"And how have you been feeling since then? Nervous, anxious? Are you afraid that another is coming?" Dr. Fujimaki asked. Izuku rolled the question around in his head for a long time. Today was the first time he wasn't sitting in one of Fujimaki's nice chairs; instead, he lay on his back. It was a more vulnerable position, but the physical comfort it gave him exceeded his distaste.

It'd been a few days since he'd seen Kacchan. The following day, he'd been able to break down, in brief detail, the events that'd transpired. In response, his mother had told him about Nighteye's message, and how she believed he should cancel. He'd wrestled with the decision all morning, but with his mother supporting him, he decided he wanted to postpone. No matter how excited he'd been for the meeting, doing anything that nerve-wracking so soon after Tuesday made him want to keel over.

He hadn't done so much as a mile of running in the meantime, instead locking himself in his room and practicing Smokescreen. Every action irritated him except that. Embracing One for All seemed to be the only task that made him feel good; happy, content. Ever since he'd taken Seven's hand, using the quirk had been different. Like some of the fog had lifted, but the paved road had turned to dirt.

For hours, he could sink into the quirk. All the world's problems fell away, and he was content to cocoon in its power. The only downside was that he hadn't been back to the castle. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fly away to his little home between dusk and dawn. It sucked; he wanted nothing more than to drop everything and jump down that rabbit hole. He wanted to continue to practice Smokescreen with Six. He wanted to see Seven.

"I… I haven't felt much. I've just been so sleepy all the time." Izuku said. A low hum rumbled out of Fujimaki's throat. His pen made indistinct scratchings on his paper. Izuku's position on the couch gave him a different view than he was used to. Of course, everything was perpendicular, but he also got a clear view of the doctor's desk. It was something he could only study because of the way he was laying; normally, he'd have to crane his neck to look at it.

Littering the man's desk were doo-dads, papers, and lots of pictures. The professionalism of the room's interior did not carry over to his private desk. It looked like an eight-year-old dumped a bunch of science-related toys over the top and decided that was enough.

Gyrodisks, crystals, a Newton's Cradle, and even a few vials of mystery liquid sat under the monitor of his computer. It looked less like a psychiatrist's desk and more of a scientist's. The man continued to hum. The most interesting things, however, were the pictures. In almost all of them, a young girl appeared, usually with the doctor.

One stood out to Izuku the most, however. It wasn't the biggest picture, or the second, but decent sized. It was of the doctor, his silver hair still mostly brown, holding up a teenage girl on his shoulders. The camera angled just enough that the top half of the girl's upper face disappeared, but in its place, your eyes drew themselves to the prominent bronze medal she was proudly displaying. It was a cute picture; they were smiling like they'd just finished laughing. But a second glance would reveal just how amazing the photo was.

The girl was wearing a blue tracksuit, bold white lines running through her uniform. Most people might not've noticed at first glance; the top and pants were filthy. They had scorch marks, mud stains, and the entire right sleeve was missing. Izuku almost hadn't. What keyed him in were the girl's shoes; completely mismatched. They were the same shoe, but they weren't the original pair. While one shoe was filthy and sporting holes, the other was pristine. They were U.A. sports-regulated foot gear. He'd spent enough time studying the school to recognize them anywhere.

The girl was a U.A. student and had apparently done well at a sports festival.

"Hey, Dr. I didn't know you had a daughter. What's her name?" Izuku asked.

"Oh! You're talking about my Sasami. No, she's not a hero." The doctor said, not looking up from where he was still writing his notes. Izuku scrunched up his nose a bit. Sasami? Where had he heard that name before?

They lapsed back into silence for another minute before the doctor decided to continue. Peaking at the discarded clipboard, Izuku saw that he hadn't written all that much.

"So, you're tired. Have you been working out still?" He asked. Izuku looked away.

"I've been practicing my quirk—in my house, of course. But… not really. I haven't seen my mentor all week." He said.

It wasn't that he didn't want to run. In reality, he was actually hurting for a good workout. The problem, though…

"That explains the grogginess. You've been missing out on the dopamine you've gotten used to from exercise. It's making you more tired than it should." He said. There was nothing to deny. Of course, Izuku understood this. It didn't make it any easier. Soon, he would get back on schedule, soon. As soon as he was sure he wasn't going to break down in front of Nighteye.

"Y-yeah, I guess. I'll get back at it soon." Izuku said. He held the doctor's gaze for a moment before looking away. Fujimaki sighed, tugging his glasses off his head to rub the bridge of his nose.

"That isn't it, though, is it? I believe you when you say you're tired. I'll even grant that you probably don't feel much else than that. I've been in this field as long as your mother's been kicking. I have an inkling of what you're going through, my boy. What I'm confused about is why you're scared to go back."

Izuku froze.

"I-I don't know what you mean. I'm not… scared. I'm just giving myself a break." He said.

"Don't lie to me, Izuku. You're entitled to hold your silence when I question you. You will never be forced to admit things to me when you don't want to. But don't lie to me. I'll admit," Fujimaki paused, putting his glasses back on, "your idea of a break is a good one. I was going to recommend one for your next session; you've been hustling for a while and I think this mental vacation is beneficial. But you aren't taking a break for the sake of it. It just isn't who you are."

"M-m-my…" Izuku said, unable to formulate a reasonable response. He didn't know what to say. My quirk? It'd been acting weird, out of character for a while. My mentor? He could look Gran Torino in the eyes just fine. My… friend? Kacchan wasn't really… one of those. His stomach twisted itself in knots as he allowed himself to think of all the reasons he'd been avoiding Nighteye's warehouse. Maybe, he entertained, he was a little scared. Dr. Fujimaki held up a hand.

"Don't tell me. There's a lot to unpack here, and I don't want to start here, where we're so riled out. I just have one piece of advice. But first, tea?" The man said. Izuku looked at him wide-eyed. He gave a small nod. The doctor smiled, before excusing himself to the other side of the room. It was a small kitchenette, with just about every kind of beverage Izuku could think of.

The doctor was very meticulous about his tea, Izuku had learned. He'd had it a few times before, and each time had been a long, tranquil process. Boiling the water, soaking the bags, draining what's left. It was a solid brick of time to unwind in the middle of a heated session.

Sitting up, Izuku wrestled with his anxiety while watching the older man. He hadn't realized it, but he was nearly crying; when he blinked, his eyelashes got moist. Reaching up his cheek and patting around his face, he found the dam hadn't broken. It hadn't since the train.

One for All purred under his skin, revving his engine.

"Yeh!" Izuku gasped, jerking in his seat. Something touched the palm of his—hand. Left hand. Dr. Fujimaki threw a quizzical eyebrow over his shoulder. Izuku shook his head.

"Uhhh… phantom s-sensation. Sorry." He said. The older man shrugged.

"Don't worry about it, boy. Perfectly normal."

One for All shifted in his stomach again; at the same time, he felt the phantom sensation again. It felt like something was tickling his palm; not unpleasant, but disconcerting. He scratched at the prosthetic, knowing it wouldn't do anything.

The feeling spread to the in-betweens of where his fingers would be. A strange warmth flowed through him; his worries fell away somewhat. They weren't gone, but they were more manageable.

Dr. Fujimaki came back, now with steaming tea. Taking one, Izuku thanked the man before taking a sip. It stung, but the heat trickling through his nostrils was soothing.

"You've been through a lot, Izuku, and your current mindset is totally understandable. I don't know for certain about anything that runs through your head, but I have suspicions." He said, breaking to sip his tea. Izuku sat in rapt attention, trying to embrace the odd feeling in his ghost limb rather than let it bother him.

"Suspicions?"

"Indeed. Maybe this is the wrong word, but you seem… scared. Scared to go back to your little facility, scared to go back to the train. Scared of breaking down." Dr. Fujimaki said. Izuku's tea mug paused at his lips. The brown liquid was pleasant on the eyes.

"I-I… Shouldn't I be? It just… jumped me. Randomly. How can I be sure that it won't happen a-again?" He asked, putting his mug on the tray. His eyes bore holes into the table; he was already preparing a retort to whatever kind of advice the man was cooking up. He'd received enough sagely advice from strangers in the past to know where this was going. The doctor took another sip.

"You can't." He said. Izuku choked, whipping his gaze back to the older man. Fujimaki was giving him a soft look, not pity or love, but encouragement.

"H-huh!? W-w-what—" Dr. Fujimaki held up a hand, silencing him.

"You can't be sure that you won't have another slip-up, not for a long time. That's why you have to be brave… sometimes."

"I-I d-d-don't u-understand?" Izuku said. Something about the way the doctor said it had sent his heart a flutter. The itchiness in his phantom palm morphed, becoming less of an active tickle and more of a static pressure. He let out an uneven sigh as the doctor put his teacup down.

"My boy, I think you've made more sacrifices than most of the people I've ever had the pleasure of working with. Of course, many of these sacrifices were nonconsensual and I hate to ask you to make more, but… Your routine is important. You've been clear; you want to be a hero, and you're going to work hard to mold yourself into one. I think that's fantastic; frankly, I think your conviction is magnitudes higher than anything I could ever muster myself. But what do heroes do the most? Go on, I would like an answer to that, please." Fujimaki said. Izuku felt a shiver go up his spine as an inkling of the doctor's intention crept through. It took him more time to blink than to think of an answer.

"They… make sacrifices." The doctor clapped, a smile forming on his face.

"Of course! Yes, they make sacrifices. We've already talked about self-preservation, obviously, but you get my meaning. They sacrifice much more than their life; they risk their private life, health, mental well-being, and most interpersonal relationships. You, I am sad to say, will have to make one major sacrifice earlier than most." The doctor said.

"What would… what is it?"

"Your fear. At least in part."

"...Huh?" Izuku asked. Everything the doctor had said made sense up until that point, but that threw him for a loop. You couldn't sacrifice fear; that was immaterial, ingrained within you. It wasn't like their health or their friendships. Those were real, measured things. Izuku wouldn't know a thing about erasing of an emotion. Fujimaki thread his fingers together.

"No hero lives without fear. I'm not saying you can erase or let go of it. I'm saying that they all have overcome it to an extent. Embraced it. You have, too, if we want to talk about the Tokage incident. You jumped a live gunner." The doctor said. Izuku was dumbfounded; standing, he put his hand out, shaking them.

"I-I was scared out of my mind, then! My quirk manifested because I was so scared! Fear basically fueled me!" Izuku said, his voice an octave higher than normal. Fujimaki chortled.

"Yes, and then you still tackled him anyway. My boy, bravery isn't about not being scared; it's about being afraid and overcoming it. Tell me, who is braver? The bulletproof hero facing a druggie with a machine gun, or a very vulnerable young boy? Who requires more willpower to do what needs to be done in that situation?"

"... The boy."

"Yes, and if you saw that young boy tackle a gunman, what would you call him?"

"...Brave. Stupid." Izuku said. Fujimaki let out another laugh. He motioned Izuku to sit back down, before waving his hand over his face like a fan.

"Yes, stupid may be an appropriate term, but I prefer brave. You, Izuku, were brave enough to handle getting shot, but now you're grappling with traveling a few dozen miles by train." Any confidence Izuku had accumulated in the last minute snuffed itself out. He leaned back into the couch, deep enough that he could see the headrest in the corners of his vision. The pressure on his ghost hand increased for a second, like something gave him a brief squeeze. Fujimaki frowned, shaking his head.

"No, you misunderstand. You haven't regressed; you simply aren't applying your bravery strategically." He said. If Izuku had even the slightest grasp of this conversation, that grasp was gone.

"Applying… my bravery? Strategically?" I don't…" Izuku said, trailing off.

"Yes, strategically. Think of bravery like a muscle. You can only lift so many things before you need a break. You can train to get bigger muscles in the long term, of course, but for now, let's just think about it how it is. There's a limited amount of bravery to throw around on the daily." The doctor paused to down the rest of his tea. Izuku, however, was starting to feel excited. It was starting to click again.

"I think, Izuku, that you need to pick your battles. You're going to have to risk exposure, I'm sorry. You can't avoid the world just because it reminds you of your trauma; that's just life. But you don't have to force yourself to face every possible scenario every day. Avoid people like Bakugo after a day of training. Take the bus more often. Train by yourself some days. You can't avoid them all entirely, but you don't have to risk them all every day." Dr. Fujimaki finished. Izuku leaned forward in his seat, his mind running a mile a minute.

Honestly, he'd been scared. Tackling every day had just seemed so hard after the train. It was easy, he'd figured, to just hide away. He cowered behind a smokescreen and pray life would slip right over him.

He should've thought of this sooner. It was something he did every day; breaking down problems into smaller chunks and solving them individually. Not only was it faster, but it was less stressful. He didn't do his academics while he ran, nor did he practice Smokescreen while he studied—though maybe…

Izuku finally recognized the odd feeling in his hand once One for All shifted again. It'd taken him almost ten minutes to figure out what the sensation reminded him of, but it'd finally clicked. The warmth, the pressure, the tingling between his fingers, it was something he'd experienced dozens—hundreds, of times.

It felt like someone holding his hand.

He held still, trying his best to hold back the dam that'd been building all week, but it was fruitless. A choked sob escaped his lips, and that was the end of that.

[x]

Shoto Todoroki was quiet. He'd always been quiet; his small family had enough personality to run a circus on their mellow days. It was something he did reflexively, being silent. Describing him as timid or stoic would be wrong; he, too, had a lot of pent-up emotions. Being passionate was a fact of Todoroki life.

For a long time, it'd been to fly under the radar. When he was younger, he was more of a successful experiment by his parents than a son. Gaining his perfect quirk, Half-Hot Half-Cold, in the wake of his brother's death had made his early years hell. His mother had broken and his father had grown wrathful.

Like his quirk, his parents had balanced his childhood with half-hate and half-love. So when his love-half had cracked and dunked him in boiling water, he knew that it'd be safer to just pull away. Sure, hanging out with his siblings might be fun, but he didn't want to risk them picking up his burdens. So, as long as his father acted like a drill sergeant, he'd soldier on without them.

Then his father had become the number one hero, and that all went out the window. Both of their lives had done a complete 180. Endeavor had to change to fit the mold, and therefore Enji Todoroki had to change as well.

Whereas Shoto spent seven hours a day training his quirk before, now he'd do a measly one and a half. He had personal time, now; it was a novelty he'd never considered before, but now that he had it, he couldn't live without it. While much of that old training time was dedicated to his growing personal interests, his father had made it clear that he'd also need to expand his education. It was annoying, but he couldn't say he hated it.

"So this symbol is a delta, which—yes, I know it's just a triangle, but hear me out—" His tutor was explaining something to him, but he wasn't really listening. They sat in the corner of an empty lecture hall, dozens of papers and two laptops between them. His tutor, Chika, was a big-wig teacher's assistant at Shimisuka, the biggest Quirk School outside of Tokyo.

During and after lunch, this lecture hall was empty five days a week, and the professor didn't mind them using the space for it. In fact, she usually was in the room with them while they did it. He didn't really get it, but she'd once said without white noise she'd go insane. He glanced over to the woman's desk with his bad eye; relatively speaking. Both of his eyes functioned well, but after having one splashed with boiling water, it gave things an off-color edge. Through the orange fuzz surrounding the woman, he could make out a sour expression on her face.

His tutor paused in her rambling, giving him an annoyed look. His father paid her tuition on the condition Shoto actually learned. Every minute he didn't, she risked having her free ride get pulled out from under her. Understandably, that left her a little short with him on most days. Still, even his short-tempered tutor was curious about her teacher's foul mood.

"Ms. Fuji? How're you doing?" She called over, closing her laptop. Shoto emulated her but refrained from speaking up. When the professor looked over at them, Shoto got a better view of her face.

At one point in time, Ms. Fujimaki must've been beautiful; drop-dead gorgeous, even. If she turned her face to their right, you could still call her that. Her left profile was quite pleasant, as was her right cheek. Unfortunately for her, she and Shoto were twins. A gnarly, viscous scar had taken her eye and most of the flesh above it. He had decided on the first day of meeting her that he liked her. He knew exactly how much that kind of wound sucked.

"That damned Sasaki messed up my plans for today. He begged and pleaded for an hour of my time, calling in all the favors he had. The reason your class was canceled today was that I agreed; I would meet his little prodigy. Then! Then he had the nerve to reschedule last minute. The last minute! Well—he was actually pretty snappy with his rescheduling, but I had already cleared my day. Now I'm bored." Ms. Fujimaki said, planting her forehead on her desk. Shoto's tutor gave her teacher a chimera look; a mix of sympathy and exasperation.

"Wait, aren't you booked all of next week? When did you reschedule?" She asked. The professor blinked.

"Crap. Oh—damn. The Showcase is next week, isn't it? Well…" The woman said. She extended her fingers, ticking one by one as she muttered to herself. She knocked down four fingers, leaving her with just her pinky.

"Friday. It was supposed to be today, but we agreed to just bump it back a week. But… Yeah, that doesn't check out. Ugh." She said. Shoto looked at her, then back at his tutor. A devious plan formed in his head.

"Wasn't my next session going to be next Friday during lunch? Why don't we all have lunch here while you meet this guy?" Shoto said, his voice as passive as possible. His tutor whipped around to face him, her eyes blazing. Shoto shrugged, she wasn't hurting for cash, and it was only one session. She wouldn't lose her job over something so small. Sure, his dad might've roasted her alive last year, but last year he wouldn't have been tutored like this anyways.

"Absolutely n—"

"That's a great idea, Todoroki. We might have to cut it short, but it doesn't need to be very long. I'll be able to judge the kid within the first five minutes anyways. Geniuses aren't good at hiding their genius." The professor looked over at her student, silently challenging her opinion. Shoto had learned the big-wig professor was confident, aggressive, and confrontational.

His tutor held her gaze for a moment, not bothering to hide how annoyed she was. The professor knew her tutoring was how she paid the bills. Still, she caved. Ms. Fujimaki nodded in appreciation. Spinning in her chair, she began typing out an email in her typical aggressive manner. Shoto wrinkled his nose; an abrasive odor snaked his way into his nostrils.

"Cool. I'll ask Ms. Shiozaki to curve your grade upwards this quarter." That seemed to lighten her mood, and soon they went back to his math work. Todoroki wasn't the studious type, but he picked up on math decently well, and his father enjoyed seeing his proficiency with it increase every month. Quirk theory was completely beyond him, which made the fact that he was learning in a quirk college somewhat funny. Whatever kid the professor was meeting must be some kind of gift from the gods.

When they were done packing up and about to leave, Shoto wandered over to the professor's desk. He knew it wasn't his place to pry, but he was curious.

"Ms. Fujimaki? Who's the kid you're going to be reviewing?" He asked.

"Oh! Hold on a second…" The woman pulled something up on her second monitor before spinning it around to face him. It was a digital overview of the boy, with a file labeled "Insights" attached at the bottom. Taking one glance at the profile, he was a little underwhelmed. Izuku Midoriya looked like just about any and everybody, minus the dark bags under his eyes and crooked smile. He was about to head on out before his eyes caught something towards the bottom.

"He's only ten?"

"Apparently. Have a nice day!"

Hmm.

[x]

AN: Yo. Since this is a freewriting exercise, I usually just write a chapter, edit it, then post. This time, I'm a few chapters ahead that I'll edit throughout the week. Once I'm caught up, I think I'll bulk write again; it was fun. This arc is kind of boring but I like it. Statistically, I can't believe that this is not my best work. The Struggler has better follows per view and Talent Unrivaled has bigger stats in general. Don't read them, by the way. They suck.

Please review! If anybody has fun ideas, make sure to drop them below. I really like reviews.