"Oh, it's just so good to see you again, Katsuki," Mrs. Midoriya tried to smile, but it appeared more pinched than genuine as she ushered him into the living room. "Here, let me take your jacket- ah, tea? Do you want some tea?"
He didn't respond for a moment, his fists clenching and unclenching out of habit. Then he realized she was still standing behind him, gazing at him in question. "... Yes, ma'am."
"Okay, tea it is," she nodded to herself and speedwalked out of the room, coat in hand.
He sat there in silence for what seemed like hours. He could hear the stove clicking to life in the kitchen, Mrs. Midoriya's faint humming as ceramicware clacked as she set them on the countertop. He could hear nothing more, the house eerily silent and still despite her moving about.
The Midoriyas' looked the same as it ever had; clean and tidy, given her diligence with housework. There was a blanket folded over the back of the couch, something soft and green (painfully green, he noted with a frown tugging at his lips). He hadn't seen hide nor hair of anyone else since he'd stepped foot into the house, and a particularly eerie gloom settled over the whole of the space. Even the little aloe plant sitting in the middle of the coffee table seemed weighed down with a certain heaviness in the air.
"Here we are," she spoke up again, making him flinch from the suddenness of it. He looked up as she set a steaming cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him, then settled in with her own on the opposite side of the couch.
"So," she began, tired eyes seeming to glimmer with a spark of life, "how are you holding up, Katsuki?"
Reluctantly, he picked up the teacup. It seemed even she wasn't immune from discussing it. "Eh, it's... fine. It's fine."
"I'm sorry that you had to go through an attack like that." She heaved a sigh before taking a tentative sip. "Well, I suppose that's the risk you run in such a prestigious school. In hindsight, I'm glad Izuku ultimately decided not to go. I don't know what I would do if..." her grip tightened on the cup.
Ruby eyes were cast downward as he took a sip of his own tea. It was almost scalding, yet grassy and nostalgic - chamomile, maybe?
"It's so depressing, seeing him so... not himself," she mused quietly, mostly to herself.
Katsuki dared a glance her way. Her face was pinched with exhaustion and sadness, eyes far away. Had she gotten more gaunt since the last time he'd seen her? It had only been a couple of weeks...
"He's doing fine in his new school now," she continued, a touch cheerier, and sat her teacup down. "At least, his teachers are reassuring me he is. He hasn't said anything to the contrary, but..."
She gave him a meaningful look. He swallowed and nodded, ducking his head.
A hand gingerly cupped the side of his cheek. He flinched for a moment, but her gentle warmth made his shoulders slowly relax as she turned him to face her, a deeper frown settling on her face.
"That scar, right there," she started, her thumb swiping across a rather prominent, jagged line down the side of his cheekbone, "was that from...?"
He didn't want to say. Images flashed through his brain, of his new classmates yelling, of darkness, of a rasping voice, of a behemoth, All Might straining, Aizawa grunting in pain-
Her thumb pressed a little harder into his cheek, and her lips pressed into a flat line.
"You poor thing," she mourned, finally letting go. He almost pulled back her hand, yet restrained himself. This was Izuku's mother, not his. "What kind of monster attacks children...?"
Shigaraki's face, or what he could see behind that ridiculous hand-mask, flashed in his mind, menacing and dark. What kind of monster was he? What had he done to become a villain?
Mrs. Midoriya continued to look at him in that painfully endearing way, so soft and motherly with her concern as she always was. As much as Izuku had always annoyed him, he'd never found it in him to be mean to his mother - his crybaby tendencies and irritating empathy were some of the biggest qualities he'd gotten from the woman, and even looking into her face was like looking into a mirror image of Izuku's. Auntie Inko, as he'd called her as a child, was one of the most heartfelt women he'd ever met.
How could he have hurt her like this?
"How is..." his voice was quieter and weaker than he wanted it to be. "How is... he?"
Mrs. Midoriya's face dropped, and she heaved another exhausted sigh. "Izuku is... managing. He still needs help in relearning how to walk, but as of now he can go short distances before he has to go back to the chair." She hesitated, before adding glumly, "It hasn't been the best for his mental health, but we're working on that. I can only count us lucky that we were able to find a high school that was willing to accommodate on such short notice - and with two last spots to be filled, too."
Katsuki fell silent again as she continued to speak. "I mean, I should be grateful that I got him in at all, but... the school we chose isn't very highly-rated. The staff seemed dismissive when I explained his situation... Well. I suppose I should be glad they aren't outright hurting him. He didn't tell me everything that happened in Aldera, but..." she glanced towards the hall. "... I'm not as clueless to it as he might have thought I was. Neither was his father."
She may have been sweet, but her husband...
A sudden thought seemed to strike her then, as she clapped her hands on her thighs and moved to rise from the couch. "Oh! Izuku should be awake by now. Would you like to go up and see him? Nobody ever bothers to visit these days, and with Hisashi back at work I'm sure he'd love the company of a friend..."
There was a hopeful lilt to her words, something that made his heart pang in his chest.
A friend. It was laughable. Katsuki wanted to cry. He hadn't even seen the inside of Izuku's bedroom in forever.
He swallowed whatever words jumped to his tongue, took one last drink of his tea, and put the cup back on the table. "No... I've gotta get going. I told Aizawa that I'd only be an hour."
Mrs. Midoriya's face did that weird disappointed creasing again, and he almost wanted to take back what he'd said. Guilt chewed at his insides even as she gave a solemn smile and a nod his way.
"I completely understand," she said, "and I'm glad you decided to come over anyway. You're welcome any time you want, you know?"
He nodded once more. "Yes, ma'am."
She patted his cheek fondly, before bending over to scoop up his empty cup.
He followed her out of the living room, pausing to spare another look at the aloe on the coffee table. Is that new? He hadn't remembered seeing it there the last time he'd visited.
Mrs. Midoriya seemed to sense this, and she chuckled quietly. "Hisashi bought that for us a while back, since Izuku always seemed to burn himself," she explained, catching his attention again. "It's been in our room this whole time, but I figured it looked a little depressing in here without it."
"Since Izuku always seemed to burn himself..."
A frown darkened his face as he remembered the little indented scars around the boy's arms, little pock-marked burns that riddled the shoulders of their uniform blazers.
"Well, I guess we can't really use it now," she hummed distantly, even as she made her way on into the kitchen.
He stared at that little plant, its vibrant green leaves calling him. Mocking him.
She knows, they hissed, she knows what you've done.
Shut up, he wanted to snap back. Stupid plants didn't know anything.
His hands clenched, deadly chemicals threatening to unify into rippling explosives in his palms. Yet he didn't dare use his Quirk - not in this house.
Four-years-old seemed like a lifetime behind him. And yet, if he closed his eyes hard enough, he could just make out the memories of a little boy with eyes like those leaves, sparkling with life.
Guilt choked him then, strangled the memory right out of him. He grasped at his throat, trying to force back the stinging wetness that threatened to spill down his cheeks. Gritting his teeth, he swiped his sleeve across his eyes and turned, stalking into the hall.
Mrs. Midoriya was there by the door, holding his coat in one hand. With a motherly smile, she held it out. "Let me know the next time that you visit, Katsuki - I'll have snacks ready. I know they must be working you pretty hard at Yuuei, so don't burn yourself out, okay?"
He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve even pity from her.
Pushing down those thoughts, he took the jacket and gave a curt nod. "Yeah."
Something about the air had changed, shifted - and he could not get out of that house fast enough.
