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It was Ochako who noticed it first.
Izuku wasn’t exactly surprised. Out of every student in UA, Ochako, Tenya, and Shouto were probably the ones he rambled mindlessly to the most. He couldn’t help it, once he was given a safe space to float freely, it was constant. He was always on about new ideas, hypothetical quirks, or any recent hero fights thanks to all the news outlets. His mind was constantly thrumming with stimulation.
But as days rolled by, Izuku was starting to notice little things about the conversations that bothered him. The bored hums. The way they’d look away, as if his speels had become background noise. The mindless tapping and fidgeting as they struggled to hold onto the interaction.
And sure, Izuku could get around that. Sometimes people just didn’t feel like hearing him talking, and that was fine.
But the parts he really struggled with were the times he’d accidentally interrupt someone during one of his speeches. Or if he stumbled over someone else’s point as if he’d heard none of it. Or when he’d give input that was completely unrelated to the conversation.
When it became painfully and blatantly obvious that Izuku was horrible at social cues, and he’s never really had friends in the past to experience them with.
The guilt would eat at him for days. Even if it was something so minor, like that one time he interrupted Shouto whilst the boy was pointing out a spill on the floor — again, so small, and insignificant. But to Izuku, it felt like the end of the world.
Because he’s starting to realise just how grating his presence can be.
So within the passing winter weeks, Izuku began to withdraw.
He spoke a little less during lunchtimes, specifically. Where the four friends usually sat together and chatted about mindless things. Ochako kept throwing him strange looks, but Izuku ignored all of them, because he’d be damned if they started worrying about him too.
He found peace in silence. So much so, that it was starting to become a problem.
“Hey- watch it, Deku!” Bakugo would bark at him, as he knocked his shoulder. Izuku had been wandering aimlessly down the hall. He was too occupied in his head, trying to head back to the dorms, and evidently he wasn’t watching he should be moving.
Izuku glanced up at the angry blonde. Bakugo was glaring at him, grabbing something from his locker. And the tension was so thick he could probably cut it.
Kirishima and Kaminari were by Bakugo’s side, idly chatting. They didn’t even notice.
Why should they?
“Well?” Bakugo pressed, and Izuku’s silence only seemed to provoke him. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
Izuku swallowed. He almost had the nerve. He had a spiteful comment loaded on his tongue, but he held back. He felt this sudden strange wave of helplessness.
Because even if he did bite back, what would that prove? He’d just project himself again. He’d be annoying. Nobody wanted to listen to his voice.
He looked away, staring at the floor. “Sorry.”
There was a long pause. Izuku nervously flicked his gaze back up to the other boy, watching him from beneath his bangs.
There was an unreadable expression on Bakugo’s face, that made nervous knots twist in Izuku’s stomach.
He’s never seen Bakugo look at him like that before.
“…Tch,” the blonde said after a while, turning back to his locker. Izuku watched as he slammed it shut, then left.
For the longest moment, he didn’t move. He was staring at the spot Bakugo had been. At his locker. At the marker and remnants of old stickers decorating the metal.
He kept replaying the interaction in his mind. The look on his face.
There was one thing Izuku pulled away from that, and that was his reaction. There was no fight or provocation. He just… dropped it.
Maybe Izuku’s silence did benefit him.
And silent he would be. He pulled away from conversations. He stopped talking to his friends. And he wished he could do that quite effortlessly, but unfortunately, his classmates knew him and very well. They’d try to corner him in the hallways, or blow up his phone with silly questions, and Izuku felt horrible ignoring all of it. He couldn’t help it. He was overwhelmed. There was too much on his mind that he was afraid to share. All of his tangents and stories have turned negative. It was as if his own thoughts were turning against him, and he didn’t know how to shut them out.
He started finding hiding spots to avoid people — because he never thought it would’ve gotten to this point. Anything to be alone for a while. So that he could focus on his thoughts. So he didn’t have to hear the sound of his own voice. So that he could shut everything up for just five minutes at a time.
But he couldn’t keep his wish consistent, because he still had to show up to class. He still had to be a student. He still needed to graduate, to learn more about his quirk, to commune with Toshinori and to function around it all.
He’s been struggling so bad lately. A cog has been thrown into his machine and he didn’t know how to pull it out.
All of this piled on him during class.
It was an exam day. He stared down at his blank paper while everyone else was already writing. Pulling ahead. He glanced around with half lidded eyes and wondered how.
How can they function when everything is going wrong? Because everyone was always going through something. Nobody is happy all the time because that’s just how life is. It’s fun and energising but it’s also cruel and it floors you for fun. Living is the most sadistic experience anybody has to go through.
He pulled at his hair a little, trying to shut that part of his brain up. That made no sense. Why was he being so negative? There was nothing to be negative about.
He picked up his pencil and read the first question. Then he read it again, and again. He processed the words but he had no idea what they meant. He couldn’t seem to piece together his work.
A familiar sense of dread began to brew in his stomach, clawing up his skin and his throat like a parasite. His vision was starting to blur. His hands were shaking. He kept telling himself to read, to answer the question and stop thinking about it, but he couldn’t.
He can’t do this.
Izuku stood up abruptly, his chair scraping the floor behind him. He could feel the looks his classmates were giving him, but he ignored all of them in favour of getting to the door.
Leave the class, he kept telling himself. Leave the thoughts. Leave it all. Leave, leave, leave —
“Izuku-“
“I need to use the bathroom,” Izuku croaked, brushing Aizawa off. Before his throat closed up and he couldn’t speak anymore.
He didn’t hear anything else after that, as he burst out the classroom door.
He couldn’t breathe — why couldn’t he breathe? He’d been fine just moments before! But then his thoughts had to get all negative again. And he just wanted to tear his skin off until he could make it all go away because there was no damn reason he should be upset.
Izuku had no idea where he was going. He was just walking. Just trying to get everything under control.
He will be okay. He just needs control.
Izuku pulled at his hair, stumbling a bit. After a while, he physically couldn’t bring himself to walk anymore. It was so hard to breathe.
He pressed his head against a nearby locker and squeezed his eyes shut. He scratched without thinking. His nails pressed into the skin of his arm, and he scraped across as quickly as possible. Relishing the sting. The shock. It was enough to quiet them for just a moment. It was enough for him to take a deep breath.
A sob made his way past his throat, and he brought a hand up to cover his mouth. This was so pathetic, why was he crying in the school hallway? Was he really so incompetent he couldn’t even make it to a bathroom?
He glanced down at his other arm. His skin was red and angry, hot to touch. He was embarrassed by his own reaction.
Stupid, just stupid.
“Midoriya?”
“Sorry-!” Izuku’s breath hitched, before he registered the voice. He whirled around, catching the flash of purple hair.
Shinsou.
Shinsou was safe, he repeated to himself. He’s safe. There was no reason for him to be scared. But now Shinsou was seeing him like this, and Izuku couldn’t have that. He was strong. He was supposed to be the stronger one, and right now he wasn’t.
He scratched at his arm again, trying to stop the spiral. The pain shooting through him wasn’t enough.
“Midoriya- stop!”
Shinsou gripped his arms, and he jerked, trying to wriggle out of it.
The other boy looked horrified. “What are you doing!?”
Izuku just shook his head, digging his nails in harder. They broke skin. He could feel blood warming his fingertips. “Trying- trying to get it to stop.”
“To get what to stop?” Shinsou sounded so desperate and confused, and Izuku has never heard him like that before.
He really does just have that effect on people, doesn’t he?
“The thoughts,” Izuku whimpered, shrinking back in Shinsou’s hold. “I’m trying to- they won’t stop-“
“Midoriya,” Shinsou interrupted firmly.
Another sob tore from Izuku’s throat. “They won’t-“
There was a beat, and then everything went still.
His mind suddenly went silent.
He was mentally aware of where he was, of what he’s doing. But it hadn’t quite hit him why he was paralysed. And while he felt like he should be panicking, he didn’t. He felt a strange wave of calm.
As if he’d been shoved underwater, except he could breathe down there.
He closed his eyes, just enjoying the silence. It was nice to feel after a while. Nobody was hurting him like this. ‘Nobody’ being his own worst critic. When did he fall so far down?
Then when he opened his eyes again, he was on a couch.
Izuku hurriedly sat up, his gaze flicking around the room. The teacher’s lounge, he concurred. He was so disoriented that he couldn’t remember a thing, until someone cleared their throat beside him. Izuku jumped, his gaze landing on the figure standing before him.
“Shinsou?”
“In the flesh,” Shinsou murmured dryly. He was holding a mug, offering it to Izuku. The other boy took it without question, cradling it to his chest.
It was warm. And when he took a sniff, he registered it as mint tea.
“Thank you,” Izuku murmured quietly, taking a slow sip. It warmed his throat, giving him this pleasant, cooling aftertaste.
Shinsou nodded. For a while, he said nothing, just watching the boy. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets, and shifted. “I apologise for using my quirk on you. I could just tell you were… uh…”
Izuku’s face reddened, watching as Shinsou turned away, looking just as awkward. The guilt that followed was immense.
That he was what? Acting irritational? Sobbing against the lockers and tearing his skin apart?
Izuku looked down, noticing his arm had been bandaged. Neatly done, as if Shinsou were experienced. It made something warm tug in his chest.
“Don’t apologise,” Izuku insisted, looking down at his mug. “I’m sorry. I was having a day.”
“I could tell.” Shinsou chuckled softly, which helped deflate some of the tension. He took a seat next to Izuku.
Izuku shifted a bit, to face him a little better. He glanced up at the other boy with a sense of hesitancy.
“Thank you,” he muttered. “It helped.”
“Hm?” Shinsou gave him a once over, then shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Wanna talk about it?”
Izuku shook his head. Then he paused, and shrugged helplessly.
Did he want to talk about it? No, not really. It was easy when he felt vulnerable and decided he was with a safe person to share it too. But then something would weigh heavily on his chest, and force his words back. Something that made it impossible to just open up and freely speak his mind.
He couldn’t, because there was always so much going on. And it’s getting to the point where hearing the sound of his own voice was driving him up the wall. He hated it.
He just hated everything.
“Okay,” Shinsou simply said, leaning back against the couch. “We don’t have to talk.”
Izuku shifted with discomfort. Now he felt like he had too. Talking was part of his thing, right? He could talk so much that it was difficult to get a handle on it.
Then he’d feel so guilty. And get stuck in this cycle. And he couldn’t pull himself out of it.
“Are you sure?” Izuku asked quietly.
Shinsou raised a brow. He looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Am I sure? Yes, I’m sure, that I won’t pressure you if you don’t want to talk about something.”
Izuku recoiled, the redness in his face creeping down to his neck. The bluntness was definitely needed.
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Shinsou shook his head, but he was smiling. There was a sense of fondness in his eyes.
Izuku took another sip of his tea, then slowly leaned back. He decided he didn’t hate this. It was quiet. It was calm. And he realised with certainty that his thoughts were no longer attacking him.
He took another look around the teacher’s lounge. Then, the question practically burning, he turned back to Shinsou.
“Won’t we get in trouble for being in here?”
“Psh. Nah,” Shinsou assured dryly, waving him off. “Aizawa-sensei lets me hide in here all the time. Sometimes socialising just gets too much.”
“Oh,” Izuku said, because he understood.
Surprisingly, he understood.
“You get me?” Shinsou inquired. He must’ve noticed the look on his face.
“I think so, yeah,” Izuku admitted, looking down at his tea. “I- I mean, I really love talking to my friends. But sometimes I feel like- like they don’t like listening to me all the time.”
“Hm.” Shinsou seemed to genuinely ponder this, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment. “I think that’s just in your head.”
“Maybe.” Izuku subconsciously took another sip of his tea, then added, “but sometimes I get sick of listening to myself too. If that makes sense?”
Shinsou looked back down at him, something unreadable in his eyes. “Not really, no.”
“Well-“ he faltered, looking down. Something about Shinsou’s eyes was oddly intense. “I mean- I feel really bad when I talk a lot. So I don’t. I just know there’s something wrong with my voice. But for some reason, when I stop talking, I get overwhelmed with these… horrible thoughts.”
“That’s overthinking,” Shinsou said bluntly. “You’re overthinking.”
“But I-“
“Midoriya.” Shinsou’s tone was serious now. “Look at me.”
Izuku turned to face him. He swallowed the lump he hadn’t even realised was forming in his throat. The look in Shinsou’s eyes seemed so sincere. Serious. Izuku felt compelled to believe every word.
“There’s nothing wrong with your voice,” he said, his words carefully chosen. “You’re not annoying anyone with your presence. You’re not a burden.”
Izuku’s vision blurred. He was really counting on not crying, again, but he couldn’t help it. He wiped a stray tear before it could escape, struggling to keep eye contact.
“Are you hearing me?” Shinsou placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not, so stop convincing yourself that you are. Stop telling yourself that it’s better to shut everyone away, because it’s not.”
Izuku nodded. Another tear escaped, and then another — before he knew it, it was an avalanche.
He distantly registered Shinsou, gently taking his mug from his hand, setting it down on the coffee table. And then an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Izuku melted into the touch, burying his face in Shinsou’s shoulder and leaning in the warmth. He held onto him like a lifeline, and Shinsou didn’t pull away once. He held him until Izuku’s sobs turned into sniffles. Until he stopped shaking.
Izuku loosened his hold, but he didn’t pull away yet. Instead he spoke, his voice quiet. “That’s all- that’s all I wanted to hear.”
There was silence. For a moment, Izuku was wondering if Shinsou even heard him. But then there was a shift, and the hand on his back rubbed a small circle there. “Then maybe it’s your sign to start believing it.”
Izuku gave a watery chuckle. He finally pulled back after a while, wiping his eyes, his nose. He cringed at the spot on Shinsou’s shoulder that he stained with his tears, but the other boy didn’t even comment on it.
He leaned back, looking away for a moment. His eyes were heavy. Tired. They burned a little, like they usually did after a good cry. And his nose was all stuffed up now, which he hated.
He hated crying. But he knew it was a necessary evil.
“How are you feeling now?” Shinsou asked. “Thoughts still bugging you?”
“No,” Izuku murmured, wiping his eyes again. And for once, it was the truth. “Just icky now.”
Shinsou snorted, moving back a little. “Good. I would’ve used brainwashing on you again.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Izuku teased, tilting his head after the boy. “You’re too nice.”
“Wouldn’t using my quirk qualify as being nice?”
“I think forcing people to stop thinking is- well…” Izuku paused, his eyes widening slightly. “Ah, wait! Maybe-“
“Okay, stop,” Shinsou said.
Izuku was ready to ramble with apologies, but to his surprise, Shinsou was laughing. “What- what’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Shinsou smiled, meeting Izuku’s eyes. There was a gleam there. It was so intense that Izuku couldn’t help reciprocating it.
“Did I say something funny?”
“No. It’s just your face.”
“What’s my face!?”