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paralumanleadmehome · 3 years

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It’s been quite some time since I’ve last joined a contest and I honestly missed this feeling of trying to figure out what to write, how to write it, and how to deliver it exactly as you need to to impress the judges. It’s been so so long and welp. I’ve grown rusty and this is definitely not proof-read but all the same, thank you to @queenangst and everyone who had made this possible.

You brought me back a feeling I haven’t felt in so long.

This is my entry to queenangst’s BNHA gen contest: Finding Home

(please see under the cut as this has 3.5k words and could be very long)

Finding Home

It started out as a legend – two souls separated at creation, two souls that make up one whole, two halves of one soul completed upon connection.

Two becoming one.

But legends are legends for a reason – mythical, mysterious, only with a hint of a truth.

Soulmarks began appearing even before the dawn of quirks –little symbols that litter the body, one that you could only call your own. One that only you could share to whom you so ever desire. It varies in shapes and colors, some being a butterfly tinged in red and orange, others an ocean wave the shade of green, and to some more, it covers a palm, a thigh, a foot. Unlike its legendary counterpart, however, a soulmark does not lead you to a soulmate. Instead, it leads you to one where you can feel whole.

A soulmark is a symbol of love and friendship given in trust and good faith – one that cannot be taken, one that only be passed on.

A soulmark is a symbol of warmth and everlasting connection – one that is stronger than flesh and blood.

A soulmark is a symbol of home – one that you choose for yourself.

One person can have as many as the stars in the sky and as few as the petals of a clover.

And Izuku? Izuku only has his own, his mother’s, and the black mark of one Bakugo Katsuki.

After all, no one wants to share the mark of a useless, quirkless, little Deku.

And so, however sacred, Kacchan had cut his own connection with Izuku, both of them bearing the ashen remnants of a once golden sun and a viridian shooting star – the pain of which Izuku found more unbearable than the explosions that kissed his skin.

And Izuku no longer believed in soulmates.

Not when the world was so intent on pushing him down and pushing him away, not when no one would stand up for him and with him, not when the only love and care he had ever known came from the woman who had loved him the most.

So Izuku never shared the mark on his wrist with anyone, never the light of the shooting star that brightens up the dark sky, never the stardust that falls on the earth, never the ray of hope he had held even in the darkest of times, keeping it hidden in long sleeves, wristwatches, and bandages. And at all times he keeps covered the blackened sun that rests on his heart, refusing to see the ashes of a friendship no longer alive, refusing to acknowledge the searing pain that would accompany the sight. Instead, as always, he keeps close the mint green lotus that rests on the base of his right ear, his eyes never not seeing it each morning, afternoon, and night – the one and only reminder that he is loved.

He is loved.

And he lets himself be content with that.

The first of many soulmarks that Izuku will treasure came from the man that he had idolized his whole life.

Yagi Toshinori, for all his time as the Symbol of Peace (and more the time he had spent alive), only carries with him four marks, not counting his own. Izuku doesn’t ask when he sees. He doesn’t think it is polite to, especially when most people aren’t interested in bonding with a quirkless child (and although All Might already knew he was quirkless and didn’t deny him this chance to train, the man’s initial denial of his dream still stings). He doesn’t ask about the faded crescent moon that rests on his collarbone (it isn’t nice to ask about the dead, after all), nor about the black spaded horse on his left ankle (he was shocked at first, upon seeing this lost connection, and his heart ached at the thought that even All Might had to bear the pain of losing someone he had once loved so dearly). He doesn’t ask about the violet sigil of a fish on his shoulder blade nor the diamond glasses near his scar. He doesn’t ask about any of these things.

Instead he asks about experiences – what was it like to be a hero of his caliber? Was he ever afraid of anything? Was there ever a time that he was unable to save someone? What was he like as a student? Did Dagobah Beach mean something special to him? Things that the world weren’t privy to – things that he didn’t know were personal.

Things that would’ve only been known if All Might had chosen him as his soulmate.

And All Might did.

One day, at Dagobah Beach, after the world had finally met the man behind All Might, Toshinori Yagi had offered his ocean blue sunflower tucked on the opposite side of where the faded moon resided and had asked Izuku if he had wanted to carry his soulmark.

And Izuku… flinched.

Because to hold another’s soulmark would mean to be aware of them at all times – to feel their warmth despite the distance, to know with one brush of a hand the feelings that lay in their hearts, to give them comfort even in the presence of an absence.

To bear a soulmark is to be eternally connected.

And Izuku had been burned by the loss of it.

And he is scared, afraid, terrified – because to be All Might’s successor is one thing. To be given his quirk and his legacy is a dream come true but to be his soulmate? To be near him? To know him and be known by him in return? It’s terrifying.

And yet… and yet… Izuku takes this fear and lets it be known.

In quiet whispers, jumbled words, and a steady stream of tears.

Because deep down, Izuku longs to be connected.

And it is in the act of letting someone close does he remember what it feels like to be loved.

ii.

The second one, surprisingly, came in the form of a little girl.

A quiet, frightened, injured little girl who had ran away from a monster of a man.

Eri bumped into him during his first patrol with Lemillion and this mess of child with a stature so small and eyes too scared clung to him for dear life – and Izuku’s soul ached.

Izuku took one look at the man with the bird mask, one look at Lemillion, one look at this little girl, and made up his mind.

“Eri,” he whispered, “do you trust me?”

It was a stupid question, he knew, but a soulmark is something to be given in trust – a treasure to be received in good faith.

“You’re good,” Eri answered just as softly, little hands clinging to his costume. “You’re warm.”

Izuku doesn’t know if Eri feels the same pull, the same fierce protectiveness that forces its way into his heart, and he knows that this is more his own desire to keep her safe than any other force telling him that she was a part of his own soul.

Because Eri mattered regardless.

And Eri was worth keeping safe.

So for the first time in a long time, Izuku removes the bandage that hides his own soulmark and he shows it to Eri.

“This will keep you safe for me,” he tells her, “this will let you know I’m here.”

In the background he hears the tense conversation coming to a halt, sees the way the man’s eyes turn to look at Eri, and he knows he doesn’t have time.

“This is a promise.”

And Eri stares at it for little while, hands reaching to the shooting star. “A promise,” she repeats, and with a little nod and hopeful eyes, Izuku places a finger on her arm, just beneath her sleeves, and let their foreheads touch.

The words come to him unbidden, the way words do when you give someone a piece of your soul – a promise to be fulfilled, a wish to be granted, a part of you that will forever be a part of them.

“I will always come for you.”

And he did.

iii.

Not counting his own nor Kacchan’s, Izuku has two soulmarks on his body.

One from his mother, another from All Might.

He didn’t ask for Eri’s and she hadn’t offered in return.

Eri was as afraid of her soulmark as much as she is afraid of her quirk.

Cursed, she calls the silver dove wreathed in yellow petals on her ankle. Cold, she thinks of it. It will still be a long way to go, Izuku assumes, but as long as Eri can feel his warmth, his presence, that would be enough.

The third one, interestingly enough, was in the image of an aquamarine heart, with its curves jagged and cornered, just as a gem so precious and true.

Kouta gave it to him as gift, as a thank you, as something for Izuku to remember him by.

Kouta didn’t ask for Izuku’s own soulmark, didn’t even breathe a word about it. Instead the little boy ran up to him, little arms wrapping him in a hug, and said,

“I’ll always be cheering you on.”

And when Izuku sees the way Kouta’s soulmark shine, he accepted it without a second thought.

And when Kouta pulled away afterwards, face pulled in a frown, Izuku tried to ignore the fear that stabbed his own heart. He wondered if he would make a world record, an ashen mark as soon as he had received it, but Kouta dispelled his fears just as easily.

“That felt weird,” Kouta said. Izuku blinked at him, his mind taking a minute to process, until he caught up. Then he laughed and laughed because he feels exactly what Kouta feels – the disappointment, the confusion, the curiosity… and the underlying overwhelming emotion of it all.

Unbridled joy.

The elation of having someone know you – of being accepted, treasured, remembered.

He also felt the embarrassment that followed as Kouta turned as red as his shoes.

iv.

The soulmark exchange with Shinsou had been quiet.

It happened on the night of their second year when they both stumbled upon each other in the kitchen at the forsaken 2am hour did Shinsou spring up the topic.

“You don’t have that many soulmarks, do you?” the question was genuine, as far as Izuku can tell, and although the boy was rough around the edges, he knew it was due to the fact that Shinsou had so little support in life and was untrusting of all that Izuku had felt a kindred spirit in that regard.

They have observed the people around them, of course, and have noticed that everyone at least had five. A family member, a best friend from childhood, a classmate they never got lost in contact with.

Izuku stole a glance at the back of his right hand, at the blue heart settled at base of his forefinger and thumb and hummed an agreement. “No, I don’t,” he agreed, letting stiff fingers be warmed by his tea. He doesn’t return the question to Shinsou, knowing that it was a touchy subject for the other boy, but he did wonder, “Why do you ask?”

They don’t talk about it much, these colorful marks on their skin. They don’t talk about how a brush of hand over the little symbols can feel as warm as an embrace, how fear isn’t so scary when someone else sends you courage, how silence isn’t deafening when someone knows to listen.

It is in moments like these that they listen.

Izuku listens to Shinsou’s own quiet humming, the way the gears in his mind seem to move, the way he figures out how to phrase the words he wants to say next. And Izuku has been thinking about it – had been for the past few months.

Will his classmates ever want a piece of his soul?

He could tell that Uraraka does. He could tell that Iida would want one, too, but a soulmark is something that’s rarely asked for due to its sacred nature – it is freely given, after all, and never to be taken lightly. And Izuku had never offered. He had wanted to, of course, but he knows how messy his mind can get. He knows how anxious he can be. It’s why he had given his to Eri in a pace that is both hidden and seen, something she had to reach out for so she could feel. Izuku could not yet know what Eri is thinking or feeling, nor will he ever have inkling to unless she so desired, and Izuku is completely fine with that.

After all, a soulmark is a connection of souls – but it didn’t have to be an exchange. What it did mean though is that for one who bears the soul of another is to be aware of them – to be able to feel their warmth and develop an understanding of their soul. It is not to read their minds nor to know everything about them, but it is about the intimacy of knowing someone and being known.

A commitment.

A promise.

Like an artwork waiting to be completed, like a dance you can take to heart, a soulmark is connection that bridges the gap between someone you know and someone you choose forever.

“I don’t get it,” Shinsou finally said, and Izuku turned his eyes to him, the question lost in his tongue. “You have a strong and flashy quirk, you have so many people who love you and would fight the world for you, heck Uraraka and Iida would probably murder someone for you if you ask them, and yet you don’t have their marks and… they don’t have yours. I know I’m not good at this thing but at the very least, people give their marks away as easy as they’re giving candy. And you guys are pretty close, so I don’t get it.”

And the pain of burning that bridge is the same as losing a piece of your soul. Izuku absentmindedly reaches for his heart, the ashen remains of Kacchan’s soulmark embedded on his skin still, and he tries his best to forget.

Izuku looks instead at the clock in the kitchen, noting that it’s only 2:17am, and asks if Shinsou would like to listen to a story.

And they left the kitchen at 5:00am, only to crash in the couch, heart heavy yet full, mind settled and secured, souls at ease, and both boys sharing a mark they never expected to kiss their skin.

The night Izuku had laid bare his soul for someone else to see, when it was him who had reached out first before someone else had offered, when he had done it so willingly and freely, it felt as if something has shifted within him – and in all the remaining years he had spent in UA, he was able to garner a couple more soulmarks for his own. He finally had the pink milky way that was Uraraka’s, the red lighting storm that was Iida’s, and Todoroki’s fiery white snowflake.

And to think that before all of this, before meeting All Might, before knowing these people and being known in return, Izuku was afraid and alone – afraid of the vulnerability that came along with letting people in.

To think that all he had ever thought about when he thought of soulmates were fireworks kissing his skin, long fingers bruising his arms, and taunts and jeers haunting his every waking moment – but now he is surrounded by love and warmth. Now when he thinks of soulmates, he thinks of mochi in the common kitchen, tea in hand; he thinks of morning jogs and healthy breakfast; he thinks of cold soba and cats; he thinks of unicorns and sprinkles and little kids and coloring books; he thinks of training sessions and laughter and peace.

Now when Izuku thinks of soulmates, he thinks of home.

And speaking of home, he can’t wait to get back to their apartment and give his mom the biggest of hugs. They had always called even when he was away and even when they would consistently send little taps through their soulmark, nothing still beats the warmth of a real embrace – and this is what Izuku fixes his mind on as he cleans out his dorm room, packing away every picture frame, books, notebooks, clothes, and figurines. Graduation is in a few days and after that, their debut to hero society. None of them would have enough time to clear out by then.

Izuku packs away the memories, just as he did each item that reminds him of it, and keeps them close in his heart. He packs away the ten million headband, the plushies from the cultural festival, the cards he had received from Eri and Kouta, and he tries his best not to feel emotional. He didn’t want to flood the dorms one last time, after all, but he did think it would be nice to have Aizawa-sensei scold him for being a problem child through and through but ultimately, it was the knock at his door that helps him succeed.

A knock, quiet and soft, and he opens the door to find Kacchan standing at the other side.

Their relationship had improved over the years.

Kacchan is… less angry now, more settled. He’s still fiery and explosive but he doesn’t lash out anymore. Kirishima, Kaminari, the Bakusquad had been good to him and for him and Izuku had never been gladder about it. He had long stopped dreaming of the day that their relationship would be fixed – he and Kacchan had grown up, grown apart, and even when they drift back together, he is well aware that it would never be the same way again.

He doesn’t ask for it to.

He loves Kacchan, yes, with all his heart, but Izuku now knows that love does not have to be reciprocated for it to be real – but to still be loved in return is a precious treasure he keeps close.

“Hey, Kacchan, do you need something?”

And Kacchan looks at him, face pensive, mouth opening and closing, thinking and grasping and failing to think of the words he wants to say, and something in Izuku feels warm. After some time, the other boy settles with, “Are you busy?”

And if it was at any other time before, Izuku would’ve dropped everything that he had been doing and say no, he wasn’t busy, of course he had the time – but Izuku’s eyes sway to soulmarks on his arm and he steals a look at the digital clock by his table.

“I have thirty minutes,” was what Izuku told him. “I promised Todoroki we’d drop by the store to get his favorite soba since they’re not available near his house. I have time tomorrow morning thought if that works for you. I can cancel the morning jog with Iida if – “

“Thirty minutes is fine,” Kacchan answered back, cutting his rumbling off. It wasn’t harsh or angry. Just… very Kacchan-ish.

“Okay. Do you waant to step in? it’s a bit messy though, I still haven’t finished packing.”

And when Izuku heard the small tsk as he moved aside for Kacchan to pass through, he knew that the other boy won’t mind his mess. He felt a little grateful at that, to not be judged within the confines of his small room. They were silent for a few more second but it wasn’t the kind of silence that would make him uncomfortable. It was companionable, to say the least, and Izuku began picking up the pieces he had left before Kacchan had knocked and continued his packing. In another minute, Kacchan was helping him.

“Are you bringing the bookshelf home?”

“Nope, Aizawa-sensei said I could leave it here. Are you taking yours?”

“Thinking about it. Mine’s too small and I don’t want to waste money on something I can recycle. Do you have bubble wrap for the merch?”

“In the third drawer by the study table. I have newspapers too if that’s better.”

“Oh, Kacchan, that one goes in the other box.”

“Why? What’s the difference?”

“All my signed books are in one place.”

“Just how many posters do you fucking have?”

“Oh, come on, don’t pretend you don’t have just as many.”

“I’m not a hero-worshipping nerd like you, dumbass.”

“Says the guy who zonks out at 8pm.”

“Fuck you, asshole!”

“Kacchan, that’s limited edition!”

“I’m sorry.”

“…”

“For everything.”

“…”

“It was pretty messed up, the things I did, and I know sorry won’t fix this.”

“Can you pass me the tape, Kacchan?”

“…”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“Please put this box by the bed.”

“Okay.”

“…”

“You’re right, I don’t have to forgive you.”

“…”

“But I already did.”

“Deku…”

“It won’t fix what’s broken and it won’t stop the sting from the soulmark but…”

“…”

“We’re better now, aren’t we?”

“…”

“Kacchan, we’re better now.”

“You missed the night light.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“…”

“And it’s only going to get better, right?”

“…”

“Of course.”

“You’re still a sappy piece of shit.”

“Well, I’m not the one who’s crying, am I?”

“Fuck you.”

“Whatever you say, Kacchan.”

#queenangst gen contest #shanwrites #bnha #my hero #soulmate au #soulmarks #you don't need romance to call it love

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paralumanleadmehome · 4 years

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To everyone who've read my stories and thought it was good, thank you <3

I may not always reply but you warm my heart <3

#thank you #shanwrites

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paralumanleadmehome · 4 years

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Whumptober 2020

Okay. So.

I am most definitely going to be late for Whumptober2020 BUT I am determined to make it through this month (tho, okay, I might stretch it out to the end of this year but it’s the spirit, yes???)

And because I’m still figuring out my stories, and because I’m a working idiot, I’m not gonna follow the schedule but as a sneak peak, I want to show you guys what I have in mind (very very few, really, but the one I have for Day 4???? Delicious):

Scream at me or scream with me :)))

#shanwrites #writing #whumptober2020 #bnha #my hero #mysme

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paralumanleadmehome · 3 years

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Saeyoung is used to the dark.

When you’re trained by serial killers, master hackers, and skilled assassins, it’s something you find yourself getting familiar with because doing otherwise would be signing a death wish. And even though Saeyoung doesn’t care about his life, couldn’t care less, even, he doesn’t necessarily want to die. Loathe as he is to admit, he still has much to live for, despite knowing that he may not live long enough to see it.   It’s just as Vanderwood always tells him - the life they live isn’t worth any luxury.

People like them don’t deserve to step out into the light, let alone know what it means.

And if it meant protecting those that he holds dear, what’s a life of slavery, fear, and paranoia compared to the freedom of his brother?

So Saeyoung buries himself in his computer, practices in shooting his gun, endures the grueling hand-to-hand combat training, survives the missions he is assigned, have death pass over him more times than he can count, and jokingly tells his closest friends all his secret agent escapades. And if they think he’s exaggerating and making up stories… well… they didn’t have to know now, would they? The less they know, the better, and what better way to hide a tree than by hiding it in a forest? So Saeyoung lives in half-truths and barely whispered lies.

And he was so willing to keep living (living? can this be called living?) this kind of life but then she came along.

MC wasn’t supposed to be in the picture - but one day she came barging in, almost quite literally, into their lives and he couldn’t find himself none the wiser.

He knows he should’ve pushed her away, he knows he should’ve stayed away.

But gods how he loved this.

How he loved her.

And he didn’t know what he was missing until she came.

The feeling of freely bantering with someone, of teasing them and being teased back, of reminding them to always eat and not to be like him who lives on Dr. Pepper and Honey Buddha Chips. He misses the way the sound of a laughter freely given can be and how warm a smile so wide and bright can warm his heart. He misses the way it feels to look at the sky and be hopeful that tomorrow could be better. He misses the way he fought for hope the same way he fought for his brother.

And he can’t stay away.

MC looks at him as if he hung up the moon and the stars, not knowing how he had to leave the only brother he loved just to keep him safe. She smiles at him as if there’s no darkness in him that she sees, not realizing that the life he lives is better left in the shadows.

And yet he can’t stay away.

Call him selfish, call him damned, call him foolish, call him reckless!

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want to stay away.

Not for her.

He wants her. He wants her the same way he wants his brother free and he is so damn tired of living a life that can never hold them close.

Yet here he is.

Here they are.

And Saeyoung knows it’s all his fault.

Saeyoung knows this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been so selfish.

His agency took MC.

He promised her. He promised! That he would keep her safe! That he would protect her! BUT NO. HE FAILED HER JUST AS HE FAILED HIS BROTHER.

No.

Breathe.

He’ll do this.

He’ll save her.

Just as she saved him.      But as Saeyoung looks into the dark, he knows it’s a trap.

He knows that the possibility of MC being in this abandoned warehouse is close to none.

But close to none still isn’t zero.

Close to none still means he can hold her close and run away with her after all this.

It’s the only clue he has.

It’s the only lead he can follow.

But he can hear it.

He can hear her.

Begging him to turn back.

Run away.

Be free.

But Saeyoung is tired of running away.

Saeyoung is tired for not having fought for those he loves… not in the way that they deserve. He knows there’s something in there. He can hear it breathing, at the least. He knows it may not be MC. He hates how it may be her. So he waits… And he stares… And when he sees the flash of her golden eyes, he runs in. And how funny it is that he remembers that if you stare long enough to the void, the void will stare back. He can only hope it’s her that’s waiting for him. He hears a gun click.    

#Mystic Messenger #MysMe #MysMe fanfic #shanwrites #when i was ever nice to Seven #oh wait there was one time #oh my love #my sweet darlin seven o seven

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paralumanleadmehome · 4 years

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So, tumblr.

I made a thing :3

It’s the knock at the door that makes Toshinori decide that it’s futile to try to get some sleep tonight.

He’s been at it for hours, really, but he refuses to keep count. He knows what Inko will say, what Recovery Girl will say, heck, even what Aizawa will say. But he can’t help it when his nightmares refuse to let him rest - not when his heart is broken, not when all he sees when he closes his eyes is the darkness and grief that had never left him since… he sighs and sits up.

Toshinori is familiar with death - it had been an unwelcomed friend all his life, a stark reminder that he is but human, a quiet memory that lies at the recesses of his mind, a phantom that reaches out ever so often, a prophecy foretold, and a promise he had awaited. Being the Number One Hero and the Symbol of Peace had given him close encounters - but regrettably, they were just that. Encounters, close enough to touch, never enough to reach, close enough to take from him, never enough to take him. And he is left in the wake of loss and longing.

When the final battle with Shigaraki happened about a year ago, he had been there to watch the fallout.

It was a massacre of blood, dust, and debris. There was screaming, there was the sound of pure unadulterated anger and fear that reverberated through the air. He remembers seeing Young Midoriya pushing a little girl out of harm’s way, remembers the way Shigaraki’s hand reach his boy’s chest, remembers the agony of the scream that left Midoriya's lips, remembers seeing him fighting still despite the undoubted pain - ever his destructive self, ever the hero that never falls - and Toshinori remembers the way his fist was raised, high up, still strong, and his heart breaks when remembers the boy’s smile as the battle ended with Shigaraki's defeat. He remembers standing up on his feet, his heart beating wildly against his chest, as Midoriya - as Izuku - crumpled to the ground. He doesn’t remember the memory that follows after. He doesn’t remember the trip to the hospital, nor the flashing lights, nor the crying and wailing of the kids of UA. Instead he finds himself hating the irony that where he lived against the battle with All for One, Izuku might lose his life against this.

...

OKAY I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THE THING WHERE YOU DO THE KEEP READING AND i am on mobile and i don't wanna spam you with a long post so fkavslqbdof you may find it on ao3?

#bnha #my hero #bnha fanfic #shanwrites #whumptoboer2020 #no.19 #grief #mourning #survivor's guilt #broken hearts

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paralumanleadmehome · 3 years

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Toshinori is familiar with death - it had been an unwelcomed friend all his life, a stark reminder of the brevity of life, a phantom that reaches out ever so often, a prophecy once foretold, and a promise he had awaited. Being the Number One Hero and the Symbol of Peace had given him close encounters - moments when he wondered if it was how he would go out -was it in a blaze of glory? A lung full of blood? A failing heart? A slumber he would never awake from? But regrettably, they were just... that. Encounters, close enough to touch, never enough to reach, close enough to take from him, never enough to take him. And he is left in the wake of loss and longing.

And since I’m an angst writer who can’t get enough of pain and sadness, reposting this again for all of you who’d like to see a sad All Might grieving over the loss of his son! This is the edited version of my original one, posted for Whumptober. I can’t write anything new yet but I hope you enjoy this one!!

#whumptober2020 #welp #shanwrites

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paralumanleadmehome · 4 years

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I wrote this thing a while back and figured why not

Hypocrite

There was something in the way that Midoriya moved that morning that had Aizawa raising an eyebrow in silence.

The problem child was known for a lot of things - whether it be his growing skills in English (backed by Yamada’s constant praises and Todoroki’s subtle smiles of approval), his competitive spirit (otherwise known as Bakugou and the occasional Yaoyorozu), his reckless tendencies (hello, Recovery Girl), his fanboy tendencies (his room is a fvcking shrine), the possibilities of him being All Might’s secret lovechild (even if the man denies it vehemently but almost everyone believes Todoroki’s theories because even if the boy is dense, he’s far from dumb), and he’s consistency in never asking for help.

Aizawa can understand that, heck, he can even understand why problem child refuses to ask for help. What he doesn’t understand instead is the why behind the why.

Oh, he understands that asking for help, although not a sin in and of itself, is okay. After all, it is nothing but a grim reminder that he isn’t enough. That he had a moment of weakness that he shouldn’t have, that he is incapable, incompetent, foolish, reckless, stupid, weak. But that’s Aizawa. That’s for Aizawa. And Midoriya Izuku is but a child who is still learning the ways of the world, the ways of heroics and heroism, and if he doesn’t learn how to ask for help, then he’s going to get himself killed. Hypocrite, says the traitorous voice in his head. And sometimes Yamada says that he’s too hard on himself but Aizawa is a hero, an adult, a teacher. Midoriya Izuku is a child. You wouldn’t blame Yamada for asking for help, so why blame yourself?

So when Aizawa saw problem child’s face flushed, his eyes glazed, and the slight sway on his steps, he doesn’t hesitate to clear his throat, say, “Midoriya, a word,” as his students left for their next class.

He ignores the way Uraraka and Iida sent the kid a look of concern, ignores the way Todoroki lingered, ignores the way his own heart squeezes inside his chest and instead focuses on the look that crosses Midoriya’s face, the anxiety just beneath the surface of his wobbly smile and frightened gaze.

“Do you need me for something, sensei?” Midoriya asks in a quiet voice, just barely above a whisper.

Aizawa decided to go straight to the point.

“Do you need to see Recovery Girl?”

Midoriya blinks at him. And blinks.

And blinks.

As if he was out of focus.

A moment of silence lapsed between them until-

“I- what?”

Aizawa sighs.

“Do you need to see Recovery Girl?” he breathes again, as if the way Midoriya’s gaze doesn’t unnerve him, as if he didn’t want to shake the boy by his shoulders and tell him that he’s sick. as if he wouldn’t do the same thing if he were in his place.

“I… don’t?” Midoriya tells him, sounding unsure yet trying to be steady. Aizawa narrows his eyes. “I’m fine, sensei,” Midoriya continues.

“You look dead on your feet.”

There’s a small hint of smile on Midoriya’s face, distracted, distant, and then says, “I’ve been worse.”

And Aizawa blinks at that.

And there are a lot of things that Aizawa understands. He understands that Midoriya is lying to him straight to his face because he doesn’t want to miss class, maybe doesn’t want to worry anyone. He understands that Midoriya also absentmindedly told him something he wouldn’t have said when fully lucid and sober. He understands that problem child doesn’t want to be a bother. What he doesn’t understand instead is the why behind the why. He is a child. So why?

“What do you mean, Midoriya?” he asks carefully, quietly, threading lightly knowing that there is a fragile sense of peace in Midoriya’s moment of delirium and honesty.

Midoriya shakes his head as if to clear it but the look in his eyes still says that he has failed.

“I’ve had worse,” Midoriya repeats as if Aizawa wasn’t comprehending something so simple. “This isn’t the first time I came to class sick. And it isn’t the last,” and Aizawa wanted to refute that, to reprimand him for his recklessness, but the traitorous voice in his head is loud and obnoxious and it whispers as if you wouldn’t do the same that he catches the quiet mutter Midoriya unwittingly allows: “I don’t really understand why it bothers you when no one cared before.”

And something in his gut wrenches. Because suddenly the voice in his head quiets. It stops calling him a hypocrite. Instead it starts going back to why. Why why why why why.

“Go to Recovery Girl,” Aizawa tells him. It’s not a command nor a request. It’s just… words. But Midoriya flinches upon hearing them.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re this close to passing out.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Midoriya-“

“Please,” the boy pleads, “I can’t fall behind more than I already have.”

One puzzle piece falls into place.

To his frustration, he doesn’t know if it fell in the right place.

He doesn’t even know if it’s a puzzle piece for the answer he’s trying to figure out or if it’s for something else entirely.

“What makes you think you’re behind?”

“Everyone’s already ahead of me,” Midoriya replies, but it doesn’t really answer anything.

“Kid, you’re way ahead of your classmates. You’re even fourth in class,” he tells him, because isn’t that what’s happening?

“Not with my quirk.”

“Kid,” Aizawa starts again, exasperation bleeding in his tone, because none of this makes sense and he just-

“I only started last year,” Midoriya says softly, as if what he said wasn’t a ground breaking revelation, “and I can’t keep on getting delayed just because of a stupid cold. So please, sensei, let me go and let me catch up. I need this. I need to do this.”

Aizawa stares at him, a million thoughts buzzing inside his head.

Another puzzle piece falls.

Pieces, to be exact.

Because suddenly there’s a whole new picture.

Suddenly, there’s a whole new thought.

And the millions of thoughts inside Aizawa’s head is searching and churning and throwing and fixing that the only response he manages to give Midoriya is another blink.

“Go see Recovery Girl,” he says again, and just as Midoriya was about to protest, he adds, “missing one school day won’t keep you behind.”

“But-“

“No buts. Or would you rather I suspend you until you fully recover? And hold you off on all heroics class until I deem you fit enough to attend?” It’s a cheap move, he knows, but if it’s a move that would get problem child to rest, he’d do it.

And Midoriya looks as if he wants to protest - but there’s another sway in his steps and he almost falls.

“it’s okay to rest, problem child,” Aizawa tells him. And there’s a slight smile again in Midoriya’s lips. Quiet and calculating, distant and distracted.

“If you say so,” Midoriya says back.

“Let me take you to Recovery Girl.”

And if Aizawa felt a little relieved that Midoriya didn’t protest, he didn’t let it show.

And if he received an earful from Recovery Girl about how his problem child is just as stubborn as he is, he didn’t mention it to Yamada as he explained to the man how Midoriya is resting in the clinic and why he was walking with a limp that wasn’t there in the morning.

Because somehow, Aizawa is beginning to see a glimpse behind the why.

He doesn’t have the whole picture yet.

He’s not entirely sure if he ever will.

But one day he’d get problem child to understand that it’s okay to ask for help.

That it’s okay to rest.

That it’s okay to not be okay.

He’s just not entirely sure if he’ll learn that himself.

#bnha #my hero #bnha fanfic #shanwrites

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