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His therapist had suggested journaling.
Izuku, after deep and considerable thought and a few hours of research, had decided this would be far more effective and ultimately more cathartic.
Plus journaling is already one of Izuku’s favorite hobbies and has been since he was three and his efforts amounted to just stacks of messy pictures drawn in crayon.
So no, journaling about it isn’t enough.
Something of this size and importance requires a different, much more active approach.
Besides, in Izuku’s opinion, if he really wants to get technical about it, which he always loves to do as a rule, this is a lot like journaling.
Well.
Kind of.
In a certain light.
…
He wrote about it in one of his journals once?
Back when he was eleven and hadn’t yet adopted the policy of not committing certain plots to paper no matter how complex his cipher is.
Okay, so maybe it’s not really like journaling at all.
But maybe he can equate it to scrapbooking if he takes a few photos and keeps all of his receipts?
Plus being able to tell his therapist he’s taken up a new hobby during their next appointment is sure to earn him a gold star. Which is, despite what others seem to think and no matter how many times Hitoshi side-eyes Izuku’s homemade sticker chart that hangs on his fridge, still a perfectly good and normal thing to want and strive for.
Partially because Izuku never actually received gold stars in school when he was small, and he’s been eager to make up for that particular injustice for years now
Especially since Yūe-sensei, his therapist who surprisingly enough still hasn’t tried to forward him to another doctor like all the others did, not even after Izuku had handed them six pages of rough, non-invasive quirk analysis on their quirk at the end of their first session, has been making really pointed noises about Izuku ‘indulging his inner child’ and ‘confronting his childhood trauma’ for the past few months.
So Izuku is pretty sure that that basically counts as permission for him to do … well a lot of arguably concerning things if he’s being honest.
Granted, Yūe-sensei has also been muttering to themselves about ‘an entirely new case study’ whenever their sessions end, but that’s neither here nor there.
Probably.
So maybe it’s best if the finer points of the situation are just … food for later thoughts.
Activity classifications aside, this is the road that Izuku has decided to walk down on his healing journey.
And since his mother raised an anxious, neurosis ridden mess of a child but not a quitter, that means he’s now committed and determined to see this path through to the end.
Izuku sucks in a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and pulls open the door.
He’s got this.
~~~
Izuku very firmly does not have this.
He’d done his research before coming, of course he did; Izuku doesn’t do much of anything without researching it beforehand, another thing that always sends Yūe-sensei into a flurry of scribbling in their notepad, and yet he still somehow feels unprepared.
Maybe it’s the bright fluorescent store lights or the screaming toddler a few aisles down that have him feeling so unsettled.
Or maybe it’s the fact that his research didn’t prepare him for how massive this place would be.
He’d come here with a relatively firm idea of what he intended to leave with. He’d had a plan of action, had sketched out the simple but effective steps of his self-appointed mission, but now …
Now he’s aware that he might have miscalculated just a bit.
Eyes wide, hands curled and tucked close to his chest to keep from touching anything, Izuku wanders the aisles, unable to keep himself from stopping to read cards and signs and nameplates.
There’s just … so much.
Izuku has been to the zoo before, twice actually, although the second time had resulted in him being briefly courted by a particularly insistent emu before he’d been able to gracefully escape. And a sensei had ‘accidentally’ lost him at the aquarium once when he was seven. But Izuku had been able to wander the aquarium for a solid six hours by himself before the staff had realized he was alone and had pulled him aside. He’d gotten ice cream and a free seahorse plush from the gift shop though so it had honestly been the best field trip he’d ever gone on.
So, technically, this shouldn’t be so surprising to him, especially since he’s an adult.
Maybe it’s the nature of the place?
Zoos and aquariums are about conservation and education.
Everything in this place, every fish, bird, or fluffy pet in here is for sale.
And Izuku? Izuku has his own apartment and an actual paying job.
The possibilities abruptly feel endless.
Izuku also immediately understands just why Inko had never allowed him to set foot near a pet/quirk supply store like this when he was little.
Baby Izuku would have gone insane.
Izuku forces himself to pass by yet another row of hamsters without stopping to press himself against the glass and then to basically run by the entire wall of bunnies, because he does have an actual goal here today.
He can always block out some time in the future to come back to linger and actually explore.
Determined now, Izuku speeds up, eyes raised to track the signage so he can finally get to his actual reason for being here.
Which means it is entirely his fault when he turns the corner and bumps directly into someone.
“Oh!” Izuku stumbles just a bit, but thanks to the warm, solid arm that lashes out and curls around his waist, he doesn’t actually fall.
“Careful,” a low, rough voice replies.
Izuku blinks.
Looks up.
Feels his heart skip a beat and his face abruptly overheat.
Eraserhead.
By all that is holy both above and below, Izuku has somehow managed to run directly into Eraserhead.
Hands still curled against his chest, Izuku squeaks.
Eraserhead just stares back down at him, one brow arched and his arm still firmly around Izuku’s waist.
“Fuck me,” Izuku hears himself say from a distance.
Eraserhead barks out a low laugh.
“Bold opening move,” he drawls, thumb rubbing against Izuku’s side where he’s still holding him.
Izuku, his brain finally catching up with his mouth, does the only rational thing in this situation.
His hands slide up to cover his face, and he makes a low, drawn-out tortured noise that his palms do little to muffle.
“I am so sorry,” Izuku finally manages to whine, fingers opening enough that he can actually see Eraserhead again.
The real-life Eraserhead Izuku’s brain jibbers again as the tiny Izuku that lives in the back of his head makes a high-pitched wheezing sound and locks himself inside one of his mental filing cabinets never to emerge again.
Hitoshi can never know this has happened. He’ll point and laugh and then never let Izuku live this down no matter how many handmade baked goods Izuku attempts to bribe him with.
Izuku is going to call him to scream as soon as he’s in a semi-private place.
“You looked like you were in a hurry,” Eraserhead says instead of striking Izuku down like he probably should have already.
Izuku opens his mouth to answer and, because the universe and his own brain all hate him and actively want him dead, the truth just … comes pouring out.
“My therapist told me that I don’t have to forgive people who hurt me when I don’t actually want to just because I think it’s the right thing to do and that sometimes anger can be healthy so I’m going to fulfill a childhood dream and send my ex-bully spiders in the mail.”
A pause.
Izuku begins to fervently pray that an asteroid lands directly on him so that his miserable soul can be cleansed through cosmic fire and blunt force death in the next three to four business seconds.
And then …
Eraserhead, arm still around Izuku’s waist, grins.
It’s a slow unfurling of a smile that stretches wider than human standard and shows off surprisingly sharp teeth and instantly sends Izuku’s brain to screeching about latent and/or secondary mutations.
Izuku’s stomach also clenches sharply because he also finds it devastatingly attractive.
“Come on,” Eraserhead shifts, the arm around Izuku’s waist tightening as he literally lifts Izuku’s feet off the floor for a moment and turns them both to face the direction he’d been coming from. “Feeder spiders are back this way. We’ll talk to Kisuke; he always throws in extra on my big orders, and he’ll give you a discount if you want to make it a regular kind of thing.”
Dazed, Izuku’s feet move on their own, keeping pace with Eraserhead, whose arm is still around his waist.
“What,” Izuku forces himself to swallow and start again, “what kind of pet do you have?”
Izuku’s sure that Hitoshi has never said anything about Eraserhead having anything beyond a small army of cats, but if there’s new lore then Izuku needs to know it. Especially if he can get it directly from the source.
“Cats,” Eraserhead answers easily enough. “But they’re not what I come here for. This is.”
Eraserhead’s other arm comes up to show off the large, see-through plastic bucket that Izuku had somehow failed to notice him carrying.
Inside are what appear to be dozens of large, fat crickets.
Izuku has a split second where his brain goes ‘is he eating those?’ and then abruptly switches to ‘I can fix him, it’ll be worth it’ before he cuts a questioning look up at Eraserhead without, thankfully, saying either of those things aloud.
“I’ve been releasing crickets into Vlad King’s apartment twice a month for the past three years,” Eraserhead tells him easily. “He’s had to move six times so far. I’m aiming for a seventh before the end of the year.”
Izuku obviously shouldn’t be allowed to speak because the next words that come out of his mouth are:
“Please go on a date with me.”
Izuku is going to bribe Hitoshi into brainwashing him mute if he somehow manages to make it out of this alive.
“Already planned on it,” Eraserhead answers. “I’ll take you to my favorite cat cafe. You can call me Shōta, and we’ll talk about packaging and delivery times. If we pull it off just right we might be able to convince your ex-bully he’s been cursed.”
And just like that, Izuku is in love.