He wakes up at his desk with his neck bent in an abnormal way so that he's probably going to feel it for a couple of days. Izuku groans, throws a look at the subtle digital clock on his nightstand and stretches his stiff limbs until seemingly every joint cracks at least once.

It's half past five in the morning. He remembers reading until nine after having eaten his mom's meal. The boy must have been more exhausted than he'd thought because he can't recall when he nodded off. A sudden realization courses through his head, making his heart beat faster.

Today, he'll meet another twenty kids who'll probably judge him for what he is.

Shoving the unpleasant fact to the very back of his mind, he retrieves his timetable and reads over the entry for Tuesdays. Homeroom, English, Modern Hero Art History, a double lesson mathematics and then Heroics.

"Heroics" Izuku thinks apprehensively, "I wonder how that's going to be." Will it be like training? Or will it be theory mixed with exercise? In any case, he'll probably be the odd one out – the only one without a quirk.

After stifling a heavy sigh, he tiptoes down the stairs. May as well begin the day by cooking breakfast for his mother and himself. Usually, it's Inko who has to stand up early but today is her day off and Izuku would rather let her enjoy it.

He throws on the rice cooker and fries some eggs. While doing that, he lets his thoughts drift. What has happened the day before? Was it really him just having an odd reaction to his nerves? Or was it more than that? Because, to be quite honest, Izuku doesn't believe he's imagined the ordeal.

Perhaps he should tell Aizawa-sensei the whole story? After all, the man is a professional hero and could look into it...

Izuku shakes his head. No, he's definitely overreacting. It was just an elderly man whose quirk probably, by the looks of it, had something to do with insecurities or fear and it ran rampage because it sensed Izuku's high levels of anxiety. Nobody else was influenced. To go to Eraserhead and waste his time would make him feel incredibly guilty when it most surely was just a weird quirk ordeal.

He flips the eggs one by one before continuing his musings. Izuku always actively follows the news. As a hero in training he has to do so and no newspaper, radio station or news show on TV mentioned a fear-based villain or criminal. "I won't waste Aizawa-sensei's time." he decides firmly.

Only the sounds of faint footsteps lets Izuku look up. His mother, still wearing her usual nightgown, trots towards the stove and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good morning, dear." she mumbles, undeniably sleep-drunken.

"Morning, mom."

"Oh, you're making breakfast? You didn't have to, dear." Inko says but smiles at her son's thoughtfulness, "How did you sleep?"

Izuku makes a disgruntled face. "At the desk again." he admits.

"Izukkun..." His mother hugs him, drawing circles on his taut back. "Should I give you a massage? Your muscles are really tense and I don't want you to pull something during Heroics."

"How did you -?" The boy doesn't remember his mother ever having read his timetable.

Inko frowns. "You have to work on your attention, dear. You even greeted me yesterday when I took a picture of it."

"Wait, really?"

His mother sighs, fondly shaking her head. "Just sit down and I'll massage you."

Still confused but grateful, Izuku sits down with his back facing his mom.

...

"It's going to be alright. Don't worry." Izuku's mother said just as he'd been about to leave the house. Don't worry... yeah, sure. Sure Izuku's not going to worry. Because, obviously, he can completely turn off his tendency to overthink things at will!

...Izuku is not having a great time. Luckily, first of all and before he'll meet his fellow students, he has a homeroom lesson with Aizawa-sensei in class 1-A.

With shaky fingers, he opens his classroom's door. Promptly, when his eyes meet the changed interior, he stills in his tracks. Izuku's jaw drops at the odd sight of two large beanbags, one in obnoxious yellow and another in a deep shade of green, casually sitting on a Persian rug that hasn't been there yesterday either. Every desk but one is gone, leaving the room oddly empty. Izuku is a bit in awe at how big it actually is now that the open space has been made more obvious.

The single desk, situated between the beanbags, isn't a normal classroom desk. Rather, it seems to be one of those round glass tables one expects from a nice small café.

However, the classroom isn't barren. A cart with three jugs filled to the brim with different liquids – coffee, water and orange juice – stands next to a second cart which harbours a ton of books. At first glance, Izuku doesn't recognize any of them but after inching closer and tracing their backs, the green haired boy notices that he has some of them at home. They're largely centred around the topics of crime and justice... well, most are. He wrinkles his forehead in confusion when he spots the famous seven piece long Harry Potter series.

"Ah, I see Mic did redecorate." The boy flinches for he hasn't heard his teacher approaching. Izuku hesitantly asks the scruffy man: "Why...?"

Aizawa trots towards the yellow beanbag, unceremoniously letting his body fall into the cushion. There he lies, the expression on his face uncomfortably neutral, and only now he deems it necessary to answer the awkward teenager's question: "I don't have any idea why this man does the things he does."

"Oh..." Izuku scratches his scalp and spontaneously decides to drink a glass of water... or two... or three... maybe four?

His teacher sighs in aggravation. "You don't need to be so goddamn nervous around me, kid."

Izuku quickly interjects: "It's not you!" he winces at the speed and volume but continues to explain: "It's just... I-I'm kinda not too thrilled about today. If you know what I mean." Aizawa just stares at him. "B-But I don't know... perhaps my mom's right and they will be better than, well, 1-A. Just – I'm not sure about it! What if they aren't going to accept me? What if they dislike me? Oh god, I sound childish... anyways, what I mean is that I'm very unsure a-and... yes." The boy empties another glass, relishing in the short relief of fresh water pouring down his dry throat.

"So, basically, you are afraid of Mic's class." Aizawa states.

"Y-Yes?"

The man nods once and then points towards the green beanbag. "Sit down, Midoriya. We're going to do an exercise. I don't want you to throw up in half an hour."

"Exercise?" Izuku is a little sceptic – thus far, no amount of forcing himself to calm down actually worked and he usually just accepts that he has to inevitably face his anxiety head on to do short of anything at all. He walks to the avocado-looking thing and, unlike Aizawa-sensei, slowly sinks down into the plush surface... the beanbag tries to swallow him whole.

Aizawa lowers his mouth into his capture gear but Izuku thinks he can see a smirk on the man's face.

"Yes, exercise. Oh, well, you could also call it meditation. Close your eyes and try not to think of anything at all." Aizawa instructs.

The greenette frowns in confusion. "Not to think of anything at all? How?" he demands unsurely.

"Doesn't your head ever shut up?" Judging from the man's incredulous tone, Izuku's predicament isn't something he's had to personally deal with. Izuku fiddles with his bottom lip and tries his hardest to actually remember a time when his mind wasn't constantly giving him information to work with or just rambling nonsensical bits in a breakneck fast pace.

He... can't. "No? I... I don't think so to be honest."

"Hmm" Aizawa nods, "I understand. Then we will take advantage of your imagination. First of all, close your eyes as I said."

This time, Izuku follows his teacher's order. He snaps his eyes shut and sinks a little bit further into the plush underneath him.

"Let's start by making a landscape inside your mind. Imagine a forest. The trees are close to each other and you can see it's early summer by how green the leaves are. Can you do that? Can you see it?"

It doesn't take long for Izuku to see large, detailed tree trunks surrounding him. They are healthy and through the thicket of bright green – a tone that isn't all too different from his mother's hair – the sun shines down onto the typical brownish ground. Automatically, he nods when he hears Aizawa's question.

"Fine. You stand there in the forest; your nose smells the plants and your ears hear a quiet but steady river. How's the weather?"

"...Sunny. It's hot."

"Ah, yes. It is. A couple of birds are chirping and when you turn towards the sound, you see two robins perched on a thick branch."

Izuku listens to the description and, as if his mind agreed with whatever Aizawa-sensei tells him, he suddenly perceives the birds as well. They're to his right and he can spot their characteristics – their orange-red, grey and white plumage, their small black beaks and beady eyes. Although, for a single moment, they're completely still, waiting for the boy to finish his scrutiny. Then, as soon as Izuku is done with analyzing their appearances (why do they seem so incredibly real? Has he always been able to recall things with this much detail?), the robins happily begin moving and singing a song to each other.

To his left, where used to be nothing but wood, is Aizawa. Or, no... It's Eraserhead. The hero wears his costume, goggles obscuring his red eyes (they're red when he uses his quirk; his hair dances in the windless air) and outfit not any different from his casual clothes. Does he even wear anything else?

"Robins aren't the only animals around." Eraserhead explains, mouth forming the words in sync with his voice, "If you look ahead, you may be able to spot a deer." A deer?

Izuku's vision catches a motion, leaves rustling as the animal slightly inches closer to the humans. His breath catches in his throat. Never before has he seen such a beautiful creature – its white mottled fur looks so smooth and soft that Izuku can imagine how nice it would be to touch it, doll-like dark eyes watch him closely and the deer's ears are pointed in an angle upwards. "It's adorable." Izuku says awestruck.

"It is. Now look around, memorize everything you see so that you're able to recall this place any time. This is your place, your safe place. How do you feel?"

Izuku doesn't even have to think before he blurts out: "Calm."

"Then remember your calmness. Remember the peace, the quiet, remember everything you can perceive. Make it yours." Eraserhead speaks, his figure slowly fading as Izuku follows his orders. Make it yours. This is mine. This calmness belongs to me.

Aizawa gives him time to process. To be frank, he's astonished by how well this spontaneous thing worked and he hopes the problem child will use it to better his anxiousness. He knows anxiety is tricky and definitely won't disappear by creating a peaceful landscape... but it's a start, at least, if nothing else.

The classroom's clock tells the scruffy man they still have about fifteen minutes left until Midoriya meets class 1-B. There's no doubt in Aizawa's mind that yesterday's occurrences have put a damper on the teenager's willingness for that ordeal. However, his student's just going to have to deal with it – babying him wouldn't do any good for somebody who wants to be a quirkless hero.

"When you're done, you can open your eyes."

Two seconds later, the boy's much calmer eyes meet his. "That was..." Izuku struggles to find the right word, not wanting to sound too grateful or kitschy, "...helpful. Thanks, sensei."

Aizawa hums in agreement. "No things are for free, though. Gimme a cup of coffee."

Izuku chuckles before he notices his teacher's expression. The man is serious. He stands up and does as instructed while Aizawa musters his only student, thinking to himself: "I'm glad something I pulled out of my ass worked so well." Midoriya definitely doesn't need to know he had absolutely no idea how to deal with the boy's problem – that's Hizashi's forte anyways.

He accepts the mug and both of them spend the rest of their homeroom in companionable silence.

The bell rings sooner than either of them expects it to but Izuku doesn't mind, actually. Now that he isn't nervously awaiting his doom, the anticipation from the day before yesterday settles in. He doesn't even truly think about the teenager whose nose he had broken some odd hours ago. If the boy is in 1-B, he only has it easier to apologize to him.

Izuku heads out, leaving behind the cosy hideout and walks to the great door with 1-B on it. A sense of déjà-vu makes him smile a bit. Hopefully, nobody shoves him into the blackboard today. His fingers fly through his messy hair and he inhales deeply before entering.

1-B, here he comes!