cigarettes out the window - chapter 6
Full story on my Wattdpad, ao3, and Quotev! Izuku Midoriya x Reader Back in Middleschool TW: depression, violence, implications of an eating disorder, implications of self-harm, severe bullying, smoking, references to parental abuse Word Count: 8,280
Izuku always had a couple of secrets he'd take to the grave.
Like how him and Kacchan used to play heroes when they were little kids. And how they never really grew out of it. They grew apart. Kacchan got his quirk, something flashy, worthy of being a top hero, and Izuku remained Quirkless. They still played heroes. Izuku just didn't get to be All Might anymore. He was always either the civilian, the villain, or the random dog on the side of the road. He thought they were joking, but they made him cross the playground and stand by the fire hydrant for hours until their moms came and picked them up. The more and more Izuku looks back on the past-- he doesn't think they ever really stopped playing. But somehow, Izuku was still just the bystander-- the random civilian who.. didn't necessarily do anything wrong. Or maybe he did. By Kacchan's standards. Constantly muttering and analyzing like that'd do him any good, constantly speaking up or standing up for himself, like he even deserved to-- constantly trying to exist in a space he knew he didn't belong to anymore. The same space that Kacchan was in. He didn't belong anymore, not since he was told he was quirkless. And not since Kacchan had that amazing quirk.
And yet, even when he remained silent, even when he tried so hard to pretend he didn't exist, to sink back into the shadows like he was never even there, desperate to escape just an ounce of scrutiny-- Kacchan always found him. In the boy's bathroom, on the roof, in the boiler room, the gym. Bakugo always found him. Always. Only because he was constantly seeking him out. So many other quirkless kids-- but just him, only him. He'll take that secret to the grave too.
Bakugo never threatened him to keep silent. Maybe he always knew he didn't have to, but Izuku never told anyone that Kacchan used to bully him. And sure, at UA, everyone could see the one-sided malice. Deku, shy, timid, analytical and nerdy, and Bakugo at his tail, always-- yelling, provoking, attacking. They could all tell, but nobody knew about the kicks or scratches. Nobody knew about the smoke from explosions, all the ripped up middle-school uniforms, spilled milk that dried in his hair until he walked back to school, sobbing, wondering when it would stop. Nobody knew, and he'd never tell.
Except you. Because nothing about you is planned. And nothing about you is bashful. And nothing hides from someone who lives in shadows. And nothing gets past someone who has nothing to lose.
Izuku didn't like saying it, because it scared him, but he really did always admire how you always lived like you had nothing to lose. It was fun until it wasn't. How you witnessed everything that day outside the cafe. How you tazed Bakugo in the gut right in front of him-- tasers aren't even legal in Japan--?? How you just randomly took him into the cafe, still clocked in, before letting him change into some work clothes from the back because his uniform was soaked, and then you shoved an iced tea and sandwich into his face. He didn't even pay for them. And you guys sat in a booth and talked for hours until the sun set until you walked him home. In the moment, he forgot all about his mom who was probably waiting for him to come home, and the fact that you were still clocked in, and the fact that he was eating food he didn't pay for, and the fact that you just tazed the kid who made his life hell since he was 4. He forgot about everything. Time didn't exist around you. He didn't exist around you. Quirkless Deku, helpless Deku, always the bystander or civilian or victim or dog. There was no such concept. Not in your presence.
There was no such thing as 'Deku' when it came to you. He was always strictly Izuku. And you were the first person who ever told Izuku he could be a hero. Quirkless and all.
He used to wonder if he'd ever be able to forget about it. Because he could never escape it. Explosion marks, black eyes, bloody noses. Sore arms and legs, bleeding scalp, burnt hero journals and constantly burning, puffy eyes. Eating alone at lunch. Muttering to himself to pass the time, just to immediately sink back into his body when somebody sneered or laughed after overhearing him. Ashamed of living, existing. Everyday it was something new. He didn't know what to do with it.
Every day, every single day, he just went home. And he played heroes. He used to rewatch that same video of All Might saving over a hundred people. Religiously. Everyday. Multiple times a day. All Might's debut, torn but flashy hero costume, the red and yellow shining through the fire and rubble, never blending into it. A smile that never once wavered. Muscles that trembled but still gently set victims down. And when he was younger, he always used to pretend he was All Might. Always. Him and Kacchan would take turns, anxiously waiting for the other to be finished before they could have their turn. The hero, Japan's symbol of peace who was always smiling.
Izuku found that now, when he'd come home from school, hiding bruises and drying tears, turned away from his mom's sight-- he would always pretend that All Might was saving him. That he was the one going through some horrible villain attack, mugged or beaten up on the street, staring up at Kacchan and his friends' silhouettes as his vision blurred-- and All Might would appear. And save him from them. From this life. That one of these days, one of these horrible school days on the rooftop, the one slamming the door open wouldn't be Kacchan and his friends. It'd be All Might. In all his shiny, smiling glory. Like the symbol he was. And he'd grab his hand and pull him up, maybe take him to get food. And he'd tell him that he could be a hero. Not to give up. Everyone's wrong. It never was All Might. When he was thrown against that dumpster that day. Kacchan and his 'friends' leaned over him, his hair dripping water from the bucket that was just dumped over him, half of it soaked, half of it burnt from Kacchan's explosion-- when he looked up, when he heard another voice through foggy ears-- he thought maybe God was real. Maybe hope did amount to something. He never expected it to be you. He didn't even know how to process 'you'.
Izuku didn't know how to cope. Another thing he'd take to the grave-- all the ways he tried to get through his day. Every gross, horrible, painful, and harmful thing he did to himself to try. The pain in his abdomen from barfing up his food, becoming more and more familiar but still hurting all the same. The way it lingered on his breath. The way he never took off his uniform, not even during gym. He never had to tell you. You knew. You always knew-- almost like you always knew him. Like the moment you met him you always knew exactly what kind of person he was. He never had to tell you. He never had to say anything. ... You stared down at your third cup of coffee. You didn't really know why you did it, you knew you'd crash soon, you didn't really need the caffeine, it was more of the buzz.
You've been here for three months now. And in all honesty, the only thing you can say about this experience is that nothing was gained or lost. Except now, you're slowly becoming more and more winded going up stairs. And now, your voice sounds a lot raspier. Maybe it's from the smoke; maybe it's from how you never, never talk to anyone. You always felt like you were waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for someone to walk into your life, make your day better, or walk out, and maybe... still make your day better. Or worse.
You didn't have a bad life. Had your own apartment, you weren't ugly, you could eat pretty good and even had some money on the side to spend on yourself. Work was easy, your manager was nice. Nobody bothered you, other than the calls from your parents that you ignored. Nothing.... was really wrong. Nothing was really bad. Even school was just child's play. It was just... empty. Missing. It wasn't worse than other people's...... just not the same.
It was so uneventful that it was like you weren't even living. And school work was so easy that you weren't learning. And your presence has been so unutilized-- that you basically don't exist off the internet or Tumblr.
You wondered what you were waiting for. Showtime for the local Musical you got casted in, an invitation to the after party you knew you weren't gonna get, or maybe just a little bit of love. You didn't really like most people anyways, but you still wanted their love... maybe not too much though. You never ask for too much-- and a bunch all at once intimidates you. scares you, even.
Your parents had been blowing up your phone. They called you multiple times a day, they texted you, wondering why you didn't respond. It wasn't like they were blowing up your phone more than usual-- but you were responding less and less. Mostly because you could tell they were just waiting for you to snap and return. Which made you want to return all the more less. And also-- because you finally ran out of things to tell them. There was not a single positive thing you could tell them about that you didn't already share during the first month. You got that nice apartment, decorated it. Finally got that cat and snagged that cafe job-- you always wanted to be a barista. School has been easy and classmates are nice. The streets are clean. The food's good and cheap. Everything's within walking distance. ... and that's where it ends. That's all you're left to comment on-- three months into living here.
You never enjoyed talking to your parents... but you still came back and visited them every month. Both because you were contractually obligated to, and... because you missed the little bit of love. It probably wasn't love. Maybe it was just acknowledgement-- a reminder that you actually exist.
Even though your psyche was beginning to tell you otherwise-- you refuse to let yourself believe you miss them. Or that life. You didn't miss the yelling, the fighting, the pain.... maybe you just missed what you thought you had when you occasionally spoke to them. Those small, glimmers of hope-- that maybe one day you would have that relationship with your parents. Where you could tell them anything, or make any decision-- and they'd support it. You always regretted it. Letting your brain even go there. They never really showed any appreciation or even excitement for you... but you still needed someone to tell about it. Someone to tell about your new apartment, your new job, new city new streets, new faces... new culture. You needed to be alive somewhere, someway. If not, then you don't even exist.
You didn't know when you were gonna tell them that you're never returning, the contract was just a temporary front, a way to pretend you had no choice.
You just hoped you'd never have to, that they'd catch on. .... you didn't entertain that idea. They never do. Because they want confirmation. They want to fight. So you'll just float around it, until all hell breaks loose-- and then you'll pivot and figure it out. Because it was always supposed to end that way.
Everytime your new kitten you snagged out of the trash takes a nap, you get genuinely upset. Like you were betrayed. She was the only thing you could give your attention to, the only thing to offer some love and value. A cute, ginger spotted tabby with a slit down her nose-- one half of her face white and brown, and the other ginger. A cute, lonely kitty. Apparently she'd been by the cafe for a few weeks, her mom constantly lingering, and she never followed after when she disappeared. So rather, she just stuck around, always waiting every night for scraps of food.
You like the cafe. And you mostly like it because of how much agency it gives you. Your manager is a sweet, old, very old, lady. Apparently she opened it up with her husband years and years ago, it had always been her dream and he funded it. He now lives in memory by the front door. A signed painting he once made. And that lady persevered-- even though the cafe never did insanely well. Thing is-- it was on the corner of a street-- one known for having nothing but blind spots without cameras. But you liked her. Because she smiled at you like you were a little kid, which you were, and somehow did it without making it feel like a threat. Another thing you liked was how you were basically the only person who worked here. The only other coworker you had was her granddaughter, who basically called off once a week, every week, for her single five hour shift. So one month into working here, and juggling everything effortlessly with how slow it always was-- constantly cleaning and fixing and catering-- the older lady felt as though she finally could be left to her devices. You almost thank her everytime she calls you to let you know she won't be coming in for the day and that the place is in your grubby 14-year-old hands. But when you find out that it's only because she's getting sicker, you grow worried. Antsy. And you gradually feel guiltier and guiltier. Because her tragedy is your relief.
And you like talking to her... mostly because you don't have anyone else to talk to.
You always cringed when people spoke too much to you, dumped too much on you. Because you knew they just needed it. They needed someone to talk to, because for reasons you didn't want to know, they couldn't talk to anyone else. It made you sad. That's why it made you cringe. It made you feel guilty.
You cringe at yourself when a customer walks in and you make meaningless conversation. You know why you're doing it.... but you don't stop. You need it.
You're in school 5 days a week and you don't talk to anyone, you just respond. People are curious, hungry. They wanna know where you're from and how you look the way you do-- how you do your hair and makeup and how you still haven't gotten kicked out despite the piercings and eyeliner, so you respond... but you don't talk. You tested out of most of your classes but still went sometimes to kill time... mostly because you wanted someone to talk to, to talk to you.
It's always kinda went like this, and it always ends with you still alone in the corner. At your old school, you were different from everyone else. Different financial class, different values, different heart. Always sort of off to the side, always sort of unapproachable. Never the kid people would have petty crushes on, but always the one someone went to when they felt bad about themselves. Still an anchor, but only because isolation leaves you jumping for joy at the prospect of being needed. You were never feminine or masculine enough to be friends with either. Never pretty or obnoxious enough to be popular. Never incompetent enough to be walked all over. But always nice enough, to be approached. Always mature and caring enough, to be robbed.
They came to you when they were getting picked on, and then, when you got in trouble for socking someone in the nose, they asked you why you would do that. They came to you when they felt bad about themselves. And yet, they re-joined the kids who made you feel worse about yourself. As soon as you finished smiling at them and reminding them that they were great. Special and talented and all that.
You're helping. And you're good. You're great even. The little hero, the good guy. But you're alone. And you're starting to believe that the best people, the best heroes-- were always supposed to end up alone.
It's not different here either, but the glow up helps. You notice that most of the time when your classmates approach you-- they're asking for something. And you're only as sensitive as you are to it because you don't know a life without losing. They ask you about your hair, your makeup, studying for English and grammar, they ask you where you shop, how you find the best places for Instagram pics.
You enjoy the intimacy of demonstrating how they'd need to do their hair, you worry slightly as they pick at and mess with your products, and you nearly full on grimace as you realize just how long you spend rotting away at work to retain some form of control.
Your smile drops because that's where the conversation ends. You don't follow up with them, they don't invite you out.
And when the boys don't just duck their heads and look away around you, they either flat out ignore you or give you the kind of attention nobody wants. And you don't know how to feel about it, because you've only been conventionally attractive for a few months at most, but you don't like it. Because when you heard a classmate thought you were pretty, and you ended up hanging out with him after school, you found that he had no interest in thrifting or painting or even getting on call and playing Minecraft with you. Rather, he only expected one thing.
You're experiencing something worse from boys than rejection and being shut out, lust, objectification, and fetishization. You don't feel like thinking deeper about it.
You always imagine that maybe one day you will; you'll find someone who you click with and who makes you smile, you'll both talk about interests and family and stalk people's instagrams and laugh... and you imagine it. You imagine what life will be like when you're both older, how it'll look when you're both adults, how you'll balance life but still make time for each other. And you do it while you sit alone at lunch, the sounds of laughing and yelling filling your ears.
You miss mattering to your friends. You had a few good friends back in America, they were kind, you knew them all your life, and you were all different. Good different. You weren't rich kids with connections and toxic friendships or situation-ship obsessions... all you needed was each other. And you miss the occasional lectures or disagreements, because at least you felt human. You regret being upset when they did mistreat you. You should've savored the time you had left together. Or at least stood up for yourself. But now you're barely that, human, save for your heart. Your feelings. Your tears.
More of a tool-- well, you'd always been one. Working jobs, having old people yap to you about your hair, your makeup, your airpod, the money you make-- like they had the right to. Thank god you were young enough to just take it not even think about talking back. Being someone that people somehow needed to talk to, until they killed time and their friend came back, or the period ended and they didn't need you anymore. You're still at square one aren't you, still just a little kid, working a different job different place-- but same place, somehow. Always right back at the same place-- a tool. No one to complain to though, no one who cares. Nowhere to vent.
It's inconvenient now. It's a different timezone, different country, different schools. You're sad when you look at their posts with new friends, but you're happy for them. That they're smiling. That they can. You'd never complain about it... but it hurts. It hurts how they always somehow smile when you can't. Why do they get to laugh and smile and succeed while you rot? Is it your luck? It hurts that you're long gone from that now. How life... leaves you behind like that. You finally left the household that destroyed your mind, but you're forever detached from your better halves that let you cry to them about it.... as long as the criticism never fell to them too.
You valued your friends for who they were, obviously.... but you know you're more evil than that, at the core of your being. It felt good to have them around, they made you look good. Like you were capable of making friends, maintaining friendships while everyone else lost theirs. It felt good that your friend group actually liked each other, it felt good that they weren't losers-- that they were talented, beautiful and friendly people. It made you feel good. Brought you up a few classes, a few ranks that you'd never get to rise up to on your own.
You know deep down that whatever friendship or love may be... what you and your friends had wasn't it. Not even close. It was appearances. Illusions. Just hanging out and getting all dressed up to go take pictures and post them. No one talked while you all got ready together. And no one talked outside of class or pictures. ...... but in a way, you still needed them. Because you needed to believe you could. You could have friends. You could be tolerated. You weren't the common denominator, you did have potential.
You know deep down that you're pathetic. But the reality became more and more obvious now that it's all over. Pathetic. Letting them take advantage of you. Take things from you. Say things to you, no real consideration or worry or concern for your feelings. Berating you. Letting them do it because it felt too good to finally not be alone. To finally have friends who looked for you in a crowd. Putting them first, always them first.... or was it for you? Was it just easier to care about them than yourself. You knew the answer.
At least it looked good. You looked good.... Didn't you at least look good? You watched the ice slowly melt in your drink. Constantly just waiting. Waiting for some to walk in so you could serve them, waiting to start pre-closing, waiting for the coffee to brew. Waiting for someone to walk in. You wonder why more people don't walk in. It's a cozy little coffee shop. You have sandwiches and baked goods, cheap coffees, too many flavors that you can't even remember despite working here for a good 2 months-- people don't even try most of the flavors, they just kind of reject them. They don't sound appealing. You wonder why more people don't really seem to care about you. You're pretty, smart, you're not the nicest but you're loyal. You'd never drop your friends even if you found something more convenient or 'better', something more appealing. But maybe that's why those people don't try new drinks or a new coffee shop, they're just... content with what they already have. Loyal to it. They like what they have, you don't need to ruin it by trying to insert yourself into it. That's why you don't speak. You want someone to want you for once. To not be shy about it. Why be shy about it? You're not shy about your friends no matter what they do... you have no reason to be. They're good people with good hearts... do they cringe when they tell people that you're friends with them? You look around. There's nothing left to be cleaned. No songs you haven't already listened to that you want to listen to. No other foods or drinks on the menu to try. There's nothing. There's.... nothing. There's nothing. There's nothing here for you. There's nothing that makes you happy. There's no friends. There's no family. There's no substitution. There's no money you're not gonna spend. There's nowhere to spend it on-- there's no point. You don't shop with anyone. You don't go to dinner with anyone. You don't study with anyone and then spend the whole time talking you just... actually study. You sit there and plan your outfit, put your earbuds in but don't play anything, waiting, expecting someone to approach you but nobody actually gives a shit. There's NOTHING. You take a deep breath to fight the urge to claw your hair out and jump off the roof. THERE'S NOTHING. THERE'S NOTHING! THERE'S NOTHING----! You freeze from your pre-breakdown as you hear the sounds of boys laughing outside. What the fuck. Your worst enemies.... men. Young men. Teen boys-- you're choosing to assume it's teen boys because who else just randomly walks around in a group with nothing better to do. And you sigh in mental preparation.... you would've taken the sex offender down the street over some teen boys.
You look out the window, anticipating when they were gonna walk in. You knew their schedules, they were all usually the same. Park their bikes, walk in, constantly ask about prices because they're usually broke, but what you don't usually anticipate with most teen boys are explosions. KA-BOOM! You flinch harshly as you hear an explosion.... and then you pause, expecting it to continue, not wanting it to continue, but then another beat of it hits again. Sizzle-- BOOM BOOM! What the fuck? What's going on? Is somebody bombing nearby? Is this a prank? But.... there's nothing in here-- oh well. You peek over the glass before going outside and peaking over the door, seeing a group of three boys in school uniforms in the corner by the dumpsters. They're laughing, looking pretty casual- which makes no sense because.... you just heard bombs... Unless it was them. Fuck- it was probably them. Why now. This wasn't what you meant--- Oh god they're bombing your store-- But you don't recognize their uniforms--? Oh my god they're targeting your manager-- she's an old woman too nice for her own good--
You watch the three kids laugh loudly-- pointing and bending over themselves like they're watching the funniest thing ever transpire-- like they didn't literally just set a bomb off--
But after watching for a second longer-- and seeing nothing in their hands and how they're all turned the same direction, gawking-- THE BOMB IS PLANTED---
"... Hey what the fUCK---"
You scramble out from behind the corner. This was your version of a sneak attack. It's like reverse psychology. Just make so much of an appearance that it gets the job done even better. The boys just awkwardly stop laughing and stare at you. Confused and unimpressed. Like you have no reason for even being upset. It's like they were partying and you just suddenly cut the music the moment you appeared. Now you're already feeling some type of way.
".... Huh?"
"What-"
"What the hell is your problem?"
"Uh--" You awkwardly look away, all fight almost immediately leaving you. You haven't genuinely talked to someone or inserted yourself into something in so long that now you lowkey don't know how to. And you kinda just shoved yourself into whatever was going on-- and now you don't know where you were going with this as you awkwardly look between the three boys, overthinking how you should confront them. "..... I just-- ..... I work inside that cafe. .... This is the dumpster for it and I heard a literal bomb go off." You sheepishly look between the three boys who are all just giving you judging looks. They're all wearing some type of school uniform-- the guy in the middle just looks feral. He's blonde, he's glaring at you with piercing red eyes, and his hair's genuinely fucking insane. And the two others to his left and right are generally normal looking and also judging you. This is why you hate teen boys, they've always got some shit to say. On the bright side, they're all so scrawny looking that it makes you feel less threatened by them.
That being said though, the boy on the left takes a step forward, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Listen lady, just chill out." You blink. You thought you were chill. "That sound was us-- but there's no bomb. We're not causing any trouble."
You open your mouth to retort, but then you immediately close it. .... well it seems you can't argue with that now can you-- and he does seem pretty respectful-- maybe they're just fucking around and caused a ruckus-- maybe you were just hearing things---
but you look at the one in the middle, the weird blonde one, who's silence doesn't suit him, you can already tell. And he's looking at something out of the corner of his eye. At the dumpster. So naturally, you lean over slightly and look at said dumpster, and blink at the sight of a fourth person, in the same uniform, slumped against it with his head ducked down. He's dripping water, there's smoke coming off of his shirt, and you look at the blonde one who's holding a literally empty bucket.
"...... why's he on fire-"
The other guy takes a step forward, growing exasperated. "Listen, it's-"
"What the fuck are you guys doing." You cut him off, your demeanor immediately changing.
There are many things that you are. Especially being a foreigner here. One thing you did notice, upon your arrival and being at a new school in Japan, going through the motions, everyone keeps their head down.
You saw a lady trip the other day along the busy sidewalk. Nobody even blinked. You went and helped her get up and pick up her things, and she looked away, ashamed. Your classmate that you sit next to everyday never spoke to you. And he disappeared during lunch. When you asked him if he wanted to sit with you, he just looked away and shook his head. And when you got groped on that train-- everyone just stared and shuffled away from you when you socked that man in his face. And then you spent the next hour running from the cop he told. And then you got mauled by the cat.
So yes, there are many things that you are. You are a pierced, hair-dyed smoker barista from America. But you're not an idiot. And it's not hard for you to piece together what's going on.
And just like that, like a flip switched, you sharply point behind you. "You guys need to get the fuck out."
And just like that, a flip switches for them too. The guy on the left sighs, the guy on the right sputters, and the guy in the middle glares even harder and takes a step forward. "Go to hell. We're allowed to be here, this ain't private property."
"A bomb threat's enough to call the police." You respond sharply, frantically-- knowing in the back of your mind that you don't have proof and there's not a single camera down this corner.
"What the hell are you talking about!? There's no bomb! It was just his quirk!" The guy on the right sputters-- and the other two sharply look at him. "Idiot, don't--!" "So you're using your quirk without a license."
They all stare at you. And you kinda cringe at yourself, because you're the last person who cares about laws and legality. But you were very quick to capitalize and pull the cop-card.
The one on the left just sighs and motions for his friends, taking a step forward. "This isn't worth it. Let's just-"
"You tryna pick a fight?"
The one in the middle barks out and walks up on you, his posture stiff as he glares straight through you. And you just blink. ... because-- are you tryna pick a fight? .......... you have nothing better to do so-
you make a face and also eye him up and down. "I can."
"Who the fuck do you think you are!?" "The bitch who works here now fuck off!"
"THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME!?" Uh oh. It seems you didn't anticipate him actually being prepared to catch a fade. He pulls his arm back to swing, running up on you-- so, naturally, you instinctively grab your taser and jam it into his waist before shuffling backwards.
His two friends shout and watch in genuine shock as he yells in pain and immediately goes down-- clutching his stomach as he twitches. And you cover your mouth, because somehow, you genuinely feel bad. ..... you also really hope you didn't kill him, as this is lowkey the first time you've ever gotten to actually use your taser.
After standing in shock and watching him go down, his friends frantically rush over to him. "What the fuck did you do!? What's wrong with you!?"
You just blink, somehow equally shocked at what you've done, before threateningly waving the taser at them. It's actually sort of ridiculous. You look far from threatening. But they're so genuinely terrified and freaked out that they flinch backwards before quickly hauling their friend up and scurrying away.
"Okay okay we're going just--!" You watch them stumble off in a small cluster, sheepishly rubbing at your head as you frantically and haphazardly shove your taser into your pocket. You have a feeling you probably shouldn't have done that. And that you might have started something you won't be able to get out of. And these guys might genuinely come after you now. You sigh. You look around one more time--- no cameras. No witnesses. ............ wait no-
You nearly jump and whirl around--- to the one kid still slumped against the dumpster. And he's just staring in genuine horror, jaw dropped. And now you're both just awkwardly staring at each other. And you get a good look at him. He looks nothing like the other three losers. There's not a single obnoxious or threatening looking thing about this kid. .... which might be because he's literally on the ground, sat against the dumpster. But he has wide, shiny green eyes, really pinchable looking cheeks with freckles, and fluffy hair all around to boot. So you'd usually try and sputter to explain yourself, or ask if he's okay-- but you're too busy staring at him. "........ I-" You try to take a step forward, before your taser promptly falls back out of your pocket and clatters to the ground. "No- fuck-" You lean down to pick it up before your cigarettes also proceed to fall out of your pocket and onto the ground. "Fuck- stop-" You frantically grab them both before your phone also falls out of your other pocket-- "Oh my god."
You take a sharp breath, and shove everything into your pockets-- pushing them in deep. You straighten up and take a long, loud breath, before finally looking at him. "... I'm sorry. ... are you okay?" And now he's just flat out confused. So he stares for a little while longer. "......... w-what.?" She awkwardly stares back at him. "Uh............ ... like- are you good?" ".... what?" "I-....... okay-" You just shake your head before walking up to him. He probably thinks you're a criminal. "Okay- just-- get up--" You hold your hand out, fingers curling and uncurling hurriedly as you motion for him to take your hand. He's still confused, dazed, and kind of terrified as he looks between you and your hand, before hesitantly taking it, before yelping as you pull him to stand. He stumbles slightly-- and you quickly step closer to stabilize him before hurriedly stepping back. You give him a once over. He immediately folds under your gaze and looks away, nervously hugging his arms around himself.
"..... uhm.." You break the silence, also sheepishly looking away. ".... are you okay? What happened."
His silence concerns you. It feels like critique. Like he's about to snap and yell at you-- berate you for getting involved, for trying to help. Like he's gonna criticize you and threaten to tell the police. Not being he's doing anything to imply that. But because you've been through this before. And you know what to expect.
Meanwhile-- Izuku's just genuinely out of place. Why are you apologizing? Why'd you just ask him if he was okay? Nobody's ever done this before. And he never imagined there'd ever be a timeline where he'd have a witness to what's been happening to him. He finally looks at you.
"I-I'm okay..... thank you."
You look him over again and lean in slightly to hear-- not wanting to miss a word. His voice was quiet and raspy, but just sounded sweet in itself. Boyish. And when he thanked you it sounded like it physically hurt him to do so. "... are you sure? You're all wet. And it's kinda cold out." You look around for emphasis, like you can see the cold air itself.
He just nods, rubbing at his arm. "It's-- I'm.... I'm okay. I-I'll be fine I don't live too far from here."
You blink and look away, thinking. He still hasn't explained what happened. He probably didn't want you involved. .. you were fine with that. You don't have the right to this.
"... well- here- just come inside. I'll give you a towel to dry off so you don't get sick."
You wave for him to follow you and turn around, but you don't move until he finally, finally takes a step after you.
The cafe is quiet and clean. The only sounds are the occasional beeping and the sound of the heater. It's a nice cafe. Homey. The owner even let you bring little ceramics that you made-- and put them on display. You quickly round the corner behind the counter and run to the back-- grabbing a dry towel before halting, looking over your shoulder to the office, and grabbing some spare clothes you had. There were times when you'd come here straight from school. You took to always having some extra clothes in the back-- this place was practically your second home anyways. You were always here. You grab that baggy sweatshirt and your extra pair of jeans before teleporting back up to the front. He jumps, gasping and stumbling backwards as he blinks frantically. You didn't anticipate him to literally still be standing where he was-- you assumed he might sit down.
"Oh-- sorry!" He's holding his heart like he just watched you taze someone for a second time, and you sheepishly frown and look away. You don't like scaring people, you never have. You don't like how out of place you already are in his life.
".. here. Uh- there's a towel and then- I just grabbed an extra pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from the back if your clothes are too wet."
He just blinks, looking between you and the stuff you were holding out to him.
"..... I... ... Thank you-- but--"
He looks away, his gaze darting around like he doesn't even know what to think. You just wave your hand and look away. "Don't worry about it-- it's uniform clothes we have from the back. It's clean and all that-- it's not like--- .... like it doesn't matter what happens to it. Trust me."
You don't look at his face this time, pointing down the room. "There's a bathroom down the hall."
He clamps his mouth shut, before looking back down to the clothes hesitantly. He makes his way to the bathroom.
You walk behind the counter, almost physically trying to give him more space, less attachment, less crowding. Your finger's already tapping. You don't know what you expected-- it's not like you expected him on his thanking you. You definitely didn't expect him to be scared of you. Even when you have a taser in your hand-- you're a display of mockery at most.
He'll probably come back out, he'll have the clothes on. You'll offer him a drink or some food, you won't charge him. You'll offer to walk him home in case the guys come back. You'll ask him if he's okay one more time, then you'll leave him be.
He's so quiet that you don't notice when he returns until he clears his throat.
"Uh--"
You look up--- it's sorta weird. Weirdly endearing. Some random kid wearing your clothes. It kinda suits him-- makes him look so much more comfy than the school uniform he was wearing.
"Thank you-- for the clothes, I mean."
You just wave your hand and look away-- "It's fine-- don't worry about it. And no need to return them, they're work clothes." Meanwhile, he's in a baggy Nike sweatshirt, yours; that you had in the back for emergencies. You just hoped he wouldn't comment on that.
He blinks, his gaze darting over you in disbelief. And he finally says what he's been thinking this whole time. "..... why are you doing this for me?"
And you physically recoil-- even though you spent this whole time in this now insanely tiny cafe anticipating it. You hold your hands up sharply and look away-- like he's ridiculous for even asking. Overthinking. "It's really nothing-- you're soaking wet. I had some clothes, I gave them. I lose nothing."
But he still doesn't understand. Not just the sweatshirt. Not just you. The situation-- he doesn't get it. He's never had a witness before. He looks down at the sweatshirt. It smells too sweet to be something provided by work. ... why are you doing this?
You cross your arms, and you dry your clammy palms on your arms. "....... I heard a bomb go off. I came outside to see what it was. ........ and you were slumped against the cafe dumpster--- smoke coming off your hair. And you were soaked. ........ are you okay?"
He grimaces. He supposes the least he can do is give you an explanation. He still doesn't look at you.
".... That was just Kacchan and his.... friends. I guess. We all go to the same middle school and... ... well, they just-- they always sorta pick on me."
"WHAT!"
You don't flinch at the explanation-- you could kinda just assume.
"....... I'm sorry."
".... it's-- it's okay. They're just... .... they're just always like this. I guess."
"......... how long has this been going on for?"
He finally looks at you, taken aback that you would even ask. That you would even care to ask. He just frowns and looks away. It's not like he's suddenly realizing how long this has been going on for-- but he's suddenly putting it into the air. Into you.
"..... Me and Kacchan... we used to be really close when we were little kids. .... I guess everything sort of changed when we were five. ........ it's been like this for a while now."
Your brows furrow and you look away-- you just don't understand. You don't get it. They're childhood friends? Maybe something changed? But what could possibly enable somebody to do this? And why was he so unbothered by it all.
His gaze frantically darts all over your expression-- it's something he can't read. He nervously laughs and scratches at his neck.
"Haha-- it's uh-- it's not that big of a deal, really. They're just jerks who have nothing better to do--"
"Well yeah-- obviously. They're literal fucking bugs with no lives. Bullying somebody for 10-plus years? Get a fucking job!" You huff-- running your fingers through your hair in frustration. Izuku blinks, taken aback by the sudden roughness in your throat. You didn't even sound like that when you went toe-to-toe with Kacchan. He nearly takes a step back when your eyes snap to his. "Does anyone know about this? Have you ever told anyone? Did they just not do anything?"
Izuku stutters, nervously cupping his throat and rubbing at it. "I-I... I mean-- .... I.... .... no. ... no. I just... .... I never told anyone."
You go to interject but he stops you. "It's not worth it."
You blink, your gaze slowly softening as you frown. Because you know he's not wrong. It isn't. It isn't worth it. Nobody cares. And nobody saves you-- not in the end. But you can't let him believe that. Not like you. Not when you know somebody would help him. Somebody would love to.
"..... sure it is. I'm sure your family cares about you. They'd help you-- they'd probably do anything."
And now Izuku shakes his head-- upset for a different reason. Nervous.
"N-no-- no. ..... I-- I don't need to worry my mom like that-- it isn't worth it---"
"But she's your mom! It's her job to worry about you! It's not like you're bothering her!"
He can't argue with that-- because he knows that's true, logically. His mom loves him-- she loves him so much. He doesn't know how else to tell you that she doesn't need the stress. He's already average enough to not be something amazing or impressive for her-- not like Kacchan is to his mom. He can't just give her another thing to worry about. Not when he has nothing else to offer. But how is he gonna tell you that? A random stranger. He just lets out a quiet sigh and shakes his head, covering his mouth.
You just sigh yourself and look away. You can't talk someone out of that mentality. "..... well.... I'll help you. I'll go to the police, the teachers-- I'll go to their parents! I don't care. They don't have the right to do this to you!"
Izuku immediately stiffens and waves his hands. "N-no! No-- please-- you don't have to do that--"
You frantically put your own hands up. "Okay okay maybe not-- maybe not that--"
He pauses before letting out a breath of relief. ".... thank you. ... I'm sorry. ......... I know you're just-- trying to help. ....... you literally saved my butt back there. And now you're being so nice to me, but..."
He shakes his head, frowning as he looks away again.
"..... please just forget me."
"No way."
You stop him right there, frowning yourself.
"I won't... .... look-- I don't wanna breach into your personal life. Or make things harder for you. ..... but you don't deserve this!" You motion frantically with your hands, determined, desperately trying to convince him.
"You didn't even do anything! And they're jumping you by a dumpster-- they're-- ganging up on you, they have been for years--!" You take a sharp breath. Deflating. "...... and for what? For what reason could they possibly be doing all of this?" He stares at the tile. Ashamed. In all honesty..... he was waiting for the moment you'd corner him. Force him to spill his guts, ask him the question. And he really didn't wanna tell you. Didn't wanna get into it. He's been through this so many times-- you seem nice. You really do. But that's only because you don't know he's quirkless. He nervously looks at you from under his hair, dreading. His eyes are pleading-- but you can't tell why. Maybe he's hoping you'll just stop prying. You back down and frown. ".... I'm sorry. I'm getting way too fired up-- you don't owe me an explanation."
"I wanna be a hero." You blink, and then you blink again. ... well that was kinda sudden. Nice. ....... ... wait was he answering your question-- "Wait-- what--- ..... is that why? They're.. bullying you cause you wanna be a hero? What's wrong with being a hero? Everyone wants to be a hero!" You lift your arms up to the air in exclamation-- like it's literally the most common-knowledge thing ever. He just turns away slightly, not sharing the same aloofness. You don't know yet. When you do, you'll understand. You'll probably make him give back the clothes, probably tell him to leave. Probably laugh at him. He wonders what you look like while laughing. He bites his lip-- and you cringe slightly because his lips are already really chapped and he probably shouldn't be biting them. "..... yeah. People love heroes. Every kid dreams of being a hero someday. .... but I'm quirkless." The only sound in the cafe is the beeping from the back. The sound of the heater. You awkwardly blink at him in confusion... are you missing something? "........................................................................................................................................ so?" .....................He stares at you, like... genuinely stares at you. He almost looks offended. This is probably the most recognizable emotion he's shown thus far and you immediately hold your hands up. "I mean--- not to like--- I'm not like-- I just mean like-- .... like.... the concept of-- .... in the sense that--- ....... like I mean I just feel like it's not that crazy. There's a bunch of quirkless people who train to become heroes! These kids really make your life hell just because you're quirkless and wanna be a hero? Like......... I'm so confused." Is the conclusion you finally end up at. You're just genuinely confused. That can't possibly be the reason these kids are on his ass. And apparently have been for 10 years. He just sputters at the word 'confused'--- his hands flailing around before also going straight up into the air. "Wh--! You--! I--- HUH!?" His hands go straight to his hair-- and his voice is squeaky, kinda cracking. "Wh-- what do you mean you're confused!? I'M confused!" "Wait- why?"
"Because--! I---!" He takes a sharp breath, blinking like it's obvious. "I just--- ..... you heard the part where I said I was quirkless, right?" ".... uhm, yeah-" "Like as in-- I don't have a quirk." "Right you're just a normal person with no quirk right--" "Yes! And-- I wanna be a hero!" "Cool." His hands drop, he leans in. Inspecting you. "........ are... are you making fun of me?" "What! No-- I support you!" "........... what." "What-" "What!?" "It's not impossible! ...... I mean it's gonna be hard- and really dangerous-- but it's not like you're just not allowed to. .....What's the saying? If there's a will there's a way?" He rubs at his eyes, before double taking you. Your face is betraying nothing. You're not smiling, you're not laughing, your mouth isn't twitching to hold in a smirk. ......... you're really good at messing with people. ..... or maybe you just don't fully understand what he's saying? He doesn't know. He can't tell. All he knows is-- this is extremely unnatural and he's really on edge. And you just stare right back, confused and also on edge because why is he looking at you like you're insane-- he didn't even look at you like this when you tazed somebody! ".... am I missing something--" "You just-- you don't know the full story." He crosses his arms and looks away, cutting you off. ".... they're not wrong, you know. To be picking on me like this so much. ..... it's a... it's a childish dream. There's no such thing as a quirkless hero." You shrug, you you guess he's not wrong. There really isn't any hero out there without a quirk. But still-- "... well why's it childish? Just because it's unheard of? People probably thought landing on the moon one day was a childish dream-- and here we are!" He just gives you an unconvinced look. Your eyes widen. ".... don't tell me you think the moon landing was fake-" "What-? No-- It's just... that's not the same." "Sure it is! People thought it was impossible until somebody did it! That's how everything goes." "This--! This is totally different from the moon landing!" "Okay wait let me think of a different analogy--" You tap your fingers against the counter. And somehow, he actually stares at you, unconvinced, but still waits for you to think of something. Unfortunately....... you can't seem to find anything. ... you awkwardly look at him. ".... why do you wanna be a hero again?" Another thing Izuku will take to the grave, something he never told you; in that moment, up until you asked him that, he forgot all about All Might.