Work Text:
Izuku watches.
He watches his friends continue on in the hero course. He watches them polish their quirks until it's shiny and sturdy enough to be worthy of a pro hero. He listens to the advices their teachers give to his friends, writing every new thing they do down in his quirk analysis notebooks. He attends the yearly UA Sports Festival for two more years, not as a participant but as someone who wants to cheer everyone on in the sidelines. He trains with everyone, in class and when he's invited, but they don't spar with their quirks anymore. They just do regular hand to hand combat. And he wins every time, because while everyone was improving their quirks, Izuku spends time lifting, running, and doing plyometrics.
He watches his friends graduate with developed quirks, new internships under their belts and smiles and Izuku thinks—
He is so happy.
It starts manifesting around the time his embers were as big as a flickering candle. This weird, disgusting blob of viscous liquid bubbling up from inside his left ventricle and shooting itself throughout his entire circulatory system, posioning each and every part of his body and tinging all of it with green. This process is slow, but he feels it seeping into his muscles slowly. He feels it when he turns the TV off in the middle of the anchor giving new hero updates. He feels it when he slowly loses the will to write about the new developments in his friends’ quirks. He feels it when he slowly starts to distance himself from his friends, just enough that they don't notice the wall he’s starting to build. He feels it when he's training, less about hero work, more about—feeling something? Which is laughable. He doesn't feel pain from working out anymore. He doesn't feel the pain of bones and muscles breaking and tearing because he doesn't have One For All anymore. He looks down at his arm filled with scars that tell tales of a boy that was given the chance to experience a new world and had the whole world tugged out from under his feet as a repercussion for it. He sees green veins. So much green. So much—
Happiness.
He smiles when he graduates. There is not a single picture taken at their graduation party that would not include him being happy. Even with tears rolling down on his face, everyone assumed they were happy tears. Not tears of longing. Not tears of yearning. Not tears of regret, anger, hopelessness. Not tears for a dream that proved to be unachievable from the start.
Because he is Midoriya Izuku, a boy who had to put a lid on his feelings and let it go to bear the weight of the world. To bear the weight of the people society branded as villains whom they never saved. To bear the weight of the citizens. To bear the weight of his friends. To bear the weight of the deaths of the boy he loves.
So he lets go.
He lets go of his powers. He lets go of his admiration for heroes. He lets go of his sense of justice. Or at least, just tones it down a bit. Because why would he need that anymore?
He's lost. Stuck in an abyss where his only company is his own reflection on the clear water he seems to be walking on. It's him in his hero suit. Smiling, talking about his aspirations, what he could do as a hero, all the people he could save, all the things he can do for society as the new Symbol of Peace.
The reflection is him, so they don't talk about just one topic, no. It strays, to his friends, team-ups they could have, the collaborations, the PR adventures, how fun it would be to finally work with Kacchan like they—
Kacchan.
He's changed a lot after the war. He smiles a lot more. He shows that he cares a lot more. His voice still finds its ways to the corners of the rooms, but it's tinged with laughter and fondness, because he is afraid of what he could lose now. The polygons that make up the complex character that is Izuku's Symbol of Victory was grated down until the edges appear soft. He remembers watching Kacchan cry in the hospital and getting baffled by the display, because no, no, no. Why are you crying, Kacchan? This is not you (it's not you, it's not you, it's not you! My Kacchan, what happened to you? Where are you?). It's not your fault that you had to watch One For All wither away a second time (Guilty, guilty, guilty). It's not your fault you died twice for someone that is so busy wallowing in his sea of regret and despair that he can't even think about holding a proper conversation about what happened without wanting to throw up!
Symbol of Peace, my ass.
What right does Izuku have? For still having this spark of hope that he could stand next to Kacchan one day? For still holding onto the hope that he could become a hero one day? For holding onto the crumbling remains of what he promised Tenko? For holding onto the hope that his Kacchan wouldn't leave him behind in the world of pro-heroes? Is that fair? It's not. Izuku doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve anything. Not his dreams, not Kacchan, not this power, not any—
Aizawa puts a hand on his shoulder and asks him whether Izuku would be interested in a teaching job at the UA. Izuku, freshly jolted out of his 56th spiral of the year, agrees.
He lets go. Again, and again, and again.
Being a teacher means he has to put up a front, but it's nothing compared to what others went through. Are going through. He's a big boy now, so he smiles, he starts muttering when he gets excited about something (what lies), the students adore him (fake, fake, fake), everything goes so well. For years.
It's a blessing because he gets to nurture the next generation of pro-heroes. He tells himself this everytime he goes to sleep, until he truly believes it. That he's blessed to have the choice to still be this close to his dream. That he's giving back to these kids what had been given to him. They do not look down on him just because he's quirkless anymore, in fact that still call him by his hero name, they still consider him one of the greatest heroes of all time, he's still admired by—so many people.
Even if he's not a hero. Even though he gave up analysing new quirks that wasn't for the sake of his job. Even if he stopped watching the news. Even though his way of keeping up with the hero world nowadays is through break room talk.
Even if he had retreated into a hermit shell when it came to his friends and loves ones, he is still loved and adored.
So he rides this high.
He loves his job. He loves being loved by his students. His former teachers and mentors. The parents of the students. The remainder of the general public that still keeps him in their thoughts. He feeds off it, like a leech. The attention. The admiration. The affection. It feels like he's back in his own UA uniform and saving people amd winning so much more than pros despite being a mere student. It feels like he's being seen for his efforts.
Look at me. Look at me, look at me, look at me. I am here.
It still feels empty all the time. But it's getting better, he's getting used to not being special again. He doesn't have much time in his schedule for anything but teaching nowadays. Same goes for his ex-classmates. He sees them up on billboards, they come up during break room talks, but that’s the extent of his knowledge. He doesn't really keep track of the Hero Rankings anymore, but listening to teachers gossip about it is fun.
(Why do they still have that anyway? Is it not still glorifying heroes? What have they managed to change in the past eight years except lower crime rates? Is it substantial? He listened to Present Mic talk about how two of Top 20 managed to stop a pickpocketer the other day. Is that what they're dealing with now? Pro heroes sent out to deal with petty crimes the police could deal with? What is he teaching these kids for? Was it worth it? Was it worth dying over? Has he fulfilled his promises to anyone—)
Sometimes, while grading papers, he'd stay in an empty classroom and see himself at his desk. His friends in theirs. They have fun, they learn, they're living together, he knows about others the same things he knows about himself.
Now? They don't keep in touch, not really. At least to Izuku it’s not really all that. Inviting them as guests during lectures don't really count. Interacting in professional settings means he only gets to learn superficial things about how they're doing that day. He does get invited to dinners, where they say want to forget everything about pro-hero work, which works well because he doesn't have the need to scratch his ears off. He's become an expert in being an open book nobody can read, so he navigates these dinners accordingly. They don't mind the distance, or haven't brought it up to him. It's not like they have much time to meet people while working as full-time heroes anyway.
It's low commitment, low effort, and as much as Izuku feels like his old self would hate him for becoming such a pessimistic, sad, old bastard, it feels. Nice. To not have expectations put on him.
He doesn't spiral anymore like he used to. Doesn't dwell on why the hollowness inside him doesn't go away no matter how much affection he gets. Because it's always been this way. That hollow feeling has always been there since he was a child, for he poured out love more than he gave it to himself. It’s familiar, it's constant, it's grounding.
Which is why he feels so off-kilter when All Might presents him with his new hero suit.
He travels back in time. In his middle school uniform. All Might offering him a second chance at life. Eating that piece of hair and feeling the weightless feeling of the world settle on his shoulders. He feels it in this case now. His fingers tightening around it, using all his strength training to try keep it steady, trying to keep the world steady.
“It was created by a friend from the U.S alongside Young Hatsume,” All Might's voice echoes around his thoughts, proud and fond, “And funded by the Class-A alumni, with Young Bakugou at the heart of it!”
Izuku's heart stutters in his chest. His eyes widen in the first show of true emotion on his face in years. Kacchan… lead this? Kacchan, who he hasn't done a good job of keeping in touch with. Their last conversation was a week ago about a cute Dynamight mascot plushie one of his students made. Kacchan had replied immediately, ‘looks fucking dumb’ followed up with ‘dont let them make anymore of these things the vultures are gonna commercialize this shit again’ . Izuku told the class that Dynamight loved it.
All Might looks at the surprise on his face and smiles harder than he ever saw his mentor smile in all these eight years. It warms his heart. The walls around it are melting. He's— “Your body still moves on its own, right?”
His heart stutters a second time, except Izuku feels the walls around it ice over when it pulses. Does it? Didn't he let that part of him go? Does he still accept this? Does he want to go back to being a hero, after everything he has seen? After everyone he put in danger? Has he been forgiven for his sins? Is this a good choice? Does he deserve this?
(Kacchan is dead. Kacchan is dead on the ground and Izuku was too late. He's too late and there's nothing he can do. Nothing he can do at a—)
He feels like he's fading. Opaque. Because All Might sees this internal turmoil despite Izuku's expression not changing. Because his mentor says in that heroic voice Izuku has always associated him with, “Take this to heart kid. This too, is a power you earned fair and square!”
And Izuku feels—so much.
Tears seep into his eyes because it's too much all at once. The hollow space he took refuge in all these years, filled with love, devotion, adoration, guilt, misery, sorrow, yearning, rage, hate, indifference— all these emotions he didn't let himself feel for years hitting him all at once.
No, no, no. Not good. This is not supposed to happen. He's losing control. He will lose control and he will hurt everything around him. He needs to bottle it up, bottle, bottle, bottle, lid, lid, lid— He panics, but it only lasts a split second. Because in the end it all evaporates like it should, leaving behind nothing in his head but familiar, grounding, empty, apathy.
The smile Izuku has at that moment is nothing but a disrespectful mockery of the happiness splitting his mentor’s face.
He meets up with Kacchan whenever he's called on as a part-time hero. He doesn't thank Kacchan (Thank you, thank you, thank you for waiting, thank you for the suit, thank you for dying, thank you for wasting away eight years for someone like me, thank you so much for everything). He doesn't talk to Kacchan (I want to talk to you, I need to talk to you, we need to talk, can we please talk, Kacchan, I lo—). He doesn't put in an effort to get close to Kacchan (I want you, I need you, I love you, but I don't deserve that).
The stars align, and Class-A alumni finally get to have their second full get together eight years after graduation. Izuku just finished a report he had to make after a quirk training session, which has been on the backburner for days, so he feels great! It gets even better when he receives a text from Kacchan asking if Izuku wanted to be picked up. He doesn't dwell on the fact he didn't remember that Kacchan drove. He just sends back a very happy ‘yes!!!!’
That's how he finds himself in the back of Kacchan's car, sinking into the depths while Kirishima rides shotgun. The atmosphere is light and happy, so Izuku matches it all the same. The bickering between Kacchan and Kirishima turns his insides into fondness and it trickles into the hollow spaces of his heart but he allows it, because he won't allow himself to lose control again, not now, not ever.
So he doesn't linger. He joins in on their bickering. Izuku is so good at this, because it almost doesn't feel like they've barely been in contact in eight years. When they ask about how he is, he replies with enthusiasm. He's a teacher, an educator, a part-time hero and he couldn't be more happy with the cards he had been dealt with.
When he joins Kirishima in teasing Kacchan for not having anyone under his agency yet, Kacchan says something unexpected.
“If someone had said they wanted to surpass me, I would have accepted them right away.”
He's an actor, a fake and a liar, and he will live his entire life stuck in this green sludge for the sake of everyone else.
(When did Kacchan start saying things Izuku never expected him to say? How long has it really been since they had a proper conversation? When did he start getting updates about Kacchan's life from students and teachers rather than the man himself? When. How. Why.)
Izuku looks down at the signed All Might card. Kacchan doesn't hide it anymore. He wears it proudly on his person as a part of his keychain. Kacchan has grown so much. He can look down at the signed All Might card and think of all how much he has improved. Izuku looks at the card and sees his world ending.
So when Kacchan asks him after, “So you'll keep teaching?” He doesn't hesitate.
He thinks of his students, how teaching made him feel like he was a hero again, how gratifying it is to drown the affection they give him, and how there's no risks in teaching except having to give a fail grade. When he speaks, the words are coated in a layer of fondness, “Yeah.”
In the silence he's met with, he keeps going, “Of course I've been collecting data for the suit, whenever I'm not teaching. I love it, the fact that I can go back to working as a hero again even if it's part-time. But also…” He looks at his scarred hand, “I love teaching, I think… I think I would have enjoyed being a teacher even if I still had One For All.”
He looks up to give the backs of their heads a bright smile, “I'm doing what I love while working and I get to be a hero with you guys too! I will forever be happy about that.”
The patterns of his speech, the expressions on his face, are a careful work of eight years. Eight years of hiding what he truly feels, the envy, the sadness, the fear of working full-time as a hero again. He keeps it all in his heart under a lock and key. The feelings threaten to burst out when he hears Kacchan hum, a sign of defeat, but he doesn't understand why he would do that when Izuku said that he's happy to be working with Kacchan again. Did he say something wrong?
Kirishima laughs, “Man that's rough Bakugou! That's a hell of a rejection.”
What.
“Huh?”
“He just offered you a spot at his agency, bro! Man you're kinda slow at these things, huh.”
Oh.
(Yes, please Kacchan, that's all I ever wanted, oh my god, Kacchan, I'm so happy you asked! I'm so happy I could kiss you, I'm so happy I could cry even if I haven't cried in years, I can't believe you're giving me a chance after all that I've done to you, oh Kacchan you make me feel like— feel like I'm—losing contro—)
“Huh, oh, I'm sorry, Kacchan, that's not happening.”
Izuku wants to slap himself. Wants to open the car window and get turned into paste on the tar. Why would he say that, why won't the words form in his mouth, why can't he say what he wants to say anymore?
“Yeah, yeah, I get it already, shut the hell up.”
And Kacchan sounds. Heartbroken. It's the first emotion he is able to pick out today from the man he's been in love with since they were children. The tone threatens to penetrate into his own heart, to shatter, to break, to do to him what he had done; but the walls around his heart are too high, too thick, and he doesn't feel a thing.
When Kacchan tells him, in that same heartbroken voice, to start thinking better about himself, to start noticing things more, Izuku retreats back into his shell and throws the words back onto him. They start their usual bickering again and he stays there, protected from the world by Kacchan's weirdly fluffy car seats until they reach their destination.
(Giving special treatment to everyone means that no one is really special to you.)
( You’re special, he wants to say, You're so special to me Kacchan, but I can't tell you. )
It's something Izuku has learned to do, when he's too overwhelmed in large gatherings of people. He blocks out everything. The world is only him and the person he's talking to. For now it’s his former best friends, talking about life, catching up, talking about learning to make chopsticks and bowls, anything. And then when the conversation fades out, he's back to his own world.
He takes a sip of his drink and lets his gaze wander over the room. It’s packed with familiar faces—classmates and friends, their laughter and chatter mixing into the ambient noise. Izuku watches them after eight years, pure happiness, untainted by the things they’ve endured. It’s something he can’t quite relate to, not anymore.
And then his eyes land on Ochako.
She’s smiling, like she always does. But there’s something about her expression that catches Izuku’s attention and refuses to let it go. The weight on her shoulders is visible to him, even beneath the hundred layers of happiness she’s wrapped around herself for the sake of others. It’s a familiar weight. The kind he knows all too well.
In her eyes, Izuku sees himself.
For the first time in what feels like forever, Izuku feels… understood. In a world full of happiness, he sees what he really feels. And Ochako hasn’t even said a word to him yet.
(Kacchan would understand. Kacchan would understand if you talked to him. He gave up everything for you. He gave up his life for you. Why. Why have you not talked to him. What is wrong with you. What. Why. Why. Why.)
He doesn’t look away after that. He can’t. There’s something magnetic about the realization that someone else might understand what it’s like to carry so much and keep smiling anyway. Izuku knows he should say something, but his throat feels tight.
He takes another drink, his hands fidgeting with the glass. The thought flickers through his mind again: Talk to her. You need to talk to her. He knows he can’t keep everything bottled up forever. But it feels selfish. His burdens are his alone. They’re not for anyone else to carry.
But Ochako… Ochako would understand.
Izuku’s heart doesn't ache anymore when he remembers Toga—remembers the loss etched into Ochako’s face during those days. She’s been through it, just like he has. Maybe worse. And yet she’s still here, still trying to make everyone else’s life a little brighter. It’s not fair, but it’s familiar.
If they talked, there wouldn’t be any expectations. No pressure to fix each other, no need to explain every detail. Just an understanding—a silent agreement that they’d been through hell, and they were still standing, no matter how shaky their legs might be. It's what Izuku wants, has wanted, for the past eight years, and for the rest of his life. That understanding, with no commitment, because otherwise it would hurt him and everything around him. He's selfish, so he wants. He wants to speak to her.
(No, no, no, no. You don't want this. You don't—)
Izuku makes up his mind.
His walls don't break down when he says his byes to his friends. His mind is a slurry of jumbled words when he jokes around with Kacchan outside the establishment. His heart beats like a wild animal in a cage when he leaves Kacchan behind with his version of a confession and proposal, without looking back even once.
(It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, I'm sorry Kacchan, I'm sorry I'm leaving you behind, I'm sorry for everything, I didn't even take your hand, please don't leave me like I'm leaving you, I'm so selfish, I feel your eyes on the back of my head but I can't look back, Kacchan, please understand, I'm not worth it, I want you, I want to love you, I'll just end up killing you again, I'll start crying if I look back and I can't do that, I'll lose contr—)
Izuku makes up his mind.
And he lets go. One last time.