic…kid who couldn't keep control of himself and learn how to take care of things instead of falling on his obsession with pestering people.
But of course, he’d gone and forgot how to just pay attention to what he was doing and where he was instead of getting lost in his thoughts every damn time and muttering out loud when everyone could hear him.
Everyone like Kacchan who’d found it completely annoying that he’d said anything at all about Aizawa-Sensei and his quirk and–
“Problem Child, you’re not in trouble so just breathe, yeah?”
Breathe?
‘Listen to your Sensei, kid.’
Breathe.
Breathe.
Yeah?
‘Yeah.’
Yeah, okay.
The boy blinked a few times to steady his vision, a small spill of saltiness trickling from his eye before he could stop it.
And that was so pathetic really, he knew as he wiped at his face quickly and shook his head to dismiss Aizawa-Sensei’s thoughts and concerned gaze as they searched his face, trying to understand.
But he didn’t want his Sensei to understand.
Because Izuku didn’t really understand this whole thing either. This reaction wasn’t…it wasn’t normal. Why was he so upset by this?
He was fine. He wasn’t hurt or, or…anything like that and this was just a stupid little…it was just a stupid little–
“It’s…nothing Sensei,” The boy murmured, meeting Aizawa-Sensei’s gaze after a shuddering breath, steeling himself and pulling his shoulders back as he swallowed back his nerves. “I should have just…been paying attention to…to studying. I realize that and I’m sorry for not using my time more wisely instead of getting distracted.”
His fingers were tingling more now, cheeks warm as his nose twitched.
He was fine.
This was…it was okay. He’d just been sketching, like always.
Taking notes.
Making a list of supplies he’d needed for the project.
It wasn’t so important.
It wasn’t something that should cause this…this type of reaction. It shouldn’t matter as much as it did.
“It doesn’t seem like nothing, Midoriya,” The man’s brows had drawn together as he too had straightened and took a step around the desk making a small advance towards the boy, a flash of curiosity and concern flickering across his face as he peered at Izuku. “Clearly something’s bothering you if you’re still muttering.”
Still muttering? He was still...?
Izuku’s brows furrowed as he clamped his mouth shut, tucking his tongue behind his teeth, as the man raised his chin, assessing, his capture weapon shifting as he tilted his head thoughtfully to peer more closely at Izuku.
“Have you had nightmares again? You’re shaking, kid.”
Nightmares?
Shaking?
The boy spied the flash of understanding in the man’s gaze as Izuku flinched. Dark hair spilled over the man’s shoulders as he shook his head lightly.
“So, it was the nightmares again.”
And oh.
Izuku’s eyes widened marginally at the call out and the edge of concern in his Sensei’s voice as he stepped closer again, towards Izuku, trying to close the gap between them.
Oh god, this was even worse wasn't it. To be that transparent about things and to just…
The boy flinched again and hastily shuffled backwards, trying to push more distance between the two of them as his teacher stopped mid-step, a mark of surprise on his face.
A flash of hurt? Is that what Izuku saw there too? Is that…?
Dammit.
The boy’s jaw tightened as he glowered at the ground.
What the hell was wrong with Izuku? Why was he reacting this way? He’d just been sketching. He’d just been trying to make something for…
He’d just been trying to help with something small. Nothing that should cause him to shake or feel bad or anything like…like that or whatever.
It wasn’t the dreams that had caused the problems this time.
Really.
‘It was.’
It wasn’t.
The boy felt himself sway lightly, more aware of it now that it’d been pointed out, before he forced himself to stand still, trying to zip his bag in the meantime.
He was itching to run, bolt from the room.
Trying to distract himself and leave before he could think too hard or too long on things and why they…why they bothered him so much.
Why the questioning bothered him so much.
And why he couldn’t bring himself to ask Aizawa-Sensei the question he’d wanted.
And well…trying to stand as still as he could muster, because his legs…it seemed…didn’t want to listen and be still.
And it was so stupid.
“It’s not stupid, Problem Child.”
Izuku blinked again and again, in rapid succession, a welling of frustration buzzing behind his eyes and at the base of his skull as agitation and annoyance and embarrassment all mixed together in him at being caught and being distracted and not getting things done when he needed to–
“Kid.”
And he knew that it was a study hour for the test coming this week. He knew that. He wasn’t stupid. Sensei had made it clear this time was designed for their use in succeeding on these tests, for going over material in preparation.
Or maybe Izuku was dumb. Maybe he was dumb to think he’d get away from having to do work and that he could just…do whatever he wanted and not be responsible.
“Midoriya, you’re not dumb and this isn’t stupid, now just hold on and breathe–”
Maybe that was the whole problem, wasn’t it? That he was stupid enough to not be using the time in class for what it was intended and that’s why Aizawa-Sensei had stopped him at all.
Not just because he was a fucking idiot and not paying enough attention and staring...
But because he was not doing what he needed to do to do well as a hero student.
“Kid.”
And he was worried enough about it truly. Izuku did care about the test. He always cared. He really was determined to do well and study hard for it because he didn’t want to fail. He didn’t want to do poorly.
“Midoriya…”
But–but really it wasn’t as important as what his thoughts had been on. It wasn’t as important as what he’d been doing before now. At least to him it wasn’t.
And that was stupid, right? Because what if his Sensei said that it was stupid, and he was stupid for thinking this way and caring more about …about some fucking doodle in his bag than the test that affected his grade?
Caring about some dream he didn’t want to deal with than…than whether or not he’d pass his own hero course.
‘I thought you wanted to be a hero, kid?’
The boy’s legs continued to shake despite Izuku’s best effort to ease the tremors as he shifted his stance and adjusted his weight.
Neither did his hands cease in their trembling, continuing to shake lightly as he fiddled with the zipper a little too long, catching the piping of the yellow material in the zipper itself and getting the damned thing stuck in the process even though he was desperate to hurry, though he didn’t know why really.
It’s not like this mattered to Aizawa-Sensei, right? It’s not like this would be something important to someone like him, right? Because Izuku was just Izuku, and he was nothing–
“Problem Child, breathe.”
The underground hero’s voice was nearer than Izuku expected as his Sensei hedged a little closer, a soft murmur on his lips, lithe fingers extended towards him.
“Just breathe, kid,” He continued, eyes trained on the boy, expression neutral and almost…calming as he watched Izuku carefully, gauging the situation, and not making another step forward, as the boy took a few shuddering breaths, out of reflex and almost fear at being so caught off guard.
What was wrong with him? Why was it…why was it so hard?
This whole…this didn’t make sense. Normally Izuku wasn’t so…he wasn’t so worked up about things like this because. Normally he could keep things under control.
Knees wobbled.
The boy’s shoulders shook as he tipped his head forward, chin angled downward as he tried to right himself and understand, the flurry of thoughts speeding through his mind making him more confused.
Because he hadn’t been upset.
He hadn’t been anything.
He’d just…
He’d just been sitting in class sketching.
Just sketching…
Aizawa-Sensei’s hands twitched as he seemed to study the boy who struggled for air for a moment, a pathetic mewling gasp rattling through his chest as he circled through his thoughts and tried to pinpoint why he was falling apart.
And falling apart in front of Aizawa-Sensei.
For no reason.
No reason.
There was another small, shuddering breath, before Aizawa-Sensei let out a low hum and to offer an apology for startling the boy.
“I should have approached that differently, kid. I’m sorry.”
The man’s voice was even, light, rumbling quietly in his chest as he filled the silence of the empty classroom.
The man remained close, but kept a measure of distance, his hand hovering near Izuku’s shoulder as he leaned near the boy’s desk, dark gaze drawn to studying Izuku’s face as he seemed to study the kid carefully.
The edge of his capture weapon lay loosely unwound over his shoulder, the very end of it falling between them as the man let out a soft sigh, when Izuku got another soft shuddering breath in.
“I know you’re not fond…of surprises like that so I should have gotten your attention in a different manner.”
And no. No that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the problem.
Izuku shook his head.
“It’s… it’s not you...Sensei,” He bit out softly, between huffs, and annoyance with himself, trying to explain and understand himself. “I just…”
He was just?
“I’m not…that is, I don’t think that…you didn’t…I was just–”
The boy’s face twisted into a grimace as he tried to get the words out and figure out what he was trying to say. But everything was jumbled, and he didn’t think his teacher would care because this was so…this was so childish and stupid, and he had to care about the test not this right now.
But–
“Alright then, Izuku,” Aizawa-Sensei remarked slowly, carefully as he reached out, thin fingers settling on the boy’s bag as he gently tugged it from the boy’s grip. The man’s capture weapon swayed lightly against his shoulders as he shifted and set the bright yellow backpack on the desk to his left.
Izuku stood, dumbfounded at the sudden shift, his fingers suspended as he stared back at his teacher, uncertain of what to say or do.
How to respond.
But the man only sighed and folded his arms as he leaned against Kacchan’s desk and crossed one booted leg over the other, tilting his head carefully to assess the boy.
“Let's just step back and settle ourselves down and start over, okay? I didn't mean anything by the question."
“No!” The boy’s tone pitched bright, cheerful, as he waved his hands to dismiss his Sensei’s comment.
Too cheerful he realized with a wince that didn’t go unnoticed by his teacher who frowned at the boy, leaning somewhat closer.
“Problem Child–”
“No, it’s alright, really! I-I understand, and it was…it was my fault for…for just…not really thinking about how best to use my time, right? I understand that Sensei and it won’t happen again I promise–”
Everything was devolving fast, and Shouta hadn’t even asked a damn thing. But judging by Problem Child’s reaction to the…entire fucking situation, Shouta had done something monumentally bad to cause this type of reaction from the boy.
He’d triggered a spiral.
The child’s face had gone somewhat pale, his eyes widened far beyond the scope of simply observing. It was clear that they portrayed the obvious panic he wore like a cloak around himself, sparked brightly in bottle-green orbs.
But why? That was the question.
Why was he panicked? Why was he reacting so harshly to what Shouta was saying and…and what he couldn’t even get out of his mouth?
What he anticipated the man might say to him.
“Midoriya–” the underground hero could see the wheels turning in the boy’s head and, honestly had no fucking clue what the hell was happening as the child continued to descend into a small chattering mess as he tried to downplay what was happening and why he was clearly upset by the current events.
Naturally embarrassed by his come-apart and the events that weren’t even events and things that Shouta couldn’t rightly piece together because he didn’t have all the fucking information had Problem Child on edge, flighty and inattentive at best, and anxiously eyeing Shouta as though at the slightest misstep, the smallest comment…he’d go careening backwards and out the door.
And judging by the pooling bags of purple beneath his gaze, there was something to be said for the lack of sleep the boy had gotten. Again.
Too often really.
Fucking hell.
Nothing was adding up and the boy was speaking in half-sentences to the clear half-thoughts that he was willing to show Shouta.
Or, rather, to the half-thoughts that were peeking through the mask that he was desperately trying to keep from crumbling in front of Shouta.
That seemed the more accurate depiction of what was happening since the man had only asked a small question.
Wanting to understand what was going on with the boy who’d been lost in his thoughts so deeply that he’d completely lost track of himself and those around him.
Which, while sometimes normal for Izuku Midoriya, was never at this level. Not usually this deep.
Unless something was bothering the boy.
But of course, the minute Shouta opened up his fucking mouth, a damned shift had taken place.
A shadow had crossed the boy’s features. Something had shifted, and Problem Child’s whole demeanor had gone from hesitantly unassuming to downright panicked.
But why.
Shouta watched the boy chew his bottom lip for a second as he considered the situation and considered his Sensei, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he seemed to weigh his words carefully, judging his next moves with a critical assessing eye.
Like he was afraid of the backlash for saying what he was about to say.
Editing…and changing his mind halfway through.
Worrying what Shouta might think of what he had to say.
“I just…I just had a question, but it was…it wasn’t so important Sensei,” Problem Child murmured softly, swallowing back his thoughts as he blinked a few times, “And it wasn’t…it was just stupid I promise. Really and I know that you’re busy and it’s just…I can figure it out so there’s really no need to–”
Shouta frowned, that familiar flare of concern growing in him as he watched the boy continue to fidget and fiddle with his tie, a swaying in his stance giving the man ample increase in worry as he pondered the boy’s earlier actions and his easy dismissal of himself.
Why was he always so quick to disregard himself and his presence here?
“Midoriya, your questions aren’t stupid,” The underground hero remarked, trying to quell the growing fervor of unease that permeated the situation and seemed to be mixing in with the air.
“You can always talk to me, kid. Ask me anything.”
‘I’ll always listen.’
And he meant it.
But yet, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference to the boy and that…well that just…
That didn’t sit well for Shouta who watched Izuku’s face as it twisted, like the boy had sucked on something sour, lips puckering, eyes wrinkling around the edges as his viridescent gaze sparked with some untold emotion at the man’s words.
Again, the boy shook his head and unfurled his mouth into a forced smile.
A horrible smile.
“No, no it’s not… it’s not that, Sensei.” The kid’s voice shook as he continued his tirade of lies.
Why was he lying?
What did he have to lie about?
Hadn’t they been over this before? Didn’t the kid know by now that Shouta could see through the facade already?
So why…?
“I just know that you’re busy, Sensei,” Midoriya remarked again. “And I’ve already wasted your time rambling on when, like you said, I should be studying! So, I’m just going to–”
The man’s eyes widened at the comment at he watched the child’s mouth twist the words that’d fallen in concern into something that was a chastisement.
“Problem Child, that’s not what I said at all.”
The boy let out a soft laugh and nodded.
“It’s alright Sensei, I promise,” Izuku replied, his chipper timbre marked with a tense edge as shaking fingers curled around his backpack strap. Shouta couldn’t help but note the crisscrossing scars that coiled around the fingers and splayed along the wrist and back of the boy’s hand–pale streaks breaking across the freckled flesh.
“Anyway, I know that I w-wasted the hour and need to catch up on the studying that I neglected, and I don’t…I won’t…I better get to that!”
He was using this as a way to escape. Clearly.
“Midoriya–”
The boy waved his free hand again and grinned.
“No no! It-i-it’s alright. I’ll just figure the rest…I’ll figure it out on my own! It’s no trouble. I’m…I’m sorry for having taken up your time.”
The boy was backpedaling towards the edge of his own desk, hedging along the side as he shimmied away from Shouta, a soft bow angling his head downward as Shouta tried to take a step towards the child, the panic in his own chest growing as the boy let a bright grin display his teeth, his curling verdant wisping hair shimmering under the fluorescent lights as he quirked his head to the side lightly.
“Thank you for…for your time, Sensei.”
“Izuku–” Shouta’s hand was reaching as the boy slipped out the door, pivoting to turn his back to the man midway through the doorway as the flash of blue sparked in underground hero’s memory at those words, the shadow of his Problem Child disappearing down the hall at a sprint.
And…
What?
Confusion reigned as Shouta stared for a moment at the vacant doorway and empty room, listening to his heart beating in his ears as he stewed over the mishmash of disjointed and convoluted oddities that had been Midoriya’s responses.
The unease about it all and the wariness the boy had for the whole situation with Shouta when he’d called his name.
For no reason except one that only the boy knew.
One that only Problem Child understood.
Shouta’s eyes narrowed marginally as he curled his fingers into his palms as he memorized and analyzed the thoughts and that mixed with the image that was seared into his mind.
The ghost of the boy’s face, gaunt and frenzied and panicked, peering back at him.
Almost like he was…waiting for punishment.
Dammit all to hell.
The man’s feet were moving before the thoughts had finished their round through the cycle of analysis as the man moved down the hall after the boy.
He couldn’t let this one rest.
‘You can’t ever let anything rest, Shou,’ That familiar voice in the back of his mind teased as the man frowned into his capture weapon and stalked out of the classroom door, peering into the bustling hallway, searching for a familiar mop of wayward, mossy curls.
Something was wrong.
Izuku couldn’t temper the agitation in his footsteps as he hastened down the steps of the main building and trudged along the walkway towards the main road that led to the gate.
Overhead, the clouds were slowly drifting, casting shadows along the concrete, as the blossoms from the trees started to shift towards green, springtime giving way to summer soon.
But there was still plenty of pink and white swirling in the breeze as Izuku took hold of his backpack straps and tucked his head downward, staring more at his shoes than upward towards the walkway and any passersby, thoughts pulled into fractious disarray as he made his way through the afternoon warmth and sunshine, towards the familiar waterway trail that would lead him to the shops near campus.
“Maybe,” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowed as he curled his fingers into his palms, stewing back towards the notebook and the image as he hastened his footsteps.
“Maybe they’ll have it there.”