Izuku's door closes behind him as his feet pad down the hall, alerting Inko that he's finally woken up. She gives a soft smile as he stumbles into the room, his hands trapped in his curls as he tries to scratch his head. His eyebrows furrow against his forehead as he tilts his head sideways to try and dislodge his fingers from his curls. He pulls this way and that, his hands only seemingly getting more lost like a child in a darkened maze.
Inko turns her head towards the table as she places their bowls of rice against the wood. Their gentle clacking and the sound of Izuku's feet padding towards her allow for a small moment of calm to swaddle her heart. She looks back up to see Izuku walking sideways, heading straight for the coffee table as he shakes his hands more and more vigorously against his hair. The bottoms of his All Might pajamas slowly wrap around his ankles like hissing snakes.
"Um….Izuku," she tries to call quietly, "Izuku, the coffee tabl-'' She gets cut off by a loud crash. "Oh dear!" she hurries past the dinning table in favor of the living room, "Oh, my baby! Are you hurt? How many times have I told you to brush your hair? Oh my goodness, oh my dear goodness, I'm sure I've told you to be careful. What if you had been hurt? Are you hurt? Do we have time to go to the hospital before you have to leave for school? I'm sure we can make time," she calls as she speeds to get her purse from the next room.
"M-Mom! I-I'm fine, really!" Izuku pops back up from the ground, finally freeing his hand from his curls. He wiggles his fingers towards her, smiling like a small, greater value All Might, "Got it!"
Inko turns towards him from the doorway, her purse and a bento box in her hands. She hurries towards him, dropping her things on the couch as she passes by. She pats at his hair and shoulders, giving small glances across him to check for injuries. "Are you sure? It's no trouble. The hospital is a small walk. Well, you know with all the heroes you follow around in this area. Are you sure? Are you worried you can't make it that far? Oh no, my poor baby. We'll call an ambulance instead." She rushes towards the phone.
"M-Mom!" Izuku rushes to calm his overly anxious mother down, placing himself between his mother and the landline. He gives a small internal flinch towards her tendency to worry too much. "I-I'm fine! I promise." Her face briefly calms before flashing into alarm as he continues, "But," he says. The panic flies against her face, a million reasons for the 'but' throwing all of her typical logic out the window. What if he's hurt? What if he got a bruise? Or a scrap? Or internal bleeding? Oh no, she has to call the ambulance before her poor baby bleeds out on the floor in front of her-
"But," he continues, "I would be even better after some breakfast," he says, an attempt to redirect her overly motherly instincts into another, more convenient form of mothering. He shows her his teeth, trying his best to smile at her in a comforting way.
Inko sighs against her worries, trying to push them out through her mouth and bring in better thoughts through her nose. "Of course, honey, it's just about ready." She dusts imaginary dirt off of his shoulders before tucking her hands against her chest. "Could you brush your hair for me, while I finish setting the table?" she gently suggests, holding her hands against her slowly calming heart.
Izuku nods his head. He pulls himself towards the bathroom in an attempt to placate his mom, but he knows better than to try and get a brush through his hair. He turns on the sink, the sound of the faucet ringing through his ears. He can hear his mom humming from the next room, easing some of his minute frustrations against her.
He dips his fingers in the cold water and runs it through his hair in an attempt to control his curls. He knows that she has the best of intentions. He knows that he's lucky to have her, and to have a mother that is willing to care so much for him. But sometimes he wishes that she wouldn't drive herself sick from worrying. He sometimes wonders if this is normal. If she would do this whether he was quirkless or not, but he can't help the small pit of guilt that dives into his stomach everytime he thinks about it.
He's lucky to have her, he reminds himself.
His chest tightens inside his loose t-shirt. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He wets his fingers again and runs them through his hair to try and calm himself down. They catch briefly in a tangle before freeing themselves, sending his stomach through a spinning tunnel.
He opens his eyes and glances up and away from the faucet.
He hates looking at himself in the mirror.
Freckles dust his cheeks like dirt on the side of the road. His hair twists like incessant weeds. And his plain face is one that even he forgets sometimes. Half of his height comes from his hair, his shoulders jut out in sharp angles and yet his cheeks cling to years of baby fat like a toddler clinging to their favorite toy in their sticky wet hands.
He smiles at the mirror in his best approximation of All Might, but he can't help but think that it looks like a cheap, poorly made copy that you would find on discount in a 100 yen shop. It looks more like a grimace, his gums a red shock against the rest of his face, his cheeks pulling tight around his ears.
His eyes wander across his face as he holds his smile.
It makes sense to him that he would be quirkless.
He should have known sooner, shouldn't have needed to wait for the doctor to tell him.
Kacchan says he's worthless. A Deku.
And he's right.
How can he fault his only friend for telling him the truth, when one of the reasons he loves Kacchan so much is for his candidness, even if it hurts sometimes.
It only hurts because he's weak. Because he's right and he always will be, and Izuku wishes more than anything that he wasn't.
The smile slides off of his face like ice cream on a hot day. His chest hurts. His lungs burn. His stomach feels as if it were full of rotten stomach acid. He takes deep breaths to calm himself down until it feels as if he's pulling from a dry well. The bucket gets smaller and smaller as he tries to pull in as much air as he can, but the well is getting far too deep and he doesn't have a rope that's nearly long enough to reach it. He tries to breathe in, but it feels as if All Might were sitting on his chest, squishing his diaphragm and crushing his lungs.
His head feels as if it were stumbling.
His knees feel as if they were made out of jello, deconstructed and put back together in the wrong order until they can't hold any semblance of weight.
"Izuku! Breakfast is ready!"
He yanks his arms forward, dousing his fingers in the faucet. His unfocused eyes zero in on the cold seeping into his knuckles. He splashes it against the flush in his cheeks.
He glances back into the mirror, careful not to look for too long.
He hates looking at himself.
He looks back down at his knuckles and tries to ignore the heat gathering under his eyelids. He smiles like All Might. Like everything could be okay if he just smiled. His teeth feel too big for his face like they would fall out if he left his mouth open for too long. His smile feels more like a grimace and it's a painful reminder that he can never be his favorite hero. Or any hero at all, really.
He takes a deep breath and turns off the faucet.
"Coming!" he shouts back.
He jumbles into the living room, his normally bouncy curls damp against his forehead. The chair squeaks as he sits down, the wood digging into his shoulder blades.
"Thank you for the food!" he chimes.
"Let's eat!"
Izuku picks up his chopsticks, pointedly ignoring the slight shaking in his hands. He focuses on looking at his mom instead.
He likes to look at her hair. It's straight and tumbles towards the ground like a waterfall. He can almost see the way gravity grabs at its ends and pulls.
He pushes his arm towards his mouth and shoves his chopsticks between his teeth, ignoring the feeling of sand filling the space between his bones. His stomach turns under the weight of rice in his throat. He chews as slowly as he can, wishing he wouldn't have to swallow.
"The food is good," he tells his mother. He gulps down rice and bile.
He catches her grin with the tops of his eyes.
"What do you have planned for today?" she asks him.
Izuku's mind blanks.
"U-um. I'm…." His brain flounders like a fish in shallow water before diving back into functionality. He grins, "I'm applying to U.A. today!" He pumps his fist against the air. Excitement infects his cheeks, making him pull them back and smile until they push his eyes closed.
Inko smiles towards him in a way that lacks her typical swaddling warmth. She'd use the word tired to describe it if frustrated weren't a more adept term. "Izuku," she says as lovingly as she can, her words pulled down by exasperation. He opens his eyes to blink owlishly at her. His grin slowly migrates off of his face, dripping off of his chin and landing in his bowl.
Inko smiles at him to communicate that everything is okay, but her cheeks pull taunt against her face. "We talked about this," she insists. The millions of reasons as to why her baby can't apply to U.A. flash through her mind before she lands on one that wasn't as harsh as reality. "You know that we don't have enough money for you to attend U.A."
"No, no, I know. I-I just f-figur-"
Inko cuts him off by picking up the bowls in front of him. Her smile is gone, replaced by furrowed brows. She stands up, pushing back the chair behind her.
"I said no. Your father works very hard for the money that we have and I refuse to waste a cent of it."
He flinches when he hears her say, 'waste.' No matter how hard he tries, he wishes he could dispute that word and with no luck. Izuku scrambles behind her, trailing her to the kitchen, his fingers twitching at a mile a minute. "But-Bu-But mom-"
"I said no, Izuku. End of discussion." The bowls clatter into the sink. Inko turns away from the kitchen, walking back towards the dining table.
"B-But they have scholarships, and, and if I could just-"
"But you can't!" she interrupts. Her voice climbs, forcing their walls against the two of them. "You know you can't! You're not like everyone else."
"But, I-I can. If you would just listen-"
"I've listened enough, Izuku." He wishes she wouldn't say his name like that. Like he was a disappointment. Like she expects better from him when he's already giving his best. Like she was tired of hearing him speak and seeing him be.
Like she would be happier if he just wasn't there.
His given name in her mouth is like a pile of rocks on her tongue and feels like a blow to his chest.
"Now it's time for you to listen." He can see her hands shake against her apron from across from the table. Tears gather in her eyes as if she loathes to say what she will, but she plows on regardless. To save her baby. "I know you better than anyone else. And I know what you're capable of," she pleads. "I gave you life and I have seen you create from it what you will. But this is something that I cannot let you do. You don't understand how fragile you are, how much I've had to protect you." Her stomach drops from below her. Her voice cracks and her eyes burn, but she needs to stay strong for him. "I won't ever stop protecting you. It's a mother's job and if that means I have to be the bad guy then so be it." She puffs her chest and pulls back her shoulders before looking him in the eye, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"You can't be a hero.
"I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm so sorry. But you just can't," tears soak into her cheeks and it's getting harder to understand her from all of the snot, but she maintains eye contact with him as if he were no better than a dog that had peed on the carpet.
"How many times do we have to have this discussion, Izuku?" Exhaustion pulls at the end of her eyes, coating her voice."How many times do I have to tell you? How many times are you going to make me say it?" Inko's cheeks feel as warm as her eyes and make her feel like she's on fire. It's getting harder for her to breathe, her breath coming in increasingly smaller gasps.
Izuku's head dips against the weight of her stare. He doesn't want to look at her and he wishes she would look away from him. He thinks of the weeds in his hair, and the dirt on his cheeks. He wishes she didn't have to look at him. She deserved so much better than him for a son.
"Tell me, Izuku, how many times do I have to say it?"
He can't look at her. Her voice sits in his chest like an ill fitted weight and it hurts. It's stretching out his heart until it's sore and frail. Why did he have to cause her so much pain? Why couldn't he be everything she wanted? Why can't he give up on his dream of being a hero?
He's so sorry for the pain he's caused.
Look at her, he thinks. Look at what you're good for. She hates you. How could she not? Look at her. She deserves better than anything you could ever be.
Izuku keeps his head down. He wishes he could stop thinking. He shuts his mind down, refusing to listen to her and refusing to think. His voice rings out clear and monotone, like a spark in a room full of dynamite, "Say what, mom?"
Inko sighs, scrutinizing his face from across the room. He can feel her eyes roaming over him. She sighs again to calm her rarely raised temper.
"I know it's not fair…." she starts off softly, her voice cocooning his ears before a sharp edge returns to her voice. She shoves her words into his ears, forcing him to understand, "But you can't do what other people do. You're quirkless."
"I-I," His sniffles fill the sudden silence of the room, tension breathing through the walls of their home. He wishes the words inside his mind would just stop.
Tears slip past his eyelids, dampening his eyelashes and stuffing his nose. He looks away from the ground in search of his mother's eyes. Red rings quickly forming around his eyes as they continue to dump warm water against his cheeks.
His voice cracks, trying its best to stay in his throat. He has to start his sentence over multiple times before finally being able to stutter out, "I just want to be a hero." His stomach pulls him in until he's doubled over. His shoulders tuck neatly into his ribcage and cocoon his creaking heart in walls of bone.
Her heart breaks all over again, cracks reforming from the glue she has to put there regularly. No matter how much she loves her child, she can't help but wish that he would listen to her. Or maybe that he didn't want to be a hero, or maybe that he had a quirk. But more than anything, she wishes this pain would go away.
"You're fourteen," she tries to rationalize as gently as she can. "You don't know what you want."
He flinches, eyes turning back towards the ground.
"I-I have to go to school," he blurts out before taking off towards the door, tripping against his All Might pajama pants.
"Izuku," she calls after him, her feet rooted to the ground. "Your uniform!"
He scrambles for his bag, his feet sliding into his clunky red shoes.
The sound of the door opening rouses Inko from her frozen thoughts, "I love y-" she tries to call out, getting cut off by the slam of the front door.
Her heart flinches against the sound, feeling empty and damp. She only hopes that he'll be able to see reason.
She can only hope that this will be the last time that she's left crying in the middle of their living room.
Izuku stumbles down the front steps, stamping his feet into his shoes as he walks. Goosebumps trickle up his arms, reaching the end of his shirt sleeve as the brisk morning air hits him. His feet carry him away from his home, his heart feeling cold and his cheeks flushed.
He wipes away the snot from underneath his nose. His wrist feels wet as he pulls it away and he rubs it against his pajamas, careful to avoid All Might's faces.
His shoulders feel like big boulders on his sides. Momentum swings him side to side not caring for balance. A fire starts in his lungs and spreads to his legs as he starts to run as fast as he can.
His legs move faster until he's sprinting, his shoulders hunched over as he tries to breath against the mask his snot has cast.
His feet slam into the pavement, shoving vibrations up his legs. It's enough to make him stumble every other step until he's two blocks away and darkening a familiar doorstep.
He stares at the bright red door until it's burned into his vision and he has to squint through the water in his eyes. He's trying to work up the courage to knock, to stop crying, to breathe properly, but none of those options seem to be working.
His knees thump against the porch.
His lungs fluctuate under his ribcage, his intestines slowly wrapping around his stomach until he feels strangled.
His nose burns with the breath that he brings in and he can't help the thoughts that flash through his head.
"Why why why why why," he whispers to the floor board.
Why can't he do something as simple as breathing?
He takes a step back in his mind. He makes a list in his head, of all the things he likes about himself to help himself calm down.
He likes…. His….
Why can't he think of anything?
He can't think back past the goddamn snot in his nose.
Air burns on the way down his throat, and sets fire to his chest.
All he can think about is the small little boy that lets people break his heart and stomp on his bones.
That's not someone to like. That's not anyone he's proud of.
This helpless little boy that cowers in the corner as people run through his mind and wreak havoc on his dreams.
And he just lets them. He watches them with tears in his eyes, powerless to stop them.
Too weak and far too scared.
He's afraid that if he were to say something that no words would come out. But he's more afraid of what would happen if they did. Afraid that if he lifted his voice above a whisper that someone would hear him.
They would hear him and they would turn to him. They would see a small, shaking boy in the corner and they would laugh like fire until it burned and he wished he hadn't spoken at all.
His knees dig into the painted floorboards.
He tucks his head between his knees. The top of his head dusts the ground and he realizes just how cold it is. Chills are running up and down his spine, chastising him for his lack of a coat, but his face feels flushed and swollen and stuffy. He presses his cheeks into the floorboards, his hands tucked against his stomach.
He breathes in and out through his mouth, trying to think only of the cold pressed into his face. He tries to forget that what he's doing is strange and he should just knock and maybe that will take his mind off of this morning.
But he's scared. And he knows that's stupid, and that it's a useless emotion, but he can't help the pit in his stomach that takes residence whenever he thinks of pounding his fist against that bright red door.
He's so tired of thinking and so he runs along the interior of his brain flipping all of the switches that he can until he's just a boy sitting on a porch with his head tucked between his knees.
He tries to laugh at himself, but it comes out as more of a sob.
I'm pathetic.
The door slams from above him.
"Tch. It's too early to find dog shit sitting on my porch, Deku."
Izuku looks up at him through the water in his eyes. He can't remember why he was afraid anymore. Kacchan will make it all better, he always does.
"Kacchan," he sniffles, grinding the palm of his hand into the back of his eyes. It hurts, he wants to say, but what comes out is, "Can I borrow a uniform?"
"You useless Deku, you can't even do your own laundry? Hah!" He leaves the door open as he walks back into the house and stomps up the stairs.
He stumbles after him, the feeling slowly coming back to his legs.
"Izuku, good morning."
Izuku turns to see his uncle Masaru sitting at the kitchen table with a mug, a book and a small pinch between his eyebrows.
Izuku thinks about the tears itching against his cheeks, the red that hugs his eyes and his snot-filled pajama pants. His shoulders sag down a millimeter as the weight of his guilt settles uncomfortably around them.
I'm not worth his worry.
A smile plucks his cheeks until his eyes close and he doesn't have to look at the concern between his uncle's eyebrows anymore.
"Good morning, Uncle Masaru!" he chimes as cheerfully as he can. His voice feels skinned and dry, but he takes care not to stutter against his words.
"I wish you would visit more often. Why don't you have some breakfast while you're waiting to walk Katsuki to school."
"N-No, th-that's not-"
"Like hell I'd let a quirkless deku walk me to school!" Katsuki shouts as he barges into the room and slams a uniform into Izuku's hands.
"Language," Masaru intones, waving his hand gently in Katsuki's direction, not bothering to look back up from his book.
"Yeah, yeah, old man." He glances at Izuku before making his way towards the door, "No stains, yah hear me?! And it better be washed when I get it back!"
"Sure thing, Kacchan!"
Izuku stares at him, waiting for him to leave so he can wish him a good day. But he just stands there looking back at him.
"You gonna make me wait here all day?! We're gonna be late, you piece of shit! Hurry the hell up."
"R-Right! Sorry, Kacchan!" He scrambles towards the door.
"Don't stutter, yah nerd! It makes you look like a loser," he grumbles.
Izuku turns from the kitchen doorway and makes sure to make eye contact with Katsuki. He clenches his hands in front of him. A fire kindles in his eyes, drying out the dampness that had been there before.
"Right!" he says.
Katsuki smirks at him, "Hah, that's better." He looks down at Izuku's clenched fists. "Don't fucking scrunch my uniform! You're gonna wrinkle it!"
The door clicks behind them as they leave and Izuku can't remember why he was ever afraid of that red door. It was a silly fear, Izuku concludes.
They walk in silence for the most of the way to school, until Izuku can't take it anymore. You'd think that after all of these years that he would learn to sit in the silence, but his muttering pours out of his mouth like a rusty dam finally breaking.
He talks about everything that's willing to distract him from the silence, and anything that could detract from his thoughts.
"How are your parents? Are they doing well? Uncle looked like he was doing well, but looks can be deceiving. I hope he's doing well. Have you talked to him lately? Has he been eating well? Speaking of food, what do you think we're having for lunch? I hope it's katsudon. Do you think it'll be katsu-?"
"SHUT THE HELL UP!"
Izuku's mouth closes with a click.
Katsuki stops, farther along the road than him. He keeps his back turned to Izuku, his chest moving in big gulps. He stands there in silence for a few moments and this time Izuku makes sure to leave it as it is.
"...What did you fight about this time?" he eventually asks, his voice just short of gentle.
His tone still carries a bite, but Izuku chooses to focus on his words. And not his thoughts. Because he's not thinking. Thoughts hurt and Izuku doesn't like hurting so he's not thinking.
"Fight? What fight? I'm not fighting. Are you fighting? I'm not fighting." He starts shaking his head back and forth, his curls shaking against his forehead. "Nope," he pops the 'p', "nu uh. No fight here. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not fighting," he reiterates. "Are you fighting?"
"Spill it, Deku," he growls.
Izuku thinks about what he would say if he told Katsuki that he fought with his mom about applying to U.A. He thinks about the fire that would start in his eyes and explode out of his palms if he told him.
Izuku tries to tell himself that his shoulders are shaking from the cold, but he knows better.
"I-it," stupid stuttering; he tries to start over, "It… doesn't m-matter. It was n-nothing." He closes his eyes and lets a wave of shame pass over him and waits for it to pull back before continuing, "It w-w-wasn't a big d-deal."
"Like shit it wasn't a big deal!" Izuku tries his best not to flinch. Sometimes he wishes his best friend's voice wasn't as explosive as his quirk. "Now spill it." he growls.
He briefly considered telling Katsuki that they had been arguing about him falling over. It wouldn't technically be a lie and he's sure that Katsuki is going to laugh at him either way, but the idea makes his stomach churn like spoiled milk.
So instead he does the next best thing: "We're going to be late!" he shouts, taking off towards the school and running through the now empty courtyard holding up his pants.
He hears explosions behind him, "YOU SHITTY DEKU! GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!"
Izuku's feet thud throughout the hallways, Katsuki's explosions having gone silent since they entered the building.
They race past their teacher down the hall, "No running in the hallway!" he shouts at their backs.
"Fuck you!" Katsuki shouts over his shoulder just as they reach the door to their classroom. His fingers just barely wrap around Izuku's (Katsuki's?) uniform. He yanks hard enough to make Izuku gag, his coughing fit drowned out by the bell going off.
Their teacher walks up behind them, smacking both of their heads with a well rolled newspaper. "Sit down," he chastises.
"Shut up, you hag!" Katsuki shouts as he nonetheless heads towards his seat, hands tucking into his pockets. Izuku scurries behind him, quick to get out of the teacher's way, stumbling on Katsuki's too long pants. Giggles swallow the air around him and he can feel a nuclear blush surrounding his cheeks.
Even the teacher at the front has a smirk on his face.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU SHITTY EXTRAS."
The room falls silent while Bakugou glares ahead of him.
The newspaper smacks the desk in front of the teacher. "All right," he calls, " Now that we're all settled," he pauses to clear his throat, "we're going to talk about your applications for your chosen high schools. We'll start with a simple survey of your top three choices and then you'll be able to review some of the more popular choices with your homeroom teacher later today."
Izuku can see Katsuki's shoulders get tense from his lax position at his desk.
He knows, doesn't he? Izuku closes his eyes to the thought, unwilling to put words to it.
The teacher pulls a stack of papers out of a folder. "Class president, please distribute and then gather these in 10 minutes. I don't want to hear any talking."
Izuku says a small prayer in his mind, thanking All Might that Katsuki won't be able to come over and further interrogate him.
The person in front of him passes him back a paper with 4 lines on it. He takes his time writing his name, frightful to reach the actual assignment. His fingers shake minutely against his pencil. He holds it tighter in his hand, the pencil digging holes into the pads of his fingers.
He scribbles a large Aldera High School on the first line. His hand shakes harder the more he thinks.
It's not that he thinks that he can become a hero, or that he could even get into U.A. It's that he's thought about this his whole life. Every dream he's ever had has centered around All Might and this school is the first step towards that. And he knows that he's a klutz. And he's going to take that first step and he's going to trip, but he can't just give up everything he's ever wanted.
Not without trying as hard as he can first.
He knows he won't make it, that he would be better suited for general studies or maybe even the support department, but his thoughts drag him back to when he was young. Younger than when he knew what it meant to have his dreams crushed and he pictures that little boy sitting in a chair and shouting about All Might.
He used to be so happy. He's just trying to make his way back to that, and if applying to U.A. will aleve his guilt for falling when he takes his first step then he'll take it. He knows that he can't be a hero. But he can't stand the thought of not applying; of not trying his best; of leaving that kid behind him.
And so, on the second line, he scribbles a quick U.A. High School: general department.
And underneath it, even quicker, he writes U.A. High School: hero department.
The class president pauses in front of his desk to collect his sheet. He flips it over as quickly as he can, trying to hide his answers on the sheet. He passes it up to them. He avoids eye contact when he stumbles out a quick, "Th-th-" He takes a deep breath and starts again slower than before, "Thank you."
He grins at his desk as they walk to the next row. I did it.
The teacher clips the surveys together, Izuku's sheet drowned in a sea of other kid's dreams. "Alright, now pull out your workbooks and turn to page 98."