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I.
Izuku giggles uncontrollably as he stays cozily nestled in the dusty far corner of the underside of his bed, trying to muffle the small, high-pitched sounds that are spilling out of his mouth by burying his face in his hands.
He has always been good at hide and seek, small stature and skinny limbs letting him reach and wiggle his way into the most bizarre places. Kacchan already knows most of his hiding spots; small, claustrophobic. So, today Zuku's in a more obvious and open place than usual– under his bed.
The small child smiles brightly at his own genius. Kacchan wouldn't look here.
Little, soft footsteps come nearer and nearer to his location. Izuku holds his breath as he sees socked feet stomp around his room, not wanting to be found out just yet. His miniscule lungs of a three year old struggle to keep the air in.
“Come out, Zuku! I'm gonna find you anytime now. You can't win when I am here!”, a proud voice boasts from just above him. Izuku subconsciously smiles at the All Might reference.
Kacchan continues his rampage, looking in every drawer and nook of his closet. He looks everywhere. Almost. The spiky-haired child continues taunting Izuku with the promise that he'll win, that he's much better at this game than Zuku is. Kacchan is amazing, that much is for sure, and, if it was any other day, he would've found the hidden kid easily, but Izuku likes to think this is one of the few times he'll outsmart his best friend.
The blonde eventually gives up with a growl, moving on to the next room over, his mom's room.
Izuku feels pride swell in his chest, as he stays still and waits until his mother's voice announces his victory, dinner time. He can basically smell it, he'll win. Win! Against Kacchan! Zuku's smile grows to his ears at the thought. It doesn't take long, and both kids are called to the kitchen to eat dinner. Kacchan and Zuku walk side by side, chattering about the game.
“Under the bed? I totally knew you were there, I was just pretending to not know to let you win, of course!”, Katsuki claims, confidence never wavering.
“Yeah, you really are amazing at hide and seek, Kacchan!!”
It may be his victory, one of the only ones he has, but Izuku doesn't mind sharing it with his friend.
Though, he notes, this is the longest time he's stayed hidden.
-
II.
Deku feels his heart rate speed up as he silently slaps both his hands over his mouth and nose, trying to stifle his breathing. He is as still as a rock, his muscles tense and strained, lungs aching and burning from the intense chase he's just been the victim of. Deku feels his chest rise and fall, hungry and needy for enough fresh oxygen to ease the rising panic attack he feels murmuring inside him.
He tries to stop trembling, or Katsuki and his friends will find his pathetic figure behind the tree he's hiding. After that, he can bet on everything and anything that he'll get half his face blown off.
“Come back here, shitty Deku! How are you gonna be a Hero if you cower and hide!?”, A familiar rough voice calls out to him, mocking him. Taunting him.
Izuku freezes, feeling the color drain from his face. The smell of smoke and caramel fills his nose, though it's probably just his imagination. He used to like caramel and the warm rays of the sun. Not anymore, he'd rather lay on cold concrete, sniffing at something sour rather than something sweet. Small crackles and pops of Bakugou's Quirk resound somewhere too close for Deku’s comfort.
“Leave ‘im be. Useless little shit's gonna come back tomorrow for his much needed beating. Deku’s too much of a pussy to skip.”, Another voice joins in, one of Katsuki's main henchmen. Izuku can’t be bothered to remember his name.
“Man, I almost hope he kills himself tonight. I'm way too tired to chase him that much again.”, A much light-hearted voice joins in, letting the words fly out of his mouth like they didn't hold any kind of weight, despite their meaning.
Katsuki tsks, letting a louder explosion pour out of his hands, effectively making everyone shut up. Deku curls inward, reflexively trying to protect his vital organs. His fingernails dig into the skin on his face as he tries to keep as quiet as possible.
“Shut the fuck up, you extras. Dying's too light of a sentence. When he'll come back, he'll feel what happens when nulls like him still hang on to the useless hope of becoming a Hero.”
The blonde's friends cheer, walking away while they fall into comfortable conversation once more. Deku rushes to stand up, wincing as the movement tugs at his wound, a lovely starburst one, courtesy of Bakugou. He quickly takes off to his house, hoping that his mom hasn't got off her shift yet.
Deku sighs as he reminisces about the whole situation. He's finally getting better at hiding.
-
III.
“Izuku! Finally, where were you, sweetheart?”
His mother's sweet voice is laced in concern as she embraces him, unknowingly brushing her hands over his still fresh burns. Third degree. Kacchan didn't hold back today, not like Deku thought he would. He never holds back.
Izuku hides a flinch, doing it very well now. Every wince when his mother touches the raw of his burn, the blooming bruises and fresh cuts. Every one of them littering his frail body by the day. He hides them, plays them off as nothing, and his mom is none the wiser.
He reaches up a hand to scratch the back of his neck, careful to not pull at the charred skin. Deku puts on a sheepish smile, something well rehearsed. The tug at his lips looks natural enough, but it, as well as the rise in his shoulders and his rigid yet slumped posture, all of them were artificial, practiced in the cracked mirror of his bathroom.
“I– Ah, the train re-really c-came late today. ‘m sorry, mom.”, says Izuku smoothly, letting the lie escape his mouth like second nature. It was, admittedly, a really bold faced one. He didn't even go by train, he always walked home from school.
Inko tuts softly before walking deeper into the kitchen. She's making katsudon. Huh . Izuku lets his heavy feet lead him to his bedroom, haphazardly throwing his worn out, yellow bag slump against the foot of his desk. He peels off his gakuran, one of the spare ones he has just in case the one he goes to school with is, well, destroyed. He doesn't let himself look at the various bruises and wounds adorning his pale body before he takes a quick, freezing cold shower.
The train excuse wasn't a complete lie. Though, it wasn't late, no. It was too early. Deku may or may have not thought about jumping in front of it and may or may not have planned to do that today. But he just narrowly missed it. The train station was peacefully empty, the sunset was absolutely breathtaking– they outright mocked Izuku by not letting him get run over and crushed by the last train on such a beautiful evening.
After drying himself off, Izuku sits criss-cross applesauce on the chilly tiles of the bathroom floor, surrounded by his only real friends– burn ointments and bandages. He pulls on some fairly covering clothing after he's all mummified.
“I made your favorite!~”, His mom smiled, putting a full plate of the delicious meal in front of him, the porcelain clanking on the old wooden table.
“Thank you, ma.”, He mutters and begins eating, savoring each bite. Not once does he look up from his meal, too focused on repeating his made up reason in his head, so he doesn't contradict himself.
“How was school?”
“It was fine.”
Izuku and Inko fall into a comfortable back-and-forth, joking and conversing as if Deku hadn't tried to kill himself just earlier.
His mom won't even try to find out, she'll look over the signs, letting it stay hidden. She doesn't have to know, either way.
-
IV.
The spacious and pristine walls of UA somehow remind Izuku of the more battered ones back at Aldera. He… doesn't exactly know how that works. Getting into UA, escaping the hell that was his middle school– it was supposed to be a fresh start. He was supposed to forget .
Though, Izuku still finds himself wincing at phantom pains that seem to always act up at school, he flinches at any and all loud noises, he subconsciously distances himself from everyone, an animalistic fear of being hurt written deep in his bones. He always seems to not be able to breathe when Aizawa has his Quirk activated, taking away the one thing that makes him worthwhile.
The one thing that he has at this point.
His The Quirk.
Izuku doesn't think his teacher noticed how he avoids any subjects dealing with bullying, or general mental health. How his anxiety skyrockets whenever he's even remotely close to Katsuki.
Maybe he just hides it well.
He has always hidden it well.
“Midoriya.”, his sensei's words are as unapologetically bored and unamused as every other day, but Izuku can recognize the subtle twinge of disappointment or disapproval in his voice.
The called on boy freezes in his tracks, looking around at the empty hallways he found himself strolling in. Where was he even supposed to be? Why is Aizawa here?
“Y-yes, Aizawa-sensei?”
“I noticed something in your… behavior.”, the older man drawls, keeping Izuku in suspense, a tactic he often uses to instill fear into whoever he lectures. A classic strategy, used by many of his past teacher’s.
He wants to scare him. He succeeded.
“I've seen the way you react to particular subjects such as Quirklessness. Please know that UA does not accept any form of bigotry coming from both students and staff. If you want to become a Pro, there's no room for discrimination.”
Ha. It's not as if UA wouldn't even let Quirkless people apply before the year he himself tried out for the entrance exam.
It's not like Aizawa overlooked the slurs Bakugou spewed at him on the first day.
Not like UA was too physical for the likes of him.
His past as a useless, Quirkless Deku, Izuku realizes, isn't well known. Or known at all. He hid it well when he got One For All, when he got into UA. But, he's surprised that Aizawa noticed his avoidance of the topic of Quirklessness at all. Actually, he's a bit flattered at the fact he cared so much about the Quirkless.
Too many adults care about Quirkless people until they meet them, letting internalized prejudice take over them when they're supposed to care for those people.
Everyone cares when someone's Quirkless. Even if they say they don't.
Izuku learned this ages ago.
“Yes sir. I'm well aware.”, Izuku snaps back with more force than he should, startling even himself, but he doesn’t back down in the slightest.
The gruff teacher raises an eyebrow, both surprised that Deku managed to stop being a total baby, that he hasn't stuttered once, that he talked back , and annoyed. Annoyed at this sudden attitude, perhaps?
If he was honest, Izuku wasn’t about to find out any more, letting his legs escort him right out of this situation, going in whatever direction he managed. Anywhere, anywhere else just so he doesn’t have to face the consequences of his own actions. Maybe he’ll get detention tomorrow, maybe even expelled?
It's been maybe the first month of UA, so Izuku isn't completely clueless about the building's layout. He reaches the exit fairly easily.
-
V.
Izuku decides these couple of days are hell incarnate. A punishment from a higher being for his good luck . What a joke.
Around about a month after the dorms have been implemented in their everyday life, a classmate who he will not name (Sero) has been caught smoking on campus. This had a domino effect on UA and their rules which resulted in the homeroom teacher's of each class having to do a bi-monthly dorm inspection. These inspections had a schedule.
He forgot about it.
In Izuku's defense, everything's been going to shit and it just slipped from this stressed mind. He only remembered after a couple of his classmates chatted about it in the common room.
And he panicked. There wasn't anything downright illegal or severely concerning things in his room, of course not. Izuku isn't as dumb as others seem to think. But , that didn't mean he didn't have vaguely suspicious stuff that would point to something being wrong with him. His Quirkless Hero dream notebook– in which he outlined how to become a Hero without a Quirk, which sometimes included morally gray or barely legal methods. The pharmacy that is his bathroom, or tons upon tons of concealer and scar putty for his deeper scars.
Izuku slams his door behind him, rushing to his neat stack of notebooks, grabbing the bottom one and walking up to his small-ish bookshelf. He makes a little space behind all the books– some of them on discrimination, some for analysis and some just fantasy– where he sneaks the problematic logbook.
A small brochure that warn of suicide signs– an item he only keeps for some sort of sick hope someone would read it– finds its way taped to the back of one of his All Might posters.
A small keychain of Botan, a Quirkless main character from an anime he's watching–
–remains in Izuku's hand when Aizawa-sensei opens his door. He raises an eyebrow, silently questioning what the student’s even doing here. All students have to stay in the common room while this all happens, after all, as to not get in the way of the inspection. The man's eyes land on his hands, and Izuku gives a sheepish, rehearsed smile as he hides the object behind his back.
“I'm guessing you forgot about today?” his teacher says, his tone distantly amused, but his brows minisculely pinch in worry. Or is it curiosity? Izuku can’t tell.
“Sorry, sensei.”, he nods, biting his lower lip with practiced worry.
Still, Aizawa dismisses him with an expectant look Izuku quickly picks up. He joins all the others in the common room, plopping on the carpeted floor next to one of the couches armrests since every other seat was taken.
The little rubber figure in his hand he keeps hidden away from the many eyes that could stare at it.
Botan Shimoda is the main character of Below Everyone, Above the Law , a dark anime, which shows Botan struggling to live his life as a Quirkless person and not being accepted by those around him, especially because he wants to become a Hero. It's chillingly realistic but it gives Izuku a sense of comfort and warmth, having his experiences shown through this show. Botan does train and go out as a Vigilante, as hinted by the second part of the name.
He has always held this anime close to his heart.
It isn’t even televised, it’s just a small passion project. Even if the concept of an indie show already having merch would make someone think it's overly popular. It’s not. Sure, maybe the news touched on it out of obligation (or maybe mockery?), but Izuku would go out on a limb and say the anime is one of the niche-est of niches. The little rubber keychain in his hand was just a way for the creator to thank the show's fans while said fans could continue financially supporting them.
And, well, Botan was his favorite character, so what’s a couple of yen for a prized possession?
Shortly after Izuku skims (for the umpteenth time, he does that recap every time he sees the little cartoon character) through his endless memories and thoughts on it, Aizawa-sensei comes back to the common room, finally having gone through every nook and cranny of every room.
“Alright, you can go back to your rooms. But I have a couple of things I have to speak to some of you about. Individually. Mineta, Ashido, Jirou, Satou and Midoriya, please hang back.”
Izuku freezes. He has always been good at hiding. Would his perfect record be tainted on maybe the only day he hoped it would not?
He can't do anything about it if it's true. So, with a sigh, he waits.
He waits his turn to be questioned with bated breath and a heart rate so high that would put three rich, hard-core stoners to shame. And Izuku’s turn comes dreadfully slow.
“Midoriya.”, his teacher greets boredly, entering the now empty common room. Aizawa probably doesn't need to take him out on a hallway, since he's the last one. He'd call it inefficient. Or illogical.
“Y-yes..?”, Izuku stutters out, already going through every single object in his dorm room and racking his brain for a believable excuse for them. Maybe he was obviously panicked, or maybe his ability to hide things is cracking , because his teacher says,
“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”
And the calming tone really gets to him. Those little words he’s heard a million times before, little words that have deceived him one too many times for him to believe them. But he does. Izuku foolishly believes those words, foolishly lets his guard down. Maybe he is cracking.
“I just wanted to ask,” Aizawa says after a small moment of silence, “What’s with all the medicine, bandages and med kits you’ve got stacked up in your bathroom? I understand having the fundamentals lying around in case anything happens, but I saw a suture set in there.”
Oh. Right. He totally forgot about those. But, Izuku is nothing less of a professional at lying through his teeth, despite what most think. It comes as second nature to him now, and he’s pretty sure even Detective Tsukauchi’s Quirk could slide right off him with the way he has trained his breathing and heartbeat to even out, even when spewing the most ridiculous lie he could make up.
“A-ah, those,” Izuku mumbles, a faux stutter playing on his lips, “You know my mom, she worries. Especially with my Quirk and how it destroys me,” he twists his mouth into a sheepish smile, “She always told me to have everything I’d ever need in case it hurts me or others ready, even now with Recovery Girl on campus.”
His homeroom teacher believes that sham easily. Yet, he is still curious.
“I understand. You can never be too careful, especially with that quirk of yours,” the man drawls, “What about the scar putty?”
“Whu-what about it?”, Izuku’s gaze trails to his arm, looking at the deep, ragged scars adorning them, “I don’t want her to worry. I don’t want my mom to think I’m in danger here. She’d pull me out of the Hero Course– I don't want that.”
There’s a small hitch in his shoulders, maybe the only real thing about him. A small, earnest fear digging somewhere deep in his chest. Not a lie, or a scheme, or a fake. Just an unfeigned hurt that flows along with his blood in his veins, reaching even his fingertips.
Izuku is definitely cracking.
But at this very moment, it doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping himself composed, ready to face every question thrown at him with a clear, sharp mind. What matters is giving a believable lie, because even a single slip-up means Aizawa-sensei getting suspicious, because for all the calming, monotone and almost bored demeanor that man parades around unapologetically, he is still a teacher and a Hero . That means wit, cunning observance and enough training to notice something is wrong.
…The questions don’t come. His teacher only sighs, his eyes holding something akin to concern. They’re soft.
“Alright. But, if anything happens, please alert someone.”
Izuku tries not to frown at the vagueness of that statement. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough to be heard.
The keychain feels heavy in his hand as he takes the stairs up to his dorm room.
Sometimes, just sometimes, Izuku wishes he wasn’t so good at keeping things hidden.
-
I
Izuku is done.
He’s actually certain about it for once. Fuck being a vessel for One for All, fuck defeating All for One, fuck being pushed around by everyone, fuck his friends constantly not understanding basic boundaries, fuck All Might as his inability to not be a bumbling bigot for three seconds, fuck Bakugou for literally everything, fuck UA, the Hero course, becoming a Hero, fuck that quirkist Shinsou and fuck Monoma and his loud, constant putting down of others and fuck the other classes for envying villain attacks of all things.
Izuku wants nothing to do with it anymore. He knew he was cracking, but he shattered. He broke, snapped, however you want to phrase it. The only thing he wants right this moment is to kill himself, leave an angry note about no one ever listening to him for even just a goddamned minute and leave a bloody mess in his dorm.
This isn’t him being irrationally angry either. No, of course not, Izuku Midoriya is nothing but painfully optimistic and bright, and innocent . Anger like this isn’t just summoned out of nowhere, it has festered inside him for far too long. It has accumulated over the years, as he tried to keep it bottled up where no one could see it. Because, guess what? If just a little of that righteous irritation leaked out, he would have it beaten out of him, whether by his junior high homeroom sensei, any other teacher in that godforsaken hellhole, Bakugou or his lackeys. Inko was an exception of course, but those big, tearful eyes would leave more guilt than he could manage.
So, yeah. Izuku is done. If he has to prove Bakugou (not Kacchan– the blonde lost that nickname ever since he began turning the explosions of his Quirk toward him) right to be at peace at last, then so be it. He’d rather die a useless Deku than live in a world designed to hate him.
Only after midnight does he leave his dorm– now trashed with crumpled bits of All Might posters, stray notebooks thrown on the floor and shards of glass– and he stealthily makes his way to the Heights Alliance rooftop.
It’s Wednesday. That means no one is there waiting for him– Tokoyami isn’t up here for his Friday brooding sessions, Sero, Mina and Kaminari aren’t here for their Questionable Choices Tuesday and Koda isn’t here to reconnect with some avian friends like he usually does on Mondays. So that means no distractions, and more importantly no one to stop him.
A little, rational part of him begs him to slow down, to take a deep breath and re-think what he’s doing, because all of this is irrational , as a certain someone would say. And, Izuku agrees, honestly. It’s irrational. This is honestly just plain stupid, a spur-of-the-moment, impulsive decision. I mean, even the voices in his head think so!
Ninth, don’t do this , they plead, think about this, you’re not thinking clearly! , they whine, but their cries fall on deaf ears.
Izuku toes off his shoes once he gets to the railing, picking them up and studying them.
They’re red. Quirkless, bloody, deathly red. He hates them, he decides, as he bites the inside of his cheek. Black, void-like tendrils spasm and twitch uncontrollably as they’re forced to take the foot-wear from his hands and chuck them somewhere far, far away. Probably into the forest. Izuku finds himself not caring about that detail.
Still, he scampers over the tall chain-link fence without any reluctance. For a moment, he looks down, taking in the height of the fall.
Izuku finds he isn’t scared.
He instead finds he is dissatisfied.
The very top of the dormitory building holds no sentimental value, no grand symbolism. It’s… just a boring rooftop. No view, no anything.
A frown pulls at Izuku’s lips. Maybe he won’t do this today. He can always do it sometime else, maybe at the holidays, where he could sneak out and find the rooftop All Might left him on. That’s… really what he wanted from the start, to die there, but he guessed beggars can’t be choosers.
Guess they can.
With an uncharacteristically heavy sigh, he slips into a sitting position, letting his legs dangle from the edge. His socked feet lay limp in the chilly night air, letting themselves get nudged by the soft breeze in one direction or the other. It’s, well, somewhat calming. His anger stops overwhelming him, instead leaving him hollow. Colorful blobs fade into his peripheral vision.
“Leave me alone, will you,” he barely controls himself not to seethe as he says that. The worry and betrayal on some of the ghosts, vestiges, whatever, fills him with a speck of guilt, but right now he really doesn’t want to argue with them.
They disappear just like that.
“Problem Child?”
Izuku startles, and startles hard , almost slipping off the goddamn building. He involuntarily lets out a “Jesus fuck! ” and whips his head around with a small amount of irritation filling his mouth like venom as he–
–sees his homeroom teacher just standing there, eyes slightly widened and face a little paler than usual.
As much as Izuku would love to keep up the cheery facade, he can’t help but sigh again and plant his head in his hands. A sick sense of shame and embarrassment crawls up his spine at being caught, and he briefly debates just dropping and splattering on the floor right then and there. But it would be foolish. Aizawa literally has his capture weapon on him and will surely wrap that around him even at the slightest movement.
Guess he has to be saved now.
Izuku… doesn’t want to be saved, if he’s being honest. He wants Eraserhead to stare uncaringly at him and spew half-hearted attempts at talking him down. He wants the man to leave him alone, just like All Might did, so he can finally rid the world of himself. But he won’t, he knows he won’t. Eraserhead is one of the good ones, isn’t he?
“Problem Child,” Aizawa stresses, his tone firmer.
It’s almost like his web of lies falling apart, taking everything down with it. Pathetic Deku, can’t do anything right, can he? He can’t make friends, can’t have good grades, can’t keep his mom from worrying, can’t be normal, can’t have a Quirk– no, One for All he basically stole, it’s not his Quirk, no matter what anyone else thinks–
Can’t even kill himself.
“Midoriya!”
Izuku jolts again. With the unhelpful help of a small, temporary surge of anger, he snaps back, “ What. ”
A thick silence lingers in the air as the rush of annoyance retreats back into its den with its tail between its legs. He almost feels bad for his attitude. Almost.
Maybe it’s the fact that he can’t care less about expulsion anymore. UA and becoming a Hero were a foolish dream, since he’s clearly not right in the head. The universe hates Izuku, that much is clear; traumatizing and tormenting him way beyond the line that’s accepted in Hero work– agencies do regular mental health checks to determine if you’re mentally stable enough for the job; Izuku wouldn’t survive the examination with the way his brain has been tainted– and the it gives him the opportunity to become one, a mighty Hero.
What a joke.
“Step away from the ledge,” the older man orders, his voice matching Izuku’s in terms of snappiness. It’s deserved, of course. After a beat, Aizawa adds a softer, “ please.”
His sensei is already prepared for any sign of disobedience, his hand already buried in his capture scarf, so Izuku complies with a cracked hum. First standing up carefully, then climbing over the wired fence, though much slower than the first time doing so. His limbs feel heavy and the exhaustion from today's emotional rollercoaster seeps into his bone marrow.
Tired. He feels tired.
It’s not a new feeling, that’s for sure.
Aizawa helps him on the way down, his grip on Izuku’s arms is tight. His eyes only leave his figure as he realizes Izuku doesn't have his shoes, and then begins scanning the ledge for the telltale, unmissable red sneakers.
“They… slipped,” Izuku says numbly, almost giving a shit about the easily-spottable lie he just told. Still, his teacher takes it at face value and lets his eyes land back on Izuku,
“Okay… you’re okay now. I won’t make you talk to me about it, just so you know.”
Same words he’s heard before. With another sigh, Izuku waves a hand around almost dismissively, pointedly ignoring how his teacher contains a bristle at the gesture.
“I’ll talk, I’ll talk,” he mutters, and the familiar feeling of shame burns at the nape of his neck and the back of his ears. Meeting Aizawa’s eyes, he can see the man’s raised eyebrow. The teacher cautiously lets go of him, instead letting one of his warm hands rest on Izuku’s back.
“Without any more lies?”, his sensei asks, suspicion clouding his tone. It doesn’t surprise him all that much, he knew the Hero was much too perceptive and observant to be fooled by what he’s been spewing out. Too clever to be deceived. Izuku would be stupid to not have seen it coming.
“Yeah, yeah, without any lies,” he assures half-heartedly, but Aizawa doesn’t care much about his tone.
Izuku shattered. Too many lies and too much to hide had come back to haunt him. Maybe this time he won’t hide the truth. Maybe this time he’ll truly place his trust in another, trust that they’ll put him back together, shard by shard.
It won’t be okay for a long time. It may never be okay– not like the sweet nothings that he’s been fed. But maybe, just maybe, he’ll let his guard down enough for it to stop hurting so much.
And so, Izuku stops hiding.