Chapter Text
1. Cherry Blossoms
𓅇𓃹
The sky over Musutafu has already begun to dim as Izuku flips over the last paper on his desk and lowers his pen with a sigh. Overall, his students had done relatively well on their first exam, but there were definitely a few he would have to talk to on Monday about tutoring and potential assignments to give for extra credit. Maybe an essay on one of the early heroes they've been learning about in class? Or a make up quiz? Izuku rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before dragging them down his cheeks, he really doesn't have time to work on this right now despite how much he wants to. He's already spent too much time looking over the exams, like the answers might change if he keeps staring at the pages, but really he's just stalling. Realistically, he could have been done with this and out the door an hour ago but he can't seem to stop dawdling and getting pulled back into his work. Letting his mind wander and his hands sit idle is dangerous right now.
Don't be so selfish, Izuku scolds himself for moping and dragging his feet. Today is hard for a lot of people, not just you.
There's no point in delaying the inevitable any more than he already has, so with an almost forced motion, Izuku pushes his chair away from the desk and rises to his feet. He takes a moment to look over his desk and gather anything he might need for the weekend, scarred hands reaching for his laptop and placing the graded tests and a few additional papers into a folder first so they don't get wrinkled. He even remembers to toss his dirty travel mug into his backpack and grab his gym bag out of the storage room on his way out. The only sound in the darkening hallways is Izuku's shoes tapping off of the tile floors as he makes his way towards the exit, all of the other teachers and students having already left for the weekend hours ago. As soon as he is left in the silence with no task at hand, he digs through the gym bag slung over his shoulder until he can feel the smooth surface of his headphones under his fingertips. He wastes no time slipping them over his ears and immediately hitting shuffle on the first playlist that pops up, not caring what plays but needing the noise. Upbeat instrumental music plays through the orange speakers and carries him to the train station, successfully keeping his heart rate even despite his growing anxiety. He allows his mind to drift off on the rhythm as he stares out the window, the city flashing by in a blur of color and lights as he passes by. Unfortunately, the music isn't enough to keep the dread from clawing it's way to the surface as he nears his stop.
"Welcome home, Izuku!", his mom greets him at the door, beaming smile pulling at her lips, "please, please come in — I've missed you so much!"
Before he can even say hello, she is pulling him into a bear hug. Allowing himself a moment to just be mom and son, he hugs her back tightly, leaning into her comforting and calming embrace just like he did as a child. Izuku loosens his grip and pulls away a few moments later knowing that his collected and seemingly okay facade would crack if he stayed in her arms any longer. He's worried her enough to last several lifetimes, there's no need to keep adding to it by having a breakdown in her entryway.
"I missed you too, Mom," Izuku replies cheerfully. He drops his bags by the door before stepping farther into the house, emerald eyes scanning over the framed photos on the walls and landing on the same one they always do. The picture was from a camping trip they had gone on with the Bakugo's when he was little, some small patch of woods maybe an hour or so out of town, but he remembers it vaguely. The picture was of him and Katsuki standing next to a lake that had been at the campground, holding the fish that they had just caught. Both of their cheeks were red from being in the sun all day and their clothes were damp from playing in the water, each wearing a smile that scrunched up their nose and swallowed up the bottom half of their faces. His eyes were closed, but Katsuki's were open a sliver — carmine gaze looking over at him. They both looked so happy. Izuku snaps his eyes away from the picture and back to his mom, pulling his lips into a thin, apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry I haven't come to visit in a while. Things have just been hectic lately with school starting back up earlier this month," Izuku adds. "I've been taking on more missions lately, too. There's been an influx of calls and reports coming in so I've been asked to help out more often."
Concern flashes across Inko's face and she tilts her head slightly, "do you want to talk about anything? I know you can't tell me about some stuff, but I'll always lend an ear where I can."
"Everything is fine. Just a bit tired is all, but it's good for me to keep busy." Izuku smiles as genuinely as he can and makes his way towards the kitchen. "Plus my apartment sucks, I hate being there when I don't have to be."
This manages to pull a small laugh from Inko as she follows behind him. "You've been talking about how much you hate that place for two years now, why not move? Personally, I don't understand why you dislike it so much. I think your place is lovely."
"It's too much space for me and my lack of furniture," Izuku replies. "It is nice, but I don't know, it feels…empty?"
"You could always just buy furniture you know, you've been living there since you got your teaching degree. Set up a home office or get some exercise equipment, it doesn't matter what you do with the space—but you should at least like your home."
"I know," Izuku relents, "I'll figure something out. Honestly having a more organized space than my coffee table for doing work at home would be nice, it'll probably save my back some aching to not sit on the floor so much, too." Izuku pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie and claps his hands together once their both standing in the kitchen. "Alright, enough about me. Tell me what I can do to help with dinner and catch me up on how you have been doing."
They spend the next half hour or so chatting and finishing preparing dinner together, cooking their soft smiles into the food and enjoying the eighties music filling up the room from Izuku's phone. Just as they were finishing up and washing some of the dishes, a knock at the door pulls Inko away. She places her hand on Izuku's upper arm and gives it a comforting squeeze as she passes by, locking eyes with him briefly to speak to him without words. All he can manage is a tight-lipped attempt at a smile. Izuku's heart is beating in his throat and his stomach has tied itself into knots, the breathing exercises his old therapist showed him doing absolute jack-shit to calm his nerves. He can't decide if he should keep washing dishes to stay busy or stop to try and straighten himself out and fix his hair.
Too late.
"So they don't have you chained to your desk at work," he hears from behind him and turns, "where the hell have you been, kid?? I thought our family dinners were supposed to be every other weekend, we haven't seen you in almost two months!"
The words may be harsh, but as always, are spoken from a place of love and familiarity with a bright smile. Mitsuki Bakugo is as abrasive as ever, but Izuku knows that she is a teddy bear of a person underneath the prickly shell. Katsuki reminded him of her so much it was scary, in personality and looks. Both with the same ashen blond hair and eyes as red as poppies, Izuku could only describe them as intense and impossible to take your eyes off of with a fiery personality to match. Katsuki and Mitsuki both demanded the full and undivided attention of any room they walked into, all eyes almost instinctively gravitating towards them. Even now in her mid forties, Mitsuki was unnaturally youthful, the same way Izuku has always remembered her. Unfortunately, you can see the years she has lived in her eyes. Izuku can see as she approaches to give him his second rib-crushing-mom-hug of the evening with a glowing smile etched onto her face that her gaze is clouded and distant, dark circles that no amount of rest or sleep could fix are painted under her eyes as permanent shadows. Izuku lets out a small huff when she snakes her arms around his chest and squeezes a bit too tight, but returns the gesture gladly, she needs this comfort even more than he does today. Her spiky hair smells like vanilla shampoo and tickles his nose as she holds onto him for several minutes before stepping back with tears already accumulating on her lower lash line.
"Don't worry, my mom has already sufficiently scolded me for missing dinners and being around recently," Izuku says with hands raised as if in surrender and a smirk. "But I am sorry for not being around very much, things have been nuts with school having just started back up for the semester. Now that we're a few weeks in though, it's finally calming down so I'll have more free time and you guys will be stuck having dinner with me more often. You'll be sick of me soon enough."
"We could never get sick of you," Mitsuki emphasizes, pinching his cheek lightly with one hand as she steps towards the dining room. "Hurry up and bring some bowls in, I'm starving."
Izuku can't help but smile as they all sit together and eat. He attentively follows their conversations about work, their friends, and neighborhood gossip, asking questions and laughing with them. Mitsuki was curious about how his hero work had been going since they last spoke and he talks about the current case he's working on as much as he's able to. His mom is more interested in how his new students are behaving and what kind of quirks they have. The conversation stays pleasant and mostly lighthearted as they work through their meals slowly, no one daring to allow a pause for the silence to slip in. Izuku finishes his katsudon first and shamelessly goes back for seconds considering there's enough food here to last a week and he doesn't know what to do with his hands otherwise.
"Oh! I forgot to ask, how has Ochako been doing? I know when we last spoke she was talking about plans for opening her own agency," asks Mitsuki.
"She's great! Still quite a ways off for right now, but she's absolutely making plans to open her own spot as soon as she can. She's working for another agency right now to save up for a while and get some more experience as a pro first."
"And how are the two of you doing? You've been together a few months by now, yeah?", she follows up teasingly with a raised brow.
Izuku can feel his cheeks heat up under her curious red gaze and scratches at the nape of his neck nervously. "W-we're good! She's really great," he stammers out. "We've only been seeing each other for about four months so things are still new and we're taking our time, but she's wonderful."
"That's fantastic news, Izuku," adds Inko, "I had been meaning to ask, too. I saw a few tabloid covers and articles online about you two being seen out on dates."
"I'm happy to hear that," Mitsuki is smiling, but her voice falls off slightly, "you deserve to be happy after everything life has thrown at you."
Izuku shifts uncomfortably with the attention being on him and his relationship and pivots the conversation back to Mitsuki's work, inquiring about what designs she's currently working on. It works like a charm and the chatting goes back to mostly her and his mom, allowing him to just follow their banter like a tennis match as they finish up their dinner. Izuku offers to clear the table and pack up some leftovers for Mitsuki to take home. Before he can stand however, his mom gently grabs onto his arm, hesitation momentarily flashing across her features before she speaks . "Do you mind bringing in the cake when you're done? It's in the refrigerator, I was going to make some tea for us."
Izuku's blood turns to ice as the light-hearted atmosphere in the room immediately turns sour. This part of the night never gets easier. His shoulders become rigid and he tries to force a smile but the corners of his mouth refuse to raise despite his efforts. Mitsuki's eyes dart down to the table already damp and her posture stiffens in his periphery, hands folded in front of herself and fingers tugging at her cuticles. Releasing a shaky breath slowly, he nods and pads over to the kitchen. This is the part he has been dreading. When everyone is done with dinner and all of the pleasant small talk has been discussed, the shadows crawl froward demand to be seen and heard. The silence makes the monster in the room that they have all chosen to ignore stomp it's feet until the house shakes and the foundation cracks. Izuku doesn't take too long to do the dishes, though he would rather stay here until his hands prune and rip open than look at the cake sitting in the refrigerator. With a sigh, he turns off the tap and runs a towel over his trembling hands before stepping across the kitchen. He rests his fingers on the handle of the fridge for a moment and takes a deep breath before peeking inside. It sits on the center shelf on top of a white plate with a floral design around the edge, homemade of course, his mom had probably spent all morning working on this to keep herself busy. Izuku and her were similar in that way; both always wanting to make others smile with the added benefit of it keeping their own mind and hands occupied.
The cake is small in his hands, only big enough to be cut into four slices and a few inches in height. He takes a second to dig through his moms junk-drawer in search of a candle, finding a small yellow one to place in the center once Mitsuki has gotten to see it. The cool ceramic surface against his fingertips grounds him in the moment and pushes his collapsing frame back into the dining room. No sense standing in place and letting the icing melt, it won't change anything. Won't make any of this less devastating.
Mitsuki and his mom are both seated at the table, steam rising from their untouched cups of tea on it's wooden surface. His mom has her hands wrapped around her friends comfortingly as Izuku walks in, both glancing up at him with their lips pulled into tight-lined, disingenuous smiles as they try to drop some of the heartache in their faces for his sake. Izuku carefully places the orange-frosted cake onto the table between all of them and sits down on the other side of Mitsuki, ignoring the stinging already prickling at the backs of his eyes. No one says anything for a minute and the silence in Izuku's ears begins to ring, the only sounds in the room aside from that is shaky breaths and long exhales. Izuku leans forward and places the candle he found in the middle of the cake, making sure to avoid any of the words written across the top. Shamefully in front of his mother and Mitsuki, he pulls his own lighter from his pocket and flicks it to life. Using his palm to protect the flame, he holds the wick in its path until it catches, wax begins to drip down the sides in droplets as soon as the candle is lit. All eyes on the neatly written calligraphy across the surface in red icing. Izuku doesn't mention that he thinks it looks like it's written in blood under the dim, shadowy lighting of the candle.
Happy Birthday, Katsuki
The silent bubble in the room is popped. Low, guttural weeps pierce Izuku's ears — raw and almost anomalistic sounds of despair fly unrestricted past Misuki's lips. It's the kind of sob that can't be avoided or hidden from, only faced head on and endured until your body exhausts itself. All Izuku can think to do even after all of this time is extend his hand across the table and rest it on top of hers and his mothers. Pathetically trying to bring her comfort, he felt like he was offering a band-aid to someone who just had their chest hallowed out by a shotgun. Hearing Mitsuki cry shreds the last thread of composure Izuku had been clinging to all day and his own wounds begin to tear open and weep onto the floor. His chest and throat grow impossibly tight as his upper body heaves with each breath, frantically trying to keep his own sobs at bay. But the desperate, horrible cries filling his ears push him off the deep end. A childless mother weeping for her lost son, the sound is uniquely horrible and pulls at his heart strings like they're a violin composed of his flesh and bones. The stinging behind his eyes morphs into ugly, wet sobs— tears carve hot paths down his cheeks and drip off of his chin messily. Inko is in no better condition as she cries and holds on too tight to Izuku's hand. Grief and unanswered questions overwhelm the room, choking them while the wax from the candle melts onto the cake.
Once the initial wave of crying has subsided a bit and they have all managed to catch their breath a minute or two later, Mitsuki leans forwards without letting go of their hands and blows out the candle. Izuku stares at the thin trail of smoke floating upwards in the dim room until it disappears into the ceiling tiles. He thinks he knows what she wished for, but he can't ask her to say or it won't come true. When he drops his bloodshot gaze back down, he can't help but trace over the words with tear-blurry eyes, wishing himself that things were different— that he hadn't been so goddamn useless.
If only he had been faster, fought harder, thought farther ahead, pulled the warp gate back open with his bare hands and reached through to drag Katsuki back. Izuku has spent the last seven years choking on his guilt and trying to swallow it down in order to function but days like today it claws its way up his throat, sharp talons leaving him bloodied.
Kacchan would be — is twenty three today.
Izuku refuses to believe he's dead.
Kacchan can't be dead.
He can't explain it without sounding bat-shit, but he knows that Katsuki is still alive. If Kacchan was no longer living and breathing on this Earth, his heart would know that the better half of it had stopped beating. The sun would vanish from the sky and the world would stand still on it's axis if a soul like Kacchan's was extinguished, a person who burned so brightly in life wouldn't fade quietly into death, especially not without Izuku feeling it on an atomic level. He was alive and Izuku was certain of it. They just had to keep looking, he had to try harder. Every year on his birthday he tells himself it'll be the last one without him, and every year he fails— but he can't give up hope that someday he will find Kacchan and bring him home.
Everyone else already has. If Izuku stops looking, no one else will be searching for him.
Katsuki's files sit in a box collecting dust in the precincts evidence locker, untouched for many years at this point and handed off to the cold case unit about five years ago. Izuku has a copy of everything from the case at his apartment, obviously, but there isn't much. Nothing that indicates where the League of Villains had taken him, they already knew who had him so any prints or DNA obtained weren't very useful— the only other blood at the scene was Katsuki's, and a lot of it. Izuku feels sick to his stomach whenever his brain runs with what they could have possibly done to him before they arrived at the Kamino Ward. But none of the evidence was especially useful, and he would know considering he could probably recite the documents from memory at this point. Hours upon hours of the last seven years have been spent with his eyes scanning the case files over and over and over again. Maybe he had missed something, maybe a line he read two weeks ago would take on new meaning at three in the morning and finally make sense, clicking everything into place. But he wouldn't know unless he kept looking — with or without anyone's help. The police had stopped searching a long time ago, saying they would keep him updated if any leads came in but that they couldn't keep dedicating time and resources to actively searching. No evidence, no leads, no one has seen Katsuki in seven years or reported a quirk similar enough to his being used that wasn't a dead end. Izuku understood why his case was declared cold, and the detectives were just doing their jobs so they could keep searching for others who needed help, but it still made him angry. He refuses to stop looking for him, Izuku doesn't give a single shit that the detectives and other heroes have given up. Fuck what they have to say about him still having hope. He understands why they have all moved on and want him to do the same, Katsuki's abduction was horrific for everyone involved and they all wanted to stop hurting. They have all suffered to some degree, from students to teachers to families, even UA as an establishment took a pretty big hit. But eventually, they all stopped searching as more time passed with zero leads to follow and had even begun to implore him to do the same about two years after Katsuki disappeared, saying they were worried about him becoming too fixated.
They just didn't understand.
No one else sits with Katsuki's mother every April 20th and holds her hand while she weeps over her sons birthday cake and blows out the candle for him. No one else had been Kacchan's friend for as long as he has either, or been as close as the two of them were, at least that's what he likes to think. Izuku had also been the closest to reaching him the moment before the warp gate shut, he had seen the spiral encircle the red of his eye the moment before it closed— taking Kacchan away from him indefinitely. But it doesn't matter. Sitting with Mitsuki and his mother celebrating another one of Katsuki's birthday's without him only steels his resolve as much as it shatters his heart again.
He is unsure how long he has been zoning out, lost in though with emerald eyes locked onto the cake, but his tears have run dry and his throat feels raw and scratchy. Izuku wants to say it, but the words are having difficulty forming on his tongue. Taking a moment to breathe through the new pang of tightness tugging at his chest, he releases a shaky exhale through pursed lips.
"Happy Birthday, Kacchan," his voice barely above a whisper. Both Mitsuki and his mother move their hands to clasp over his instead, the comfort only makes his skin crawl with shame. He was supposed to be a hero and he couldn't even save his friend when he needed him most, Katsuki's mother of all people providing him with comfort is nauseating. The skin under her touch burns, only further branding his insides with self hatred. His own voice floods his mind with relentless thoughts; you could have prevented this, if you hadn't been so useless and pathetic Katsuki would be here with you right now. Thankfully, neither of them say anything and a second wave of silent tears race down his face and slide off of his cheeks.
Izuku doesn't remember the train ride back to his neighborhood or walking home from the station, his legs running on autopilot and carrying his lifeless body back to his apartment. Unsteady hands fumble with his house keys until he manages to find the lock and slide the door open before stepping into his dark apartment. Exhaustion tries to pull him down by the ankles as he lazily kicks off his shoes and kicks them towards the wall, not caring about the scuff marks he keeps adding to the beige paint. The real breakdown starts while standing in his entryway, jacket still on and the extra piece of cake inside of the glass tupperware in his hands. It begins with a wobble in his lower lip and aching coming to life again in his already sore throat. Suddenly, the container seems to weigh half a ton and it takes all of Izuku's strength to place it on the table beside the front door.
It's been seven years…is finding him even still possible? Where else is there to even look? What other leads could possibly be followed? What else is left to be done in this situation?
Having the thought makes his stomach twist, bending him at the waist and threatening to send the contents of his stomach back up his throat. He knows thinking this way is counterproductive and makes him just as bad as everyone else who has already given up on Katsuki, but he can't help but feel despondent sometimes. Especially on hard days like today when he can do nothing to stop the flow of memories, grief, and self-hatred from taking turns ripping him apart. It always strikes him like a shock to the system, the overwhelming, crushing dread that he won't ever see Kacchan again or receive any closure takes his breath away and hollows out his chest with razor-sharp claws. Tears are streaming down his cheeks again, leaking from his already puffy eyes in almost continuous droplets, he's lost count of how many times he's cried today. However, in the quiet privacy of his bare home, he lets himself feel everything and collapse inwards without trying to restrain his grief. Sharp, pained whines and gasps are echoing from his chest followed by jagged inhales, his lungs desperate for air and relief. Izuku raises a hand to grip at the fabric of his shirt that rests over his heart, the other finds the surface of the door behind him to support his folding frame before sliding down to the floor with a soft thud. Sob after sob rack through his body as his mind bombards him with images from the training camp, still playing in high definition despite having happened almost a decade ago. The angry, confused expression on Katsuki's face right before the gate closed and the fear that flashed across his eyes in the last second. How Dabi's hand wrapped almost fully around his neck, fingers twitching, threatening to melt his flesh at any wrong movement. Katsuki's voice calling out to him in those last seconds, his tone even and commanding despite the situation: "stay back, Deku." Then the swirling purple miasma of the warp closed, the last words he would hear from Kacchan were brutally cut off and followed by the deafening sounds of the crackling forest burning around them. The silence is interrupted by a horrible scream filling the clearing, it always takes him a second to realize the wounded sound is coming from his own mouth. This particular memory loops in his mind frequently, but when things get bad he can't shake them off as easily, if at all. His grief holds him down and forces the painful memories into his eyes, there's nothing he can do except allow it to run its course. His mistakes suffocate him, but he deserves it. He should ache and hurt for his failures, he's caused more than than he could ever atone for.
How was he ever supposed to call himself a hero? Katsuki had been right there and still slipped through his grasp — he was, and still is, completely fucking useless.
He draws his knees up towards his chest and runs tingling fingertips through his hair as pained sounds fly past his lips. Uncontrollable whines and whimpers fill the otherwise silent room while the wounded animal in his ribcage thrashes violently. It cries out in agony, not understanding why such an unbearable pain has no end or remedy in sight. The scarred fingers threaded through his unruly green strands tighten at the root, to make him feel something, anything, even if it only lasts for a second.
It isn't fair.
It's not fucking fair.
Everything about this was wrong. It's all fucked up beyond words and Izuku hates it. No matter what he does or how hard he tries, nothing changes. The need and desperation for answers is driving him insane, chipping away at his already fragile psyche a little more by the second. He doesn't know how long he has before there's nothing left, or what will happen when that day eventually comes.
The sobbing gradually de-escalates to a mumbling, blubbering snivel as his body runs out of steam. He doesn't feel any better— this type of crying is never cathartic. It's just…painful. This wasn't crying to release pent up feelings, this was pain leaving the body violently and without control, demanding to be uncaged and felt fully. No relief comes, but Izuku is simply too exhausted and worn down to stay upright any longer. Still sniffling, he uses the door pressed against his back to help push himself up onto unsteady legs, bad knee popping as he stands.
Izuku drags himself through the apartment towards his bedroom in a daze, not bothering to turn on any of the lights. Once inside, he strips himself down to his boxers and crawls into bed, deciding it's fine to add one more pile of clothes to his floor before cleaning this weekend. Not caring that it's gross and that he really should just get up and do it, he forgoes brushing his teeth or taking a shower. The plush surface of his bed is holding him captive and whispering sweet promises of sleep into his ears, he's powerless to refuse. The cool, soft cotton of his bedding caresses his skin as he tries to close his eyes and quiet his mind. Unfortunately, Izuku's brain was not yet done cycling through the myriad of horrible thoughts storming in his skull.
Katsuki should be here. Interning with Best Jeanist or whoever else he might have wanted to work with, he would have had dozens of offers waiting for him as soon as he graduated from UA. Anyone would have been lucky to work with Katsuki as he debuted as a Pro. He should be planning to open his own agency right now like he had always wanted, at this point Katsuki would probably already have the property picked out and the layout of the building finalized. Izuku would have loved to see how passionate he would have been during the beginning of his career. He will get to see it someday — no matter what he has to do, how long it takes, or how much he has to sacrifice, Izuku would bring Katsuki home so they could chase that dream together again.
Izuku rolls onto his side and reaches over to his nightstand in the dark, blindly rooting around in the drawer until his fingertips find the smooth plastic bottle he keeps pushed into the back for Bad Days. The paper label is torn at the edges and worn soft, he can't see but he knows his name is printed on the front alongside the dosage instructions that he ignores in faded ink. A doctor started him on these three years ago, Izuku hated them from the start but stayed on them for a year to try making everyone happy and to make an effort to show he was trying to take care of himself. But he couldn't take feeling like a zombie constantly anymore. The pills had a strong sedative effect that left him perpetually dazed and exhausted every day, even after practically slipping into a twelve to fourteen hour coma each night. No matter how much he slept, he was still tired. He wasn't as depressed and he was sleeping, but he didn't feel like himself anymore. The motivation he had to search for Katsuki was snuffed out alongside his will to put in extra effort at either of his jobs, he was just doing what he needed to do. Each day was the same as the last. He functioned like a well oiled machine; deadlines were all met punctually, he was in the gym three days a week at least, did on-call hero work over the weekends or busy days, met with his mom and friends multiple times per month, but it was hollow. Izuku was doing everything right, being applauded for his strength and perseverance while choking down bile and lying through his teeth to keep everyone convinced. Lie. Lie. Lie. His mind existed in a vacuum devoid of any thoughts of feelings, he wasn't manic or too catatonic to get out of bed anymore, but reality felt like sand slipping through his fingers— he simply felt nothing. No tears came, the nightmares subsided, and he could get out of bed, but he wasn't really happy either, just…alive. Days blended into weeks then eventually months, the to-do lists completed and all the boxes checked for Izuku to be the hero and teacher he wanted to be, but it wasn't really him. All of it was fake. His existence was an intricate mask composed of antipsychotics and forced smiles with a voice from his mouth saying he was fine and managing well, that he had finally set himself straight and jammed all the mismatched pieces of himself back together.
But what was the point of being alive if he felt like a stranger to himself? If it wasn't him behind the wheel of his own choices, there was no reason to continue. It wouldn't be real.
So he stopped taking them but still had a month or two supply left over that he kept stashed next to his bed for moments like this when he was desperate for sleep. One small, white pill as an emergency knock-out when he couldn't make his brain stop trashing and screaming. With clumsy hands, he twists the bottle open and shakes out a single pill, popping it into his mouth and swallowing it down dry. Izuku thinks to grab his phone while he waits for the drowsiness to take effect but decides against it as he pulls the comforter over himself. It's been buried in his backpack on silent since lunch, only taken out to play music on his train ride after work but the messages were left unopened, fifteen last he saw. Some absolutely from his mom asking where he was, probably a few from his friends, All Might usually reached out to him on Kacchan's birthday, too. Definitely at least a handful from Ochako as well, he hasn't spoken to her since this morning during his first break between classes.
Asshole.
Izuku rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and exhales a sigh, he knows people reach out today to be kind and he should be polite enough to at least respond, but his body weighs ten tons and the thought of having to face it right now is too much. Izuku reaches back over to the nightstand and flicks on the bedside lamp, the canvas shade casting a dim, warm light across the bedroom as he reaches for a book to keep himself occupied until the Bad Day pill pulls him under. A fantasy world of elves and magic unfolds on the pages before him, something lighthearted about a group of adventurers traveling together to save their villages. The words start to lose there meaning shortly after as his eyes struggle to stay open. Izuku drifts off thinking about how the main character is going to get through the forest without his friends to help him this time.
𓃹
Monday sneaks up on him again, somehow always catching him off guard and unprepared for the week ahead. Katsuki's birthday had thrown him out of his normal routine for the weekend and left him practically bedridden until the late afternoon the following day, the Bad Day pills didn't help him wake up either. Saturday evening after pulling himself out of the fog and all day Sunday had been spent taping himself and his life back together. His apartment was clean, for the most part, all of the texts he had been dodging responded to with an apology attached, makeup work for his students figured out, and he had even sent flowers to Ochako's apartment for being so out of sorts and distant all weekend. Caught back up and already behind again as a new stack of papers to grade have accumulated on his desk and new emails pile up in his inbox.
The cycle loops once again.
The last bell of the day rings and his students happily pack up their bags and seek out their friends to chat or walk home with. Izuku sits behind his desk and waves goodbye to everyone as they head out, reminding them of the quiz later in the week and being met with several unhappy groans in response. Eying the papers that need to be graded in the corner of his desk, he decides to just stay for another hour or so to work through them instead of packing them up to take home. He reaches behind him to grab his backpack before starting to retrieve his laptop and headphones, remembering to grab his phone, too considering he's on call this evening. Sliding the headphones on like a headband to push back the green curls on his forehead, Izuku shuffles a lo-fi playlist and gets to work.
Grading took a bit longer than he thought it would, but he is still out the door in under two hours, the evening springtime air still chilly enough to nip at his skin a bit as he steps outside. Izuku jams his hands into his pockets and pulls his arms tight against his stocky torso to keep warm on his way to the station, lo-fi beats still playing in his ears. The gentle breeze weaves itself through his green locks as he walks, carrying the fallen cherry blossom petals through the air and across the pavement at his feet. The pink flowers swirl and scatter in the wind before being carried off to new destinations or accumulating in gutters on the side of the road. He tries his best not to step on any of the decaying petals, suitcase that holds his armor swaying in his hand as he weaves between them, not caring what he must look like to anyone who might happen to look his way. About halfway to the station, Izuku's phone begins to vibrate in a familiar cadence from his pocket and he quickly pulls it out to check the call-in. His heart skips a beat as he reads over the message, a pit forming instantly in his stomach:
MONDAY, APRIL 23RD
SENT TO: DEKU, URAVITY, SHOTO, RED RIOT, NIGHTHIDE
HAWKS (6:27PM): Report to the HPSC immediately, a mission has been assigned to the five of you. Further details will be provided later once everyone has arrived.
TODOROKI (6:28PM): On my way.
TODOROKI (6:28PM): is there any information you're able to share?
KIRISHIMA (6:29PM): Be there soon.
OCHAKO (6:31PM): me too, I'm just finishing up across town but I'll get there as soon as possible.
HAWKS (6:32PM): All I can say is there was an attack near the HPSC headquarters and we're needed ASAP.
DEKU (6:33PM): I'm not far, be there in 10.
Adrenaline coursing through his veins and surging his muscles forwards, Izuku jumps into action without another thought, his body responds to the call on instinct. His hands open the case and the metal suit unfurls, wrapping itself around Izuku's muscular frame with care from his fingertips onward. As the last piece clicks into place and the armor hums to life, he wastes no time summoning black-whip and launching himself into the sky, almost forgetting his backpack on the sidewalk before quickly stuffing his headphones back inside and zipping it shut. The yellow cape on his suit whips behind him as he swings between buildings towards the Hero Public Safety Commission HQ, taking a moment to savor the sensation of his body taking flight like it had before.
Izuku can hear the sirens before the flashing lights come into view as he nears the HPSC building. Police have already closed down the street, cruisers are scattered across the road to block it off and tape has been hung to section off the area. Aside from the cruisers, there's also an ambulance at the end of the road where a small group of officers and heroes have gathered in front of an alleyway. He feels his phone buzz once more as he lands but doesn't reach for it as he sees Hawks down the block with the group and jogs down. He realizes the ambulances' lights are on but the siren is silent, none of the paramedics seem to be moving with much urgency either. A pit opens up in his stomach and he nearly retches once he finally reaches the group and takes a glance down the alley.
It's a fucking bloodbath.
The alleyway is being illuminated by several portable LED lights, showcasing the gore in HD clarity under florescent bulbs. The body of a middle-aged male is sat on the ground with his back pressed up against the stone exterior of the HPSC building. Blood paints the wall behind him and pools underneath his limp frame, too much of it outside of the body for anyone to survive. Izuku has to muffle a gag.
The victims throat has been torn out — completely. His head hangs limply to the side, barely clinging to the rest of his body by threads of flesh and a mostly destroyed spine. All of the flesh and sinew have been cut to shreds or gouged out and splattered across the pavement. Clumps of tissue and skin mix in with the blood surrounding the body, small lumps scattered in the red liquid. From the front, Izuku can see the wound is deep enough to expose the mans spine and lower jaw, like the killer was trying to reach his bones from the inside. The skin at the edges of the lacerations and gouges is torn unevenly, the wounds look to be from the sharp, rough edges of claws and teeth. If he wasn't currently standing on a city street, Izuku would assume this had been a vicious animal attack without a doubt. Even the bottom half of the victims face was marred and sliced open from his throat being dug out, leaving their face almost unrecognizable and peeling. Izuku winces thinking about the mans family, he hopes that none of them need to be called in to try and confirm his identity. His white button up is fully saturated red and torn up at the collar alongside his skin, the black suit overtop looks damp and heavy from soaking up all of the fluids into its dark material. This isn't the first dead body he's seen, not even close, it's an unfortunate and unavoidable reality of this line of work. But the rage and hatred required to tear someone apart like this makes his skin crawl and sends a chill down his spine, the killers malice is still tangible in the air alongside the thick scent of blood.
Swallowing down the bile in the back of his throat, Izuku peels his eyes away from the horrific scene before him, jaw hanging open slightly from shock. His eyes find Hawks with a flat, contemplative expression on his face. "What the hell happened??", Izuku inquires while still fighting back the urge to gag.
"Local precinct got several calls from people in the neighborhood reporting a disturbance, said they heard a loud scream. Enough people called in about it to warrant sending a patrol car over and thank god they did. Cops found the victim already deceased in the alley when they arrived," Hawks says in an objective voice tone. "I'll go over everything we know so far once the rest of the group gets here. Take a look around and see if anything stands out, a fresh set of eyes is always helpful."
Izuku gives him a swift nod in response, "yes, sir." He swallows down the saliva that has accumulated on his tongue from feeling queasy and braces himself to look back down the alley.
"Take a second if you need to," Hawks assures, "it's an ugly situation." The now featherless Pro Hero claps a firm hand onto his shoulder in a comforting manner, his eyes still half-lidded and distant. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to give you guys a better heads up before you got here. Judging by how pale you were, you hadn't even seen the last message I sent. I hope everyone else has so they don't walk into the same thing blind."
"Thanks, but I'm okay—really," Izuku affirms, "just caught me a bit off guard is all." He clears his throat, "I'm going to stay nearby and talk to some of the witnesses, I'll keep my eye out for the others."
Hawks releases his grip and responds with a nod. Izuku steps away and heads towards the four or five eye witnesses with the police to ask for their accounts, still trying to shake the chill clinging to his bones from the brutality of the crime scene. He plucks his phone from his pocket quickly to check his messages, the notification from Hawks popping up on the screen when it lights up:
HAWKS (6:40PM): Fair warning, the scene is pretty gruesome. Brace yourselves. It's going to be a long night.