Class 1-EYYYYY
Class Prez 3
Has anyone heard from Iida yet?
me
No. I've texted him three times this morning. They all display as delivered, but none of them as read.
Tail-man
Maybe his phone broke?
me
Maybe
See, the problem with that is that Iida has the same kind of case on that Izuku does. It would take… a lot to break that phone, and that option is almost as concerning as any other realistic one.
sticky boy tape man
You have to admit this is super weird. I'm really worried! He hasn't been active in the group chat at all since his brother got hurt
Urarara
I know! He's probably just upset but I'm super worried! I just hope he's okay right now [worried face]
Awata tells him that Nighteye wants to see him in his office first thing, as soon as they get there. Izuku nods, and does so, catching the way Centipeder looks at him as the elevator stops to let Awata off.
Something sinks in Izuku's gut. Centipeder knows something. Nighteye is asking for Izuku to come meet him in his office, first thing in the morning.
His arms and legs start to feel distance, dread pulling him in until that's all he is. He's waiting, for the other shoe, for the blade of the guillotine—
The elevator dings.
The doors open.
Izuku walks out.
Down the hall, to Nighteye's office.
He knocks on the door.
"Come in."
He opens the door.
He steps into the room.
Nighteye looks up, and within the moment, recognizes Izuku. Something tightens in his expression, his brows drawing together and the muscles around his eyes tightening.
Izuku can see him press his lips together for a moment before he speaks.
"Please, have a seat." He gestures to the chair on the other side of his desk.
Izuku sits.
"I…" Nighteye begins, and then he stops, and looks down, looking at his hands. And then he looks back up, at Izuku, and his eyes aren't razor-sharp anymore. They're not trying to see through Izuku, down to his soul, to the very bones of his being.
Instead, they're so very tired.
"I'm so sorry, Midoriya," he says. "Last night, in Hosu, Iida Tenya was murdered by Stain."
And the world drops out from under him.
Nighteye offers him the day off. Izuku refuses.
It still hasn't quite sunk in yet, but there's still that pit in his stomach, the hole in his chest. He works his way through the motions, set to helping Awata fill out paperwork.
Awata, who came to work in her sweats and sweatshirt, still wearing them, who looks at him with sad, kind eyes. Who sits at her desk, Izuku on the other side, and fills out paperwork with him.
And who, about forty-five minutes after Izuku found out one of his friends is dead, catches him as the dam breaks and takes his hand and leads him to an out-of-the-way room and lets him cry on her shoulder.
"Hey," she murmurs, rubbing his back as he shakes, as he tries to breathe, "hey. You're going to be okay. Alright? Just let it out." She keeps it up, a soft whisper of breath against his ear.
The world falls away, until it's just the two of them, just his pain and the hole in his heart and her solid, warm presence keeping him there.
Izuku eats lunch that day because it's set in front of him. He still works on paperwork, because he needs something to do, even if nothing will ever be right again because one of his friends is dead.
Dead.
Iida's dead.
Murdered.
By Stain.
What right did Stain have to cut short Iida's future like that? What right did anyone? Why did Stain even do that? Iida was 15, for fuck's sake! 15!
What right did he have?
"Midoriya."
He startles. Looks up. There's Nighteye, standing above him, that tight concern on his face—
Izuku realizes he's shaking. His hands are fists. There's this twisted, hot feeling in his chest.
Oh.
Anger.
"Come with me," Nighteye says as Izuku coaxes his hands out of their tensed position.
He stands, glances at Awata. Awata, who nods. Go on, her expression says.
Izuku follows Nighteye.
Nighteye leads Izuku back, to the sparring room. "Go get changed," he says.
Izuku gets changed. He changes into the same clothes he'd worn yesterday, the same outfit he'd worn before the world had dropped out from underneath him—
The Izuku of yesterday was not the same Izuku that was changing into them now. How could he be?
He yanks on his ankle braces, fastens them tighter than maybe he should. He stops. Loosens them a bit. Better. They won't cut off his circulation now.
He wraps and tapes his wrists, careful not to wrap too tightly.
Nighteye is changed, also, when he gets there. It's not sparring, what they do, not really.
Izuku's sure he'll appreciate it once there's ground underneath his feet again.
Izuku gets a text from his mom. He replies to his mom.
Izuku gets a text from Hisashi, who got a text from his mom. He replies to Hisashi.
Izuku gets a text from his mom. He replies to his mom.
Izuku gets a text from Mashirao. He replies to Mashirao.
Izuku gets a text from Shinsou. He replies to Shinsou.
Izuku gets a text from his mom. He replies to his mom.
Izuku opens the text conversation between himself and Iida. The last three messages are marked as Unread.
They will never be Read.
Izuku gets a text from his mom.
Nighteye walks Awata and Izuku back to Awata's apartment. They don't say much. Izuku watches the people walk by around him. The news hasn't hit yet that a U.A. student is dead. Izuku knows that because he has accounts on so many hero forums. He has several prominent Twitter accounts in the hero analysis community and one or two in the hero fandom.
He will know when the story breaks.
He turns off notifications for Twitter.
Nighteye leaves them at the door to the apartment complex, turning to go back to the agency, but not before placing a hand on Izuku's shoulder. They don't say anything, they just stand there for a moment, because maybe the world's crashed down around them.
It's a moment. Nighteye's hand is solid. Large. A little cold. Nighteye has cold hands.
And then the moment's over.
Nighteye turns. Leaves. Awata opens the door, herds Izuku through it. They walk up the stairs, to Awata's apartment, where she unlocks the door and he walks inside.
He kicks off his shoes.
He curls up on the futon, not even bothering to go to the bathroom and change out of his uniform.
"Hey," Awata says, soft, gentle, a few minutes later, as she sets down a bowl of soup on the coffee table. "Talk to me?"
Izuku stares at the soup. He looks up. Stares at Awata. Her expression is soft. So soft. There's a sadness in her eyes.
Does she know this feeling yet?
He thinks she does.
"What am I supposed to say?" he asks. His voice cracks.
"You say whatever you need to," she replies.
He sits up, and she sits down next to him in the space that's just opened up. She opens up her arms, a silent offer, and Izuku scoots closer, letting her fold him into her embrace.
"I…" he pauses. "I don't know what I need to say."
"And that's okay," Awata replies.
"We… we weren't even that close," Izuku says, and he shakes his head, his hair rubbing against her sweatshirt. "Like… I've known him for a while but we? We weren't? We weren't close."
"That's okay," Awata repeats. Her hand is rubbing up and down his upper arm. The motion is… it's good. "You don't need to be best friends with someone to be hit hard by their death."
"I know," Izuku whispers, closing his eyes. "But I wish we'd been closer. We could've been. We should've been. I could've tried harder."
"It's tough," Awata says. "To be faced with the coulds, the woulds, the shoulds." All Izuku can do is nod. "All you can do is… your best, I guess, to try and move on and move forward with your life."
Izuku nods.
"…Yeah," he says. "Yeah. I guess so. I just… I…" He shifts a bit, into a more comfortable position. Awata doesn't stop running her hand up and down his arm as he does. "I'm also kind of worried? About my classmates. And Mr. Aizawa. And Tensei. And… And also…" He can feel the tears building up again, his eyes starting to water. "I just. It. It's unfair," he whispers.
"I know it is," Awata murmurs.
"I could've—I—I. I wish I could've—" he curls in on himself, like he's been punched in the gut. And in a way, he has. "I wish I could've done something." His voice breaks, one final, ultimate break before he can no longer speak through his tears. Awata pulls him closer, holds him tight, as he cries into her sweatshirt for the second time that day.
Would he ever be out of tears to cry?
…Probably not.
It's quicker, this time, it doesn't last as long, only a couple minutes before he's swiping the tears away from his eyes with the back of his hand and drying his face off with a washcloth Awata stood up to fetch for him. The soup's still there, on the table.
The soup's still there.
He reaches out, and the bowl is still warm to the touch, thankfully. He picks it up and pulls it closer: he knows she put it there for him.
He begins to eat it as she sits down in her chair.
"Have… Have you lost anyone?" he asks. "Like this."
She looks at the wall. There are pictures hanging there, of her high school classmates, of her and Centipeder and Nighteye, of people who must be her family.
"Yes," she says. "My classmate, a month before we graduated. She responded to a villain attack with her work study mentor. They were both killed, along with seventeen civilians and two other heroes."
"…Oh." Izuku feels tiny, all of a sudden, in a way that he can't identify as good or bad. He takes another bite of the soup.
"It's…" Awata swallows and reaches up to brush away her own tears. "It still hurts, sometimes. I don't think the pain ever goes away. But it'll get better, I promise."
Izuku nods. He understands that, cerebrally. He's watching her, as he eats his soup, and she turns her head back towards him, her big golden eyes shining in the light of her lamp.
"Midoriya," she begins.
"Izuku," he says, cutting her off. His voice shakes. "Call me Izuku."
She pauses. "…Izuku. You don't have to feel guilty for anything, alright? You're… I can tell, alright, I can tell that, somehow, for some reason, you're blaming yourself right now, for his death or, or just for something related to it. Or, I don't know, maybe I'm off the mark entirely. And, I know, I know I've only known you for a few days." She pauses. "But Izuku, I know you did everything you could. You're… you're so dedicated and you work so hard, and I just know that no matter what, you did everything anyone could've asked you to. I… I admit, I don't know the whole situation, but please, you have nothing to be guilty over. Okay? Nothing."
The moment hangs, and Izuku looks down, into the empty bowl in his hands.
"…Okay," he says.
He stands up and carries the bowl into the kitchen.
"Oh, and Izuku?"
"Hm?"
"Call me Kaoruko."
"Mhm."
He's smiling, a little, as he washes the bowl.
*Jake Peralta voice* guess who just got MURDERED
it took me. way too long. to make up my mind about Iida. he's my favorite character, and i love him to bits, but. y'know. for want of a nail and all that.
(yes Native's dead too, fuck that guy)
so, in happier tidings, i'm currently working on plotting this story past available canon material. if any of you have any ideas for events for first and second rounds of future sports festivals, leave 'em for me in the comments.
also, question: is Endeavor a walking violation of the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons? Protocol III prohibits the use of incendiary weapons against civilians and civilian objects. How does his spot as an officially licensed hero affect this?
i was going to ask if Endeavor is a walking ethical violation but. we already knew that
anyways! thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed!
(x-posted on ao3, username: orkestrations)
