A/N: Content warnings for this chapter include referenced suicide, discussions of suicide, and teens being casually cruel during those discussions. Also a brief instance of underage smoking. And, um, Bakugou cusses. A lot.


Chapter 2:

Ruminations on Words Said

Toshinori would ask himself why he said it, later. He'd look back to the encounter with Young Midoriya — he'd get the name from a police officer on-scene, the boy hadn't introduced himself when he'd posed his hopeful (hopeless?) question — and ask himself why he'd said "No."

There were plenty of reasons.

The boy hadn't known, but the question struck a far more personal chord with Toshinori than anyone save a few people in the world could understand. Can someone without a quirk become a hero? Can they, indeed! Toshinori knows he's on a timer, that his hero days are nearly over. He can feel the countdown in his chest, in the rattling of his breath, in the strain of his joints, the taste of blood in his mouth. He is so, so aware that his body can no longer withstand his own quirk, the thought scares him more than Mirai's prediction of his death, the thought that some day — soon — he won't be able to save anyone.

There were plenty of reasons, but this was the one foremost in his mind, as his body — his weakness — forced him to take his emaciated civilian form in front of the boy on that bleak rooftop.

Can someone without a quirk be a hero? If only they could! If only he could! If only Toshinori was not carrying the weight of Japan on his shoulders, the weight of the Symbol of Peace, if only the image he projects was a reality, that he was unafraid, that Toshinori bore this weight without once doubting himself, then — maybe then! — he could have told the boy something different.

But it was an illusion. Toshinori is afraid. Heroes do rely on power, on the inherent power of their quirks, and soon, the world will no longer have All Might's.

Can someone without a quirk be a hero? I wish they could, Young Midoriya. I, too, have big dreams. And soon, I will have to face reality, that I can no longer be a hero, that I will be shunted off the spotlight because I can no longer rely on my own power to save people and survive — that's what Toshinori said, really. That's what it sounded like, to himself. At the time, the heartbreak he'd seen on the boy's face had been a mirror of his own despair.

(He should have known better.)


It's disheartening, seeing how the other heroes deal with the Sludge Villain. Toshinori has to watch, powerless, as four other heroes are forced to clean up his mess… except… they don't. Newly-debuted Mt. Lady stands quite sheepishly an entire block away, unable to reach into the narrow street. Backdraft attempts to put out the nearby fires and loudly questions why the reinforcements from the fire department are taking their sweet time, looking harried. Kamui Woods shirks away from said fire and focuses on pulling civilians out of the chaos, and Death Arms concentrates his efforts on keeping said civilians from getting any closer to the scene.

The boy thrashes as much as he physically can; the boy suffers as he fights for his life, alone. The heroes wait, and turn nervously to each other. Civilians inch closer when Death Arms isn't looking, gawking, filming. Someone recognizes the Sludge Villain as the same villain All Might had been pursuing a few hours ago. A whisper starts. People look around in confusion, as if invoking his name will somehow summon him to the scene.

Toshinori watches this scene behind the civilian line. Who is he without his quirk? See how useless the No. 1 Hero becomes when powerless.

The mounting guilt reaches its peak once he realizes none of this would have happened had he just not dropped those damn soda bottles, had he just caught the villain faster, had he just not been so utterly helpless after using his quirk for three hours.

After a few minutes of this, after the heroes themselves decide to wait to All Might, after making eye-contact with the boy (the victim!) with the explosion quirk, after the boy's eyes roll back as he finally passed out because no one is helping — the guilt is overtaken by anger. Not just at himself, though no doubt the self-loathing will persist later, no — this is anger born of disappointment so deep he can feel himself drowning in it. At the heroes, at the media making a worse spectacle of the situation, at the careless crowd of people pressing closer to the scene, phones out and smiling. This is anger born of grief.

Is this my legacy?

Anger is all the push he needed, apparently. All Might appears on the scene, trademark smile plastered on his face, eyes dark. He grabs the unconscious boy and hits the Sludge Villain so hard the mere air pressure of the punch changes the weather. He stays on the scene long enough to ensure the paramedics successfully perform CPR on the explosion boy, just long enough to hear him painfully hack up half a lung of that slime and collapse on the medic's arms, before leaving.

He doesn't talk to the press, he doesn't acknowledge his fellow heroes on the scene, doesn't give any more than a quick salutation to the medics. He leaps away from the scene.

What a bitter pill to swallow, that this is what he would leave behind. Toshinori promptly lets go of his All Might form as soon as he's out of sight, not a block away from where he'd left Midoriya on a rooftop. Perhaps he could make an amendment to what he'd told him.

Can someone without a quirk be a hero? My boy, a quirk doesn't make someone a hero. It doesn't make anyone anything.

His anger fades as he walks, settling into a bitter disappointment. Toshinori is no good at holding on to anger unless it is directed at himself; it came and went like an adrenaline rush, and left him just as tired. He mulls over the response he'd given the boy, seriously considering trying to find him again. Perhaps he should have been more encouraging. A quirkless hero is far-fetched, but Toshinori could have been kinder about it, could have really talked-up other heroic professions, maybe emphasize how thankful he was to the doctors that saved his life?

A hero is anyone who saves another, young man! And there are so many ways to help people! You just have to save their hearts!

Yeah… yeah, he should have said something like that.


Toshinori does, in fact, find Midoriya.


He's the first one on the scene, people just starting to wander back home as the streets clear from the hero fight. He's the one to call it in. He sits down next to… Midoriya's body. Just… backs up to the wall of the building he'd exited not even an hour ago, slides down to the floor, and… sits. Stares. (He doesn't need to touch him to know he's dead. Doesn't know if he could bring himself to do so, knowing the part he played in this. Has no right to, out of his hero persona.) He calls an ambulance from his place on the ground; he calls the police, too, to investigate. (But he already knows what happened, doesn't he? That look of heartbreak will haunt him.)

People gather at the sound of the sirens, form a loose circle around them. Toshinori cannot bring himself to tell them to leave, to have some respect, no pictures, please, don't film this! How would you feel if it was your child who —

Toshinori doesn't say anything. A police officer guides the people back.

They question him, having been the one to call it in, and he's only distantly aware of his own voice as he answers. No, he didn't know the boy. No, he hadn't seen it happen. He'd just been walking when he'd found him… He'd called it in immediately. Yagi Toshinori. He'd just moved in to the neighborhood. Of course, of course. Could they just tell him… the boy's name?

(They'd found his backpack on the rooftop, next to his shoes and an oddly-charred notebook. Full of hopes, and dreams — and All Might's autograph. Set neatly against the railing on that empty, dreadful rooftop.

Inside the backpack — homework, in diligent, tiny, crammed handwriting, and a name — )

Midoriya Izuku, they tell him.

I'd call anyone who saves even a single person a hero, is what All Might should have said. Even if that person is themselves.


Toshinori found Young Midoriya right where he left him, only six stories down, lying on the concrete ground. Broken. Still. And he would look back on that day — weeks, months, an interminable amount of time later — and wonder… what, exactly, would have been the right thing to say? And why, exactly, he had been unable to say it.


...


The stupid paramedics took him to the hospital. Katsuki felt fine! He couldn't have passed out for more than a few fucking seconds before All Might took out the Sludge Villain, and he was conscious by the time the hero left, so he was fine. It was just a cough.

("Aspiration pneumonia," the doctor would say a few hours later standing in front of an x-ray of Katsuki's chest. "It's lucky that we caught it this soon. We'll need to run some more tests, and he'll have to stay overnight, but given no complications, we expect a full recovery."

His mother's hand would tighten uncomfortably around his wrist as the doctor continued explaining, and Katsuki wouldn't be able to tell whether it was out of anger or disapproval.

"Did you even fight back?" she would ask once the sun set and she and his father were set to leave him in the hospital. "Was that you giving everything?"

"She's just worried about you, Katsuki," his father would say when he had another coughing fit in an attempt to respond, after his mother leaves the room in a right mood. "You worried us.")

Whatever. Katsuki supposes if All Might himself had looked him in the eyes and told him to do something, he would also make sure it got done. Didn't mean it wasn't stupid.

So he goes to the hospital, and they call his parents, and hook him up to a goddamn IV, and even though there are no complications his wuss of a pediatrician keeps him there for two whole days! They only let him leave with a whole regimen of antibiotics. He refuses the painkillers. His throat is continuously hoarse, yeah, but the cough's not that painful. He's not some weakling that can't handle a sore throat.

His mother is once again being an insufferable pain in his ass, but there's no way in hell he's missing yet another day of school. This is the last year before UA!

"Stay in bed, you goddamned brat!"

"Fuck off, Old Ha—" he's interrupted by yet another hacking cough. Oh yeah, that reminds him — he has to pack his water bottle. He finds it on the kitchen counter, downs it, and refills it again before deftly dodging his mother's attempts to block the exit.

He runs for it and is halfway down the block before his mother's screaming again.

"WHAT?" he yells back.

"I SAID DON'T FUCKING EXERT YOURSELF, DUMBASS!" wails the neighborhood's alarm clock.

He flips her off but slows down to a walk. Stupid fucking infected lungs.


Katsuki walks into the classroom expecting pity, obligatory faux-concern, and those moral self-serving "oh thank goodness the heroes were there!" He does not expect one of his classmates to take one look at him and start crying, but that's what happens. Katsuki doesn't even remember the girl's name; he might expect this kind of blubbering from Deku, but what the fuck is going on?

Like it was some sort of signal, the rest of his classmates — he's arrived just before the bell rings, having downright strolled to school to coddle his shitty lungs, so nearly the whole class is here — approach him with smiles on their faces. Like they're all friends or something. They all start talking at once, too, just to maximize annoyance. Now, Katsuki can barely understand his classmates when the fuckers decide barely-above-whisper is an appropriate volume with which to speak to him, so they're only at it for about ten seconds before Katsuki has had enough.

"Outta my way, losers!" he says, pushes his way out of the small hoard of students blocking the entrance to the classroom and plops himself down at his desk, intent on ignoring the rest of their yammering.

They don't take the hint, and flock around his desk. He knows his voice will go out if he yells. Katsuki's eyelid twitches.

"Well, glad to see you're back to normal, I guess," says one of the nameless extras around him in an unbearably smug voice.

"I saw you in the news! You were so brave!" says another.

"I cant believe you already fought a villain. You're going to be so ahead of the other students when you get into hero school!"

"I heard even all those pros couldn't take on that Sludge Villain, so are you, like, a big deal now?"

Is that what happened? Was that what it looked like? He knows there are videos of the entire thing online, saw the phones pointed at him, no doubt uploaded somewhere what with All Might's involvement. He didn't see him arrive, must have passed out right before. Katsuki wonders if he said "I AM HERE!" just like in all those videos he used to watch when he was a kid, and wonders if the crowd cheered.

(He has not looked up any videos.)

He does remember All Might leaving, though.

(A large silhouette against the fiery building in the background. Katsuki on his hands and knees, leaning heavily on the paramedic and hacking up half a lung of a slime so viscous it feels like he's coughing out a plastic bag. The smoke doesn't help. The gentle rain that started up does nothing to clean the sludge that soaked through his clothes. He'll stain the gurney on the ambulance. He'll have to bathe at the hospital, and throw away his filthy uniform, but the smell will linger. He'll wear hospital gowns for two days. He'll throw up again and the smell will linger.

To the paramedic crouching over Katsuki, quieter than he'd expect: "Make sure he gets treated."

"Y-yes, sir, All Might, sir!"

Pathetic.

And All Might left, no other words.)

And then—

"We're so glad you're okay, Bakugou!" cries the random sniveling girl.

Bitch, are you looking down at me? He's about to snap at her when someone else chips in, voice small — "Don't know what we would have done if we'd had two deaths in the class, back to back like that."

What? He moves to ask, but an itch in his throat makes him take a gulp of water instead.

Someone asks him where he's been.

"None of your damn business."

Someone asks him whether he got any of the heroes' autographs.

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

They keep asking questions. His usual aggressive air doesn't seem to faze them today, of all days. He takes a precautionary gulp of water every few minutes until the bell; just answering a few questions has irritated his throat. He can feel the beginnings of of another cough attack, and a headache to match, but like hell he's drawing any more attention to the fact that he spent two days at the hospital.

The flock of Paparazzi Lite that call themselves his classmates scatter away from his desk only when their homeroom teacher finally berates them — he's a major pushover, so that's a good twelve minutes into class — but even then not everyone gets the memo.

Extra #2, fucking Spindly Hands Nakajima, is staring holes into his head all throughout class. Katsuki can hear the way his desk vibrates with the force of how fast he's bouncing his leg from three rows away, and it's getting on Katsuki's nerves. He keeps throwing Katsuki meaningful glances that don't actually mean shit because Katsuki isn't fucking psychic.

A balled-up notebook paper hits the back of his head and bounces onto the floor. Katsuki's about to literally explode at whatever motherfucker dared throw that at him when Spindly Hands catches his eye and motions towards the back of the classroom, where the damn Gossip Rag, Imai, once again proves his nickname apt by using his long neck quirk to stick his nose in other people's business. He's looking pointedly at the paper ball and making an opening motion with his hands, as if Katsuki couldn't figure it out on his own. What are they, in kindergarten?

Katsuki feels his eyes are in danger of falling off by how deeply he rolls them. Whatever.

He picks up the note while the teacher isn't looking and unceremoniously uncrumples the paper. He reads whatever Imai couldn't wait until lunchtime to say.

Pauses. Stares. The more he stares at Imai's messy characters, the more nonsensical they seem.

Reads it again.

Has anyone told you Midoriya killed himself?

…Katsuki stares confusedly at the crumpled note, reads it again. Is this supposed to be a joke? He looks to Nakajima, who's still bouncing his leg the way he does whenever they're about to receive their test results. Instead of stopping with a sheepish expression, the speed at which his leg is shaking only increases when Katsuki catches his gaze. He turns to Imai, who only raises his eyebrows impassively. He's always been a shitty liar.

A cold shiver races down Katsuki's spine. And slowly — checking that, like always, their teacher isn't paying attention — Katsuki turns to Deku's desk.

Deku's empty desk, save for what looks like a generic condolences card and a single, wilting, red spider-lily.

(He doesn't register re-crumpling the note tightly, or holding on to it until lunchtime, when he moves to grab his food and he realizes the note is still there, clenched tightly in his fist.)


Katsuki avoids the extras' gazes after that, and Nakajima's attempts to nudge him with a pencil are dodged with gritted teeth. His concentration is shot anyway. Today's notes must be the worst he's taken since he started middle school. There's a persistent static in his ears. The words on the board don't seem to string together; he copies them without understanding what he's writing down. And there's a stare burning holes through the back of his head. He doesn't turn around.

They don't speak until lunch break.

Despite Katsuki clearly wanting to be left the fuck alone, the two losers follow him as he tries to find someplace quiet to wait out his headache; they catch up to him in a lonely corner of the school yard.

"So I guess you didn't know, huh?" quips the Gossip Rag, immediately worsening Katsuki's headache.

"How the fuck was I supposed to know?" he snaps.

Imai looks at him funny. "It was on the news," he says. "They ran the story right after yours."

"I don't think they said his name," Nakajima mutters, looking around nervously. "I mean — they reported a suicide from Aldera Middle School, but they didn't — it's just, the next day, Sensei told us Midoriya killed himself, and there was — a police officer came to ask Sensei some questions—!"

"And I'm telling you, it's fine." Imai rolls his eyes. "The teachers don't give a shit." He leans forward conspiratorially. "I heard," he starts, and of course he heard, "that they asked the staff whether they thought Midoriya was depressed, you know, if they noticed anything 'off' with him that day. And Sensei said — get this — Midoriya was a quiet kid who kept to himself. Can you imagine? Midoriya? Quiet? Like he didn't get on everyone's nerves with that creepy muttering all the time? Like he didn't throw himself in front of every snot-faced kid that asked for a beating?" Imai snorts and leans back again. "Teachers are covering their own asses. We've got nothin' to worry about."

"N-nothing to worry—?" Nakajima sputters. He keeps glancing at Katsuki and looking away. "He — he fuckin'—"

"I. Fucking. What?" Katsuki grits out.

There's a pause in which Nakajima decides to stop being a little bitch, apparently, and looks Katsuki in the eye. "You told him to dive off a roof," he says. "And he did!"

"And?" Katsuki's going for nonchalance, but it comes out too softly to give that impression. The two extras stare at him, one disbelieving, one confused.

It's a cold day in hell when Katsuki admits his mother may have been right. Another shiver goes through him; Katsuki should have stayed home.

"And? And—? And he fucking died, Bakugou! He jumped off a building, just after you told him to!"

He doesn't want to talk about this.

"Like — shit, Bakugou, smoking cigarettes' got nothing on this!"

He doesn't want to think about this.

"Forget UA — your hero career's already over if this ever gets out! You're lucky if you don't get arrested!"

He refuses to think about this. His mind is uncomfortably blank when—

Before he knows it, Katsuki's pulling Nakajima forward by the collar. "Shut. Up," he grits out lowly. "I didn't push him off that building. Deku did that on his own. It's not my fault he was a fucking coward." It's then that his voice finally decides to give out. The word coward peters out into a whine.

There's that strange look on Nakajima's face again, that same look that Imai hit him with before, that had never crossed their faces before today. Not when looking at Katsuki. What is it?

They're… they're looking down on me.

It's the only thought that haunts his head as Nakajima wrenches out of his grip and steps back. He brushes soot off of his shirt collar. (And when did that happen? Katsuki hasn't lost control of his quirk since he was a toddler.)

"The hell is wrong with you!" he yells. "It is your fault! It — you know what? I saw him, okay? I saw his body being loaded into the ambulance, all — all covered up!" he says all in a rush. "After you went to the hospital—" Katsuki does not flinch "—and everyone was going home, there was — a bunch of people, stopping to look at something, and I thought it might have been another hero fight, but — but… but it wasn't." Nakajima breathes heavily, as if he were still fighting Katsuki off. "It wasn't."

Katsuki isn't sure, had he still had his voice, whether he would have been able to say anything.

"Gotta give it to him, I guess," Nakajima continues. "He must'a known right then was the time to do it. Since all the heroes in the area were trying to save you, there was no one there to stop him. So really, you have double the blame!"

Karsuki lets off a series of small explosions that make Nakajima startle back.

Off to side, Imai pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "You're so dramatic," he mutters, helping himself to one (and not specifying to whom he is referring). "It's not that big a deal."

"Man, fuck you, too, Imai!" Nakajima backs away further as he speaks. "You're way too cool with this. I knew it was too far. But I — I'm not going down with you!"

Imai lets out a startled laugh. "Going down with us — this isn't a cop movie! You, ah, ahaha, you think anyone gives a fuck why some quirkless nobody killed himself? He was useless, and creepy, and everyone knew it! It was going to happen eventually. Everybody's thinking it, they just don't say anything to be polite. The — ha — the fuckin' flower on his desk is from a dog memorial. Class Prez' neighbor's dog died and he just — aha — he just asked for a flower on his way to school!" Imai breaks down into giggles, cigarette nearly slipping through his fingers.

Nakajima shakes his head and leaves with a "Just — never speak to me again."

"Oh come on. What, it's true! I walk by Class Prez' house, you know! Oi!" He huffs and moves to light the cigarette. "Ah, he's gone. Well, whatever, right?" He takes a long drag and turns sideways at Katsuki when he gets no response, mirth still written on his face. "Did you seriously lose your voice? What have you been smoking?"

The resulting explosion can be heard to the far end of the school.

(In the distance, Nakajima walks faster.)

Katsuki drops what little ashes remain of Imai's bombed cigarette at the gossip's feet. It wipes the smirk off his stupid face, but it unfortunately confirms the fact that Katsuki can't speak right now.

"Tch." Imai kicks idly at the ashes. "Those things cost money, y'know."


The Gossip Rag gets his revenge once the bell rings, by waiting until the teacher starts the lesson and everyone's paying attention before throwing him to the wolves. "Sensei!" He raises his hand high in the air. "Sensei, Bakugou-san isn't feeling well!"

Around twenty heads swivel to look at him at once.

"Oh? Do you need to go to the nurse, Bakugou?"

Katsuki shakes his head vigorously, but his lack of loud response only seems to cause more concern. Whispers start throughout the classroom.

Their teacher shuffles through their notes. "Hm. We did receive notice you were still recovering," he muses. Katsuki is three seconds away from leaping over the desks and blasting Imai's face off.

Someone gasps, sparking another round of murmurs. "Oh no! Is Bakugou-kun going to be okay?"

"Are you alright, dude?"

"Are you hurt? Are you sick?"

"Why'd you come to school if you're sick?"

"Do you… need help?"

"Blink once for yes, twice for no."


It was inevitable. Katsuki explodes.


They were just some warning blasts. People were getting way too close, way too quickly. His classmates had to know — Katsuki wasn't weak, even at his lowest, even when he's sick, and voiceless, and his head is killing him, and he ran out of water in his water bottle because he was busy during lunch break and forgot to refill it, like an idiot, so his throat is killing him, and still there's this static that makes his thoughts eerily blank, and he swears, swears, swears someone keeps staring at the back of his head, but when he turns around — as he always turns around, because he was always looking at Katsuki, always following, always muttering, but — Deku's desk sits horribly empty. Deku isn't there, but his eyes seem to look at him from each of his classmate's faces. There's that same faux-concern, that hand outstretched, that figure framed by the afternoon sun, in the creek, in the woods, and the long shadow that he liked to cast over him, even as a child.

Are you okay? An offered hand. So far above him.

He didn't need any help. He's never needed any help.

(What did he see, in Katsuki, that he would even consider offering it? What did he see, staring always at his back?)

Okay, so maybe they had been a bit to big to be warning blasts. Maybe he set off the sprinklers. No one got anything more than scorched eyebrows, what's the big fuss about?

They call his mom.

Well, they deliberately call his dad to avoid his mother, but his mom comes pick him up anyway.

"We understand he's under a lot of stress, of course," the principal simpers nervously as his mother fumes, unsure whether her anger is directed at Katsuki or at the school, and unwilling to risk it. "The whole school has gone through quite the wringer, truly, and we are fully ready to provide support to any student who might benefit from it. In fact, we just recently hired a new school health counselor…"

His mother slams a hand on top of the principal's desk. "A shrink? Are you saying my son is mentally unstable? Huh? Is that what you're trying to say?! Don't you try to blame this on Katsuki — those damn sprinklers are due for an upgrade anyway and you know it! These facilities are shit and your staff is irresponsible! When's the last time the school was inspected — trying to pin all this bullshit on the brats — where was the teacher?! What sort of supervision, that my son felt he had to defend himself—"

Katsuki watches, stone-faced, as the principal jumps out of his seat to bow frantically in apology to his mother. It would be funny if it wasn't so nauseating. Guess Imai was right; they're really trying to cover their own ass…

(He wonders how quickly the school would drop him if they knew he—)

Thinking about Imai makes him angry, though, so he continues to focus all his attention on the conversation in front of him.

"—at all, Mrs. Bakugou! Grief manifests in different ways, and we'd never hold these feelings against a student. As I understand it, your son and the late Midoriya Izuku were planning on attending the same high school? And they were in the same class, too. Forgive me, I didn't realize — were they close?"

What. The. Fuck.

Katsuki can't help but gape in horror at the turn this conversation took.

His mother actually puts her anger on pause. An unreadable expression passes through her face, and she glances at Katsuki. "Midoriya…? You mean Inko's kid…?"

"Oh, you know the family? Yes, of course, truly a tragedy. The school completely understands! Katsuki-kun can take just as much time as he needs…"

(A messy head of green hair, framed by the sun. An outstretched hand. He covers Katsuki with his shadow.

Are you okay, Kacchan? Are you hurt?

Do you need help?

He was always following him.)

This isn't happening. Deku isn't following him anymore.

We weren't friends! he tries to say, except it comes out as a pathetic, desperate rasp of "We're'n—" before fading out painfully.

The two adults barely spare him a glance before ignoring him and continuing their conversation, which is, of course, unacceptable.

Katsuki makes sure to drag his chair as loudly as possible as he stands up.

"The hell do you think you're doing, brat? Sit back down!"

He's out of the principal's office before anyone can stop him. The secretary startles when he slams open the door, but he doesn't try to stop him either. He's nearly rounding the corner of the hallway when his mother catches up to him, grabs him by the back of the shirt collar and pulls him the opposite direction — towards the exit. The move puts undue pressure on his throat, which sets off another hacking cough attack, lasting an entire minute and leaving his whole respiratory tract feeling raw and bruised. He doesn't realize he's rubbing his chest in an attempt to ease the ache until he can breathe without coughing, nor does he notice his mother making similar motions on his back until he straightens his posture and inadvertently shoves her off.

When he looks up at her, she's scowling, mouth tight. "Come on," she says. "You're leaving early."

No shit, as if there was another reason she'd be literally dragging him toward the exit.

"First thing tomorrow, you're getting a therapist." She sighs, expression softening. "Masaru was right…"

What.

"Were you close to the kid that died?"

A furious shake of his head. It goes mostly unacknowledged.

"I think I remember… when you were small…" She gives another deep sigh as they exit the school gates. Katsuki has never seen his mother quite so somber. "I haven't spoken to Inko in years. Some terrible luck must be going around the neighborhood. So close to your incident, too…"

("Since all the heroes in the area were trying to save you, there was no one there to stop—")

There must be something about not being able to talk back that makes people more likely to talk at him. Katsuki rolls his eyes and tunes out his mom's idle commitments to reach out to Mrs. Midoriya one of these days, just to offer condolences.

As if that would change anything.


Katsuki has a nightmare that night, wakes up in a cold sweat. He remembers nothing about it save his fear. He asks himself — in the quiet hours of the night, alone in his room, the only space that's safe enough to ask himself such questions — whether Midoriya, as he fell, had hoped just as wildly, just as desperate as Katsuki, to be saved.


A/N: My anime blog is boysenberrysoda on tumblr, by the way. If you'd like to see me go on about BNHA, that's where I'm at.

In the next chapter, the Entity begins to understand its condition...