Trigger Warning:

- implied depression

- mention of panic attack

- implied PTSD

Leaves fell.

The seasons changed.

The warm heat of summer gave way to the crisp chills of autumn.

October. The month when leaves were at their brightest and night arrived quickly. At least, that was the view most people held. Regular people.

Not people like Izuku. On this spectacular afternoon where all he wanted was to buy the fall special drink from the coffee shop two streets away from his home, a villain decided to ruin his day.

Said villain was a small-time thief trying to rob a lady's purse. Izuku intervened, trying to push the robber away from the woman. Perhaps underestimating the criminal was a mistake on his part, though. An attack aimed for the woman hit him instead. Immediately, he felt his body temperature drop. Was this guy's quirk something related with temperature? The thought made him think of his long-time friend Todoroki. Then he regretted comparing his Pro-Hero ally to a petty low-life.

The villain dashed in the opposite direction, the purse dangling from one hand. Before the woman could even cry out for help, Izuku had already begun the chase. Ignoring the urge to curl up into a ball on the ground, he initiated his counterattack. With one long tendril of Blackwhip, he had the thief hanging by his foot midair.

He saw the exact moment when the robber tried to retaliate. Two more tendrils wrapped his hands by his sides. The pressure made the robber drop the purse.

"You stinking twat!" screamed the woman. Now that the criminal was restrained, Izuku had a better chance to observe exactly who the victim and perpetrator was.

The handbag was vintage. One of the ones with metal clasps, a short strap, and a faded floral design. These were so out of fashion that Izuku wondered who would own such an item in today's times. He got his answer when he looked at the woman. Grandma. Grumpy grandma. Those two words were enough to describe the lady.

Short white hair, pink plastic glasses, floral pattern dress equally faded as the handbag, and a sneer that could make even bodybuilders cry for their mothers. Izuku was glad he was not on the receiving end of that glare. Hobbling toward the thief, the lady lifted her cane up and down at him, spewing more profanities. "Respect the elderly! Did your parents not teach you that, turd! Causing problems for an old woman with arthritis. If my bones were as good as they were in your age, I would beat you up until your soul left your body for good!"

Those insults were only the kinder of the obscenities. Otherwise, the sort of curses she spit would have made Katsuki's insults appear as compliments. He wondered how his brash compatriot would react if he were in this situation. Katsuki would die before admitting it, but secretly he would be taking notes in his head. For the next time he had to emotionally destroy his opponent. Katsuki would either absolutely love or absolutely abhor this woman, Izuku thought to himself.

He waited until the lady's tirade was over. Which was marked by the lady pulling out an asthmatic pump from her handbag and taking inhaling the fumes vigorously. He picked up the purse and returned it to her. Her entire demeanor changed. Between breaths, she shook Izuku's hand with the same frenzy as she used her inhaler, remarking on his good upbringing.

So perhaps this woman was not all that … brash.

Just as the police arrived to take the criminal away, Izuku got a phone call. He looked at the name and smiled: Kamiko.

"Hey!" he greeted. "How are you doing?"

"Hi," she replied. "Am I disturbing you? Are you busy?"

Izuku replied that he was not. After giving a brief narration of the events that unfolded earlier, he told her that he was on his way to get a beverage and then go home. Thinking of home and speaking with his girlfriend reminded that although he had met Kamiko's parents, she had yet to meet his mother. Izuku's mom knew that he was dating a fox mutant. A few weeks ago, he had suggested showing some of their pictures together to her, but she refused, saying that she wished to see Kamiko for herself. Sooner or later, he was going to have to arrange that introduction. In fact, what better moment than now? He opened his mouth again, preparing to invite Kamiko to his home, when she interrupted him.

"Listen, could you come to my place? Right now? I mean, only if you are available. I understand if you have other plans, but …" she trailed off.

Kamiko spoke calmly, but there was a current of tension lacing her words. Izuku's eyes narrowed. Call it intuition or overthinking, however, he had the distinct notion that the tranquility was just a facade. She was about to cry soon. For what reason, he had no idea. He answered almost immediately, "I'll be there in an hour. Bring a drink for you, too."

He hoped that he was wrong. In fact, it would have been for the best that he was. But he had to confirm.

Not a second later after he rang the doorbell did the owners of the house open the door.

Before Kamiko's mother could say a word, he did. "Hello Auntie! I brought beverages." He beckoned toward the set-of-four cup holding tray that indeed carried four café drinks with lids and straws. "Snacks, too!" He lifted his other hand that was carrying two paper bags of goodies. "Can I speak with Kamiko?"

She gratefully accepted her share of the treats and ushered him upstairs.

Kamiko opened the entrance to her room before Izuku could even knock. If his hands weren't still full, he would have embraced her then and there. If the redness tinging her eyes and quiet sniffles were any sign to go by, he had to do something soon.

"Whatever's going on, it will be fine," he began. "Can I come inside first? My arms going to drop dead." Of course, that was an exaggeration. But it had its intended effect. Kamiko choked out a weak laugh and shifted to the side to let him in.

As Izuku set the contents down on the table, Kamiko began to apologize profusely. "I don't know what happened to me. Two hours ago, I was doing just fine, but then this surge of sadness just hit me. It was so overwhelming that I didn't know what to do. Mom and Dad tried to help out, but it didn't work so great. Then I thought of you. Remember that exercise you made me do when I had the panic attack? I tried to repeat it. A little success. Enough that I called you over. Again, I apologize for the trouble."

Izuku did not say anything. Instead, he passed her a doughnut from the bag and the autumn special latte. They ate in silence. He hoped that the sugar would improve her a bit, while the heat would return his body to homeostasis. A few hours since that encounter with the robber, and he was still feeling bouts of chills rack up and down his spine.

Finally, when both of them had finished, he asked, "How was it?" She responded that she liked it. "That's good. Katsuki told me that these were- ACHOO!" Screw hypothermia! He rubbed his hands together as more sneezes built up in his nose. Distantly, he noticed Kamiko getting up from the bed and guiding him to it. As he sat down, he felt her climb up and hug him from behind. She was warm. Like the warmth of a fur blanket after spending all night curled up in one. Maybe that was because Kamiko was a fox mutant. Obviously, she had fur, Izuku scolded himself.

Still, when she squeezed a little tighter around his waist to pull him back, he relented immediately. To make things better, she bracketed his hips and wrapped her tail around one leg. She was providing warmth from all angles.

"Better?" she inquired, an undertone of amusement lingering in the question.

Izuku decided to rise up to the challenge. "Yes. Very fluffy. Like a pillow."

She gasped, "Are you calling me fat?" Shoot, did he overstep? He had only meant it in jest. He was about to say sorry when she giggled. A strong, proper giggle. "Just teasing you." And then she leaned forward to kiss him.

As Izuku craned his neck to the side to reciprocate it, he decided to save his teasing counter for another time.

Bless the existence of weekends!

This was perhaps the thousandth time Kamiko had such a thought within the span of thirty minutes. She realized that her enthusiasm was getting old, but how could she not be happy when she was spending time with someone she cared about?

Seeing all the animal plushies on her bed, Izuku had asked her how she made them. Beginning by showing her crochet and sewing set to pulling up PDFs on her computer to dragging out her collection of fabrics, eventually leading up to a teaching session about how to make one. They decided to make a matching set of oyster-shaped stuffed animals. Izuku followed her instructions — or at least, tried to. Because at the end of class, Kamiko had created an adorable oyster with a pearl, while Izuku ended up making something that distantly resembled a blobfish. Emphasis on the word distantly. Seeing the obvious discrepancy in artistic talent, he suggested that he unravel the whole thing. However, Kamiko insisted on keeping his attempt at crafts and gave him her masterpiece. "It's the effort that counts," was her argument.

Then their talents reversed when it came to movie time. Kamiko had a large television in her room. Together, they watched an anime about a paraplegic girl and a deep-sea diver. Watching the protagonists' banter and dynamic, Kamiko erupted into peals of laughter. She laughed so hard that barks began to escape her throat. Not dog barks. No. That was reserved for her crass Australian shepherd friend when she came up with a very dirty joke. Kamiko's were more higher-pitched. Almost reaching levels of shrill.

She had not even noticed until she caught Izuku staring at her. Immediately, she quieted. "Sorry," she murmured. "I don't usually do that. If it's bothering you, I'll keep it down."

Izuku had proved time and time again that her mutant aspect did not irritate him, yet it was easy to forget that kindness when years of bullying had been ingrained inside her head. Just like now. She was so sure he was about to push her away.

So it surprised her when he cupped her muzzle and smiled. "It's not annoying in the slightest. I just never heard you laugh so openhearted before. It was new. But I liked it." The tension that had been churning in her stomach eased palpably.

The rest of the movie continued. After watching the post-credits scene, she suggested that he stay for dinner. Her question went unheard. Kamiko observed Izuku staring up at the ceiling, thoughts drifting somewhere. He was muttering something underneath his breath. With her keen hearing, it didn't take much effort to listen in.

"Both characters had their growth and learned there was more to the world around them. The tiger was a metaphor for the scariness of the outside world. But the disabled woman overcame her fear of the tiger, which was especially shown during her undertaking of the picture book. As for the diver guy, he paralleled the girl after that accident. He better understood the hopelessness that accompanies being confined to a wheelchair, which led to a stronger bond between the two." And Izuku proceeded to make more connections.

While Kamiko had been fascinated by the art and aesthetics, he had been scrutinizing every little detail. He brought up points that not even she would have considered. Artistic versus analytical. Creative versus practical. She liked her boyfriend's critical brain. A nice complement to her imaginative one.

In fact, she liked it so much that she discreetly began wrapping her arms around his waist again. Tighter and tighter, bringing their bodies closer. By the time Izuku realized what was happening, Kamiko was purring into the collar of his shirt so energetically that his body began to vibrate from the sound waves. When he shrieked from surprise, she grinned again.

"Oh, now it's on," he said before rotating and unleashing his own surprise attack on her. Tickles. On her neck, on her stomach, on her feet. Wherever her guard was open, he tickled her there. Soon, it was him that was reveling his victory and Kamiko who was laughing so hard that her belly began to hurt.

"Stop, stop!" she wheezed between bursts of chuckles. "Okay! I concede! You win!"

Satisfied, Izuku finally released her. He leaned back into sitting posture, gazing down at Kamiko, who curled into fetal position, cradling her stomach. The moment passed, however, their positions did not. After a moment of silence, Kamiko murmured, "It's evening already. The time flew by so fast. Can I invite you to stay over for the night?"

Izuku craned his head back as much as he could. "Will your parents be all right with it?"

"We can ask."

So within five minutes the two of them freshened up and headed downstairs. When they relayed the idea to Kamiko's parents, they reacted as any parent would. Displeased.

"No," Kamiko's father replied instantly, leaving no room for argument, at the same time her mother answered, "Why?"

Her father whipped his head toward her mother. "What do you mean 'why?' Don't tell me you're actually considering letting him stay over."

Kamiko was about to stand up for Izuku when her mother intervened. Rolling her eyes, she stared up at him from her seat on the sofa. "Honey, they're boyfriend-girlfriend. I have faith that they are responsible enough to not break our trust." She averted her gaze from him just enough to glare at the said lovesick couple. Like marionettes, both Kamiko and Izuku nodded their heads simultaneously. Returning her focus back to her husband, she continued, "Besides, he's the future Symbol of Peace. A good boy. You've seen all that he's done for her. He won't take advantage of her, so I believe that he has a valid reason for staying in Kamiko's bedroom for the night."

"I do," Izuku responded, very much relieved to have one supporter by his side. He recounted what he had from Kamiko about her anxious bout earlier today and how having him calmed her down significantly. If something like that arose again, he could be there for her.

The argument seemed to convince Kamiko's mother, but not her father. He still appeared disgruntled at the idea of letting a young man spend the night in his daughter's bedroom. "We have a guest bedroom," he grumbled as a final retort.

"Honey," her mother called out again.

Much to Kamiko's relief, that was enough for her father to relent. "I have rules, though. First, separate sleeping arrangements. One of you will sleep on the bed; the other will have a futon on the floor. Second, no weird noises. I mean it. Third, your mother and I are going to make rounds in the middle of the night to ensure that the rules are followed. These rules are nonnegotiable."

"Of course, Dad! We accept!" She decided it was best not to push her luck any further today. Besides, this was what compromises were all about.

Kamiko's father was suspicious.

So while his wife slept soundly, he crept out of the bedroom to get a glass of water. It served as the perfect excuse to check on his daughter's wellbeing. For the seventh time that night. Especially after it had only been half an hour since his last round.

So yes, he was a tad overzealous in his pursuit. But which parent would not be? So when he climbed up the stairs, full glass in hand, he creaked open Kamiko's bedroom door. From the dim nightlight in the room and his own acute coyote night vision, the first thing he saw was that Midoriya Izuku was dozing on the futon set on the floor beside the bed. Good. First requirement met. Then he glanced at Kamiko who also was sleeping soundly. Second requirement met. Everything was fine. Satisfied, he was about to close the door when he heard a low rumble. Opening the door a little wider, he watched Kamiko throw off the covers with her eyes closed and climb out of the bed.

Since when was his daughter a sleepwalker?

He was almost convinced that Kamiko was pretending to be asleep. But there was no mistaking the fragmented words characteristic of sleep-talking and intermittent soft snores. Kamiko's father spent many moments just standing there, comprehending the meaning of his daughter's new nighttime behavior.

Slowly, Kamiko inched toward the futon and bent down. She grabbed Midoriya Izuku by the collar and began dragging him back to her bed. He was marvelled by the boy's ability to drift in subconsciousness despite being hauled, like a predator towing its prey. Then he immediately regretted the analogy. So what if the boy was a Pro-Hero? Even heroes had to let their guard down from time to time.

Now to ensure that neither party hurt themselves, he continued observing. Kamiko pulled her boyfriend onto the bed and curled around him as though he were a body pillow.

"That water is not going to turn into wine the longer you hold it, honey," a voice suddenly called out in the quiet darkness.

Kamiko's father head whipped around to face the source of the sound. Then he looked down. His wife glared up at him, arms crossed, mouth set in a frown. He stammered out, "I … I thought you were s-sleeping, darling. D-did you need some w-water?" He shoved forth the glass of water toward her. "I brought you some! Have a taste. It's filtered. Sweet. And potable …"

The glare intensified. "Honey." That one word conveyed so much. Indeed. What was he even doing right now? Playing innocent after having been caught? Ashamed, he bent his head down and let his wife, who has a third his size, drag him by the sleeve back to their room. "This is exactly why you would win the award of 'Worst Salesman of the Year,'" his wife muttered.

"Not true!" he retorted, utterly affronted. "My persuasive skills are excellent."

He did not need any light source to know that she rolled her eyes at him in the most ostentatious manner possible. "Right. So persuasive that you tried to market me the water from our sink." Then she gave him a consolation pat on the arm. "Try harder next time."

The next morning, Izuku woke up to find himself cuddling a very soft pillow.

Somewhere between drowsiness and wakefulness, he tried to recall whether he possessed such a pillow of exquisite quality. As far as he remembered, his bed was pushed against a corner, so two sides of the bed were lined with pillows to protect his head. Unsurprisingly, each cushion was All Might merchandise. But he doubted that any of them were made of fur.

Wait. Fur?

The single question was enough to pull him out of the twilight zone and open his eyes momentarily. And what greeted him was not an artificial furry cushion but actual fur of a person.

Jolting from the shock, he almost fell over the bed. Where the hell was he?

Then it hit him that he had spent the night at his girlfriend's place. Obviously, he would not wake up in his own room. But also, he should not have arisen in his girlfriend's bed. He distinctly remembered spreading the mattress on the floor before climbing onto it. So how all of a sudden was he a meter above the ground?

A tickle of hot air above his head answered his question. He lifted it to see Kamiko's muzzle just centimeters from his head. Her resting figure and hands around his waist told him everything he needed to know. Slowly, Izuku stroked her face. The motions of rubbing his hand beneath her chin elicited unconscious purrs of contentment from her mouth, which made him want to never stop.

"Good morning Auntie! Good morning Uncle!"

Izuku had descended the stairs after freshening up to see that Kamiko's parents preparing breakfast. From the fragrances, he detected mackerel, seaweed, and pickle. "May I help?"

Kamiko's mother shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, but you're our guest! Please just take a seat! By the way, how did you sleep last night?" He was about to reply that he had a good night's sleep, but the tone with which she asked the question insinuated something else. So his response came out as more of a dubious question rather than a confident answer. Laughing at his unease, she pulled out her phone from her pocket to show him a photo of him and Kamiko cuddling on her bed like big spoon and little spoon. Anyone could figure out who was the little spoon. "I took the picture when it was my turn to check on you guys," she explained.

If Izuku was embarrassed beyond words, then Kamiko's father was absolutely flabbergasted. "When?!" he demanded.

"When you were in the midst of your slow-wave sleep, snoring like a steam train passing right by the window."

"I do not snore that loudly!" Kamiko's father exclaimed, incredulously. "Do I?"

His wife patted his arm affectionately. Or rather, sympathetically. "I still love you, honey. By the way, the mackerel is burning."

Any further comment that he would have made was silenced by the urgency to flip over the fish.

Some time later, Kamiko entered the kitchen. Hair standing up in all directions, some fur matted, some fur upright. Rubbing one hand across her hair and covering her mouth with the other, she yawned loudly, "Where did my cinnamon roll go?" Confused, her father asked her what cinnamon roll. "My green cinnamon roll?"

Izuku suppressed a bout of giggles. "I'm over here, Kamiko!" He waved, gesturing at the bowl of miso soup in front of him. Now completely awake, she stammered out a greeting and took the seat beside him. The sight of her red fur turning redder made him want to tease her a bit more. "You know …" he began, sliding her mother's phone toward Kamiko. "I have an interesting photo of us." Kamiko's reaction was worth it. After squeaking a burst of gibberish, she buried her face in her palms. There slipped Izuku's last bits of control over his laughter. Erupting into chuckles, her parents' also joined in the melee.

Patting her shoulder, he spoke between bouts, "Hey! It's a cute photo. I love it."

In return, she punched his back. Hollow. Harmless. Although she never met his gaze, he noticed that she mentioned nothing about deleting the picture.

Kamiko began thinking that she had been targeting the wrong person.

It was not her boyfriend that she should have playfully hit. She should have been doing that to her mother. Because Kamiko thought there could be nothing more embarrassing than having her parents walk in on her sleepwalk Izuku to bed or them taking a picture of them cuddling. But parents always had a way to jinx such beliefs.

This day would be marked forever as one of the 'Top 10 Most Humilating Moments of My Life' in Kamiko's autobiography.

Her mother was showing the baby photo album to Izuku.

Etsudo's dirty jokes on one hand and her mother's shamelessness on the other hand. Together, both women in Kamiko's life were hellbent on writing an obituary where Kamiko's cause of death would be listed as mortification.

Secretly, she prayed that at least Izuku would refuse to look through her childhood pictures. But he was a guest here. There was no way he could refuse, even if he wanted to. And if the glee lighting his face was anything to go by, he was enjoying every snapshot of her life.

The first photo in the album was taken on the day Kamiko was born.

Izuku expected to see an adorable russet kit swathed in blankets, dozing peacefully. So when he saw a human baby, he was taken aback.

"Surprised?" Kamiko's mother said, reading his face like an open book. He was about to apologize, but she waved him off. "I understand. Most people don't know this, but we animal mutants develop differently from other mutants. Because an animal mutant is part human, they are born looking like one. A few months after birth does the animal aspect of their nature start manifesting. See here?" She flipped the page, revealing an image of one-month-old Kamiko with pointed ears. The next photo was taken at two months, where her mouth began to elongate. By the third month, she started growing fur. By her first birthday, Kamiko was already biting into pillows and scratching furniture.

Observing the timeline, Izuku was once again reminded of the racism toward mutants. If people knew that mutants were indistinguishable from the rest of the population at birth, how would they react? How would one differentiate between the two parties? Also, when mutant traits began appearing, how could the bigots attribute them as strange when their own children also changed physical features?

Then again, the racists would always find something and turn it into a shortcoming. That was the nature of assholes.

Izuku decided not to damper the mood with his bitter thoughts. Kamiko's mother was being so generous by sharing her daughter's childhood memories with him. She had a large pile of photo albums stacked on the table. And although he was not looking directly at him, Izuku was aware from the periphery of his eye of Kamiko's father studying him. There was no need to give him a reason to complain.

Toward the end of the album were many pictures from Kamiko's coming-of-age ceremony. They were taken last year in January on the second Monday. Her seijinshiki consisted of her close family and friends, which was more expensive than participating in the public event. But the efforts paid off.

Izuku was marvelled at how stunning Kamiko looked in her furisode. A rich red embroidered with pure silk white carnations. Truly a kimono fitting for an empress. The gown was accompanied by a light makeup consisting of pale pink eyeshadow, blush, mascara, and lipstick. Perhaps it was personal bias, but Izuku believed his girlfriend was naturally pretty. The makeup only made her look more beautiful. Were society more open-minded, he had no doubt that Kamiko would have made a successful career in modeling. Okay. That was definitely the bias talking.

Anyway, he continued studying the photo. The hairstyle was particular interesting. Her shoulder-length hair were topped into a low bun, leaving two locks on either side unbound. Ruby red metal roses gleamed against the strawberry blonde background, along with other gold baubles. Two ornamentals had tassels hanging from the ends, completing the look of elegance.

Distantly, he heard Kamiko's mother explain that these decorations and costume were rented, but he barely heard it. Rather, he was preoccupied with silencing the urge to ask for a copy of this photo. How could he ask, though? He did not want to push the limits of her parents' camaraderie.

So when the last of the photos were viewed, he froze, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. Excusing himself, he went to a quiet corner and opened his phone. Someone sent him a message of the exact photo he wanted to keep.

How?

Izuku looked at the sender ID. Gushiken Etsudo. He recalled exchanging numbers with her the evening he met her and the rest of Kamiko's friend circle. But he never imagined that she would text him.

He wasted no time typing out a fury of questions. Why this picture? How did she know? Did she read his mind? The reply he got back only incited more questions.

Let's just say I have a sixth sense that comes with being part dog. I was just minding my own business when I got this strong feeling that you were imagining how hot Kamiko would look like in traditional Japanese attire. So here's some tasty water to quench your thirst. Tell me when you guys foreplay wedding night as emperor and empress.

The last two sentences made him reconsider asking anything more. Leave it to Etsudo to find a dirty joke in everything.

Kamiko had decided to retire soon after lunch to take a nap. She insisted on escorting Izuku home, but he told her had many errands to complete on the way before returning.

One such task he had to complete now.

"About Kamiko's treatment, have you found a psychiatrist?" Izuku inquired. There were a multitude of reasons he did not wish to discuss this matter in front of Kamiko, so he was glad that she had already excused herself.

Her mother sighed, and her father frowned. "We tried. The problem is not that there are a lack of psychiatrists in the country; it's the ingrained medical racism. Because we're animal mutants, they inherently believe that our brain structure and responses to trauma are different from humans."

Kamiko's mother added, "One of them even told us to go to a veterinarian for help. A veterinarian!"

Izuku did his best to reassure the parents that he would get the matter sorted. Although he did not like using his name to pull strings, some situations had no other way of being resolved. He was all right with playing a little dirty for the ultimate good.

Except someone else was not.

So immersed in the discussion, no one noticed when Kamiko awoke from her nap and descended the stairs for a snack. "I don't need a doctor!" she shouted, shocking everyone present in the living room. She even stunned herself with how loudly she spoke. Although she quieted down, her agitation was palpable with her rambling. "I'll manage by myself. The most the doctors will do is prescribe me antidepressants and serotonin supplements. No one is going to listen. They never do. Not to people like us."

Izuku stood up from the sofa and clasped her hands, forcing her attention on him. The rapid tail swishing and ear twitching stopped. "I know that you're strong," he asserted. "And I know that you deserve much better than what happened to you and how the medical world treats you. But you have to realize that something terrible occurred, and it's affecting your daily life." Pulling her hands close to him, he whispered into them, "I just want you to be happy. Not suffer from fear." Again, he promised to find a suitable mental health expert.

He could see the reluctance in her eyes. Countering it with hope in his, he prayed that she would see that this was for her own benefit. Yesterday, she called him over after having a panic attack. Though he was loath to admit it, it was impossible for him to come every time she needed him. Support notwithstanding, some battles had to be fought alone. A lesson Izuku understood very well from his own trauma.

So when Kamiko hesitantly murmured to give it a try, he hugged her tightly. "Thank you for giving this a chance. I promise you, it'll be okay. Everything will be fine."

His action triggered a trend. Soon, Kamiko's father and mother joined in on the embrace, until the four of them were trapped into a mutual bear hug. Perhaps the better term would be 'fox hug'. Either way, Kamiko smiled and reciprocated the gesture, so who gave a damn about semantics?

"Ow, Mom! You're squeezing too hard!" Kamiko yelped as her mother, who had climbed onto her daughter's back to kiss her head, hugged her neck.

"Nonsense! A parent's affection is never painful! You're just dramatic!" she retorted.

Izuku had used his contacts to get Kamiko an appointment with a psychiatrist the next day.

Her parents had offered to go with her, but past endeavors reaching out to doctors had revealed that faculty and patients could barely tolerate the presence of one mutant, let alone three. Though she wished her family were here to support her, she knew to accept what few blessings were bestowed on her. Izuku did this for her. The least she owed him was to swallow her reservations and see this appointment to the end.

It was surprisingly easier than she had thought.

Riding the bus home, she tried to recollect the events at the office, but it was all a blur. Somehow, she had dissociated from the whole experience. Was that a side effect of persistent fear and anxiety? She did not know. Kamiko vaguely remembered the doctor was male. He had received her testimony from the police and inquired further about the details and experiences after the incident, reminding her frequently that she had the right to avoid any question she deemed uncomfortable. But his face … she could not remember his features.

Kamiko looked at the bag of medicines dangling from her arm. Like she had suspected, he prescribed her antidepressants and serotonin supplements. Enough medication for the month.

There were some other things he had said.

Yet those details evaded her mind.

One piece of information stuck sharply amidst the watery goo of convoluted memories.

This was only the first of many subsequent visits.