Work Text:
There was nothing wrong with Izuku.
Nope. Nothing. Nada. Not a single thing was wrong.
He was fine.
Completely and utterly fine.
Izuku cupped a hand to the underside of his jaw, wincing.
He was fine.
…
Okay, maybe not completely fine—but! But it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Honestly, he’d been through much, much worse—especially in the recent months after starting at Yuuei and inheriting One for All from All Might and becoming his successor.
This was a walk in the park—
Or... or, it should be, at least.
The pain had started sometime maybe a week ago? Maybe two?
And the thing was, he thought nothing of it at first.
It was just a whisper of pain—you know, that pain that leans more towards discomfort than it did actual pain? That’s what it was. An uncomfy feeling in his teeth—but it wasn’t like a cavity.
Izuku had had exactly two cavities in his life, and after that, the fillings and the drills and the numbing injection, he’d sworn to brush extremely well as to never have to deal with that again. It hadn’t even really been painful, those fillings, it was just uncomfortable—having his mouth open for so long, and someone—not incredibly kind considering Izuku had been Quirkless— digging around in his mouth.
He’d been thoroughly scolded for those two cavities through the procedure by the dentist, Izuku’s assuming more so than any of the children who arrived in with flashy Quirks, others, privileged with Quirks, who probably had far more sugar and poor brushing than himself, but he was used to it.
That was probably the last time Izuku went to the dentist—it had costed a fortune that his mother had been silently upset about having to pay. Izuku had known she blamed him for it, but she hadn’t openly scolded and said anything about paying almost double what anyone else would because of Izuku’s Quirk status.
His teeth had never really given him trouble—he brushed well, and flossed. Took care of them in fear of having another cavity that would cause problems for not only himself, but those around him.
But this was different.
That whisper of pain had slowly progressed. It really hadn’t been that bad—maybe it hurt a bit when he leaned on his hand in class, or when he ate something crunchy, or sticky, or bit down wrong. It had been fine.
And then it was less fine; days progressed, and Izuku felt the pain getting worse with each one passing.
Instead of just the left side of his mouth, it was the right as well.
The dull thrum of pain lingered even when he wasn’t touching his face at all. It jolted pain through his jaw when he clenched his teeth to hard, or when he ate anything that wasn’t soft. Chewing meat of any kind, besides flakey fish had him wincing internally, taking great care to make sure nothing of the pain was shown outwardly.
He didn’t want to worry anyone.
He could hardly touch his face at all, and brushing his teeth had been near torture—the bristles of his toothbrush managing to brush the sore sports at just the right angle to send pain throughout all his teeth.
The longer he sat on the problem, the more it started to hurt.
His jaw ached constantly. He could hardly bear to touch his face. Eating was a nightmare, and it wouldn’t be long before his guardians noticed he was more or less pushing his food around his plate instead of eating it. They were perceptive—eyes of not just Pro Heroes, but teachers as well.
It wasn’t that Izuku wasn’t eating—maybe he wasn’t eating real food, but he wasn’t starving himself. He was eating jelly pouches, which provided the nutrients he needed, but didn’t quite fill him up. And he could get away with lukewarm water so long as it wasn’t too hot or too cold. Both burned at his sore spots, but that sweet spot balanced perfectly between them was the only thing keeping him from dehydration.
It was after that first week of pain that Izuku finally worked up the gall to google his symptoms. He had at first thought it was a cavity—but having two at once and either side of his face that ached like this didn’t seem completely rational. Not when it was almost simultaneous on both sides.
It had taken some digging—delving deep into Pre-Quirk era, where he finally found his answer.
Wisdom teeth.
Of course.
He’d known, theoretically, that he had wisdom teeth. He had it all—all those body parts that the Quirked stopped growing when the body deemed it useless. Quirkless people weren’t quite as lucky—stuck with extra pinky-toe joints and appendixes, and of course, wisdom teeth.
Everything lined up—what he was feeling, the pain, matching perfectly with what was written in those old articles.
Dread flurried in Izuku’s stomach.
This was a problem.
He knew deep down that this wouldn’t go away on its own—something was obviously not right if he could barely eat, but at the same time, he didn’t want this. Maybe if he... pretended it wasn’t happening, it would go away on its own? If he brushed well, and flossed and tried to act normally, everything would be fine, right?
Not everyone needed them extracted. It’s not like they had to come out, right?
...right?
People were starting to get worried.
Izuku could see that—of course he could. How could he not notice?
His friends were keeping close—Uraraka and Iida, almost always by his side, and Todoroki, who’d been slowly starting to gravitate towards them as well had even asked if Izuku was okay. That was surprising consider Todoroki didn’t tend to speak much unless spoke to first.
And he said it was, of course.
He was fine.
Lied right through his aching teeth and forced a bright smile to quell their worries. It was easy fooling his classmates, he hasn’t known them that long. A couple months is hardly enough time to gauge someone’s personality and learn their tells when they lie.
Plus, when it came to concealing something, Izuku was a good liar. How else do you think he managed to hide the fact that he and Kacchan weren’t particularly... close... for the majority of their childhoods from his mother and Auntie and Uncle? Very few people could see right through him when he attempted to lie.
Still, despite his promises, he could see them hanging around. Watching him closer. Worrying quietly when Izuku didn’t buy lunch from the cafeteria, or, when he guiltily passed a beautifully made bento to Uraraka who didn’t usually have much lunch to spare under the ruse that he wasn’t very hungry himself. He waved off their concern as he sipped at jelly pouches that were easier to get down and required no chewing and tried to keep his mouth from twisting into a pained line.
They were easy to brush off. Easy to deflect.
A hand slaps down on the desktop hard enough that Izuku startles, “what the fuck is up with you?”
It’s harder to convince Kacchan.
Izuku’s gaze crawls up the hand that had just slammed down on his desktop. He’d been packing up his pencils, ready to follow after their classmates to the next class. It’s just him and Kacchan now, the blonde blocking Izuku from standing. “What do you mean?”
Shota had stepped out before class ended leaving Iida in charge, and Oboro had trailed after him with a promise to tell Izuku the details when they met up again, whether that be later in the school day, or at home tonight. He kinda wishes the ghost was still around right now though—even if just as emotional support.
“Don’t start that shit with me, Deku,” Kacchan huffs, mouth pressed in a scowl as his eyes narrow dangerously. “You’ve been weird for weeks—weirder than normal, which is a stretch even for you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Izuku huffs in a stuttered breath of annoyance, swallowing down the urge to wince when the cool air assaults his wisdom teeth. He must not do a good job, or maybe Kacchan knows him better than Izuku thinks he does.
“The fuck’re you wincing for?” Kacchan snarls. “What the hell did you do?”
“Nothing,” Izuku shakes his head—and it’s not technically a lie. He didn’t do anything. This isn’t some result of Izuku overusing his Quirk, or breaking himself like it usually is—it's just his body being Quirkless—unevolved. Succumbing to something the general population doesn’t even know about anymore. “I’m fine, Kacchan.”
“You’re obviously fucking not,” the blonde growls, leaning closer to Izuku. A small part of Izuku wants to cower away from Kacchan, but the bigger part knows that despite the hostility, Kacchan has been getting better. Maybe he gets too rough in practice, or training exercises, but he has been good at keeping his crackling, explosion hands to himself in class.
The smaller boy barely has a second to react when Katsuki reaches a hand out and pokes Izuku’s cheek. It’s gentle by all Bakugou Katsuki standards, but even the faint touch has Izuku recoiling. To be fair, it’s not even anyway near his incoming wisdom teeth, but the skin of his cheek still pressed taut against the aching tooth and pulls at his equally as painful jaw.
Izuku pulls away like Katsuki had just set an explosion off against his cheek, hissing under his breath as the blonde jumps in surprise, stumbling back faintly, but hand never leaving Izuku’s desktop, “the fuck?”
“Sorry,” Izuku wheezes, pushing through the pain as he pressed against his jaw and cheek with his hand, hoping that the pressure will help. It does, just barely. “S-sorry, just, a-ah-ow, sorry.”
“What the hell?” Kacchan demands, second hand that had just poked Izuku slamming down beside the first. “What the hell, Deku?”
“It’s really nothing,” Izuku winces at the waver in his tone, “seriously, just—well, a, um, a toothache.”
“Then get your foster parents to take you to the fuckin’ dentist, shitty nerd!”
“I will,” Izuku bows his head miserably, despite not really meaning it. “I just—I need to find the right time. It’s... I will. Please, don’t tell anyone, Kacchan. I’m fine for now, and I promise I’ll tell them. Promise.”
Katsuki studies him for a long minute, eyebrows furrowed tensely and jaw clenched. It’s a disbelieving look if Izuku’s ever seen one, but a second drags onto two before Kacchan forces out a slow exhale, “fine. Tell them and get it fixed, or I’m telling Sensei and he’ll make you tell them. I’m tired of feeling you tense behind me, Deku. Knock it off.”
“I will.” Izuku nods furiously, “thank you, Kacchan.”
“Whatever,” the blonde scoffs, “now hurry the fuck up, or you’ll be late.”
Izuku watches his childhood friend clench his jaw, turning on his heels and walking away with a nearly silent mutter of: “stupid fuckin’ Deku. You Goddamned idiot.”
Izuku might’ve been offended if he couldn’t hear the curl of concern in Katsuki’s voice. Still, the sound of it has Izuku wincing. If Kacchan was catching on, how long would he have until everyone else did too?
There was definitely something wrong with the Problem Child.
Shota knew there was—it would take an idiot to not notice the kid acting so weird.
He was out of sorts, quiet and pulling away from them. Izuku hadn’t completely warmed up to him and Hizashi, not in the month and a bit he’d been staying with them, but he’d come far from those first couple nights to now.
But currently it was like all that progress he’d made had been receding. They were taking steps backwards instead of forwards. For the first week, it was hardly noticeable. He was off, sure, but that could be chalked up to numerous things. Izuku was a teenager, and teenagers were still developing, still learning and growing.
It had been little things.
The kid spent more time in his room, tended to avoid them. He babbled out excuses when they invited him to tag along shopping with them, or to watch a movie, or when Hizashi had offered for him to help with dinner one evening when Izuku had seemed particularly scatterbrained.
He’d join them for meals still; sit quietly at the table and pretend to eat his food.
This is the first they’d seen of Izuku not eating. It was different from when he’d first come to stay with them—this wasn’t hesitance, this was refusal that was disguised behind a mask of willingness and normalcy.
Hizashi had thought at first that Izuku just didn’t like what was being served, but by the third night in a row, when he’d made katsudon— Izuku’s favorite— the teen had still pretended to eat, only managing a few mouthfuls of rice.
He’d torn his pork cutlet strips up, mixing it in and almost hiding it under rice to make it appear like more had been eaten, but neither of them were stupid. Izuku had been so focused on his task of making it look like he was eating, that he hadn’t noticed his guardians studying him. Watching him work; seeing him tear his meal apart and hide it away between scarce mouthfuls of rice.
“Do you not like it, Listener?” Hizashi had asked. They were both watching the teen survey over his work of hidden food. He looked ready to excuse himself like he had been for the past week without barely eating a thing. His food consumption had been steadily decreasing for just over a week now, but it’s only just recently gotten bad enough to bring up.
He couldn’t just stop eating—and they were going to find out why he was trying too.
“N-no!” Izuku squawked, tensing up, “I mean, yes, I do, really! It’s very good, thank you. W-why do you ah-ask?”
“You’ve hardly touched it,” Shota answered calmly, lifting a piece of katsudon to his mouth as he watches the teen. Izuku blanches slightly, looking down at his bowl almost guiltily. Shota has half a mind to comment on the fact he’s clearly hiding his protein in his rice, but a knowing glare shot at him from Hizashi has him keeping his mouth shut.
“W-what do you mean?” Izuku blinks nervously, “it’s really very good, I just... I-I I’m sorry—”
And then the kid pinches a piece of pork between his chopsticks, hesitates for just a second before popping it in his mouth. He chews once, then a second time, before swallowing it almost entirely whole. For a second, Shota fears he’ll choke, but he doesn’t.
Micro-expressions flicker across Izuku’s features, but they’re fast and few between, hardly visible under the way his muscles relax like he’s forcing the action. Shota gets nothing from it, eyes narrowing slightly as he surveys over the child before him.
He frowns as Izuku heaves a breath, picking out another piece of pork and popping it in his mouth. He doesn’t even bother chewing that piece, just holds it in his mouth for a second before forcing it down.
Shota nudges Izuku’s water towards him subtly, and the kid grips it was shaking fingers, taking slow, measured sips. His lips twitch downward around the cup and his eyes grow glassy, but by the time he’d set the glass back on the table, his mouth is pressed in a light smile, and his eyes are back to normal.
Izuku fidgets with his chopsticks for a second before hunching over; a pinched glare shot down at his food, half hidden behind a curtain of dark viridian curls.
Shota looks up at Hizashi, who is watching Izuku with a frown of concern twisted on his face. The blonde glances briefly towards Shota, where they share a second of eye contact before he’s looking back at Izuku and reaching out to settle a hand on the teen’s wrist when the boy plucks another piece of katsudon from his bowl, this time with rice.
His hand wavers in the air, rice falling from his chopsticks before his gaze slowly crawls to where Hizashi’s hand had gently captured his wrist.
“Don’t force yourself to eat if you’re not hungry, Sunshine,” Hizashi tells him softly, the concern masked behind a soft, almost scolding but not at the same time, tone. Izuku tenses for just a second before his shoulders relax slightly.
Hizashi watches with trained eyes, barely managing to keep his mouth pressed in a line, “are you feeling alright?”
“Yeah,” Izuku drops the katsudon piece back in his bowl, gently settling his chopsticks on the rim of the bowl. His hand flattens on the edge of the table, other hand still tucked under Hizashi’s, where the blonde is thumbing lines at his skin. “Just... I’m sorta tired, I guess.”
Shota doubts that that is the entire problem here—maybe it plays a part in it, but that’s not everything.
The underground hero leans back in his chair, his own chopsticks abandoned on top of his own bowl. He’s almost finished, as is Hizashi. They’d gotten quite good at multitasking over the years of being both Pros and teachers; so they’re now able to eat while watching and trying to understand their ward.
Hizashi’s lip is now being worried between his teeth. He shoots Shota another uncertain look before the dark-haired man finally blows out a breath and stands up, head angling in the kid’s direction, “finished then?”
Izuku frowns down at his bowl guiltily before he gives a meek nod. Shota doesn’t bother replying as he grabs the teen's bowl and chopsticks and sets the almost entirely full portion on the counter to be dealt with later.
Shota crouches beside the snack cabinet, digging around in the jelly pouch box for a second before grabbing a strawberry flavored one. He stares down at it for a second before standing again and turning to where the two others, still seated at the table, are watching him.
“Here,” Shota holds the pouch out to the teen, “you can’t just not eat anything, Problem Child, you need nutrients—especially with that Quirk of yours. Eat this and then you can head off to bed if you’re so tired, alright?”
It’s really a shot in the dark—quite literally. It was just yesterday when he’d been mentally preparing himself to leave for patrol, sat in the darkness of the living room surrounded by sleeping cats that he sorta envied. His eyes had been shut and he was slumped back in the chair.
There had been a noise, one that didn’t make sense considering he’d just come from the bedroom where Hizashi had passed out after their quiet talk about what could possibly be up with their foster child, and last he’d seen from under the teen’s bedroom door as he passed by, Problem Child’s light had been off.
Shota had craned his head up to see what had moved, only to freeze when he noticed Izuku sneaking into the kitchen. Not asleep then.
The boy had pretended to eat his meal that night, it had been grilled salmon and rice, and he’d eaten about half of it, very slowly, before excusing himself to do homework.
Shota wasn’t sure why the teen felt he needed to sneak around, but he was still settling in, so the Pro remained silent and let the kid go about his business. Shota listened to a cabinet open and close and the crinkling of snack packages.
He leaned up to watch the teen sneak out of the kitchen cradling a jelly pouch in his hands as he tiptoed down the hall, unaware of his guardian watching him.
The underground hero in the man was pleased that he was undetected, but the teacher in him, the teacher who taught this child, was unimpressed at the lack of situational awareness. Maybe he needed to add that to his training rotation with the kids. Few of his kids might be interested in going Underground, but they could all due with some situational awareness and stealth classes.
Now that he thought it about it, he’d seen Izuku eating a lot of jelly pouches these last couple days. In the morning, at school—even a couple times during lunch. Maybe he had rubbed off on the kid? God, Hizashi will surely kill him if that’s the case.
Shota’s hand doesn’t waver where he’s holding out the jelly pouch now. Izuku stares at it, mouth opening and closing like a fish. The boy hesitates for just a moment before finally slipping his hand out from under Hizashi’s and taking the pouch with unsure hands.
Hizashi looks between the pouch in Izuku’s hands, the child himself and Shota, clearly trying to understand what just went down. What he was missing. Shota will talk to him later about what he witnessed the night prior, and together they can tell Izuku that he doesn’t need to be sneaking around for food or basic necessities, but that’s a conversation for later.
“Finish that and then you can go to bed, yeah?” Shota suggests.
When Izuku still doesn’t quite move, holding the jelly pouching in one hand like it’s about to kill him, Shota lifts a hand to pat the kid’s head. Izuku tenses for a half-second, but relaxes before Shota can even think about pulling his hand away.
The man blinks in surprise at the stiffening under his hand that fizzles out almost as fast as he’d tensed, before slowly carding through curls. He decides to let it go, because honestly, they can only handle one problem at a time, and the not eating real food thing is a bit more pressing.
“T-thank you,” Izuku whispers out, finally bringing the jelly pouch to his lap. He fiddles with the cap for a second before managing to get it open, and then he’s lifting the nozzle to his lips.
Shota ruffles the hair between his fingers before pulling away and digging his hands in his pockets as he slumps back to his own chair. Hizashi looks relieved as he silently watches Izuku eat—and jelly pouches might not be ideal, but they are nutrient filled. Better than nothing.
The two men finish off their meals as the teen slurps at the jelly pouch. Even that he eats slowly, carefully. His eyes are narrowed in determination that Shota can’t place, and his knee is jerking under the table anxiously.
What the hell is going on with their kid?
When the pouch lays flat on the table, contents emptied, Izuku finally excuses himself, but not before offering to help with the dishes. Hizashi shoos him away easily enough, telling him to get some rest, eyebrow cocked in a ‘no nonsense’ kinda way.
“Do you think he’s getting sick?” Hizashi asks when they’re stood hip to hip at the sink, Shota washing the dishes while Hizashi dries and puts them away.
“Possibly,” the dark-haired man sighs. He rubs his forehead against his shoulder in an attempt to get his hair out of his face without using his wet hands. It doesn’t work, but a second later Hizashi is reaching over to tuck the offending lock of hair behind his ear. He bows his had in silent thanks, passing over a cup to be dried, “maybe a sore throat or something.”
“Yeah,” Hizashi bites his lip. “He hasn’t been too keen on eating solids—maybe it irritates his throat? I know when mine hurts, it’s hard to eat too. Maybe he’d like some tea or something?”
“You made him tea with dinner yesterday,” Shota responds, “he barely touched it.”
“Oh yeah...” there’s a pause before Hizashi continues, “I just... I wish he’d tell us, ya’dig? We can’t help if we don’t know what’s up.”
“He has been alone for the last little while,” Shota reminds softly, scrubbing at the bowl in his hands, “he’s been neglected for a long time; he’s used to doing things alone. Handling it on his own.”
Hizashi’s cheeks puff out in gloomy acceptance, “yeah, but he’s not anymore. He doesn’t have to handle it alone...”
“Hard to change what’s been ingrained,” Shota shakes his head, “are you just going to keep drying that glass until it’s reverted back to sand, or will you take this bowl now?”
“You can be such an ass,” Hizashi lets out a snort of laughter, sticking his tongue out playfully as he sets the glass in the cupboard and grabs the proffered bowl with a bit more dramatic aggression than probably needed.
Shota’s lips quirk upwards into a light smile as he wades around in the water to find another glass.
The following morning was a Thursday. Almost the weekend.
Shota wakes up gradually—Nemo is curled up on the small of his back, and a glance at the alarm clock beside him tells him he’s got exactly one minute before it’ll go off and he’ll have cat claws lodged in his back. It’s worth the pain to not move—a minute later the alarm goes off, and Nemo digs her claws in before scrambling off him in surprise.
He lays in bed annoyed by the ongoing alarm for a couple more seconds before finally throwing an arm out of the warmth to slam down on the snooze button. He’s alone in bed—Hizashi will probably be finishing his morning patrol soon.
Shota rolls out of bed slowly, turning his alarm off completely so it doesn’t go off again. He gets dressed begrudgingly and makes a beeline for the kitchen. Hizashi had prepared the coffee pot, which is programed to turn on at the same time the alarm goes off, and Shota silently sends his husband love as he sips on freshly brewed coffee.
Shota sits alone in the kitchen for a while, glance flicking to the clock every so often. It’s about ten minutes past the time Izuku usually stumbles from his room that Shota finally sets his mug down and stands up.
The teenager’s room is still dark, and nothing inside moves when Shota raps his knuckles against the door. “Problem Child?” the man asks softly as he knocks again, but he still hears nothing else.
With a frown, Shota pushes the door open, surprised, yet not at the same time, to see the kid still passed out. He’s curled up in his blankets, with Fish snuggled in around his head. The cat is purring loudly, almost protectively.
It’s adorable— but as cute as it is, the kid still has school.
Shota steps into the room, arms crossing over his chest, “Izuku,” he calls lightly, “you forgot to set an alarm. Up and at ‘em, Kid. We’ll be late.”
Izuku barely stirs, but as he does, he winces. His eyelids flicker like he’s in pain and it’s just then Shota notices the flush to his cheeks. A frown tugs at the man’s lips as he crouches at Izuku’s bedside, hand reaching up to brush stray curls from his forehead before he sets his palm flat across the kid’s forehead.
He’s fevered.
How long had he been fevered for?
Shota’s frown deepens as he moves his hand from the teen’s forehead to his rosy red cheek and—
The kid jolts upright with a cry, flailing around. Shota wobbles in surprise where he’s crouched, barely managing to keep himself upright as Izuku sucks in panicked and pained breaths, hand pressing against his jaw where Shota had just touched.
“Kid, what the hell?” Shota watches him with wide eyes, finally standing from the crouch. Izuku’s eyes shoot towards him at the sound of his voice, and his eyes are welled with tears, face, now that he really looks, is swollen slightly.
“I’m okay,” the teen winces like the words hurt, “I’m okay. Sorry, I— w-what time is it? I’m-I’ll— w-we, uhm, we’re g-gonna be late.”
“No, calm down for a second.” Shota demands, pressing the kid’s chest back down when he attempts to sit up in his frenzied state. “What the hell was that, Izuku? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” the kid whimpers out, hand still pressing to his face, “it-it’s fine, I’m fine.”
The words are slurred together slightly, but Shota suspects it’s the pain and not the fever causing it. Both are equally worrying though.
“What hurts, Izuku?” the man asks carefully. The kid sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t make any further moves at standing, especially not when Shota drops down to sit on his haunches again and grounds the kid by pressing his hands against Izuku’s knees.
“N-nothing, j-just a,” he sucks in a breath, “a-a toothache. Only hurts a b-bit.”
“Bullshit,” Shota frowns, studying the kid’s face. He’s basked in the light streaming into the room from the hallway, and Shota finally gets a good look at his face, “fuck, Izuku, you’re all swollen. How long have you had a toothache for?”
“Not-not long,” the kid tells him, but his face is plagued by guilt. “I’m sorry.”
“Don't worry about it, you're fine,” Shota huffs out, because scolding the kid now would do more harm than good. He’s already in pain, clearly, last thing he needs is to be guilted and shamed. “C’mon, you need to get dressed. Don’t worry about your uniform, you’re not going to classes today.”
“I’m not...?” Izuku looks bewildered, looking like he’s come back to himself a bit more as he gradually pulls himself from his post-sleep state, “why? I’ll, I’ll fall behind—I'm already behind—”
“Are you seriously asking me why?” Shota scowls gesturing to the boy’s face without touching him at all, “you’re going to Recovery Girl. This—the swell, the fever—is not normal for a toothache. I can help you catch up when you’re not swollen like a chipmunk. Your wellbeing is more important than missing a couple classes, Kid.”
Izuku opens his mouth to protest, but promptly shuts it with a flinching wince with one look at the stern look Shota is shooting in his direction. Shota stands, shakes his head with a longsuffering sigh, “get dressed.”
He leaves the kid to do as demanded, and it’s only a minute or so later that Izuku is stumbling into the room in a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Shota had half expected to be ignored, and to see Izuku emerge in his uniform, but he’s pleasantly surprised.
“Think you can manage a jelly pouch?”
The kid hesitates for a second before nodding slowly. Shota hands him a peach flavored one before stashing a couple more in his utility belt pocket. Izuku sucks at the pouch slowly, no longer bothering to hide his wincing, and fuck, isn’t that something. He’d been hiding his pain—such a Problem Child thing to be doing.
Shota watches Izuku pull his red trainers on, jelly pouch hanging from the kid’s mouth. He’s a lot slower at eating it today than he had been yesterday, so Shota can only imagine the pain he’s actually in. How the hell did he and Hizashi miss this?
Shota leads the teen to the care by a steady hand on his shoulder. Izuku leans a little into Shota’s side, and the man can’t help but adjust his hold so his arm is across the boy’s shoulder and Izuku is fully pressed into his side.
Izuku doesn’t say much, keeps a hand pressed to his jaw in an attempt to soothe. He’s still flushed with a light fever, and Shota is antsy to get him to Recovery Girl. He’s not even sure she’ll be able to do anything, but it’s better than nothing. She can at least direct them to someone who can help.
The school is still empty by the time they arrive. It’s early—that much is proven by the fact Shota and Izuku catch Hizashi on his way in from patrol. The blonde startles, looking beyond surprised to see them so early, before his eyes trail over Izuku and his smile wanes to a frown.
Izuku isn’t looking great—rumpled clothes that he’d thrown on, clothes that are not his uniform, his cheeks are red, and the faint swelling is noticeable even from the distance.
“Sunshine,” Hizashi breathes out as he strides towards them, “what happened? Are you guys alright?”
“I—”
“I swear to God, kid, if you say you’re fine one more time I’ll ground you for life,” Shota warns, and Izuku deflates, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he ducks his chin. Hizashi looks between the two of them before deciding it’s probably easier to get answers from his husband instead of his foster son, “the kid’s got a toothache—and an infection if I’m right. Fever. Swelling. Tender jaw. The works.”
“Oh, Sunshine,” Hizashi coos, lifting a hand to press against Izuku’s forehead, “poor baby...”
Hizashi’s frown deepens when he feels the slight warmth coming off the kid in waves—different from how he usually runs cold. Hizashi pulls his hand away after a second, worried eyes catching Shota’s own.
The dark-haired man drags his fingers through his hair before sighing, “we’re heading to Recovery Girl. With any luck she’ll be able to help, or at least direct us in the right direction.”
Izuku doesn’t say anything, just tucks his chin closer to his own chest and avoids looking up at them. Shota’s not sure if he’s embarrassed, ashamed or just that much in pain, but he doesn’t question it, just ushers the kid forward as Hizashi leads them into the school and holds the door open for them.
The halls are barren, and it doesn’t take long to arrive at the infirmary. Recovery Girl is just arriving, shrugging off her coat when Shota pushes the door open.
The small woman swivels on her feet to glance at them, lips pressing in a line as she takes in the two men and teenager stood at her door. Her gaze sweeps over the men quickly, practiced, before it drops to Izuku who’s still holding a hand to his cheek.
She catches his eye, and the second she does, he ducks his gaze down, looking anywhere but at her. Izuku’s second hand wraps around his middle, chin ducking down. He winces when the pressure from his own hand fluctuates, and the nurse catches it easily.
He can only imagine he looks quite pitiful to her trained eyes, but his face aches, and it’s suddenly gotten so much worse overnight.
Her face softens.
“C’mere, Dearie,” she waves him over and Izuku isn’t one to ignore Pro Heroes. He steps away from his guardians and sits himself on the edge of the cot she’d gestured to. She takes one look at his face and reads him almost instantly, “alright, open up. Let’s have a look.”
The two men have stepped into the room, letting the door shut behind them.
“Oh, you poor child,” the woman coos, after a glance in Izuku’s mouth, gaze narrowing in on the wisdom teeth erupting in the back of his mouth, “you’re a bit young for these, eh?”
“For what?” Shota questions, slumping against the wall.
“Is he okay...?”
“Wisdom teeth,” the Youthful Heroine shakes her head, tutting as she pulls on a pair of latex gloves, “open again.”
Izuku does. He feels her touch against the most painful spot and it takes everything in him not to jump away or bite down. He knows his eyes are watering now, and he might make a noise of distress because Hizashi wilts where he’s standing, while Shota stiffens and digs his hands deeper into his Hero costume pockets.
“Wisdom teeth...?” Hizashi’s head cocks to the side when the words finally register, “people still... have those?”
“Poor thing,” Recovery Girl says again, the light pressure jumping to the other side of his face where it hurts but not like the other, “of course, Yamada,” the woman nods, not looking away from her work, “though, no, not very common these days, people do still have them. Sorry, dear, I know it hurts.”
“Aren’t wisdom teeth Pre-Quirk era? Like appendixes and pinky-toe joints?” Shota blinks owlishly, watching the nurse tend to the child. The woman doesn’t say anything, and Izuku just averts his gaze while managing to keep his mouth open.
“Izuku isn’t—” Shota paused, teeth clinking as he shuts his mouth abruptly. Hizashi’s gaze shoots to him, and even Recovery Girl glances over with an amused glint in her eyes before refocusing, “...but you got your Quirk.”
Izuku winces, and not because of the nurse pressing against his sore gums.
Recovery Girl finally pulls away, stripping off the gloves and carefully setting the backs of her fingers against Izuku’s aching cheek before touching his jaw, and then his neck. She lets out a quiet hum of acknowledgment.
“Everyone’s different,” she finally says, turning to the two men, “Midoriya’s body is Quirkless, even with his Quirk. The manifestation came quite recently, which I’m sure you’re both aware of—but just because he developed a Quirk, doesn’t mean his biological components changed.”
“Now, you,” the two men exchange a look while the woman turns her attention towards the teen, surveying over him with an unimpressed look; arms crossing over her chest, “just how long have you been in pain, young man?”
“It, uhm,” Izuku gives a sheepish smile that fades off into a wince as he rubs the back of his neck nervously, “it only juts recently got bad this, um, this past week?”
“A week?” Hizashi gapes, surprised eyes shooting to the teenager who shrinks in on himself a little. “Kiddo...”
“I assumed as much,” Recovery Girl tuts as she turns to grab something from a tiny freezer under her desk, “one of his wisdom teeth, the bottom one on his right side, is partially impacted. It’s infected, I’d say he has Pericoronitis, but I’m no dentist. Now, the one on his left side is completely impacted. His top ones seem to be coming in alright, but without an x-ray, I can’t say for sure. A professional will need to make that decision, but as of now, those two bottom ones’ll need to come out.”
“Pericoronitis?” Shota cocks an eyebrow, sounding uninterested. His eyebrows furrow in concern, but that’s the only tell he’s nervous. Beside him, Hizashi is anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Calm down, boys, it’s just the medical term for infection and inflammation around an impacted wisdom tooth,” Recovery Girl waves him off as she grabs a little frozen gel pack from the freezer. She presses it into Izuku’s hand, then guides his hand up to hold it against his own jaw. It feels so nice against his heated and swollen jaw. “The boy will be good as new when those teeth are out, and the sooner the better. Infection can and will spread—we’ll have a problem if it spreads and he develops sepsis.”
“Okay,” Hizashi drags his hands down his face, “okay. He needs them out, yeah? Fast. So, we find someone to take them out. We take him to a dentist and get them removed,” Hizashi gestures to the door with a hand. “Right?”
Recovery Girl shakes her head solemnly, “’fraid not, boys. Wisdom teeth extraction isn’t a common practice anymore. The need for it died out— oh, I don’t know, a hundred years ago or so?”
“It’s not?” Hizashi looks flabbergasted, eyes darting between the teen pressing the gel ice pack to his jaw, expression pinched in pain and the old woman stood at his bedside, “wait, really?”
“Only two percent of Japan is Quirkless,” Recovery Girl leans heavily on her cane, attention lulling between the two men, “which means only two percent of the current population even have wisdom teeth to be removed. And they don’t always need to be removed. The boy is in a minority. You’ll need to find a Quirkless run and operated clinic for the best care.”
“We can’t have them taken out in the hospital?” Shota asks slowly, a steady frown on his lips. He paused for a second before eyeing the short woman, “you can’t take them out?”
It seemed logical to the dark-haired man. Surely a wisdom tooth extraction couldn’t differ too much from a regular tooth being pulled, right? Maybe Chiyo couldn’t remove them, but couldn’t a regular dentist, or the hospital, do it?
Izuku shakes his head furiously, eyes slivering in a wince as he does so.
“I won’t do that,” Recovery Girl shakes her head sternly, “what makes you think I’m familiar with wisdom teeth extraction? My Quirk won’t help with that; at this point the only thing I can do for the child is give him an anti-inflammatory and some pain relief and heal the wounds a few days after his surgery, after he’s rested up a bit. I’m sorry, Dearies, but I won’t be digging around in the poor boy’s mouth with no idea what I’m doing. He needs a professional dentist who’s done the surgery before.”
“And the hospital?” Hizashi reiterates softly, gaze still on Izuku who now looks nervous. “They can’t just take them out?”
“I’d advise against it,” the woman shakes her head, reaching over to pat Izuku’s knee in sympathy, “the child may very well have a Quirk now, but his body is still that of someone without. A phenomenon, really. You’ve both witnessed how the Quirkless in this day and age are treated, you’d want to subject the poor thing to that?”
“But... it’s a hospital,” Hizashi blinks in surprise, “they’re supposed to be unbiased.”
“Supposed to be and actually are, are two very different things, Yamada,” Recovery Girl scolds lightly, whacking his shin gently with her cane. “No. I’ve already told you, in my medical opinion, if you want this handled right, find a Quirkless clinic that won’t discriminate.”
Izuku looks towards Recovery Girl, hoping his eyes express his gratitude. He’d been terrified of them carting him off to a regular dentist, or the hospital. Sure, they might start off nice, but as soon as they catch wind of those pieces of himself that make him Quirkless, and they certainly will when it’s the part they’re removing, all the hospitality is gone.
“Alright,” Shota finally breaths out after a long second. His eyes are focused on the teen holding the gel pack to his face, eyes pained and mouth pressed in a line that’s an attempt at biting back pained expressions and sounds, “we’ll find a Quirkless clinic then, if that’s what you think is best.”
“There aren’t any in Musutafu,” Recovery Girl tells them, “I doubt you’ll find any in the smaller cities. You should try looking in Tokyo. The Quirkless population is greater there—more of a need.”
“I can look during class,” Shota tells Hizashi who is worrying his bottom lip thoughtfully, “1-A is working on an essay for Heroics this morning, so I’ll have time after announcements.” Izuku’s eyes jerk up to his homeroom teacher, who’s gaze is already on the teen, as if waiting to make eye contact, “relax, Problem Child, when you’re all healed up, I’ll assign it to you. Don’t worry about it yet.”
But he is worried. They’ll have a head start...
“The boy can stay here with me this morning,” Recovery Girl tells them, “I’d like to keep an eye on that fever of his, even though it is fairly low-grade. I’m afraid I might be a bit busy this afternoon though, with 1-B doing mock battle exercises with Vlad and Yagi, I can only imagine it might be similar to 1-A's, hm? This morning though, I don’t mind him resting up here with me for a while after I’ve given him some medication for the swelling and infection. It will give you a little relief, Dearie.”
Relief sounds nice. Izuku’s eyebrows knit together in pain as he shifts the ice pack accidentally.
“Okay,” Hizashi nods slowly. “You’re not teaching Heroics this afternoon, right, Sho?”
The dark-haired man shakes his head, “no, Nezu wanted the afternoon to study some of their Quirks. Ideally, I’d be there to keep a watch on my hell class and keep them in line, but I trust they’re not stupid enough to fuck around with Nezu. I’ll bring Izuku home around lunch time, he’ll be more comfortable there, eh, Kid?”
Izuku gives a tiny nod—going home to lay in bed with the cats sounds nice.
“I’ll have some medications ready for you to take home. I’m not sure how fast you’ll be able to get an appointment, but I will urge urgency with this. The longer those teeth stay, the more at risk of complications he becomes. There’s already mild infection.”
“Noted,” Shota drags his fingers through his hair before letting his shoulders slump down as he buries his hands in his pockets again, “classes will be starting soon, so we should get going. I’ll be back for you by noon, okay, Problem Child?”
Izuku gives a pathetic nod as Recovery Girl guides him to shift so he’s fully on the cot instead of just perched on it, before she’s patting the pillow in a silent order for him to lie back. Hizashi comes forward to ruffle Izuku’s hair softly, before he’s turning to follow Shota out of the room—it's just a minute or so later that the bell rings.
Izuku blows out a huff, face scrunching up as he does so.
Homeroom is surprisingly quiet when Shota finds himself finished with the morning announcements.
It hadn’t taken long; there wasn’t anything big happening. Nothing important, or anything longwinded to explain. Today would be a regular, well, regular by Yuuei standards, day. Not much to tell the rambunctious teenagers, who watch him with wide, intent eyes.
Shota instantly knows why everyone is so quiet. Why no one is saying a thing—and it’s not hard to tell, not when everyone keeps glancing over at the single empty desk behind Bakugou. Honestly, if Shota wasn’t well aware of where Midoriya was, he’d probably be doing the same thing.
It was just odd to look out and see empty desks. Izuku’s empty desk.
Though it’s not the first time Izuku had missed a class, he knows it’s still shocking for the students. They’ve all come to sort of... depend on the green-haired boy. He’s the staple of the class, and the glue that holds them together as one big happy unit. Izuku is the one who pushes them to be better, to do better, so when he’s gone, most of his class doesn’t quite know how to act in a classroom setting.
“Sensei?” Shota lifts his eyes from the essay criteria he’d been about to share with them, gaze dragging to where Kaminari’s hand is waving in the air.
Shota bites back a sigh. “What is it, Kaminari?”
“Where’s Midoriya?”
Shota pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing on the golden-haired teen who shrinks into his seat at the attention, “why?”
“Well, he’s not... here...”
“Observant,” Shota drawls, tone just slightly curled with sarcasm, which only makes the boy wince. For half a second, Shota wants to feel bad that his worry for his foster kid had morphed into an annoyance with the rest of his class, but Kaminari perks right back up unbothered.
“He just never really misses school,” Ashido adds, coming to Kaminari’s aid. There’s a frown on her lips, arms crossed over her chest. Her voice draws in Shota’s gaze; his eyes flick over to the Acid-Quirked girl, watching as she leans back in her chair, nose wrinkling. “We’re curious—he's okay, right?”
“It’s of none of your concern where Midoriya is. Any of you.” Shota replies monotonously, already feeling a migraine starting, “all the matters is that I’m aware of his absence, and I am. It’s nothing you lot should concern yourselves with.”
“But is he okay?” Sero raises his own hand before speaking, but doesn’t bother waiting to be called on. “That’s an easy question, Sensei—wellll, unless he’s not okay, and which case, we should know, right? I mean, it is the second time he’s just sorta left...”
“He’ll be okay,” Shota manages to sigh out, gaze dragging over the class. Iida is watching Shota closely, almost like he’s trying to read some answer to the question in Shota’s face, and Todoroki has his eyes narrowed like there’s some ulterior motive behind Midoriya’s absence. Shota decides to ignore the both of them. “I reiterate, it’s none of you concern where Midoriya is, or what he’s doing.”
“Will he back tomorrow?” Kirishima leans on his elbows, palms digging into his cheeks. His head quirks to the side ever so slightly, one corner of his mouth twitching downward in a half-frown.
“Doubt it,” Shota rubs at his brow, already tired. It’s not even five minutes into class and he already wants to throw in the towel. He’s not sure how this turned into an open discussion, but it’s not like this’ll end until they’re sated. Too bad he’s stuck with these hellions. He leans against his podium, arms crossing over the essay criteria. “He’ll probably return by Monday.”
“Wait, probably?” Uraraka’s back straightens in urgency, “did Deku get hurt?”
“Is he sick, kero?” Asui blinks slowly, tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth.
And a murmur of worry sweeps over his students at her words. Shota supposes it’s nice to know Izuku has people who’re worried, but he wishes the worry didn’t come with so much prying.
“Midoriya has just as much right to privacy as any of us,” Shota tells them chidingly, “all any of you need to know is that he will be fine, and that he’ll probably return on Monday, at which point you’re more than welcome to ask him about his absence—but none of you will be prying, got it? If Midoriya doesn’t want to share, he doesn’t have to. Simple as that.”
“Yes, Sensei,” comes the low, synchronized mumble from the majority of his class—minus maybe Bakugou who’s glaring hard enough at the wall to his side that Shota thinks, had he had another Quirk, he might’ve burned holes through it with his gaze.
“Good,” Shota rotates his shoulder before finally grabbing the stack of essay criteria sheets. “I won’t be in this afternoon, so I’m going to be assigning this now. It’s an essay; one that you’ll be doing on a Pro Hero of your choosing. I don’t care who it is—Underground, limelight, retired, active, new, old—doesn't matter. Read the criteria and ask your questions if you have any. You’re welcome to email me any questions you have after this class, but be prepared for delays in my responses.”
“Where are you going this afternoon, Sensei?!” Ashido waves her hand, also not bothering to wait to be called on. Shota refrains from sighing. “Is it Hero stuff? Will it be cool??”
“That is none of our business,” Iida scolds sharply, “Sensei is a Pro Hero, he doesn’t need to explain himself to us!”
“It’s just a question!” the pink student defends with a pout, turning in her seat to frown theatrically at the Class Rep. Asui cocks her head and leans to the side so Ashido can actually see Iida.
“A personal question—”
“Cut it out. Both of you.” Shota huffs out, “Iida is right, I don’t need to explain myself. I will be absent, and you’ll have Principal Nezu as your sub. I’d warn you to be on your best behavior, but I’m also curious to see what kind of punishments he has in mind for you should you step out of line...” Shota surveys over all the nervous faces, silently pleased that the treat worked. He clears his throat, intent to drive his point home, “and I’d hate for you to see what I have planned should anything make its way back to me that my class was nothing but a nuisance.”
“Yes, Sensei!” Another synchronized response, this time louder and nervous.
Good.
“Iida, Yaoyorozu, come hand these out. Everyone else, you’ve got until the end of homeroom to ask any questions you may have—” Kaminari raises his hand and Shota swears his eye twitches, “—about this essay. Nothing else.” Kaminari’s hand drops to his desktop with a quiet thump. “Okay then. Work silently.”
The class is blessedly quiet for the remainder of Homeroom, which gives Shota time to research Quirkless Dental clinics. Before that though, he sends out a chain email to the teachers, excusing Izuku from classes until further notice. He leaves damage control to Mic, the better of the two at answering questions without tightlipped answers.
There really aren’t a lot of dental clinics that even accept Quirkless patients, and the only one he finds that does, is an hour and a half away in Tokyo, just like Recovery Girl had thought.
Shota pulls the address up on his maps app and narrows his eyes at the small little clinic sharing a building, but thoroughly hidden behind a chain clothing store. Shota doubts you’d be able to spot the clinic from the street, and he wonders for a second how they manage to stay in business.
It must really be just for Quirkless people, or those with Quirkless biological features, at least. It’s probably owned and operated by the Quirkless and caters strictly to the Quirkless. Shota isn’t new to discrimination—he himself had been discriminated against for his ‘villainous’ Quirk growing up and even to this day occasionally, but he imagines it’s tenfold for the Quirkless.
There’s a phone number to book appointments hidden at the bottom of a lackluster website. It’s clearly not for advertising, it’s not eye grabbing or flashy, it really is just for the sake of sharing information. Logical. It gets to the point.
He’ll give it a call when he’s back home and Izuku is tucked away in his room. Hopefully they can get an appointment booked within the next couple days—Shota knows Izuku won’t want to miss anymore school than necessary. Admirable.
The bell rings before Shota knows it, and his class remains seated until he lifts his gaze from his phone. He cocks an eyebrow, biting back a pleased smile, “dismissed. Don’t be late for Mic’s class.”
The students are all up and packing up their belongings, fleeing out the door to make it to English class on time. Shota looks back down at his phone, saving the website for later before locking the device and shoving it in his pocket. He looks up to see Bakugou stood before his desk.
“Yes?” Shota blinks owlishly, uninterested, “what is it, Bakugou? You’re going to be late for English.”
“It’s his face, isn’t it?”
And that’s not what he’s expecting to come from the kid’s mouth. “What?”
“Deku. It’s his face, right? That stupid idiot hid a shitty toothache and now he’s actually hurt. Tell me I’m wrong.” Bakugou’s arms cross over his chest and despite the way his feet are planted firmly, unmoving, Shota can see the teenager shifting his weight almost nervously.
Shota takes a second to weigh his options—Izuku trusts this teenager, even though he really shouldn’t, but Shota can only hazard an opinion on Bakugou’s character from what he’s witnessed. And it’s not particularly good. Still, the teen before him knows more than anyone else— by the sound of it, Bakugou had realized before even he and Hizashi had, “...you’re not.”
“That idiot,” Bakugou scoffs, eyes rolling as his jaw clenches, “I told him to tell his—” A pause, where the ashen-haired teenager eyes Shota warily, “you do know about his... his situation and all the shit, right? At home?”
Shota’s eyes flicker to the door, then around the classroom to make sure no one else is around, “that he’s being fostered? Yes, I’m aware.”
“Good,” Bakugou gives a tight nod, “well, I told Deku he needed to tell them when I noticed, but obviously the nerd didn’t if it’s worse now. I told him I’d tell you if he didn’t tell them and get it fixed. Guess I should’ve earlier.”
Shota remains quiet, watching the teenager. You wouldn’t think Bakugou was worried at first glance, but the longer Shota watches him, the more he sees. The tensing of his jaw. The light taps of the toe of his shoes. His hands tightening into fists, even buried in the pockets of his slacks.
“He’s getting help now, right? I mean, his... that guy, his foster dad or whatever, looked nice, but they’re helping him, right?”
“They are,” Shota gives a slow nod. "You don’t need to be worried, Bakugou, Midoriya will be getting the treatment he needs, and if all goes well, he’ll be back by Monday. I doubt anyone would be able to make him miss more school than necessary.”
A little bit of tension deflates from the teenager’s frame, but the usual strain of anger and annoyance doesn’t change. “Yeah, that fuckin’ nerd.”
Shota decides not to mention Bakugou’s crude choice in language, in a school, talking to his teacher no less—there's a serenity to the teen right now, and Shota just knows if he pokes, Bakugou will snap.
“I’m sure Midoriya will appreciate your worry—”
“I am not fucking worried about Deku!”
And... serenity broken.
“Alright,” Shota relents easily, because what else is there to say? “Well, I appreciate that you’re looking out for you classmates either way. Now, off you go. Tell Mic you were talking to me if he asks, but I doubt he will.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugou scowls, scuffing his shoe against the ground as he turns to leave, “have a good day, Sensei.”
Shota doesn’t say anything as the teen stalks out of the room, not even waiting for an answer. Shota blows out a breath through his nose and leans back heavily in his chair. He hopes Nezu is prepared to have his hands full this afternoon—but what does it matter to Shota anyways? He’ll be out.
Oboro was the first one to notice Izuku wasn’t 100%.
Honestly, he’s not sure why the kid thought he could hide something from him when they’re together probably 90% of the day. They’re practically roommates— practically brothers who share a bedroom. It’s a little funny Izuku thought he could hide his pain.
Sure, Izuku could play his classmates, and friends, and even Shota and Hizashi to a degree, but Oboro was almost always there. Why the teen was absently rubbing at his jaw, or when he winced, or when he let out little pained noises—it would take an idiot not to notice.
Oboro had been the first, as far as he knows, to bring it up—and it had only been a couple days after Izuku had started acting strangely.
Oboro was watching the teenager from his perch on the desk. He was sitting on Izuku’s homework, almost completed beside a couple math equations he was going to ask Ectoplasm about the following morning.
It wasn’t overly noticeable; how Izuku’s lips pressed subconsciously in a straight line, or how his eyebrows furrowed as if in pain. How he rubbed absently against his jaw before directing his attention back to the book in his hands almost forcefully.
“’zuku, you good dude?”
“Yeah,” Izuku replied, voice nothing more than a hum that comes out almost on autopilot. The teen keeps his voice soft and his expression schooled. The book in his lap is open, and halfway done. It was one Hizashi had recommended to the teenager—the man had read it in English years ago, but had found a Japanese copy when Izuku had shown interest in the plot line. Hizashi did always love sharing his favorite things with people, and Izuku was very willing. “Of course. Why?”
Oboro frowns at him, “you’re just, y’know, kinda off?”
“Off?” Izuku repeats with a quirk of his head like he’s surprised by the accusation. Oboro knows he’s not completely, even if no one else had brought it up exactly, loads of people have been noticing. “Not sure what you mean.”
“You’re deflecting,” the ghost accuses, frown deepening as he moves from the desk to perch on the edge of the bed beside Izuku. “What’s up?”
“Why does something always have to be up?” Izuku frowns, tongue absently trailing over his teeth. He squeezes his eyes shut when it comes into contact with the left side of his face, the side that hurts more, before forcing his eyes open and back onto the ghost.
“No offense,” Oboro starts off slowly, face twisted in disbelief, “but it’s you. There’s usually something up with you.”
“I do take a little offense,” the green-haired teen huffs. “Nothing is up.”
“Why are you lying to me?” the ghost counters, eyebrows furrowing in concern while his tone wavers with hurt. The corners of the ghost’s mouth tilt downwards like he’s trying, and failing, not to frown.
“It’s really nothing,” Izuku promises when a cloud of guilt settles in his chest, “just a bit of a toothache. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“A toothache?” Oboro does frown now, “so tell Sho and ‘zashi. They’ll book you a dentist appointment and then you’ll be good to go, yeah? Easy-peasy.”
“No,” Izuku shakes his head. “It’s not that easy.”
“It is though,” Oboro’s frown deepens. The ghost sucks in a breath like he’s preparing for to convince Izuku that it is really that easy, “I know you’re used to doing things alone, Izu, but they’re here to help—”
“No,” Izuku repeats, managing a light smile that kinda hurts as he corrects himself, “it’s not good to go.”
“W-what?” the blue-haired teen blinks, “why not?”
Izuku must take too long to answer because the ghost goes quiet for a second before drawing in Izuku’s attention by waving a finger through his foot, “are you afraid of the dentist?”
“No more than anyone else,” Izuku assures with a half-smile, “that’s not the problem.”
“Then... what is the problem?”
“Well, I guess it’s not really just a toothache,” the teen explains simply, “it’s my wisdom teeth coming in.”
“Wisdom teeth?” Oboro’s concern is overshadowed by confusion, “what?”
Izuku shrugs indifferently, “you know where my Quirk comes from—I'm still, I mean, I’m still Quirkless, technically. I didn’t manifest a Quirk, I got one. So my body is still, y’know,” Izuku gestures to himself, starting by his toes and ending by his face, “the pinky-toe joint, and the appendix, and... and wisdom teeth. All still there.”
“So, what’re you supposed to do?” Oboro frowns, leaning close to inspect the side of Izuku’s face, “it won’t get better on its own, will it?”
“I don’t know,” Izuku shakes his head after a second, and Oboro feels like Izuku isn’t telling him the full truth. It’s not like Oboro can search it himself—he and technology no longer get along. He just sorta drains the battery life when he even attempts to touch it, which sucks.
“It just hurts because they’re coming in,” Izuku tells him slowly, “like when babies are teething—their gums hurt because teeth are pushing through. It’s the same thing with this, just a bit painful. It’s not that bad, I promise.”
“But you’ll be okay?” Oboro finds himself asking, skeptical eyes scanning up the teen who’s attention has hardly strayed up from the book.
“Yeah,” Izuku assures. “‘course.”
So Oboro lets it go.
It gets worse though— of course it does.
Each passing day has Izuku in more and more pain— and Oboro doesn’t remember ever seeing a baby hurt this much when it comes to teeth coming in.
Slowly but surely, Izuku has less to say, eats less, hardly even opens his mouth unless prompted. He gets quieter, and avoids Shota and Hizashi like he’s an alley cat they’re trying to persuade into a cage. Oboro watches from the background for a while, trying to be Izuku’s voice of reason.
He’s the one who pressures Izuku into sneaking into the kitchen to get a jelly pouch, one of the only things Izuku seems to be able to eat without excruciating pain. The teen moves through the apartment like he’s a burglar, instead of a kid grabbing a snack from the kitchen, but clearly misses Shota perched in the living room watching him move.
Oboro practically sees the gears turning in Shota’s head as he silently watches, but Oboro just trails along behind the teen, phasing through Izuku’s bedroom door when he eases it shut silently without waiting for Oboro to be in the room first. Rude.
Something had clearly clicked when the following evening during dinner, Shota exchanges Izuku’s bowl of katsudon, that smells heavenly, might Oboro add, for a jelly pouch. Tension eases out of Izuku’s shoulders and Oboro just knows his school friends are on the case now. They probably have been for a while, but now it’s pressing.
It’s about time.
The two guardians direct the teen to his room, and to Oboro’s surprise, Izuku does go to sleep. He hadn’t even finished his homework, or set an alarm. He just sorta, flops, hardly managing to pull his covers over himself.
It doesn’t take long for light snores to fill the room, and at that point, Oboro lends a hand and uses all his power to tug Izuku’s blankets fully over himself—making sure his feet are tucked under as well.
He joins his friends in the kitchen, listening to them converse. They talk in hushed voices about Izuku, trying to figure the kid out. Oboro wishes he could help, maybe mention the fact Izuku’s problem isn’t his throat, but his teeth, but without Izuku himself, he’s nothing but thin air that can kinda fiddle with lights.
How do you even say ‘wisdom teeth’ in morse code using the overhead light fixture without scaring the absolute shit outta your friends? No way Oboro knows. Besides, he believes they’ll figure it out on their own.
They’re smart.
All Oboro has to do is wait.
He doesn’t have to wait long considering the next morning, Izuku wakes up with a fever.
Oboro has been watching him sleep, in the non-creepy way. There’s not a lot to do as a ghost, and he doesn’t usually watch people sleep—not when there’s other things to do like reading, or... reading. Maybe there’s not a lot of other things to be doing, but he can turn the pages of a book when in proximity to Izuku.
He only watches Izuku sleep when Izuku gives him reason too. Izuku is being weird; Oboro is silently worried something will happen in the night and he’ll have to ghost his friends awake. It would suck, but he’d do it for Izuku.
He watches Izuku’s cheeks slowly darken with a flush as the night progresses, and frowns to himself as the teenager turns, groaning softly in his sleep when his cheek brushes against the pillow. It sucks to watch his friend in pain, but knowing there’s not a lot he can do to help.
It’s a rush of everything when Shota comes in to wake Izuku up. All comes out in a matter of second, and Oboro lets out a breath of relief. Thank goodness.
Oboro sticks by Izuku’s side on the drive to Yuuei, and sits by him on the bed when Shota and Hizashi leave him in Recovery Girl’s capable hands. He’s by Izuku’s side as Shota leads him into the apartment, and doesn’t stray far from him even when Izuku is tucked into his bed with an icepack, already asleep as he lets the medications Recovery Girl gave him take effect.
He hears Shota on the phone booking an appointment, then he hears Shota on the phone with most likely Hizashi, Oboro can tell by how his voice takes on more emotion than he’d usually allow, something only Hizashi can do, followed by a third call that is probably to his Hero agency if the exhaustion coating his tone is anything to go off.
It’s very early the next morning that they’re all in the car. Izuku is in pajamas at Oboro’s side, a new icepack pressed against his jaw as his eyes slip shut. Izuku’s appointment is at nine AM, and Hizashi demanded they be there half an hour early to make sure everything goes smoothly and Izuku is seen to as soon as possible.
Shota looks exhausted in the front seat, even though he keeps his eyes open and sips at a travel mug of coffee. Hizashi looks more awake, but he’s also sipping on coffee, which is weird for him. They’re both beyond stressed, and they take turns glancing back at Izuku periodically. It’s cute how protective they are of the green-bean child.
Oboro stays in the car while Shota and Hizashi get the kid all settled in, checking him into his appointment. They come back to wait after he’d admitted in for his surgery. They’ll need to do x-rays and all that time consuming stuff before actually taking out his wisdom teeth.
Hizashi is the one who gets a call when Izuku’s surgery is finished, and he’s moved to the recovery room for a little while.
That’s the point that Oboro decides to visit his friend.
Izuku is curled up in a recliner sort of chair, snuggled into a fluffy blanket. He’s awake, but even just looking at the kid tells Oboro that Izuku definitely isn’t all there. His eyes are hazy, and his focus is frail. It takes far too long for Izuku to even notice the ghost in the room with him.
“Hey, Buddy,” Oboro greets easily, drawing in Izuku’s slow gaze. His cheeks are puffed out even more now, swollen with more than just infection. There’s gauze stuffed in his face, and his lips are rimmed with red. “How ya feeling?”
“Bo-bo-ro!” Izuku greets, managing a bloody smile. He seems to realize after just a second that he didn’t quite get the name right, because his face twists, and his nose wrinkles, “Bro-bo...bo, no, uhm, Oh-ro-bo—” Izuku swallows, squints his eyes at Oboro before pointing a shaking finger at him, “’ro.”
The name drags out more like ‘row’, but Oboro just laughs. “That works. So, how’s the face?”
Izuku is thoughtful for a second before he lifts a hand to his cheek and frowns, “can’t feel it. It’s still there... r-right?”
“Definitely still there,” Oboro snickers slightly as he strides into the room, joining Izuku at his side, “hey, Izu, you probably shouldn’t prod,” Oboro tells him easily, snatching Izuku’s wrist before he can push harder at his jaw. There’s only a second of contact between them before Oboro is phasing through.
The boy falters, but tucks his hand back into the blanket as Oboro continues, “I don’t think they’ll let you leave if you make yourself bleed.”
“Numb,” Izuku tells him, blinking owlishly as if that explained Izuku’s motives behind pressing at his surgery sight. “Wanna... wanna go homee.”
“I bet,” Oboro sympathizes, sitting on a rolling chair that’s not really close to Izuku's chair, but directly in Izuku’s sight. “So, how many did they take?”
“Wha... whad’did they take?” Izuku shifts a little, and if he was more in his right mind, Oboro thinks he would’ve tensed up. “Do I... should I ask for ‘em back?”
“No, you’re good. They only took what they were supposed to, promise,” Oboro tells him earnestly, biting back a smile. His words seem to calm the teen down, Izuku slumps back into the recliner like chair. “Did they tell you how many teeth they were taking out?”
“Oh. Three,” Izuku wrangles a hand out from under the blanket, glaring at his fingers as he holds up two instantly before slowly rising a third. “These ones and...” Izuku catches his own jaw between his thumb and pointer finger, giving a light squeeze on either side; looking completely befuddled at the fact he probably didn’t feel it. He moved on before Oboro could reprimand him, pointing to the top, left side of his face as well. “...and here.”
“What did I tell you about touching your face, sweetheart?”
Izuku’s slow gaze drags up to a dental assistant who’s giving Izuku a soft, scolding look. The boy gives a wide smile and shrugs sheepishly, “s’rry.”
“It’s fine,” the woman gives him a gentle smile, "how’re you feeling? Any pain or anything? I bet you’re ready to get outta here, huh? I know your dads are anxious to see you.”
Izuku shook his head through all the questions, but the woman doesn’t seem to mind. She’s probably used to it. Izuku shakes his head until he pauses abruptly, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully at the dentist assistant. Oboro opens his mouth to question what Izuku is thinking, before the teen beats him to it and give and unprompted answer to where his thoughts are lagging.
“My... my dads?” Izuku lulls his head towards her before looking at Oboro who has his hand pressed against his mouth to keep himself quiet. “My dads?” Izuku repeats, but this time the question is directed at Oboro who accidentally lets a light snort of laughter spill past his hand. Izuku’s face twists in annoyance.
Oboro forces down any other noises of amusement, clearing his throat before standing and striding to Izuku’s bedside. The green-haired teen’s gaze follows him, but thankfully the dental assistant’s focus has dropped to a collection of paperwork in her hands. “Sho and ‘zashi, Izu. ‘member? They’re taking care of you.”
It seems to all click there for Izuku. He turns his watery doe-eyes to the woman, voice coming out a pleading whisper, “wanna... wan see ‘em. Pleaz.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” the woman coos, setting the papers down. “We’ll give them a call now and they’ll come right in to see you, alright?”
“’kay.”
Satisfied with the answer, the woman leaves. Izuku watches her go, the door closing with a soft click behind her. Izuku’s eyes flicker to Oboro almost instantly, “my dads?”
“Still stuck on that one, huh?” It’s not surprising. No one had called them that to Izuku before, and the poor kid’s brain isn’t up to par currently.
“Teachers,” Izuku’s eyelids droop, but he forces them back open with a stuttery breath, “g-guardians. Don’t... don’t got one. No dad.”
“Foster dads,” Oboro tries to hide his smile, “I’m sure she didn’t mean to confuse you, she just doesn’t know, Izu. This just looks like two dads taking care of their kid, yeah?”
A slow nod, “m’kay. I’like that. Dadsss... Sho an’ ‘zashiii.”
Oboro wonders how much of this Izuku will actually remember when the sedatives wear off completely. A small part of him wants Izuku to remember this, but the other part of him knows Izuku will be self-conscious about it. Still, it’s adorable to be witness to, and he definitely won’t let Izuku live this one down when he’s feeling better.
Izuku eyes have slipped shut, but his breathing indicates he’s still awake. Oboro doesn’t say anything else, just sits with the kid until the door opens.
“He’s asleep,” Hizashi whispers as he steps into the room.
Shota looks Izuku over for just a second before crossing his arms over his chest with a light snort, “no he’s not.”
The corners of Izuku’s mouth flicker up faintly, a tell, before settling flat again. Hizashi snickers to himself while Shota steps forwards, dropping down onto his haunches as he sets a hand on Izuku’s knee, “pretending, Problem Child?”
Izuku doesn’t even try to keep pretending, eyes slivering open where he shares another blood-rimmed grin, “Sh-sho-dah,” a pause as Hizashi steps up beside his husband, “Hih-hizz... ‘zzashi. ‘zashi.”
“You’re too cute, Sunshine!” Hizashi steps close, grabbing the stool with the wheels that Oboro had been sat on, and wheeling it to the teenager’s side. He carefully places his hand over Izuku’s, and the kid actually flips his own hand and grasps at Hizashi’s.
Izuku completely misses the way Hizashi’s eyebrows knit together in surprise, before his expression melts into adoration. Shota stands, a light smile on his own lips at the exchange.
“Wanna,” Izuku swallows, sad eyes turning towards the two men, “wanna go home, ‘zashi.”
“Ah, sweetheart,” Hizashi coos, thumb trailing over the skin of Izuku’s hand, “I know. Just a bit longer, yeah? We just gotta talk to the dentist a bit first.”
“Sho?” Izuku turns his pleading gaze to the underground Hero. “Pleasee?”
Shota pauses for a second as a smile slowly stretches across his lips. He shares an amused look with Hizashi before looking back at the pleading teenager and letting out a fond snort, “sorry, Kid, ‘zashi’s right. Just a little longer.”
“Did you seriously just try to get a different answer from Sho with ‘zashi still in the room?” Oboro can’t help but laugh aloud at this. He remembers doing the same thing—asking one parent something, and if the answer is not what you want, going to the other and trying again—but he’d never been ballsy enough to try it with both in the room. “Oh my God, Izuku, that’s hilarious!”
“Nu uh,” the teen pouts, voice nothing but a mumble. “You’re mean.”
“What was that, ‘zuku?” Hizashi asks through his own amused giggles. For just a second, Oboro thinks the teen is going to answer, but he just tugs the blanket up to his mouth and shuts his eyes. A second later the door opens and a man who must be the dentist steps into the room.
Izuku’s surgery went well, is what they’re told.
He was given an oral conscious sedation pill towards the beginning of his visit after the x-rays were done, and as Izuku said, they’d taken out his two bottom teeth and one of the top two. The fourth tooth was aligned to come right up in the next however long it took to erupt and would fit in behind his other molars.
Shota and Hizashi are handed a print out of post-surgery care instructions with things like: no drinking from a straw, restricted physical activity, icing the swollen sides of his face, diet instructions. Izuku has sutures in two of his three wounds—the bottom ones.
The dentist tells them what to look out for when checking the wounds, and Hizashi assures that after a couple days, the boy will be taken to a recovery Quirk. They leave the dentist’s office with a prescription for pain medication and a puffy faced Izuku.
Izuku waves drowsily at the dentist and the two dental assistants they pass as Shota and Hizashi lead the boy to the car. Izuku’s steps are sluggish and it looks like he’s taking great care in walking. He still stumbles, but Hizashi keeps him upright.
Izuku’s consciousness wavers in the car.
The dentist had told them to leave the gauze in Izuku's mouth for at least a half an hour to help with clotting, but after the first time he falls asleep, Hizashi pulls over very fast and Shota hops out of the car speedily, the back door thrown open so he could help Izuku remove the gauze from his packed cheeks.
“I should probably sit back here,” Shota frowns as Izuku’s head slumps forwards before he jerks back up. “I don’t know if I trust him to not choke on his own tongue at this rate.”
“’m fine,” the teenager clicks his tongue and winces as he swallows. He smacks his lips, frowning as he reaches up to touch his lip, only for his hand to be swatted away lightly by Shota. “Tastes like blood.”
“Yeah,” Hizashi hadn’t gotten out of the car, but he had turned fully in his seat to watch the teen with a furrowed brow, “probably best.”
And just like that, Oboro gets front seat. “I’m so glad you just tried to choke on gauze,” Oboro teases, sitting on his knees to look back at Izuku over the headrest, “do you have any idea how long it’s been since I sat shotgun? Years, Izuku. Literal years.”
“Glad I can be of ssservice,” Izuku promptly salutes before his hands drop back into his lap. Izuku’s voice drops low again, like he’s talking to himself, and Oboro pushes close, through the backrest of the chair, to hear the rest of it, “lil’ rude tho. Did not almost choke, no siree. Chokin’ is bad, didn’t do that.”
“Service to what?” Shota, who’d taken Oboro’s seat behind Hizashi asked calmly as he buckles up his seatbelt at Hizashi’s insistence. The ghost doesn’t think either of his school friends heard the rest of what Izuku muttered, and it’s probably for the best.
Once again, Izuku doesn’t answer—or, doesn’t answer verbally. Instead, the teen gestures vaguely to the passenger seat where Oboro is trying not to die of laughter.
The ghost presses his lips in a line to keep from letting any sound out before drawing a calming breath and turning to look back at the teen, “they can’t see me, Izu, remember?”
“Ah shit,” the teen mutters on reflex and now Oboro really is dying of laughter as Izuku’s eyes widen a fraction as he looks between his confused guardians, “oops, b-bad word. ‘m sorry.”
Hizashi is full on laughing now as well, and even Shota lets out a snorted rumble of laughter. “It’s fine, Problem Child.”
“He’s so outta it,” Hizashi comments as he finally pulls away from the curb where they’d frantically pulled over as Izuku had dozed off. “I doubt he’ll remember any of this.”
“I am not,” Izuku huffs, leaning to the side. His forehead bumps against the window, and everyone winces. Izuku doesn't seem fazed at all though. His eyes slip shut for a second before they open again, “can we have katsudon for dinner?”
“Afraid not, Sunshine,” Hizashi informs regretfully. There’s still a fond smile on the blonde’s face despite the sympathetic tone of his voice, “soft things for you for a bit. We can stop and get you a smoothie though?”
“You'll have to eat it with a spoon though,” Shota adds. “You heard the dentist, no straws.”
“That’s dumb,” Izuku heaves a dramatic sigh. Oboro laughs and the teen shoot him as vicious of a glare as a drugged cinnamon roll can. The teen crosses his arms over his chest, bottom lip poked out in a pout.
Oboro watches as the teen shifts, head thumping against the window a second time as he tried to make himself comfortable. He struggles, nose wrinkling as he sits up again in annoyance. He looks about ready to cry, eyes watering and bottom lip poked out in a pout.
The ghost grins to himself as he drapes over the backrest of the seat he’s in, “tired, huh? Just lay on Sho, ‘zuku. He’s very comfortable. A very comfy lap. Maybe he’ll even pat your hair if you ask nicely.”
Izuku looks over at where his guardian is watching him out of the corner of his eye. The man is slumped with his elbow on the edge of the car door, palm supporting his chin. Izuku squints at the dark-haired man, before he flops to the side suddenly.
Shota jerks to catch the teen, but Izuku gets what he wants, all but laying across the backseat of the car with his head in Shota’s lap. The man tenses for just a moment, and Hizashi’s eyes flicker to the rearview mirror to see what the fuss is about before he lets out a quiet laugh.
“What are you doing, Problem Child?” Shota questions as a second. Izuku doesn’t move—if anything he presses his cheek down on his guardian’s thigh harder. He mumbles into the fabric of Shota’s pants and Oboro laughs at how uncomfortable Shota looks.
“Sleepin’,” Izuku breathes out, eyes shutting as he gives a light wince. It doesn’t hurt per se, but it is uncomfortable. Izuku’s sure it’ll hurt later, but for now it’s blissfully numb. “Tired...”
“Problem Child,” Shota’s hands finally settle on the teenager from where they’d raised in surprise at the initial impact, “your seatbelt isn’t on right. And that can’t possibly be comfy—your swollen cheek is pressed against me—”
“Awh, c’mon, Sho,” Hizashi coos from the front seat, clearly enjoying the show as much as Oboro is, “let the kid catch some sleep before the pain kicks in. He obviously wants to lay with you!”
Izuku mumbles something that Oboro can’t quite hear, but Shota clearly does as he angles his head towards the kid. He stares down for a second, and Oboro figures out exactly what Izuku asked when the kid reaches a blind hand out to grasp at Shota’s hand, setting the man’s hand on his own head before curling his hands into his chest. Shota doesn’t move for a second, hand just settled on the teen’s head.
“What did he say?” Hizashi hums, eyes on the road. Izuku mumbles it again, and Oboro bites his bottom lip to keep from grinning.
“He wants me to play with his hair,” Shota answers, hesitating for just another second before finally carding his fingers through Izuku’s green curls. The kid shivers at the contact before melting into Shota’s lap completely.
Izuku inches closer until the only thing keeping the rest of his body in place is the seatbelt. It’s wrapped around his waist now. He’s all but sprawled along the seats and Shota’s lap, but doesn’t seem bothered in the least, taking Oboro’s suggestion to heart.
“I doubt this is very safe, Hizashi,” Shota scowls, the hand in Izuku’s hair not stopping in the slightest. In fact, his manages to pull the teen a little closer and shift him around so he can wrap an arm around his torso and give him a bit of security the seatbelt is no longer providing. “He’s not even in a seatbelt anymore.”
“So, hold onto him and I’ll drive slow,” the blonde promises, looking back in the rearview mirror with a fond look. Shota shakes his head at the fact his husband is clearly amused, smiling brightly with his tongue pressed to the side of his cheek. “He’s so adorable like that though! Very affectionate when he’s high, isn’t that cute?”
Izuku’s feet tug up so he’s curled into an almost fetal position, head pillowed on his guardian’s lap and the man’s hand carding gently through his hair. Oboro thinks that if humans could, Izuku would definitely be purring.
“How long is he supposed to be like this?” Shota asks as he lightly scratches at Izuku’s scalp. He’s fairly sure the teenager has now fallen asleep— for real this time. There’s a patch of pink coloured drool on Shota’s dark sweats that agrees with the assessment, but Shota doesn’t mind. Besides, he’s had worse on him over the years, a little bit of bloody slobber is nothing.
“Upwards of four hours, Babe.” Hizashi lets out another laugh, flashing a teasing smile in the rearview mirror and ignoring the scowl Shota sends in reply, “get used to a clingy Sunshine child, because we’ll have him for a while.”
“Oh goodie,” Shota huffs, but his lips curl upwards faintly as he stares down at Izuku. He pushes green curls up off of the boy’s forehead before resuming the carding of his fingers.
Izuku sleeps the whole hour and a half drive home to Musutafu.
The stop at a supermarket pharmacy near the apartment, where Hizashi runs in to get Izuku’s prescriptions, and to pick up some foods Izuku can actually eat. Shota stays in the car with a still passed out Izuku, who’s long since turned onto his other side, head curls to the side so Izuku’s forehead is pressed against the man’s stomach, while his nose nuzzles against his hip.
Shota hasn’t stopped carding though his hair once.
They stop for food, a smoothie for Izuku to eat when he wakes up, and actual fast food for the two men, since it had been hours since they left the apartment that morning and both were starving.
It’s no more than half an hour later that Izuku finds himself sandwiched between his guardians, recently medicated and feeling floaty and blissfully pain-free, leaning heavily into Hizashi’s side while he uncoordinatedly spoons smoothie into his mouth, still a little begrudged that he wasn’t allowed a straw.
There’s a movie playing on the TV, one Izuku is actually familiar with, but to groggy to actually be watching. He’s mostly just trying to not dump smoothie all over himself and his guardians.
Oboro seems interested in the film though, camped out in front of it like a toddler, and Izuku doesn’t even mind watching the head blocking his view—he just snuggles into the warmth that is Shota and Hizashi, barely aware of how his smoothie is stolen from his hands and a blanket is set over his body.
Maybe he'll be embarrassed about this later. Maybe he'll be beside himself— embarrassed at the fact he's drooled on Shota and that he was so increibly clingy. Easily manipulated by the ghost who flashed a disarming smile and prompted him into things he usually wouldn't do, like a tiny devil sat on Izuku's shoulder.
Maybe all that will be true, but all that matters now is that Izuku feels warm, and content, and protected.
It’s nice.