Nearly as soon as Izuku left her apartment, Rumi found herself feeling lost. It was as if all the light and energy had been sucked out of her the moment that door closed, leaving her alone in the ruins of her former life, a reminder of all that she'd lost.

It wasn't just that her furniture had been rearranged; it wasn't even the way the tiniest tasks, like opening doors, had suddenly become delicate, time-consuming exercises. No, it was the fact that Rumi felt like she had been yanked from the real world and dropped into limbo.

For a while, she tried to keep up with Izuku's advice and the exercise schedule he'd given her, she really did. She lifted weights and ran on the treadmill and did all the other things she would have once scoffed at as weakling training. Once, her training regime had been orders of magnitude more intensive, and she'd been able to do it almost without breaking a sweat.

Now, she could barely lift the smallest weights her custom gym had. Some of it was the way her muscles had atrophied over the course of months in the hospital. Some of it was the fact that she simply couldn't do some exercises with the imbalance, weak prosthetics she wore, forcing her to struggle to stay on her feet. All of that, Rumi understood, and maybe could have even overcome.

But there was another aspect to it, one she didn't understand. For some reason, she just…withered inside when she laid eyes on the gym equipment, lying there ready for her to use. Some part of her simply didn't want to do it…but it went deeper than that, deeper than laziness or disinterest. Rumi could feel herself simply draining out over time, feeling like she was on a different kind of treadmill-forever running as hard as she could just to stay in the same desperate, helpless spot.

She gave up after two days. What was the point, anyway? She didn't want to constantly be reminded of how far she'd fallen, of how much she'd lost. That was all it was doing, really. It was as if Rumi could hear a voice inside mocking her every time she struggled with the simplest, easiest exercises she could think of.

"You're pathetic," the voice-like her own, stripped of everything but dark despair-told her. "You'll never come back. You can't win this fight."

Rumi had gritted her teeth and shoved the voice away, but it kept coming back. Every time she slipped and nearly fell just walking around her apartment, every time something as simple as going to the bathroom turned into an hour-long ordeal because she was missing a fucking arm, every time she stared out the windows at a world that was moving on without her, it was there, whispering that there was no reason to fight so hard, no when she'd never succeed.

Rumi tried to fight it, but the stifling, lethargic melancholy just kept settling into her, like a pillow pressing down on her face. It got worse the longer she was alone, too; Rumi had never really considered herself an extrovert, but day after day confined to her apartment left her feeling like she was slowly going insane. She was so isolated here; no friends to check on her, no neighbors who cared, nobody who seemed to be bothered to visit.

She used to like it that way-fewer distractions, fewer wastes of her time. Now…now she was lonely, and falling, and nobody was there to catch her.

Rumi knew there was nothing technically stopping her from leaving her apartment…but where would she have gone? Who would have taken her? What would she have done if she got swarmed by paparazzi?

Who would have seen her like this and been shocked by how far the fearsome Miruko had fallen?

Rumi was no stranger to these feelings-they'd been constant companions in the early days, in the hospital. But those days were gone-and in the hospital, as lonely and infuriating as it had been, there had been the ever-present hum of life happening all around her, and people who cared, people who cared enough to put up with her at her absolute worst.

People like Izuku.

He'd told her that he would come back to check on her in a few days, a week at most; Rumi had assumed that that week would fly by. But instead, it felt like years. Rumi floated along in a depressive haze, feeling as though she was running from everything. Her past, her future, her mistakes, her triumphs…all her failures. What was one more to add to the pile?

Days passed in melted blurs, flowing into each other until Rumi lost all track. She went through the motions still, or tried to-eating, training, showering, all the rest of it. She didn't see the point. All the world felt like it had lost color, and Rumi could only see the gray. She didn't…she didn't even feel anything. Not anger, not frustration, not sorrow or despair. There was just the void in her heart, sucking all the light out of her eyes.

Somewhere inside her, there was still feeling; a tiny fragment of her yelled at her body to move, to do something, to give a damn about the future. It shouted for her to act, to try, to put in the effort she needed to accomplish anything. But it was drowned out by the gray, and only added a layer of anxiety over everything as Rumi lay aimlessly in her bed, or on the couch, or mindlessly watched TV, desperate for something to break the monotony of a life she'd lost all hope of ever improving.

She didn't know what had happened to her, or why she'd fallen so far so quickly as soon as Izuku had left. But he wasn't here now, and in the pits of her despair, Rumi found herself doubting if he'd ever come back. Maybe he'd done the smart thing and let her dig her own grave. She was a hopeless case, why waste time or effort or thoughts on her? She should just sink into this pit, deeper and deeper; it was the only way she saw. She couldn't get out of it…and she couldn't be bothered to try. She just stayed on the couch, watching TV, eating junk food, waiting for…well, she didn't know what. Maybe it was more accurate to say that she was just…existing. Floating along in the haze, no goal she was reaching for, just that overpowering despair in her chest.

Some hero she was. All sound and fury, and then as soon as she had to stand on her own, she folded.

After nearly a week, the longest, darkest week of Rumi's life, she had more or less given up. That only made the greyed-out storm in her chest worse. She'd quit before she'd even had a chance to get started. She really was pathetic. All her determination, all of Izuku's arguments against giving up, all her own arguments against giving up…they felt so far away now, buried behind an impenetrable wall of greyed-out nothingness.

There was a dinging sound from her phone. Rumi blinked, then scowled. Reaching for it for the first time in a couple days, she saw that she'd gotten a new text message. Opening it up, she found she actually had more than half a dozen unread messages, from the past four or five days. Had she just…missed those? Or had she not cared enough to read them or respond?

Remember, Rumi, if you aren't exercising I'm going to come kick your ass.

Rumi? You there?

What are you, a teenager? The cold shoulder ain't cute, Rumi. Just answer me.

I swear to God, if you went on a carrot bender or something like that, you're gonna regret it.

Hey, is everything okay? I at least expected you to insult me or my ancestors by now.

Seriously, Rumi, you're starting to worry me. Please answer.

Rumi blinked in confusion, not even sure who the texts were coming from. A moment later, though, her eyes landed on the contact number, and she huffed a little despite herself. Izuku. Of course. She'd completely forgotten she had his number now. Her gaze shifted back down to the most recent text, the one that had finally gotten her to pay attention after days of radio silence.

That's it, I'm coming over. Be there in a few minutes.

Rumi's eyes went wide, panic flooding her system. Izuku couldn't see her like this. He'd take one look and know she wasn't worth helping, that all his effort in trying to lift her up had been for nothing. Even though she was already more or less beyond that, even though she'd basically given up, Rumi couldn't let Izuku leave, too. She didn't know how or why, but she knew that that would truly break her. Before she could even begin to slowly tap out a one-handed reply, though, that panic transmuted into defensive fury, the kind that Rumi always tried and failed to control. It animated her movements, tinged her thoughts with desperate defiance. Her words were met by Izuku's characteristic bullheaded stubbornness.

Fuck off

No

Just leave me alone

No

Damnit, just go away

Not happening

I fucking hate you, leave me the fuck alone

Too late. I'm outside.

Rumi looked up from her phone in shock as angry, powerful knocking rang out from her front door. It sounded like a machine gun, and the heavy wooden door shuddered from the force of each strike.

"Rumi, you better open this fucking door, or I'm kicking it in," Izuku's all-too-familiar voice announced from the other side.

Somehow, the knocking made irritation overpower the soul-sucking lethargy that had been controlling Rumi for a week. She scowled. "Go away!" she yelled back, hating how soft and pathetic her voice sounded. God, it sounded like she was practically crying.

The knocking stopped, and Rumi felt a brief surge of bizarre hope that maybe Izuku had listened. That would break her, and part of her wanted nothing more than for him to ignore her words…but at the same time, a different part of her crowed in victory. She was finally free of him, free to sink into her sorrow, free to fail.

At last, Izuku answered. Quietly, he said, "Not happening, Rumi. Not now, not ever."

Before Rumi could even hope to reply, there was a loud thud, and her front door shook as if it had been hit by a battering ram. Then it happened again, and the whole slab of wood rattled in its frame. She thought she could hear the hinges creaking and groaning.

Rumi watched in stunned silence as the door shook once, twice, then three more times. Each one make the door creak more and more, threatening to overwhelm the lock. It held, though, and when there were no more strikes, Rumi thought that Izuku might have given up. She began to relax.

That, of course, was when Izuku kicked the door one last time, neatly snapping the lock, sending it skittering across the floor as the whole door swung inwards with a bang, making Rumi flinch. Her jaw dropped when she saw Izuku on the other side, his leg still raised from where he'd made good on his promise. His face was dark with anger, though it didn't seem aimed at her.

"Now then," Izuku said sternly, stepping inside with one last sneer at the door, which swung back and forth on creaking hinges like a boxer who'd just taken one too many punches to the face. "What the fuck is going on in here?"

It took Rumi a second to overcome her shock enough to process his words. Once she did, she immediately demanded in a voice that nearly cracked with surprise, "How in the hell did you manage to kick my fucking door in?"

Izuku raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed. It only highlighted the muscle that Rumi forgot about so easily, and always regretted forgetting as soon as she had. "Hard work and determination," he replied dryly.

Rumi just shook her head, slumping back down on the couch. "Whatever," she muttered. "Now I guess you get to see just how fucking pathetic I am. Take a good look."

Izuku did just that, turning his head to take in everything. The giant pile of dirty dishes in the sink. The barely-used gym equipment. Rumi herself, lying as if in a fugue state on the couch, the TV still on, albeit muted. Rumi wilted a little under his gaze, waiting for him to yell at her, to break out the snark and acid tongue that had always worked so well on her. She swore to herself that it would not work this time.

But instead of any of the things Rumi expected, Izuku turned, closing the door gently. Then, he crossed over to her, sinking down to sit on the ground, his back against the arm of the couch.

"Looks like you've had a rough week, huh?" he sighed, leaning his head back. His body language was gentle and relaxed; Rumi could only stare at him in confusion.

Thrown completely off guard, braced against an onslaught that wasn't coming, Rumi felt herself lurch, her emotions churning.

"W-what makes you think that?" she nearly snarled, clinging to scraps of what might have been pride, or just anger.

Izuku stared up at her, his raised eyebrow and no-nonsense expression making Rumi feel like an idiot. "Because it looks to me like you've been going through a depressive episode," he replied calmly.

Rumi flinched at the word. "I…I am not!" she insisted, though she didn't know why. Maybe it was just the thought of the label that scared her.

Izuku's expression shifted, becoming more understanding. "Rumi, it's fine," he assured her. "Honestly, it's kind of to be expected. A big shift like this, and having to get used to living on your own again? It's no wonder you've been struggling a little."

"I…I…" Rumi stammered weakly. "I'm fine, I really am."

Izuku's eyes were sorrowful now, as if he saw something new in her that she couldn't see.

"Rumi," he told her, "you don't have to pretend. There is no shame in experiencing the things you have, okay?"

Rumi blinked, more than a little off-put by the genuine kindness and understanding in Izuku's voice. For a moment, she didn't know what to say.

Izuku took that moment to add, "Look, you know you can talk to me, right? I'm always willing to listen if you have stuff you want to get off your chest."

Hesitating, sorely tempted but still unsure, Rumi asked, "Oh, do you want me to talk about my feelings? Maybe I should reveal my tragic backstory while I'm at it!"

Those deep green eyes just kept boring into her. Rumi gulped under their scrutiny. "I know it seems cheesy," Izuku admitted, "But it really does help to talk to someone about what you're thinking. It isn't a cure, but it's better than sitting around and stewing."

Rumi flinched; that was more or less exactly what she'd been doing for the past week. Still, she decided to listen. What the hell would it cost her? Besides, Izuku's presence was doing exactly what it always did, making things seem a little bit easier, a little bit more hopeful.

"Okay," Rumi sighed, starting to search for the right words. "I guess it's just that…well…"

Rumi's search continued, her mind trying valiantly to sort through all her thoughts, all while Izuku waited patiently. Suddenly, Rumi felt something snap, letting anger bubble up inside her…and now she had the words.

"What's the fucking point?" Rumi snapped. Her voice was helpless…hopeless. "Dammit, Izuku, why do I even bother? I'll never be who I was, and I don't see how I'll ever get close! I'm just…I'm fucking useless. Why should I try to get up off this couch, anyway, when I'll just be dealing with all this shit for the rest of my life?"

Izuku nodded as if to himself. "I hear you," he told her. "But you're wrong."

Rumi flinched a little, but began to reply, "You-"

Izuku interrupted, "Listen to me, Rumi. I know exactly where you're coming from. I've been there, you know?"

Rumi fell quiet, knowing it was true. Even in the depths of her hopelessness, she couldn't help but listen to Izuku. How could she look away, when his deep green eyes could identify every bit of pain she felt?

Taking a deep breath, Izuku let his head lean back until he was staring at the ceiling. Rumi wondered if he was doing it so she couldn't read the look on his face.

"When I lost my arm, the same thing happened to me the first week after I got out of the hospital," Izuku admitted. His voice was raspy and quiet, nearly choked with emotion. "Everything just felt…washed out. I kept wondering why I was bothering, when there just wasn't any joy left in the world for me to have. I felt weak and useless, I barely ate, I didn't bother to do PT. There just didn't seem to be any point. Even though it didn't last forever, even though I learned to see the joy-as little as there is-in life again, that feeling never really left. You learn to keep it at bay, to ignore it, to force the light in if it won't come by itself. But that gray place is always there in the back of your head."

Rumi nodded silently. It was the confirmation of her worst fears; she was weak, now. Broken. She wondered if Izuku still was, too.

Suddenly, Rumi looked down to find Izuku staring her right in the eye. In a voice that rolled on and on like cold rain, Izuku whispered, "Right now, you're wondering why you shouldn't just give up. Your goal's so far off, it seems nearly hopeless. You aren't as strong as you used to feel. And you're just so… tired. Exhausted, even. You feel like you've been used up, then thrown out. Tired, cold, worn out. And your goal doesn't feel any closer than it was before."

Rumi let her head flop back onto the arm of the couch. She felt like all her energy was gone. "I…yeah," she admitted with a sigh, a long exhalation that felt as if it drove something from her body. "Yeah, that's how I feel."

Izuku nodded. Then, suddenly, he reached out for Rumi's hand, lying limply near the ground. Rumi felt her cheeks heat up involuntarily as Izuku gripped it, as though pouring strength into her. She looked up, and saw his eyes blazing, as only someone who had seen his own darkest depths and returned from them could do. It was fire, and life, and warmth.

"But it'll pass, Rumi," Izuku told her, voice quiet but ringing with fervor, eyes shining with urgency. "If you never believe another word out of my mouth, believe that. One day, the sun will rise. Things will get better. You'll look up, and the sky won't seem so far after all. You will be warm again."

Rumi shivered, but whether it was from the passion in Izuku's voice, or her hand in his, or the feeling of warmth that flooded through her, she wasn't sure.

"How do you know that?" she heard herself ask.

Izuku smiled softly as he rose to his feet. "It happened to me," he replied. "I can show you the way out."

Rumi nodded. It wasn't much, but a tiny spark was still clinging on inside her, and now she was nourishing it instead of the grayness. Somehow, somewhere, she found the strength to rise, getting to her feet in front of Izuku.

"Okay," she whispered. "I believe you."

Izuku chuckled, then gestured to the gym equipment in the corner. "Good," he said. "Now then, you've got a week of PT to make up for, remember? And exercising is actually a really good way to deal with the shit you've been dealing with."

Rumi groaned in protest at Izuku's drill sergeant-like requirements, but couldn't keep the small grin off her face as she made her way towards the home gym.

"Is that why you're so buff?" she jokingly asked. Izuku glanced down at himself, giving Rumi an excuse to admire his physique. Look, she was allowed to enjoy the goods, wasn't she? Rumi opted to ignore the seemingly magnetic pull in her gut urging her to get an even closer look.

Izuku shrugged. "What can I say?" he replied. "Doing PT myself felt good enough that I kept up the habit even after I didn't need it anymore."

"And I'm sure the appreciative stares from women have nothing to do with it," Rumi commented dryly. Izuku blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the comment. He had no idea what she was talking about…and some of the implications made him decide to bury his curiosity as deep as it would go.

While Izuku seemed to work through her offhand comment, Rumi began to work through her PT routine. Almost instantly, she found herself feeling better. The light she'd been missing for nearly a week began to creep back into her eyes.

It wasn't quite a magic bullet-the grayness clung on stubbornly, whispering venom in her ears, dragging at her limbs. Maybe it would always be there. But that didn't mean she had to listen to it.