Chapter Text
“... That didn’t go well,” Aizawa-sensei mutters as soon as they’re all seated together in the school-provided vehicle again. “I could hear the shouting from down here.”
As per Toshinori’s words, he took control of the majority of the conversation under the assumption that there would be no issues while Aizawa stood outside by the car and pretended not to be there. Not a single one of them could really do much when it spun out of that supposed control.
Toshinori, squeezing the bridge of his nose, exhales the heaviest sigh Izuku has ever heard from the tall man. “Maybe I should have told her…?”
“—That you’re All Might? Reveal your identity to another person even though you really don’t want to? No way…!” Izuku shakes his head vehemently, and only when his jerky movements are enough to rock the car from the backseat does he turn sheepish. “Look, Toshinori-san, I don’t think just you alone was enough to convince her when nothing really bad has happened. I mean, USJ sounded really horrible on paper, but nobody was badly hurt, except for…” His gaze briefly flits to Aizawa. “She thinks there’s no reason for me to be living in the dorms and that it would be safer for me to come home every day. I bumped into Shigaraki twice because of school and once with classmates from, again, school. She doesn’t, um, she doesn’t really know anything about them, so maybe she doesn’t really trust anyone? And she also never really had the chance to meet any of the faculty, so everyone is a stranger to her... She doesn’t know all of you the way I do. I’m really sorry; I should have prepared more for this…!”
Aizawa huffs in something that sounds strangely close to laughter despite the small crisis Izuku feels bouncing around inside his chest cavity at his mom’s sudden overnight change in heart. “Why are you apologizing about this? It wasn’t something you could actually prepare for.”
“I agree with Aizawa-kun, Young Midoriya. Though, I am sorry that my presence as a part of the U.A. faculty was not helpful or compelling enough…” Toshinori’s expression droops, along with the ends of his bangs. “If only I could have come up with a better argument, maybe I—”
“Enough,” Aizawa cuts in, exasperated. “Enough with the blaming. Sometimes I wonder where he gets it from…”
Toshinori stops himself from saying anything further through what seems to be biting on the inside of his cheek, settling for folding his hands into his lap with a timid chuckle and a bashful murmur of, “My apologies.”
“If trust is the issue here,” Aizawa says, his words tentative and thoughtful, “then I might just have the solution.”
“I shall stay with the car this time, then?” Toshinori smiles weakly. Izuku hopes the apologetic look he shoots the man is enough to mitigate the damage his mom did with her honest but harsh words.
The next time they head into Izuku’s apartment building, it’s Aizawa-sensei who leads with Izuku following a few steps behind, navigating around with no issues.
“You have such a good memory.” Izuku peers at the back of Aizawa’s head, hair uncharacteristically neat and brushed up into a half-bun; he genuinely wonders if his teacher might have a built-in map in his brain. “As expected of a pro hero!”
“Getting lost in apartment complexes would be an embarrassing weakness to have,” Aizawa replies dryly, following the same path Izuku usually takes to the nearest elevator.
“Most people get lost in confusing layouts! It’s not their fault, Sensei!”
“Calm down, Midoriya.” Aizawa grins slightly, jabbing his thumb against the button for the floor the Midoriya household is on. “Nobody would think less of your beloved All Might just because he can’t find his way around a high-rise.”
He’s trying to lighten the atmosphere. Izuku’s grateful for that, but…
“Do you really have some sort of plan?” Izuku ducks his head, purposefully avoiding Aizawa-sensei’s eyes when they swivel toward him attentively. “I don’t really understand why my mom’s being so stubborn when she said moving into U.A. was fine just a few days ago. Even last night she was still okay with it. I think Toshinori-san tried everything he could, short of transforming into All Might and smashing his forehead on the ground or something.”
Conveying a tacit understanding of Izuku’s anxiousness, Aizawa redirects his gaze toward the elevator buttons, easing some tension from Izuku’s shoulders. “Not really.”
“Not… really…?” Izuku parrots slowly.
With all the casualness in the world, Aizawa repeats, “Not really.”
“Okay,” Izuku says, feeling a spike of deliriousness threaten to spill from his mouth in the form of some sort of embarrassing noise. “Um.”
Aizawa sighs. “I’m sure All Might put up a good fight. I don’t think anything I’d have to say would be too different. As her son, I’m also sure you have a faint idea of her feelings and whether or not they’re inclined to change.”
“Earlier you mentioned trust…?”
“You said that your mother is not only unfamiliar with your friends, but also all the U.A. staff. I think even Principal Nezu would have trouble in this situation. I met her once, after—”
“You met my mom?!” Izuku near-screeches. Even then, Aizawa doesn’t look at him, but he does tap his left foot a few times like an unspoken reprimand, a wordless flash of annoyance. “Sorry, sorry! Keep going.”
“As I was saying, I met your mother when you were younger, once. After I had escorted you home from an attempted mugging, I had a short conversation with her about safety and the like. She might remember me from then.” The elevator dings, coming to an abrupt stop. After the doors slide open, the left half a beat slower than the right as usual, Aizawa takes the initiative to step out first. He slowly turns around, the expression drawn on his usual tired features softened by choice. “Chin up, Midoriya. You may not realize it, and it won’t be easy, but you have a lot of power in her decision. Whatever she’s thinking, she probably has your best interests in mind. Whether you agree about those ‘best interests’ could be up for debate, though.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Sensei,” Izuku nods. “Ours is the second to the left.”
Aizawa rings the doorbell, slightly stiffening at the shuffles that rapidly approache from behind the closed entrance.
“Oh, I’m so sorry that you had to come all the way inside again, but I really don’t think anything you say will change my mind—ah…!” Izuku’s mom’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Her hands tremble like they don’t know whether to clutch at the wall or something else for anchorage. “It’s… It’s you!”
Aizawa bows deeply. “Hello, Mrs. Midoriya.”
“W-Would you like to come in for some tea or, um—No, I mean! If you’re just going to try to convince me to let Izuku dorm, then…!”
Her hair is a frizzy, green mess and her apron is on backward, none of the straps tied together properly; she’s still plenty frazzled after standing her ground with Toshinori. It must have taken a lot out of her. A dour frown tugs at Izuku’s lips. “Mom…”
“I’ll admit that, yes.” Aizawa tilts his head in Izuku’s direction. “It means a lot to him, and I hope that it’s evident in our stubbornness as well.”
“Stubbornness is one word for it.”
“Mom!” Izuku raises his voice. “If you feel like you can’t trust U.A., can’t you at least put your trust in Aizawa-sensei? All the times anything bad has ever happened, somehow, he’s always there to save us—to save me! I know you don’t want to hear about the details, but that time I almost got killed at USJ, it was Sensei who saved me at his own expense. You had to be there to understand, mom… it was horrible. And the last two times, Aizawa-sensei is the reason I’m fine now. He’s done so much for me, and… he’s also going to be supervising the dorm building. If this keeps happening not because of sheer coincidence but because they’re after me, wouldn’t it be safest at the top hero school in the country with the best security? With the only pro hero who can erase anybody’s quirk?”
Bewildered, his mom shakes her head. “Why… would they be after you?”
At that, it’s Aizawa’s turn to shoot Izuku a bemused look before mumbling what seems to be an Oh, kid to himself.
“Um,” Izuku says, taking a rather large and audible gulp. “I said ‘if’ they’re after me. Because it’s happened a lot, you know?”
“Do… Do you think they’re after you on purpose, Izuku?!” His mom is one piece of bad news away from fainting, gripping her own elbows as if her life depends on it.
Izuku winces.
“It can’t be ruled out,” Aizawa cuts in, thank god. “There’s no solid evidence, but the abnormal amount of encounters Midoriya has had with a specific League of Villains member simply cannot be discounted.”
“Think of it this way.” Izuku hopes his sudden decrease in volume comes across as solemn, serious, and as severe as he feels at the thought of his mom not granting him permission to dorm with the rest of 1-A. “If they’re after me. If. And they break in here and threaten you, don’t you think I would do whatever they wanted so you wouldn’t get hurt? I wouldn’t be able to lift a finger. It would be different in the dorms. As long as we don’t break curfew, the security will be incredibly tight! Even if a villain did get inside, which I doubt, Aizawa-sensei and other U.A. faculty would be right there, only seconds away. I just don’t want you to be in danger, mom.”
His mom rubs at her wet, tired eyes. “But what about you, Izuku? I don’t want you to be in danger either…”
“Mom,” Izuku exhales loudly. “If I’m going to keep being a hero, you know that I’ll always be at a possble risk of danger. But that’s what U.A. is for—they’re supposed to teach me how to best avoid that danger while helping other people. Just because the villains have only harassed U.A. up until now doesn't mean they won't target other hero schools, too.” The words just flow, trickling out like a leaky hose in an idyllic backyard. He doesn’t even know if he fully believes in what he’s saying himself.
“That’s not… fair…” She sniffles. “Izuku… When did you grow up so fast?”
“Sorry, mom,” Izuku says, turning away. Shame nips at his heel, a hot rush of regret down to both his clenched fists, grabbing handfuls of his T-shirt. “I…” I’ve seen too much. I’ve heard too much. I can’t be who I used to be anymore.
“I understand,” she finally says. “I still don’t like it, after all, but I understand.”
Does she? Does she really?
“I don’t think I would be able to bear it,” Izuku hurriedly says like if the words don’t get out fast enough now then they’ll be trapped inside his chest for all of eternity, “if the rest of my classmates are living together and getting closer to one another and I’m stuck commuting before and after school. Just thinking about everything I’d be missing out on again… If I can’t learn and fight alongside all these wonderful people I’ve finally met… Mom, I…”
“I hate not knowing what goes on in your life, Izuku,” she replies, still teary-eyed. “I know you don’t tell me everything… I know that. I want to trust you and the decisions you want to make. It’s just hard for me to accept that you’ll be all grown up soon… but I understand.”
A thing with wings flaps in the peripheral of Izuku’s vision somewhere nearby. Is this what Aizawa-sensei meant? Instead of the way he was silent and shaking all throughout Toshinori’s attempts to sway his mom, arguing for what he wants? It won’t be easy, Sensei had said. Is that why even though he’s won, his heart is being tugged in every which way, aching at the sight of his mom fearful and crying for his unknown future? For his past struggles that she doesn’t even know he’d gone through?
Izuku rubs at his reddened fingers, irritated from how hard he’d been clenching them. “So…?”
“Eraserhead-san. I’m entrusting you with my son,” his mom says, armed with a fierce stare directly into Aizawa-sensei’s. Her eyes are still watery.
Even Aizawa seems to slacken at her vocalized approval. “Thank you, Mrs. Mi—”
“—Wait!” Izuku interrupts, earning both a mixture of mild ire and concern directed at him. “Sorry for cutting you off, Aizawa-sensei, but… Mom… In the case that anything does happen to me, you can’t completely blame Aizawa-sensei! Say it’s the school’s fault if you want, but don’t… Please, not…”
How many times have been pure, unexpected ambushes? And how many have been Izuku's own fault?
“Midoriya.” A strong, steady hand rests on one of Izuku's shoulders. He goes still at the touch. Aizawa’s other free hand rubs the back of his own neck as he turns Izuku toward him, eyes shining with sincerity. “It’s okay. I can handle it. It’s part of my job. In any case, don’t sound so confident that Shigaraki can get to you again.”
“This Shigaraki fellow sounds dangerous… Promise me you’ll be careful, Izuku?”
Izuku nods, feeling much more solid and grounded under Aizawa-sensei’s firm hand.
She gestures at Aizawa. “A-And you, too!”
Aizawa folds into another deep bow; being clean-shaven and in an ironed formal attire, he’s the very picture of professionality, save for the bloodshot eyes, but even then there’s less of that than usual. “Of course, Mrs. Midoriya. Again, thank you for entrusting him to me. We’re going to step away for a moment if that’s alright with you?”
“Yes! Yes, um, please, go ahead and take your time!” It’s almost as if she can’t close the door behind her fast enough with the way it slams in their faces. “Sorry! I’m leaving the door unlocked, okay, Izuku?” his mom squeaks hastily, muffled through the wood, audibly shuffling away from the entrance like a mirror image of her earlier appearance.
Izuku exhales, leaning against the now closed door when Aizawa’s hand finally moves away so he doesn’t collapse where he stands with the way his jelly legs are wobbling. “I’m glad that worked out… Thank you so much, Aizawa-sensei.”
The man in question blinks slowly. “I didn’t do anything, Midoriya. That was all you.”
“Still, I don’t think I could have done that all by myself.” Izuku laughs quietly, injected with bitterness, fully leaning into the self-doubt. The door rattles under his back along with his movements. “I’m a horrible son. I’ll be turning 16 in less than a week, but all I do is make her worry.”
Aizawa makes a thoughtful noise but doesn’t say anything further. Izuku takes that as a sign to keep talking.
“She doesn’t know about the sludge villain—um, you’ve probably heard about it, it’s that one encounter Kacchan and I had where All Might ended up saving us from this villain that tried to steal Kacchan’s body—anyway, videos of it blew up everywhere, but there’s no way my mom would have watched it, so I’m pretty sure she still doesn’t know about it…? My point is, I haven’t told her about a lot of stuff; I think it’d give her a heart attack. However much she does or doesn’t get, I don’t really know.” He’s rambling. He’s definitely rambling… but he can’t find it in himself to stop.
Sucking in a breath, Izuku trudges onward. “I was out of it at the time, but I remember her telling me it was wonderful that I even tried the U.A. entrance exam. Now that I think about it… it was such a backhanded comment even though there’s already so much stigma against non-flashy quirks. Do you think she’d really understand all the microaggressions in hero society toward quirkless people? She… She apologized when we found out I was quirkless at the doctor’s when I was almost five… She apologized like there was something wrong with me after all… or like it was her fault. Twenty percent of the population is still pretty high, you know?”
He’s been sinking lower and lower where he’d previously been leaning against the front door, now all but sitting on the ground now with his knees hugged to his chest. “But worst of all, even after everything, she must have been looking out for me. She probably thought to herself about how being healthy and alive was all I could wish for, as opposed to a hopeless dream that might lead to my death… and that’s why, even now, she’s having such a hard time supporting my dream to be a hero. But I know she cares. That’s why she made my first hero costume for me from scratch. She’s cared this whole time, but I’ve been so selfish… because I don’t feel like I care if she cares anymore. No—it’s more like… it would be easier for me if she didn’t care. Once 1-A moves into the dorms, I’ll be further away from her than ever before and she shouldn’t have to deal with thinking about my mortality every day. But that’s not true. She’ll still think about me just as much… it’s just that I won’t have to see her worrying anymore. That only makes things easier for one of us.”
The train of thought abruptly stops, plunging off a tall cliff where the tracks end prematurely. A while ago, he’d missed the railroad switch that may have guided his rapidly chugging thoughts down another much safer path.
But the words are out now, no longer jammed somewhere between his worries consisting of the embarrassment about the guaranteed future state of his dorm room decorations and the potential death of all his loved ones.
The words are out now, splashed in every which way like tripping and spilling milk—a particularly bad trip at that, down some stairs, maybe—in front of his homeroom teacher, a man who probably does not clean after spilled milk for a living.
The words are out… now…
The gap of silence after Izuku’s accidental mini-venting session is painfully awkward. He’d been getting better at the oversharing thing, but it seems like he still has a lot more work to do on himself.
The stare Aizawa eventually gives him is long-suffering and exasperated. The man crouches down to be at level with him, slowly lifts a hand to Izuku’s face, and… flicks his forehead.
Izuku squawks indignantly at the short burst of sensation, clutching both hands to the area in surprise. Aizawa admittingly looks a lot weirder crouched over like that when not in his usual hero outfit. “S-Sensei…?”
“You overthink too much,” Aizawa heaves a heavy sigh. It doesn’t sound like the bristly, negative statement Izuku expects. “Anyway, I don’t think she shares the same opinion as you. That you’re a horrible son.”
Izuku scrambles to his feet, almost knocking Aizawa back with the sudden jerky movement. “Ah, sorry, Sensei! You can disregard all of that, actually—I was just saying whatever popped into my mind!”
“You were being open and honest with me.” It feels sincere, even with the man’s usual gruff voice. “I appreciate it. But…”
“But?”
Aizawa follows Izuku in turn, extending back up to his full height. It gives him more of an aura of authority when he says, still nonchalantly stretching his limbs, “Isn’t that all the more reason to make the most out of her trust?”
Izuku blinks, opens his mouth, closes it.
“She said yes in the end, didn’t she?”
She did. “I guess so…”
“And you were the one who put your foot down and convinced her with your thoughts and feelings.”
Izuku did, didn’t he? He did. “I… guess.”
“You sound more sure of yourself.” Aizawa runs a hand through his hair up to where his fingers are impeded by his half-bun. He fiddles with the hairband for a moment before closing his eyes, a couple of seconds longer than what might constitute a normal blink. “Good job, Midoriya.”
“Uh!” Izuku blinks rapidly at the sudden praise. “Mm. Um, I…”
Aizawa fixates on some neighboring potted plants after his eyes open again. “You’ve changed a little bit,” he murmurs.
And because Izuku has no idea how to feel or what to say about that seemingly random statement, he abruptly blurts the first thing on his mind. “Sensei, did you find out anything about the email? My, er, pen pal?”
For a moment, Aizawa goes stiff as a board before he loosens up, probably hoping to keep Izuku at ease despite whatever he might have to say. That kind of body language doesn’t bode well. Doesn’t typically translate to good news.
“Oh,” Izuku says. He’s a pretty perceptive person, and with such little distance between them, there’s not much that can be hidden. Maybe if Aizawa-sensei were standing further away or at least in his usual hero outfit, capture weapon wrapped around him like a bulky scarf to hide all secrets, hide any sudden downturn of his lips. “Is it my fault? Is Shouta a bad person, after all?”
“No.” Aizawa’s voice is loud and forceful; Izuku jumps a little at the volume. “... No, that’s not it. Nothing’s your fault, kid.”
“Thank god…!” Izuku releases the breath he doesn't even realize he’s been holding. His right arm is clamped to his chest, directly over where his heart might be, ready to pound out of its cage. He’s fairly sure his fingers are still numb from fear in preparation to endure any unpleasant information, that same dull, buzzing sensation when he’s woken up after sleeping on top of a limb all night. “Wait, but… Aizawa-sensei, why’d you make that weird expression then?”
“I…” An internal battle makes itself known on his teacher’s face, from his furrowed brows to his thinned lips, drawn into a flat line. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out most of this is usually covered up by the noticeably missing capture weapon. Or maybe Izuku’s just getting better at reading his teacher? “I can’t tell you. Yet.”
Izuku knows that his lips automatically curl into a pout at the vague answer. He’s an intensely curious person at heart, and there are many small things that have just occurred in the last few minutes he might jot down in a notebook as notable, thanks to his past experiences in people watching. Indecisiveness, hesitance, the slightest pinpricks of guilt, and the fact that Izuku can even pick up on any of these feelings from Aizawa in the first place jut out like several sore thumbs. “So what’s wrong, Sensei?”
He hears a deep, steady inhale and a slow drawl, sounding much more like Aizawa-sensei’s distinct impassivity. “Everything’s fine, Midoriya. No bad news. I promise.”
Maybe it was just something personal? If so, then Izuku probably shouldn’t pry… “Are you able to tell me any specifics about how the investigation went?” he opts to ask instead of the itching, burning insistence to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong, yet again.
“About the email you gave us…” Aizawa almost grimaces, the way someone might when accidentally flexing an old injury. It’s a sizable juxtaposition next to what is supposed to be a normal conversation with supposedly no bad news. Ignore it, Izuku. It’s none of our business! “Without breaking any privacy laws, we were able to consult a third party to find out that the owner of the email is located in Mustafu, Japan. The account seems to be untampered with, meaning there are no traces of any hacking or forced entry. Other than that, there are no other stand out red flags, either. We could, of course, subpeona the owner for police questioning if you'd like.”
“I’ve never heard of any heroes with cyber security quirks before… or maybe, they all prefer working for the government or private companies instead of becoming heroes…? It seems likely that kind of unique skill set would be highly sought after for consultant work.” Izuku mindlessly fiddles with his phone, navigating to the mail app. He scrolls down to where Shouta is, nestled right under As but before Bs, and—
—It’s not there.
It’s not there.
“Where is it?!” The words on his phone blur together for a moment like he’s seeing double of everything. He laughs nervously, but it comes out sounding more like half a hiccup combined with a sob cut short. “I must be… misremembering.”
And so Izuku scrolls down to where Shouta is, nestled right between Rs and Ts and definitely under the category of S, and…
It’s not… there.
His breathing quickens. He thinks about his new U.A. peers and flits through them like going down a grocery list, trying to determine if any of them seem like the type to pull pranks like this the way people would in middle school, harmless pranks that never warranted the attention of his teachers when he would ask for help, trembling with his phone clutched in his hands. The few who were kind or clueless enough to give Izuku their contact information would never get a single response. Not with how quickly the info disappeared every time without fail before Izuku could even attempt to memorize it, unable to hide from hands that could snatch his phone away before he could notice, unable to run from the ones who know the location of his locker, his class schedule, his path home, unable to retaliate against who everyone knew was the strongest quirk in the entire middle school, the top of the food chain.
No, this is different. It’s different because he has Shouta’s email memorized, hidden right close to his heart, something he could spell out in his sleep, in his dreams.
He didn’t pluck the existence of his pen pal from thin air.
Shouta is real.
Izuku’s fingers tremble over the keypad of his phone. Before he can even blink, he’s typed out all the letters to add Shouta back into his phone.
Except.
It’s not… letting him…?
Why isn’t his phone letting him add Shouta back?
Again, he shakily finds the buttons for the A, followed by a period, followed by his thumb missing the S three times in a row to spell out a garbled mashup of keys. By the time he successfully backspaces and gets the S punched in, he can feel his breathlessness engraved into the laborious heaving of his chest. The H takes him two tries and misclicking back to the home screen, O takes him four tries and three backspaces, then U takes him—the next letter takes him—it takes him—
His phone is unceremoniously snatched out of his unsteady hands. When he looks up, he’s greeted by a very concerned expression on very tired features. “S-Sensei! I’m sorry it’s taking so long; I’m trying to—I was, I was trying to, um, but it wasn’t working… so I’ll just do it later instead…!”
“Breathe, Midoriya.”
Izuku breathes.
He breathes and he watches Aizawa-sensei tinker with his phone. It’s obvious his teacher is avoiding any apps that might reveal any personal information while also leaving a clear view of the screen for Izuku, still standing there gulping in air like a fish. “What’s the issue?”
“The, um, email. Of my pen pal. It was missing so I panicked a little bit.”
“A little bit, huh?”
“O-Okay, maybe more than just a little.” Izuku lamely gestures at his phone. “I was just trying to add it back in, but… it’s not working. Like an error, or something.”
“Has this ever happened before?” Aizawa continues to scroll through Izuku’s contacts.
“Well, I haven’t had many contacts before, so… no. Not really.” It’s an embarrassing admission, but Aizawa doesn’t even blink twice at it.
“What you described usually occurs when a contact has been blocked and not just deleted.” Aizawa gestures for Izuku to come closer. “Watch. So you know what to do the next time it happens.”
Leaning in without intruding too much in Aizawa-sensei’s personal bubble, Izuku watches his teacher navigate to something called an “i-Menu official i-mode portal site” before he selects the only option available, a single listed Personal Handyphone System domain, and chooses to accept emails from said cellular domain again.
“Changing the settings here won’t cost you anything,” Aizawa clarifies, dropping the phone back into Izuku’s enthusiastic palms, cupped open flatly.
As soon as Izuku begins crawling through his messages and emails again, Aizawa chooses to make his timely exit, moving his way back toward the modern, well-used elevator.
Izuku’s heart sinks.
The last message he’d been sent by Shouta is gone. He explicitly remembers being wished congratulations on his final exams and some other things he didn’t even get the chance to read before Shigaraki…
He sighs and tucks his phone back into his pants pocket, about to let himself back into an unlocked apartment.
“Midoriya.”
Izuku releases the doorknob and leans back, peering a little bit past the corner where the elevator is, his palm cold from the metal. His teacher is still standing there. “Yes, Aizawa-sensei?”
“... Are you ready to talk yet?” There’s concern hiding under his neutral expression. Izuku wouldn’t have noticed two months ago. “I can text All Might—he can finish up the rest of the students himself; there aren’t many left. We could stay here or go somewhere else where you’re more comfortable.”
A warbling haze settles over Izuku’s head like an unrelenting storm cloud, a fog of uncertainty that causes his heart to seize up for a moment. But… it’s not as bad as the first time Aizawa-sensei asked about it.
“I think,” Izuku swallows, “not yet. But maybe next time? Maybe next time I’ll be ready. I just need to think a little bit more about it.”
“I’ll hold you to your word,” Aizawa says, doubling as a final goodbye. His face is turned away as he leaves so Izuku can’t gauge how he’s feeling about this whole ordeal, especially toward Izuku’s silly reluctance, but Aizawa-sensei has been so patient in a way teachers have never been for him before. There were always talks of favorite teachers after classes or in the hallways in middle school. Izuku could never relate, could never see how his classmates felt so strongly about adults who treated him like he was loathsome scum, a waste of space, chewed up gum stuck at the bottom of their shoes.
Is this how his peers felt? Swelling hearts full of a type of fondness he didn’t even know he was capable of for someone he desperately wanted to know more about?
Would it be inappropriate to ask after Aizawa-sensei’s health? Ask if he’s been eating or sleeping well? Inquire about any difficult developments like the way his schedule had seemed so overpacked and unhealthy just a week ago, right after their practical exams?
Why had Izuku taken his teacher’s refusal so personally at the time, anyway? Because he wanted special one-on-one lessons specifically from Aizawa-sensei? Izuku can scarcely remember.
The elevator dings.
It shakes gently as it begins to descend.
Months ago, would Izuku have cared for the strain he saw weighing down Aizawa-sensei’s shoulders throughout almost their entire conversation? Or would Izuku have just chalked it off as an indicator of distaste toward him, self-deprecating as always?
Aizawa-sensei is right.
He has changed.
“Eraserhead,” Izuku says quietly even though there’s no one to overhear. “Thank you.”
***
It takes him everything to stop himself from flinching under that heavy, horrible gaze. “No one will be hurt more than necessary.”
The man—no, it would be more accurate to call him a monster—chuckles deeply before leaning back in his chair, arms draped over the armrest like a tyrant on his regal, golden throne. “No promises. You see, so many things are just simply out of my control! Though I suppose, out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll keep your… request in mind.”
“What’s to stop me from asking her for help directly instead of you?”
“Don’t forget that you were the one who came to me first, all those years ago. Sniffing after a cold trail without looking up… You should have thought about your other options first.” The grin widens, stretched unnaturally across a barren, scarred face, a fascimile of a smile carved into a child's first self-made wooden doll. As if the monster is pleased. “Oh, but I forget myself. Mindless decisions are a dime a dozen when you’re oh-so desperate. You are truly foolish if you think you have a choice anymore.”
He grits his teeth at the blatant mocking, words that grate on his ears like coarse sandpaper against fine china, jagged nails on chalkboard, screeching like the eternal guilty conscience at the back of his head that never lets up, never lets him forget.
“... Nagano Prefecture. They call it the Beast’s Forest. That’s where Ragdoll will be for that week.”
“You’re not lying to me, correct?”
He flinches under the monster’s gaze and keeps his own lowered demurely. “No. She’ll be there for sure. And All Might won’t be coming with the kids. Probably worried about the attention he might attract, I guess.”
“Mmm, good.” The monster tilts its head slightly, as if concerned. There isn’t a single concerned bone in its entire body. “Why do you look so upset? This is only going to benefit you. Once I acquire Ragdoll’s quirk, that is.”
“It’s just hard to believe that with all your resources, you still can’t answer my question.”
“Believe what you want. You’re here to find proof of the impossible, after all. Even though it might be non-existent.” The monster gestures for him to leave, a clear sign of dismissal. Sudden boredom, maybe. It doesn’t matter how much of his surroundings he memorizes each time. It’s never the same whenever he’s summoned. He’s not even sure if the monster in front of him is real or tangible… or if a good hit to the head might hurt it. “All for the sake of those so-called ‘bonds’ people like you adore…”
You’re in too deep.
He doesn’t dare turn his back completely while leaving. It doesn't matter, really. He'd be helpless either way.
You have to see it all the way through, for his sake…