There was only so much Izuku could take before he snapped.
All his life, he had been laughed at and looked down upon for showing emotion. He was a crybaby and a wimp. His mum had always told him that it was okay to let everything out, yet the older Izuku got, the more he began to doubt it; if it was okay, then why was he being punished for it?
Even after he'd entered UA and made friends - good friends - the comments continued. They weren't mean-spirited - instead played off as casual humour - but it was enough that a little piece of Izuku closed up each time. After all, his friends didn't know the impact of their words, and Izuku didn't want to be a buzz kill with the only people to ever give him the time of day. The same could be said when his teachers had brought it up.
And so, by the time they'd all graduated and he'd moved in with Shoto, Izuku had successfully managed to stop the waterworks, suppressed every negative emotion and stopped wearing his heart on his sleeve. He was still the same bubbly, smiley person he'd always tried to be. He just refused to let anyone see beyond that. He was the second coming of the Symbol of Peace, and that was all.
Part of him felt bad for hiding, for brushing off questions he didn't want to answer, especially with Shoto, who had never judged him for his emotional outbursts in the past; one of the two people who had told him that it was okay to cry. He just didn't want to worry him. Izuku had spent enough time worrying the people who care about him, and he refused to let that continue.
Sometimes, however, it was difficult to keep it all bottled up.
Sometimes, Izuku punched a little harder, edged closer to his limits than necessary, didn't tell anyone about the injuries he'd sustained from a fight; and sometimes, it was something trivial, like bursting into tears because he couldn't straighten out his right hand and no one was around to hear him break down.
Izuku liked to think he was subtle - he could regain his composure before anyone noticed - but nobody's perfect.
He didn't hear the door open, nor the quiet, concerned footsteps. It wasn't until he heard a soft knock on the open bedroom door that Izuku stilled, back facing Shoto from where he was sitting cross-legged on their bed. Muttering a curse, he frantically wiped his face and blew his nose as his partner approached.
'Hey.' The mattress dipped behind him when Shoto perched on the side. 'Something happen?'
Shoto contemplated his next words. 'You're upset though. Do you want to talk about it?'
He squeezed his eyes shut as a few residual tears escaped, and bit his wobbly lip.
'Not really.' His voice cracked slightly. 'I don't... I don't know how.'
'What do you mean?' Shoto was blunt, but the soft tone was evident. 'You don't know how to... talk about it?'
Izuku almost laughed at the irony: the person who often wouldn't shut up in his mumblings couldn't talk about what was bothering him. Meanwhile, his partner, whom most considered taciturn, was often clear in voicing his feelings. It made sense that Shoto didn't understand.
'I don't know how anymore.' He lowered his head and his shoulders hunched in a way that made his back ache. 'I've held back so much that I can't... articulate. I feel weak. I feel like a burden. I feel like... I don't want others to know what's going on inside my head.'
For the longest time, Shoto said nothing. Instead, he shuffled closer, then Izuku felt his partner's forehead rest between his shoulder blades. The contact helped, as did the position; he wasn't being observed.
'I had no idea you were holding back.' He sounded guilty, but before Izuku could assure him, he tentatively asked, 'Why did you start?'
He shrugged, thinking through his words before broadly recounting the gradual process of bottling everything up. It felt almost cathartic to tell someone, but it didn't change his discomfort at the idea of talking about his feelings, themselves.
'I was just in the kitchen, and my hand cramped and it made me think about how fucked up my body is, then it just escalated.'
He didn't want to elaborate further, but when Shoto hummed - making his back vibrate - he figured he didn't need to.
'That makes sense.' Gentle hands rested against his hips, waiting for Izuku's permission before snaking around his waist; his forehead never budged. 'It's a lot to shoulder on your own though. It isn't healthy.' He paused. 'You know you can talk to me, right? I won't judge you.'
'I know.' For some reason, acknowledging that had the tears quickly returning, as a sob built up in his throat. In one last effort, he tried swallowing it down. 'I know. I'm sorry. I just, I can't-'
'Izuku.' Shoto pressed a kiss to his back, grounding despite the thick jumper between them. 'Don't apologise, just let it out. You don't have to talk if you don't want, but it's okay to cry, remember? I'm not going anywhere and I'm not going to look at you any differently. I'm here and It's okay.'
Izuku nodded and took a breath. Maybe it was time to start fighting against the defence mechanism he'd built up, albeit reluctantly; it was a comfort zone, after all. That being said, he had to start somewhere, and while it wasn't perfect, having Shoto's unconditional support made the difference.
Izuku sobbed quietly - nothing like he used to, but no less genuine - and those arms tightened around him in response, a reminder of his previous words.
Just this once, Izuku allowed himself to believe that.
