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It isn’t a new development, not by a long shot. Hell, Inko still remembers her little boy getting out of preschool, looking up at her with wide, tearful eyes and declaring that he’s useless. Over the years it’s become more frequent, more diverse with all kinds of hateful language digging at every aspect of himself. At first, she denied the accusations but eventually she stopped, opting to redirect conversation when he was in a spiral. She- she doesn’t know when she stopped correcting him or why. Maybe it was because the next day he’d be back on it or because she could tell he didn’t understand.
It isn’t new, she’s heard every insult over the last decade, many much worse than this but when she hears a crash from behind her and turns to see Izuku, who had been washing their rice for dinner, empty-handed, eyes filling with tears, and hears him cry, “I can’t even do this right.” Inko snaps.
It isn’t new but god she is so tired of it.
Abandoning her post, she strides up to her crying son and places a firm hand on each shoulder. Izuku looks up at her and asks what she’s doing but Inko is no longer paying attention to him, instead, she’s got a one-track mind, guiding them through their apartment, not stopping until they are both in the bathroom.
With many things in their two-bedroom apartment, it’s a tight fit. The two of them stand in the small room, pressed together and one sharp movement away from tumbling into a pile of limbs and pain. Izuku looks up at her and opens his mouth to talk but she is faster. Her voice takes an edge that she rarely uses, stern and serious, she commands him, “Look in the mirror, Izuku. What do you see?”
Izuku swallows nervously but complies. He takes the question seriously, looking in the mirror for whatever she’d brought them in for but finds nothing out of the ordinary. “Um, us?”
“Correct. That’s me,” she points towards her own reflection in the mirror then moves her finger a few centimeters to the left, “and that’s my son.” She looks back at Izuku, the real Izuku with eyes of steel. “I don’t appreciate how you’ve been talking about him.”
Izuku’s face twists in confusion as he blinks up at her. “What?”
“You keep telling him he’s ugly and stupid and useless, but that is my son and my son is handsome and intelligent and strong and he is the kindest boy I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, let alone raising.”
“Mom-“ his voice is already wavering but Inko is far from finished.
“No. First, I want you to tell me, would you ever say the things you say about yourself to other people?”
Izuku looks horrified at the suggestion and quickly yelps, “No!”
For the first time since they entered the bathroom she softens her voice, “Then why do you deserve that?”
Her son seems to actually ponder the question before dropping his head in shame. He lamely shrugs his hunched shoulders and whispers, “I-I don’t know.”
“Well, I do know,” Inko states with conviction oozing from her words, “I know you don’t deserve any of that. So now I want you to look at him and I want you to apologize.”
Slowly his face turns back to her, eyebrows furrowed, he carefully questions her words (and likely her sanity). “Apologize… to me?”
“Yes, you’re going to look that smart, funny, and caring boy in the eyes and you’re going to tell him ‘I’m sorry.’”
“I’m confused.”
Inko only hums and turns him to face the mirror. She gently grabs his chin and lines him up so he can stare into his own eyes. “Look at him, not me.” Izuku’s gaze slips from her face to his own. “Now say ‘I’m sorry.’”
“I-I’m sorry.”
“Like you mean it, Izuku,” she reprimands.
“I’m sorry.”
“One more time.”
“I’m sorry!” he shouts and instinctively bends at the waist with how passionate the apology is but Inko catches him before he can crack his head open on the sink. She huffs a laugh as Izuku quickly turns pink.
Once she catches her breath she straightens out, getting serious once more. “Okay, now I want you to look back in the mirror and I want you to tell me five things about yourself, not how you see them but how I see them.”
“How do you see me?”
Inko smiles softly. “I think you know the answer to that.”
He hesitantly nods then awkwardly looks between her and his own reflection. “Okay. Um, just like before?”
“Just like before.”
Izuku makes eye contact with himself and nervously fidgets but after a few seconds he takes a shaky breath and starts. “I-I am kind?”
“Good.”
“I am smart. I am… brave? Um, I am-”
With that he seems to come to a loss but Inko has thousands of words for how amazing her son is, she can spare a few. “Worthy and you are loved.”
“I am worthy and I am loved.”
“Now look back in the mirror, stand tall and say it all again.”
He doesn’t even question her this time as he repeats, “I-I am kind. I am smart. I am brave. I am worthy. I am loved.”
“Again.”
“I am kind, I am smart, I am brave, I am worthy, I am loved.”
She jabs a finger at the mirror. “Make him believe it.”
“I am kind, I am smart, I am brave, I am worthy and I am loved!”
“You are kind, you are smart, you are brave, you are worthy and you are loved.” She wraps her arms around his chest, an awkward feat with the spacing, and squeezes. “I love you so much, Izuku,” she whispers into his curls.
He grabs her arms, not being able to reciprocate the hug in any other way. “I love you too mom,” his voice wavers and she can tell he is crying in the embrace. The tears streaming down her own face make it indisputable where he got the habit from.
Inko gives them a minute to calm down and soak in each other's presence before she moves. Her grip loosens and her hands pull back until they are only holding his upper arms. She pulls away and with some maneuvering gets them face-to-face. Attempting to convey her seriousness with only a look she addresses him. “I don’t want to hear you call anyone stupid or useless or anything like that ever again, especially yourself. Do you understand me?”
Izuku drags his sleeve across his eyes, clearing away the tears, and nods. “Yes, mom.”
“Good.” She takes a deep breath and gently wipes away her own tears. “Now, why don’t we go finish dinner?”
At that, Izuku gasps and whips his head to the door. “Dinner! It’s probably ruined. I’m sorry I-” he cuts off mid-sentence when she lightly raps a fist on his head.
“I pulled us away. Whatever state the food is in is my fault, got it?” Inko asks and Izuku weakly nods and mumbles out another ‘Yes, mom.’ Not perfect, but it’s progress. “Good but we should go see what we can salvage before it burns anymore.”
Izuku darts out of the room to fret over their food and once again a smile blooms on her face. She takes her place by his side and as she watches him concentrate on washing rice like it’s the most important task in the world she wonders what she did in a past life to deserve such an amazing kid.