It's been hours now and the conversation has yet to die down. The excited banter of teenagers echoes throughout the house, the occasional yell or scream throwing itself out further than the rest, bouncing off the preposterously cared-for hardwood.
As the quartet carries their conversation into the night, Izuku's experiencing something he's yet to feel in years: Warmth. Beyond the care offered by his mother, Izuku has been left in the cold for so long.
The constant harassment of classmates, former friends, and even strangers in the street made Izuku feel like his own personally-crafted fortress of solitude.
His icy, awkward demeanor has melted, warmed up through the compassion and concern of Katsuki's friends. Denki's over the top charm, Kirishima's unbreakable enthusiasm, and Ochaco's endless compassion.
The Holy Trinity.
Behind blushed cheeks, Izuku chuckles out a hearty laugh as Ochaco demonstrates her quirk - through one Denki Kaminari.
After making a particularly raunchy joke, Ochaco kindly graced Denki with a friendly slap across the face, sending her blonde friend floating from his own bed. As the blonde floats upwards, disoriented and confused, he bumped continuously into the ceiling, jerkily clawing through the air in a desperate attempt to get down. His movements, not unlike the bouncing of the famous DVD logo atop its familiar black background, only sparked more laughter.
"GET ME DOWN NOW! YOU KNOW I DON'T LIKE HEIGHTS!" he exclaims with a riotous scream, swinging his arms in his best attempt to swim through the air.
Ochaco taps her fingers together, giggling as her friend plummets towards his bed. Crashing onto his mattress, a leopard print blanket and accompanying pillows spring off the bed and into the space that Denki once occupied.
Sitting up dramatically, as if a meerkat searching for a trespassing hyena, Denki jerks his head towards Ochaco, leopard print blanket slowly descending over him.
Underneath the fabric, he screeches out a warning.
"DO NOT BREAK MY BED, AND ESPECIALLY NOT BEFORE WE HAVE TO MOVE INTO THE DORMS," his shrill voice commands from under his leopard-print disguise. While Denki struggles to break free from his spotted containment, Ochaco rolls her eyes and playfully sticks her tongue out at him. Kirishima, still sunk deep into the bean bag, skims through the magazine Ochaco had previously been reading.
As Izuku chuckles to Denki's valiant scrambles to break free from his leopard-print prison, Kirishima turns to address his new, freckled-faced friend.
"So, Deku, if you don't mind me asking, what's your quirk?" the redhead asks with his characteristic shark-toothed grin.
Izuku freezes.
Oh crap.
Looking over, Ochaco's curious auburn eyes practically burns a hole into Izuku's fragile exterior, "Yeah, how did we happen to forget such an important question? Katsuki never mentioned any friends from his childhood with any noteworthy quirks…"
Denki finally climbs free of his feline confine.
"Incorrect. Remember that one kid he talked about? With the weird extendable fingers?"
"Oh, right. Yuck," Ochaco sticks her tongue out in reaction to such a quirk.
"Are you extendafinger?" Kirishima asks, eyes wide with intrigue.
Izuku remains frozen in place, despite his friends' momentary distraction, his muscles as stiff as an iceberg.
"Well…" Izuku stops to think.
Should I be honest? I can't have them disappointed in me too…
Denki looks at Izuku with a sleazy expression, "Oh this kid is 100% extendafinger."
"Oh! Oh no! So sorry for making fun of your quirk..." Ochaco apologizes, her face flush with a deeper shade of pink than usual. Her eyes trail to the floor, avoiding Izuku's eye-line.
Awkward or disgusted? Izuku wonders.
"No, no it's not that… You see, I… I," Izuku stops to consider what he'll say next. Kirishima leans forward from the bean bag, his every movement audibly shuffling the cushion so much that anyone in a fifteen-foot radius could make it out.
Izuku freezes up.
He can't do it.
I can't disappoint them too.
Ochaco looks back up from the floor, her eyes gleaming with concern.
"It's okay if you don't want to tell us, quirks are deeply personal after all. Maybe another time," she says with a tender smile.
Izuku nods, swallowing back tears.
"S-Sorry everyone," he apologizes.
Hearing this, Denki waves it off with a hand, "I didn't tell my parents about my quirk after it developed for two months. Well… I also didn't want to tell them I found out by jabbing forks into electric sockets, but that's a separate deal. We all understand, don't worry!"
"Yeah man! I didn't even know I had my quirk! I simply went into the bathroom one night and when I went to scratch my forehead, blood dripped down my face! Gave myself my first scar!" Kirishima spits out in his booming voice.
"Regardless," Ochaco snaps out at her extremely intelligent friends, "Take as much time as you need Deku, none of us want to rush you," she kindly adds on.
Izuku feels tears bubble up in his eyes.
But, what'll happen when you do learn? Will I just become worthless to you all too?
"Thanks guys," he smiles at the trio.
They all nod in reaction.
An alarm on Izuku's phone rings, knocking him out of his self-reflective state. Inspecting the area around him, he finds his phone, ringing.
10:00. Curfew.
Izuku turns to his new friends, "Sorry everyone, but... I have to start heading out now. My mom has a curfew set for me at 10."
"You have curfew?" Denki questions, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.
"Hey! I do too!" Kirishima adds on in defense of his new friend.
"You do?" Denki follows up.
"Sorry everyone, but I really do have to head out. My mom's expecting me to be home any second," Izuku replies, shooting up from his originally seated position. Ochaco stands as well, followed by Denki climbing off of his bed before helping Kirishima out of the endless black hole of the nefarious bean bag.
Walking Izuku to the door, the three see him out. As he descends down the stairs, Ochaco calls out, "You have our numbers, right? Just in case?"
"Yep! Thanks everyone, I had a great time!" Izuku warmly comments, waving to the trio. All three wave back.
"Great having you, text us when you want to meet back up some time," Denki smiles at him.
"Have a safe return!" Kirishima kindly exclaims.
As Izuku walks away, and as the front door closes behind him, he hears Denki reply, "What do you think this is? Dragon Quest? 'Have a safe return?'"
He smiles to himself.
So that's what friends are like.
Alone, Izuku makes his trek back home.
The rain had stopped around an hour before Izuku left, all that remained were the clouds and the fog.
Thick, heavy fog, flowing in across the street, obscures anything that isn't lit by an accompanying streetlamp.
Izuku wasn't afraid, he's walked this path before. His apartment is close – he'd get back at 10:17 sharp.
No stars tonight, they could never break through these clouds. Far-off neon billboards flicker their vibrant light through the fog, functioning as a makeshift compass for Izuku. The street lights above break through, providing momentary illumination, like Will O'Wisps in the mist.
His steps are quiet, his satchel pulled over his shoulder, held tight to his body. The only thing bothering him right now is the cold. His breath trails warmly, blending with the misty fog.
He's the only person out right now.
At least, the only one that he can see.
Mom's going to chew me out for this, he considers, maybe she'll be lenient this time. I was at a funeral after-party after all.
A lone car revs its way past Izuku on the street, its wheels skimming through shallow puddles along the curb. Its taillights leave a ghostly red trail as they fade off into the distance.
The red light catches his eye, dredging up a recent memory.
Eraserhead's crimson glare.
Piercing through the fog, straight into Izuku's very being.
"No", his raspy voice hisses.
Its venomous bite strikes to Izuku's core.
I know I can never be like them. I'll just be their useless friend. At least I can say I'm friends with heroes…
Izuku attempts to push Eraserheads words out of his mind.
Reaching an intersection, a malfunctioning stoplight incessantly blinks, its repeating red glare cutting through the fog. Once again reminded of Eraserhead, Izuku puts his head down and crosses the street.
Desperate for anything else to consider, the teenager scours his mind for other possible food-for-thought.
Kirishima probably needs tutoring, based off what I saw.
He puts a hand up to his chin.
Maybe I can help with that…
Help? How? You're a quirkless nobody. All you'll do is help someone else achieve YOUR dream, Eraserhead's raspy voice intrudes.
"You're wrong…" Izuku mutters back in response to his own mind. "I know you're wrong," he continues.
The hot tears bubble from the sides of his eye.
Today just won't stop.
I'm not crying about this. Not again.
In the distance, a rustle. A glass bottle clanking against the ground.
The sound of the bottle scraping against concrete as it rolls away in the distance.
It gets louder.
From the thick fog, the bottle rolls to his feet.
Izuku stops in his tracks.
The streetlight above him flickers once again.
Izuku's hair begins to stand on end, chills erupting across his neck.
More racket commences ahead followed by the sound of a trashcan being knocked over.
Stepping over the bottle, Izuku grows increasingly concerned. Approaching the closest wall, Izuku places his back against it, his face oriented towards the street before shimmying his way slowly and quietly towards the source of the commotion.
As he gets closer, a voice breaks through the quiet of the night. Gruff yet shrill, the voice is unpleasantly deep.
Shimmying further along, the building comes to an end. Inbetween it and its neighbor: An alleyway. Inside the obscured path, the deep voice grows louder as Izuku approaches.
"Hand it over or I'll prick you with one of these," it gurgles out.
"N-No… I need this money! If I don't pay, they'll take everything!" a woman's voice pleads.
Izuku stops and inhales deeply, unable to see what exactly is happening.
"Doesn't bother me. He needs his repayment, just like everyone else. You made a bad bet, you took the medicine, you got nothing worthwhile, now you pay," the voice growls.
Izuku gulps.
"I… I can't," she replies.
Izuku takes a long, deep breath and closes his eyes.
What should I do? What would Ochaco or Denki or even Eraserhead do?
"Then if you can't, I'll get it myself. Now MOVE OVER," the voice snarls.
The woman screams.
What would Kacchan do?
Izuku opens his eyes.
His feet have taken off without even a thought. Dashing into the alleyway, his footsteps crash through shallow puddles as he charges in.
Without looking, he swings his satchel over his shoulder and throws it at the source of the voice.
Thunk.
The satchel falls to the ground. Izuku's notebook slides out of the leather bag.
Standing before the teenager, an eight-foot villain adorned in a wrinkled muscle jacket and black pants, erupts from the shadows.
David, meet Goliath.
The bag had lightly bounced off of the mountain of muscle's back, falling helplessly onto the ground.
With the physique of an extremely roided linebacker, or possibly more comparable to a Kodiak bear, Izuku is minuscule in comparison to the villain.
With gloved hands, the thug holds the woman firmly against the wall, turning his head to address the new annoyance.
Dropping her, she plummets to the floor before collapsing, gasping for air.
Eyes locked on the teenager, he steps forward into the dim, flickering light at the mouth of the alleyway. A painted balaclava obscures his face, his eyes the only thing visible under the black facemask.
Oh crap.
His eyes shimmer, two golden spotlights enveloped by darkness. The white spray-paint across the balaclava forms the image of a skull across his face, its eye-sockets framing his illuminated irises.
Oh shit.
"What do we have HERE?" he snaps out.
Realizing the predicament he has now dragged himself into, Izuku runs situations through his head.
What can I even do?
While Izuku runs his mind through the options, the man lunges for the teenager.
Charging with the might of a furious bull, he exclaims "COMMERE," as he stretches out two gargantuan hands.
Kamui Woods.
Two steps to the left, then take a dash into the alley! Must buy time for the woman! Izuku settles.
Sidestepping the brute, Izuku outpaces him with his short stature. Turning to the woman, Izuku gestures with his hand for her to escape. With wide eyes, she's shocked to see her hero be someone like Izuku.
She remains in place.
Go! Come on!
His mind screams at him.
His voice fails him.
With a sudden, jerking motion, Izuku turns his head to reestablish his line of sight on the villain, only to have his nose meet the man's fist.
Thrown backwards into the alley, Izuku loses his balance, falling onto his back.
With each of his thunderous steps clunking under the leather weight of combat boots, the titan approaches Izuku. Struggling to crawl backwards, Izuku's eyes struggle to remain open as he searches for the woman.
Watching her stumble to her feet, she dashes into the street.
"Oh, look at that. I'll have to catch up to her later," the villain grumbles through gritted teeth.
Watching her escape, Izuku smiles, blood gurgling between his teeth. His nose drips with blood. Turning his head, his eyes meet the golden hue of Balaclava.
"Whatcha smilin' for, kid? You won't be going home to mommy," he grimaces.
The reality of the situations strikes Izuku.
Where the adrenaline of being a hero over-rid his other sensations, fear twists knots into Izuku's stomach. Attempting to drag himself further down the alley and out of his grasp, the gargantuan grabs onto Izuku's coat, thrusting him into the air.
His phone falls to the ground.
It buzzes to life, a photo of his mother flashing across the phone-screen. The plastic back of the phone vibrates against the asphalt.
"Out past your curfew?" Balaclava questions.
Izuku glances over at his phone.
10:17.
Turning towards the villain, Izuku grins, overwhelmed with emotion. Unable to process what could be his last moments, Izuku laughs.
Balaclava smashes his head into Izuku's forehead. The teenagers head is thrown back from the impact.
His right eye swells shut.
Blood pours from his nose.
Squinting with his left eye, Izuku remains conscious out of pure will-power.
He's dealt with this all his life. The bullying. The anger. The abuse.
It'll take more than a few punches from another bully to stop him now.
Spitting a blood-filled wad into his attacker's eye, Izuku is thrown to the ground. The violent impact knocks the wind out of Izuku.
His body ricochets off the asphalt and into a tin trashcan.
He exhales harshly, barely clinging on. His vision grows increasingly blurry.
At least he went out fighting.
Just like Kacchan.
THUNK.
Izuku curls up, recoiling from a nasty kick to the stomach. His swollen eyes prevented him from foreseeing the attack. His insides screaming in pain, his stomach churns before Izuku spits out the bloody mess that was his stomach content.
Attempting to crawl away, Izuku blindly scurries from his assailant. A trail of bloody spit dangles from his bottom lip.
Feeling a meaty hand on his right leg, Izuku is thrown backwards, dragged into the air by the immense strength of this goliath. Slamming into the ground backwards, something within Izuku cracks.
A broken rib.
His muscles are tense and burning - the poor teenager subject to an immeasurable amount of pain.
Opening his swollen eyes, Izuku finds the pair of combat boots inches from his head. One leg raises to be then held directly above his eye-line.
Turning onto his back, all that remains in Izuku's line of sight is the sole of Balaclava's combat boots. Accepting what is to come, Izuku closes his eyes.
Hot tears bubble from the sides of his eyes.
Kacchan would be proud. And he proved Eraserhead wrong…
He got to be a hero after all, at least to somebody.
Maybe this is how it was meant to end anyways.
CRACK.