Chapter Text
Again.
Go take a swan dive off the roof of the building!
Again.
Deku. It must mean someone who’s completely and utterly useless..
And again.
I told you to stop following me around.
Izuku jolts up, cascades of hair stick to his forehead and his body is convulsing in the wake of the dream. He shifts uncomfortably within sheets. When they weren’t in his room, they were at school. And when they weren’t at school, the shadow of them was lurking in his room, discreetly planting the seeds of self hatred into his impressionable teenage mind.
He swallows.
His muscles ache and his head pounds like a bitch. Izuku slowly takes a wary hand to his face to shake the loose strands of hair and wipe the single tear that had begun to pool in his left eye. Looking around for a bit, Izuku comes back to his senses. He’s in his room. Safe. He lets out a wobbly breath before sticking a leg out of bed. The second one follows mere moments later and his feet slip into All Might slippers. At least there was something worth living for.
It had been getting hotter in Japan recently – it was already September which meant Izuku had three months until his middle school graduation.
It had come around quicker than anticipated, really.
Not that Izuku was complaining. It had been hell, as if God had cultivated middle school for Izuku personally for a mistake that he had made in his previous life.
His classmates treated Izuku like dirt. Most kids just ignored him, but the others well…
Izuku wishes that they would just pretend he wasn’t there - like the rest. But that isn’t enough for some kids… they want to see you hurt. They get off on seeing you wince in pain and wipe the tears from your eyes melodramatically.
They wait until you stop resisting, or better, start getting off at your own pain. Until you start agreeing with their ritualistic forms of torture.
And their plan worked. Not being in a constant state of discomfort soon became agonising for Izuku. He couldn’t sit still if there wasn’t a burn or a bruise grounding him. He knew it was wrong, he knew deep down that he didn’t deserve it. That it wasn’t his fault for being quirkless, and that he’s still normal, and as capable of being a hero as anyone else.
But convincing yourself for so long that you're okay when you haven't been okay and repeating it in front of a mirror is the exact denial of your own suffering, it’s not easy. It's a rhythmic, relentless pulse – a phantom limb of anxiety that crawls into the insides of your ribs, telling you it’s not worth it. A fault that no amount of hiding can get rid of.
You deserve this, damn Deku.
He really hadn’t meant to. He didn’t want to do that to himself. Or his mom.
He didn’t want to think about what Kacchan or his friends would say if they found out.
He didn't want to know. Not when it was finally his last year of middle school. He just wants to go, quietly. Izuku doesn’t want to hurt his mom, nor does he want to make anyone feel responsible for it. This shit was on his own accord, for nobody else to know.
He grabs the frame of his bed while getting up, still weakened from the burn Katsuki gave Izuku earlier in the week… it’s not my fault, he told himself.
Izuku creeps towards the bathroom, toes making contact with the flush of the wooden tiles, sending cool air up his ankles, rattling his entire body. He walks past his mother’s room before pausing and turning back.
The door creaks softly as Izuku pulls the handle down and pushes the frame. Peering into her room, the freckled boy is welcomed by his mother’s snores , bringing a smile on his lips. He closes the door quickly before going back on his tracks to the bathroom.
He squints at the sheer intensity of light entering his eyes at such a late hour.
It’s okay. It’s been worse.
The cool porcelain of the bathroom tiles prick his feet with an icy touch. He looks away from the mirror, but he can feel the itch beneath the cotton.
Izuku keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, tracing the grout lines between the tiles, afraid to look up at his reflection. This was just the heat of another September getting the better of him.
He couldn’t tell where or when it went wrong with Katsuki. They had been friends at some point.
Maybe it was the day his mom told Auntie Mitsuki that Izuku was quirkless, but Izuku was certain they had stayed friends even after that. Sure, Katsuki was rude and made jokes about him, but Katsuki had never by definition been a bully.
So what changed? Was it Izuku? Had he done something?
Because Katsuki didn’t care about girls, or going to parties, or being popular – those were all small things for small people. Katsuki was better than that. Katsuki wanted to win.
Izuku was sure he hadn’t started to poke fun at Izuku to gain a higher social status. If anything, Katsuki was more popular before he started bullying Izuku. It must’ve been something he’d done and Katsuki was too avoidant to confront the issue, so he just stopped talking to Izuku all together one day.
But the actual bullying had started after their first semester at middle school. They hadn’t been friends for a long time, but it was nothing more than nasty faces and Deku, if you don’t shut the fuck up’s.
Izuku knew he hadn’t really done anything, intentional or not, to deserve this.
Izuku's fingers hook into the collar of his shirt, pulling the fabric taught. He curses himself for the familiarity of it all, a sickening comfort blooming in his chest – the only thing in his life that truly belongs to him.
Why was he even thinking about this now? It wasn’t like Katsuki even had a second thought when it came to him. He didn’t care – he hadn’t in a long time. So why did it bother Izuku so much more than it bothered Katsuki?
It wasn’t likely that he’d ever see him after graduation. Sure, Izuku talked a big game about UA, but he wasn’t stupid. No one had gotten in without a quirk before and it was unlikely that he was going to be the first.
He feels like a traitor looking back at the bathroom door. Every time he gives in, he’s lying to his mother's face without saying a word. His fingers wander back to his nape, then over his chest.
“I’ve got 84 days,” His voice is hoarse, “if i just stay quiet and listen for 84 days, it’ll all be over. I’ll go to a different high school. I’ll be able to start fresh, even make some friends. I’ll be okay.”
Izuku smiles faintly at this thought, looking up again at himself in the mirror, grabbing the edges of the sink – starting over. He runs the tap and splashes his face with water.
You’ll never be a hero without a quirk!
Wow… you really are pathetic.
You’re even more dense than I fucking thought, Deku.
He grimaced, “I’ll get into UA. I’ll show them I’m not helpless. I’ve got 84 days.” Izuku leans in closer, breath fogging up the glass,” Look at yourself. It’s not that long Izuku. It’s only 84 days.”
The bathroom seems to tilt and the walls feel as if they’re closing in on him. He didn’t break eye contact with his reflection however.
He had to stay strong.
He could map out the bruises left by the other boys, there was a reason they hated Deku. But for Katsuki, he couldn’t find a start date for the hatred, there was no telling what went wrong.
Katsuki wasn’t like that around the others, so what was different about Izuku?
“It’s okay to be scared, but you can’t let Kacchan get the best of you.”
Truthfully, the words don’t relieve Izuku. They just float in the air, neutrality coating the irregular pace of his heartbeat. He’d just have to wait.
He turns off the light and walks down the hall, the callouses of his feet protected by his slippers. Izuku stops by his mother’s door again, peering his head in.
He shouldn’t wake her so late at night, but he can’t help it. Izuku needs a form of connection. One thing to hold him together.
“Mom?” his voice croaks, begging for a childlike comfort from his mom.
Inko stirs, heavy eyelids adjusting to the light. She gets up, blinking at the dark silhouette at her doorway, “Baby? Are you alright? Did you have another dream?”
He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t see the point.
Looking back at his mother, he stands there idly. Inko lifts the edge of her duvet before patting on it softly, inviting her son.
Izuku walks over to the warmth of her bed, curling up into a ball and facing away from his mom.
“I’m okay.” He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Alright.” Inko yawns, “Wake me up if you need me.”
“Night, mom.”