'The age of samurai is long past. Oaths of fealty, of honour, and of compassion are gone. The morals and ethics that once stood as pillars of our society have faded, first to cultural degradation of foreign influence and then to the Second Dark Age. The New Heroes must be held in high regard, and no dishonour shall ever come of Hawkmoon's name, but they were paid mercenaries of a fracturing United Nations. For there to be true stability for years to come, we must once again find our morals.'

—Excerpt from 'The Pillars of Moral Heroics' by Ryo Asuka and annotated by Fumikage Tokoyami.

Every step he takes down the stairs is shaky, one hand gripping the rail and the other pulling at his hair nervously. His mother is in the kitchen and this will be the first time she sees him, sees the monster beneath the flesh.

She doesn't hear him when he enters the kitchen. "Kaa-san," Izuku whispers.

"Hey, honey," she says without looking, still packing his lunch. "Just a moment."

One final portion of pork cutlets—spicy even form a distance—goes in a metal lunchbox, before she packs it all in his lunch bag. For a moment he wants to smile for who else could know his favourite meal? His smile dies as she turns.

Her eyes widen, and she looks him over quickly, expression finally settling on sadness. His heart breaks.

She knows you're a monster, the voice says.

"Izuku, what are you doing to your hair?" He startles as she approaches, gently prying his hand out of his hair. She cups his face, casually, not at all interested in the burns, before smoothing his hair out.

Some dark well in his chest seems to disappear. "What?"

"It looks like a mess. Sit down." She pushes him to a seat where a simple breakfast has been laid out. "Stay still. Was it getting too long?"

He blinks as she separates thick strands of his hair and twists them together with deft fingers. "Aren't you mad at me."

"For what?"

"Looking like this."

Her fingers still. "You usually look neat," she says as her fingers resume their motion.

"That's not—"

"—What you're talking about," she interrupts. "I know. I also don't care. You're my son."

"You can't keep saying that like it's the answer to everything."

She snorts, amused. "I'll stop saying it once you understand it is the answer. Want to hear a story?"

"Do I have a choice?" He pops a slice of apple in his mouth, crunchy and tart. "Sure."

"Your father was—is—bad with names. Really bad. He never remembered my parent's names. You were too young to remember, but I didn't let him speak at the funeral because he would have gotten it wrong. And he really wanted to name his kid. And they were all bad names, from Sarada to Setsuna and Apollo."

Izuku chuckles. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"I think I still have the list somewhere. The point is, he did everything in his power to name you. He took me on trips and did all the work when I was pregnant. It was hard having two kids fighting in my stomach."

Izuku pulls away. "Two?" he asks, glaring when she tries to turn his head around. "No, you don't get to say that and ignore it."

"I'm not. But I'd rather do two things at once."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." She turns his head and resumes her work. "Two of you, yes. We could name you both if we wanted. Izuku is the name I chose for you. Midoriya is my family name, and your father would come to take it after you were born. He was… special, like that. But your brother he called Mikumo."

She is wistful as she speaks. Izuku gulps, knowing the shape of the story if not the details. "What happened?"

Her hands still, fingers trembling. "An accident. When you're a mother you just know certain things. One day, two weeks before I was meant to have you, I knew something was wrong. Wednesday at three minutes past one I woke your father up and made him drive me to the hospital. He probably thought I was crazy, but he loved me enough to listen.

"They scanned me and… and he was dying. His umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. They operated. I held him as he took his last breaths. They looked like clouds of lights, and they were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen."

Izuku wipes away his tears. "I-I'm sorry," he chokes out.

Warm arms wrap around his shoulders. "It wasn't your fault. Just an accident. That was his quirk, we think. He breathed clouds of plasma. I think your father knew and that's why he chose that name. Mikumo. Beautiful Cloud. His gravestone reads 'Mikumo Atakani' in honour of your father who loved him as I love you."

He clutches her arms, lets her warmth cover his grief. A brother who he has never heard of and whom he now must mourn.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"So that you understand you're my answer to life itself. I remember you being so still and quiet, your eyes closed and chest flat. I thought I lost both of you and I don't know what I would have done without you. And then you opened your eyes—green just like mine—and saw your brother in my arms. Izuku, you cried all through the week.

"Without you, Hisashi and I would have divorced. I don't care that you have a scar. I've never cared how you've looked. I only care because you're hurting yourself. Izuku, my darling boy, you're the earth and stars all at once."

"I love you, kaa-san," he whispers.

"And I love you as the sun loves the moon. How many times have you looked at the full moon and found it beautiful even if it does have craters and scars? Doesn't it still look beautiful?"

He grips her arms tight his fingers turn white. Tremors rack his body, a volatile mix of soul-crushing grief at a brother he's never had the opportunity to love and know, and the ever-present love of his mother that has seen him through every bout of madness and panic. She is good and kind and just in ways he can only ever hope to be.

"I hate my reflection," he says suddenly. "It hates me just as much."

"I know, honey."

"I hate my scars."

"I know."

"I hate that everyone thinks I'm unhealthy because I'm willing to forgive people. I forgave dad when he never came back. And I know he's probably dead. I know I'm never going to see him again. And it hurts so much I can't breathe. But I forgive him."

"I know."

"I forgive you for not telling me about my brother. Mikumo. I never even met him, and I feel like I've known him my whole life. I always wondered why there were three bedrooms and it makes sense now. It was always for him. Would he have wanted to be a hero? Would he have liked me? Would he have accepted me when I'm a patchwork medley of scars?"

"He would have loved you more than even I can. He might never have wanted to be a hero, but I think you'd always be a hero to him."

His shaky breathing hitches. "I don't know if I can go back today."

"You can stay as long as you want."

"But I don't know if I'll ever leave if I stay. And kaa-san, I can't stand another day here all alone."

"I'll support you no matter what you choose. Because—"

"I'm your son." He blinks. "I'm the younger one, aren't I?"

"Yes. You've always been my little boy."

-TDB-

He chooses to leave and walk forward. This is his home but staying here any longer is simply hiding from his problems. And he'd much rather run because whether it is away or towards his problems, you have to put one foot in front of the other and move forward.

The whispers follow him on the train. Mouths move and eyes roam over him, always staring at his scar, and only because of his earphones does he not hear whatever cruel words they have for him. Doing a card trick or two helps distract him from everything else.

When he looks to the side, Shinsou is right there beside him. It startles Izuku, but Shinsou's eyes are warm if tired. The boy says nothing, seemingly content to allow him his peace.

"Thank you," he says when they get off the train and on to the platform.

"At least you aren't apologising."

Shinsou tells him of the week he's spent away and the tension building: Aizawa is equal parts merciless and forgiving, seemingly more tired than usual; All Might is never seen outside of class, but his training exercises are always accompanied by another teacher; second-hand accounts from Uraraka place the class as being in a state of constant frustration, and Tokoyami's nearly been in a fight twice that week alone with some upperclassmen.

"Tokoyami?" Shinsou nods. "That makes no sense."

"People have been pretty quiet about… about what happened. Rumours are going around about what happened. Everyone has their own version of events."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Everything."

He stays quiet, wanting to avoid the sudden heat that takes over his friend. Everything these days seems to be his fault, one way or another.

"Midoriya," Uraraka calls as he enters the gates.

He looks and sees her waving broadly, her smile bright as noon. Iida and Kirishima are with her as well as Tokoyami standing further back.

"Hi." He waves back uncertainly. A glance over his shoulder shows Shinsou looking just as bewildered. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Waiting for you," Kirishima says, his grin toothy and just the slightest bit forced. "We heard you were coming back today."

"As class representative, it was my duty to see you here today," Iida says formally, stiffly.

Izuku smiles. "When did you become the class rep? Honestly, I don't think there's anyone better suited to it."

Iida shuffles and adjusts his glasses. "Yes, well we held the vote in your absence. The responsibilities have been more than I anticipated without my vice."

Uraraka bumps Iida before he gestures wildly. "He means you."

Izuku chokes on his spit. "I w-wasn't even here."

"I voted for you," Kirishima says the jabs a thumb in Tokoyami's direction. "So, did feather-duster over here."

"That is not a title I accept," Tokoyami says but there is no heat to it. He looks to Izuku. "I felt it only right I use my vote on someone who deserved it."

"You barely know me."

"I know enough, Midoriya. And you certainly are worthy of my vote."

He runs a hand through his hair to hide that it shakes. "I don't think I can do it," he whispers, shaking his head.

"I can't think of anyone manlier for the job than you," Kirishima adds. "I mean, you just keep on getting up no matter what."

"Yes, let's perpetuate some more patriarchy whilst we're at it," Uraraka says, looking to Iida.

"Women have played a pivotal role in our society, Kirishima. What of Hawkmoon and all the greats heroines…"

Izuku watches him gesture wildly as he lectures Kirishima who seems to wilt under the onslaught of Iida's words. Uraraka, though, has a warm smile on her face.

"She's terrifying," Shinsou whispers, nearly startling Izuku for he had forgotten about his friend.

"She kinda is."

"What are you boys saying about me?" Uraraka asks, and though her tone is warm Izuku gets the distinct impression it hides more than she lets others see. "Nothing bad, I hope."

Izuku gulps. "Nothing?"

"Uraraka," Tokoyami says suddenly, harsh enough that it stops Iida's tirade for there is genuine anger in his voice. "Stop antagonising him."

"And this is why you're always getting in fights. He doesn't need someone defending his honour." There is venom in her voice, and it shocks Izuku as he takes a step back.

"You think it better to needlessly aggravate him?"

"I think maybe he's not a fragile princess who needs rescuing because you have a guilt complex."

Izuku swallows, taking another step back. His eyes burn. Shinsou's hand is a warm anchor on his shoulder.

"You guys need t—"

"He's just been hurt," Tokoyami says over Kirishima. "He does not need this on his first day back."

"I think he needs friends—which you aren't—who don't act—"

"Enough!" Iida roars. "Both of you stop this immediately. And don't you dare say another word. This behaviour is reprehensible."

"No requested your opinion," Tokoyami says snidely.

"Are you gonna fight with everyone you see?"

Izuku takes a breath. He isn't ready to deal with this, not now. He starts walking and has no interest in anyone calling after him. Today is his first day back and his friends are already fighting.

This is your fault, the voice whispers.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Finds himself in the bathroom.

It should worry him that he has no clue how he got here but there is cold water he can throw on his face. He sees a scarred boy in the reflection, a boy only a mother can love.

He hears the door open. Kirishima appears in the reflection, worry writ plain upon his features.

Izuku sighs. "S-sorry I left."

"No, dude, you don't need to apologise for anything." Kirishima runs a hand through his hair. "Look, they've kinda been at it for a bit. It's not your fault."

"They were arguing because of me. I think that's the definition of fault." He turns and smiles bitterly at the redhead. "You know I took off the bandages this morning. I found out some stuff about my family. My friends are arguing and I'm forcing you to listen to me complain."

Kirishima says nothing, simply watching him cry.

"Aren't you going to say anything? This is my fault. I'm this scarred freak and I can't even go a minute without crying and—"

The boy steps forward suddenly. Izuku tenses, ready for a blow or an insult. He doesn't expect the arms that wrap around his shoulders and bring him close.

"W-wh—"

"I think you need a hug right now," Kirishima says gently and it's so at odds with the casual strength hr always seems to have. "We thought maybe we shouldn't bring up the scars. I guess we were wrong. Look, things have been tense ever since that day. No one knows what's going on but none of that is your fault."

"It is," Izuku whispers, wondering if his tears will ever run dry. "It always is."

"Man, people are just worried. You're our friend and we're all dealing with things badly. Tokoyami's taking things too far, Uraraka's being spiteful, Iida's a nervous wreck who won't say anything and Shinsou's just avoiding everyone."

"A-and you?" he sniffles.

Kirishima hugs him tighter. "I'm just worried about you. No one's considering what you need. If you need a shoulder to cry on, that's fine. If you need someone to talk shit with, well I've read the book. And if you just want a fight I can take a few hits."

"I'm not going to punch you." But he smiles anyway. "I might just kick you though."

Kirishima huffs. "Yeah, you would."

When Kirishima pulls away, Izuku feels less like a train wreck. There is so much earnestness that he can't even feel embarrassed.

"Thank you."

Kirishima grins a toothy grin. "Any time."

The class is subdued when they finally leave. More than one person looks like they want to say something, and Mineta is stopped by a harsh glare from Iida before he can so much as open his mouth, but they seem content to ignore him. He notices the desks have changed a bit. Kouda sits near the door, and there is an empty desk right behind him. Kacchan's, he realises, and to the left of that desk is Iida and behind is Ojiro who he's yet to say a word to.

Izuku can't help smiling even if he does thing their worry is ridiculous. Kacchan won't hurt him, not intentionally.

"Your mum went all out," Ashido says, startling him from a card trick. He looks up to see her inspecting his hair.

He puts a hand there self-consciously. The braids are thick and rope-like on the sides and wrap around to the back. It makes him blush to realise how odd he must look now.

"It's not a bad thing," she adds quickly.

"I think you look fabulous," Aoyoma says from the other end of the class. Somehow, everyone ignores him.

He's saved by Aizawa entering the class. The man looks more tired than usual, and there's an aura of tension to him.

"Good, at least you're quiet," he says then focuses on Izuku. "Midoriya, they voted you vice class rep. Do you actually want the position?"

"N-no," he squeaks out.

"Fine. Yaoyorozu, you're the new vice. Now, can we please get through the week without attacking upperclassmen"—He looks to Tokoyami and Ojiro—"because I don't want to suspend anyone any longer, and making unreasonable requests of Lunch Rush. Also, if you're done with classes, have a valid reason for staying late. I'm tired of emails asking if I'm keeping you late. You know who you are."

Classes are peaceful. The teachers don't coddle him which Izuku appreciates more than he can express. When Uraraka makes a joke at his expense, he laughs before Tokoyami can get angry though he does smile at the boy.

During lunch, he shows them how to play the Zimbabwean variation of Crazy Eights which his mother showed him a few days ago. The rules are confusing for them at first but Uraraka seems to have a knack for any card game, and she makes Ojiro pick five cards with a gleeful smile and seems to have a personal reason to consistently skip Shinsou's turn.

They have PT in the afternoon. Izuku is ready to enter the locker room when Aizawa pulls him aside.

"Sensei?"

The man sighs. "Midoriya, you can join the class when Recovery Girl clears you. No sooner. Don't be difficult about it."

"But—"

"No. You'll only delay your recovery."

"Yes sensei."

They speak no more of it. Izuku watches them, a part of him jealous that they get to enjoy the feel of wind in your hair, the burning of muscles pushed to their limits and the joy of overcoming your limits. There is Iida, fastest of them all. There is Shouji who's many arms make him the strongest of them all. He catalogues their physical abilities by habit.

He rubs at his scar as it starts itching. Recover Girl impressed upon him the importance of not scratching no matter how bad it got.

A shadow covers his notebook. He looks up and stumbles back from mixed eyes, one like ice and the other steel.

"Todoroki?"

The boy says nothing. Then, he hands Izuku the paper he holds. "They'll help with the scarring." It is a list of words that a few months ago he wouldn't be able to pronounce.

He sees the large burn scar over the boy's left eye and understands. Taking the paper, he says, "Thank you."

Todoroki doesn't move. His eyes seem to watch Izuku. "Do you fear the flame?"

"Huh? What?"

Todoroki shakes his head minutely. "It doesn't matter." He turns to walk away.

"Wait, stop," Izuku says but Todoroki continues walking. "That was weird."

The rest of the day progresses without fanfare. Once the last bell rings, Izuku backs his bags. Looking up, he's startled to see his friends waiting for him.

"Why are you all standing there?"

"We're walking with you to the train station," Iida says.

"Right… You guys realise I have to go see a counsellor."

"Nope," Uraraka says, cheerful as ever. "We can wait."

Izuku closes his eyes. Opens them. Says, "Just go home. I'll be fine."

He waves back to them on his way out. It takes him a moment to realise there's a second set of footsteps following him. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Tokoyami.

Izuku stops. "You really don't have to wait for me."

"I do," the boy says solemnly. "I owe you a debt I can never repay."

"You don't."

"I very much do. Please don't argue with me on this."

He very much wants to. But there is an earnestness to Tokoyami that he can't dislike. "Fine."

-TDB-

There is a man sitting at a desk before the counsellor's office. When Iuzku tells him that he has a meeting the man lets him in. Tokoyami wishes him luck before he leaves.

The office is warm, lots of pastel colours and splashes of orange here and there for variety. There are a couch and a single chair across a glass table. It gives the illusion that there is no barrier between him and the red-haired woman with oversized glasses.

"Dr Makinami," he greets politely, hands clutched together tightly.

She smiles and inclines her head to the seating. Izuku sits on the single chair made of green fabric. The cushion is firm if not stiff, and the back seems to conform to his every muscle. It is, plainly put, incredibly comfortable.

"And you must be"—she looks to the file on her desk—"Izuku Midoriya. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Y-yes."

Her face opens as she smiles. "Before we start I'd like you to know I have a quirk."

Izuku frowns. "Okay?"

"It's a sort of empathy quirk," she explains. "It lets me know a bit more about what you're feeling when you say something. It doesn't tell me everything by any stretch, but if you're angry I'll know if it's anger and something else. I just want you to know that."

There is an almost musical quality to her voice, a cadence that makes him think of dancing in the rain.

"What does that have to do with me?" he asks, voice cracking. "I don't have a choice to be here."

She leans forward, hands folded on the table. He wonders how often she has to clean fingerprints off it.

"And what makes you say that?"

"It's probably all in that file of yours." He nods to it. "So, let's get this over with."

"I'll let you in on a secret. I haven't actually read your file. I know your name and that's about it." She winks. "I'd rather get to know you as a person than you as a document to examine."

"That's just ridiculous," he says, unbidden. "What if I was dangerous? What if I wanted to hurt someone?"

"Do you?"

"No, that's not the point. How do you know you're not making things worse by not knowing?"

"Experience and practice."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. Use that excuse."

She hums. "And what makes you think that's an excuse?"

He snorts, folding his arms across his chest. "It's what adults always say. You all think you know better because you're older. I don't think age makes people wiser."

"What does, then?"

"Kindness. Forgiveness." He smiles bitterly. "The sort of things I'm being punished over."

"I take it you're talking about the incident that led to you being here?" She adjusts her glasses with her left index finger. "Would you like to talk about that?"

"Do I have a choice?" He looks away. "You're just going to tell them everything I say."

"Is that what you believe" She tilts her head when he nods. "I think I understand. My name's Hikari Makinami. I was born in Okayama and my favourite colour is orange. I'm allergic to cats but I own three of them. My mum's a nurse and I never knew my dad. My best friend Asuka's an idiot but I wouldn't replace her for all the money in the world."

Izuku looks to her in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"You don't trust me, and I've given you no reason to do so. I can promise you that what we speak off will always be private unless I have reason to believe you'll hurt yourself or someone else. Other than that, all anyone will know is if I think you're getting better."

She thinks you a broken vase to tape back together, the voice whispers. She doesn't know everything about you is broken.

"I'm not broken," he snaps, angry suddenly. "I got hurt. I forgave the person who did it. That doesn't make me broken."

"I never said you were broken."

"If you're trying to make me better that means you think there's something wrong with me. Something broken."

She frowns. "I want you to acknowledge that you're twisting my words. I don't think you're angry with me because I can feel more than a bit of self-loathing from you."

"I don't hate myself," he says quickly. He hates the things hiding inside.

One brow rises magnificently, and it reminds him of a cat. "Do you believe that?"

He looks away, the stitching on the couch suddenly very interesting. "I do."

"You're not the first person who's come in here with a chip on their shoulder about counselling. You won't be the last. I don't doubt you could lie your way through this since deception isn't an emotion."

"So, this is pretty useless."

"But you can choose to make the most of your time," she continues. "Think of it this way, you could spend an hour lying to me—though I think you're more the silent type—or you could be sincere. I won't even ask for honesty and trust, only sincerity. I can help you through whatever you need help with so long as you try."

Izuku closes his eyes. "Fine."

"Alright. How's about we start with the incident that brought you here?"

He remembers fire and pain, terror and so, so much fear. The sight of Kacchan's wide eyes, the blinding blast from those massive gauntlets, his plea for help. He can still taste every flavour of rage from Kacchan, can tell apart the cold anger like a bitter ice-cream from the hot inferno that reminds him of mildly burnt meat.

"I d-dodged in the wrong direction," he whispers, hating how weak his voice sounds. "I got hurt. That's all."

"I don't think it is."

"What do you expect me to say?" His voice cracks and unshed tears burn at his eyes. "Everyone's told me I should be angry. Why? I could have jumped the other direction and none of this would matter."

"Izuku, do you feel that you're at fault for that?"

He sighs, knowing exactly what's coming. "Yes. I should have known better. I do. I just… trusted the wrong instincts." He thinks of the voice and enjoys how it scurries to the dark corners of his mind. "Is this the part you tell me I'm unhealthy for being able to forgive him?"

"I don't think forgiveness is unhealthy. Far from it." Izuku opens his eyes to see her earnest expression. "But I want to understand your thought process a bit more. You see, forgiveness is hard. It is rarely an easy thing to look a person in the eye and tell them you absolve them of their crime against you. It makes me think you don't consider what happened to you to be an injustice of some sort."

"But it wasn't. Accidents happen. You can't get upset over them."

"Do you have any friends?" she asks suddenly. Izuku frowns but nods. "I want you to think of one of them, the one you're closest to. Whoever it is, I want you to focus on them."

Shinsou comes to mind immediately. The boy he pictures smiles and looks to Izuku as if he is someone worth existing, and not a monster that needs to be put down. A smile comes to his face, unbidden.

"Just like that," she continues. "Now I want you to imagine them hurt."

He flinches. "No," he snaps, standing. He takes a breath before One For All activates or his shadow does anything more than mirror his movements. "I am not doing that."

"That anger, that righteous indignation is important. You're feeling that from just imagining your friend hurt. Imagine them lying in hospital, broken and dying." He can't, not without breaking. "Now, imagine forgiving the person who did that."

His fists clench tightly. "I could never…" he trails off, understanding blossoming. "I see what you did. And no, it's not the same."

"Would you like to sit first?" Her question is so reasonable that not doing so would be rude. "Why isn't it the same?"

"Because." He searches for an answer and it terrifies him that he can't. "Because I'm different."

"In what way? From what I can tell, you're not any more durable than the average person."

"Because it wouldn't matter," he shouts. "I just-it just wouldn't fucking matter if I died."

There is silence. He can't look at her, doesn't want to see the disgust and revulsion that will be on her face. Because why couldn't he just shut up and stay quiet for once in his life.

"Izuku," she says all too gently as if calming a rabid dog, "I need to ask you a delicate question. One you might not feel comfortable answering, but I think it's important. Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?"

He swallows, wishing the room would eat him up right now. The scar on his forearm burns and thinking on it fills him with shame—first All Might and now this woman who doesn't know him, doesn't have reason to care.

"W-why does it matter. I don't… I don't want to die."

"I believe you," she says after a moment. "But I just need to know. It's not at all uncommon," she adds, "and I will have to inform someone if I think you may harm yourself now. But it doesn't apply to anything in the past."

The impulse to lie comes immediately. He can already see the shape of it—a deflection first, maybe indignant anger before unravelling a complex web: at first an admission of hurting himself, maybe a pattern of behaviour followed by a tangent to the scar and how much he hates it. There is enough truth that it isn't a lie.

And yet he's so tired of lying, and of deflecting.

Lie, the voice commands harshly, raw as though it has been shouting. You've already told her too much. She is not your ally.

And you are? He asks, angry at the audacity of a voice in his head telling him how to behave.

I am the untold lie. I am that which keeps you sane.

"Yes," he says finding it strange how dull his voice is.

She lets out a breath, almost relief. "Izuku, it's not rare to have thoughts like that nor is it something to be ashamed of."

Don't believe her.

"I was going to lie about it," he admits suddenly, voice still dull. "I had it all worked out."

"Thank you. You can't believe how happy I am to know that." She coughs, and it sounds less a distraction and more like an actual cough, the kind people get at the tail end of a cold. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"About what? The lie?"

"You could speak on that," she says after taking a sip of water from a bottle he only now notices. "But I meant more on the time you felt that way."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the…" She sighs. "I think you respond best to bluntness. Did you have a plan, at any point, of how you would kill yourself."

"I did," he says, eyes closed and mind blank. "I very much did."

"You did have a plan?"

He brings his hands together. "I tried to die," he says, bitter and angry and tired all at once. "The knife was sharp. The anaesthetic made it painless. I was just done and sick of it all. And I needed answers."

The air is heavy, charged with tension. "Answers to what?"

"To life." A tear escapes his closed eye. "To me. If I died maybe there wouldn't be darkness anymore. I lived, unfortunately. I know what it feels like to come so close and yet fail so hard."

Do you hate me? The voice asks, a mix of regret and fear.

"I don't hate you. I just want you to go away."

"Izuku," Dr Makinami's says, bringing him back to reality. "Who are you talking to?"

He smiles blandly. "No one of any importance."

Eyes closed as they are, he can't tell what expression, if any, she makes. "And are there a lot of people of no importance you talk to?" she asks carefully.

"Just one." He closes his heart to all emotion and opens his eyes. "Can I go now? I think I'm done for the day."

She meets his gaze, her eyes so warm and yet failing to do anything more than aggravate him. "Alright, I think we've made a lot of progress." She reaches for one of the cards on her desk. "If you ever need help, please call me. Anytime."

"I won't." He takes the card. "No need to be a bother."

He feels raw and strung out when he leaves, scars throbbing and demanding attention. Rubbing the long one down his forearm does nothing but make it itch and he wants to take a knife to it and pluck out everything because the pain he understands, not whatever this suffocating feeling is. The shadows are harder to ignore, and he wonders if diving into the darkness would be a better option. At least there, broken things are the norm and he can understand the peculiar brand of physics the endless void employs.

But that wouldn't be fair to Tokoyami who's waiting for him on a bench, a book opened on his legs. He looks up, red eyes never threatening.

"Midoriya…" he trails off.

Izuku takes a deep breath. "What are you reading?" he asks impatiently, hoping it will bring distraction.

Tokoyami stares at him for a long moment. Then he nods and stands, tucking the book under his arm. "'The Pillars of a Moral Character' by Ryo Asuka," he says, walking. "It has brought me comfort often."

Izuku nods though Tokoyami will not see it. "Wh-what is it about?"

Tokoyami hums. "He speaks of honour, of duty and the repayment of debts. I harbour a demon within me, Midoriya. One that seeks to corrupt me at every turn. This book has always been a guiding light when the dark seeks to consume me."

"It sounds interesting."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I find I had very much forgotten his more important teachings."

"Which is?"

Tokoyami looks over his shoulder, and maybe frowns—Izuku can't tell, not with how alien his features are.

"Empathy," he says solemnly. "All men are equal in death. But in life, we must always remember we are one people no matter our appearance."

The stress on the word makes Izuku frown. "People bullied you for your looks, didn't they?"

Tokoyami tenses, foot hovering an inch off the ground. "Yes." He exhales and continues walking in the waning light. "I once gave into my demon's taunts and… it was not pretty. My behaviour was unacceptable. I've spent every day since learning to control myself and my impulses."

He pauses. Izuku watches him lift his hands, staring at them. The wind blows, ruffling his feathers. They aren't pitch black but three shades away from charcoal.

"We are ultimately responsible for the consequences of our actions. If we give excuses then we have failed in our duties, both to ourselves and to our fellow men. That is why I believe I owe you a debt, Midoriya. If I never try to repay it, then I may unwittingly be walking a path to darkness."

He turns to face Izuku. He is shorter but only just. His red eyes are determined, brilliant embers in the night.

"You are kind, Midoriya, and you forgive as easily as breathing. Should I ever be able to repay this debt, then I believe I will be able to escape the chains seeking to drag me to the dark below."

Izuku freezes, his blood running cold. Tokoyami smiles, heedless of the sheer shock stunning Izuku.

"But even should I fail, in trying will I not become a better person?" He bows his head. "Death is the final darkness and its siren call impossible to ignore. But until then I can try."

They continue walking to the train, Izuku still a bit dazed from how Tokoyami so casually spoke of the realm of nightmare creatures, regardless that he used it only as a turn of phrase—there is no impossible weight to the phrase when Tokoyami says it, no resounding echo of infinity—and perhaps in awe of someone whose code of ethics is so beautifully simple and precisely complex.

At the train station, Tokoyami stops. He thrusts the book in Izuku's hand.

"Huh?"

Tokoyami makes a sound of amusement. "I believe you will find more answers in it than I will now."

"Y-you can't just give this to me."

"Worry not on the matter." He takes one of Izuku's hands and places it over the cover, enveloping Izuku's hand in the process. It is warm, and oddly intimate, not at all what he expects from this dark and mysterious boy.

"I do not know what you are going through, and I am not good with people. My behaviour earlier today is irrefutable proof of that as I pushed both you and Uraraka away in my… arrogance. There are many lessons this book has taught me. And if even one helps you then I will consider it leaving my possession a worthy goal."

He nods once more. "Your kindness is a strength, Midoriya. The world would do well to have more of you."

Tokoyami lets go and walks off before Izuku can regain his bearings. There is something regal to him, almost like a king. The casual confidence is something Izuku wishes he could have. Crying all the time is in no ways dignified.

He gets home. Food is ready, and he eats in silence with his mother. She doesn't push, and he promises he'll talk to her later. But right now, he's too tired to even consider it.

An envelope rests on his on his bed. The paper is worn, faded and creased. He opens it. Inside is a picture of his mother in a hospital gown looking exhausted, sweat seeping through the gown. Within her arm is a small bundle of blankets.

Another picture shows the bundle to be a baby. His eyes are dark as midnight and so so bright, and his hair a shade of black that seems to absorb all light. His mother still holds the baby, but there are clouds that shimmer with every colour, a bolt of lightning connecting two of them.

"Mikumo," he whispers, clutching the picture close. "Hello brother. My name's Izuku."

Even the dead have names, the voice says. A tendril of darkness rises and picks up one of the pictures. Mikumo Atakani. This name will be mine.

"Don't you fucking dare," Izuku snarls. "You have no right."

I asked you to name me. You chose not to and cast me away. But the name of the brother you killed is more suiting.

"Lies."

Yes, a lie it is. But what am I if not the lies you tell and the truths you hide.

"Please, just no. Don't take him from me."

I will keep your secrets, Mikumo Atakani says. I will be the keeper, the lock and key.

"I hate you," he snarls. "I hate you so fucking much."

The voice—Mikumo, now—leaves. It takes with it the static that fills his mind. Izuku takes one of the pictures and stares at the brother whom he never met but will always love.

Izuku sits alone and mourns.

A/N:

Hey everyone, this marks the end of the first season of the story. As such, I will be taking a week-long hiatus and returning on 2 August. And considering that this has been 12 chapters in about 10 weeks, I need a bit of a break.

To the 'guest' reviewer who believes they have any say in how this story progressives, I was honestly fine with the first few reviews telling me to ship Izuku/Ochaco. But I've reached a point in being annoyed and since I live off of spite, that ship is officially off the tables. In fact, Ochaco is being paired with someone else now. Take care.

That's all from me for now. Thank you for reading this. If you enjoyed the story leave a favourite and if you have any questions just drop a review. But know all of that is unnecessary, and as always your readership is quite enough for me. Cheers.