AN: Sorry for not posting in a while. Things have been... rough, to say the least. Either way, I hope you'll forgive me for my hiatus.

Trigger warning: Death, mild panic attack

"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have potential to turn a life around." ~Leo Buscaglia

A middle-aged man with brown hair walked the sidewalks of the outskirts, sticking out like a sore thumb. His pace was nimble, deathly glares forcing him to speed up. He almost tripped over broken sidewalk pavement more times than he'd like to admit. Occasionally, he'd pass an alleyway, where people would sink into the shadows at the sight of his badge. This was no place for a police officer, and it wasn't exactly a rarity for one to be gunned down by lowly drug-dealers.

God, why couldn't they have sent someone else?

He had one job; inform the mother of her child's whereabouts and leave. The sun had just risen, hidden behind clouds of fog, but still visible between buildings. He was dressed in his uniform, however unsafe that made his situation. He passed a front yard that was fenced in very flimsily, some fence only being held up by the immeasurable amount of plants that filled the yard. A small, wrinkly old lady stood watering some flowers, and smiled at him, bearing her dentures and how obviously fake they were to him. He tipped his hat and continued on. The quicker he could leave, the better.

He came up to a small house, seemingly a large shed, that sat on the lawn of a much larger house. Its siding was hanging off the walls in places, torn in others. An unlit gas lamp hung next to the door, which was crooked in its frame. A piece of paper was stuck to the door via poorly taped corners. As he trotted up to the door, he skimmed the top of the paper.

NOTICE OF EVICTION

He released a sigh of pity. This wasn't the first time he'd encountered a family that lived this way, hopping from home to home and never finding permanent residence. He knocked on the door, his tap somewhat light. It was early, and he hated to wake a mother that worked so hard to keep her son alive.

"Miss Midoriya? I'm officer Yokoro, I have some information on your son." He waited for a few moments. No answer. He knocked again. "Miss Midoriya?"

Strange, in a case like this, the mother would jump at the sound of news.

He knocked one more time before swallowing his selfishness and attempting to open the door. He turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open, a loud creak sending anxiety through his body. He took a step inside and froze in place as he processed his surroundings. The floors were a dark brown wood, but they were caked with layers of dust and flakes of drywall from the ceiling. An old coffee table sat in the middle of the room, a few feet away from him. Behind the table was a beaten couch. The entire place reeked of a smell he couldn't quite place, which scared him.

He made his way through the barren living room, chills running down his spine. A small hallway spanned the back of the room. Two rooms sat at each end, a worn bathroom between the two. He decided to look in the room to his left first. Every part of him was telling him to leave, just go back to the station and say she wasn't home, but the thought of leaving the poor woman in the dark would nag at him for god knows how long if he left. He stepped through the door and scanned the room. It looked almost identical to the living room, just smaller and with a window in the middle of the wall opposite of the door. A bare mattress sat on the ground underneath the window, and lying on the mattress was a small, frail woman with dark green hair. She was resting on her arms, curled up into a ball. Next to the mattress was a folded piece of paper on the floor. The smell was stronger here.

"Miss Midoriya? Are you awake?"

To say he was scared was an understatement. He slowly walked over to her and crouched to her level. He looked for a sign that she was asleep, the slow rise and fall of her chest being all that he needed to confirm such belief. But there was no such evidence. He moved her hair behind her ear to reveal an almost skeletal face, her cheekbones so defined that he could have sworn somebody had traced over her face with a marker. He placed his fingers on her neck, searching desperately for a pulse. Nothing. He released a sigh, shuddering with subtle horror.

Dear god.

He stood and pulled his phone out of his back pocket, preparing to report his unfortunate findings back to the station, when his gaze shifted over to the paper on the ground. He bent down and picked it up. A word was scrawled on the front, and it was folded like a letter. He had to stare at the chicken-scratch for a few minutes from multiple angles before he finally understood what it said. He had to force back a tear that was forming as his heart dropped to his stomach. He had to re-read the word multiple times, his mind refusing to accept just how heartbreaking the situation had become. On the paper, hastily scribbled in pen, was the name Izuku.

It was 4:15 in the morning and the sun had barely risen past the horizon when a lively Kirishima had awoken. He released a small yawn as he stretched the drowsiness from his muscles. He pulled his red hair back and secured it with a white headband from the nightstand next to his bed. Light barely flitted through the small gap between his two curtains, leaking onto the ceiling. He stood, getting out of bed and adjusting the camouflage comforter back to its neater and much tidier place. His cream walls were decorated somewhat sloppily with posters of famous taekwondo fighters and his favorite pro hero, Crimson Riot. For as long as he could remember, he'd idolized him. He was a man among heroes and, in his mind, the very essence of what it meant to be one.

He quickly gathered a large white tank-top and a dark blue pair of shorts and changed out of his pajamas. He made his way out of his bedroom and out into the hallway. It was still dark, the doors to most of his friends' rooms shut tight for the time being. He released a small chuckle to himself as he made his way down the stairs at the end of the hall. He must have been the only one waking up so early, and he'd been doing this since before he applied to UA. The only other person that could've possibly been awake this early was Mr. Aizawa.

He entered the commons and made his way to the kitchen. There, he began gathering enough food to prepare breakfast for himself. His favorite breakfast was Tamago Gohan, a simple rice bowl with a raw egg vigorously stirred in. Not only was it a healthy start to the day, but the taste was immaculate. As he quietly began preparing the rice on the stove, a noise from across the commons startled him. He looked up with wary ears and wide eyes. The sound had come from the couch.

Right, Midoriya. For three days now, the seventeen-year-old had been stuck in some sort of comatose state. He sustained many injuries from a villain attack and, as far as he knew, his one parent still hadn't been heard from, which was strange. Just the other day, Recovery Girl came down to treat him. The strangest part of the whole situation was Bakugo's reaction. The blonde teen had begun avoiding the commons at all costs, and whenever someone had brought up their couch-dweller, he'd get angry and storm off in a huff. It had become increasingly obvious to him that Bakugo knew who he was, but he wasn't much of a talker.

Again, he heard a noise coming from the same spot, only this time, it was the rustling of fabric and the faint sound of heavy breathing. He noticed a glint of dark green hair peek over the top of the couch. At this point, enough light was shining through the windows for the room to be partially illuminated in a faint blue light. The sound of Midoriya's breathing grew heavier every few seconds. Eventually, he realized what was going on.

Holy shit, he's awake!

Kirishima quietly rushed out of the kitchen, past the dining tables, and stopped at the side of the couch. Midoriya sat upright, his dark green hair in disarray. His legs were half crossed underneath his blanket, and he looked pale. He had beautiful emerald green eyes and freckles splattered all over his face, which only complimented his eyes more. However beautiful his eyes may have seemed, they were also panicked as Midoriya gripped his white T-shirt. He was holding his previously broken arm in front of himself, confusion and fear laced between his huffs. Kirishima sat down in front of him.

"Hey, it's okay," he reassured him. Midoriya didn't seem to hear him. He placed his hand gingerly on his shoulder, yet the poor kid still flinched, looking up at him. "You're safe now. The villain is gone." Izuku stared at him, his lips parted. He looked around the room frantically. "You're at one of the dorms in UA High School. Our sensei, Mr. Aizawa, brought you here."

"Wh-who are you?" his voice was hushed, yet he spoke with a feeble croak.

"I'm Eijirou Kirishima," Midoriya looked as though he wanted to say something else, but the words never left his tongue. He looked back down at his hands, shifting uncomfortably as his stomach rumbled. "You must be hungry. I'll go make you something to eat." Eijirou stood and made his way back to the kitchen. He noticed Midoriya watching him wearily as he went.

Sheesh, he's really quiet.

He went back to making his breakfast, making sure to retrieve enough to feed the both of them. As he started steaming the rice, some movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Midoriya had gotten up and was standing in front of a large window by the couch. He seemed to have calmed down some, and he wore a bleak expression, seemingly absent from reality, which concerned him.

Eventually he finished the rice and filled two bowls with it, cracking an egg and stirring it into the rice raw for both bowls. He added a bit of soy sauce to his for some extra flavor. He stuck a pair of chopsticks in both bowls standing upward and carried them over to Midoriya. He stopped next to him and glanced out the window, attempting to find what he was looking at. The light from the sun was much brighter now, and his body seemed much more defined. He was unusually skinny for his age, and his shirt seemed almost three sizes too big.

"Here ya go. The rice might be a little hot." He handed the bowl to Izuku, who accepted the meal rather cautiously. He stared down at the bowl for what seemed like hours before tears started to form in his eyes. Kirishima had already sat down at the dining table closest to him and started eating, watching him with a puzzled expression. "Is something wrong with it?"

"N-no, it's just-" he paused, suppressing the urge to break down. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything other than bread and ramen. The sheer sight of anything different in front of another person had always pushed his buttons. "T-th-thank you…"

Midoriya wiped away a few tears that had fallen down his cheeks and sat down across from Eijirou. He picked up the chopsticks and slowly began eating, a faint smile forming on his lips. Kirishima finished his bowl rather quickly, standing to take care of his bowl. He glanced at Midoriya, who had looked up and was gazing past him. Curious, he turned around, only to be startled by his teacher's sudden appearance. He wore his gray scarf as always, with the same black clothing and boots. Aizawa glowered down at him with his usual intimidating stare, however tired he was.

Dammit, I wasn't supposed to be interacting with Midoriya.

"Oh, uh, good morning, Mr. Aizawa."

"I see you've treated him to breakfast." Kirishima gave him a nervous nod.

"Heh- yeah." Aizawa looked over to Midoriya, who was gazing at him fearfully. He looked back at Kirishima before turning around and heading to the kitchen. Kirishima followed him cautiously. When he got to the sink and began rinsing his bowl, he continuously shot his teacher glances, watching as he prepared his morning coffee.

"Thank you for calming him down."

"Wait-" Kirishima's head perked up, and he shot him a shocked glare. "How did you know about that?"

"I have a baby monitor set up near the couch so that I can keep an ear on him when I can't be present," he explained. "He's probably going to be confused for a while."

"Actually, he was really quiet. He only really asked for my name and thanked me for the food," Kirishima finished cleaning out his bowl and put it away, moving on to wash the pot he used to cook the rice. "And when I gave him his food, he started to cry a little…"

"Is that so?" Aizawa grabbed a mug out of the cupboard and placed it in the coffee maker. "I'm having a psychiatrist come over to assess him soon. I'll make sure to tell them that." Kirishima gave him a nod of understanding and finished cleaning the pot. As he turned to put it away behind the island counter, he noticed Midoriya standing at the end of the island. He was holding his empty bowl and his chopsticks. Kirishima finished putting the pot away and stepped over to him.

"You want me to clean that for ya?" he held his hand out to him, in hopes that he'd hand him his bowl. Instead, Midoriya simply shook his head and walked past him, stopped at the sink, and began washing the bowl himself. He seemed hyper focused on the bowl, almost like he was cleaning to the point of perfection. As he finished, he looked around dazedly for the cupboard that the bowl belonged to. Aizawa offered his hand and Midoriya handed the bowl to him apprehensively. He examined the bowl, presumably looking for any spots he may have missed.

"Heh, that's the cleanest bowl I've seen since we moved into these dorms. How long have you been doing this, kid?" Midoriya seemed at a loss for words at the complement. Kirishima, however, took this as an insult, as he had always taken care of the dishes after dinner.

"S-six years, s-sir," he stammered. He looked down at his feet and began fiddling with his fingers nervously. Aizawa ruffled his hair with a smile.

"You're pretty good, kid," He put the bowl away and took his now full mug of coffee from the coffee maker. He made his way past the two students and back towards his office. "Kirishima, since you're going out, why not take him with you? I'm sure he could use some fresh air."

"Sure thing, Mr. Aizawa!" He turned to Midoriya, who seemed to have physically recoiled closer to the corner of the kitchen. He gave him a smile, hoping that it would cheer him up. "Don't worry, Mr. Aizawa is nice once you get to know him. Now," he made his way to the door and pulled on a pair of tennis shoes from a shoe rack. "Why don't we go for a walk?" Midoriya gave him a small nod and walked over to him, finding that his shoes were at the very top corner of the rack. He hastily pulled them on and followed Kirishima outside.

The front courtyard was as beautiful as always, a fresh pine scent hovering over the area. Kirishima took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh smell of morning dew. Midoriya, however, stood on the porch struggling to adjust to the light. He squinted his already tired eyes and held his arm above his head, blocking the sunlight. Kirishima stifled a laugh and took Midoriya by the wrist, making sure that Freckles saw him before he did so. The last thing he wanted to do was startle him again. It was when he looked down that his heart fell to his stomach, and all of his previous optimism quickly faded and was quickly replaced by unsettling concern. He lifted his arm closer and inspected the inner side of it. Midoriya quickly jerked his arm away again and took a small step back. There was no mistaking it. Those were scars of intention.

"Hey, um, it's okay," he attempted to reassure him, but Freckles was already starting to panic as his eyes welled up with tears again. "Hey, no worries, see?" Kirishima bent down to meet Midoriya's eyes as the boy was looking at the ground and showed him his own forearm, tracing his finger across all the once-pink scars. "I-I used to do it, too. Trust me, it's bad, but I can understand why you'd do it."

Midoriya calmed down a little and squatted down until he was sitting on the concrete steps. Kirishima sat on the ground in front of him, looking on for some sort of response. Izuku took his still out-turned forearm in his hand and traced his fingers over each individual scar, looking back at his own arm every few moments to draw comparisons. His bottom lip quivered with anxiety.

It was weird, but for the first time in a while, Kirishima had felt relief. Finally, he had someone who he could relate to on a personal level. The only problem now was getting him to talk. There were so many things he wanted to say, things he wanted to know, but most of all, he just wanted to give him a hug. The short-stack seemed like he'd been through enough to last a lifetime, and by the looks of it, it damn well left a huge mental scar. He knew that Midoriya's mind was probably flooded with questions. He'd probably been wondering how his arm healed so fast. Or where his parents were. Maybe even whether he could go home or not.

"Cheer up, why don't ya? C'mon, you should see the school building. It's awesome!" He gave Midoriya his hand and pulled them both up before leading Midoriya hastily down the courtyard and out to the sidewalk. Soon, Midoriya had slowly pried his hand away from him, seemingly uncomfortable. Eventually, he had matched Kirishima's pace, and was walking side by side with him. "So, Freckles, you got a name?" Though Eijirou had already known this, he figured it'd be rude not to ask. Midoriya did a double-take and placed his fingertips on his cheek below his eye, almost forgetting about his numerous freckles.

"I-Izuku Midoriya…"

"That's a cool name! I like it!" he smiled. Despite how raw and hoarse Midoriya's voice sounded, he still saw it as one more reason to like him.

"So… he's mute?"

The words crushed him like ice in a fridge as they left his lips. It had been two days since their encounter, and Kirishima had already taken a liking to the boy, much to Bakugo's dismay. It was just yesterday that he'd found a note on his bed with a bento box of fresh sushi that read, 'Thanks for the meal! :)'. Since he'd woken up, Aizawa saw it best to let him have the empty bedroom next to his in the dorms until his parent picked him up. Midoriya was kind in his own ways, that he'd learned in the sweetest way possible. But the notion that Freckles would feel uncomfortable to the point of losing his voice tugged at his heart.

"Selectively mute, but yes," Aizawa corrected him. They both stood in the kitchen, Kirishima once again washing his bowl, and Aizawa making his coffee. "We also think he may be suffering from Amnesia," He picked up his full mug and swirled the coffee in it carefully in a circle, mixing in the powdered creamer he'd added. "So if he can't remember something that he feels is important, he may start feeling distressed."

"So, is he going to forget us?" The two were speaking quietly, Midoriya sitting at the closest dining table to the island out of the four, enjoying his breakfast.

"He seems able to retain short-term memory from after his incident with the villain, however, he either can't remember the events of his attack or simply refuses to speak of them," Aizawa took a sip of his coffee. "In which case it would be PTSD rather than Amnesia. Either way, if he starts to get too uncomfortable, try to bring him to a quieter area and help him calm down."

"Okay then, that all makes sense. What about his parent? Shouldn't they have come to get him by now?"

"Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to disclose that information yet," Aizawa took another sip of his coffee as Kirishima put his bowl away. "But for now, I think that's for the better. It would only make his situation worse."

To hell with all this negativity, we need something to cheer him up. He barely even smiles! Kirishima started listing in his mind some things that he could possibly do. As much as he racked his brain, he couldn't think of anything worth doing. Then it hit him.

"Mr. Aizawa, wasn't the day of his incident his birthday?"

"Unfortunately, yes, it was," Aizawa usually hid his emotions rather well, however, this time, Kirishima could see the faintest hints of sympathy in his eyes. "Why?"

"What if we throw him a small surprise party? You can introduce him to Eri, and while he's distracted, Uraraka, Iida, and I can set up a small party!"

"That doesn't sound half-bad. Why don't we do that tomorrow, then, since you guys are on break."

"Great! Thanks, Mr. Aizawa!" Kirishima kept his voice barely above a whisper, still expressing enthusiasm. He made his way over to Midoriya, who had just finished his breakfast. Midoriya looked at him and gave him a faint smile before going to wash his own bowl. Eventually, the two were out walking again, this time past the other dorms. Midoriya had been silent as always, which he didn't mind, but it felt wrong to not at least prompt him to talk. But it seemed like prompting him to speak wouldn't be an issue.

"W-what's your q-quirk?" Kirishima perked up at the sound of his rasp.

"Glad you asked!" he exclaimed. He stopped in front of him and held his arm up in front of him. Activating his quirk, the skin of his arm hardened into sharp stone, some edges just barely jutting off his arm, all while keeping the color of his pale skin. "I'm basically a walking boulder. I'm excellent at close-range combat and shielding people from danger."

Midoriya grabbed his arm with a soft hand and stroked the rough edges of his arm with his thumb. Freckles seemed mesmerized by what he saw as a pretty bland quirk.

"So, what about you?" he asked, deactivating his quirk, his arm returning to normal. "You got a quirk?"

Midoriya looked down at an open hand, moving on to inspect his own arm. He seemed lost, like he was looking for something he couldn't see. He placed a hand loosely around his collarbones, almost expectant of something, his expression growing more distant. Kirishima took a step towards him in concern. Then, it seemed like something clicked in his mind as his head perked up, and his eyes widened partially in a vacant expression.

"Th-there was a v-void…" he stammered. His hands started fidgeting as his gaze began to dart around a bit. "I-I'm n-n-not sup-p-posed to be here…"

"Hey, wait a minute, what are you talking about?" Kirishima took hold of his arms to try and gain his focus. "You're fine. This place is totally secure-"

"N-no, I-" his breathing started to grow heavier as his eyes began to water and his cheeks turned red. "I-I'm supposed t-to be dead. I died. I drowned in the sludge, but…"

"C'mon, you need to take a breather." Kirishima led him to a bench at the side of the sidewalk and sat him down.

"I-I came back… I think…"

"So you think you died and then came back?" Midoriya nodded feebly. "Strange, I've never heard of a quirk like that before. It could be a time-travel quirk of sorts. How long have you known about it?"

"N-not very l-long at all…"

"Huh. So you were quirkless your entire life. That explains a lot," Midoriya gave him another nod and looked down with shame. "Hey, that's okay. It could have just been a bad dream," He sat down next to Midoriya and looked out onto the campus. "I bet people probably treated you like crap for being quirkless, huh?" Midoriya looked back up at him with a glint of sadness in his eyes.

"Y-yeah…" his voice was shaky as he wiped his eyes.

"It's gonna be okay!" Kirishima turned to him. "Mr. Aizawa is gonna help you out. If you're right, and that was a quirk, he's the best person to go to!" Midoriya gave him a small laugh at his enthusiasm. "Now, why don't we go back to the dorms and play some board games?" He stood up and offered Midoriya his hand, pulling him up off the bench the way he did at the steps. "You'd like Monopoly, trust me."