Work Text:
izuku keeps calling the number in his favourites contact, the number seared into his mind, the one he remembers by heart- even though he knows no one will answer.
“you’ve reached aizawa shouta’s voicemail,” a monotonous deep voice drawled out, as deadpan as ever. “leave a message after the beep.”
“beep!” a high pitched voice squeaked out with a giggle and the voice mail cut of with the a fond huff.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
aizawa izuku sits alone at a quiet little nook in a 24/7 bar. his noodles were half eaten, the other half still left in the bowl having gone soggy from how long he sat there, staring at his phone with dull green eyes.
the world moved around him- customers going in and out, conversations erupting and fading, the waiter stopping by to ask him if he needed anything but izuku remained where he was, looking down at the phone in his hand.
after another long few minutes, he finally takes a deep breath, thumb pressing down on the button on the edge of the phone. the screen lights up. his fingers move on instinct, swiping through his apps, tapping on the phone icon before his thumb hovered over the favourited contact at the very top.
he hesitated for another heartbeat, and tapped the call button, bringing the phone up to his ear.
he listened for a bit, before he cracked a smile- small and crooked- even as his eyes dulled even further.
“…hi, dad. i’m at that ramen place we used to have together a lot. ikaa-san’s cooking is still as delicious as always. we should come here together again one of these days.”
“….”
“….i miss you, dad. call me back, later, okay?”
beep.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
beep.
“dad! oh my god, did you SEE kacchan’s interview today?? he’s going to give me gray hairs in my youth, i swear to god- and denki is also trending on the media for accidentally setting his living room on fire while he was on this live Q&A thing he was doing with mina-chan. serious, how on earth did you deal with all of us back in UA?” izuku ranted exasperatedly, even as he snickered every now and then at the antics of his classmates that they never seem to quite grow out of.
he tugged his cap further down his face as he walked past the familiar street to his agency, absentmindedly glancing into store windows and waving hello to the occasional acquaintance that recognized him.
“and then- oh!” he paused, pulling the phone away from his ear to look at the notification that popped up, frowning a little before he held it up to his ear again. “i gotta go, dad, but i’ll talk to you later. promise. love you!”
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
izuku shoots up in bed, hunched over where he sits amongst tangled sheets, damp with sweat, panting wildly. his heart is beating too fast and his lungs feel too tight.
it takes him way too long to calm down, for his racing heart to slow, for his lungs to expand with air. he blindly reached over his side table to grab his phone, tapping the screen without looking before bringing it up to his ear, waiting for that too familiar beep.
“…dad? i had a nightmare again. the same one,” he croaked out, voice still rough from sleep as he trailed off with a mirthless chuckle. he didn’t bother elaborating, he had this same nightmare one too many times. he wasn’t interested in reliving it again. instead, he let silence fill the air, let the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall slowly ground him, all the while he kept his phone pressed to his ear. it was a long while before he spoke up again.
“hey, dad. i just- i miss you. call me back, okay?”
he didn’t know how much time passed when he finally hung up.
beep.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
izuku stared numbly at the phone connected to a charger on the desk in the guest room. it was always there, always plugged in. he doesn’t even bother disconnecting it from the charger, only switching the socket off when it was fully charged and back on when it drains after a week or so.
it lights up every now and then with a new notification. it rings, only for calls to be left unanswered. izuku is never there to see it, but he knows it happens.
he leaves the phone where it is.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
izuku was staring at the television from where he sat in the living room, his entire body tensed, one hand raised to cover his mouth hanging agape in shock. thoughtlessly, his other reached for his phone tossed carelessly on the couch, thumbing through his contacts without looking and hitting call before raising the phone to his ear.
“dad, i did it,” his voice barely raised above a whisper, disbelief and awe lacing the words.
“holy shit. i did it,” his voice grew steadier as the gravity of the situation slowly settled, as everything started feeling more real with every second. everything he had been fighting for - all those sleepless nights, the helplessness he felt desperately grasping onto a single thread of hope. all the protests, the endless meetings, conference after conference...
he finally won.
and yet, his voice wavered, but not with the tears meant for such overwhelming happiness. it felt wrong to feel so much grief in such a moment- a moment he had imagined since forever. but…
“i wish you were here to see it.”
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
“dad? i’m trying. really i am. but it’s so difficult. it’s so heavy. i can’t do this. i can’t do this alone,” his words crumpled with a sob that tore through his chest as his grip on his phone tightened. the awful lump at the back of his throat that he had gotten to know far too well these days grew, making his throat too tight, making his chest hurt.
he learnt that holding back hurt too much for his broken heart to bear, and so he let the tears fall, let the ugly sobbing leave his lips, let himself break all over again. sometimes, he wonders if it will ever hurt less.
“i need you. i still need you,” he choked out in an anguished whisper once it didn’t quite feel like he was drowning.
“please, call me back. love you.”
beep.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
a lone figure of a short, decently muscular man lumbered through the cemetery. it was early enough that the grass was dewy, the sun not quite up, leaving the air cool and quiet. izuku couldn’t help the yawn that took over as he made his way with what is essentially muscle memory with how often he comes here.
“hi, dad. i came to visit,” izuku said, voice quiet and steady, a lazy, tired grin on his lips as he finally stopped in front of a familiar grave. he swapped out the wilted lilies, brushing away some dried leaves scattered about.
“you should really check your phone sometime, you know? i left you an ungodly amount if voice mails,” his laughter slowly fading into the air as he waited for a response he could not hear.
.
.
.
i hear you, izuku. every time.