Chapter 3: Age 3

                                    

                                          
C/TW: Minor injuries, mentions of medical abuse, stalking, slight panic attack (he ALMOST has one. sort of)
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Izuku unlocks the apartment door with a click, the cool metal of the door handle biting into his palm. He slips through the door and slips his shoes off, putting the house keys into the little bowl by the door. He turns on the lights as he makes his way towards the kitchen, noting the stale taste the air has. They haven't cleaned the house in a while, maybe this weekend he and Inko would scrub the house down.
Izuku is about to turn to the hallway leading to his room when he spies the little note pasted into the fridge door. The yellow paper seems tauntingly cheerful surrounded by the greys and browns of his house. Izuku carefully tears the note from the fridge and reads what his mom wrote.
Izuku,
I have a double shift tonight. Get yourself dinner from the convenience store, there's some money on the counter. I'll be back late.
Mom
Izuku frowns at the note. He'd been hoping to eat dinner with his mom tonight. He hasn't seen very often this week, with the exception of when she wishes him a hurried, "Good morning!" before she rushes out the door for work. He sighs. I guess it's reheated noodles tonight, he thinks mournfully. 
Chucking his bag on the floor, Izuku flops onto his bed. He stares at the ceiling, counting the small stains and cracks that spiderweb their way through the gery surface. 11 cracks, 7 unidentifiable stains, and 3 spots of missing paint . He'd memorized the numbers long ago, when he locked himself in his room as Inko opened the front door, her silence enough to scare him into another room.
Logically, Izuku knows that the relationship he and his mother have isn't necessarily normal, but she's the only constant parental figure he's had. Midoriya Hisashi had been sent overseas for work, and with the exceptions of video calls on Izuku's birthday and Father's Day, Izuku hadn't heard hide nor hair from the man since he was three. He has a few dim memories of white hair and flames-that-smile, but that's it. Izuku knows that he doesn't quite love his mom, but he doesn't hate her either. It's more like a quiet fear, a pulsing what if? that makes his blood hot and makes his body freeze. He knows there's some form of affection for her in his heart, but most of the time it's absent.
When it does appear, it's usually when Inko does something simple, like eat breakfast with him or buy him a new notebook. When it does appear, it comes fast and bubbly, filling his stomach with butterflies and his head with sunshine. He knows it's not normal, to be unusually happy when your mom notices that your jacket doesn't fit you anymore, or when your mom buys you a new set of pens, but it's the only thing he has.
He's seen the way some kids in his class look so excited when their parents come to pick them up, or how their eyes gleam when they brag of their parents to other kids. Kacchan had always won the awe of others when he proudly proclaimed, "Yah, well my parents are fashion designers. Deal with it!" Izuku had always hovered at the edge of the crowds, listening but never participating. It wasn't very exciting when you said your mom worked two part-time jobs at hospitals.
He knows Inko does her best, he knows she tries with all hear heart and mind, but she doesn't actually know what she's doing. Having her parents die at a young age left Inko with almost no memory of any parental guidance, and being put in the foster care system has left her without a constant figure in life to teach her what to do. Inko only has two people to consult with for parenting, one of whom is Auntie Mitsuki, Kacchan's mom, but Izuku isn't very sure on her ability to parent. He's pretty sure most of her solutions revolve around having screaming matches with Kacchan and then cuffing him on the head so that he'd listen to her. Izuku would rather not be hit, thank you very much.