How long has it been?
Feels like weeks at this point…
God, I'm so tired...
Splayed across his comforter, Izuku lays limply across his bed, his exhausted gaze locked on his ceiling. Chips in the white plaster directly above him reveal the outline of a footprint.
His footprint – the plaster having been torn off earlier that week during Kaminari's visit.
A memorial to his last good sleep.
The halogen lights of nearby billboards cast their saturated hues through Izuku's open window, painting him with a pallet of hot pinks, baby blues, and vibrant purples. Faint moonlight struggles to compete with its industrial counterpart, the faint white light strangled out by its neon opponent.
Izuku's ear is caught on the music of Japanese urban life, always the hustle and bustle, even at this ungodly hour. Ever since the air conditioner broke, Izuku has had to make the necessary sacrifice of listening to the metropolitan lullaby nightly or risk being baked in his bedsheets.
His freckled skin glistens from sweat - dressed in nothing but his boxers, his body continues to tense up and stiffen from constant overstimulation, the result of a body unused to its quirk.
With shallow breaths, Izuku clutches to the sheets of his bed below him. Held tightly in his grip, Izuku clutches with grave determination, tightening his hold on the fabric when another wave of anxiety strikes him.
Izuku is absolutely desperate for some shut-eye.
Every time I try…
Dragging themselves slowly across his bloodshot eyes, Izuku's eyelids grow heavy with the weight of an anvil. His eyes sealing themselves shut, his weary body slowly slips into a slumber…
Until it jostles itself awake, his body tensing up as if suddenly shocked.
Thrusting his stomach into the air and recoiling his back into an arc, his eyelids jolt open. Every strand of hair across his body stands on end, the burning sensation practically singeing dozens of small holes across his pale complexion. His sheets wrinkle and shift with each of his movements.
Falling backwards onto the bed with splayed limbs, Izuku limply collapses into the same position as before. Groaning, the burning sensation subsides, giving way to the unpleasant aches and soreness now consuming his sweaty body.
The sheets below him stick to his moist skin, his body simply too fatigued to challenge the grasp of their linen folds.
His eyes throb, the result of multiple sleepless nights. His pupils once again lock onto the chiseled image of his footprints above him.
What… Is there to be afraid of? He asks his body, hoping his thoughts could provoke a response.
Even the most minute things spark a reaction.
A car honking outside. The slamming of a door.
A fly buzzing by. The static of a TV.
That's how it feels… TV Static…
His brain thumps with overwhelming sensation as if possessed by its own heartbeat. When it isn't sent into overdrive, his mind feels… fuzzy.
Like a TV searching for a channel it just can't find.
For something he'd longed for his whole life, Izuku sure isn't delighted to have a quirk right now.
Besides, he'd never even considered the possible side-effects of a quirk, the downsides, the growing pains.
Looking back, this may have been a slight oversight on his part.
However, not everything was detriments and disappointments.
His tensile grip had improved somewhat over the last few days at least, especially when compared to Tuesday. Sometimes he'd be able to pop his fingers off whatever he was holding without any damage or even grab something without sticking.
Sometimes.
But this damn "Arachno-Sensation"? This "sixth-sense"?
This will take time to get used to.
At first, Recovery Girl thought the "sense" was based on Izuku's eyes, a processing of information before the image ever rendered within his vision, but something about that just didn't seem to line up.
If it was all based on my vision then why is it keeping me up at night?
Izuku's frustration bubbles up from the tips of his toes to the core of his gut. Letting out an exhaustive sigh, Izuku is simply too drained to sustain such anger at the moment.
Now… Wait, what time even is it?
On a night like this, with little to no sleep, he'd already have been on his phone by now.
That is, if he still had one.
Whatever happened to it, Aizawa said it was crushed under the boot of the villain Monday night.
Izuku had his own suspicions however, especially after listening in on the vigilante's conversations with Recovery Girl.
Now, phoneless and numb from the constant stimulation, Izuku was just alone, left with his thoughts and trapped in an anxious body.
Ironic.
He always thought having a quirk would make his body stronger. Now he's just a shambling mess.
Tensely turning over onto his side, the thin blue sheet drags along with his hand, practically glued to his fingertips. All he can muster up is a slight sigh of minor inconvenience.
In the distance, an ambulance's siren blares, echoing between the concrete streets.
His body jolts in place again, the powerful tingling sensation shooting down his body from the back of his neck. Kicking a leg out, his muscles tense up. Slowly returning to a relaxed state, his leg falls back towards the comfort of the mattress, limp.
Izuku has had enough.
Pushing himself to the edge of his bed with his elbows, the sheet silently pleading to go with, Izuku sticks a leg out and plants the ball of his foot against the carpet. The sensation of polyester against his flesh sends a minor reaction up his spine.
The shock travels through his body, sending the sheet harmlessly drifting to the floor, having gently loosened itself from his grip.
Pushing himself up, Izuku stumbles to his feet, his fatigued body three times as heavy as usual. Barely balancing, his tired eyes scour his neon-lit room.
You want to be awake that bad? Fine, we're awake.
"Three nights in a row, you have to be kidding me…" the teenager grumbles to himself under his breath.
Izuku stumbles his way through his room, his head in his hands. Running his fingers through his hair, he thankfully has enough control of his grip to not tear huge green clots from his head.
Struggling to keep his exhausted eyes open, he closes them, letting his body lead the way.
You wanted to be up, we're up. You handle the rest from here.
Blindly stepping through his room, letting his feet feel their way across familiar ground, he steps through a dream. Behind his closed eyes, the pale light of the outside world surrounds him, its neon hues coaxing him ever closer.
Entranced, he mindlessly approaches the light. Gently shifting his hand to rest on the back of his neck, the pads of his fingertips tap against his delicately pale skin.
Dragging his feet forward across the carpet floor, his toes gently brush against a hard surface.
Opening his eyes, Izuku is met with the open windowsill and the chilled breeze of late winter rustling his hair. Directly in front of the wall, his feet rest against the hard surface of cheap plaster.
Across from Izuku, framed by the open windowsill, a bright neon billboard rests against the side of a much larger skyscraper, directly facing the teenager.
Smiling to the outside world, the brilliant visage of All Might peers at Izuku with an outstretched thumbs up. Lit by vibrant blues, yellows, and reds, All Might's one of a kind smile shines like a beacon in the dark night.
Below him, in red bold text, "Thank you for your service, All Might!"
The illumination of the billboard reflects the former number one hero's visage across Izuku's divided irises, the energy of his beaming idol's face seemingly miles from Deku's blood shot gaze.
Staring at the smile of his esteemed role model, Izuku can't help but feel… empty.
The billboard flares, changing images to just another consumerist advertisement.
Just like that, the Symbol of Peace swept away.
All Might is no more.
With a searing pain, Izuku wipes the sides of his eyes with his thumb, preventing himself from crying. His eyes already burn enough as it is.
Turning his back to the window, Izuku walks towards his bed. Stopping inches from its foot, Izuku feels uneasy. As if something was watching him, burning their gaze into the back of his head.
Confused, Izuku turns to inspect the source of this feeling.
Across from him, littering his walls and shelves, the image of All Might. Contained in plastic wrap, as an action figure, a drawing on the wall, or as an article of clothing. The Symbol of Peace's image is all encompassing, and his hundreds of artificial eyes are peering at Izuku.
Izuku's stomach curls. His role model, the man he had admired for so long, is truly and properly gone. He had never really stopped to consider this fact.
There had just been too much to mourn.
Kacchan. Kamino Ward. And, All Might?
The memories flood Izuku's mind: The All Might onesie Inko had picked out for him. The action figure he always carried. Even his proposed costume if he ever got a quirk was based on him.
It was all striking at once, like targeted blows against a vulnerable soft-spot.
For all the suffering he had prolonged during his shaky childhood, All Might was there. It was like losing a security blanket, all sense of stability suddenly lost.
Izuku's legs transform into jelly, collapsing backwards onto the bed. The air is sucked from his chest. The hairs across his body stand on end.
As the anxiety began to consume him, internally it all clicked. Everything was sparking a reaction because now, without All Might, everything was terrifying.
And now Izuku had agreed to become a vigilante? To roam the streets fighting crime?
Choking on his breath, Izuku clutches at his neck, his fingernails digging into his soft flesh. His burning eyes bounce around his eyes incessantly, scanning every little nook and cranny. How could he fight back or even react to such a feeling of dread?
All he knew was how to run, to hide from fear.
Pushing himself off of his bed, Izuku's palm tears a hand-sized chunk from his blue sheets. Stumbling against the wall, propping himself up with just an elbow, he gasps.
He's hyperventilating, choking on his own breath.
Looking for some form of solution, Izuku continues to limp his way through the room, grasping for any sense of security.
As his eyes dance across the room, the searing gaze of dozens of little All Mights, Izuku's anxiety is sent into overdrive.
Only know how to run.
His thoughts scream at him in the deep, iconic voice of All Might.
Never one to fight!
A role model disappointed.
Turning his back to the spiteful cries of the All Might's, Izuku scrambles to the windowsill, desperate for fresh air. Tumbling across his room, his awkward movements send him careening into the nightstand next to his bed, knocking the wooden table crashing onto its side.
Tripping over the nightstand, Izuku's knees collide with the floor, his body lurching next to the wall uncomfortably. With scattered breaths, the desperate teenager feels his way across the wall. Softly grasping the ledge of his window, as Izuku's breath shudders, the steely blue gaze of All Might still locked on him, the teenager pulls himself off of the floor of his room.
Using his hands to support his weight, he holds himself up with locked elbows. Staring out his window, the cold air continues to blow through his air and against his searing eyes.
His words flare through his mind, the defiant screams he rebelliously challenged Aizawa's assumptions with.
"I know EXACTLY what's out there!"
Izuku's breath slows, his panic slowly subsiding as he takes in the cold air of winter. His green hair falls across his face, the light of the billboard once again trickling across his pale body.
Pushing himself off of his hands, Izuku steps back from the nook in the wall where his windowsill is. Inspecting his palms, he reaches forward and tears the thin blue sheet from his right hand, letting the torn fragments fall to the floor.
Looking back towards the open window, the cycle of ads continues to run through its assorted allotment. Taking a step back, Izuku takes a deep breath, resting a hand against his chest.
I know what's out there.
I can't keep running.
The billboard cycles to the next ad – a line of Endeavor endorsed work-out clothes.
Images of Kacchan blasting his way through the sports festival barge into Izuku's mind.
His friend was so similar to the new number one hero.
Fiery, hotheaded, determined.
Before I can prove myself to Aizawa, Kaminari, or anyone else, I have to prove it to myself.
A Mitsubishi ad.
The burning gaze of All Might remains locked on Izuku.
I can be what he is.
A perfume ad – Coco Chanel.
The silence of the room is deafening.
I can be All Might.
All Might's neon smile once again reveals itself across the screen. Taking his cue, Izuku lets out a unprepared half-breath.
With little to no thought, his bare feet take off, scrambling across the polyester floor, tearing up small chunks of carpet.
As the windowsill rapidly approaches, Izuku hops with tremendous might, the pads of his feet landing on the edge of the sill.
Suddenly leaping off of the window itself, Izuku flies through the air, now fully exposed to the outside world. As the image of All Might's smile transitions into just another advertisement, Izuku's brain internalizes his current situation.
I'm outside.
As the image changes, Izuku's body begins to plummet, his jump failing to sustain enough force to propel him towards the billboard. Still wearing nothing but his boxers, Izuku's bare body is nipped by the cold.
I'm outside.
I'm falling.
I'm outside falling.
As Izuku tumbles through the air, the image of bright neon advertisements is now rapidly replaced by the image of the sidewalk below.
The sidewalk that's growing startlingly close.
REALLY close.
Izuku reaches out with his hands, having failed to properly plan his course of action.
Okay! Okay! I'm falling! But…
Closing his eyes, Izuku considers the actions of other heroes.
All Might would just land due to his natural shock absorption. Endeavor would melt the ground – Eraserhead could… Swing.
Swing.
Swing!
Like Eraserhead!
LIKE SPIDER-MAN!
Opening his eyes, now just a few meters from colliding with the sidewalk, Izuku reaches out with a free hand.
With only the last few scavengers of late-night Musutafu remaining outside, a small crowd of people lock eyes on Izuku's falling body, some even screaming at the scene before them.
With his free hand, Izuku presses his middle and index finger against the palm of his hand, with the rest of his fingers extended.
Just like Spider-Man.
THWIP.
A torrent of short silky string blasts from the natural spinnerets on his wrist, colliding with an overhanging streetlight above the sidewalk.
Clutching the string with both hands and pulling himself closer to it, Izuku swings under the lamp like a pendulum.
Mere inches above the small crowd, Izuku's boxers ripple from the wind.
Failing to let go of the strand, Izuku's body is yanked back towards the stringy web, with the awkward jerks of his sudden motion sends Izuku into a near 360 over the streetlight.
With the strand of silk wrapping itself around the steel lamp, Izuku continues to spiral around the overhanging streetlight, clutching the web for dear life.
Slowly closing to a standstill, having spun around the lamp for who knows how many times, Izuku opens his eyes to find himself still clutching to the silk strand only mere feet from the ground. Below him, a small crowd of onlookers, confused and astounded by the teenager's feat, stare at him.
To them, an unidentifiable child only in boxers just tried to leap out of a building to his demise before wrapping himself around a streetlamp. Obscured by his mop of hair, Izuku's face is naturally hidden.
Besides, the amount of blood flushing to his head and reddening his cheeks guarantee his anonymity.
Extremely embarrassed and even more exhausted, Izuku slowly climbs down the strand, ashamed at his impulsive actions.
Dropping from the streetlamp onto the sidewalk below, Izuku is observed from all sides by the crowd.
With dozens of real eyes now locked onto his nearly nude body, Izuku shamefully scampers off in embarrassment. Making his way back towards his apartment, he holds his hands next to his face in order to obscure his face from those around him.
Stupid! Stupid! What about what Aizawa said! Keep it on the downlow!
As Izuku marches his way down the street, the pads of his feet drag whatever pebble they find with him.
Izuku's whole body has been flooded with red hues, a mix of natural reaction to the biting cold and shame.
As the boxered teen passes by a duo of onlookers, one of the two smirks at him, commenting with a snide voice, "Cool trick, kid." As the young man snickers to himself, Izuku simply walks faster.
Just had to keep me up at night, did you? Sleep deprivation, makes you stupid!
As onlooker watch Izuku's trot back to his room, the crowd discusses among themselves, "Did you see that?", "That was nuts!", "One helluva quirk, I'll tell you that".
Behind him, the strand of silk continues to dangle from the streetlight.
Below the strand, a lone civilian peers at it curiously, grasping the sticky silk with a free hand.
