You're honestly lucky you weren't here for that one, Ash. Bakugo made an idiot of himself, as usual. If he doesn't lay off Zuku, I'm gonna hand his ass to him, again. I still don't get what Zuku sees in him, but he's still insisting that they were best friends as kids. I mean, I was only there for the breaks and, from what I saw, he's always been a snot-nosed brat. Not that I need to tell you, you were there. You remember…

The letter went on and, for once, as she read it, her eyes didn't swell with tears. How long had it been since she had gone more than a short while without crying? Usually, something in Izumi's letters, long emails sent to update her on the goings-on in Japan, triggered a memory of times when things weren't as terrible as they seemed to have become.

Anyway, send me a reply soon and tell my how you're doing. And don't start with any of your 'I'm fine' bull. Tell me the truth. You need to be over here with me as soon as possible so that I can actually check up on you. It's driving me nuts that I can't…

There it was. The trigger she'd been waiting for. Tears pooled and spilled over, blurring the screen of her phone. She hastily wiped at them, trying to read more.

You'll be coming here soon, right? I mean, the rumor is that we've got a new teacher coming after summer break, and, while Aizawa-sensei won't confirm or deny anything, it's got the to be your dad. I'm not letting it slip that I know anything, mostly because I don't want Iida jumping me and demanding I inform him. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, though. I mean, your plans could have changed and all.

She had no physical reference for most of the classmates mentioned in the letters. Some, she had met previously. Bakugo, for instance, she'd met sparingly during her few trips to Japan with Izumi. Those meetings had come to a rather explosive end when the boy had lost his temper, thus resulting in a young Izumi doing her utmost to grate his face into the ground. Of the two girls, Izumi Midorya had always been the more outgoing, in more ways than one. Ashleigh Watanabe was soft, quiet, and preferred to keep to her close friends and family. Izumi was a bright roar of flame, Ashleigh was the silent falling of snow. That was how it had been ever since they were children.

Her lips twitched as she imagined the face her friend would make at anyone who attempted to push her for more than she was willing to tell.

By the way, completely different topic, but the next letter is coming in Japanese. I still don't get why you struggle so much with it, I know that your dad speaks it to you. If you're going to go to school over here, you've got to be able to speak and read it fluently. Don't be the stereotypical lazy ass American!

The letter ended there, signed with the typical "Love ya" Izumi signed all of her letters with. The casual, familial friendship the younger girl offered had been what had sustained Ashleigh through the recent, trying times her family had undergone. And, some days, the letters and other, smaller bits of communication were all that kept her from going insane. She tapped the 'reply' button and paused, thinking even as the tears continued to trickle, warring emotions becoming physical in her eyes.

Izumi,

I'm okay.

She paused again, blinking furiously. Even tapping out that name brought with it a swell of warmth. Memories of when they were just two little girls running through the suburban streets just outside of San Francisco. One living with her single father, separated from her twin brother by the divorce of her parents, the other a child of two pro heroes. Izumi Midorya had been a constant in Ashleigh's life since she was five, when the then four year old spitfire came crashing in like the fireballs she breathed. She'd been there through every year of school, at nearly every training session as both girls followed a truly heroic dream, through the trying years of puberty and the changes they'd brought, and even…

Ashleigh's eyes cut to the picture on her nightstand. A happy family of three sitting in their living room. The father, a Japanese man who was steadily approaching middle age, looked back at the camera with a reserved smile, as though his face was too used to seriousness to allow too much emotion to show. It was his eyes, dark blue like the onset of night, betrayed him. They were contented, happy, even, as he sat with one arm laid across the back of the couch. Next to him, Ashleigh saw her own face, brightly lit with teeth displaying the braces she'd been forced to endure during her junior high years. Her eyes were only slightly lighter than her father's, and her face resembled his. Now, though, Ashleigh hardly noticed those details.

It was the woman standing behind them that caught her focus. She was smiling the widest, a truly happy smile that displayed every laugh line and wrinkle in her face as she bent down, pressing her cheek to her daughter's hair and clasping a hand to her husband's shoulder. Her hair, the same blonde she had passed to Ashleigh, was loose lending to her carefree appearance. Brown eyes laughed at the camera, which had been held in the steady hands of a young Izumi Midorya. Had any casual viewer seen the photo, they might have assumed that the woman there was just another middle class, suburban mother happy to care for her family. But, a closer look would reveal the feylike wings folded against the woman's back, the telling marker of her more public identity.

The tears flowed more freely, running hot down Ashleigh's face as she looked at the picture, taking in her mother's smiling face. She hadn't seen that expression in three weeks, nor would she ever see it again.

Hands trembling, she held her phone, pressing down on the backspace to erase what she had written before typing again. Choked noises caught in her throat. She didn't have the energy to politely lie, nor would Izumi ever accept it.

Izumi,

I'm not okay.