Izuku's vision spasmed between splotches of blackness and his ceiling, the pain in rhythm with his blindness. It was slow, less like bludgeoning and more bleeding. It felt like someone was tightening two screws into his ears, and they were meeting in the middle. No relief came from rubbing his face; all it accomplished was smearing tears across his cheeks.
He slipped his knees off his bed, a low groan escaping him. His eyes drew themselves to his digital clock, dimly aware of its shrill alarm. Blinking, he tried to catch the exact time, but the numbers looked alien, formless. Squinting his eyes closed and shaking his head, a second look revealed 7 a.m.
The headache soared as he stood up, gathering his clothes for a hot morning shower. Every step felt like a hammer to the back of his head. The whole march made his head feel like a pumpkin left out too long after Halloween: deformed and decomposing.
Stepping into the scalding hot water, Izuku almost cried. For the first time since opening his eyes that day, the headache abated, tamed for the moment. The lull of pain slowed, the hammering softened. For the first time that day, he could think straight.
His goal was washing his hair, but his knees weren't up to the task. Within five minutes of the shower's burning embrace, Izuku was on his ass. Too relaxed to wash his curls and too drained to wash his body, he left the soap in its tray as he soaked up more heat. He leaned back on the shower floor as boiling water sprayed his face. It was nice.
It couldn't last, however. His mom would know if he didn't at least use some body wash; it was like she could smell him from across the house nowadays. Izuku hoped that wasn't the case. So, with a heavy heart, he washed up, slow and careful to make the heat last as long as possible.
Dragging himself out of the shower required considerable willpower, but he managed. Fresh and somewhat clean, Izuku stretched, cautious not to irritate his brain. The headache remained dulled, and Izuku wanted it to stay that way as long as possible. He knew, from the last few months, that it was a naive hope, but it was all he could do.
His footsteps were ginger and light as he gathered his things, not wanting to wake his mother. It was Saturday, a week after his 12th birthday, and his mother hadn't had a chance to sleep in for almost a month. It felt like a lifetime ago when he'd been running around, heedless of her rest. Before everything went to hell, before everything changed. When their worries began and ended at his quirklessness; when his mom wasn't so tired.
Now, he never let himself bother her unnecessarily. She'd put up with so much of his crap the last couple of years; it was the least he could do. There was a ghost of pain hovering behind him as he pondered the next few hours, wondering how the day was going to turn out.
His train didn't leave for another hour, so Izuku had a solid twenty minutes of alone time in the living room. He didn't bother turning on the TV, instead pulling out his phone. News stations had been broadcasting major reports since last week; Endeavor had found a bomb on a public bus, and the whole of transportation was going through hell trying to figure out how. It wasn't the only incident; monuments, huge offices, and government buildings had reported numerous bomb threats throughout the country, though no explosions had gone off yet.
Izuku's fingers swiped out of the news app, finding nothing new. Fiddling with his phone proved pointless; his fingers opened and closed apps faster than he had time to use them, his mind too busy to risk boredom. The stimuli just wasn['t enough, it seemed.
For a moment, his fingers brushed over the messenger app, instincts telling him to chat up his best dinosaur-loving friend—but something stopped him. A little ugliness in his chest; a knot that just wouldn't go away when he thought of Setsuna. His ears throbbed for a moment, thin waves of pain washing against his conscious.
Pocketing his phone, he drummed his fingers against the sofa. He wanted to text her, but he didn't know what to say. Speaking to Setsuna got harder every day, and not for the lack of comradery; they were still a duo, a one-two punch. Every time they were together, though, Izuku's heart felt a little heavier, a little deeper in his chest.
Perhaps it was hormones—well, Izuku thought, of course it was, at least in part—but more than that, it was guilt. A niggle in the back of his brain; a whisper that blamed him for something he didn't quite understand. Wrapping his brain around his best friend was harder than any lecture Sasami gave, more complicated than studying One for All.
"Good morning, Izu." His mother said, startling him out of his musings. A frown tugged at his lips, seeing her up. He hadn't woken her, had he?
"Morning."
She shuffled around, holding a bathrobe tight around her waist. Inko Midoriya looked tired, with thin rings under her eyes and a drag to her step that reeked of sleepiness. A hot mug of tea was in her off-hand, the baggie still within. Careful not to spill, she collapsed into the cushions, allowing herself to fall deeper than Izuku had. Her morning hum tickled his ear, a tune he'd never known the source of. Ignoring the way steam wisped off the top of her drink like flames, she took a long, deep sip.
"Any headaches this morning?" She asked, after a moment of silence. Perhaps, had the TV been on, Izuku wouldn't have felt so uncomfortable. Grabbing the remote, he put it on a nature documentary channel.
"...None." He said, his eyes glued to the screen. Izuku didn't have the heart to tell her the truth; there was nothing either of them could do. Meds did next to nothing and home remedies had been a bust. The lie was easier to force out when he wasn't thinking. His eyes stayed trained on the odd creature on screen; some form of endangered rodent. The episode was about a real capybara with a quirk, and how it changed his life. It was absorbing and interesting, just the thing to ease the lie off his tongue.
His mother said nothing for a long time, just sipping her tea till all that remained was the baggie. At some point, she set her mug down and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. She wasn't looking at him.
"You sure? I know they aren't every day, but you haven't seemed to have had one for almost a week. Maybe you're finally getting better."
Izuku was happy when his phone blipped, reminding him it was time to leave. He leaned over, pecking his mom on the cheek, and left, never once looking her in the eyes.
[x]
"It'll be like a relay race; I want you to rush between the walls as fast as you can. You're only allowed to touch the parts that I indicate, however, and you aren't allowed to push off the wall for momentum." Nighteye said, pulling out a clipboard and a stopwatch.
Izuku nodded with great care. Already, the pain behind his eyes was starting to flare to life, but he wouldn't let it inhibit him. One for All began to churn in his stomach, his engine purring.
With it, the headache attacked him full force. The test had yet to even start, and he was already short on breath, every inhale too little, every exhale too much. His tongue tasted like iron, his nose like it was burning. A small ringing dulled the sharp instructions of Nighteye, leaving Izuku guessing at what the man said next. Ink splotches stained his peripherals, but his focus was sharp, detailed beyond the norm. It was one of the few upsides of his chronic pains. Izuku couldn't bring himself to be thankful for it, however.
Izuku zoned back in as Nighteye shooed him off, yelling something he couldn't quite hear, but understood to be "Go, go!"
He wasn't quite sure what exactly to do, but he knew the gist. Move from wall to wall, only touching the designated target. Be fast, be careful, and above all else, push himself.
His headache roared alongside his heartbeat, each competing to see who could pulsate in his body with more intensity as Izuku began to run, propelling himself with smoke. The lessons with Endeavor had been fruitful, despite how grueling they could be. Already, he was speeding across the warehouse twice as fast as he could run on foot, and he wasn't even pushing into a higher gear yet.
Skidding to a stop, Izuku tapped a red target with his knuckle. Using a burst of Smokescreen to push away, he flung himself back the way he came. With a swipe of his hand, all the exhaust left hovering behind him dispersed, revealing a different challenge than before.
The target on this wall was several Izukus taller than he himself, and would require both careful flight and a hard stop, two of his more skill-intensive tasks. His vision, sharp as it was, flicked between the target, the floor padding, Nighteye, and even old Torino, who seemed to be the person in charge of placing the targets between his runs.
Nighteye's serious face seemed troubled and dull for the brief moment before it faded into his peripherals. Gran Torino's face seemed fiery and brimstone in comparison, his shoulders stern and frustrated. Izuku let it slip to the back of his mind where the pain was worst, focusing on the test at hand.
Using the floor padding as a pseudo-spring, Izuku jumped with all his might before pushing Smokescreen out of his legs, launching him towards the second target. He cursed as his foggy brain misjudged his trajectory, his palm slapping against the concrete wall instead of the intended target. His eyes whipped to Nighteye, who only tilted his head back to the other wall with pursed lips, jotting something down.
Izuku could feel the grimace on his face form; while what he'd attempted was hard, it was far from being outside of his ability. It'd been a ludicrous failure, in reality. Embarrassed and annoyed, Izuku let off another burst of his quirk, shooting him across the room without consideration of the "no pushing off the wall" rule. Determined to make up for the blunder, Izuku tried to show off, corkscrewing through the air using timed bursts of Smokescreen. Never touching the ground, Izuku raced to the other side of the warehouse again, intent on touching the third target: A blue circle that sat with one hemisphere on the wall and the other on the ceiling.
A steady stream of smoke erupted out of his chest and legs as he propelled himself even higher, recklessly climbing to heights he'd never attempted outside of training. He would make it, and he'd do so in style. It was the only way to redeem himself from the previous failure.
He was mere seconds away from touching the target when the headache jumped from awful to debilitating. Evolving from a mallet to a sledgehammer, the pain spasmed into an unmanageable mess, Smokescreen wavering as Izuku's focus withered.
Not a moment later, Izuku choked. Perhaps it was in surprise at the pain or a wad of saliva slipping down his lungs, but careful inspection would reveal dust bunnies. The ventilators and pipes right below the ceiling hadn't seen a hint of maintenance or even a broom in years, and that filth had piled up. Izuku had gotten so high and caused such commotion in the airflow of the ceiling that it'd all gone airborne, with one clob ending up in Izuku's unlucky mouth.
It was enough of a shock for Smokescreen to putter out completely, sending Izuku down several stories onto the firm padding of the floor. He landed with a painful bounce, the air caught in his throat the fall knocked the wind out of him.
"Fuck, kid are you alright!?" Gran Torino yelled, bursting to his side. Izuku could only wheeze, rolling over to his side as he clutched his throat. The older man helped him into a sitting position, guiding him into taking deep belly-breaths. It took almost a minute for Izuku to get his breathing under control, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
Wiping away the wetness, Izuku could only watch in strained silence as Nighteye began walking around the warehouse, cleaning up their mess and eventually shutting down the lights. Izuku tried to call out to the man, to question what he was doing, but could only gasp, his throat still abused.
So, aching and beyond frustrated, Izuku waited for the man to finish. Gran Torino said nothing, only sending urgent looks to Nighteye when he thought Izuku wasn't looking. By the time the man had closed everything down, Izuku had almost recovered. Slipping out from under the man's concerned hand, Izuku stumbled his way over to Nighteye as he opened the front door.
"S-sir… what are you doing? Why are we shutting down so early?" He asked, his voice scratching his throat. The headache had died a bit, but a body ache of equal proportions replaced it, leaving him with nothing left that felt fine.
Nighteye's stern exterior wavered as he looked down his nose, observing Izuku. The man said nothing, but his eyes communicated enough. Izuku's fists balled; it reminded him of the early days of his training. Of the pity, the distaste.
"I-I can k-keep going, S-sir." Izuku began, before coughing into a fist. Gran Torino approached from behind, silent but exuding concern. "Let's run it back, I-I'll do better next time."
Nighteye shifted, his cold eyes growing warmer, less stern, and more familiar to the Nighteye Izuku had come to know. His stone shoulders seemed to droop, the tightness of his stance loosened. The tall man fell to one knee, placing a hand on Izuku's shoulder.
"You might, but it wouldn't be worth it. Your condition has been dwindling for a while now; I just didn't want to admit it. At the very least, I should've given you a break. Pushing you to be your best when you simply aren't was unkind. Take the day off—damnit, take the week off. Rest awhile."
"But I can keep going!? I-I don't want to rest. I want to keep training." Izuku said, pulling away from the touch but unable to bring himself to sever it. Gran Torino sighed behind him.
"You've seen better days, kid. Your focus is loose, your retention is dull, and your muscles are slow. 'Thought you were just plateauing, for a minute, but I think today proves otherwise. What you need isn't another attempt, but a break. To rest the body, to clear the mind, so to speak." The elderly man said, gesturing first to his chest and then to his forehead.
Izuku felt the fight in him die at the latter portion of the man's speech. Clear the mind, huh? He wished. The desire to tell them of the headaches swelled in his chest, enough to crush the next words out of his lungs. There would be nothing to gain in telling them. They couldn't do anything when he'd told him so many months ago, and they couldn't do anything now. It would only worry them, pulling him further away from doing what he loved longer.
"...Fine."
[x]
"Are you even listening?" the other boy asked, pausing the scribbling of his pen alongside his small talk. Izuku blinked, coming back to himself. Looking around, he struggled to recall where and when he was, how he'd gotten there, and why. The question of who was solved upon glancing at his partner. Red and white hair, burn scar, mismatched eyes. Shoto Todoroki.
"O-oh, sorry. Been a little out of it." Izuku mumbled, sitting up straight. He spoke with a voice just above a whisper, careful not to agitate the pain behind his eyes. Shoto's gaze was a mix of doubt and concern, but Izuku waved him off. "Nighteye is giving me a… break week. It's been throwing me off."
They lapsed into silence as Izuku collected himself, reminding himself of their task. Trigonometry was the subject, it seemed. Mid-Level. He pulled the nearest completed worksheet toward himself, glancing over it alongside the accompanied scratch paper. No errors, however, the boy was going the long way around for some problems, making them much harder than they normally would be.
He scooted closer to Shoto, pointing out the issues he saw, trying his best not to stay focused. This continued, they boys going back and forth between questions, answers, and formulas until all either of them could think about were numbers and graphs. At some point, their math tolerance broke, and Shoto called for a break.
At this time of day, books, laptops, and students of all majors filled all the tables surrounding them. While they had just as much a right to their space as the next person, they decided it was both courteous and more fun if they packed up and left.
The food hall was for official students only, but that didn't mean they couldn't wander the rest of campus. Neither of them was big on exploration, so despite their long hours on campus, neither knew their way around very well.
The walk was pleasant, if not a little dull. Izuku kept his talking to a minimum, unwilling to risk a headache, while Shoto wasn't much of a talker anyway. Still, they gave the architecture and monuments the attention they deserved, content with stretching their legs and enjoying the breeze.
Without the mental stimuli of Trigonometry, however, Izuku found his mind wandering to increasingly dark places. When was the last time he'd been able to have such a relaxing walk with Setsuna? Nowadays, much of their in-person fun happened at Dagobah. It was always nice to be with her, of course, but that didn't change that what they were doing was work. Extensive training wasn't something unique to his friendship with Setsuna, but it felt different than when he did it with Shoto.
On the occasions Izuku found himself at the Todoroki household, the training was grueling and all-consuming, but satisfactory. He was free to push himself alongside a rival in Shoto, content to work himself to the bone at the same pace as his friend. With Setsuna, it felt closer to, and Izuku hated to say this, babysitting. Of course, she pushed herself just as hard as either of them, but it was like she had no restraint. Izuku felt like he was watching out for her more than pushing himself, concerned she'd end up collapsing or hurting herself.
Yet, Izuku kept going back. They'd been training at the beach for almost a year, and Izuku wasn't sure if he'd had a truly satisfying training session there. His muscles felt used, but never to their capacity. His skill felt tested, but never beyond expectation. Had he been going for the sake of training itself, he might've abandoned the prospect months ago.
It wasn't training he was after, though. Izuku just wanted to spend time with her, and if that meant lackluster training, then that's fine by him.
He'd never skipped or held out on her, though. Izuku gave Setsuna his fullest because it was what she deserved. That, in itself, was satisfying in its own way. It was everything. The feeling in his chest when she smiled, the lightness in his heels when her skin touched his, the gratitude in her green eyes. It made his heart soar, higher than even the tallest wall of anxiety, higher than the most robust mountain of stress. It was almost perfect. Almost.
Bitterness welled up in his stomach as a dull pain arced across his temple. Izuku could tolerate the way things were, if not for the headaches. The alien feelings around Setsuna, the anxiety and frustration at her dogged pursuit of heroism, everything. If his head could stay clear for even a week, Izuku could die a happy man.
A glance at Shoto had him spiraling deeper into his self-pity. He remembered the first instance; in the beginning, it'd been an adrenaline rush. A simple spar with Shoto, the first of many. He'd just got a little ahead of himself, too hungry for victory.
Then it'd happened again later that night, and again the next day. A month went by, and they morphed into true headaches. A few more months, and it became clear they were chronic. Perhaps, if Izuku was the type to blame, he could pin it all on Shoto. It'd been he who jump started it, after all, even unknowingly. Izuku, for the briefest moment, played with the idea.
He imagined how good it might feel to finally be able to point a finger at a cause. To let all his built-up frustration loose in one, massive burst. A total tantrum, a meltdown the likes of which society had yet to witness. Giving Shoto the cold shoulder would just be the start; if Izuku didn't punch whoever was responsible for his grievances, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.
Izuku snorted; even entertaining the thought was stupid. His friend did nothing of the sort. Shoto glanced at him, his expression guarded, but curious. Izuku didn't bother to explain, instead choosing to just keep walking, letting his eyes wander around the courtyard they were passing through.
"You know… Fuyumi has been suggesting therapy to me." Shoto said from beside him, eyes locked ahead. Izuku startled, almost stumbling. Therapy? For what? Shoto's trauma happened ages ago.
"Huh? Why?" Izuku asked. Shoto didn't reply for a while, instead guiding them over to a bench. Neither said anything as they settled down, backpacks between their ankles.
"My mom. She wants me to go talk to mom, after everything. She's been visiting for a while herself." He said, after almost a minute of brooding silence. Izuku winced. Shoto's feelings were hard to decipher at the easiest of times. Bringing his parents into the equation, however, elevated the task from difficult to impossible. The boy's emotions regarding his family were a maelstrom of confusion, contradictory at best.
"Why therapy, though? Didn't all that," Izuku said, gesturing to the boy's face, "already, y'know, happen?"
Shoto seemed to be choosing his words very carefully, his chin tilted up as he looked at the clouds. Seconds passed, each making Izuku more uncomfortable than the last. A hot prickle of embarrassment crept down his neck. Did he say something wrong?
"It… it did happen, a long time ago. It's been a long time, yeah. Yeah. Didn't… didn't you go to therapy, though? You never really talked about it. When was the last time you went?" He asked, chancing a glance into Izuku's eyes. Shoto's scarred eye, for that was all he could glimpse, glistened. Not a lot, but enough for Izuku to feel a twinge of discomfort.
"Mhm. I did, but it's been a bit; a few months, maybe half a year since the last session. The uhm… the panic attacks stopped, so going started to feel a little pointless." Izuku said, looking anywhere but Shoto.
Izuku continued to wrack his brain after speaking, trying to remember the last time he visited Dr. Fujimaki. He'd seen his daughter earlier today but hadn't heard from the older man nearly as recently. At the bare minimum, it must've been four months.
He paused, drinking in the thought. It hadn't crossed his mind much, that he wasn't really going to therapy anymore. Maybe there was pride in that, but if there was, Izuku had yet to feel it. Not going anymore… it almost felt like he skipped a step.
When neither boy continued on, Izuku felt lost, like something was wrong. The walk had turned sour, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave. Shoto's own grievances were obvious, and Izuku couldn't help but try and amend them, despite his own misgivings.
"Therapy is pretty cool if you've got the right person. I got really lucky—the first one I found, I loved. Ms. Fujimaki's dad, believe it or not." Izuku said, tenuous. Shoto shifted beside him, his knees angling closer to Izuku.
"Really?" He asked, a fragile laugh on his tongue. Izuku nodded, allowing himself a chortle.
"For real. He really helped me through a lot of stuff. Even if you, y'know, end up… not seeing your mom, it'd probably be worth your time. Always looking for someone to save you from your boredom, right?" Izuku asked, the chortle easing into a full-blown laugh. Shoto's laugh stayed quiet, but the fragility fortified into something closer to comfortable.
"I'm not so sure, it seems complicated."
"It can be, but it's worth it, I think."
Izuku could tell the guy was nervous. Shoto was a straight shooter, and while he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, he kept his intentions and opinions transparent. His mom was a sore subject, and therapy was scary in prospect. Izuku—well, Izuku hadn't felt much of anything going in. To him, it felt like one day he was grieving, and the next he was sitting in an office, missing an arm and splurging his feelings. He didn't get the chance to be scared, but that didn't mean he couldn't empathize with him.
The silence they lapsed into wasn't quite comfortable; neither boy felt particularly good, but it was easier than before. After a while, the clouds drifted apart, showering them with the blinding light of the sun. They took it as a sign to leave, to continue on their spontaneous tour.
They ran around for who knew how long, enjoying the nice day and the beauties of the campus, but eventually they had to part. Overhead, the deep baritone of the overhead bell announced the end of the day for the afternoon classes, releasing Shoto's sister and ride home.
Izuku hovered around the gated entrance, waiting with Shoto for Fuyumi. Deja Vu hit him as he watched as all the students fled from campus, free. It was like all the times he'd waited for Setsuna after school, except this time, he was waiting for adults.
It was those kinds of musings that kept his mind off the darker thoughts, even as his temples felt the hot iron between an anvil and a blacksmith's hammer. Simple thoughts, random observations, and his silent companion had gotten him through most of the day, and now he was on the home stretch.
Something bumped his shoulder, pulling him out of his head. Shoto was staring at him like he was expecting some sort of response. Izuku blushed, realizing he'd zoned out again.
"Sorry, could you repeat that?" He asked, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice and failing. A small corner of Shoto's lip twitched downwards.
"This is exactly my point." Shoto began, before sighing. It seemed like he braced himself before continuing, his form tensing as if scared. "Here's what I've been thinking: I'll give therapy a try. I'll listen to my sister, to you, and do my best. In return, I want you to go talk to Ms. Fuji's father or whatever. You… you've been worrying us, you know. I talked a little to Setsuna about it; the headaches are still bothering you, aren't they?"
Izuku felt his vertebrae lock together, his spine becoming a stone pillar. It suddenly made sense why Shoto seemed so stressed in repeating himself. A hot itchiness spread from his core, down to his toes and into the fingertips that should be there but weren't.
"I-I-I don't k-know what you're t-talking about," Izuku said, his eyes drilling holes into his shoes. Shoto took a step back, his hands raised.
"Do you think I should go to therapy?" Shoto asked, pivoting the conversation just enough to throw Izuku off balance. He sputtered, unsure what to say as he collected his thoughts.
"I—Uhm, I-I don't think it would hurt."
"Then I don't think it'd hurt for you to go back. You've been like a zombie for a while now, even more since Nighteye put you on probation. I think it could do you—do everyone, some good." Shoto finished, before stepping away. Izuku was like a rock struck by lightning: shocked beyond belief, but with heavy, cumbersome limbs that refused to react.
He could only watch as Shoto walked away, somehow having sniffed out the exact moment Fuyumi would show up. It took almost all Izuku had to wave goodbye to the girl when he caught her eye, and then the effort of getting to the station stole everything else he had. By the time Izuku got home, Izuku was so drained he collapsed onto the couch, not even bothering to touch his school work.
Recalling the words over and over in his head, Izuku shoved his face deeper into the couch. Going to therapy after so long felt… awkward, like a backstep. Like even going in the first place didn't matter too much, like it detracted from all the progress he'd already made.
Then again, his mind began to whisper, maybe not. He remembered all those lessons Dr. Fujimaki had taught him, about taking care of himself, about pacing himself when facing adversity. Each session was a building block. Therapy wasn't a single structure that could only be completed in a single motion. Each session grew layer by layer, brick by brick.
Perhaps Izuku had finally finished a room, with what he'd already accomplished, but that was still a smaller section of a bigger building.
His stomach churned, thinking about it, but perhaps that was inevitable. Being nervous was always part of the gig. He didn't have anything going on tomorrow, did he? Use your bravery strategically, Fujimaki had told him. Well, there were very few times more strategic than tomorrow, when he'd have all day to think over everything the man had to offer.
If Shoto, the trainwreck he was, could get himself into a therapist's office for the first time, Izuku could surely do it for the thirtieth.
[x]
The door to Dr. Fujimaki's office swung open slower than Izuku intended, the hinges' creaking drawn out like the front door of a haunted mansion. Like said mansion, Izuku felt a shiver jump up his spine upon seeing the interior. As many times as Izuku had been here, he was still shocked walking in; while it still held the same energy as before, a thousand differences made it feel alien and new.
For one, the visitor's couch was different, having gone from a more traditional leather couch to an ornamental satin mess. The cushions were different at a glance, with blood-red felt covers and smelling of old perfume. The office desk was in a different corner, hiding away all of the personal knick knacks from the entrance. The most disconcerting, however, was the color scheme. Dr. Fujimaki had stripped the room of its cold lightning, replacing it with warm contours and traditional lightbulbs. The only things that felt truly familiar were the little old man sitting in his recliner and the mahogany bookshelves covering three-quarters of the walls.
It felt odd, like Izuku'd transported straight from the modern ages to the Victorian era. Upon his entrance, Dr. Fujimaki stood up, hobbling over to welcome him.
"Mr. Midoriya! It's been ages; do you like what I've done with the place?" He asked, shaking Izuku's hand.
"Uh—yeah! It looks nice. What happened to the old couch?" He asked, leaning around the man to check if it was in an unseen corner. It wasn't.
"Oh, I had to get rid of it. I had a patient come in with a particularly volatile quirk, you see. In the midst of a serious session, he began to cry, and the poor fellow's tears irreparably damaged the wood that held the beast together. I'll miss her, but this new one is nice." He said, walking back over to his seat. "Tea?" He added, before sitting back down. Izuku nodded absently, feeling a bit put off by the lack of the normal couch. It was silly, but he himself had also cried on it, and seeing it gone felt like he'd lost a friend.
Dr. Fujimaki began the tea while Izuku tried sitting on the couch, fidgeting to find a comfortable spot. The new couch must've been a recent addition, given there was little to no wear; no matter where Izuku sat, he couldn't find a butt-mold. Once he gave up searching for one, he settled for the middlemost section, sitting directly on the firm hump for maximum cushion. Across the room, the Doctor began humming an unfamiliar tune.
"So," Dr. Fujimaki began as he brought Izuku tea, "do you know why we're here today? Or are we going to have to discover that together?"
"Well, erm—kinda? My friend is starting soon, and he said I should try it again in some form of solidarity-pact thing. Other than that…" Izuku trailed off, thinking of his other problems.
"Ah, well that's kind of you. It does, however, beg the question: What has he seen in you in order to offer such a pact in the first place?" He asked, taking a sip of his tea. Izuku flinched, surprised. He'd forgotten how much more personal conversations with a therapist got than normal people. In some ways they were smarter than you, braver than you, even crueler than you at times. They're sometimes the most heartfelt people you know, and other times the most cutthroat. Ruthlessly direct comes to mind.
Izuku wavered, thinking about the question. His first instinct was to brush it off, perhaps lie like he'd been getting better at. To coast over the issues and pretend they weren't there; but this wasn't his first session, nor his tenth or even twentieth. By now, he liked to think he'd figured out how to get the most out of therapy. You didn't do that by lying; they'd know either way, regardless.
"I… he called me a zombie. I guess it's true. I've felt… I've felt like there's always a fog around me. Cotton in my ears, plugs in my nose, a frog in my throat. I haven't been able to focus much recently" Izuku admitted, entertained by the way the felt cushions moved under his fingers, pinching and twisting it like nothing else in the world mattered. He spoke low, as if by being quiet the doctor wouldn't hear him and wouldn't press him for more.
"Hmm. And those headaches, are they a part of this?" He asked, typing up a storm on his little laptop. Izuku winced, feeling more and more out of his element.
"Y-yeah. They're… worse than ever, sir."
"And how do they make you feel? Emotionally, I mean." He asked, continuing to type. Izuku's hand was shaking as he reached for more tea, his fingers almost twitching too much to hold his cup.
The headaches made him feel foul. Bitter, angry, depressed; if it's got a negative connotation, Izuku's felt it. Just thinking about the pain by itself, not even considering how it impacted his life, made him upset. His heart was beating out of his chest, trying to think of some coherent response; nothing he could say felt earned, satisfactory. It was too underwhelming put into words, too overwhelming to think.
"I-I… I think we're moving a little fast, sir…" Izuku said, after what felt like a long time. The sounds of keycaps clicking slowed to a stop as Dr. Fujimaki glanced up into his eyes. The contact wasn't foreign; he'd looked into the Doctor's eyes many times, and never once had he thought it uncomfortable. At least, until today. Such warmth and sudden understanding filled his eyes that it made Izuku want to take back everything he'd just said, to try better to communicate. It was revolting how such a small gesture of understanding made him squirm, when once he'd embraced it with open arms.
"Alright, son, alright. What of your friends, how have they been?" He asked, making Izuku wince again. Another sore subject; but this time, Izuku wouldn't back down.
"Shoto's doing better, and I think he'll enjoy therapy. Setsuna makes me—I don't know. She… worries me." He admitted; it was far easier to talk about someone else, especially when he knew he wouldn't get blown off. His mother had never taken Setsuna's discrepancies seriously; so telling the doctor felt easy, like his entire stance on the matter was on the tip of his tongue and the doctor was telling him to say "aah."
"Still? I vaguely remember you telling me she was acting strange once upon a time. What was wrong, again? I'm afraid I can't remember all the details at my age." He said, pushing his laptop off his lap in exchange for his tea cup.
Izuku considered this, trying to remember what he'd already told the man. When Izuku had still been coming into the office regularly, Setsuna had just started Middle School. He sent himself back to those days, trying to pick apart what'd stood out to him.
He remembered her being tired—too tired, really. Strained was more like it. How she'd seemingly done a 180 in her personality; with just a simple haircut, she'd gone from the energetic, yet relaxed girl he'd come to appreciate into someone pushing themselves harder than almost anyone he knew. It was like looking into the mirror.
That was the problem, really. Izuku was a slave to his passions and goals, always striving forward for improvement. It wasn't healthy with his level of dedication, he understood, but that was because he wasn't healthy. If Izuku was being honest with himself, the reason he was such a dedicated worker was more than his childhood dream of heroism. It stemmed from the worst moment in his life, the day that still lingers behind his eyes and sends shivers down his spine. Izuku liked to think he was a positive person, but in reality, he knew the raw, pure negativity of his trauma fueled him.
A phantom pain crept across his ghost-skin, like a dozen wrathful ants marching across his arm. The pain in his head became less manageable as One for All began to churn alongside his emotions, thinking about the day that'd changed him forever. Blood pumped in his ears to a rhythm he couldn't follow, to a song he couldn't hear.
"She… she's still doing it—she's been pushing too hard, I think. Trying to match me and my work ethic, without help or self restraint. She's so great, really. She's a good person, she's made of stern stuff, but it's like her world's falling apart, and the only way to hold it together is to work harder than she can handle, to be someone she isn't. I… I think it's my fault." He said, finishing his rant with his fist clenched and teeth gritted. It'd all tumbled out so easily, when someone was willing to listen.
He wasn't sure what her catalyst was, but the only reason he was so single-minded in his self improvement was because of a promise to a dead man. Or rather, a man gone from the world, who's will lived on within him. His purpose was now Izuku's, and he owed it to him to follow it.
His death had devastated him, ravished him of all sense of self for months. When Izuku came through, however, he was more than before. It was like the grueling effort he put in was easy, as if every difficult task was nothing compared to his worst moment. By comparison, training and studying everyday was a simple matter of little consequence. Without that benchmark of hardship, dealing with that training would put hurt someone and fast. If Setsuna really was trying to match him, then it must've been killing her slowly. If she was truly emulating him, then his own routine was the thing hurting her.
Dr. Fujimaki was quiet as he sipped on his tea, allowing the thought to incubate in his brain until his opinion hatched.
"Well, if you believe it is your fault, how did you tell her about that? What did she say?" He asked, his tone blank and voice slow. Izuku felt a chill go down his back, freezing him in place. His gut wrenched as his body caught up to his ears, realizing what the doctor had asked. He hadn't asked; he didn't know how, or didn't think it was appropriate, or something along those lines. It was a humongous question, something requiring far more air in his lungs to let out than he had to offer.
"I… I—what do you mean? How would you talk to someone about that?" Izuku muttered, staring at the space between his knees. His cheeks flushed, a sudden shame creeping up from his stomach. Dr. Fujimaki sighed, setting his cup aside and leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. Izuku didn't want to risk looking in his eyes.
"So, am I correct in assuming you haven't asked the lass about it?" He asked. Izuku struggled to answer, to defend himself, but it was pointless. That same shame in his gut reached the back of his throat, burning like bile. Unable to reply, he nodded.
"My boy, you're a good child. Would you agree?" He asked again, seeking a reply. Izuku felt uncomfortable, like he shouldn't be the one to judge that, but he allowed himself a hesitant nod. Perhaps he wasn't a good friend, son, or student, but being a child? He lived and breathed naivete. This whole conversation was a reminder of how much left he had to learn, how much he had to grow. Dr. Fujimaki always made him feel like his big problems were small, like he was a child talking to an adult. Well, he was, in reality, but that mattered little.
"I agree. I admit, I'm struggling to read between the lines here, but from what I can glimpse, your friend's condition is more than just your fault, at the very least. Perhaps it isn't even yours at all. But, if you truly believe it is yours, I want you to ask yourself a question: What do good people do when they've done something wrong?"
Izuku needed no more time to think than to recuperate his voice.
"You apologize, and then you try your best to fix it." Izuku said, scratchy and quiet. The doctor nodded.
"Bingo. I don't know how much I can help you with your headaches, but this is something with a simple solution. Talk to her. Perhaps fixing it will be difficult, but starting that process is easy. Communication and honesty are first and foremost the best way to heal a wound of the heart, my boy."
They fell into silence after that, allowing Izuku time to digest everything, including the advice and the delicious tea. Thinking of actually talking to Setsuna about everything was nerve wracking, like he was about to climb an abnormally steep mountain. Perhaps it would've been easier if he'd nipped the conversation in the bud last year, making it less overdue and more appropriate to the moment, but that didn't matter. Dr. Fujimaki was right. Izuku should take some responsibility, even if unnecessary, even if unwanted.
Honesty and communication. Two very difficult concepts to subscribe to, in reality. Despite their simplicity, they were enigmas, ideas that had drifted further and farther from Izuku's reach since he began hiding the headaches. Perhaps it was time to reclaim them, as uncertain as he was.
"Alright, sir. I'll try."
[x]
Izuku Midoriya: Hey. I've been meaning to talk to you for a long time now, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I know we speak everyday, but I mean a talk talk. A serious one; one that'll require some privacy. Our houses aren't secure enough, and the news has an ongoing special about the tragedy of Dagobah, so news crews are swarming our spot. There is a large suspension bridge halfway between our homes with a very secure walking lane beneath it. My mom says almost nobody goes across there nowadays. Can we meet there tomorrow, around noon?
Setsunasaurus: Of course.
[x]
AN: So, Horikoshi's in hot water again, who woulda thought. Really makes it hard to root for his manga when he's pulling stuff like this, but whatever. This chapter might've been a bit boring, but the next two slap, I promise. The big 100K word threshold has been met, and I'm not burned out yet, despite the evil things this chapter did to my psyche to make. I guess that means I'm obligated to write without a hiatus to at least the start of school. It's looking more and more likely that that'll be around chapter thirty, so we should be there in a month or so! woo hoo.
To that guy who said my upload schedule was slow, I raise you this: I've cranked out almost eighty thousand words in like two months and so far, this thing is B Tier at worst. Closer to S by standards. Though, to be fair, if I started uploading on Ao3, I'd prolly get spanked.
Review! I need like nine for my record. I know I'll get plenty next chapter cuz it'll bang, but it'd be nice if this one popped off too.