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Izuku came back from school exhausted. Not that it was a hard school day, but living itself felt really hard recently. He put away his backpack, changed into comfortable pajamas, and headed to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, hoping it will seep through the stress of the day.
School wasn’t that bad. It was like usual, except for his attention that swayed in and out every ten minutes, except for the permanent cold that seemed to cling to his chest, except for the number of times he excused himself to the bathroom to cry between classes whenever someone talked about their parents.
His friends weren’t aware of his situation yet thanks to his god; he can’t bear the looks of pity over everything else.
Life in Aizawa’s apartment wasn’t bad either. Honestly, it’s even given him something reliable he can trust in the roller-coaster he is living in. However, he can’t trust it.
Aizawa sensei is putting in the effort for him, he can see it in the routine his teacher is building with him; breakfast before school, the quiet drive there, the talks during lunch that Aizawa is always trying to keep going even if he is, as Izuku is sure, a fan of silence, the evenings when Izuku gets busy with his study while Aizawa is grading, and the goodnight hair ruffles that nobody has to know that Izuku waits for them the whole day.
Aizawa sensei is taking care of him like nobody else has ever done, not even his mom. And that’s it, that’s the thing that makes Izuku constantly on edge of ruining it, because he knows he will. He will push Aizawa away just like he pushed his own parents and friends.
He blinked away the tears that gathered in his eyes before turning on the kettle and reaching to the mug that Aizawa put his tea in the first day here. Then, three things happened in quick succession.
First, he felt a little tremor in his hand. Second, his already unsteady hold on the mug betrayed him, leaving the mug midair. Third, the mug fell to the ground, shattering with a sound that clawed Izuku’s heart out of his chest. Pastel green ceramic scattered across the floor.
He felt his blood rapidly being pulled away from his face and upper body to collect in the very bottom of his legs.
No no no no no
"I'm sorry!"
The words ripped out of him before he could even think, high and panicked.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
His knees hit the ground, glass crunching under him, except he couldn't feel anything but the terror clawing up his throat.
Shit shit shit shit
That can’t be it, that can’t be the point where he ruins everything.
He reached two violently shaking hands to pick up the shards, his mind screaming at him to pick them up quickly, then maybe, maybe if he could clean it quickly enough his teacher won't get very mad.
He didn’t get much time to dwell on that thought though as he heard hurrying footsteps heading towards the kitchen.
"I'll fix it," he didn’t intend to sound this shaken, tears already streaming down his face without his permission nor control.
His fingers closed around a piece of ceramic and it dived deep into his palm, but he didn't let go, too focused on cleaning the mess he didn't feel it cut, too afraid of what's going to happen.
"I'll replace it, I promise, I'll buy you a new one, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
"Izuku—"
Oh shit his teacher is here
He saw it all
"Please don't—" A sob cuts through his words, his whole body shaking with fear by now. He frantically grabbed at the pieces, trying to gather them in his shaky hand as if he picked them up fast enough he'll save his dear life. The shards though, kept slipping through his fingers, making his job and sobs harder.
"Please don't make me leave, I'll be more careful, I promise I'll be better, just please—"
"Kid, stop—"
"I'm cleaning it!" His voice cracked, desperately begging for just a few minutes to clean it up, to fix what he did.
"Please, just give me a second I'll clean it all" his words were followed by heart-breaking sobs, loud whimpers, tears mixing with blood, both staining the shards of glass and the floor beneath them.
“Unbelievable. You ruin everything you touch.”
“Do you even have a brain in that head of yours? How the fuck do you think before you act?"
“Are you going to stare back all day or will you clean it."
"So the glass wasn't enough but now you're bleeding all over the place as well. Are you even useful in something?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" It's all he can say, the only words his brain will produce.
He knows apologies don’t work, he knows that what he did is irreversible, he knows his punishment is coming, he just hoped it won’t be the worst case scenario possible.
His chest is too tight, his throat isn’t allowing much air in, he’s already dizzied from crying, static buzzing in his ears, making his teacher’s voice sound like a far dream, or a far nightmare.
Warm hands close around his wrists, causing him to flinch hard, his whole body tense immediately, trying to pull out of the grip and curl his hand against his chest. However, the grip never wavered.
"Izuku. Stop."
"No!" he tried to jerk away, frantic, panicked, afraid of the coming consequences. He knows he will pay far more if he doesn't clean the Glass. Shards cut deeper into his fingers.
"I have to—I have to clean it, I have to—"
"You're hurting yourself." Aizawa's voice came calm and steady.
"I don't care!" He wailed. "Please, I'll be more careful, I promise, just don't—don't make me—don't make me leave—I have nowhere else to go, I'll do more chores, I'll lock myself in my room, I won't bother you, just allow me to clean it, allow me to stay—"
Aizawa's grip tightens, not painful, just firm, and physically lifts Izuku's hands away from the glass.
"Let go of the pieces."
"I can't—"
"Let go."
Izuku's fingers opened automatically at the command, and the shards he was clutching clattered to the floor, his hands shaking so hard he can barely see them, blood dripping from his palms, and his fingers.
Apologies came out from his mouth as a waterfall as if “sorry” is the only word he knows.
"Stop."
Aizawa moves, and Izuku flinches again, this time bracing for the punishment he's going to have.
Instead, there is an arm around him, he is being pulled into Aizawa's chest and held tightly there. Izuku goes rigid, his panicked mind not processing yet, is he.... Is he being hugged?
"God, Izuku. Calm down, it's okay. It's just a mug" Aizawa said, holding his kid's wrists in one hand, the other wrapped around his back, going up and down in a soothing motion.
"It's a mug, Izuku." Aizawa's voice is low, careful. "You are bleeding over a mug”
One hand comes up to cradle the back of Izuku's head. "Just a mug."
"But I broke it—"
"I don't care."
The words don't make sense. Izuku's brain stalls, trying to process. Isn’t that what he was begging for? To be forgiven? To be given another chance? But why does it feel so wrong? Why is his teacher hugging him? Why isn’t he mad? Why isn’t he throwing insults and threats to beat him up?
“But I—"
"I. Don't. Care." Each word is deliberate, firm.
“I care about nothing but your well-being, Izuku. You gave me a scare, kid. Not the mug, you”
"I'm sorry—"
"Stop apologizing." Aizawa pulls back just enough to look at him, and his eyes are worried, not angry. "Look at me.”
Izuku forces his gaze up. His vision is still blurry with tears but he can see Aizawa's face clearly enough. There's no fury there. No disappointment. Just... concern.
"It was an accident," Aizawa says slowly, like he's talking to a spooked animal, and maybe he is, "Accidents happen. This doesn't change anything."
He pulled Izuku in again
“you’re not going anywhere. We're going to get you away from the glass, and you’re going to let me look at your hands”
They stayed like this for a few more minutes, Izuku craving the physical closeness after the panic he has just been through, and Aizawa deciding that it’s okay to wait the minutes before taking care of Izuku’s injured hands.
Aizawa’s hand came to Izuku’s head, cradling it from behind, fingers moving in a way that he learnt by now soothes the tension out of his kid’s body.
It was until Izuku spoke again.
"I'm sorry," Izuku whispered, because he doesn't know how to stop saying it.
"I know." Aizawa's hand doesn't stop its steady movement through his hair. "But you don't need to be. It's okay. You're okay."
He paused for a couple other moments
“Do you think you can get up?”
Izuku nodded and pulled away from the embrace and stood up slowly, careful not to step on the shards. Aizawa guided him to the dinner table, pulling a chair out for him to sit on.
“I will grab the first aid kit from the bathroom, don’t touch the glass”
That said, he disappeared into the bathroom. Izuku heard water running and cabinets being opened and closed before his teacher came back after a couple of minutes holding the kit, then took his place in the chair next to Izuku’s.
“Hands, please.”
Izuku obeyed and put his two hands out, resting them on his thighs. Aizawa took them in his own, inspecting them, then left them gently where they were to grab the tweezers and sanitize them.
He started pulling shards out of Izuku’s hand and placing them in a tissue on the table. Silence stretched between them, only broken by Izuku’s occasional hitched breaths.
Aizawa pulled the last shard free and reached for the antiseptic. Izuku hissed at the sting but didn't pull away.
"Who taught you to react like that?" Aizawa asked, voice carefully neutral.
Izuku startled, not expecting his teacher to speak. Then when the question registered, he went very still.
"When something breaks. Who taught you that panic?"
"I..." Izuku's voice cracked. "It's not—it's just—"
"Izuku." Aizawa's hands stilled on the bandages. "You were on the floor bleeding, begging me not to make you leave, over a mug. That's not a normal reaction. That's learned."
Learned.
The word echoed in Izuku's head, and he remembered all the times he broke a glass or a vase and his mom bolted at him, making him pick up the pieces, even when he was just seven, even when his hands were bleeding and the tears were running down his still round baby face.
He remembered being forced to stay in his room and not to annoy her more, he remembered how she told him how useless and a trouble he is.
The tears were already falling again. Izuku tried to speak, but nothing came out except a choked sound.
Aizawa finished wrapping his hands, then pulled his chair closer until their knees were almost touching. He reached out slowly, telegraphing the movement, and cupped the back of Izuku's head.
The touch was so warm and safe and everything that Izuku wanted, which made him want to lean into it and pull away from it at the same time.
"You don't have to tell me tonight," Aizawa said quietly. "But I need you to know something. Whatever happened before? That's not how things work here. You could break every dish in this apartment and the only thing I'd care about is making sure you didn't hurt yourself."
Izuku’s body tingled, his chest ached to the words, so happy to hear them, so sure they are not true nonetheless. But his teacher’s eyes were steady, and his hand hadn't moved, and there was no anger in his face.
"I don't understand," Izuku whispered, because he didn't. He couldn't comprehend a world where breaking things didn't make you disposable.
"I know." Aizawa's thumb traced a gentle line behind Izuku's ear, and Izuku's breath hitched at the tenderness of it.
"But you will. I'm going to teach you what it feels like to be safe. Even when you make mistakes. Especially when you make mistakes."
It felt so impossible, so foreign, so unreal. The whole situation felt like a fever dream.
"You think you're unlovable," Aizawa continued, and Izuku flinched like he'd been struck, because how did he know—"but you're not. You're not unlovable because you dropped a mug, Izuku. You're not unlovable because your hands shake, or because you cry, or because you need help. Those things don't make you unlovable. They make you human."
The words cracked something open in Izuku's chest, something that had been locked tight and rusted shut for so long he'd forgotten it was even there, As the care he once received before he reached four was engraved inside him, as his body knew how it was to be safe and loved and longed for it to come back.
A sob tore out of him, raw and broken, and then he was crying again, but different this time, like something was being pulled out of him from the very bottom of his soul.
Izuku leaned into the touch, he couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself, and Aizawa pulled him in again, wrapping both arms around him and holding him like he was something precious instead of something broken.
"You're allowed to take up space here," Aizawa murmured into his hair, one hand cradling his head, the other rubbing slow circles on his back. "You're allowed to break things and cry and need help. You're allowed to be imperfect and messy and scared. That's what home means."
Home. Izuku knows what it is, knows he hadn’t had a true home before, and he just wished there is a chance he could still get one.
Aizawa's hand moved through his hair, fingers gentle and grounding, and Izuku buried his face in his teacher's shoulder and let himself cry. Not the panicked, terrified sobs from before, but something quieter. Something that felt almost like grief for the kid he used to be, the one who thought love was conditional, who thought safety had to be earned.
"I've got you," Aizawa said softly, and his arms tightened just a fraction. "I've got you, and I'm not letting go…”