The dead grass was nearly waist length when they had first moved here but has since been trampled flat beneath his feet. The empty field has been transformed into their training ground, crude practice dummies made of dead branches and clothes pulled from thrift store dumpsters set up around the space. Chizome's gaze rests on Izuku , as he carries out drill after drill on one of them, the steady thwack thwack thwack of his wooden training staff hitting the dummy over and over again filling the otherwise silent forest. If they had been in this place a year ago, Chizome would have let him use an actual sword during training. After that stunt he pulled in Naruhata, though, he'd been demoted to the same wooden pole he was using when he was six. Chizome can't tell if that bothers him or not.
"Keep at it!" he commands when Izuku slows to take a peek at his bleeding palms. Each of his rapid breaths fog in front of his face and his eyes flash angrily at the command, but he obediently continues the exercise.
During the first hour, Izuku's years of training really got the chance to shine. Finally unhindered by the buildings and litter and crowds of the city, it became apparent that the kid's speed far exceeded the majority of the non-speed-quirked population. It wasn't too surprising since he's been training exclusively with Chizome for more than half his life. He isn't at Chizome's level, not yet, but he is definitely faster than his mentor had been at ten years old. At the beginning of their training session his movements were smooth and precise, full of a confidence that Chizome hadn't known he had before now. It made him wonder what else his dumbass kid might have been doing while he was supposed to have been hidden away in the Naruhata apartment. Just thinking about it makes an ember of fury flicker inside his chest.
By the time the third hour of training hits, those smooth movements are gone. Every swing of the staff is sloppy and uncoordinated, and it is apparent by the blue tinge to his lips and fingernails that the kid is feeling not only the effects of exhaustion, but the bite of the winter air. Chizome watches for a while longer, barking orders any time Izuku starts to slow down, waiting until the kid's arms are shaking so bad he can barely lift the staff. Finally, he calls, "You're doing good, kid! Just give me fifteen more minutes, then you're done for the day."
Izuku perks up at the praise, flashing him an exhausted but genuine smile before forcing himself to continue his assault on one of the only dummies left standing. The sight soothes down the quiet anger within Chizome, reminding him that Izuku means no harm. It's sweet how eager he is to please, and how easy it is to make him happy.
Chizome lets the training drag on another 23 minutes before he calls time. The staff is vaulted halfway across the yard as Izuku releases his hold on it mid-swing, droplets of blood arcing in its path. Izuku brings his trembling hands to his chest and holds them there, grimacing as he is finally permitted to flex his fingers and examine the damage. Chizome waits for him to take it in before he calls him over, hand held out. Izuku wobbles his way over and places his hands in Chizome's own, palm up. There is no hesitation in his movements, just trust that the man who has raised him wouldn't hurt him. Chizome hums as he examines the open sores, running his own gloved finger over them and clicking his tongue, pretending he doesn't hear Izuku's hiss of pain when he puts just a hint of pressure on the bleeding wounds.
"We'll need to make sure your hands are wrapped better tomorrow," he tuts, glancing up to meet Izuku's glassy eyed gaze. "Did you forget to do it today?"
The boy hesitates, biting his lip like he's forcing back words. Chizome waits until Izuku collects himself and remembers that his mentor is the only one who will take care of these wounds when he is in too much pain to curve his fingers around the roll of bandages.
"I didn't forget," he says slowly, groggily, the exhaustion of the day already weighing him down. "I guess I didn't do a very good job, though."
He already knew that, of course. The tattered scraps of fabric still hang from his wrists, stained dark with blood. Chizome nods, breaking eye contact to examine the wounds again. Seeing Izuku in pain brings him no pleasure, but it is a necessary evil. The boy can't be allowed to forget what he is destined to become, what he is meant to be for the world, and he can't be allowed to forget that Chizome is the only one who can guide him along his path. A little pain is good for him; it'll toughen him up and prepare him for the hardships of this life. The world awaiting him outside this desolate clearing will hold no simple comforts. Chizome clicks his tongue and when he lifts his gaze once more from Izuku's raw hand he is met with a familiar doe-eyed gaze and wobbling lower lip. He feels the hard shell around his heart melt just a little bit more and he sighs, gently dropping Izuku's small hands and allowing a smile to stretch his lips.
"You hungry, kiddo?" he asks, and Izuku nods enthusiastically. "I'll make pancakes."
.
Christmas morning is not accompanied by a gentle dusting of fluffy white snow, but instead several inches of the stuff, shutting down the roads and effectively trapping Chizome inside the house. Izuku is pretty sure that that's the universe giving him a present. It's nice to have someone home with him. He's not sure he would have survived if he had to spend another week all alone, huddled against the cold emptiness of this old house.
Chizome shows him how to build a proper fire in the neglected fireplace and Izuku watches with fascination as his mentor's nimble fingers build up the pyre and kindling until the flames blaze to life. He closes his eyes to bask in the warmth that burns across his cheeks, wishing he could enjoy it without the memory of his notebooks crumbling to ash behind his eyelids.
The small room gets warm quickly. Chizome is in the kitchen and Izuku can hear him bustling about, water running and a fork scraping against the bottom of the pan. The occasional pop of oil or smokey smell is accompanied by a whispered curse. Curled close to the fireplace with the blanket a comfortable weight across his shoulders, Izuku realizes that this is the most content he's felt in a really long time.
He smiles as his eyes close, nuzzling deeper into the blanket. It's easy to ignore the way his body aches from endless hours of training as he drifts off, hazy echoes of Christmases past dancing just out of reach of his exhausted mind. He counts down his gifts, trying to remember as far back as he can: A fountain pen at nine to accompany the fancy notebooks with thick unlined paper he'd gotten for his birthday earlier that same year; a whole basket full of his favorite sugary snacks at eight; his first real knife at seven; a big blanket with Best Jeanist's face plastered on the front and a pair of All Might themed sneakers at six; The Ultimate All Might Movie Collection dvd set at five. The presents always came wrapped in blue and yellow paper, tied with a bright red bow. Ever since he was six years old, Izuku has made sure he has something to give to Stendhal in return — usually something handmade like drawings or analyses or, on one memorable occasion, an attempt at crafting heroes' likenesses out of paper mache. He doesn't have any notebooks or glue this year, though, so Chizome will have to settle for a clean house and Izuku's good mood as his present.
From the kitchen, the kettle has begun to whistle. Izuku squeezes his eyes more tightly shut, still trying to chase the fleeting happy impressions of Christmases over the years. If he tries really hard, green wrapping paper swims through his mind, accompanied by squishy All Might dolls and footie pajamas. Christmas carols sung in a woman's gentle voice, echoing and distant like it's coming from deep within the apartment across the hall. Cookies shaped like trees and ornaments and stars, his own small hands holding a canister of sprinkles, guided by a soft hand with painted nails to keep him from spilling them all over the scarred kitchen table. No matter how hard he tries, he can't see her face.
He's not sure how long he lays there, drifting through foggy memories that linger on the cusp of being dreams, but eventually he is roused by a gentle hand on his arm. He blinks himself back to awareness and Chizome's face swims into focus. He smiles and his mentor smiles back. The expression would look sinister to anyone else, but Izuku knows how to read every teeth-baring, tongue-lolling, too-wide smile by now. This is a gentle expression.
"I made hot chocolate," Chizome says. "But if you're too tired to come grab a mug—"
"I'm up!" he all but yells, stumbling to his feet. Chizome steadies him while Izuku blinks dark spots out of his vision, chuckling at the enthusiasm. For the first time since that awful day in Naruhata, Izuku feels truly safe in his mentor's presence.
Chizome has him sit cross legged on the kitchen counter as he prepares them both their drinks. Izuku claps when he pulls marshmallows out from the tallest cabinet, their existence kept secret from Izuku before now for this exact surprise. They're the regular size ones instead of the mini ones that Izuku likes, but he isn't going to complain. Sweet things are reserved only for special occasions like birthdays and Christmas and the first time had successfully incapacitated a villain without any help.
Chizome hops gracefully up onto the counter beside Izuku. The hot chocolate sloshes in its mug but he doesn't spill a single drop. Izuku accepts his gingerly, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down over his fingertips to avoid letting his blistered hands touch the hot ceramic. The marshmallows are beginning to melt, sinking just beneath the surface of the liquid. He takes a tentative sip, testing if it is hot enough to burn his tongue before he indulges. Beside him, Chizome does the same.
Silence settles around them, comfortable in its familiarity but heavy in the way that tells Izuku that Chizome has something he wants to talk about. Izuku doesn't bring it up, though, just taking his time enjoying having company to share hot chocolate with. He figures that Chizome will speak whenever he's ready to.
When the mugs are drained and resting on the countertop with only the brown stains along the rims as evidence they were ever full, Chizome clears his throat. Izuku pulls his eyes away from the blisters on his fingertips and turns his attention towards Chizome. The man doesn't look at him, eyes focused instead on a dark stain on the wall.
"Listen, kiddo. I know the last few months haven't been easy," he begins, gaze still trained on the wall. "I just want you to know I'm proud of you for taking care of not only yourself, but also of me when things got real bad."
Izuku feels a swell of warm affection for his mentor. It feels like the old Chizome again, awkward and stiff, but genuine in his words and actions. He hadn't fully realized how much he'd missed the man who raised him until the moment they were sitting side by side again.
"That means a lot," Izuku says, smiling at Chizome despite the fact he's still not looking at him. "I'm just happy I could help."
"You did good, kid. Despite everything, you did good."
Izuku isn't sure what he means. He turns his attention towards his lap, wishing he hadn't finished his drink quite so quickly if only for the comfort holding the mug would bring him. They lapse into silence for a while, until Chizome breaks it once again.
"I, uh, got you something," he says, and a smile is twitching at his lips. Izuku feels anticipation tingle up his spine, the same way it does every Christmas. He hopes he'll get more books or magazines, more medical journals, or maybe more notebooks and pens. All his old ones were presumably lost in the blaze when they left their old apartment. He wonders distantly if anything survived, though he doesn't have very high hopes. Those notebooks were basically his life's work, and the knowledge that they're gone forever feels a lot like losing a friend.
It wouldn't be the first time a friendship ended with fire, he thinks dully, then wonders where that came from.
"C'mere," Chizome grunts, long legs unfolding as he hefts himself from the countertop with a grace that borders on animalistic. Izuku feels clumsy as he jumps down and follows just a step behind while Chizome leads him to a room that has been locked whenever Izuku has tried the handle the last couple weeks.
"There's gonna be rules for how often you can use this," Chizome says sternly as he pulls a key from his pocket and inserts it into the lock. "I don't want you rotting your brain while I'm out of the house."
The door swings open and Izuku gasps in delight as he sees the tv leaning against the wall. He looks to Chizome for confirmation and when he nods, Izuku whoops in excitement and wraps his arms around his mentor in a tight squeeze. Chizome chuckles, returning the hug with one hand nestled in Izuku's mess of tangled hair.
.
The roads are cleared of snow two days after Christmas, so Chizome goes right back to town to keep working. After a lot of discussion and some time to settle in, they came up with rules for the times that Izuku is left alone. He follows those rules, adhering to his strict schedule, and it helps him stay just a little more sane than he might have ended up otherwise.
He wakes up and he makes himself breakfast out of whatever leftovers there are from the night before. He can't go outside without Chizome there to unlock the door, so he runs through his katas and his drills and his lessons in the empty main living space, one after the other until every movement is perfect and he's brought every mannequin and stick bundle dummy set up around the house crashing to the ground. He sets them all back up again, ready for the evening training session. After that, school books and worksheets printed at the local library are next on his lessons' to-do list. He goes through each question, looks at the answer keys, and then starts again until he gets everything right. After all the school lessons and his evening training are done, he cleans the house. It's tedious work, but it keeps him occupied and lets him stay in shape. There are worse ways he could be spending his days, he tells himself.
.
When New Years Eve comes, Izuku makes himself another mug of hot chocolate. He has to stand on top of the counter to reach the marshmallows, but that's alright. Chizome had said he wouldn't forget to take them down for him before he left, but he did forget and Izuku is trying very hard not to be upset about that; Chizome is working very hard to make sure that Izuku is comfortable here. He shouldn't be so riled up about marshmallows, right?
Somewhere in the far distance he can hear the pops and booms of fireworks. He hasn't seen fireworks since he was three years old, sitting on his mother's lap with her gentle hands pressed firmly over his ears to block out the noise. In that vague and foggy memory, the explosions illuminate everything but her face. He wishes he could remember the way she had smiled back then.
He sits beside the window and dips his head down so he can watch the sky through the cracks in the boards, hoping to catch a glimpse of lights in the night.
I will apologize right now that this chapter took forever to get out, yet is still short and mostly just fluffy stuff lol. I've been having a rough go of it recently and have just been struggling to write anything at all. My grandpa died and it hit me a lot harder than I thought it would, I got really into a couple other fandoms (Helluva Boss and The Magnus Archives in case anyone is wondering), a lot of my spare time has been spent on doing projects around the house instead of writing, and then on top of that I was asked to drive six hours to my work's main office for a performance review and I've been having a month of basically nonstop anxiety and panic attacks over it lmao. That's happening at the end of this month so I am STILL panicking hahaha. So all that said, the next chapter will probably take a while to get out, too. I'm so sorry in advance!
TheFoxyPirateFox and Shaegal, my beloved betas, thank you for staying on top of me. This chapter wouldn't have been posted without you guys.
A special shoutout this chapter to PurpleCow who has been one of my biggest cheerleaders since basically the first chapter.
Thank you so much to everyone who's read, left reviews, or bookmarked/subscribed. You guys help me keep my motivation up long enough to write a few sentences at a time. Every chapter posted is thanks to you. I hope you'll stick around long enough for the next one, which hopefully won't take quite as long.