Izuku's heart beat is bouncing around the inside of his chest as if it wanted to remind them that he was alive.
It felt similar to the cruel taunts that would drip from his childhood friend's lips, but this almost felt worse. It pounded inside his ears, trying its hardest to set a rhythm for his breathing against the erratic pulling of his chest. Every noise drained from his ears, until the world was painted in a pale gray color and sounded like pounding. Izuku's hands gripped the edge of the roof, the color leaching from him through the small scapes on his fingertips. He felt like the world was eating him alive from the inside out.
He shifted his hands, his eyes getting drawn to the brownish-red paint his fingers leave behind on the short wall edging the roof.
He felt a weird mix between panicked and indifferent. His mind was bouncing off of the nooks of his brain until his head was throbbing. His chest was drowning out the sound around him. His lungs wanted to clutch at the air surrounding him, but his body wasn't doing anything he wanted it to do. He wanted to breathe, scream, and cry. He wanted to run away, he wanted to collapse, he wanted someone to catch him and he wanted to be completely alone. He didn't know. He couldn't figure out what he wanted, what he needed. He couldn't think and yet his head wouldn't shut up.
His palms ached from when he caught himself on the ground earlier.
His shoulders were emanating heat from where Katsuki had burned him. His thoughts felt distant when he realized that he would have to replace his uniform.
His chest felt as if it were off attending the opera, a symphony cascading inside of his chest.
A bird chirps in his ear, and he startles.
"Ngh," he stumbles backwards, falling against the ground. His hands fly from his sides to protect his face, and his butt aches from where he falls. A shockwave runs from the base of his spine, itching at his back.
He looks at the bird, small and white with disgruntled black spots on its wings.
A loud wet sniffle fills his ears with seawater. He releases the stale breath he was holding.
He wonders how even that can make him sound like he's trembling.
His eyes can't seem to settle on one thing. They flit from the bird to the door, to the pond below him and the pages of his notebook still caught in the sky.
He feels small.
He feels condensed to a peach pit in his stomach. When he looks at his palms stretched behind him they feel distorted, like he could reach miles away with long gangly accretions of flesh that hang off of his torso.
When he staggers to his feet he feels as if the world were collapsing beneath him. He stumbles, expecting for the roof to fall from underneath his feet and for his knees to collapse into air.
He expels all of his breath from his lungs until it feels like they'll fall into themselves. He holds his lungs still, his breath held, in the hopes that he would stop shaking. He glances down from the edge of the roof. His eyes catch on his notebook, serenely soaking in the school pond. He sees white and orange blotches of it's fish swimming closer and closer to the pages he had spent hours etching his thoughts and whims into.
Before, his notebook had been a small oasis for him to drink from when he felt his lips crack in a desert of…..so many different things….
Loneliness
Heartache
Shame
Guilt
He felt like he was surrounded by villains on all sides.
His attempts at Smashes! were pathetic little things.
No matter how many hours he stared at something, there was never a sudden pull in his chest. He could puff up his cheeks all he wanted, but no fire filled his throat. He didn't become big, he couldn't run fast, or throw hard.
He was left with nothing to do but smile. His teeth split a canyon in his face and it felt like a constant battle to not cry.
His eyes flutter back to the pond.
That wasn't his notebook anymore. It was ripped from his hands. It had been defiled in a fit of rage, and he couldn't find any semblance of relief in seeing it torched and soaking.
His breath pushes air through his teeth, in and out, until the insides of his cheeks feel chilled and dry from the air. He ungrits his teeth, screwing his mouth open in an attempt to get more air into his lungs. His teeth feel sore, like they would retract and hibernate inside his gums if that were an option.
Air puffs from his lips in quicker and shallower succession. His lungs feel like they're in a very small box inside of him. His ribs press against it from all sides. It was hard to gasp for air without it hurting.
He held his breath instead.
His thoughts surround him in a monsoon from all sides of him until he feels cramped in the middle of the roof, as close to the sky as he can get without a quirk.
You don't understand how fragile you are.
It had never been clearer to Izuku how small and vulnerable he was. His mother was wrong when she said that. Izuku knew better than anyone else just how frail he was.
Izuku pushes against the edge of the roof, tucking his knee against his chest. He pushes up with a soft grunt, his feet finding purchase in the wall as he clamours for the top.
You think you can be a hero?
It wasn't that he thought he could be a hero. It was that he couldn't seem to want anything else. Izuku went to bed dreaming of this. He breathed for this, he moved for this, it was the only thing keeping him going.
Maybe that just meant he was pathetic.
He looks down towards the bottom and his eyes flicker to his notebook. He glances at splotches of white stuck in tree branches, and then his eyes pan up towards the sky.
You're useless.
Izuku gathers his voice at the base of his throat, trying to push it through the quicksand filling his mouth.
He takes a big breath-
You're nothing.
-as big as a yawn-
I have to protect you.
-as much as his lungs will take until his chest aches.
Take a swan dive off the roof.
He tries to yell. But what comes out is a strangled gasp, his high pitched voice higher than normal when he squeaks out, "I'm apply- applying to U.A!"
The birds chirp at him from where they're picking apart his notes, already beginning to build nests from it.
His nose meets his brow when he screws his eyes shut. He tries his best to dispel the heat beneath his eyelashes and the fire in his stomach. He wants to puke.
I'm sorry, Izuku.
He expels the air from his lungs, letting the wind dry his tears and take his thoughts with it when it leaves.
I'm so sorry.
He clenches his fists-
You can't be a hero.
-takes a breath-
And screams.
"I CAN BE A HERO," he shouts for the sky and the birds to hear.
A bird turns to stare at him from their perch on the tree.
"Hah," he breathes out.
"Hahah," a grin splits his face and suddenly, he's giggling.
The bird chirps at him and he laughs harder. His cheeks feel like they're stuffed with cherries, round and bright red.
It was getting hard to breath around the warmth in his chest.
He gets down on his knees, trying to shuffle off of the side of the roof. He feels so silly. He started sputtering to himself in embarrassment when his feet can't touch the ground before dropping down the half an inch.
He wipes away to salt on his cheeks, giggling against the ocean in his lungs.
I'm so stupid, he huffs at himself, but this time it doesn't feel doused in self-hatred like it normally does. This time, it felt kind of like an inside joke with him and himself. He couldn't stop giggling. He'd missed acting stupid, like a kid.
He was clutching his stomach in wonder at the last time he had laughed so hard and his cheeks had ached so much. He hadn't realized that he had missed it so much, or even that it had been gone.
He wished it would never end.
And he was scared for when it would.
He slowly became aware of the fact that his stomach hurt. The air was warm enough to coat him in a thin layer of sweat. Katsuki's pants dragged behind his ankles. He shuffled through the halls, feeling lucky that they were empty.
He rubbed at his cheeks with his palm, trying to get rid of his grin.
He wasn't sure if it had been a good or bad day, but he was certain that he was happy right now.
He felt so happy that he could cry. He felt almost overwhelmed by the soft feeling of flannel in his chest. Below him his stomach was stumbling. In the moment, it was hard to believe he had felt so down just minutes ago.
Izuku starts to build a fire in his chest, letting determination lick its way through his limbs. He had decided - he wasn't going to care what anyone says to him! He just needed to keep his head up and believe in himself! It wasn't something that he had much practice in, but it was better late than never.
He thinks back to the way his happiness settled in the bottom of his stomach, and the power that he felt when he had shouted off of the rooftop. His arms had felt so light, it was like they were flying on their own, anchored down by his torso.
He just needed to keep thinking about it. He needed to keep his head up and his eyes forward. He needed to train his eyes on Katsuki's back until it was burned into his vision and would drive him forward without a thought. He was so far ahead of the boy that it was startling, but Katsuki had always been in a league of his own.
It was hard not to get discouraged, but it couldn't hurt to try!
Despite the slow trickle of confidence that had been sliding down his spine, he's still hesitant to make his way home. No matter what he feels, he knows that the moment he walks through the front door, he'll be expected to bow his head and apologize for the way he acted and the way he pushed.
He doesn't even mind that so much. He's willing to apologize if it will make his mom smile again. He's tired of being the reason she cries so much, the reason she worries. He could swallow his bite-sized pride and apologize for her.
The problem is that when he does, it goes without saying that he thinks she's right. It reaffirms in her mind that he can't be a hero. He can't be anything, except her little baby boy that she has to swaddle in hugs because the world is going to break him if she doesn't.
And he can't help but think that maybe he's a bad person, for not wanting that.
When he was a kid he used to love her hugs. She was soft, and squeezed just the right amount. Her hair smelled like apples, and her perfume like cinnamon and sugar. When he came home from school he would run into her arms hard enough to make her stumble and laugh and he would laugh too. But now it didn't feel like that. When she hugs him, it was still soft, and she would ruffle his curls, and she still smelled like apple pie. But when she hugs him it doesn't feel like laughter and joy and love. It felt frail - and heartbreaking. Like she thought he would break if she weren't there to gather all of his pieces in her arms and keep him from falling apart. Like he was already broken. But Izuku couldn't help but think that maybe he was the one holding her together.
When he thought of it like that, it was easy to understand why she wouldn't let go. He wasn't sure if he would be able to, either, and he was sure that it would hurt even if he could.
Maybe he was a bad person.
But the point stood that Izuku didn't want to go home. Not quite yet.
Instead, he picked his notebook from the pond, quickly shooing away any preying fish. He was hesitant to wipe his wet hands on Katsuki's pants, even though he had to get him new ones.
He makes his way down the street, sure to head in no particular direction.
It was a weird feeling, having nowhere to go. He was alone, he knew that, but he didn't feel lonely. He felt free, only tainted by the fact that eventually he would have to go home and the next day he would have to go to school. It's hard to imagine that life could ever be any different.
He kicked his red shoes against the pavement as he walked, trying to imagine what his life might be like as a pro-hero. It felt fuzzy, kind of like a child's drawing that was left half unfinished, but there was a feeling that felt clear and defined. It was the feeling he got whenever he stood in front of someone. Even when he was terrified and his lungs were trembling, when he would step in front of Katsuki blocking the view of someone behind him. It was a feeling he had trouble finding a word for, but that's what he dreamt of. It wouldn't go away, even when he would inevitably get cornered later that day.
'Cornered' felt like an inadequate word, but that's what it felt like, like he had nowhere to turn.
Or maybe crowded. Overwhelmed. Ambushed and alone.
He turned his eyes towards the ground, trying to bury his eyes in his hair. They didn't want to be saved by a Deku.
He couldn't blame them.
Heroes were meant to be strong. He was anything but.
He couldn't blame them.
It was his fault. All of it. Everything. He couldn't do anything right, and that was just a fact. He had a hard time believing that everyone, every single person, would tell him so if it weren't true.
He kicks his foot harder against the ground as he walks. It bounces around the roof of the tunnel, and he gets a small respite from the sinking sun.
There's a soft clanking of metal just behind him. He wants to dismiss it as a squirrel playing with a can, but it sounds deeper, heavier, louder.
A ladybug climbs up Izuku's spine when he hears a slow, wet, rattling breath.
"A medium sized body...to hide in." It's no more than a lick of breath, but something about it felt wrong. It made his ears itch at the sound of it.
He's careful to avoid tripping on Katsuki's pants as he pivots to look back and he feels his stomach flinch.
Normally, any quirk is able to fill Izuku with a strange inspiration that can lead to hours of incoherent babbling, but when he sees a tall pile of ooze in front of him, pulling himself from the sewer hole, his tongue sticks in his throat.
"Don't worry," they say as they sidle closer, "It'll only hurt for 45 seconds."
A pocket of dread fills Izuku's chest.
They split down the middle, spreading out like a blanket before encompassing him. Izuku feels almost numb, kind of like this might be a very poorly conceived dream. The slime feels warmer on his skin that he thought it might, and it jolts him from his thoughts, or lack of one.
"No- nugh," he says when the slime moves to cover his mouth. He can feel them slick between his teeth, the consistency of yogurt.
"Calm down," they coo in his ear. "It'll all be over soon." Izuku feels their grin rather than sees it, "You're a real hero, kid."
He coughs, trying to hold back a gag.
It was getting harder for him to breath, and he couldn't tell if it was from the ooze in his mouth of the panic in his chest. It felt like the physical embodiment of one of Izuku's panic attacks, but no soothing words or deep breaths could free his lungs from the fire they were currently burning in.
His lungs felt like charred heaps, slowly sinking in on themselves until they were microscopic and Izuku was left wondering if they ever existed to begin with.
His hearing goes first, washing away in an ocean of white noise. There's a ringing in his ear that he knows isn't real, and he can't hear the taunts from the slime monster inside his lungs anymore.
Next comes the pressure building in his chest and behind his eyes . He feels like he's the inside of a bottle rocket, about to pop from the space inside of him being filled.
He slowly wonders what it would look like if he just….popped. His intestines would fly around like confetti painting the cover of the tunnel a pretty red color.
He giggles against the slime coating the inside of his tonsils, but it sounds just like the constant choking he's been doing since he was first attacked.
He can't stop thinking about how ridiculous it would look.
The newspapers would be covered in a random account, "And he went 'pop'," they would say, "And then there was confetti everywhere."
He sneezes. He knows that the lack of air is making him delirious, but his thoughts feel slow and trickling like molasses pouring over cold rocks.
Black stars dance on the sides of his vision, pebbles pelting the sides of his eyes. His arms are going numb and he can't find the energy or motivation to keep clawing at the slippery man in his lungs.
Izuku comes to the conclusion that he's going to die.
He gives a strong, wet cough, but it doesn't do anything. His throat feels as if it were twirled in twine. Water pours from his eyes in bucketfuls, making it even harder for him to see. He wonders if the villain can tell the difference between himself and Izuku's snot and whether or not he's disgusted by the little boy cowering underneath him.
Izuku wants to breath. He's gasping for breath, trying to convince his lungs not to breathe in even when they're on fire.
He screws his eyes shut. He doesn't want to see the green film covering his face, or feel the way that the slime is clammy on his skin.
He holds his breath, and thinks about his mom.
The way she smiles and frets.
His mind floods with the realization that she's going to cry when she hears that he's dead. His heart clenches harder in his chest, and he throws the thought away.
He thinks about how gravity pulls at her hair. How it's long and straight, and she almost always wears it back. It's the same color as the slime coated curls on his head. He used to tug on her hair as a kid, and he realizes that he never apologized. Or said thank you- and that when he left this morning she didn't wish him a safe day and he didn't say he'll be careful or that he loves her or that he'll be home in time for dinner.
He gags.
I'm sorry, Izuku.
His vision is almost entirely black, and while he's never been scared of the dark before he can't stop the fear from crawling it's way up his chest and bile from making its way up his throat.
I'm sorry too, mom.
I'm so sorry.
I love you.
He thinks about her smile. How bright it is. How it used to remind him of All Might. He stops pressing his lips into a thin line and he grins like All Might. Like his mom. Like everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn't, if only he was smiling.
He chokes on the slime filling his mouth.
The last thing he sees is the sunset at the end of the tunnel. Yellow and orange and red. The colors bleed together before everything goes black and he thinks that for just a second he sees the flash of a grin, and a bright blue jumpsuit brighter than the sun at the end of the tunnel.