Work Text:
Sometimes, when Hitoshi’s alone, he remembers.
Against his will, the memories swell, pushing against walls that have been carefully constructed over sixteen years, threatening to overflow and overwhelm.
For all that therapy, he’s still nearly helpless against the tidal wave of trauma.
A phantom muzzle digging into his face. Thorns tearing their way through his larynx. Words cutting like knives into an unprotected, unformed shell of defense.
Gentle hands and a steady presence from behind.
Izuku holds him through his heaving sobs, rubs his back as he relearns how to breathe.
Hitoshi isn’t alone, not anymore.
Izuku is here. Always.