Chapter Text
Everything was good. Everything was supposed to be good.
The war ended, the evil was annihilated, everyone was together, brought back in ruin to continue the life they almost lost. Izuku was back, he was good. He was reunited with Kacchan—who had a few issues and physical therapy but he was doing better now.
The whole class was doing better now, they were training again—third years. Almost able to graduate and go out into the real world. No more late study sessions, no more movie nights on school nights with countless regrets. It was a new start, a fresh start.
A terrifying start. An end to something old and the beginning of something new.
One late afternoon study session, Izuku sat on the couch. He was absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, his attention mostly directed at the group of Kacchan’s friends at the table in the common room at Heights Alliance.
They’d been learning for about an hour now, Kacchan teaching them what to do, snarling at them when they got it wrong—only giving a huff and a click of his tongue when they did good.
Izuku felt a smile stretch on his face, he liked these quiet moments. Everyone was doing their own thing but still staying close. Basking in each other’s presence. That was enough to know that they were still all here—all together. Safe and sound.
The whine of Kaminari halted Izuku’s thoughts as the boy dropped his chin on the table, shoulders hunched and eyes droopy, “We’re never going to get a good grade at this rate!” He cried, pouting miserably as Kirishima patted his back with a pitying smile.
Kacchan shook his head and put his hand on the table, using it as leverage to lean over the table to glare at this classmates. “You idiots are getting a good grade whether you like it or not! I’m not giving up until all of this is smashed into your brains!” He demanded, a scowl on his face yet Izuku knew he was trying hard to get them to understand—to help them.
The class had become closer since the war, especially Kaminari and Kacchan. They’d talked a lot, Izuku noticed. Sometimes he’d catch them walking behind the rest, Kaminari having a smile on his face while Kacchan had a lop-sided smirk tugging at his lips.
Izuku didn’t know what they talked about, but he’d sometimes get whispers of them talking about the war and what had happened.
None of them liked to talk about the war, none of them wanted to wander that path again, to relapse into that mindset, get teleported back into that time period where all what was on their minds was to survive and win.
Save to win.
Win to save.
Those words still make Izuku tremble, even a year and a half later. He’d heard it coming from a few of his classmates, when everything weighed on them and they repeated the phrase to themselves over and over again.
Wishing—praying that they’d win. That they’d save everyone they wanted to save, and win without the gruelling memories that were attached to the battles of war. The scars that leave, the aches and pains of losing someone you held dear.
Izuku knew all about grief.
The way of waking up in a cold sweat, phantom pains of losing his arms—the pain of losing Kacchan—it piled up. He’d grab his pillow and wander the quiet halls of the dorms, passing all the doors just to knock on one he knew all too well. Just to see a face he knew all too well, furrowed brows and tousled hair from sleep.
Kacchan never judged Izuku for waking him up in the middle of the night, soft sobs muffled in the fabric of his shirt as they laid together in each other’s arms, knowing they’re both alive. Kacchan had stopped judging Izuku for it after the first time it happened.
Ear pressed against Katsuki’s chest as Izuku listened to the heartbeats.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
Soft fingers combing through Izuku’s hair, fingertips brushing against the scar on his head. Thumb caressing his cheek, wiping away stray tears—soft lips against Izuku’s forehead, reminding, promising Izuku he’ll always be there, always stay where Izuku could reach him.
Always at arm’s length. Always close enough to touch, to hold and feel the soft skin and run his hands along the scars that Izuku wished he could kiss away. The memories, the nightmares, the everlasting problems with Kacchan’s heart—Izuku wanted to hold them close and turn them into fluttering butterflies that flew in the wind.
They were never far apart anyway. Neither Kacchan nor Izuku would let either of them stray away from where the other couldn’t reach them.
Sometimes Kacchan held Izuku’s hands, his pointer finger running along his arms, tracing the scars, the dips and callouses bundled up over the years. He’d remind himself that Izuku’s arms were still there, still able to hold and feel.
A warm hand placed against his arm, Izuku flinched and looked to the side, eyes locking with brown ones. Uraraka looked at him with a kind smile, a small furrow of concern in her brows as she mouthed the words, “Are you okay?”
Izuku smiled and nodded back, whispering, “Just thinking.”
That seemed to reassure her, since she nodded and turned back towards whatever Tsuyu was saying. Laughing along and smiling so bright Izuku felt his own lips quirk up. Uraraka was nice, she always was.
There was a difference to her now, though. One Izuku had noticed right after the war. He’d only heard snippets of her fight with Toga, quiet sobs in the night when everything was too much—the thoughts swarmed for too long and needed to be voiced into the open before they’d grow mad.
Uraraka was still a girl who loved, but her views had changed. She talked differently about Toga, corrected someone when they said something she didn’t like—and overall looked to be more careful with judging someone.
Izuku thought that was very mature of her, and often times asked her opinion on things when he couldn’t figure it out.
Everything was nice, everyone was back together.
A vibration of Izuku’s phone caused him to look down. His phone had turned off since he started to drift and his mind began to wander. The caller id was just Unknown, so Izuku debated whether or not to pick up.
But eventually, he picked up the phone and waited for an answer. He wondered who it was. It couldn’t be All Might since Izuku has his number saved, and the man wouldn’t call Izuku out of the blue like this.
When rustling came from the other line, Izuku’s brows furrowed and he was about to hang up when a low voice said, “Izuku?”
Izuku paused, did he know this person? The man’s voice was low, not one Izuku could fully remember, but he had a small tinge of familiarity that flickered in his mind.
“Hello? Who’s this?” He asked, voice low. He didn’t want to worry any of his classmates, so he decided to stay at least a little silent before hanging up on the person if this was some kind of prank.
The man laughed, it wasn’t mocking or anything, but it still sent a shiver down Izuku’s spine. As if his body remembered, but his mind didn’t. “It’s me, my son.”
Time stopped, Izuku’s breath hitched.
He didn’t respond right away, he couldn’t bring himself to. Memories swarmed into his mind, cold nights outside—trembling in the corner of his room. Izuku wanted to forget those memories, he had forgotten them, until now.
Silently, as the shock began to subside, Izuku turned to his classmates.
No one had noticed his reaction, they were all still caught up chatting with each other. Izuku wanted it to stay that way, to keep the calm atmosphere that he cherished in these moments. He didn’t want to ruin it.
Getting up from the couch, Izuku beelined it for the stairs, muttering as he went, “D-dad, this isn’t a good time.” He wandered up a few stairs but paused. He was far enough from the others, he could stay here until his dad was done with whatever he wanted to say.
Hisashi laughed again, and Izuku remembered it too much now. He hated it. “Izuku, you should be more kind to your old man, y’know?” He said, but it was dull and lacked any emotion. “I’m just calling to check up on you.”
Izuku grit his teeth, “I-I know, Hi—Dad. B-but right now isn’t a good time. I’m very tired a-and—” He trailed off when Hisashi sighed.
“Well, all I truly wanted to say was that I’m home. But you weren’t there so your mother told me where you were and gave me your number. I’m surprised you didn’t keep it? Did you lose my contact info? You could’ve asked your mother for my number.” He explained, humming along with a female voice of Izuku’s mom that was heard softly in the background.
“I-I know, Dad. B-but I was so busy with school and stuff so I didn’t—”
“Right. You’re always busy, Izuku. You should make some more time for your mother! The poor woman is all alone here in this house.” Hisashi interrupted, making Izuku tighten his hold on his phone and dig his nails into the palm of his free hand.
“I’ve gone over a few times already, dad. It’s just with UA that I didn’t—”
“Ugh! So much with UA this, UA that. Tell you what—you come visit us sometime, it’ll be fun! Come and visit your old pal, hah?” He suggested, his tone cheery yet Izuku could hear the underlying pressure.
Izuku turned his head to the side, watching his classmates from the common room. They were all still huddled up together, chatting away like nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong, not horribly so.
“I-I don’t know. I have exams coming up so I’m not sure. I-I could talk with Aizawa but—”
“Izuku! Get back here and help me explain to these idiots that All Might is better than Red Riot!” Kacchan yelled, interrupting Izuku as he turned to the blond boy. Kirishima was protesting, hands waving Izuku off, shaking his head.
“You’re too hard on yourself, Izuku. Come on, visit us tomorrow, yeah? Then it’s weekend and you’ll be free from the horrors of boring school.” Hisashi demanded, his voice had now grown impatient, and Izuku could hear the light tapping of his foot against the wooden floor. It made memories resurface.
Izuku turned back to the stairs, staring at the paint peeling off in a corner. His hand hurt, and as he opened his palm, he noticed he’d broken the skin of his palm, which was red and inflamed, along with blood trickling down.
“Dad, I can’t just leave school out of nowhere. I-I need to talk to this with Aizawa before I can go but he doesn’t like it when we go out without him knowing.” He explained, voice low and shoulders hunched.
“Well tell that man I demand you go! You haven’t seen your dad in years! He’d better listen to you or else I’ll come to UA and step in!” Hisashi complained, now grown angry. Izuku hated it.
“Dad, please—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Izuku!” Hisashi cheered, then his voice lowered as Izuku heard him walk further, maybe so that Inko wouldn’t hear him, “Don’t think you can skip this. You’re coming home tomorrow, or else.”
Then he hung up, the beeping in Izuku’s ear taunted him, getting louder and louder, obscuring the countless thoughts swarming his mind as he stayed glued to the ground.
He didn’t want to see Hisashi again, didn’t want to see his face. But he couldn’t—he couldn’t not go, he didn’t know what Hisashi would do if he did. He didn’t know what would happen, and that scared him.
“Izuku?”
Izuku jumped and turned, finding Kacchan standing in front of him. His brows were furrowed and there was a scowl on his face, but he was more concerned than angry. “What’s wrong?”
Izuku shook his head, “It’s nothing, Kacchan.” He smiled, yet he knew it was futile from the way Kacchan’s eyes flickered from his phone to his palm.
Gentle hands wrapped around Izuku’s own, exposing his bloodied palm. Izuku hissed when Kacchan pressed down onto the sensitive flesh, the boy immediately retracked his hand as if he’d been burned.
“Who was on the phone?” He asked, eyes turning up to stare into Izuku’s eyes.
Izuku looked away, he didn’t want to tell Kacchan, he doesn’t like Hisashi—maybe even more than Izuku does. Even when they were young, Kacchan always avoided Izuku’s father as if he was the plague, often inviting Izuku over at his own house instead of Izuku’s since he didn’t like it there.
Izuku swallowed, “P-promise you won’t get mad.” He said, voice low as he turned back towards Kacchan.
The blond haired boy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did you get accused of murder again or something?” He asked, a light tease to his words, but Izuku didn’t laugh.
“I’m serious, Kacchan. Please don’t get mad.” Izuku begged, and he didn’t know what kind of expression was on his face for Kacchan to look at him like that.
He nodded slowly, still holding Izuku’s hand and squeezing softly, reassuring. Izuku wanted to squeeze back, but he found out all his energy had been exhausted by the conversation on the phone.
“I-it was Hisashi. He’s back home.” The word home felt foreign when it came to Izuku’s dad. He never felt at home when Hisashi was there, as if he was a stranger in Izuku’s life. And maybe he was.
Kacchan’s face contorted into anger as he shook his head, “What? After fucking years of no contact he suddenly shows up out of nowhere?” He hissed angrily, pulling at Izuku’s hand.
Izuku sighed and pocketed his phone, using his free hand to comb through his hair. “I-I don’t know what to do, Kacchan.” He muttered, looking down at their intertwined hands. “He—he demanded me to come home tomorrow but…”
Kacchan shook his head again, “You’re not going back, not alone at least. I’ll come with, yeah?” He suggested, but Izuku turned away.
“Y-you can’t, Kacchan. Dad doesn’t like you, and you don’t like him either. It’s an argument waiting to happen.” He whispered, voice soft.
Izuku knew that Kacchan would cause an argument with Hisashi, they always argued when Kacchan saw him. They never got along, and Hisashi eventually told Izuku when he was young to stop hanging out with Kacchan. But Izuku never listened.
Kacchan often muttered insults under his breath whenever he saw Hisashi, even when they were young. Izuku would always gasp and look into his dad’s direction, hoping the man didn’t hear.
Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. Izuku hated when he did, because Kacchan wouldn’t get punished, but Izuku would.
Kacchan’s expression changed, he looked defeated. “I can’t let you go there alone, Izuku. You know that man wouldn’t give a single shit that you are your own person now. He’ll break you again.” He said silently, and Izuku hated that he was right.
Hisashi would break down everything Izuku build for himself, every good thing that happened in Izuku’s life would be fogged over with the memory of broken sobs and angry yells.
He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to avoid this. The feeling of fear had laid dormant for years, because Izuku didn’t need to fear his dad anymore, because he wasn’t there. But now he is, now he’s back. And Izuku’s falling apart.
“I have to go, Kacchan.” Izuku whispered, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes but he forced them back. “He threatened to show up here. I don’t want the class to see him.”
Kacchan slowly reached out, a warm hand on Izuku’s cheek as he pulled Izuku towards him, looking into his eyes. “Izuku, please. I can hold back—I can do whatever you ask me to. Just—please don’t go alone.” He begged, thumb caressing the scar on Izuku’s cheek.
“You don’t understand, Kacchan. Hisashi won’t even let you inside the apartment.” Izuku muttered, leaning into the touch.
He knew he had to do this alone, even if he feels like the ground could swallow him up. He knew he had to, he had to face his dad alone, even if he doesn’t want to.
Kacchan sighed, “I’ll be here then. Always.” He pulled Izuku closer so their foreheads would touch, holding Izuku close as they breathed together. Izuku wanted to voice every thought that swarmed inside of his mind, but he didn’t.
When they parted, Kacchan led them back to the common room, giving some lousy excuse on why they talked. Izuku then wandered towards the school, knowing Aizawa would still be there writing something down even if it was the afternoon and he was all set to go home.
There was a comfortable breeze, but it didn’t give Izuku the comfort he’d usually get. His skin was littered with goosebumps as he shivered. It wasn’t fully dark yet, but the street lights were still on as Izuku walked the short path towards the school.
When he stepped inside, he was pleasantly surprised that all the lights were still on, so he took it upon himself to search for Aizawa.
Finding the man sitting in the classroom grading papers, Izuku knocked once, twice—before hearing a grunt.
He slid the door open, seeing Aizawa sit at the desk with a small light on beside him. He had glasses on and looked even more like a teacher—or more homeless, Izuku couldn’t tell from the nerves eating at him.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa greeted him without looking up from the papers, scribbling something down. “Do you need anything?”
“W-well, I was asking if I could… visit home tomorrow?” Izuku asked, fidgeting with the bandage Kacchan had placed on his palm right before he went to Aizawa.
The man paused and looked at Izuku, one eyebrow raised. “You want to go home? But you’ve already went last week.” He pointed out, placing the paper on a pile of other papers stacked on top of each other.
Izuku nodded, “I know. But it’s just, Hisashi—my dad just got home. He called me and a-asked me to come over.”
That made Aizawa raise his head and look at Izuku, eye narrowed. “Your father? I can’t say I’ve met him.” He said, but it wasn’t unkind.
Izuku laughed awkwardly, devoid of any real laughter as he nodded, “H-he was working abroad for a while so… he didn’t have much time for my mother and I.”
Aizawa’s brows furrowed but he didn’t say anything for a while, just staring at Izuku until he spoke, “One day, hm?”
Izuku nodded. “Ah, yeah. He wanted me to come f-for tomorrow only.”
“And do you want to go as well?” Aizawa asked suddenly, making Izuku pause.
“S-sorry?” He asked, brows furrowed.
Aizawa dropped the paper that he was grading and turned to Izuku, taking off the glasses to stare at the boy. “Midoriya, you’re normally ecstatic to go home. Yet now, I’m getting the impression that you don’t actually want to go.”
Izuku’s shoulders tensed, was he that obvious?
“I-it was just sudden, that’s all.” He lied, it didn’t sound convincing, even to his own ears.
Aizawa also didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t voice his opinion any further.
He granted Izuku permission to leave and told him to have fun. It sounded like he knew, but Izuku didn’t want to think about it.
He wanted to see his mom, but he didn’t want to see Hisashi.
That night, while Izuku laid down on his bed—Kacchan next to him, already fast asleep—he thought about a lot. About flickering memories he’d buried long ago, about cold nights outside where he’d knock on the door, begging his father to let him back inside, that he was afraid of the dark.
Nights spend alone in his room, surrounded by All Might posters while he listened to his stomach rumble because he wasn’t allowed to eat dinner again. Late nights hovering over the toilet, throwing up everything that was in his stomach because everything hurt and he just wanted Hisashi to love him.
Small hands clasped together in a prayer, wishing that his father would look at him like Izuku was his son, and not a stranger with his last name and DNA.
He just wanted to ask Hisashi why he did what he did, why he told Izuku everything that was wrong with him.
Why he left and didn’t return.
But Izuku won’t, because even if he’s eighteen now, he still feels like that six year old kid who sobbed silently while he clung to his mother, asking her why his dad hated him so much.
Inko never saw what Hisashi did, maybe the man hid it too well, or she was so blinded by her love for that man—that she couldn’t see it.
Slowly, Izuku’s eyes started to shut—being lulled asleep by the soft breaths of Kacchan, and the beating of his heart.
Izuku wanted to stay in this moment forever, warm in the safety of his own dorm, listening to the rustling of the wind outside and the low murmurs of those who couldn’t sleep either.
But as sleep claimed him, all he could think about was angry black eyes and hurtful words.
“D-dad, I’m sorry! I—Kacchan didn’t mean it, I swear! He didn’t mean it, please!” Izuku begged, getting dragged along by his father as he took quick strides towards the hall.
Dad didn’t respond, Izuku knew he wouldn’t respond. But he just needed to explain, Kacchan didn’t mean to call him that—it was a joke, it was just teasing. Izuku wanted it to be teasing.
The hand tightened around Izuku’s small wrist, making him hiss as fat tears streamed down his face. He didn’t want to be outside, it was cold.
He was in his pyjamas when Dad yelled at him and forced him out of his bed, telling him that Kacchan shouldn’t have been disrespectful, and that Izuku needed to learn the consequences of his actions. Because Izuku didn’t hold Kacchan back, because Izuku didn’t scold Kacchan anymore.
The front door to the apartment opened, and then Izuku was shoved outside. His bare feet touched the cold concrete of the hall, overviewing the rest of the apartment complex as the door slammed closed again.
Izuku sank to the ground, his chest ached with the sobs wracking through his small body, emotions too big for his body as he sobbed.
He knocked on the door, “Dad? I’ll—I’ll be good, I swear. I-I won’t let Kacchan call you that anymore! Please open the door, I’m scared.” He begged, small hands bundled into fists as he knocked, over and over again.
The wood on his cold skin ached once he finally stopped knocking. He didn’t bang on the door like he did once, maybe he gave up because he knew it would’ve been futile.
“Please, Dad. It’s so cold, I’m so cold.” Izuku whispered, teeth clacking against each other as he wrapped his arms around his cold body, leaning against the wall beside the door. A small flicker of hope in his chest that maybe—possibly, Inko would feel pity for him and allow him inside.
But as he saw the hallway light turn off underneath the door, the hope died.
Izuku brought his knees up to his chest, hugging himself as he trembled. The tears streaming down his face were warm compared to his cold skin. He wished Dad would believe him for once, hoped that he still had a little bit of sympathy for his son.
Izuku was six when he figured out that Hisashi won’t ever love him back, so he stopped loving the man, too. There wouldn’t be a change, the only change there was, was when Hisashi packed his things and left.
Inko had been heartbroken, Izuku had been overjoyed.
They never saw eye to eye anyway.
Izuku gasped as he jolted upright, a cold layer of sweat sticked against his forehead as he trembled, feeling the phantom cold against his skin.
Physically, he was eighteen. Mentally, he was still the six year old boy who woke up that morning with a fever because he stayed out in the cold the entire night.
A grumble came from beside him, and Izuku snapped his head towards Kacchan. His eyes were barely open, and he looked confused as he stared at Izuku.
He wrapped his arms around Izuku’s hips, trying to tug him down while grumbling something Izuku couldn’t hear.
“S-sorry for waking you, Kacchan.” Izuku muttered, a pitying smile tugged at his mouth as he stroked Kacchan’s hair.
The blond haired boy’s eyes widened as he was suddenly wide awake, jolting upright as he stared into Izuku’s eyes. “You’re leaving today.” He said, as if he remembered everything that had happened.
Izuku’s smile faltered as he stared at the sheets, he nodded slowly, curling over himself as he breathed in deep. “I don’t know if I can do this, Kacchan.”
Kacchan crumbled, reaching one hand up to caress Izuku’s cheek. “You’ll be okay. And if you won’t, you can always come back here.” He murmured, tilting Izuku’s chin up a bit to gently force him to look into his eyes.
“I’m scared, Kacchan.” His voice wobbled, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He didn’t know what he was scared of. He knew Hisashi couldn’t do much to him anymore, he was going to be a pro hero, he was stronger.
But still, he could face villains, brace broken bones—but the thought of Hisashi, how he was, how he might still be—it scared him. And he didn’t fully know why.
Maybe because it was his dad, and somewhere in his heart, he still wanted the man to love him like he used to—or maybe he never used to.
Kacchan nodded slowly, “You can do this, Izuku. I believe in you.” He whispered, staring intently into Izuku’s eyes.
The green haired boy smiled softly, reaching out to Kacchan with both hands to cradle his face and bring him closer, giving him a soft peck on his forehead. “I’ll be strong for Kacchan.” He whispered back, voice still hesitant but it spoke volume.
He stood in front of the common room’s door, still inside. He didn’t bring extra clothes since he didn’t think he’d spend the night there anyway, he took his phone with him, though.
“Deku?” Izuku turned, finding Uraraka standing by the couches, brows furrowed. “Are you leaving?”
Izuku nodded. “Just for a day, visiting family.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He knew it wouldn’t, but he still tried to sound like he wanted to go—like this was made by his own actions, and not someone else’s.
The crease in between Uraraka’s brows didn’t go away, and she looked like she wanted to say something, or that she noticed something.
But she never said anything, even as Izuku opened the door and wandered outside into the cold breeze, she didn’t say anything.
Wandering out of UA felt weird, especially since Izuku knew where he’d go, who he’ll end up seeing after years of no contact. He didn’t want to go, he wanted to turn around, rush back into his dorm room and collapse on the bed.
He didn’t want to see Hisashi, he didn’t want to hear his voice, see his eyes on him as Izuku was still that useless child Hisashi learnt to hate.
His skin ached, but it wasn’t from the cold as Izuku’s body led him to the apartment—his home. Normally so welcoming, left him shivering as memories resurfaced again.
Being dragged out of the car into the car park and up the stairs by Hisashi because Izuku was caught colouring on the walls in daycare—his punishment that day was no dinner.
A rush of fear washed through him as he walked up those traitorous stairs, his legs moving on their own as Izuku’s mind went haywire. He wanted to turn around, tell his father that he’d been denied access to leave UA and never appear in front of that man again.
But when his eyes locked onto the apartment door, littered in tiny scratch marks Izuku made when he was young, he held his hand up to the wood. He didn’t want to knock, didn’t want to do anything other than run away.
The sound of knuckles connecting with cold wood was loud in Izuku’s ears, yet the blood rushing through his body obscured everything.
Izuku stood straight, head held up high as he heard footsteps come closer and closer towards the door—seeing the handle twitch and turn as he braced himself, holding his breath.
The door swung open, and in stood Hisashi. Black hair, equally black eyes—he hadn’t changed a bit. He was a little greyer now, though. He still looked exactly like he did as when he left. Izuku hated it.
Hisashi smiled, but it was mocking—weak. “There’s my son! Come inside!” He cheered, tilting his head to invite Izuku into his home.
Izuku stepped through the doorway, hearing the door shut behind him felt more like a prison cell closing in his face.
He braced himself, he could do this. For Kacchan.