Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When you think of the word 'pristine,' you might picture a gleaming marble countertop, its surface reflecting the light and showing no trace of fingerprints or smudges. The countertop is smooth to the touch, its polished finish unmarred by any imperfections, giving it an almost mirror-like quality. Every edge is sharp, every corner perfectly defined, as if it had just been installed moments ago.

Alternatively, the word 'pristine' might bring to mind a bedroom that looks like a scene from a home decor magazine. The bed is made with military precision, every corner of the duvet tucked in just right, and the pillows fluffed and arranged symmetrically. Not a speck of dust can be found on the furniture, the surfaces of the dresser and nightstands are spotless, and the floor is so clean that you could walk barefoot without hesitation. The air in the room is fresh, carrying a faint hint of lavender or another delicate scent from a hidden air freshener, adding to the overall sense of untouched cleanliness.

The room feels almost untouched, as if time has paused, preserving its immaculate condition. The windows are crystal clear, allowing sunlight to flood the room, illuminating every detail and casting soft shadows that add depth to the space. The closet doors are closed, the handles polished to a shine, and the overall effect is one of perfect order and tranquility. Everything is in its place, and nothing seems out of alignment, contributing to the sense of pristine perfection that the word evokes.

However, when I think of 'besmirched,' I envision something entirely different. I see a dirty, ripped-up floor, its surface marred by stains and scuff marks. The floor is littered with damp towels, remnants from past showers you never bothered to clean up after. Each towel is crumpled and slightly musty, evidence of neglect and disarray.

Scattered among the towels is the school uniform you haphazardly discarded the night before. The uniform is wrinkled and stained, a stark reminder of the bottle of tequila you downed in the middle of nowhere. The memory is hazy, but you somehow managed to stagger back home, your steps unsteady and erratic. You walked past your parents, who were either too oblivious or too exhausted to notice your state, and past the neighbors, who might have glimpsed you through their windows and silently judged.

The room carries the faint, sour smell of sweat and alcohol, mingling with the stale air of neglect. The windows are grimy, barely letting in any light, and the once-bright walls are now dulled by a thin layer of dust. Clothes are strewn about haphazardly, forming small piles of chaos. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled and twisted, a reflection of the restless sleep you barely managed to get.

In this space, everything feels heavy and worn down. The contrast to a pristine environment is stark; here, every detail speaks of disregard and abandonment. The floor that should be a clean foundation is instead a testament to the mess that has accumulated over time. Each item out of place adds to the overall sense of a life besmirched by poor choices and neglect.

That was my life. Besmirched.

A good-for-nothing, waste of life in my eyes. Days floated by like weeks, months even, drowning in either the feeling of an empty stomach or an empty stomach on top of the lingering taste of liquor that still burned no matter how many times you've shot it down your throat.

Each day was a blur, indistinguishable from the last, punctuated only by the gnawing hunger that seemed to define my existence. Sometimes, the hunger was physical, a hollow ache in my stomach that I tried to ignore. Other times, it was emotional, a deeper void that no amount of food or drink could fill. The burn of the liquor was a temporary distraction, a sharp, fiery sensation that cut through the numbness for a moment before fading, leaving behind only regret and a deeper sense of emptiness.

My surroundings mirrored my inner turmoil. The floor, once a solid foundation, was now a canvas of neglect, a testament to the days I spent in a haze. The towels and clothes scattered about were relics of a routine I had long abandoned. The school uniform, a symbol of a time when I had aspirations and hope, lay discarded, much like my dreams.

The air in my room was thick with the scent of despair—sweat, alcohol, and the musty odor of unwashed fabrics mingling together. It was a smell that clung to everything, an inescapable reminder of the life I had resigned myself to. The windows, clouded with grime, let in only the faintest hint of daylight, casting long shadows that seemed to mock my descent into this self-imposed purgatory.

Nights were the worst. The bed, a place meant for rest and rejuvenation, became a prison of restless thoughts and tangled sheets. Sleep was a fleeting escape, often interrupted by nightmares or the sudden jolt of a hangover. The silence of the night amplified my thoughts, making it impossible to escape the relentless self-criticism and the overwhelming sense of failure.

This was my life: besmirched, tarnished by poor decisions and an unyielding sense of worthlessness. The days, indistinct and unremarkable, stretched on interminably, each one a reminder of how far I had fallen from the person I once hoped to become.

Chapter Text

It's easy to romanticize the past until you find yourself living without the conveniences of the present. In the 90s, the absence of smartphones meant that our mornings were free from the constant distractions of social media, notifications, and endless scrolling. However, it also meant being disconnected from the instant communication and information access that we now take for granted.

Sitting in your room before school without a phone in the 90s could evoke a sense of solitude and quiet reflection. Without the constant buzz of notifications, you might have had the opportunity to focus on your thoughts, perhaps even enjoy a moment of peace before the hustle and bustle of the day began.

Yet, it could also leave you feeling isolated and disconnected. Without a phone to check messages or browse the internet, you might have felt cut off from your friends and the outside world. The absence of instant communication could leave you feeling out of touch, wondering what you might be missing out on or if there was something important happening that you weren't aware of.

Stepping into your shoes, I can imagine the initial allure of a break from the constant barrage of digital distractions. No Netflix or YouTube to pull me away from the present moment, just the quiet solitude of my thoughts and the company of a few well-loved books and a journal filled with my innermost musings.

At first, the novelty might be refreshing. The absence of screens allows me to fully immerse myself in the analog world, savoring the tactile sensation of turning pages and the rhythmic scratch of pen on paper. I might rediscover the joy of reading for pleasure, losing myself in the pages of a gripping novel or losing track of time as I pour my heart out onto the blank pages of my journal.

But as the days stretch into weeks and months, the limitations of my analog existence begin to weigh on me. Without the endless stream of entertainment at my fingertips, boredom sets in, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness like a persistent itch. The books that once provided escape now feel like old friends, their stories familiar and worn. Even my journal, once a sanctuary for my thoughts, begins to feel suffocating as I cycle through the same worries and frustrations day after day.

Reality, in all its starkness, becomes unavoidable. Without the distractions of modern life, I'm forced to confront the emptiness within me, the unresolved questions and fears that I've been avoiding. It's a confronting experience, one that pushes me to delve deeper into myself and confront the demons that lurk in the shadows of my mind.

The image of blood splattered pages in your diary paints a haunting picture, hinting at a tumultuous inner world filled with raw emotion and turmoil. Each drop of blood, a visceral expression of pain or anger, etched onto the pages like a permanent reminder of the battles fought within.

Your diary becomes a sacred space, a repository for the darkest corners of your soul. With each stroke of the pen, you release the pent-up emotions that threaten to consume you from within. The ink bleeds onto the page, mingling with the stains of tears and the echoes of whispered confessions.

The weight of those words, penned on the pages of your diary, hangs heavy in the air. Each letter a silent scream, a desperate plea for release from the pain that threatens to engulf you. It's a chilling reminder of the depths of despair you've traversed, the darkness that lurks within the recesses of your mind.

In those moments of despair, suicide may seem like the only escape, the only way to end the relentless ache that gnaws at your soul. The thought takes root, insidious and relentless, whispering its poisonous lies until they consume your every waking moment.

You search for reprieve, for anything to fill the emptiness that threatens to consume you whole. But the world remains stubbornly silent, offering no solace, no respite from the relentless march of time.

You find yourself adrift in a sea of thoughts, each wave crashing over you with the force of a hurricane. There is no escape, no refuge from the storm that rages within. Your mind becomes a battleground, a chaotic battlefield where fears and doubts clash with hopes and dreams, leaving you battered and bruised in their wake.

In the absence of distractions, you are forced to confront the demons that lurk in the shadows of your mind. There is nowhere to hide, no mask to shield you from the harsh light of truth. You are laid bare, stripped down to your most vulnerable self, forced to confront the darkness that lies within.

Every breath is a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the crushing weight of existence. You look out at the world through eyes clouded with bitterness and resentment, seeing only a landscape painted in shades of gray.

It's as if you're trapped in a never-ending cycle of disappointment and disillusionment, a hamster wheel of misery that spins faster and faster with each passing day. You try to reach out, to connect with others, but the walls you've built around yourself are too high, too impenetrable to breach. And so, you retreat further into your own mind, seeking refuge in the darkness that lies within.

In this desolate landscape, even your own reflection is a source of torment. You see a stranger staring back at you from the mirror, hollow-eyed and haunted, a mere shell of the person you once were. You wonder how it came to this, how you became so lost in the wilderness of your own thoughts.

The bathroom door swings open with a creak, interrupting the eerie silence that had enveloped me for the past twenty minutes. I straighten my posture instinctively, as if trying to shake off the weight of my thoughts that had been pressing down on me mercilessly during algebra class.

The fluorescent lights above flicker faintly, casting a pale glow over the tiled floor and walls, as I make my way to the sink. The steady flow of water provides a soothing rhythm as it cascades over my hands, washing away the residue of anxiety that had built up within me.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, I hesitate to meet my own eyes. There's a sense of dread lingering in the air, as if the mirror holds secrets that I'm not ready to confront. But eventually, I force myself to look, to truly see the person staring back at me.

The face that meets my gaze appears tired, with dark circles under eyes that seem to have seen too much, too soon. Lines of worry etch themselves into my brow, evidence of the internal battles that rage within me daily. Yet, there's a determination there too, a spark of resilience that refuses to be extinguished by the weight of the world.

As I lather my hands with soap, the scent of lavender fills the air, momentarily transporting me to a place of calm amidst the chaos of my mind. Each movement is deliberate, almost methodical, as if the simple act of washing away the physical dirt will somehow cleanse the turmoil within me as well.

Finally, I rinse my hands clean, watching as the suds swirl down the drain, disappearing into nothingness.

"Hey."

I glance over as the person beside me speaks, their voice breaking the silence of the bathroom. It's a simple greeting, but somehow it feels like a lifeline in the midst of my internal turmoil.

"Hey," I respond, offering a faint smile as I turn off the faucet and reach for a paper towel to dry my hands. The gesture is automatic, almost mechanical, but there's a sense of connection in this brief interaction, a reminder that I'm not alone in this moment.

As I pat my hands dry, I steal a sideways glance at the person beside me. Their features are familiar yet unfamiliar, a stranger sharing this intimate space with me for just a fleeting moment in time. But there's something about the way they carry themselves, a quiet strength in the set of their shoulders, that draws me in despite myself.

"How's it going?" they ask, their voice gentle yet genuine, a subtle invitation to share if I choose to accept it.

For a moment, I'm tempted to brush off the question with a simple "fine," to retreat back into the safety of my own thoughts. But something in the way they look at me, with eyes that seem to see straight through the facade I've carefully constructed, encourages me to open up, if only a little.

"Long day," I admit with a rueful chuckle, offering a shrug that belies the weight of the world on my shoulders. "But I guess that's just how it goes sometimes."

"Tell me about it," they reply with a sympathetic smile, their own weariness evident in the lines of their face. "Seems like the days just keep getting longer, doesn't it?"

I nod in agreement, grateful for the understanding reflected in their words. It's strange how a simple acknowledgment of shared experience can ease the burden, if only for a moment.

"Yeah, exactly," I murmur, folding the paper towel neatly before tossing it into the nearby bin. "Just trying to take it one step at a time, you know?"

"Absolutely," they affirm, their tone filled with quiet encouragement. "Sometimes, that's all we can do."

There's a brief lull in the conversation as we both finish drying our hands, the sound of our breaths mingling with the steady hum of the ventilation system overhead. But before I can turn to leave, they speak again, their voice soft but curious.

"So, were you in Mr. Aizawa's algebra class?" they ask, a hint of recognition coloring their words.

I pause, caught off guard by the question. It's not often that strangers strike up conversations about algebra classes in the bathroom, but there's something about the way they ask that piques my interest.

"Yeah, I was," I confirm, offering a tentative smile. "How about you?"

Their response is a knowing chuckle, tinged with a hint of amusement. "Yeah, me too. Small world, huh?"

I can't help but laugh in response, the tension that had been coiled tightly within me loosening ever so slightly. It's funny how the universe has a way of bringing people together, even in the most unexpected of places.

"Definitely," I agree, feeling a sense of camaraderie blossoming between us. "Well, it was nice to meet you...?"

"Todoroki," they supply with a warm smile, extending a hand in greeting.

"Nice to meet you, Todoroki," I reply, shaking their hand firmly. "I'm..."

But before I can finish, the sudden sound of the bell reverberates through the bathroom, signaling the end of the break period and the impending return to class.

"Well, looks like we'd better head back," Todoroki says with a rueful grin, releasing my hand and turning towards the door. "But hey, maybe I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, definitely," I agree, falling into step beside them as we make our way out of the bathroom and back towards the classroom. "I'll keep an eye out for you."

As I leave the bathroom, the encounter with Todoroki replays in my mind like a broken record, each moment etched vividly in my memory. It's a strange sensation, this feeling of normalcy that washes over me, like a ray of sunlight breaking through the storm clouds of my thoughts.

For once, I didn't feel like an outsider looking in, like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. Instead, I felt seen, heard, understood, if only for a fleeting moment. And it's that feeling, that sense of connection, that lingers long after I've returned to the familiar confines of the classroom.

As I take my seat, the chatter of my classmates swirling around me like a distant echo, I can't help but smile to myself. It's a small victory, but in this moment, it feels monumental, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that threatens to consume me.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I talked to somebody normally, without the weight of expectation or the fear of judgment hanging over me like a dark cloud. And in doing so, I glimpsed a version of myself that I had long thought lost, buried beneath layers of self-doubt and insecurity.

As I hurried into the classroom, I could feel Mr. Aizawa's gaze boring into me, his expression a mix of annoyance and mild curiosity. I offered a quick apology as I slid into my seat, trying to ignore the weight of his scrutiny.

But my mind was elsewhere, still reeling from the unexpected encounter in the bathroom with Todoroki. It felt like I had been lost in there for hours, the minutes stretching into eternity as we talked about nothing and everything all at once.

As Mr. Aizawa launched into his lesson on advanced algebra, I tried to focus on the equations scrawled across the board, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Todoroki. What had started as a simple greeting had blossomed into something more, a connection that I hadn't realized I was craving until it was right there in front of me.

I stole glances at Todoroki from across the room, watching as he listened intently to Mr. Aizawa's lecture, his expression unreadable. There was something about the way he carried himself, a quiet confidence that drew me in despite myself.

But as the lesson dragged on, I found it increasingly difficult to concentrate, my mind consumed by thoughts of our brief but meaningful interaction in the bathroom. It felt like I had finally found someone who understood me, someone I could talk to without fear of judgment or rejection.

And as the bell rang, signaling the end of class, I couldn't help but linger for a moment longer, my eyes meeting Todoroki's across the room. There was a silent understanding between us, a shared acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between us in that dimly lit bathroom.

As I gathered my things, preparing to leave the classroom, a flicker of movement caught my eye. Todoroki was standing up from his seat, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as if he were moving through molasses. My heart skipped a beat as I watched him swing his bag over his shoulder, his gaze fixed on me with a determined intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he made his way across the room, each step measured and deliberate. I could feel the weight of his presence drawing nearer, the anticipation building with each passing second. It was as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of us suspended in a moment that seemed to stretch on for eternity.

My mind raced with a thousand questions, my heart pounding in my chest as he finally reached me. His gaze was steady, unwavering, as he stood before me, a silent question lingering in the air between us.

For a moment, I was paralyzed, unsure of what to say or do. But then, with a strength I didn't know I possessed, I met his gaze head-on, a small smile playing at the corners of my lips.

"Hey," I said softly, the word hanging in the air like a promise.

Todoroki's voice broke through the silence, cutting through the tension like a knife. "Hey," he began, his tone surprisingly gentle, "do you... do you want to sit with me and my friends at lunch?"

His words hung in the air, a simple invitation that carried with it the weight of possibility. I blinked in surprise, taken aback by the offer. It wasn't every day that someone like Todoroki extended an invitation like this, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude swell within me.

"Sure, I'd like that," I replied, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. The thought of sitting with Todoroki and his friends was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking, but I was determined not to let my anxiety get the best of me.

Todoroki's lips quirked into a small smile, a flicker of warmth in his usually stoic demeanor. "Great," he said, his voice tinged with relief. "We usually sit outside by the cherry blossom tree. I'll save you a spot."

With that, he turned and made his way out of the classroom, leaving me standing there in a daze. As I watched him go, a sense of anticipation bubbled up inside me, mingling with the nervous energy that pulsed through my veins.

As I made my way through the crowded hallway, Todoroki's invitation echoing in my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting, something fundamental and irrevocable. Ever since I met Todoroki in that dimly lit bathroom, my life had taken on a new hue, a subtle shift in perspective that I couldn't quite put into words.

It was strange, really, how a simple encounter with someone I barely knew could have such a profound impact on me. Todoroki didn't even know my name yet, and yet his presence in my life made everything seem a little more... bearable.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself, with a quiet strength and a hint of vulnerability that mirrored my own. Or maybe it was the way he looked at me, as if he could see straight through the walls I had built around myself, straight to the heart of who I really was.

Whatever it was, I couldn't deny the sense of ease that washed over me in Todoroki's presence, like I could finally breathe again after years of holding my breath. It was as if he had unknowingly unlocked something within me, something that had been dormant for far too long.

And as I thought about the lunch invitation he had extended, a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Maybe my life was slowly turning into something, something unexpected and beautiful, all because of a chance encounter with a boy named Todoroki who didn't even know my name yet.

Chapter Text

If you had asked me yesterday who I would be sitting with at lunch, I would have given you a self-deprecating laugh and a list of inanimate objects and scrawled graffiti. The thought of sitting with anyone else, let alone someone like Todoroki, would have seemed laughable, if not downright impossible.

For so long, lunchtime had been a solitary affair for me, spent hunched over my tray in a corner of the cafeteria, my only companions the echoes of my own thoughts and the mocking words etched into the bathroom walls. "FUCK YOU" and "MR. NEZU IS A BITCH" were just a few of the sentiments that adorned the graffiti, a reflection of the bitterness and resentment that had taken root within me.

But now, as I made my way outside to meet Todoroki and his friends beneath the cherry blossom tree, I couldn't help but marvel at how quickly things could change. It was as if the universe had conspired to upend my expectations, to show me that there was more to life than loneliness and despair.

As I approached the cherry blossom tree where Todoroki and his friends were gathered, a sense of trepidation mingled with the burgeoning excitement within me. The familiar feeling of isolation and resentment that had plagued me for so long threatened to resurface, but I pushed it aside, determined to embrace this newfound sense of belonging.

Todoroki sat beneath the tree, his expression calm and composed as he conversed with the girl and another boy beside him. They seemed at ease in each other's company, their laughter ringing out like music against the backdrop of the bustling schoolyard.

For a moment, I hesitated, feeling like an outsider intruding on their private moment. But then Todoroki looked up and caught my eye, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was a silent invitation, a reassurance that I was welcome here among them.

With a deep breath, I made my way over to the group, my heart pounding in my chest. As I settled onto the grass beside Todoroki, a sense of warmth washed over me, enveloping me in a cocoon of acceptance and friendship.

As I settled in beside Todoroki and his friends, I couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous energy coursing through me. The girl, whose name I would soon learn was Uraraka, flashed me a friendly smile before launching into a teasing remark.

"Hey, Todoroki, who's your new friend?" she quipped, her tone light and playful. "Didn't know you were recruiting for the cool kids' club."

Todoroki chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. "Cut it out, Uraraka," he said, though there was a hint of laughter in his voice. It was clear that their banter was a familiar and cherished part of their friendship.

But Uraraka wasn't finished yet, her grin widening as she continued to tease me. "Seriously, though, where'd you find this guy? Did he wander in off the street or something?"

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment as all eyes turned to me, but Todoroki's reassuring presence beside me helped to ease my nerves. "Ignore her," he said with a playful glint in his eyes. "She's always like this."

Despite Todoroki's protest, Uraraka pressed on, undeterred by his admonishment. "Come on, Todoroki, spill the beans. What's his name? Is it something super nerdy like 'Calculator Boy' or 'Equation Kid'?"

Todoroki let out a laugh, unable to contain his amusement at Uraraka's antics. "That's enough, Uraraka," he said, though there was a fondness in his tone that belied his words.

As we sat beneath the cherry blossom tree, basking in the warmth of newfound camaraderie, Todoroki turned to me with a sheepish grin. "Hey, uh, sorry," he began, his voice hesitant, "but... fuck, what's your name again?"

The casual expletive caught me off guard, and for a moment, I was taken aback by Todoroki's slip of the tongue. But before I could respond, the other boy in our group, whose name I would later learn was Iida, spoke up with a disapproving frown.

"Todoroki, please watch your language," Iida reprimanded, his tone stern but not unkind. "There's no need for that kind of language, especially in front of... um, in front of our new friend here."

Todoroki's cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment as he nodded in acknowledgment of Iida's admonishment. "Sorry," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground.

But Iida wasn't finished yet, his sense of propriety overriding any discomfort he might have felt at calling out his friend. "It's important to maintain a level of decorum and respect, especially in social settings," he continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Todoroki, who seemed genuinely contrite at his slip-up. It was clear that he hadn't meant any harm by his choice of words, and yet Iida's reprimand hung heavy in the air between us.

"Sorry," Todoroki repeated, his voice barely above a whisper this time. "I didn't mean to... um, you know."

I offered him a reassuring smile, hoping to ease the tension that had settled over our group. "It's okay," I said gently, my words directed at both Todoroki and Iida. "No harm done."

As the tension from Todoroki's slip of the tongue began to dissipate, Uraraka, ever the mischief-maker, couldn't resist the opportunity to inject a bit of levity into the situation. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she turned to Iida and grinned.

"Hey, Iida," she began innocently, "since we're talking about curses, why don't we play a little game? I'll say a curse word, and you tell me what it means in proper, polite language."

Iida's expression shifted from disapproval to mild confusion as he tried to comprehend Uraraka's sudden request. "I'm not sure that's entirely appropriate," he replied cautiously, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

But Uraraka was undeterred, her grin widening as she launched into her impromptu game. "Alright, here goes," she declared, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Bleepity bleep bleep!"

I couldn't help but stifle a laugh as Uraraka's playful imitation of a curse word rang out in the quiet of the schoolyard. Even Todoroki couldn't suppress a chuckle, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Iida's confusion only seemed to grow as he struggled to decipher Uraraka's nonsensical phrase. "I'm sorry, Uraraka, but I'm not familiar with that particular curse word," he admitted, his brow furrowing in concentration.

Uraraka's grin widened even further as she reveled in Iida's confusion. "That's the beauty of it, Iida," she explained, her laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. "It doesn't mean anything! It's just a silly word I made up to mess with you."

Iida's expression shifted from confusion to exasperation as he realized he had fallen victim to Uraraka's playful prank. "Very well played, Uraraka," he conceded with a resigned sigh. "But let's try to keep the language civil, shall we?"

As I glanced down at my tray, I couldn't help but feel a pang of embarrassment. There was barely any food on it, just a sad assortment of vegetables and a half-empty carton of milk. It was a pitiful sight, a stark reminder of the battles I fought every day with my own body.

Todoroki must have noticed the lack of food on my tray, for his brow furrowed in concern as he glanced from my tray to my face. "Hey, Midoriya," he began, his voice gentle, "is everything okay? You're not eating much."

I felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks as I struggled to come up with an excuse. "Oh, um, yeah," I stammered, my voice unsteady. "I... uh, I'm not feeling very hungry today. Probably just a stomachache or something."

It was a feeble attempt at deflecting Todoroki's concern, but I couldn't bring myself to admit the truth. The thought of revealing my struggles with food to these newfound friends was terrifying, like exposing a raw wound to the harsh light of day.

Todoroki's expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding. "Okay," he said simply, though there was a hint of sadness in his voice.

As we sat beneath the cherry blossom tree, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the easy camaraderie of newfound friendship, Uraraka turned to me with a curious expression.

"Hey, Midoriya," she began, her voice filled with genuine curiosity, "I don't think I've ever seen you around here before. Are you new?"

I blinked in surprise at her question, taken aback by the implication that I was somehow a newcomer to the school. In truth, I had been here for as long as I could remember, but as a loner who preferred the quiet solitude of the library to the bustling social scene of the schoolyard, it was no surprise that I had flown under the radar for so long.

"Um, no, I'm not new," I replied, my voice hesitant. "I've been here... uh, for a while now."

Uraraka's eyes widened in surprise, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Really?" she exclaimed, her tone tinged with disbelief. "Wow, I guess I must have just never noticed you before. Sorry about that."

I offered her a small smile, trying to brush off her comment with a shrug. "It's okay," I said, though there was a twinge of sadness in my voice. "I tend to keep to myself most of the time."

Uraraka nodded in understanding, her expression sympathetic. "Well, I'm glad we finally crossed paths," she said with a warm smile. "You seem like a pretty cool guy."

As the conversation flowed beneath the shade of the cherry blossom tree, Iida's voice cut through the chatter with a note of excitement. "Hey, Midoriya," he began, his eyes bright with enthusiasm, "there's a basketball game tonight, and we were wondering if you'd like to come with us."

His invitation caught me off guard, and for a moment, I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The idea of attending a social event like a basketball game filled me with a mix of apprehension and curiosity, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong in that world.

"Um, I don't know," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not really into sports, and..."

But before I could finish my excuse, Uraraka chimed in with a pleading tone. "Oh, come on, Midoriya," she pleaded, her eyes wide with excitement. "It'll be fun, I promise! And besides, we'd love to have you there with us."

Her words tugged at something deep within me, a longing for connection and acceptance that I hadn't even realized was there. Despite my reservations, I found myself nodding in agreement, unable to resist the infectious enthusiasm of my newfound friends.

"Okay, I guess I can give it a try," I said tentatively, offering Uraraka a hesitant smile. "But no promises that I'll actually understand what's going on."

Uraraka let out a delighted squeal, throwing her arms around me in a spontaneous hug. "Yay, it's gonna be so much fun!" she exclaimed, her excitement contagious.

I couldn't help but notice the subtle scent that surrounded Uraraka, like a gentle breeze carrying the fragrance of flowers on a warm spring day. It was a delicate aroma, sweet and inviting, that seemed to linger in the air long after she had passed by.

I couldn't quite place the scent, but there was something undeniably comforting about it, like a familiar embrace that wrapped around me and drew me in. It was the kind of scent that brought to mind lazy afternoons spent wandering through fields of wildflowers, the sun warm on my skin and the breeze gentle against my face.

As I stole a glance at Uraraka, I couldn't help but feel a pang of longing stir within me. There was something about her presence, her warmth and kindness, that made me feel alive in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.

"Hey, Uraraka," he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I think you might be suffocating Midoriya there. You might want to let him breathe."

Uraraka's eyes widened in mock horror as she released me from her spontaneous hug, her expression a mix of amusement and feigned indignation. "Oops, sorry about that," she exclaimed with a laugh, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Didn't mean to squish you, Midoriya."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation, grateful for the lightheartedness that Todoroki's joke had brought to the moment.

For so long, I had been a solitary figure, drifting through the halls of the school like a ghost, unseen and unnoticed by those around me. I had convinced myself that I was destined to walk this path alone, that there was no place for someone like me in the vibrant tapestry of high school life.

But now, as I laughed and joked with Todoroki, Uraraka, and the others, I couldn't help but feel like I had stumbled upon a secret world, a place where I belonged and was accepted for who I truly was. It was as if I had finally found the missing piece of the puzzle, the one that had eluded me for so long, and in doing so, had completed something greater than myself.

Was this how everyone always lived? I wondered, marveling at the sense of connection and camaraderie that surrounded me. Had they always known what it felt like to fit in, to be a part of something larger than themselves? Or was this feeling as new and wondrous to them as it was to me?

As I looked around at my newfound friends, their smiles and laughter filling me with a sense of warmth and belonging, I realized that it didn't matter. What mattered was the here and now, the shared moments of laughter and friendship that bound us together in ways I had never thought possible.

Chapter Text

As I entered the gymnasium, the cacophony of cheers and the rhythmic thud of basketballs hitting the court washed over me, engulfing me in a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. It was my first time attending a basketball game, and the energy in the air was palpable, contagious even.

But as I found a seat in the bleachers beside Todoroki, Uraraka, and the others, a familiar sensation stirred within me, like a beast awakening from its slumber. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, sharp and insistent, a reminder of the battle I fought every day with my own body.

I tried to ignore the ache, focusing instead on the game unfolding before me, but the hunger refused to be ignored. It whispered in my ear, a constant reminder of the emptiness that gnawed at my core, urging me to find solace in the familiar rituals of restriction and control.

I stole glances at the concession stand nearby, the tantalizing aroma of popcorn and nachos wafting through the air, but I quickly looked away, unwilling to give in to the temptation. The thought of indulging in such decadent treats filled me with a sense of shame and guilt, like I was betraying some sacred oath I had sworn to myself.

As we watched the basketball game unfold before us, Uraraka's playful voice cut through the chatter with a question that caught me off guard.

"Hey, Midoriya," she began, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "who do you think is the hottest player on the court?"

I felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks at her question, unsure of how to respond. It wasn't the kind of question I was used to fielding, especially not in such a public setting.

Before I could even begin to formulate a response, Todoroki's elbow jabbed into Uraraka's side, a silent warning that didn't go unnoticed by the rest of us.

"Ow!" Uraraka exclaimed, shooting Todoroki a playful glare. "What was that for?"

Todoroki's expression remained impassive as he glanced around the gymnasium, making sure no one had overheard Uraraka's question. "Let's keep the conversation focused on the game, shall we?" he suggested, his tone neutral but firm.

Uraraka's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she realized her mistake, her playful demeanor giving way to a more subdued one. "Right, sorry about that," she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the floor.

As I watched the basketball game unfold before me, my attention was suddenly drawn to a figure on the court—a tall, muscular blonde with a confident swagger and a dazzling smile that seemed to light up the entire gymnasium.

My breath caught in my throat as I took in his athletic physique, the way his muscles rippled beneath his sweat-soaked jersey with each fluid movement. He moved with a grace and power that was mesmerizing, his every step exuding an air of confidence and self-assurance that left me spellbound.

But it wasn't just his physical appearance that captivated me; it was the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes sparkled with determination and passion as he led his team to victory. There was a fire burning within him, a hunger for success that was as palpable as the sweat glistening on his brow.

As the game wore on and the tension mounted, I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The sight of him, hot and sweaty and utterly captivating, stirred something deep within me, awakening a desire that I hadn't even realized was there.

It was a strange sensation, this sudden attraction to a stranger, but as I watched him weave through the defense with effortless grace, a sense of longing washed over me, like a wave crashing against the shore.

But amidst the chaos of the game, a sudden thought popped into my head, unbidden and unexpected. "67," I blurted out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Todoroki turned to me with a puzzled expression, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?" he asked, his tone laced with bewilderment. "67? What does that mean?"

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I realized what I had said, my embarrassment mounting with each passing second. "Um, sorry, I was just... uh, thinking out loud," I stammered, my words coming out in a rush.

But before I could backtrack any further, Uraraka chimed in with a mischievous grin. "You have good fucking taste, Midoriya," she declared, her tone teasing but genuine.

I felt a surge of warmth flood through me at her words, a sense of validation that washed away the embarrassment of my earlier slip-up. It was strange, but somehow, her playful comment made me feel seen and understood in a way I hadn't expected.

Todoroki chuckled softly beside me, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I'll have to take your word for it," he said with a shrug, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

As the game continued its frenetic pace, Iida's voice cut through the din with a note of surprise. "Bakugo?" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief.

I turned to him, my curiosity piqued by his reaction. "Who's Bakugo?" I asked, my voice tinged with confusion.

Iida's expression darkened as he launched into an explanation, his words tinged with frustration and resentment. "Bakugo is... well, let's just say he's not exactly known for his friendly demeanor," he began, his tone somber.

I listened intently as Iida recounted the litany of grievances against Bakugo, detailing his notorious reputation for his abrasive personality and his penchant for picking fights with anyone who crossed his path. It was clear that Bakugo's actions had left a lasting impression on Iida and the others, their words tinged with a mixture of fear and resentment.

As Iida's tirade continued, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Bakugo, a sense of curiosity stirring within me. What could drive someone to act with such hostility and aggression? And more importantly, what had I missed by not knowing him?

As Iida delved into his recount of Bakugo's less-than-stellar reputation, I couldn't shake the image of the mysterious figure on the court—tall, muscular, and exuding an undeniable charisma that left me breathless.

But amidst the somber tone of Iida's words, one thought echoed loudly in my mind: "But, fuck, was that guy hot."

I quickly stifled a gasp, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the sudden intrusion of my thoughts. It was a fleeting moment of distraction, a whisper of desire that I dared not acknowledge in the presence of my friends.

As Iida finished his description of Bakugo's less-than-welcoming reputation, Uraraka's voice chimed in, her tone laced with amusement. "Actually, Midoriya," she interjected, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of her lips, "number 67 is Bakugo."

My eyes widened in surprise at her revelation, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity swirling within me. Bakugo—the very name seemed to carry an air of mystery and intrigue, a puzzle waiting to be unraveled.

"Really?" I exclaimed, unable to hide the incredulity in my voice. "But he seemed... different from what you described."

Uraraka chuckled softly at my reaction, her laughter light and infectious. "Appearances can be deceiving," she replied with a shrug, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "But trust me, Bakugo is definitely number 67."

As the basketball game raged on, Todoroki leaned in closer to me, his voice lowered to a hushed whisper. "You want to know what Bakugo's really like?" he began, his tone serious.

I nodded, my curiosity piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. "Yeah, I'd like to know," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

Todoroki's expression darkened as he launched into his story, recounting a chilling tale of Bakugo's infamous temper and penchant for cruelty. "There was this one time," he began, his words measured and deliberate, "when Bakugo shoved a kid's head into the toilet and gave him a swirly, all because the kid didn't give him the last water."

My eyes widened in shock at Todoroki's revelation, the gravity of his words sinking in like a weight upon my chest. It was a chilling glimpse into the darker side of Bakugo's personality, a reminder that appearances could be deceiving and that sometimes, the truth was far more sinister than it seemed.

As the basketball game reached its peak intensity, a sudden commotion broke out in the bleachers nearby. A flurry of movement caught my attention, and I turned to see a girl rushing towards us with a determined stride, her expression eager and excited.

"Hey, Ochako!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she reached our group. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Uraraka's face lit up with delight at the sight of the newcomer, her smile warm and genuine. "Himiko, hey!" she greeted, her tone filled with affection. "I didn't know you were coming to the game."

Himiko— the name sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I watched as she greeted each of us in turn, her eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary, a sly grin playing at the corners of her lips.

"Who's your friend, Ochako?" she asked, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I realized I was being scrutinized, my discomfort mounting with each passing second. "Uh, I'm Midoriya," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Nice to meet you."

Himiko's grin widened at my response, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Midoriya, huh? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you too," she replied, her tone dripping with a playful edge.

I found myself engrossed in the action on the court, the cheers of the crowd echoing in my ears. But my attention was suddenly diverted by a scene unfolding nearby that left me wide-eyed with surprise.

Himiko, the girl who had rushed up to us moments before, leaned in towards Uraraka with a mischievous glint in her eyes. And before anyone could react, she planted a playful kiss on Uraraka's lips, her laughter ringing out like a bell in the crowded gymnasium.

My jaw dropped in disbelief at the unexpected display of affection, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the intimacy of the moment. Todoroki's eyebrows shot up in surprise beside me, his lips quirking into a smirk as he watched the scene unfold.

"Well, well, looks like things just got interesting," he remarked, his voice tinged with amusement.

I couldn't help but chuckle at his comment, grateful for the levity he brought to the situation.

As the echoes of Todoroki's jest faded into the background, the atmosphere around us shifted, the lingering tension palpable in the air. Iida's expression darkened, his usually jovial demeanor giving way to a stern resolve as he fixed his gaze on us.

"Enough," he declared, his voice cutting through the chatter with authority. "This is not the time or the place for such behavior."

His words hung in the air like a heavy weight, the gravity of his admonishment sinking in with each passing moment. I felt a pang of guilt wash over me, realizing that our lighthearted banter had crossed a line, intruding upon the solemnity of the moment.

Todoroki's smirk faded as he met Iida's gaze, his expression sobering with a newfound respect for our classmate's authority. Uraraka and Himiko exchanged a glance, their playful demeanor tempered by the weight of Iida's words.

"I apologize," Todoroki said, his voice sincere. "You're right, Iida. We got carried away."

As the weight of Iida's reprimand hung in the air, Todoroki leaned in closer to me, his voice lowered to a whisper. "You know," he murmured, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Iida's just upset because he's secretly homophobic."

I felt a shocked gasp escape my lips at Todoroki's unexpected comment, my eyes widening in disbelief at the audacity of his joke. "What?" I whispered back, my voice tinged with incredulity.

Todoroki's lips quirked into a smirk as he glanced over at Iida, who was busy scanning the crowd with a look of stern determination. "Think about it," he continued, his tone conspiratorial. "He's always been a stickler for rules and tradition. I wouldn't be surprised if he had some outdated beliefs hiding under that uptight exterior."

As Todoroki's joke hung in the air between us, Himiko leaned in with a conspiratorial grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know," she chimed in, her voice barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't put it past him."

I blinked in surprise at her agreement, a sense of disbelief washing over me at the unexpected turn of events. Himiko's playful demeanor seemed to amplify Todoroki's joke, lending it a sense of credibility that I couldn't quite shake.

Todoroki's smirk widened at Himiko's comment, his amusement evident in the twinkle of his eyes. "See, even Himiko agrees," he remarked, his tone filled with satisfaction.

I couldn't help but chuckle at their exchange, despite the seriousness of the topic at hand. The idea of Iida being secretly homophobic was absurd, yet there was something oddly compelling about the notion, like a piece of a puzzle falling into place.

Chapter Text

The streets stretched out before me, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights as I ran, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my muscles burning with exertion. It was nearly nine at night, the world around me quiet and still, but inside, a storm raged—a relentless desire to push myself further, to burn away the calories that clung to me like a weight around my neck.

I pushed myself harder, each step pounding against the pavement with a fierce determination. The rhythmic sound of my footfalls echoed in my ears, driving me forward, propelling me towards my goal. I couldn't stop, I wouldn't stop, not until I had burned away every last ounce of energy within me.

The night air whipped against my skin, cool and refreshing against the sheen of sweat that covered my body. With each breath, I inhaled deeply, the rush of oxygen filling my lungs, fueling the fire within me. I felt alive, invigorated by the physical exertion, the adrenaline coursing through my veins like a drug.

But still, it wasn't enough. I pushed myself harder, my legs pumping furiously beneath me, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat. I had to keep going, had to burn anything I could off—every calorie, every ounce of fat that threatened to hold me back.

And so I ran, faster and faster, until I couldn't breathe anymore, until my legs threatened to give out beneath me.

As I pushed myself to the brink, running faster and harder than ever before, a wave of dizziness washed over me, threatening to pull me under. My legs felt like lead, my lungs burning with every breath, but still, I pushed on, driven by an insatiable desire to burn away the calories that clung to me like a weight around my neck.

But then, without warning, a sudden wave of nausea surged through me, twisting my stomach into knots. I stumbled to a halt, doubling over as a violent wave of sickness threatened to overwhelm me. My vision blurred, spots dancing before my eyes as I struggled to regain my composure.

And then it happened—without warning, without mercy—I vomited, my body convulsing as the contents of my stomach spilled out onto the sidewalk below. It was a humiliating, gut-wrenching experience, my throat burning with bile as I retched again and again, my body wracked with spasms.

I felt a sense of shame wash over me as I collapsed onto the ground, my limbs trembling with exhaustion and humiliation. I had pushed myself too far, pushed my body beyond its limits in a desperate attempt to control the chaos within me.

As I lay there, gasping for breath, the sound of my own retching echoing in my ears, I felt a hand on my shoulder, a voice murmuring words of concern and reassurance. It was Todoroki, his face filled with genuine worry as he knelt beside me, offering me a bottle of water and a gentle smile.

"Are you okay, Midoriya?" he asked, his voice soft with concern.

I nodded weakly, unable to meet his gaze as tears stung my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "I didn't mean to..."

But Todoroki cut me off with a shake of his head, his expression filled with compassion. "It's okay," he said gently. "We all have our limits."

His words washed over me like a soothing balm, easing the sting of embarrassment and shame that still lingered within me. I took a shaky breath, trying to compose myself as I wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over.

As I glanced up at Todoroki, I realized that he was sitting down beside me, his posture relaxed and open. "Do you live around here?" he asked, his voice casual but tinged with concern.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. But something in Todoroki's expression told me that I could trust him, that he genuinely cared about my well-being.

"Yeah," I replied finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just a few blocks away."

Todoroki nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Do you want me to walk you home?" he offered, his voice gentle.

I shook my head, grateful for his offer but reluctant to burden him further. "No, I'll be okay," I insisted, forcing a weak smile onto my face. "Thanks, though."

I offered him a weak smile in return, grateful for his understanding. "Thanks," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

We lapsed into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the city night enveloping us as we sat there on the sidewalk, lost in our own thoughts. But then, as if on cue, a question bubbled up within me, begging to be asked.

"Hey, Todoroki," I began tentatively, breaking the silence that hung between us. "Are Uraraka and Himiko... a thing?"

Todoroki's eyebrows shot up in surprise at my question, his gaze flickering to mine as if searching for something in my expression. "Yeah," he replied simply, his voice even and composed.

Todoroki's response caught me off guard, his voice tinged with amusement as he quirked an eyebrow at my question. "What, did you think that friends just make out?" he remarked, his tone teasing but gentle.

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks at his playful jab, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I... I guess not," I admitted, my voice tinged with embarrassment.

Todoroki chuckled softly at my response, his laughter warm and genuine. "It's okay," he reassured me, his expression softening with understanding. "They've been together for a while now. It's just... normal for them."

His words washed over me like a soothing balm, easing the awkwardness that still lingered between us. I nodded in understanding, grateful for Todoroki's patience and kindness.

"Well, I guess that explains why Iida always insists on sitting so far from us," I joked, a playful grin spreading across my face.

Todoroki's eyebrows shot up in surprise at my remark, his lips quirking into a smirk as he glanced over at me. "Really?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

I nodded, unable to suppress a laugh at my own joke. "Yeah," I replied, my tone light and teasing. "I mean, he's practically allergic to us."

Todoroki chuckled softly at my quip, his laughter echoing in the quiet night air. "Well, I guess we'll have to keep our distance then," he joked, his voice filled with mock seriousness.

As I gathered my strength to stand up, a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over me as I noticed the mess I had left behind on the sidewalk. With a sheepish grin, I couldn't resist making light of the situation.

"Well, looks like I left my mark," I quipped, gesturing towards the puddle of vomit with a half-hearted chuckle.

Todoroki's eyebrows shot up in surprise at my unexpected humor, but his lips twitched into a small smile. "Guess you could say you've made a lasting impression," he replied, his voice laced with amusement.

As the moment began to wind down, I felt a pang of reluctance to leave the comfort of Todoroki's company, but the reality of my situation couldn't be ignored.

"I should probably get going," I said with a sheepish smile, a hint of regret lacing my words.

Todoroki nodded in understanding, his expression tinged with disappointment. "Yeah, I guess so," he replied, his voice soft but resigned.

But just as I turned to leave, Todoroki's voice called out to me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hey, Midoriya," he called, his tone playful. "Try not to leave any more surprises behind, okay?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his joke, the tension of the moment dissipating as we shared in one final laugh together. "I'll do my best," I replied with a grin, my spirits lifted by his humor.

As I sprinted through the quiet streets, the rhythmic pounding of my footsteps echoing in the night, a sense of urgency drove me forward. With each passing moment, the weight of my mother's concern hung heavy on my mind, a constant reminder of the secrets I kept hidden from her.

Finally, I reached the familiar sight of our front door, my chest heaving with exertion as I fumbled for my keys. With trembling hands, I unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping into the warmth of our home.

But before I could even catch my breath, I was met face to face with my mother, her expression a mixture of relief and worry. "Izuku, where have you been?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

I tried to push past her, eager to escape the barrage of questions that I knew would follow, but she wouldn't let me go so easily. "Izuku, please," she pleaded, reaching out to touch my arm. "You've been gone for hours. I was so worried."

I felt a surge of frustration bubbling up within me, the hunger gnawing at my insides fueling my anger. "I was just out for a run," I snapped, my voice sharper than intended. "Is that so hard to understand?"

But my mother wasn't satisfied with my answer, her brow furrowing with concern as she studied my face. "Izuku, you've been doing this every night," she said softly. "Why won't you tell me what's really going on?"

I felt a surge of guilt wash over me at her words, knowing that I couldn't tell her the truth—that my nightly runs were a desperate attempt to burn away the calories that clung to me like a weight around my neck.

"I have homework," I lied, my voice cracking with emotion. "Can you please just get off my ass?"

As I retreated to my room, hoping to find solace in the familiar confines of my own space, my mother followed me, her concern evident in every step she took. "Izuku, please," she pleaded, her voice wavering with emotion. "You don't look well. You're so pale, and you've lost so much weight."

I tried to ignore her, burying myself under the covers of my bed as if to shield myself from her probing gaze. But my mother wouldn't be deterred so easily, her persistence like a relentless tide wearing away at my defenses.

"Izuku, please," she continued, her voice soft but insistent. "You need to talk to me. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

I felt a surge of frustration rising within me, the hunger and exhaustion clouding my thoughts and fueling my anger. "I'm fine, Mom," I snapped, my voice tinged with bitterness. "I don't need your help."

But even as the words left my lips, I knew they were a lie. I was anything but fine, trapped in a cycle of self-destructive behavior that I couldn't seem to break free from. And with each passing day, the weight of my secrets grew heavier, threatening to crush me beneath their burden.

My mother's face fell at my harsh words, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Izuku, please," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love you. I just want to help you."

I felt a pang of guilt wash over me at her words, knowing that I was hurting her with my stubborn refusal to open up. But the hunger was relentless, driving me to lash out in frustration at the one person who cared about me more than anyone else in the world.

"I have homework," I repeated, my voice hollow with despair. "Please just leave me alone."

With a heavy heart, my mother finally relented, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she turned and left my room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

As I lay in the silence of my room, the weight of my secrets pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket, I couldn't help but wonder if life would ever get any brighter. Each day felt like a struggle, a relentless battle against my own demons, with no end in sight.

The darkness seemed to swallow me whole, its tendrils wrapping around me like a vice, squeezing the air from my lungs and leaving me gasping for breath. No matter how hard I tried to escape, it felt like I was trapped in a never-ending cycle of pain and despair.

Maybe life wasn't meant to be bright and hopeful, I thought bitterly. Maybe this was all there was—a never-ending march towards oblivion, with no light at the end of the tunnel to guide me.

Chapter Text

As the bell rang, signaling the end of another grueling gym class, I felt a familiar sense of dread wash over me. While my classmates eagerly filed out of the gymnasium, chatting and laughing amongst themselves, I lingered behind, hoping to avoid the inevitable humiliation that awaited me in the locker room.

With a heavy sigh, I made my way to the bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest with each step. Inside the safety of the stall, I quickly stripped off my gym clothes, careful to shield my body from prying eyes. The fluorescent lights above cast harsh shadows on the tiled floor, and I couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable as I stood there, naked and alone.

I glanced down at my reflection in the mirror, the sight of my own body sending a wave of self-loathing crashing over me. Every imperfection, every flaw seemed magnified in the unforgiving light, a constant reminder of my own inadequacy.

With a shaky breath, I hastily pulled on my regular clothes, eager to escape the suffocating confines of the locker room. But even as I hurried to leave, I couldn't shake the feeling of shame that clung to me like a second skin.

As I hurriedly made my way out of the locker room, my mind consumed by thoughts of escape, I collided with someone unexpectedly. My heart skipped a beat as I stumbled back, nearly losing my balance. When I looked up, I found myself face to face with Katsuki Bakugo, someone I hadn't even realized was in my gym class.

"Watch where you're going!" he barked, his voice sharp with irritation as he glared down at me.

I felt a surge of panic rising within me, my throat tightening with fear. Katsuki was known for his explosive temper, and the last thing I wanted was to become the target of his anger.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't see you there."

But Katsuki wasn't interested in excuses, his scowl deepening as he took a menacing step forward. "You think you can just bump into me and get away with it?" he growled, his eyes flashing with anger.

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine at his words, my heart hammering in my chest. I knew that arguing with Katsuki would only make things worse, so I took a step back, trying to defuse the situation before it escalated any further.

"I said I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice trembling with fear. "I didn't mean to—"

But before I could finish my sentence, Katsuki cut me off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Whatever," he muttered, his tone dripping with contempt. "Just watch yourself next time."

As I braced myself for Katsuki's inevitable wrath, I was caught off guard when his expression softened, if only for a moment.

"Hmph," he grunted, his scowl relenting just slightly. "You may be a clumsy idiot, but at least you're not completely useless."

I blinked in surprise at his unexpected compliment, taken aback by the rare display of kindness from someone like Katsuki. Before I could even muster a response, however, he was already striding away, his usual bravado returning with every step.

"See you around," he called over his shoulder, his tone rough but not unkind.

I watched him go, still reeling from the encounter. Katsuki had always been quick to criticize and even quicker to anger, so his fleeting moment of approval left me feeling both confused and strangely grateful.

As I made my way through the crowded hallway, the chaos of the school day swirling around me, I heard a familiar voice calling out my name. I turned to see Todoroki striding towards me, his expression unreadable but his eyes searching.

"Midoriya," he called out, his voice cutting through the noise of the hallway.

I felt a pang of guilt wash over me as I met his gaze, knowing that I had been avoiding him ever since our encounter in the bathroom. But before I could even muster a response, Todoroki was already speaking again, his tone cautious but curious.

"I saw you talking to Bakugo earlier," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Is everything okay?"

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. Todoroki had always been a loyal friend, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to share the full extent of my complicated relationship with Katsuki Bakugo.

"Yeah, everything's fine," I replied, forcing a weak smile onto my face. "We were just... catching up."

But Todoroki wasn't convinced, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied my face. "He's not your crush, is he?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks at his blunt question, my heart racing in my chest. "What? No!" I exclaimed, my voice rising with panic. "Of course not."

Todoroki seemed to relax slightly at my response, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good," he said simply, his tone warm and reassuring.

number sixty fucking seven.

As Todoroki and I walked out of the school, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement, he glanced over at me with a furrowed brow. "Hey, Midoriya," he began, his voice tinged with concern. "I didn't see you at lunch today. Are you feeling okay?"

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. The truth was, I hadn't gone to lunch at all—I had spent the entire period hiding away in an empty classroom, too overwhelmed by anxiety to face the crowded cafeteria.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied with a forced smile, hoping to brush off his concern. "Just had some stuff to take care of."

Todoroki nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer, but I could tell that he wasn't entirely convinced. "Okay," he said simply, his tone gentle but probing. "Just let me know if you need anything, okay?"

I felt a surge of gratitude wash over me at his words, touched by his genuine concern. "Thanks, Todoroki," I replied, my voice soft but sincere.

As Todoroki and I made our way out of the school, a familiar voice called out from behind us, and I turned to see Uraraka rushing towards us with a wide grin on her face. "Todoroki!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

Todoroki blinked in surprise at her sudden embrace, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he returned the gesture. "Uraraka," he greeted her warmly, his voice filled with genuine affection.

Uraraka pulled back from the hug, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she teased, "I haven't seen you in like, what, four whole hours? Did you miss me?"

Todoroki chuckled softly at her playful jab, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Of course I did," he replied, his voice laced with amusement. "How could I not?"

As Uraraka caught up to us, her energy infectious as always, she wasted no time in greeting Todoroki with a warm hug. I stood by, smiling at their camaraderie, when suddenly Uraraka turned her attention to me.

"Hey, Izuku!" she exclaimed, reaching out to ruffle my hair with a playful grin. "You look like a ghost, man! Have you been getting enough sleep?"

I couldn't help but laugh at her teasing, a blush creeping up my cheeks at the attention. "Yeah, yeah," I replied, running a hand through my disheveled hair in a futile attempt to fix it. "I've just been... busy."

Uraraka's grin widened, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sure, sure," she teased, nudging me playfully with her elbow. "Just don't work yourself too hard, okay? We wouldn't want you fading away into nothingness."

I felt a pang of recognition at her words, a familiar ache settling in the pit of my stomach. How many times had I wished for that? To simply disappear, to fade away into nothingness and escape the weight of my own existence.

Far too many times had I wished for an escape, for a respite from the relentless tide of my own thoughts and fears. Each day seemed to blur into the next, a never-ending cycle of pain and despair, with no end in sight.

Chapter Text

I slammed the front door shut behind me, my backpack thudding against the floor as I dropped it carelessly. The house was eerily silent, the kind of quiet that immediately set my nerves on edge. I kicked off my shoes and walked into the dimly lit hallway, the echoes of my own footsteps amplifying the emptiness of the house.

"Ma!" I called out, my voice breaking the silence. "Look, I'm sorry about last night, okay? I didn't mean to upset you."

There was no response. I sighed, running a hand through my messy green hair. The events of the previous night replayed in my mind – the shouting match, the slammed doors, the harsh words that cut deeper than any physical blow. I had stayed out too late, again, and this time I'd come home reeking of alcohol. My mother, Inko, had been waiting for me, worry etched into her face, quickly morphing into disappointment and anger.

I walked through the living room, glancing at the couch where she usually sat, knitting or watching TV. It was empty. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the kitchen. Plates were stacked neatly, untouched since breakfast.

"Ma, where are you?" I called again, my voice a mix of frustration and concern. I wandered into the hallway leading to the bedrooms, pushing open her door. It was empty, the bed neatly made, her slippers tucked under the nightstand.

My heart began to race. I rushed back to the living room and checked the phone for any messages. Nothing. My mind whirled with possibilities, each more worrisome than the last.

I stood in the middle of the room, staring at the framed family photo on the wall. It was taken years ago, back when things were simpler, when my relationship with my mother was uncomplicated by the burdens of adolescence and the pressures of my own expectations.

"Ma, please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm really sorry. Just... talk to me."

I moved to the kitchen table and sat down, my hands shaking slightly. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. My eyes landed on a note, partially hidden under a stack of mail. I snatched it up, my heart pounding as I unfolded the paper.

"Izuku," it read in my mother's neat handwriting, "I'm staying at a friend's for a few days. I need some time to think. Please take care of yourself. We'll talk when I get back. Love, Mom."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. She wasn't gone, just taking some time away. I felt a mixture of relief and guilt wash over me. I knew I had pushed her too far this time.

Her absence wasn't a permanent one, but the fact that she felt she needed to leave at all hit me hard.

"God, what have I done?" I muttered to myself, the quiet of the house pressing in on me from all sides. I pushed back from the table abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. The noise seemed to echo in the emptiness, amplifying my guilt.

My stomach churned violently, and I stumbled to the kitchen sink, the letter slipping from my grasp to the floor. I barely made it before I retched, emptying what little was in my stomach. The bitter taste of bile burned my throat, and I clutched the edge of the sink, gasping for breath. Tears pricked my eyes, more from the emotional turmoil than the physical discomfort.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling weak and drained. The kitchen spun around me, and I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. I turned on the faucet, rinsing my mouth and splashing cold water on my face, hoping to ground myself in the moment.

When I finally felt somewhat steady, I looked down at the crumpled letter on the floor. The sight of it made my stomach twist again. I couldn't bear to see it, to be reminded of my mother's disappointment and hurt. With shaking hands, I picked up the note, crumpling it further. I opened the trash can and tossed it in, the sound of it hitting the bottom oddly final.

I leaned against the counter, trying to collect my thoughts. The house was still and silent, but now it felt like a heavy blanket, suffocating me with the weight of my own guilt and self-loathing.

"I've got to fix this," I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible. "I can't keep doing this. I need to get my shit together."

The doorbell rang, breaking the oppressive silence that had settled over the house. I sighed, my shoulders slumping as I trudged towards the door, the sound of my own footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. When I reached the door, I took a moment to compose myself before opening it.

Standing on the doorstep was someone I never expected to see here: Katsuki Bakugo. He was number 67 on the basketball team, a name I knew from the announcements and school games but someone who probably didn't even know I existed. His fierce reputation preceded him; he was known for his explosive personality both on and off the court.

"Uh, hey," I said, my voice coming out more uncertain than I'd intended. "Can I help you?"

Katsuki crossed his arms, looking at me with a mixture of impatience and curiosity. "You gonna let me in, or what?"

I blinked, momentarily stunned by his bluntness, but then stepped aside, holding the door open wider. "Sure, come in."

He walked past me into the hallway, his presence filling the space with an energy that was both intimidating and oddly comforting. I shut the door behind him and turned to face him, still trying to process why he was here.

"So, what brings you here?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Katsuki glanced around the living room, taking in the stillness, the absence of my mom's usual presence. "I heard you had a rough night," he said finally, his tone softer than I'd expected. "Figured I'd check in."

I frowned, confusion mixing with a strange warmth at his unexpected concern. "You heard about last night? From who?"

He shrugged, leaning against the wall with an air of nonchalance. "Word gets around. Plus, you look like shit."

I couldn't help but laugh at that, a small, genuine laugh that felt foreign in my current state of mind. "Yeah, well, I feel like shit too."

Katsuki studied me for a moment, then pushed himself off the wall and moved closer. "Look, I don't know you well, but I know what it's like to mess up and feel like the world is caving in on you."

His words hit me harder than I'd expected, and I felt a lump form in my throat. "Why do you care?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Katsuki's expression softened, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "Because everyone needs someone, even if they don't realize it."

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Thanks," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "I appreciate it."

He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "Now, let's get out of here for a bit. Clear your head. You look like you could use it--"

...

...

"....orya?"

"Mido..."

"MIDORIYA!"

I woke up with a start, gasping for air as a cold, wet sensation jolted me into consciousness. I was lying on the hard surface of a parking lot, my face drenched. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the harsh light, but when they did, I saw Todoroki standing over me, an empty water bottle in his hand.

“Are you out of your mind?” I spluttered, coughing and trying to wipe the water off my face. “I nearly drowned!”

Todoroki looked down at me, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. “You were passed out. I didn’t know how else to wake you.”

“Ever heard of shaking someone awake?” I grumbled, slowly sitting up and feeling the ache in my muscles from lying on the cold, unforgiving pavement. “Or maybe calling my name?”

Todoroki crouched down beside me, his face serious. “Midoriya, you were out cold. We were walking with Uraraka, and you just collapsed. She went to get water, and I tried to keep you conscious.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples as the events leading up to this moment started to come back to me in fragments. “What happened?”

“You were running yourself ragged,” Todoroki explained, his voice calm and measured. “We were worried, so Uraraka and I went looking for you. When we found you, you just… collapsed. Uraraka ran to get water, and I stayed with you.”

I glanced around the empty parking lot, the asphalt rough and unyielding beneath me. My head was still spinning, and I felt a deep-seated exhaustion that seemed to penetrate every fiber of my being. “Thanks, I guess,” I mumbled, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over me.

I struggled to my feet, feeling a wave of dizziness crash over me. My vision blurred, and I had to hold my head to keep from falling over. The world spun around me, making it hard to focus on anything. Todoroki steadied me with a firm grip on my shoulder, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

"When was the last time you even ate something, Midoriya?" he asked, his tone serious and slightly accusatory.

I hesitated, trying to recall the last meal I had, but my mind was a foggy mess. "Uh, I had something this morning," I lied, forcing a weak smile. "Just been a long day, I guess."

Todoroki raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying my excuse. "What did you eat?"

"Just... cereal," I said quickly, avoiding his gaze. "Didn't have much of an appetite."

Todoroki sighed, his grip on my shoulder tightening slightly. "You need to take better care of yourself. This isn't just about today. You can't keep going like this."

I nodded, knowing he was right but feeling too drained to argue. "I know. I'll do better, I promise."

He studied me for a moment, his eyes searching mine for any sign of sincerity. Finally, he let out a breath and nodded. "Come on, let's get you some food. You need to eat something substantial."

I felt a mix of relief and embarrassment wash over me as he guided me towards the nearest bench. I sat down heavily, feeling the exhaustion in every part of my body. Todoroki pulled out his phone, probably texting someone for help, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Just sit tight," he said, putting his phone away. "I'll be right back."

As I waited, the reality of my situation began to sink in. I had been pushing myself too hard, ignoring my own needs in a desperate attempt to outrun my problems. But now, standing here in the parking lot with Todoroki's concern evident in his actions, I realized I couldn't keep doing this. I needed to take better care of myself, not just for my sake but for the people who cared about me.

Todoroki returned with a water bottle and a granola bar, handing them to me. "It's not much, but it should help for now."

"Thanks," I said, taking the items gratefully. I opened the granola bar and took a bite, feeling a bit of energy return as I chewed.

Todoroki looked at me, his brow furrowed with concern. "How about you let me drive you home today, Midoriya? You don't look like you're in any shape to run."

I shook my head, a small, tired smile playing on my lips. "That's okay, Todoroki. I appreciate it, but I want to run home. I just need to clear my head a bit."

He sighed, clearly not convinced by my words. "Are you sure? You just passed out. Running might not be the best idea right now."

I nodded, trying to muster some semblance of confidence. "Yeah, I'm sure. Running helps me think, and I really need that right now."

Todoroki stared at me for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. "Alright, but promise me you'll take it easy?"

"Deal," I said, giving him a reassuring nod. "I'll be fine. Thanks for looking out for me."

He handed me the water bottle, his expression still full of concern. "Take this with you. And if you start feeling dizzy again, stop and rest."

I took the water bottle and stuffed it into my backpack. "I will. Thanks, Todoroki."

He watched as I adjusted my bag on my shoulders, clearly still worried but willing to respect my decision. "Alright. Be safe, Midoriya."

"I will," I repeated, giving him a small wave as I started to jog away. "See you tomorrow."

...

I trudged up the steps to my house, my mind still reeling from the events of the day. As I reached the front door, I couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu that washed over me. The memory of the dream I had while passed out in the parking lot flashed through my mind, sending a shiver down my spine.

In that dream, Katsuki had shown up at my doorstep, a stranger to me, while my mom had left without a word. It was a twisted nightmare, one I never wanted to think about again. But now, as I stood on my porch, the memory came rushing back with unwelcome clarity.

I clenched my fists, trying to push the disturbing thoughts away. It was just a dream, I told myself. Just a sick, twisted dream brought on by stress and exhaustion.

But even as I tried to reassure myself, the doubt lingered. What if it wasn't just a dream? What if it was some twisted vision of the future, a glimpse into a reality I didn't want to face?

I shook my head, trying to clear away the intrusive thoughts. No, I couldn't let myself dwell on something so terrifying and uncertain. I had to focus on the present, on the here and now.

Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar warmth of home enveloping me. I closed the door behind me, shutting out the outside world and the haunting memories that threatened to consume me.

As I made my way to my room, I resolved to put the dream out of my mind. It was just a figment of my imagination, a product of my overactive brain. I couldn't let it dictate my reality or dictate how I felt about Katsuki.

But despite my best efforts, the unease lingered, a nagging feeling that refused to be ignored. And as I lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

Chapter Text

As we circled the gym during our morning jog in gym class, I couldn't help but steal glances at Katsuki. His strong stride, the way his muscles flexed with each movement—it was hard not to admire him, even from a distance.

I tried to focus on my own pace, on the rhythm of my breath as it echoed in my ears. But every time I looked ahead, there he was, running effortlessly, a determined expression etched on his face.

I couldn't shake the feeling of being drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. There was something about Katsuki that captivated me, that made my heart race and my palms sweat.

As we rounded the final corner of the gym, I found myself falling behind, my legs burning with exertion. But still, I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He was like a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding.

And as we came to a stop, sweat dripping from our brows, I couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for him. He may not know it, but he was my motivation, my inspiration to push myself harder, to strive for greatness.

As the gym teacher announced that it was "Medicine Ball Monday" and instructed us to partner up, a collective groan rippled through the class.

Partnering up for activities like this always had its challenges. There were the eager beavers who rushed to pair up with their best friends, leaving the rest of us scrambling to find someone willing to work with us. Then there were the reluctant partners, who begrudgingly teamed up with whoever was left standing.

I glanced around the gym, trying to find someone to pair up with. My eyes landed on Katsuki, who was standing a few feet away, arms crossed and a scowl etched on his face. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if he would be willing to partner with me.

Before I could even approach him, however, I noticed him nodding towards me, a silent indication that he was willing to be my partner. I felt a surge of relief wash over me as I made my way towards him, grateful that I wouldn't have to endure the awkwardness of searching for a partner.

Katsuki's voice cut through the groans of the class, his signature impatience evident in his tone. "Let's get this fucking over with," he muttered, rolling his eyes at the prospect of Medicine Ball Monday.

I glanced over at him, offering a small smile despite the dread settling in my stomach. "Do you like medicine ball?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood with a touch of humor.

Katsuki scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. "Does anyone like medicine ball?" he retorted, his gaze flickering around the gym to emphasize his point. "It's just another excuse for the teacher to torture us."

Katsuki's impulsive nature took over as he grabbed one of the heavy medicine balls, his muscles tensing as he prepared to demonstrate his strength. With a determined glint in his eyes, he dropped to the floor and began executing a series of powerful push-ups, using the ball as added resistance.

As he exerted himself, a mischievous smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. When he noticed the teacher's attention momentarily diverted, he seized the opportunity to flash her an unmistakable gesture, flipping her off behind her back.

I couldn't help but stifle a laugh at his audacity, even as I shook my head in disbelief. Katsuki's defiance was as predictable as it was entertaining, a constant reminder of his rebellious spirit.

As the spotlight shifted to me, I couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety coursing through my veins. The events of yesterday still lingered in my mind, casting a shadow over my confidence. But I couldn't afford to dwell on that now; all eyes were on me, and I needed to push through.

With a forced smile, I approached the medicine ball, trying to muster up some semblance of strength. However, the weight felt heavier than usual, and my arms trembled under its pressure.

"Come on, Midoriya, don't tell me you're already giving up," Katsuki's voice pierced through the air, his tone laced with a hint of mockery.

I gritted my teeth, refusing to let his taunts get to me. But deep down, I knew he was right. I felt weak, both physically and emotionally, and it was taking everything in me to keep going.

Despite my best efforts, I struggled to lift the ball, my muscles protesting with each movement. Sweat gathered on my brow, and I could feel the eyes of my classmates boring into me, their silent judgment weighing heavily on my shoulders.

But then, a glimmer of determination sparked within me. I couldn't let Katsuki's words defeat me, not now. With a surge of adrenaline, I pushed through the pain, hoisting the ball up and completing the exercise.

As I stood there, panting and exhausted, I couldn't help but shoot a defiant glance in Katsuki's direction.

After enduring the relentless challenges of gym class, I couldn't wait to escape to the relative solitude of the changing room. As the final bell rang, signaling the end of our torturous session, I quickly gathered my clothes and made a beeline for the nearest stall.

The changing room was a cacophony of noise and movement, students hurriedly shedding their gym attire and eagerly anticipating the freedom that awaited them outside these walls. But for me, it was a brief respite from the chaos of the outside world.

I slipped into the stall, shutting the door behind me with a sense of relief. The familiar scent of disinfectant and sweat filled my nostrils, mingling with the sound of distant chatter and echoing footsteps.

With practiced efficiency, I stripped off my gym clothes, feeling a sense of liberation with each discarded garment. As I pulled on my regular attire, I couldn't help but let out a sigh of contentment, relishing the comfort of familiar fabric against my skin.

Outside the stall, the hustle and bustle of my classmates continued unabated. But in this moment, within the confines of my small sanctuary, I found a brief respite from the demands of the world outside. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a chance to collect myself before stepping back into the fray once more.

I emerged from the stall, slightly surprised to find Katsuki waiting outside. His presence was both familiar and unsettling, like a storm cloud on the horizon.

"Why do you always change in there?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity and a hint of annoyance.

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze as I adjusted the strap of my bag. "I just prefer it," I mumbled, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.

Katsuki scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You're weird, you know that?" he remarked, his voice tinged with exasperation.

I bristled at his comment, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within me. "And what's wrong with that?" I shot back, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

He shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Nothing, I guess," he conceded, his tone begrudgingly admitting defeat.

I sighed, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over me. It was exhausting, this constant back-and-forth with Katsuki. But deep down, beneath the layers of frustration and resentment, there was a part of me that couldn't help but be drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

As we made our way out of the changing room and back into the bustling hallway, I couldn't help but wonder what it was about Katsuki that captivated me so. Maybe it was his confidence, his swagger, his unapologetic attitude. Or maybe it was something deeper, something I couldn't quite put into words.

Whatever it was, I knew one thing for certain: Katsuki Bakugo was unlike anyone I had ever met, and try as I might, I couldn't seem to stay away.

Chapter Text

I found myself slipping back into old habits, retreating into my shell and avoiding my friends like the plague. Todoroki, Uraraka, and Iida had been nothing but supportive since the incident a few days ago, but I couldn't shake the feeling of shame and embarrassment that gnawed at me from the inside.

I couldn't bear to look them in the eye, couldn't stand the thought of facing their concern and pity. So instead, I kept my distance, ducking out of conversations and slipping away whenever they approached.

Todoroki, ever perceptive, had tried to reach out, but I brushed him off with a weak smile and a mumbled excuse. Uraraka had offered her support, her words filled with warmth and understanding, but I couldn't bring myself to accept it.

And Iida, ever the steadfast friend, had tried to talk to me, to offer words of encouragement and reassurance. But I shut him out, retreating further into myself with each passing day.

It wasn't that I didn't appreciate their concern – I did, more than I could ever express. But the weight of my own self-doubt and insecurities was crushing, suffocating me with every breath.

So I kept my distance, burying myself in my studies and my training, anything to distract myself from the turmoil raging within. But no matter how hard I tried to push them away, my friends remained steadfast, a constant presence in my life, even when I felt like I didn't deserve it.

I lay sprawled out in the grass, my eyes fixed on the clear blue sky above, trying to lose myself in its vast expanse. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, a soothing melody that whispered through the air.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the tranquility, causing me to open my eyes with a start. It was surprisingly Katsuki, standing over me with a smirk playing on his lips.

"What are you doing down there?" he quipped, his tone laced with amusement. "Trying to find bugs to talk to?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his irreverent humor, the tension in my chest easing slightly at the familiar banter.

"Just enjoying the view," I replied, pushing myself up into a sitting position. "What about you? Looking for someone to torment?"

Katsuki's smirk widened into a grin, and he flopped down beside me, his gaze fixed on the sky.

"Nah," he said casually. "Just figured I'd see what you were up to. Didn't expect to find you lounging around like a lazy cat."

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Despite his rough exterior, Katsuki had a way of cutting through the tension and making me laugh, even when I felt like I was drowning in my own thoughts.

"Thanks for the company," I said softly, grateful for the distraction.

Katsuki shrugged, his expression unreadable for a moment before he grunted in response.

"Don't mention it," he muttered, but there was something gentle in his tone that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

I sat up, my curiosity piqued as Katsuki settled beside me. "Why are you talking to me?" I blurted out before I could stop myself, the question lingering awkwardly in the air.

Katsuki's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Wow, didn't know you were such a social butterfly," he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and irritation bubbling within me. "I just meant... you usually don't seek out conversation with me," I mumbled, struggling to find the right words.

Katsuki chuckled, leaning back on his hands as he looked up at the sky. "Yeah, well, maybe I felt sorry for you," he replied nonchalantly, his tone teasing but not unkind.

I bristled at his words, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within me. "I don't need your pity," I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a grin. "Who said anything about pity?" he retorted, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe I just wanted to make sure you weren't turning into a slug in the grass."

I huffed out a frustrated sigh, both annoyed and relieved by his response. "Well, congratulations," I muttered, unable to suppress a small smile. "You've succeeded in rescuing me from my fate as a garden-dwelling creature."

Katsuki laughed, a genuine sound that filled the air with warmth. "Glad I could be of service," he said, nudging my shoulder playfully.

Despite my initial confusion, I found myself relaxing in Katsuki's company, grateful for the unexpected camaraderie.

Todoroki's sudden appearance caught me off guard as I sat on a bench during lunch break. "Midoriya, we need to talk," he said with a serious tone, his expression unreadable.

Before I could respond, Katsuki interjected with his usual brand of humor. "Uh oh, Midoriya, looks like you're in trouble," he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes at his comment, shooting him a playful glare before turning back to Todoroki. "What's going on?" I asked, curiosity tinged with a hint of apprehension.

Todoroki hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "It's about what happened the other day," he began, his voice low. "When you... passed out."

Katsuki leaned in, his interest piqued. "Ooh, drama," he muttered under his breath, earning a scowl from Todoroki.

Ignoring Katsuki's remark, I focused on Todoroki, waiting for him to continue. "Yeah, what about it?" I prompted, my mind racing with possibilities.

Todoroki took a deep breath, his expression grave. "I'm worried about you, Midoriya," he admitted, his voice tinged with genuine concern. "You haven't been yourself lately, and... well, I think we need to talk about it."

I glanced at Katsuki, who was watching the exchange with a rare seriousness.

I raised an eyebrow at Todoroki's concern. "Todoroki, you've known me for what, a week?" I pointed out, a hint of skepticism in my voice. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate his concern, but it felt a bit premature for him to be worried about me after such a short time.

Todoroki nodded slowly, his expression unchanged. "I know it hasn't been long, but... I can tell when something's not right," he replied earnestly, his gaze steady. "And I think it's worth talking about, even if we've only known each other for a short time."

I glanced over at Katsuki, who was watching the exchange with a thoughtful expression. Despite our differences, he seemed to agree with Todoroki's sentiment.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Fine," I conceded, realizing that maybe I couldn't keep avoiding the conversation forever. "Let's talk."

Todoroki took a seat beside me, his gaze shifting between me and Katsuki. "What's he doing here?" he asked, nodding towards Katsuki, his tone tinged with curiosity.

Katsuki leaned against the nearby wall, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just enjoying the show," he quipped, crossing his arms over his chest. "Plus, I heard there might be free snacks."

I rolled my eyes at his remark, but couldn't suppress a small smile. Katsuki had a way of injecting humor into even the most serious situations, whether it was appreciated or not.

Todoroki's expression was serious as he turned his attention back to me. "Seriously, Midoriya, what's going on? You've been avoiding everyone lately. Even during class, you're distant."

I tried to brush off his concern with a joke, a feeble attempt to deflect the growing tension. "Ah, you know me, just trying to maintain an air of mystery," I said with a forced laugh, but Todoroki's stern gaze told me he wasn't amused.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "This isn't a joke, Midoriya. We're worried about you. You're not yourself lately, and you're shutting everyone out."

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. Todoroki's words hit harder than I expected, a stark reminder of how much my behavior was affecting those around me.

Katsuki's gaze remained fixed on me, a mixture of curiosity and concern flickering in his crimson eyes. Todoroki's voice cut through the tension, his tone slightly impatient.

"Do you mind?" Todoroki's words were directed at Katsuki, who seemed momentarily taken aback by the interruption. He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, before offering a nonchalant shrug.

"Guess not," Katsuki replied, tearing his gaze away from me and turning his attention to Todoroki.

Chapter Text

Somehow, I'd ended up at Uraraka's house, nestled in the cozy living room alongside Todoroki, Uraraka, and Himiko. Uraraka and Himiko were seated cross-legged on the floor, giggling as they did each other's makeup. The air was filled with the scent of various cosmetics and the soft buzz of friendly chatter.

Todoroki and I were sitting on the couch, a little removed from the laughter. He leaned back, arms crossed, his expression contemplative as he glanced at me. The topic of our conversation had inevitably turned to Katsuki.

"You seem to be spending a lot of time with Bakugo lately," Todoroki remarked, his heterochromatic eyes studying me closely.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah, I guess I have. It's just...unexpected, you know? We never really got along before."

Todoroki nodded thoughtfully. "He seems different around you. Less...explosive. Why do you think that is?"

I shrugged, struggling to find the right words. "Maybe he's just tired of being angry all the time. Or maybe he just...sees something in me. I don't know."

Todoroki tilted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. "It's interesting. I never thought I'd see Bakugo willingly spend time with anyone, let alone you."

I chuckled softly. "Yeah, it's weird. But in a good way, I think."

Our conversation was interrupted by a burst of laughter from Uraraka and Himiko. I glanced over to see Himiko applying a bold shade of lipstick to Uraraka's lips, both of them looking utterly delighted.

"How's it going over there?" I called out, trying to lighten the mood.

Uraraka grinned, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "Great! Himiko's really good at this."

Himiko beamed, clearly enjoying the praise. "It's all about practice and having fun!"

I couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm. Despite the complexities and tensions in my own life, moments like these reminded me of the simple joys of friendship.

As I turned back to Todoroki, he was still watching me, his expression now more relaxed. "Maybe spending time with Bakugo is good for both of you. Just...be careful, okay?"

I nodded, appreciating his concern. "Thanks, Todoroki. I'll try."

The evening's lighthearted atmosphere was punctuated by sudden laughter and teasing. Uraraka and Himiko continued their playful makeup session, their giggles filling the cozy living room.

As Todoroki and I resumed our conversation about Katsuki, I glanced over to see Himiko leaning in closer to Uraraka, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Hold still," Himiko said, her voice low and teasing as she carefully applied the last touches of lipstick on Uraraka's lips.

Uraraka laughed, her cheeks flushed from the fun. "Okay, okay! But don't mess it up."

Himiko's smile grew wider, her gaze softening as she looked at Uraraka. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Suddenly, with a swift, playful motion, Himiko leaned in and stole a quick kiss from Uraraka, her lips brushing against the freshly applied lipstick. The room seemed to freeze for a second, the playful ambiance holding its breath.

Uraraka's eyes widened in surprise, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks. For a moment, she looked shocked, but then she burst into laughter, the sound infectious and bright. "Himiko! What was that for?"

Himiko shrugged, her eyes gleaming with playful defiance. "Couldn't resist. You looked too cute."

Todoroki and I exchanged a glance, both of us chuckling at the scene. "Guess we're not the only ones dealing with unexpected relationships," Todoroki murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. Despite the chaos and confusion in our lives, moments like these reminded us that there was still joy and connection to be found. The playful kiss, though unexpected, felt like a reminder of the bonds we shared, even in the most surprising of circumstances.

Uraraka playfully swatted at Himiko, who laughed and ducked away, the two of them resuming their giggles and makeup session as if nothing had happened.

...

As I walked home from Uraraka's house, the evening air was cool and crisp, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees lining the sidewalk. The time spent with my friends had been a welcome distraction, but now, as I approached my front door, a familiar knot of anxiety tightened in my chest.

Pushing the door open, I stepped inside, bracing myself for whatever awaited me. To my surprise, my mother greeted me with a warm smile, as if the other night had never happened. As if we had never fought, as if she hadn't been so damn close to figuring out something about her baby.

"Hi, Izuku!" she said cheerfully, her voice filled with a forced brightness that made my heart ache. "Did you have a good time at Uraraka's?"

I forced a smile, trying to match her tone. "Yeah, it was nice," I replied, slipping off my shoes and setting my bag down by the door. "We just hung out and talked."

She nodded, her eyes scanning my face for any hint of distress. "That's good to hear," she said softly. "You need to spend time with your friends. It's important."

I could see the worry etched in her eyes, the unspoken questions lingering just beneath the surface. But she didn't press me, didn't push for answers I wasn't ready to give. Instead, she turned back to the stove, stirring a pot of soup with a practiced ease.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," she said, glancing over her shoulder with a tentative smile. "Why don't you go wash up?"

I nodded, grateful for the temporary reprieve. "Okay, Mom," I replied, heading towards the bathroom.

As I washed my hands, I couldn't help but reflect on the strange, tenuous peace that had settled over our home. It was as if we were both tiptoeing around the truth, pretending that everything was fine when, in reality, we were teetering on the edge of a precipice.

The memory of our fight was still fresh in my mind, the hurtful words and raw emotions leaving a lingering sting. But my mother's unwavering support, even in the face of her own fears, was a reminder of the bond we shared—a bond that could withstand even the darkest of times.

As I dried my hands and made my way back to the kitchen, I resolved to cherish these moments of fragile normalcy, even if they were fleeting. Because in a world filled with uncertainty and doubt, the love and support of my mother was a constant I could always count on.

Sitting at the table with my mom, the warm aroma of homemade soup wafted through the air, filling the small kitchen with a sense of comfort that contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside me. My stomach churned, not from hunger but from anxiety, the familiar dread of eating creeping in as I stared at the bowl in front of me.

"How was your day, Izuku?" my mom asked, her voice gentle but probing, as she ladled soup into my bowl.

"It was okay," I replied, forcing a smile. "Classes were fine. We have a big test coming up in algebra."

She nodded, her eyes scanning my face for any sign of distress. "You always do well on your tests. I'm sure you'll ace it."

I picked up my spoon, my hand trembling slightly, and stirred the soup absentmindedly. The broth swirled around the vegetables and bits of chicken, but the thought of actually eating it made my throat close up. I took a deep breath, willing myself to take a small sip. The liquid was warm and comforting, but my mind was already calculating the calories, the potential weight gain, the guilt.

"How was your time at Uraraka's?" she continued, her voice light, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

"It was good," I said, taking another tiny sip of the soup, hoping she wouldn't notice how little I was eating. "We just hung out and talked about school and stuff."

"That's nice," she said, smiling. "I'm glad you have friends like her. It's important to have people you can rely on."

I nodded, my gaze fixed on the soup. I could feel her watching me, her concern palpable, but I couldn't bring myself to meet her eyes. Instead, I forced myself to take another sip, the broth now cooling and less appetizing with each passing moment.

"How about you, Mom?" I asked, trying to shift the focus away from myself. "How was your day?"

She sighed softly, her smile faltering for a moment. "It was busy, as usual," she replied. "Work was hectic, but I managed to get everything done. And I picked up a few extra groceries on the way home."

I nodded again, grateful for the distraction. But as she continued to talk, my mind wandered back to the soup, the food that seemed to taunt me with every passing second. I knew I should eat more, that my body needed the nourishment, but the fear and guilt were overwhelming.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" she asked suddenly, her voice laced with worry. "You've hardly touched your soup."

I forced another smile, trying to ease her concern. "Yeah, I'm just not very hungry," I lied. "I had a big lunch."

She looked at me for a long moment, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. "Alright," she said softly, not wanting to push too hard. "Just... make sure you're taking care of yourself, okay? You need to eat."

"I will, Mom," I promised, though the words felt hollow. "I will."

The guilt gnawed at me, sharper than any physical hunger. I wished I could promise her that I was taking care of myself, but the reality was far from that.

I stirred the soup again, the vegetables and chicken pieces swirling aimlessly in the broth. The thought of actually finishing the bowl seemed impossible, an insurmountable task. How could I take care of myself when just the act of eating felt like a battle?

"How's the soup?" my mom asked, her voice gentle, pulling me back to the present.

"It's good," I lied, managing a small smile. "Really good."

She smiled back, relief flickering in her eyes. "I'm glad. It's your favorite, after all."

I nodded, the familiar ache of guilt tightening in my chest. I hated lying to her, but I couldn't bear to see her worry. I took another tiny sip, hoping it would be enough to keep her from asking more questions.

As the conversation drifted to other topics—her work, the latest news, and a funny story about a neighbor—I tried to engage, to act normal. But my mind kept circling back to her earlier words, the ones that had struck a chord deep within me.

Take care of myself.

I wanted to, so badly. I wanted to be able to eat without fear, to look in the mirror without seeing a stranger. I wanted to be healthy, to stop worrying my mom with my silence and my lies. But the path to self-care felt like a tightrope walk over a bottomless pit, and every step seemed more precarious than the last.

As I forced down another sip of soup, I made a silent vow: I would try. For my mom, for my friends, for myself. It wouldn't be easy, and I knew there would be days when I stumbled, when I fell back into old habits and dark thoughts. But maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to start taking care of myself.

"Are you sure you're okay, Izuku?" my mom asked again, her voice breaking through my thoughts.

I looked up at her, meeting her eyes with a sincerity that surprised even me. "I'm trying, Mom," I said softly. "I'm really trying."

She reached across the table, taking my hand in hers, her grip warm and reassuring. "That's all I can ask for," she said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Just keep trying, okay?"

I nodded, squeezing her hand gently. "I will," I promised, hoping that I could keep it.

Chapter Text

An hour later, I found myself hunched over the toilet, my stomach churning violently. The warm, comforting soup my mom had made now felt like poison in my gut, a weight I couldn't bear. The guilt and shame pressed down on me as I retched, my body rejecting the food I had forced down earlier.

The sound of my own heaving echoed off the bathroom walls, a harsh reminder of how far I was from being okay. Tears blurred my vision as I clung to the cold porcelain, each spasm of my stomach tearing through me with brutal intensity. I had tried so hard to seem normal at dinner, to give my mom the illusion that I was fine, but it was all a lie.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, the contents of my stomach emptied into the toilet. I slumped back against the wall, exhausted and shaking, the sour taste of vomit lingering in my mouth. My throat burned, and my eyes stung with tears I didn't have the strength to wipe away.

The silence that followed was deafening. I felt hollow, empty in more ways than one. How many times had I found myself in this exact position, hating myself for my weakness but feeling utterly powerless to change it? Too many times to count.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, the bitterness of bile a cruel reminder of my failure. I wished I could break free from this cycle, to be the person my mom believed I could be, but the path seemed impossibly steep.

As I flushed the toilet and shakily got to my feet, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My reflection was a stranger—pale, gaunt, eyes haunted by secrets I couldn't share. The person staring back at me looked fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

I rinsed my mouth with water, trying to wash away the taste and the shame, but the emptiness remained. I wished I could disappear, to fade into nothingness and escape the torment inside my mind.

But for now, all I could do was pull myself together, put on a brave face, and keep pretending that everything was okay. I owed my mom that much, at least.

I sat there for a moment longer, slumped against the bathroom wall, trying to gather the strength to move. My stomach ached, and my throat burned from the acid. The bitter taste of vomit lingered, and I knew I needed to clean myself up.

With a shaky breath, I pushed myself up off the floor, using the wall for support. My legs felt weak and unsteady, but I managed to make my way to the sink. I turned on the tap, the sound of running water filling the small, tiled room. Cupping my hands under the stream, I brought the cool water to my mouth, swishing it around to rinse away the sour taste.

I spat into the sink, watching the water swirl down the drain, tinged with remnants of my meal. I repeated the process several times, the water soothing my raw throat and washing away some of the bitterness. But no matter how many times I rinsed, I couldn't wash away the shame and guilt that clung to me.

As I straightened up, I caught sight of myself in the mirror above the sink. My reflection was a stark reminder of the struggle I faced every day. My face was pale, my eyes dull and tired, with dark circles beneath them. I looked like a ghost, haunted by my own demons.

I ran a hand through my disheveled hair, trying to make myself look a little more presentable. My mom would worry if she saw me like this, and the last thing I wanted was to add to her burden.

Turning off the tap, I patted my face dry with a towel, taking a moment to steady my breathing. The worst of it was over for now, but the battle was far from won. I had a long way to go, and the path ahead seemed daunting.

With a final glance in the mirror, I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. I needed to hold it together, for my mom's sake if not for my own. I owed it to her to try, even if it felt impossible sometimes.

Leaving the bathroom, I made my way back to my room, each step feeling like a small victory. As I closed the door behind me, I couldn't help but hope that maybe, one day, things would be different. That maybe, I could find a way to break free from this cycle and start taking care of myself, truly taking care of myself.

As I lay down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts circled back to dinner with my mom. Her words echoed in my mind, and the promise I had made to her weighed heavily on my heart. "Just keep trying, okay?" she had said, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and concern.

"I will," I had promised, my voice steady but my resolve crumbling inside.

But the truth was, I was one hell of a liar of a son to make that promise. How could I tell her I was trying when just an hour later I was hunched over the toilet, purging the very food she had lovingly prepared? How could I assure her I was taking care of myself when every day was a struggle just to keep up the facade?

I turned onto my side, the familiar ache of guilt gnawing at me. My mom believed in me, believed that I could overcome this. But she didn't know the depth of the darkness I faced, the relentless grip it had on me. Every smile, every "I'm fine" was a lie, a mask to hide the truth of my battle.

The worst part was, I wanted to believe in the promise I made. I wanted to be the son she thought I could be, strong and resilient. But the reality was far more complicated. Every step forward felt like two steps back, every victory overshadowed by the crushing weight of my fears and insecurities.

I sighed, closing my eyes against the tears that threatened to spill. The darkness of my room felt suffocating, a reflection of the turmoil within me. I knew my mom saw through my lies, that she sensed the pain I tried so hard to hide. But she held on to hope, hoping that I would find a way through.

Maybe one day, I could live up to the promise I made. Maybe one day, I could truly start taking care of myself. But for now, all I could do was survive, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when the path seemed impossible.

As sleep began to pull me under, I whispered a silent apology to my mom, a promise to myself that I would keep trying, no matter how many times I stumbled. Because if nothing else, I owed her that much. I owed her the effort, the fight, even if it felt like I was losing more often than winning.

Fuck.

As I lay in bed, lost in the tangled web of my thoughts, a sudden sound shattered the silence of the night—a faint tapping against my window. My heart skipped a beat as I sat up, my pulse quickening with a mix of confusion and apprehension. Who could possibly be tapping on my window at this hour?

With cautious steps, I approached the window, my hand trembling slightly as I reached for the curtain. Drawing it back slowly, I peered outside, expecting to see nothing but darkness. But to my surprise, a figure stood in the shadows below, barely visible in the dim moonlight.

My breath caught in my throat as I recognized the silhouette—it was Katsuki, his familiar form illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights. My mind raced with questions, each more bewildering than the last. How did he know where I lived? And why was he here, tapping on my window in the dead of night?

Before I could gather my thoughts, Katsuki's voice broke through the silence, muffled by the glass but unmistakable in its intensity. "Oi, Deku," he called out, his tone gruff but urgent. "Open up."

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. Part of me wanted to ignore him, to retreat back into the safety of my room and pretend I hadn't heard him. But another part—the part that still held onto the hope of friendship, however unlikely it seemed—urged me to respond.

Taking a deep breath, I unlatched the window and pushed it open, allowing the cool night air to rush in. Katsuki's eyes met mine through the glass, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

I leaned out of the window, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind reeling with unanswered questions. But before I could call out to him, he was gone, leaving me standing there alone, with nothing but the sound of my own breathing to keep me company.

As I closed the window and retreated back into my room, the events of the night played over and over in my mind. How did Katsuki know where I lived? And what did he want from me, tapping on my window like some kind of secret rendezvous?

Chapter Text

In the bustling chaos of the gym locker room, I found myself stealing glances at Katsuki as he shut his locker with a resounding clang. His presence was magnetic, drawing my attention like a moth to a flame. As he turned, a playful smirk danced across his lips, his eyes alight with mischief.

Beside him stood Kirishima, his close friend and partner in crime, a broad grin plastered on his face as he exchanged banter with Katsuki. Their camaraderie was palpable, a dynamic duo that commanded attention wherever they went.

I watched from a distance, my gaze lingering on Katsuki as he playfully shoved Kirishima, their laughter echoing off the walls. There was a raw energy to their interaction, a familiarity born from years of friendship and shared experiences.

But beneath the bravado and swagger, there was something else—a vulnerability that lurked just beneath the surface. I could see it in the way Katsuki's eyes softened when he thought no one was looking, a fleeting glimpse of the boy he used to be before the weight of expectations had burdened him.

As the bell rang, signaling the start of class, Katsuki and Kirishima made their way towards the gymnasium, their laughter fading into the distance. I lingered for a moment longer, lost in thought, before following after them, the weight of their unspoken connection lingering in the air like a promise of something more.

As I began my jog around the perimeter of the gym, my mind couldn't shake the unsettling thought that had been nagging at me since last night. Katsuki's unexpected appearance at my window felt too coincidental to ignore. Had he followed me home? Stalked me, even?

The idea seemed absurd at first, but the more I dwelled on it, the more plausible it became. Katsuki had always been one to push boundaries, to defy expectations at every turn. And if he thought there was something to gain from seeking me out, well, he wouldn't hesitate to do so, no matter how invasive it might seem.

I quickened my pace, the rhythmic pounding of my feet against the ground a comforting distraction from my turbulent thoughts. But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't outrun the feeling of unease that lingered in the pit of my stomach.

What did Katsuki want from me? Was he looking for a fight, as he so often seemed to be? Or was there something else driving him, something deeper and more elusive?

I rounded the corner of the gym, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I pushed myself to go faster, to escape the tangled web of my own thoughts. But with each step, the feeling of being watched persisted, a shadowy presence lurking just beyond my field of vision.

As I completed another lap, I slowed to a stop, my chest heaving with exertion. The gymnasium loomed ahead, a fortress of activity and noise. But in the quiet solitude of the outdoor track, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being hunted, that Katsuki's eyes were still on me, even from a distance.

As I made my way back inside the gym, my heart still pounding from my brisk jog, a familiar voice cut through the air, sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"Deku, you're freaking flying out there," Katsuki's rough voice exclaimed from behind me, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.

I turned to find him jogging up beside me, his expression unreadable but his eyes glittering with a mischievous spark. Despite my best efforts to hide it, his sudden appearance sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of unease at the sight of him.

"You scared the hell out of me," I admitted, my breath still coming in short gasps as I tried to steady myself.

Katsuki chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Guess I'm just too fucking fast for my own good," he joked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

I tried to laugh along with him, to play off my fear as nothing more than a joke. But deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his sudden appearance than met the eye. Was he really just out for a jog, or was there something else driving him?

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off between Katsuki and me. Every glance, every word felt tinged with tension, a silent undercurrent that pulsed beneath the surface of our interaction.

Katsuki noticed it too, I could tell by the way his eyes flickered with curiosity whenever he looked at me. But instead of addressing it head-on, he seemed content to let it simmer, like a pot left to boil over.

I tried to act normal, to engage in the banter and camaraderie that had once come so easily to us. But with every passing moment, the weight of last night's encounter hung heavy on my mind, a constant reminder of the unanswered questions that lingered between us.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Katsuki spoke up, his voice cutting through the noise of the gym like a knife.

"Last night," he began, his tone serious but not unkind. "What was that all about?"

I froze, my heart skipping a beat as the weight of his question settled over me like a shroud. How could I explain the turmoil that had consumed me since his unexpected appearance at my window? How could I put into words the fear and uncertainty that had plagued me ever since?

"I... I don't know," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was... surprised to see you."

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Surprised, huh? That's one way to put it."

I bit my lip, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck. How could I explain the conflicting emotions that had swirled inside me at the sight of him? How could I admit that part of me had been terrified, while another part had felt a strange sense of relief?

"I didn't mean to scare you," Katsuki continued, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "I just... wanted to talk."

"That still doesn't explain how you found where I lived," I blurted out, the words tumbling from my lips before I could stop them.

Katsuki's expression hardened, his jaw tightening with a flicker of irritation. "I told you, I just... wanted to talk," he replied, his voice terse but tinged with an undercurrent of frustration.

I shook my head, the doubt and uncertainty bubbling up inside me like a storm. "But how did you know where to find me?" I pressed, unable to suppress the urgency in my voice. "It's not like I go around broadcasting my address to everyone."

Katsuki's gaze faltered for a moment, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he masked it with a defiant scowl. "I... I asked around," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

I felt a surge of disbelief wash over me at his admission. Asked around? What did that even mean? Did he go door to door, interrogating every person in the neighborhood until he stumbled upon the right one?

"That's... that's not an answer," I replied, my frustration mounting with each passing second. "You can't just show up at someone's house uninvited and expect them to be okay with it."

Katsuki bristled at my words, his fists clenching at his sides. "I didn't mean to overstep," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the din of the gymnasium. "I just... I wanted to make sure you were okay."

The sincerity in his words caught me off guard, and for a moment, the tension between us seemed to dissipate, replaced by a fragile sense of understanding. But as I met his gaze, I saw the uncertainty lurking beneath the surface, the same uncertainty that had plagued us from the start.

"I appreciate your concern," I replied, my voice softening despite myself. "But next time, maybe just... ask first?"

Katsuki nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah," he said, his tone tinged with remorse. "I'll remember that."

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond to Katsuki's unexpected admission. "Why did you want to see if I was okay?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Katsuki's gaze softened, his usual bravado giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability. "I... I see you going through something," he admitted, his words hesitant but sincere. "Something I used to go through."

I frowned, a knot of confusion forming in the pit of my stomach. "What do you mean?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite myself.

Katsuki hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. "I used to feel like... like I had to prove myself," he explained, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Like I had to be the best, no matter what."

I nodded, the pieces starting to fall into place. Katsuki's fierce determination, his relentless drive—it all made sense now. But beneath the bravado, I could sense a deeper struggle, a vulnerability that he rarely showed to anyone else.

"And you see that in me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Katsuki nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice barely audible over the noise of the gymnasium. "I see it in you."

Katsuki's words hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me reeling with shock and embarrassment. "And... shit, I've noticed you haven't been eating," he added, his voice low and tinged with concern. "I've heard... about it."

My cheeks burned with shame as I realized that Katsuki had seen through my carefully constructed facade, had noticed the subtle signs of my struggle that I had tried so hard to hide. How could I have been so blind as to think that I could keep it a secret?

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion as I struggled to find the words to respond. "I... I don't know what you're talking about," I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the din of the gymnasium.

But Katsuki wasn't buying it. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through me with unwavering intensity. "Don't bullshit me, Deku," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "I've seen the way you push your food around your plate, the way you make excuses to avoid eating. And I'm not the only one."

I felt a surge of panic rise within me at his words, the weight of his observation pressing down on me like a leaden weight. How had I let it come to this, let my struggle become so painfully obvious to those around me?

"I... I don't know what you want me to say," I stammered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and shame. "I'm fine, really."

But Katsuki wasn't buying it. He stepped closer, his expression softening with genuine concern.

As Katsuki and I stood there, the weight of our conversation hanging heavy in the air between us, a sudden commotion broke out nearby. Without warning, a brightly colored jersey came flying through the air, soaring towards us with alarming speed.

Before I could react, the jersey collided with Katsuki's head with a loud smack, causing him to stagger backwards with a curse. "What the hell, Kirishima?" he growled, his hand reaching up to rub at the spot where he'd been hit.

I turned to see Kirishima standing nearby, a sheepish grin on his face as he shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, man," he said, his tone contrite but his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I was aiming for Bakugo, but I guess you'll do."

Katsuki scowled, his irritation evident as he shot Kirishima a withering glare. "Watch where you're throwing that thing, Shitty Hair," he snapped, his voice tinged with annoyance.

But despite his gruff demeanor, I could see a hint of amusement flickering in Katsuki's eyes, a begrudging acknowledgment of Kirishima's antics. And as Kirishima offered up a playful apology, I couldn't help but smile at the camaraderie that bound them together, even in the midst of their bickering.

As the conversation with Katsuki and Kirishima continued, I felt the familiar tug of anxiety gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. The weight of their words, coupled with the relentless noise of the gymnasium, threatened to overwhelm me, suffocating me with a sense of unease.

Desperate for reprieve, I excused myself with a mumbled apology, my heart hammering in my chest as I hurried towards the exit. I needed space, air, anything to escape the suffocating grip of my anxiety.

But as I reached for the door handle, a sudden weight collided with my back, sending me stumbling forward with a gasp of surprise. I turned to find Katsuki standing behind me, a determined glint in his eyes as he held out a brightly colored jersey, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," he said, his voice gruff but oddly gentle. "You're on our fucking team."

I blinked, taken aback by his unexpected gesture. For a moment, I struggled to process his words, to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling inside me. But as I met Katsuki's gaze, I saw something there that mirrored my own inner turmoil—a silent understanding, a shared struggle.

With a shaky exhale, I reached out and accepted the jersey, the fabric rough against my fingertips. It was garish and loud, the colors clashing in a way that seemed almost obscene.

Chapter Text

"Izuku, have you even looked for a job today?" she called out, her tone tinged with frustration.

I winced, the guilt churning in my stomach as I slouched on the couch, my gaze fixed on the blank TV screen in front of me. I knew I should be out there, pounding the pavement, searching for any opportunity that came my way. But the thought of facing rejection, of putting myself out there, filled me with a sense of dread that I couldn't shake.

"I'll do it later," I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the clatter of dishes.

My mother sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. "You keep saying that, Izuku," she said, her tone softening slightly. "But later never seems to come."

I swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling over me like a leaden blanket. I knew she was right—I had been procrastinating, avoiding the inevitable reality of adulthood for far too long. But the thought of leaving the safety of my comfort zone, of venturing out into the unknown, filled me with a sense of paralyzing fear that I couldn't shake.

"I'm trying, Mom," I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. "I just... I don't know where to start."

Her expression softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she crossed the room and sat down beside me on the couch. "I know it's hard, Izuku," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "But you can't keep hiding from the world forever. You need to take control of your future, before it's too late."

I nodded, the weight of her words sinking in as I stared down at my hands, clenched tightly in my lap. She was right—I couldn't keep running from my responsibilities, from the challenges that lay ahead. It was time to face them head-on, to take charge of my destiny and carve out a path of my own.

With a determined exhale, I pushed myself to my feet, the resolve burning bright within me. "You're right, Mom," I said, my voice steady despite the lingering doubts in my mind. "I'll start looking for a job first thing tomorrow. I promise."

As I sat there, the weight of my mother's expectations heavy on my shoulders, a sense of resignation settled over me like a suffocating blanket. How many times had I made promises like this before, only to watch them crumble into dust before my eyes?

I clenched my fists, the frustration boiling up inside me as I stared down at the worn carpet beneath my feet. It seemed like every day brought a new set of challenges, a new set of expectations that I struggled to meet. And no matter how hard I tried, it never seemed to be enough.

"I'll start looking for a job first thing tomorrow. I promise," I had said, the words echoing hollowly in my mind. But deep down, I knew the truth—I was setting myself up for failure once again.

How many times had I promised to change, to do better, only to fall back into the same old patterns? How many times had I let down the people who mattered most to me, unable to live up to the expectations they had placed upon me?

I sighed, the weight of my own inadequacy pressing down on me like a ton of bricks. It was a vicious cycle, one that seemed impossible to break free from. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how many promises I made, I always seemed to fall short in the end.

As the day wore on, the weight of my mother's expectations hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the promises I had made and the challenges that lay ahead. But as the hours ticked by, the gnawing ache in my stomach grew more pronounced, a relentless reminder of the hunger that had become my constant companion.

When evening finally rolled around, my mother's departure for work left me alone in the cramped confines of our apartment, the silence oppressive in its emptiness. As I stood in the dimly lit kitchen, the flickering glow of the refrigerator casting eerie shadows across the room, I felt a surge of nausea wash over me.

My mother's words echoed in my mind as I opened the fridge door, the cool air wafting over me in a bittersweet embrace. "I left your dinner in the fridge," she had said, her voice tinged with weary resignation. "Make sure to eat it before five tonight."

But as I stared down at the meager contents of the fridge, my appetite vanished, replaced by a sense of dread that twisted my stomach into knots. I knew I should eat, knew I needed to nourish my body to keep up the facade of normalcy. But the thought of food, of swallowing each bite and feeling it settle like a lead weight in my stomach, filled me with a sense of revulsion that I couldn't shake.

With a heavy sigh, I reached for the Tupperware container sitting on the top shelf, the contents a sad reflection of the emptiness that had come to define my existence. But as I lifted the lid, the smell of reheated leftovers assaulted my senses, sending a wave of nausea crashing over me.

I knew I couldn't force myself to eat, couldn't bear the thought of choking down each bite while my stomach rebelled in protest. So with a resigned shrug, I replaced the lid and shoved the container back into the fridge, the clang of plastic against glass echoing in the empty room.

I knew what would happen next—I would wait until the cover of darkness shrouded the apartment in shadows, then sneak out to the neighbor's dumpster, the scent of discarded food mingling with the stench of rot and decay. It was a ritual I had become all too familiar with, a desperate attempt to rid myself of the burden of sustenance that had become my constant torment.

As I stood in the dimly lit kitchen, the container of uneaten food still in my hands, a loud knock echoed through the silent apartment, jolting me out of my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced towards the door, a sense of unease prickling at the back of my neck.

Who could it be at this hour? I wondered, my mind racing with a dozen different possibilities, each one more ominous than the last. With trembling hands, I set the container down on the counter and crept towards the door, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet with each step.

As I reached out to grasp the doorknob, a sense of dread washed over me, the weight of the unknown pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. With a shaky exhale, I twisted the knob and pulled the door open, my breath catching in my throat as I braced myself for whatever lay on the other side.

But as I peered into the darkness beyond, I was met with an unexpected sight—a figure standing on the threshold, their features obscured by the shadows of the night. My heart raced as I strained to make out their face, the pounding of my pulse drowning out the sound of my own thoughts.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice barely above a whisper.

There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves in the night breeze. Then, slowly, the figure stepped forward into the dim light spilling from the apartment, revealing a familiar face framed by a shock of unruly hair.

"Katsuki?" I gasped, my voice catching in my throat as I stared at him in disbelief.

He nodded, his expression unreadable as he met my gaze with a steady intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "Hey, Deku," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Can I come in?"

I hesitated, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air between us. What could he want, coming here at this hour? And why had he sought me out, of all people, in the dead of night?

I watched as Katsuki stepped further into the apartment, his presence filling the small space with an unspoken tension that hung between us like a heavy fog. With a shaky exhale, I gathered the courage to speak, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

"Are you ever going to tell me how you found out where I lived?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, the fear of the unknown gnawing at the edges of my mind.

Katsuki turned to look at me, his gaze unwavering as he met my eyes with a steady intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city outside.

Then, without a hint of hesitation, Katsuki shook his head. "Nope," he said, his voice low and gravelly, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

I frowned, frustration bubbling up inside me at his cryptic response. "But why?" I pressed, my voice tinged with irritation. "How did you even know where to find me?"

Katsuki shrugged, a nonchalant expression on his face as he crossed the room and settled onto the couch. "Does it really matter?" he said, his tone dismissive. "I found you, didn't I?"

I scowled, the knot of unease in my stomach growing tighter with each passing moment. "Of course it matters," I insisted, my voice rising in frustration. "You can't just show up at someone's door in the middle of the night and expect them not to ask questions."

But Katsuki just shrugged, unfazed by my outburst. "Well, tough luck, Deku," he said, his tone teasing. "Some things are better left unsaid."

I gritted my teeth, the frustration boiling over inside me as I struggled to make sense of his cryptic words. How had he found me? And why was he being so secretive about it?

I couldn't shake the feeling that Katsuki's gaze lingered on the container still clutched in my hands. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I knew that he had noticed, that he had seen the evidence of my struggle laid bare before him.

"What's with the container?" Katsuki's voice cut through the silence like a knife, his tone sharp with curiosity.

I flinched, the weight of his question pressing down on me like a leaden weight. How could I explain, how could I put into words the shame and guilt that threatened to consume me from within?

"It's nothing," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

But Katsuki wasn't so easily deterred. With a furrowed brow, he leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the container in my hands. "Doesn't look like nothing to me," he said, his tone probing.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. How could I tell him, how could I admit to the darkness that lurked within me, to the demons that haunted my every waking moment?

"It's just... leftovers," I finally managed to choke out, the words feeling inadequate even as they left my lips.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he regarded me with a searching gaze. "Leftovers, huh?" he said, his tone skeptical.

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze as shame washed over me in a suffocating wave. "Yeah," I muttered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my own heartbeat.

There was a moment of tense silence as Katsuki studied me, his gaze piercing through the layers of deception that I had constructed around myself. Then, with a resigned sigh, he leaned back against the couch, the tension in the room dissipating like smoke in the wind.

"Whatever," he said, his tone dismissive. "It's none of my business anyway."

I nodded, grateful for his understanding even as guilt gnawed at the edges of my conscience. How could I burden him with my troubles, how could I expect him to understand the depths of my despair?

Chapter Text

"Oh great," Katsuki muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes before sitting down beside me. His gaze flickered towards the plate of food on the coffee table before returning to meet mine. "Well, at least someone had a decent night," he said with a hint of sarcasm. Despite himself, there was a small twitch of amusement playing around his lips as he took in my bedhead and rumpled clothes—a far cry from my usual neat appearance.

As I began telling him about my mother working late and leaving leftovers for me, something shifted in his expression; it softened slightly, almost like he could relate. It wasn't often that people saw past his tough exterior, but when they did, they caught glimpses of the kind-hearted boy hiding behind all those layers of bravado.

"You know," Katsuki said, his voice quieter now, "my mom used to work late all the time too. I hated it, being alone. But then again, I guess it made me tougher." He glanced at the plate of food, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his eyes. "Though I bet you didn't have to deal with burnt lasagna every other night."

I chuckled softly, the tension between us easing just a bit. "No, I got lucky with that. My mom's a pretty good cook. It's just... hard to eat sometimes, you know?" I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on my shirt.

Katsuki nodded, a rare moment of understanding passing between us. "Yeah, I get it. But you've got to take care of yourself, Deku. You can't just keep running on empty." He reached out and ruffled my hair, a gesture that was surprisingly gentle. "You're no good to anyone if you waste away."

I looked up, meeting Katsuki's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and determination. "Thanks, Kacchan. I... I'll try."

Katsuki snorted, the familiar roughness returning to his voice. "You better, nerd. And if you need someone to kick your ass into gear, you know where to find me."

I smiled, the warmth of Katsuki's words seeping into the cracks of my weary heart. Despite everything, despite the struggles and the secrets, I knew I wasn't alone. And for now, that was enough.

I looked at Katsuki, a question nagging at the back of my mind. "Kacchan, why did you come here?" I asked, my voice soft but curious.

Katsuki's expression hardened for a moment, his usual defensive walls snapping back into place. "What, I need a reason to check up on an idiot like you?" he replied, his tone gruff.

I raised an eyebrow, not buying his act. "Come on, Kacchan. You don't just show up at people's houses for no reason. Especially not mine."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fine, you caught me," he grumbled. "I just... I saw you in gym class today. You looked like shit. And then I heard some things... about you not eating, about how you've been acting weird lately."

I swallowed hard, my heart sinking at his words. So people were noticing.

Katsuki continued, his gaze intense. "I know you're going through something, Deku. And before you start with your self-righteous crap about handling it alone, I want you to know that I've been there. Maybe not the same exact place, but close enough."

I stared at him, taken aback by his honesty. "You... you've been through something like this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his eyes softening with a rare vulnerability. "Yeah. And it sucks. But it sucks more when you try to deal with it on your own. So I'm here to make sure you don't do that."

There was a moment of silence as I processed his words, the weight of them settling heavily on my shoulders. "Thanks, Kacchan," I said quietly. "But it still doesn't explain how you found out where I live."

Katsuki's lips twitched into a smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he said, a hint of his usual arrogance returning. "Let's just say I've got my sources."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "Fine, keep your secrets."

"Good," he said, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin. "Now, are you going to eat that, or just keep staring at it?"

I glanced down at the container in my hands, my stomach churning. "I'll... try," I muttered, feeling a mix of gratitude and dread.

"That's all I ask," Katsuki said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Just try, Deku."

I looked at Katsuki, the weight of his words still hanging in the air. "Kacchan," I said hesitantly, "what did you mean when you said you've been through something like this? A similar situation?"

He glanced at me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if debating whether to answer. After a moment, he let out a sigh, his tough facade cracking just a bit. "It's not something I like to talk about," he began, his voice lower than usual. "But since you're prying, I'll tell you."

I nodded, leaning in a little closer, sensing the importance of what he was about to share.

"There was a time," he continued, his gaze fixed somewhere distant, "when I was really struggling. Pressure from my family, the expectations of being the best... It got to me. I was pushing myself too hard, not eating right, barely sleeping. I thought I had to be strong all the time, never show any weakness."

I could see the pain in his eyes, the memories clearly still fresh despite the years that had passed. "But it caught up with me. I collapsed during training one day. They said it was exhaustion, but it was more than that. I was mentally and physically drained."

He looked back at me, his expression serious. "I had to learn the hard way that taking care of myself wasn't a sign of weakness. It was necessary. And I don't want you to go through the same thing, Deku. You're too damn stubborn, just like I was."

I swallowed hard, the gravity of his words sinking in. "Kacchan, I... I didn't know. I'm sorry you went through that."

"Don't be," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "It made me stronger in a different way. But the point is, I know what it's like to feel like you have to carry everything on your own. And I'm telling you, you don't have to."

There was a silence between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. I felt a deep sense of gratitude for his honesty, for his willingness to open up to me.

"Thanks for telling me," I said softly. "I really appreciate it."

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips. "Good. Now, are we done with the heart-to-heart? Because I've got things to do."

I chuckled, the tension easing just a bit. "Yeah, we're done."

Chapter Text

After Katsuki left, I was alone in the apartment with my thoughts. I glanced at the container of food, untouched on the coffee table. The guilt gnawed at me, but so did the overwhelming urge to make sure I burned off anything I might have consumed earlier. I couldn't let my mom catch on to what I was doing. She was already worried enough.

I waited until I was sure she was engrossed in her TV show in the living room. The walls were thin, and I could hear the canned laughter of the sitcom she liked so much. Taking a deep breath, I headed for the stairs. Quietly, I started my routine: up and down, up and down. Each step a silent penance for the food I couldn't bring myself to eat.

The first few laps were easy enough. I focused on the rhythm, trying to block out the noise in my head. But as I continued, my legs began to ache, and my breathing grew heavy. Still, I pushed on. I had to. The burn in my muscles was the only thing that made me feel in control.

Every so often, I'd pause at the top of the stairs, listening intently for any sign that my mom had noticed. The sounds from the living room remained unchanged, and I felt a mix of relief and dread. She had no idea what I was doing, and that was how it had to stay.

The minutes stretched into an hour, my body screaming for me to stop, but I couldn't. Not yet. Each step was a reminder of the promises I had made, promises I knew I was failing to keep. The guilt of lying to my mom, of pretending everything was fine when it wasn't, weighed heavily on me.

Finally, I couldn't go on any longer. My legs were trembling, and I could barely catch my breath. I sat down on the top step, my heart pounding in my chest. The house was silent except for the TV downstairs and my ragged breathing.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I took a moment to steady myself before slowly making my way to the bathroom. I couldn't let my mom see me like this. I turned on the faucet, rinsing my face with cold water, hoping it would wash away the exhaustion and the guilt.

As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I saw a boy who was trying so hard to hold everything together but was slowly falling apart. I couldn't keep this up forever, but I didn't know how to stop.

I splashed more water on my face and took a deep breath, steeling myself for the rest of the evening. Maybe Katsuki was right. Maybe I did need help. But for now, I had to keep going. I had to find a way to make it through another day without letting anyone see how much I was struggling.

As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, my heart still racing and my breath coming in shallow gasps, I heard a soft knock on the door. My mom's voice followed, gentle and concerned.

"Izuku? Are you in there?"

Panic surged through me. I quickly turned off the faucet and wiped my face with a towel, trying to steady my breathing. "Yeah, Mom. I'm here," I called out, hoping my voice sounded normal.

There was a brief pause, then, "Are you okay, sweetheart? You've been in there for a while."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep my tone light. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... felt a bit tired and needed to splash some water on my face."

Another pause. "Alright. But if you're not feeling well, you should rest. You've been pushing yourself really hard lately."

The concern in her voice made my chest tighten with guilt. She had no idea how hard I was pushing myself. I needed to keep up the facade, for her sake. "Thanks, Mom. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay, dear. Just let me know if you need anything."

I heard her footsteps retreating down the hall, and I let out a shaky breath. Turning back to the mirror, I took a moment to collect myself. The dark circles under my eyes seemed even more pronounced now, and the gauntness of my face was impossible to ignore.

I couldn't let her see me like this. I had to keep up appearances, had to make sure she didn't worry more than she already did. I gave myself one last look in the mirror, trying to muster some semblance of normalcy, then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

As I walked towards my room, I could hear the faint sounds of the TV show my mom was watching. The familiarity of it was comforting, even if just a little. When I reached my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me.

I had to keep it together. For her. For myself. But as I lay down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had to give. And soon.

Chapter Text

The next day at school, everything felt like a blur. I tried to focus on my classes, but the words on the board seemed to swim in and out of focus. My stomach gnawed at me, the hunger a constant, burning ache that I couldn't ignore.

In algebra, I stared at the equations, the numbers and symbols jumbling together in my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make sense of them. My stomach growled loudly, and I hunched over my desk, hoping no one noticed. The burn in my gut was all-consuming, making it impossible to concentrate.

As the teacher droned on, I glanced around the classroom. Todoroki was scribbling notes diligently, his face set in concentration. Uraraka was doodling in the margins of her notebook, a small smile playing on her lips. Everyone seemed so absorbed in their own worlds, so effortlessly present, while I felt like I was drifting further and further away.

I tried to take notes, but my hands were trembling. The pen slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor. I bent down to pick it up, my vision swimming as I straightened back up. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze from my mind.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of hunger and exhaustion. Each class felt like an eternity, the minutes stretching out painfully. By the time lunch rolled around, I was on the verge of collapse. I knew I should eat something, but the thought of food made me nauseous.

I made my way to the cafeteria, my legs feeling like lead. As I passed through the lunch line, I grabbed an apple and a small carton of milk, more out of habit than any real desire to eat. I found a seat in the corner, away from the bustling crowd, and sat down heavily.

Staring at the apple, I felt a wave of despair wash over me. I couldn't do this. I couldn't keep pretending everything was okay when my body was screaming for relief. I took a tentative bite of the apple, the taste bitter and unappealing. My stomach clenched in protest, and I had to force myself to swallow.

Just as I was about to give up and leave, Todoroki appeared at my side, his tray loaded with food. "Hey, Midoriya," he said, sitting down across from me. "You look like you could use some company."

I forced a weak smile. "Hey, Todoroki. Yeah, just... not feeling great today."

He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You need to take care of yourself, Midoriya. Skipping meals isn't going to help."

I looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "I know," I mumbled. "I'm just... trying to get through the day."

Todoroki nodded, his expression softening. "If you need anything, let me know. We're all here for you."

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "Thanks," I whispered. "I appreciate it."

As I sat there, trying to muster the will to take another bite of the apple, a shadow fell over our table. I looked up to see Katsuki standing in front of us, his arms crossed and an intense expression on his face. He zeroed in on my tray, his eyes narrowing.

"We talked about this shit already, Deku," he said, his voice low but unmistakably angry.

I felt my face flush with embarrassment and anxiety. "Kacchan, I..."

Before I could say more, Todoroki cut in, looking between us with confusion. "Talked about what?"

Katsuki shot him a glare. "None of your damn business, Icy Hot," he snapped, his gaze never leaving mine. "Deku, you can't keep doing this. You need to eat."

My stomach twisted, both from hunger and the scrutiny. I wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and escape their concerned eyes. The apple in my hand felt like a lead weight.

"He's right, Midoriya," Todoroki said quietly, his voice steady. "We're worried about you."

The lump in my throat grew, and I had to fight back tears. "I... I know," I stammered, looking down at the table. "I'm trying."

Katsuki's expression softened just a fraction, but his tone remained firm. "Then try harder. You think I want to watch you waste away? You think any of us do?"

I didn't know what to say. The guilt and shame were overwhelming. I nodded weakly, unable to look at either of them.

Katsuki sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just... eat something, damn it," he said, his voice quieter now. "You're not alone, Deku. Stop acting like you are."

Todoroki reached across the table, placing a hand on my arm. "We'll help you, Midoriya. Whatever you need."

I looked up at them, my vision blurring with unshed tears. Their concern was genuine, and it cut through the fog of my self-loathing. I took a shaky breath and nodded again, determined to at least try.

"Okay," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'll try."

Katsuki and Todoroki exchanged a look, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe I didn't have to do this alone. Maybe, with their help, I could find a way through.

Uraraka bounced over to the lunch table with her girlfriend, Himiko, their fingers interlocked. Her face radiated happiness as they approached their usual spot. Bakugo sat across from me, who was engrossed in a conversation about the latest tactics.

As Uraraka and Himiko sat down, Uraraka turned to Todoroki with a puzzled look. "Hey, Todoroki, why are you sitting here today?"

Before Todoroki could respond, Bakugo's voice cut through the din of the cafeteria. "I'm right fucking here," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing in irritation.

I chuckled nervously, glancing between my friends. "Bakugo's just being Bakugo," he said with a smile, trying to defuse the tension.

Uraraka laughed, squeezing Himiko's hand. "Guess we're all just mixing it up today, huh?" she said brightly, the warmth of her smile infectious.

Uraraka's eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned to the group, still holding Himiko's hand. "Hey, guys, there's this amazing musical coming to town this weekend! It's called 'Starlight Serenade,' and I've heard it's incredible. I really want to go!"

I looked up from my plate, curious. "A musical? What's it about?"

"It's this beautiful story about love and dreams," Uraraka explained, her enthusiasm contagious. "The main character wants to be a star, but she faces all these challenges. The songs are supposed to be phenomenal!"

Himiko squeezed Uraraka's hand, grinning. "It sounds like so much fun, Ochako! I'd love to go with you."

Todoroki nodded thoughtfully. "A musical could be a nice change of pace. When is it?"

"This Saturday evening," Uraraka replied, her excitement growing. "We could all go together! It would be like a group outing."

Bakugo scoffed, crossing his arms. "A musical? Seriously?"

"Oh, come on, Katsuki," I said with a playful smile. "It might be fun. And who knows? You might even enjoy it."

Bakugo rolled his eyes but didn't argue further. Uraraka beamed, thrilled at the idea of sharing something she loved with her friends.

Chapter Text

It was Saturday evening, and Bakugo was driving me to the theater for the musical Uraraka had been so excited about. The streets were bustling, but inside the car, it was surprisingly calm. Bakugo had the radio on low, a rare occurrence that made the drive almost peaceful.

"Hey, Deku," Bakugo grunted, breaking the silence. "You eat yet?"

I glanced over at him, a bit surprised by the question. "Yeah, I grabbed a quick snack before we left. Why?"

He huffed, gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Just making sure you’re not gonna pass out halfway through the show. You’re always thinking about everything but your own damn health."

I couldn’t help but smile at that. "Why does everything with you always have to be about food?" I asked, chuckling softly. "You’re like a worried mom sometimes."

Bakugo shot me a glare, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitching, almost like he wanted to smile but refused to let himself. "Shut up, nerd. I just don’t want to deal with you fainting and causing a scene."

"Sure, sure," I said, leaning back in my seat. "But really, thanks for the concern, Kacchan."

He didn’t respond right away, just kept his eyes on the road. After a moment, though, he muttered, "Yeah, whatever. Just enjoy the damn musical."

As we drove through the city, the silence between us was comfortable, filled with the hum of the car and the occasional sound of passing traffic. Out of nowhere, Bakugo broke the silence again.

"Hey, Deku," he said, his tone more casual than before. "What does your mom do for work?"

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. "My mom? She works in a small office. She does clerical work, mostly."

Bakugo nodded, his eyes still on the road. "She likes it?"

I shrugged, thinking about it. "I think so. It's stable, and she gets to come home at a reasonable time. She’s always been more focused on making sure I have what I need to become a hero."

Bakugo grunted in acknowledgment. "She's always been pretty supportive of you, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, a small smile forming on my lips. "She worries a lot, but she’s always been my biggest supporter. What about your parents, Kacchan?"

He sighed, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "Old hag still runs that clothing store. Dad's still making sparks in the workshop."

"Do you ever help out in the store?" I asked, curious.

"Sometimes," Bakugo admitted, his voice softening just a fraction. "When the old hag demands it. It's not so bad, I guess."

I smiled, appreciating the rare moment of openness. "It's nice to know our parents have our backs, even if they show it in different ways."

"Yeah, whatever," he said, his usual gruffness returning. "Just don't go getting all sentimental on me, nerd."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Wouldn't dream of it, Kacchan."

We finally pulled up to the theater, its marquee lights glowing brightly against the evening sky. People were milling about, chatting excitedly as they waited to go inside. Bakugo found a parking spot not too far away, and we stepped out into the cool night air.

As we walked toward the entrance, my stomach gave an audible growl. I winced, hoping Bakugo hadn’t heard, but of course, he had.

"Seriously, Deku?" he snapped, turning to glare at me. "I knew you were lying about eating."

I rubbed the back of my head, feeling sheepish. "Sorry, Kacchan. I didn’t want you to worry. I was going to grab something later."

Bakugo rolled his eyes, his irritation palpable. "Idiot. Come on, let's find you something to eat before we go in."

"But the show's starting soon," I protested weakly, not wanting to make a fuss.

"Shut up and follow me," he ordered, already heading toward a nearby food stall. "I’m not dealing with you passing out in the middle of the musical."

"No, really," I protested, feeling my anxiety spike. "I’m not hungry. It’s fine, Kacchan."

"Not hungry? Your stomach’s telling a different story," he growled, already scanning for nearby food stalls.

"I mean it, Kacchan," I insisted, my voice tightening. "I don’t want to eat. Can we just go in?"

He stopped and turned to look at me, frustration etched on his face. For a moment, I thought he might push the issue. Instead, he let out a harsh sigh. "Fuck it, fine. But if you pass out or something, it’s on you, got it?"

I nodded, trying to muster a reassuring smile. "Got it. Thanks, Kacchan."

We made our way into the theater, finding our seats just as the lights began to dim. I could feel Bakugo’s occasional glances, his concern poorly masked by his irritation. As the musical started, I focused on the performance, letting the music and drama distract me from the gnawing hunger and the unease of our earlier conversation.

Bakugo might not understand, but he still chose to let it go for now. And as the first notes of the musical filled the theater, I hoped that would be enough for tonight.

Inside the theater, Bakugo and I found our seats in the middle row. The plush chairs were surprisingly comfortable, and the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation as the lights dimmed. Uraraka, Todoroki, and Himiko were seated a few rows ahead of us, chatting animatedly and sharing snacks.

Bakugo settled into his seat next to me, his arms crossed and his usual scowl in place. I could feel the tension radiating from him, a mix of concern and frustration. I tried to focus on the stage, where the curtains were just beginning to rise, but Bakugo's presence was impossible to ignore.

"You better not make a scene," he muttered under his breath, eyes forward.

"I won’t," I whispered back, trying to sound confident. "Just enjoy the show, Kacchan."

The musical began with a burst of music and color, immediately drawing the audience into its world. The lead actress sang a powerful opening number, her voice filling the theater with emotion. I glanced down at Uraraka and Himiko, who were holding hands and leaning close, their eyes glued to the stage. Todoroki sat beside them, his usual stoic expression softened by the performance.

As the show continued, I found myself getting lost in the story. The characters' struggles and dreams resonated with me, and for a while, I managed to forget about my hunger and the earlier conversation. Every now and then, Bakugo would glance at me, his gaze sharp and assessing, but he didn’t say anything.

During the intermission, Bakugo turned to me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "You holding up okay?"

I nodded, giving him a small smile. "Yeah, I’m good. This musical is amazing."

He grunted in response, not entirely convinced. "Just… don't push yourself, idiot."

"I won't," I promised, appreciating his concern despite his rough manner. "Thanks, Kacchan."

I spotted Uraraka making her way toward us, her eyes bright with excitement. Before she could reach us, I quickly stood up.

"I need to use the bathroom," I said hurriedly, avoiding Bakugo’s questioning look. I squeezed past him and made my way up the aisle, feeling his eyes on my back.

Uraraka paused, a bit taken aback. "Oh, okay. We’ll catch up in a bit, Izuku!"

I gave her a quick nod and a strained smile before heading to the restroom. Inside, I splashed some water on my face, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I knew Bakugo was worried, and Uraraka probably had questions too, but I wasn’t ready to face them right now. The truth about my eating disorder wasn’t something I could easily explain, especially not in the middle of a fun night out.

After a few moments, I took a deep breath and headed back. As I approached our seats, I could see Uraraka talking animatedly with Bakugo. She looked up as I returned, a warm smile on her face.

"There you are, Izuku! I was just telling Bakugo how amazing the show is. Isn’t it great?" she said, her enthusiasm infectious.

"Yeah, it really is," I agreed, slipping back into my seat. "The performances are incredible."

Bakugo shot me a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything. Uraraka continued chatting about her favorite parts of the show so far, her excitement a welcome distraction. As the lights dimmed for the second act, I felt a bit more at ease, surrounded by my friends and the magic of the musical.

For now, I could focus on the story unfolding on stage, letting the music and drama sweep me away. The weight of my struggles could wait, at least until the final curtain fell.

Chapter Text

The cold air of the parking garage was a stark contrast to the warmth and vibrancy of the musical we had just left. The echo of our footsteps and the distant hum of idling cars filled the space as we walked together, the excitement from the performance still buzzing in the air. Ochaco was animatedly recounting her favorite scenes to Himiko, who responded with her usual enthusiasm, her voice echoing off the concrete walls.

"I can't believe how incredible that finale was," Ochaco said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "The choreography was just perfect!"

"I know, right?" Himiko agreed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "And the costumes were to die for! I loved the colors and the way they moved."

Todoroki and Katsuki were a few steps ahead, engrossed in their own conversation. Katsuki was unusually calm, a small smile playing on his lips as he and Todoroki debated the technical aspects of the performance, from the lighting to the set design. Their voices blended together, a soft murmur that occasionally rose into more animated discussions.

I trailed behind, my steps slower, trying to keep pace with my friends without drawing attention to myself. My head felt light, a familiar dizziness threatening to overwhelm me. I clenched my fists, willing myself to focus on their voices, on anything but the growing discomfort.

I hadn't eaten much today. Again. It was becoming a pattern that I couldn't break, a cycle of denial and self-control that left me feeling weaker each time. But I couldn't let them know. They were all so happy, so energized by the night, and I didn't want to be the one to bring them down.

Katsuki's laughter cut through my thoughts, loud and boisterous. "No way, Todoroki. The second act was definitely the best. The way they used the shadows was genius."

Todoroki's calm, measured voice followed. "It was impressive, but the first act's pacing was tighter. It set the tone perfectly."

I focused on their words, trying to anchor myself, but it was getting harder to ignore the way my vision blurred at the edges. I stumbled slightly, but no one seemed to notice. They were all caught up in their post-show euphoria, and I was just a shadow trailing behind.

Ochaco glanced back, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before she turned back to Himiko, laughing at something she'd said. I forced a smile, hoping it looked genuine. I didn't want them to worry.

My stomach churned, and I swallowed hard, trying to push back the nausea. Just a little further. The car wasn't far now. I could make it. I had to make it.

We reached the car, and everyone piled in, still chatting and laughing. I slid into the back seat, leaning my head against the cool window. The cold felt good against my skin, grounding me slightly. I closed my eyes, listening to their voices, letting the rhythm of their conversation wash over me.

They didn't notice how quiet I was. They didn't see the way my hands trembled or the sweat that dotted my forehead. And that was okay. They were happy, and that's what mattered.

The hum of the engine filled the car as we pulled out of the parking garage, the chatter of my friends still lively and animated. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, my eyes half-closed, trying to ignore the lightheadedness that refused to dissipate. The cold helped, grounding me a little, but I couldn't shake the lingering dizziness.

Katsuki was sitting next to me in the back seat, his presence a stark contrast to my fading consciousness. His legs were spread wide, taking up more space than necessary, his phone held casually in one hand as he scrolled through it. His thumb moved rapidly, and every now and then, he’d let out a snort or a grunt of approval at whatever he was looking at.

Despite his seemingly casual demeanor, Katsuki had a presence that was hard to ignore. Even in the dim light of the car, his intensity was palpable. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his mood. His face was illuminated by the glow of his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Hey, Deku,” he said suddenly, not looking up from his screen. His voice was gruff but held a hint of something softer underneath, something almost resembling concern.

“Yeah?” I replied, my voice coming out weaker than I intended. I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on his phone. I could hear the faint tapping as he typed something, his focus unwavering. It was a small moment of silence, but it felt heavy, charged with unspoken words.

“Don’t look like you’re gonna pass out on me,” he said finally, his tone a mix of annoyance and something else. “You’re not gonna be any use if you faint like a damn weakling.”

I forced a chuckle, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, Kacchan. Just tired.”

He glanced at me then, his eyes sharp and assessing. It was a brief look, but it felt like he could see right through me. I looked away, focusing on the lights flashing by outside the window. The city seemed to blur together, just like my thoughts.

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning back to his phone. “Just don’t make me have to carry your ass out of this car.”

I nodded, though he wasn’t looking. My hands were still trembling slightly, but I tucked them into my lap, out of his sight. The last thing I wanted was to draw more attention to myself.

As the car continued to move, the voices of our friends filled the space, but they felt distant. I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. Katsuki’s presence next to me was oddly comforting, even with his brash words and imposing demeanor.

Despite everything, there was a strange sense of security in knowing he was there. Katsuki might never say it outright, but in his own way, he was watching out for me. Even if he’d never admit it, and even if he’d rather kick my ass than acknowledge it, there was something reassuring about his steady, unwavering presence.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food, but the atmosphere felt heavy, almost oppressive. I sat at the dinner table, staring down at the plate of food in front of me. It was my favorite—mom had gone out of her way to make katsudon, hoping to coax my appetite back. But the thought of eating made my stomach churn.

Mom sat across from me, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was watching me, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and hope. The silence between us was thick, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock on the wall.

"Izuku," she said softly, breaking the silence. Her voice was gentle, but there was a firmness to it, a determination that I couldn’t ignore. "Please, try to eat something."

I looked up at her, seeing the worry etched into her features. Her eyes were pleading, and I knew she was desperate to see me get better. But the thought of forcing myself to eat felt like an insurmountable task.

"I’m just not that hungry, Mom," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. It sounded weak even to my own ears, and I hated how frail I felt.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Izuku, you need to eat. You’re getting weaker, and it scares me. You know you can't keep going like this."

I knew she was right, but the fear and anxiety that gripped me every time I thought about food were stronger. I pushed the food around on my plate with my fork, trying to muster the courage to take a bite. But the more I tried, the more impossible it seemed.

Mom reached across the table, her hand covering mine. Her touch was warm and comforting, a reminder of all the times she had been there for me, supporting me through every challenge. "I love you, Izuku," she said quietly. "I just want you to be healthy. Please, for me, try to eat a little."

I looked into her eyes, seeing the depth of her love and worry. It was a battle between my own fears and the desire to ease her pain. Slowly, I picked up a piece of katsudon with my chopsticks, bringing it to my mouth. The texture and taste were familiar, but it felt foreign, like my body was rejecting it.

I forced myself to chew, swallowing with difficulty. Mom watched me intently, her eyes never leaving my face. The silence stretched on as I managed another bite, and then another. Each one felt like a monumental effort, but I pushed through, for her sake.

When I finally put my chopsticks down, I felt exhausted, like I had run a marathon. Mom smiled at me, a small, fragile smile, but it was enough to warm my heart. "Thank you, Izuku," she said softly. "I know it’s hard, but you’re doing great. We’ll get through this together."

The weight of the meal, as minimal as it had been, still sat heavily in my stomach, a reminder of the effort it had taken to eat. The silence at the dinner table had settled into something a bit more comfortable, but the worry in Mom’s eyes was still there, a constant presence that I couldn't ignore.

I pushed my chair back and stood up slowly, trying to avoid any sudden dizziness. "I’m going to go take a shower," I said, my voice quiet but steady. I needed a moment to myself, a break from the heavy emotions that seemed to fill every corner of the room.

Mom looked up at me, her expression softening a little. "Okay, Izuku. Take your time." She gave me a small, encouraging smile, but the concern never left her eyes.

I nodded, forcing a smile in return. "I won’t be long."

I made my way to the bathroom, each step feeling like an effort, my legs heavier than usual. Once inside, I closed the door behind me, the familiar click of the lock bringing a sense of relief. I leaned against the sink for a moment, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. The quiet hum of the bathroom fan filled the space, a comforting white noise that helped drown out the thoughts swirling in my head.

Turning on the shower, I let the water run until steam began to fill the room. I undressed slowly, my movements sluggish and deliberate. The mirror fogged up, obscuring my reflection, and for that I was grateful. I didn’t want to see the weariness in my own eyes, the physical signs of my struggle etched into my features.

Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water cascade over me, the warmth enveloping me like a protective cocoon. It was a small comfort, a brief escape from the constant battle in my mind. I closed my eyes, letting the water wash away the tension in my muscles, trying to find a moment of peace.

As I stood there, I thought about Mom and her unwavering support. The way she looked at me, her eyes filled with love and worry, pushed me to keep trying, even when it felt impossible. I wanted to be strong for her, to show her that I could overcome this, even though it felt like I was fighting an uphill battle every day.

As I stepped into the shower, the hot water cascaded over me, enveloping me in a comforting warmth. The steady stream provided a brief respite from the constant turmoil in my mind. I closed my eyes, letting the water wash over me, trying to find a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

I ran my hands through my hair, massaging my scalp and feeling the tension slowly melt away. But as I did, I felt something unusual. My fingers caught on something, and when I pulled my hands away, I saw clumps of green hair tangled between my fingers. My heart sank, a cold dread settling in my chest.

Staring at the strands of hair in my hand, I felt a wave of panic rise up. This wasn’t normal. This was another sign that my body was rebelling against me, a silent scream for help that I couldn’t ignore. I watched as the clumps of hair fell to the shower floor, swirling down the drain with the water.

My breathing quickened, the steam from the shower mixing with the sudden rush of anxiety. I reached up again, more cautiously this time, and gently tugged at my hair. More strands came loose, slipping easily from my scalp. The sight of my own hair falling out was terrifying, a tangible reminder of how much damage I was doing to myself.

I leaned against the shower wall, my legs feeling weak. The hot water that had once been comforting now felt overwhelming, the steam suffocating. I tried to steady my breathing, focusing on the rhythm of the water hitting the tiles, but it was hard to push away the panic.

I finished washing quickly, my hands trembling as I turned off the water. Stepping out of the shower, I avoided looking in the mirror, not wanting to see the toll this had taken on me. I dried off and dressed, each movement feeling slow and deliberate as I tried to process what had just happened.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I felt a sense of dread settle over me. How could I hide this? How could I keep pretending everything was fine when my own body was betraying me in such an obvious way?

Mom was still in the living room, tidying up the remnants of dinner. She looked up as I entered, her eyes immediately honing in on my expression. "Izuku, are you okay?" she asked, concern etching her features.

I forced a smile, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, Mom. Just tired."

She frowned, clearly not convinced, but didn’t press further. "Okay. Just remember, I’m here if you need to talk."

"I know. Thanks, Mom," I replied, giving her a quick hug before retreating to my room. The comfort of my own space felt like a refuge, but the anxiety still gnawed at me, a constant reminder of the battle I was fighting.

The house was still quiet as I stepped out of the bathroom, the steam from my shower trailing behind me. The hot water had washed away the physical grime, but the emotional weight remained. The sight of my hair falling out had shaken me deeply, and the anxiety gnawed at my insides like a relentless parasite.

I found myself drifting towards the kitchen, my mind clouded with a mix of fear, guilt, and a desperate need for some semblance of control. The silence of the house seemed to press in around me, amplifying my thoughts. I opened the fridge, the cold air hitting my face as I stared at the contents inside.

Without fully thinking, I started pulling out food. Leftover pasta, a container of rice, a tub of ice cream, slices of ham, cheese, and a loaf of bread. I set everything on the counter, the fridge door hanging open behind me, the light spilling out into the dim kitchen.

I grabbed a fork and started eating the pasta straight from the container. Each bite was mechanical, driven by a need to fill the emptiness inside me. The flavors blended together in a blur, my mind barely registering what I was consuming. I moved on to the rice, shoveling spoonfuls into my mouth, followed by ham and cheese rolled together hastily.

The ice cream was next, the sweetness contrasting sharply with the savory tastes that lingered on my tongue. I ate directly from the tub, the coldness numbing my mouth as I swallowed rapidly. The bread came last, pieces torn off and stuffed into my mouth, dry and tasteless.

With each bite, a sense of shame welled up inside me, but I couldn’t stop. The urge to binge was overpowering, a compulsion that I couldn’t resist. It was as if eating was the only way to drown out the chaos in my mind, even though I knew it was a temporary fix, one that would leave me feeling worse once it was over.

The kitchen grew messier as wrappers, containers, and crumbs littered the counter. My hands were shaking, and I felt a familiar nausea rising, but I kept going, driven by a desperate need to fill the void.

Finally, I slowed down, the food in front of me reduced to half-empty containers and scraps. My stomach felt painfully full, and the initial comfort had given way to a heavy, sickening sensation. I dropped the fork, staring at the mess I’d made, the reality of what I’d done sinking in.

Tears blurred my vision as the guilt and shame crashed over me like a tidal wave. I backed away from the counter, my legs unsteady. I felt like I was drowning, trapped in a cycle I couldn’t break.

Suddenly, I heard a soft noise behind me, and I turned to see Mom standing in the doorway, her face etched with shock and concern. “Izuku,” she whispered, taking in the scene. Her eyes moved from the mess on the counter to my tear-streaked face.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I choked out, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Chapter Text

The house was still, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. I sat at the dining table, the remnants of our dinner still scattered across the surface. Mom was busy cleaning up, her movements quiet and efficient. The memory of earlier that evening hung heavy in the air, a cloud of embarrassment and shame that I couldn't shake.

I had broken down in front of her, the weight of my struggle finally overwhelming me. The tears had come without warning, a torrent of emotion that I couldn't control. Mom had rushed to my side, her arms wrapping around me, her comforting words only making the tears fall harder. Now, as I sat there, the embarrassment of that moment washed over me in waves.

Mom returned to the table, her eyes soft with concern as she looked at me. "Izuku, it's okay to cry," she said gently, sitting down across from me. "You don't have to be strong all the time."

I nodded, but the words did little to ease the embarrassment that churned inside me. Crying in front of her felt like a failure, a sign of my weakness. I had always tried to be strong for her, to keep my struggles hidden, but tonight I had let my guard down, and it felt like I had shattered something fragile.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I mumbled, staring down at my hands. "I didn't mean to break down like that."

She reached across the table, taking my hand in hers. "Izuku, you don't need to apologize. You're going through a lot, and it's okay to feel overwhelmed."

Her touch was warm, and her words were meant to be reassuring, but the knot of shame in my stomach only tightened. I felt like a burden, my problems adding to the worry she already carried. Seeing her so concerned for me, watching her try to be strong, made the tears I had shed feel even more like a betrayal.

"I just... I don't want you to worry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You already do so much for me."

She squeezed my hand gently. "Of course I worry, Izuku. I'm your mother. It's my job to be here for you, no matter what. You don't have to go through this alone."

The sincerity in her voice made my chest ache. I knew she meant every word, but accepting her help, allowing her to see my vulnerability, felt like admitting defeat. The image of myself crying in her arms replayed in my mind, each replay fueling my embarrassment.

"I'm trying, Mom," I said, the words catching in my throat. "I really am."

"I know you are, sweetheart," she replied, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "And I'm so proud of you for that. Just remember, it's okay to lean on me. You don't have to carry this burden by yourself."

Her words touched something deep inside me, the part that had been yearning for understanding and support. The part that was so tired of fighting alone. But the fear of being a burden, of letting her see how much I was struggling, held me back.

"I'll try," I said finally, my voice soft. "I'll try to let you in more."

She smiled, a small, hopeful smile that eased some of the weight on my heart. "That's all I ask, Izuku. Just take it one day at a time, and know that I'm always here for you."

I nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the embarrassment and shame. It wasn't going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, I could start to let her in, to share the load I had been carrying alone for so long. As we sat there, her hand still holding mine, I felt a small spark of determination. One step at a time, I would find a way through this, and with her by my side

…

The house was wrapped in silence, the only sound the occasional creak of the settling walls. I lay in bed, the heaviness in my stomach a constant reminder of the binge earlier. The discomfort was growing unbearable, a gnawing sensation that wouldn't let me rest. The shame of what I had done, combined with the physical pain, created an oppressive weight that I couldn't escape.

I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. It was well past midnight, and I knew Mom was fast asleep. She had gone to bed exhausted after trying to comfort me, her worry palpable. I couldn't let her see me like this, couldn't let her know how much I was struggling.

Quietly, I slipped out of bed, careful not to make any noise that might wake her. I tiptoed down the hallway, the dim light from the moon casting shadows on the walls. The door to the bathroom felt like a barrier, a point of no return. I pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it softly behind me.

The cool tiles sent a shiver through me as I knelt by the toilet, my heart pounding in my chest. I had promised myself I would get better, but the urge to purge the food was overwhelming. It felt like the only way to regain control, to rid myself of the guilt and shame that was consuming me.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Then, with trembling hands, I leaned over the toilet and forced my fingers down my throat. The gag reflex kicked in immediately, and I retched violently, the food from earlier coming up in painful, heaving waves. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the sweat on my forehead.

Each convulsion felt like a knife twisting in my gut, but I couldn't stop. I needed to purge, to empty myself of the shame and guilt. My body ached, my throat burned, and the taste of bile was bitter and acrid in my mouth. But the physical pain was a temporary distraction from the deeper, emotional torment.

When it finally stopped, I collapsed against the cool porcelain, my body spent and shaking. I felt hollow, both physically and emotionally, the sense of relief fleeting and quickly replaced by a new wave of shame. I had failed again, giving in to the compulsion that I knew was destroying me.

I flushed the toilet, watching as the evidence of my actions disappeared down the drain. The smell of vomit lingered in the air, a stark reminder of my failure. I forced myself to stand, my legs unsteady, and made my way to the sink. I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the tears and the guilt.

I looked up at my reflection in the mirror, seeing the hollow eyes, the pallor of my skin, and the redness around my eyes. It was a face I barely recognized, worn down by the constant battle within. I brushed my teeth, trying to rid my mouth of the sour taste, but the sensation lingered, a constant reminder of what I had done.

I cleaned up the bathroom meticulously, not wanting to leave any trace of the night's events. The thought of Mom finding out, of seeing the evidence of my struggle, was unbearable. She had enough to worry about without dealing with my late-night purges.

When I finally returned to my room, the house was still and quiet, the darkness pressing in around me. I slipped back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. The room felt cold, the emptiness inside me mirrored by the silence of the night.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning dawned with a soft, pale light filtering through the curtains. The house was quiet, the usual rush of weekdays absent, allowing a brief moment of stillness. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the previous night replaying in my mind. The memory of my hair falling out in clumps haunted me, a stark reminder of how much damage my body was enduring.

Reluctantly, I got out of bed, the cold floor sending a shiver up my spine. I made my way to the bathroom, the house still silent, a peaceful calm that felt at odds with the turmoil inside me. As I stepped in front of the mirror, I hesitated, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to look at my reflection. My eyes looked tired, shadows lingering beneath them. The sight of my hair, still damp from last night's shower, brought a fresh wave of dread. Tentatively, I ran my fingers through it, half-expecting more clumps to come loose.

To my relief, only a few strands came away this time, but it did little to alleviate the fear. I stared at the loose hairs in my hand, the memory of last night's panic still vivid. My body was sending clear signals, and I knew I couldn't keep ignoring them. But the thought of eating, of trying to nourish myself, was still fraught with anxiety.

I took another deep breath, trying to steady myself. Today was another day, another chance to try and take back control. I set the loose hairs on the counter and reached for my toothbrush, focusing on the routine actions in an attempt to ground myself.

After washing up, I dressed in comfortable clothes, the soft fabric a small comfort against the anxiety simmering beneath the surface. I made my way to the kitchen, the house still quiet, the calm of the morning feeling almost fragile.

Opening the fridge, I stared at the contents, the task of choosing something to eat feeling overwhelming. The memory of last night's binge was still fresh, the guilt and shame lingering. I knew I needed to eat, to start taking care of my body, but the fear of losing control again loomed large.

I opted for something simple, pulling out a yogurt and a banana. It felt manageable, a small step that I hoped I could handle. Sitting at the kitchen table, I peeled the banana slowly, each bite feeling like a small victory. The yogurt was next, and I ate it methodically, focusing on the taste and texture, trying to push away the anxiety.

As I finished, I felt a mix of relief and apprehension. It wasn't much, but it was a start. I knew I couldn't fix everything in a day, but each small step was progress. Running my fingers through my hair again, I felt a pang of fear but also a flicker of determination. I had to keep trying, for myself and for Mom.

The house was starting to wake up, soft sounds of movement indicating that Mom was up. I heard her footsteps and a moment later, she appeared in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face. "Good morning, Izuku," she said, her voice warm and soothing.

"Good morning, Mom," I replied, managing a small smile.

She glanced at the empty yogurt container and banana peel, her smile widening slightly. "I'm glad to see you had breakfast."

I nodded, the knot of anxiety easing a bit at her approval. "Yeah, I'm trying."

She walked over and gave me a quick hug. "One step at a time," she reminded me, echoing the promise I had made to myself.

"One step at a time," I echoed, feeling a bit more hopeful. Today was another chance to try, another opportunity to take control.

As I sat at the kitchen table, finishing the last of my yogurt, Mom began bustling around, tidying up and making a mental list of what needed to be done today. Her energy was comforting, a constant in the midst of my turbulent emotions. She paused, turning to me with a thoughtful expression.

"Izuku, I'm planning to go to the store in a bit," she said, her voice gentle. "Would you like to come with me? It might be good to get out of the house for a while."

I hesitated, the suggestion stirring a mix of anxiety and guilt. The thought of going out, facing the world, felt overwhelming. My mind immediately conjured images of crowded aisles and curious stares, my nerves fraying at the idea. On the other hand, staying home alone with my thoughts wasn't much better.

"I think I'll stay here, Mom," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "I've got a lot of studying to catch up on."

She looked at me for a moment, concern flickering in her eyes, but she nodded. "Alright, sweetheart. Just make sure you take breaks and don't overwork yourself, okay?"

"I will," I promised, forcing a small smile. "Thanks for understanding."

Mom returned my smile, albeit with a hint of worry. "Of course, Izuku. If you change your mind, just let me know. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

She left to grab her purse and keys, giving me a quick hug before heading out the door. "Take care, Izuku. Call me if you need anything."

"I will, Mom. Have a good trip," I said, waving as she stepped outside. The door closed softly behind her, and the house fell into a peaceful silence once more.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. The thought of going to the store had been too much, but I felt a pang of guilt for not spending time with her. She worried about me so much, and I hated adding to her stress.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I turned my attention to my textbooks scattered across the dining table. The familiar routine of studying might help distract me from the lingering anxiety. I settled into a chair and opened a notebook, trying to focus on the equations in front of me.

As I worked through the problems, my mind wandered back to last night, to the fear and shame of seeing my hair fall out. I ran my fingers through it again, the texture different, the strands thinner. It was a stark reminder of what my body was going through, the toll my disorder was taking on me.

I shook my head, trying to refocus. I needed to stay present, to keep moving forward, one step at a time. I could hear Mom's words echoing in my mind, her reassurance a small comfort. I knew I had to keep trying, to find a way to take control and heal.

The equations gradually pulled me in, the familiar logic providing a small measure of stability. I worked methodically, solving each problem and moving on to the next, letting the routine anchor me. The anxiety lingered, but the act of studying helped keep it at bay.

Time passed slowly, the quiet house providing a backdrop to my efforts. Every now and then, I glanced at the clock, counting the hours until Mom would return. Her presence was a constant source of comfort, and I looked forward to hearing her voice again.

As the morning turned to afternoon, I felt a small sense of accomplishment. I had managed to stay focused, to keep the anxiety at bay for a little while. It was a small victory, but it was mine.

Mom's car pulled into the driveway, and I heard the familiar sound of the front door opening. She stepped into the kitchen, her arms full of grocery bags. "I'm back, Izuku. How was your studying?"

I smiled, feeling a bit lighter. "It went well, Mom. Thanks."

She smiled back, her eyes filled with warmth and pride. "I'm glad to hear that. Let's put these groceries away together."

Chapter Text

The classroom buzzed with the usual Monday morning energy, a mix of groggy students and the more energetic ones catching up on their weekend exploits. I sat at my desk, surrounded by the familiar hum of chatter and the occasional laugh. Algebra was never my favorite subject, but I knew it was important, especially for a hero. Today, we were working on a group project, and as luck would have it, I was paired with Bakugo.

I glanced over at him, his usual scowl in place as he flipped through the pages of our textbook. His intensity was palpable, and it made focusing on the task at hand even more daunting. I bit down on the end of my pen, a nervous habit that had resurfaced recently, the anxiety gnawing at my insides.

Bakugo looked up, his sharp eyes catching the movement. "Oi, Deku," he snapped, "you're gonna chew through that pen if you're not careful."

"Sorry," I mumbled, quickly pulling the pen away from my mouth. I felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck. Working with Bakugo was always a challenge, his relentless drive often clashing with my own cautious approach.

We were working on solving a complex set of equations, the kind that required careful attention to detail and a good understanding of algebraic principles. I tried to focus on the numbers in front of me, but my mind kept drifting back to the events of the past few days. The memory of my hair falling out, the binge, and the purge haunted me, making it hard to concentrate.

"Deku, pay attention," Bakugo barked, his impatience evident. "We don't have all day."

"Right, sorry," I replied, forcing myself to focus. I started working through the equations, my fingers trembling slightly as I wrote. Bakugo watched me closely, his expression a mix of frustration and curiosity.

"You look like crap," he said bluntly, his eyes narrowing. "What's going on with you?"

The directness of his question caught me off guard, and I fumbled for a response. "I'm fine, just... a bit tired," I lied, hoping to deflect his scrutiny.

Bakugo's eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, but he didn't push further. Instead, he turned his attention back to the textbook. "Just don't screw this up," he muttered.

We worked in tense silence for a while, the only sounds the scratching of our pens on paper and the murmur of other students working around us. I tried to match Bakugo's pace, but the anxiety made it difficult to keep up. My thoughts kept drifting, and I had to force myself to focus on the task at hand.

Bakugo's impatience grew more evident with each passing minute. "Deku, you're slowing us down," he growled, his frustration boiling over. "If you can't handle this, just let me do it."

"No, I can do it," I insisted, my voice shaky but determined. I took a deep breath and tried to steady my hand, focusing on the equations in front of me. Slowly, I started to make progress, the familiar rhythm of solving algebraic problems bringing a small sense of calm.

Bakugo watched me closely, his expression a mix of irritation and something else—concern, maybe? It was hard to tell with him. But he didn't say anything more, letting me work in relative peace.

As the class period wore on, we finally managed to complete the set of equations. I felt a small sense of accomplishment, despite the lingering anxiety. Bakugo seemed satisfied, at least for the moment.

"Good," he said gruffly, closing the textbook. "We'll need to go over this again before the final presentation. Don't screw it up."

"I won't," I promised, though the weight of his expectations felt heavy. As he gathered his things and prepared to leave, I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes—perhaps a flicker of understanding, or maybe just a moment of respite from his usual intensity.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Today had been tough, but I had managed to get through it.

The bell rang, signaling the end of algebra class. I quickly gathered my books and notes, shoving them into my bag. As I stood up from my desk, a wave of dizziness washed over me, the room spinning slightly. I gripped the edge of the desk to steady myself, closing my eyes for a moment until the sensation passed.

It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. When I opened my eyes, everything had returned to normal, the dizziness fading into a dull throb at the back of my head. I hoped no one had noticed, but as I turned to leave, I saw Bakugo watching me with a frown.

"Oi, Deku," he called out, his voice cutting through the chatter of the other students. "You look like you're gonna keel over. What's wrong with you?"

"I'm fine," I replied quickly, forcing a smile. "Just got up too fast, that's all."

Bakugo's eyes narrowed, not convinced. "You're not hiding anything, are you? Because if you screw up our project because you're too weak to handle a little schoolwork, I'm gonna make you regret it."

The threat in his voice was clear, but beneath it, I sensed a hint of concern. Bakugo was never one to show outright worry, but his intensity often masked a deeper care for those he considered friends—or rivals.

"I'll be fine, Kacchan," I assured him, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I won't mess up our project."

He grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "You better not. Just make sure you're taking care of yourself. You look like crap."

I nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and irritation. Bakugo's concern, however gruffly expressed, was a small comfort. But his sharp words also reminded me of how much I had to hide, how much I needed to keep under control.

"Thanks for the advice," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. I adjusted the strap of my bag and headed for the door, the dizziness lingering at the edges of my consciousness but fading with each step.

As I made my way down the hallway, trying to shake off the lingering dizziness, I heard heavy footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around, Bakugo's voice cut through the din of students moving between classes.

"Deku! Wait up!"

I stopped and turned to see Bakugo striding toward me, his usual scowl in place. His intensity was a constant presence, but this time, there was something different in his eyes—a mix of concern and determination.

"What is it, Kacchan?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He caught up to me, his eyes narrowing as he looked me over. "You're not fooling anyone, you know. You look like you're about to pass out. Let me drive you home."

The offer took me by surprise. Bakugo was not known for his kindness, especially not toward me. But there was a sincerity in his tone that made it clear he wasn't joking.

"I'm fine, really," I protested, though the idea of going home and resting was tempting. "I can make it through the day."

Bakugo crossed his arms, his scowl deepening. "Cut the crap, Deku. You nearly collapsed back there. You think I'm gonna let you wander around like that? Let me drive you home."

I hesitated, weighing my options. The thought of enduring the rest of the school day in my current state was daunting, and Bakugo's insistence left little room for argument. He might be rough around the edges, but he was right—I needed to take care of myself.

"Alright," I said finally, conceding. "Thanks, Kacchan."

He grunted in response, a noncommittal noise that I took as acceptance. "Come on, then," he said, turning and heading toward the school parking lot. I followed, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension.

We walked in silence, the noise of the school fading behind us. Bakugo's presence was oddly reassuring, his usual brash demeanor tempered by a rare moment of concern. When we reached his car, he unlocked it with a swift motion and gestured for me to get in.

I settled into the passenger seat, the familiar scent of his car bringing back memories of our childhood. Bakugo got in and started the engine, the low rumble filling the quiet.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced at him, the question I had been holding back finally spilling out. "Why are you doing this, Kacchan?"

He didn't look at me, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Don't read too much into it, Deku. I just don't want you screwing up our project because you're too stubborn to take care of yourself."

I nodded, understanding his roundabout way of showing concern. "Thanks, anyway," I said softly.

We drove in silence, the city passing by in a blur. The dizziness had mostly faded, but the exhaustion lingered, making it hard to keep my eyes open. I leaned back against the seat, letting the steady rhythm of the car soothe my frayed nerves.

As we neared my house, Bakugo finally spoke again, his voice gruff but softer than usual. "You need to talk to someone about whatever's going on with you. This isn't just about today, is it?"

I looked at him, surprised by his perceptiveness. "I... I'm trying to handle it," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's just been hard."

Bakugo nodded, his eyes still on the road. "Just don't do it alone, idiot. Even you need help sometimes."

His words struck a chord, the weight of his advice sinking in. I nodded, feeling a small spark of hope amidst the exhaustion. "I'll try, Kacchan. Thanks."

He pulled up in front of my house, the car coming to a smooth stop. "Get some rest, Deku. And don't make me regret this," he said, his usual brusque tone returning.

I managed a small smile. "I won't. See you tomorrow."

Chapter Text

The clock on my desk ticked steadily, its hands moving ever closer to seven o'clock. I paced around my room, the textbook open to a particularly challenging math problem. The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of paper and my own muttering as I tried to work through the equation.

I hadn't eaten since breakfast, but it hadn't been a conscious decision this time. The day had been a whirlwind, and the stress of trying to keep up with everything had made me forget about lunch. Now, as the evening wore on, the gnawing emptiness in my stomach was becoming hard to ignore, but I was too absorbed in the problem at hand to stop.

I glanced at the textbook again, frustration mounting as the numbers and variables seemed to blur together. This problem was complex, requiring a level of concentration that felt just out of reach. I ran my fingers through my hair, the motion a mix of habit and anxiety.

"Come on, Izuku," I muttered to myself. "You can figure this out."

I tried to break the problem down into smaller steps, writing out each part carefully. But my mind kept wandering, the fatigue from the day making it hard to focus. The lack of food wasn't helping, either. My stomach growled, a sharp reminder of my neglect.

I paused, leaning against the edge of my desk, and took a deep breath. I needed to clear my head, to push through the fog of exhaustion. But the anxiety of falling behind, of not being able to solve this problem, kept me on edge.

A knock on my door startled me, and I looked up to see Mom standing there, a concerned expression on her face.

"Izuku, honey, you've been in here all evening. Have you had dinner yet?" she asked, her voice gentle.

I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt. "No, Mom. I got caught up with this math problem. I just lost track of time."

She sighed softly, her worry evident. "You need to take care of yourself, Izuku. Come down and eat something. The math problem can wait."

I hesitated, the pull of my studies strong, but the concern in her eyes made me relent. "Okay, I'll come down," I said, closing my textbook. "I guess I do need a break."

She smiled, relief washing over her features. "Good. I'll make you something to eat. Just come down when you're ready."

I nodded, watching as she left the room. The quiet returned, the ticking of the clock the only sound. I took another deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering frustration. The problem would still be there after dinner, and maybe with some food in my system, I'd be able to think more clearly.

As I made my way downstairs, the smell of cooking wafted through the house, a comforting reminder of home. The anxiety that had been gnawing at me all day started to ease, replaced by a tentative sense of calm.

Mom was bustling around the kitchen, her presence a soothing constant. She looked up and smiled as I entered. "Sit down, Izuku. Dinner will be ready in a minute."

I sat at the table, the familiar setting bringing a sense of normalcy. The day's stress began to melt away, and I realized how much I had needed this break. As Mom set a plate of food in front of me, I felt a small flicker of gratitude. She always knew what I needed, even when I was too caught up in my own world to realize it.

"Thanks, Mom," I said, picking up my fork. The first bite was a revelation, the food grounding me in the present moment.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she replied, sitting down across from me. "Just remember, you can't solve every problem on an empty stomach."

Mom approached with a plate piled high with food and set it in front of me. The sight and smell of the meal were overwhelming, and my stomach growled loudly in response.

"Thanks, Mom," I said, my voice tinged with gratitude and hunger.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she replied, taking a seat across from me. "You need to eat. You've been working so hard."

Without another word, I picked up my fork and started to eat. The first bite was a revelation, the flavors bursting in my mouth and grounding me in the present moment. I hadn't realized just how hungry I was until now. It felt like I hadn't eaten in days, and I couldn't hold back.

I ate with a fervor that surprised even me, each bite a desperate attempt to fill the void inside me. The food was a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge of exhaustion and anxiety. I barely paused to breathe, the need to eat overwhelming every other thought.

Mom watched me with a mixture of concern and tenderness. She didn't say anything, just let me eat, understanding that I needed this moment. Her presence was a silent support, a reminder that I wasn't alone.

As I devoured the meal, the world seemed to settle around me. The dizziness and fatigue that had plagued me all day began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of clarity. The math problem that had seemed insurmountable earlier now felt more manageable, a challenge I could face after I had taken care of myself.

When I finally slowed down, the plate nearly empty, I looked up at Mom. She was still watching me, her eyes soft with understanding.

"Feel better?" she asked gently.

I nodded, swallowing the last bite. "Yeah, I do. Thanks, Mom. I guess I needed this more than I realized."

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "It's okay, Izuku. Just remember, you can't pour from an empty cup. Taking care of yourself is just as important as anything else."

"I know," I said, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "I'll try to remember that."

Mom smiled, a small but powerful gesture. "Good. Now, if you need any help with that math problem, just let me know."

I smiled back, the weight of the day lifting. "Thanks, Mom. I think I can handle it now."