#farawaywrites

When he finally roused himself awake enough to sit up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes before unceremoniously tossing the blanket from his body. His legs swung out over the edge of the bed and he rose to stand, more eager than usual to start his day. What usually felt like going through the motions somehow felt like ceremony, like a ritual for the betterment of the self. He found himself delighted at the smallest of things: the perfect amount of toothpaste on his toothbrush, the toast that didn't tear apart when he added butter, the song that came on shuffle as he began his morning workout. When was the last time the monotony of life felt like a gift instead of a curse? Izuku couldn't say.

It was a rare day off, which meant he would get a chance to run a few errands, maybe even watch that movie Mina had been pestering him about. He vaguely remembered something about it being "so good, holy shit." He chuckled at the memory, filing the idea away for later. First, he would have to run to the store for a couple things, some needs and some wants.

His therapist had expressed that he needed to be more in tune with his wants, even if he had to start small. He needed to unlearn the guilt and resist the urge to neglect his desires altogether if he ever hoped to get back to feeling whole again.

"Invite joy into your life," she'd advised, but Izuku still struggled with the idea of doing things for the sake of himself.

Even things he enjoyed had become twisted into things that felt like necessities: exercise, eating right, helping people. As a hero, those things were integral to his success, which was integral to the stability of the community he served. It was easier to keep putting water into an empty stomach; he didn't want to unpack all of the things that made it growl.

Izuku could however, at the very least, watch a movie his friend suggested, or maybe even try that new bakery people at the agency kept recommending. Ever the early riser, he liked places that opened for breakfast, and as much as he hated to admit it, he also had quite the sweet tooth.

Before heading out, he needed to shower, which was undoubtedly his favorite part of any day. It was grounding; it made him feel real. He could feel and remember how the water had cascaded over his head, down his back, across his fingertips. His eyes liked to trace the water down the drain, wondering how small he needed to shrink to follow it. He wondered what everything was for, needed to drown himself in reality, in reverence of memories. Count the shower tiles, count sheep, count blessings, even when it felt impossible. It often did. There was so much loss in the world. He'd seen it, felt it, been powerless to stop it. No wonder he couldn't dream properly, only remember and regret.

Izuku knew what his problem was, he'd talked extensively about it in therapy after his mom noticed that her son was fading away right in front of her eyes. He even tried to study it like he would any villain, but that was exactly it: he always wanted to rehabilitate. He settled himself among the outcasts, the villains, those who needed him the most because they got the least. He convinced himself they just needed to be sat with and shown love. Be it a villain or a slew of bad feelings, he needed to take them all in. He made himself responsible for them, and in return they devoured him. He needed to slow down.

Letting the warmth of the water rush over him, Izuku began to wash his body, hoping to scrub away any lingering sadness that had mixed with his sweat. Once finished, he retrieved his towel and patted himself dry, feeling better now that he was clean on the outside and centered within. He threw on the clothes he had laid out, a grey hoodie and some sweats, staring straight into the mirror as he steeled himself to face the public. He pulled a hat on over his still wet hair, hoping that hiding his signature green head of curls would be enough to keep people at bay.

It wasn't like he didn't appreciate the support he was given; in fact, it was quite the opposite. He just wished to move silently through his business like anyone else, eternally nervous about causing a commotion. Even after years of hero work, it was hard for him to come to terms with the fact that people genuinely wanted to know him. His therapist often had to remind him that it's partially because he had the pleasure of knowing himself as Izuku first, before Deku, before being any sort of figure at all. Not that he felt like Deku was someone else entirely, he just accepted that his hero persona was more aptly described as an amplification of himself, an exaggeration of all of his best parts. That side of him wouldn't function in any other context, and Izuku often found himself floundering when the lines blurred.

However, it was time to face the masses. He rolled his shoulders back a couple times in a last ditch effort to calm himself before grabbing a few reusable shopping bags from the shelf beside his door, turning the handle, and leaving the sanctity of his apartment. The fortress of solitude. Not quite the glimmering, crystal palace people might expect from a pro-hero, but he preferred that. Izuku liked his snug little hole in the wall apartment, with its peeling wallpaper, broken baseboards, and squeaky floors that helped him to feel safe. He couldn't remember the last time he wasn't on high alert, constantly on guard from an impending doom he couldn't place or name. He just knew that he preferred being tucked away in the heart of the city, contrary to the insistence of agency executives who would constantly try to tell him he'd be happier elsewhere, "That new penthouse on 6th Street, maybe."

And maybe he would; he's nothing if not adaptable, but high-rise life wasn't really his style. The last time some big wig handed him the keys to some fancy new apartment, he passed them right along to his secretary. Izuku figured she needed it much more than he did and unbeknownst to her, he'd been paying for it ever since. He didn't spend money on much besides necessities: food, rent, utilities. Dropping a couple thousand a month on someone who genuinely deserved it also felt like a necessity, or maybe just like the obvious choice. So he did.

Now, as he set out for the market, he made a mental note of what he needed. Hoping he could get in and out as quickly as possible, he mulled over his list while turning to lock his front door, subconsciously nodding as each item crossed his mind.

He jiggled the door handle to make sure it was locked, once and then twice, then startled at a sudden voice from beside him.

"Song in your head?"

Izuku turned quickly, coming face to face with you, his next door neighbor, who seemed to be leaving in a rush. At least, if the hurried locking of your door was anything to go by.

"Oh, no," he managed to mumble, "Just thinking."

He hadn't officially met you yet; you had only moved in about a month prior. The elderly woman who previously lived next to him had been moved into a care home by her family. She was a nice woman, but he could tell that her mental faculties had been wearing down for some time. Izuku was sad to see her go, as he had regularly helped her carry groceries from the parking lot up to her apartment, when he caught her. She was a compassionate lady, always thanking him with tea or a story about her cat, Larry. He wondered what would become of the old cat.

He'd hoped his new neighbor would be kind like the last tenant, or at the very least, considerate. He already appreciated that you seemed to live quietly, like him. Mostly, he was just surprised to see someone awake as early as he was, wondering what kind of business could've had you up so early in the morning. You had a pretty face, but he could see you looked tired. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but it seemed like your eyes hid the same exhaustion he often saw in his own.

You hummed, offering a small smile as you spoke, "You're a full-body thinker."

He didn't really know what to say to that, so he just returned your grin with a tight-lipped smile of his own and a small nod. You wished him a good day and swiftly disappeared down the hallway, and he reciprocated before checking his lock one last time– for good measure.

As he left his apartment building, Izuku found himself over-analyzing the interaction he'd had with you. He wished he was a better conversationalist, but that was nothing new. You were right; he is definitely a full-body thinker, which unfortunately meant his time processing words, thoughts, and actions was often prolonged. It also took a lot out of him. No one would believe it by looking at him, but pro-hero Deku had actually become quite the introvert. However, Izuku wasn't sure if that was a natural reaction to his spending long periods of time alone, or just the fatigue and mellowing that came with age. He figured the slow processing thing was a symptom of all his hero work, a reset after constantly moving and thinking so quickly.

Regardless, you had taken the time to speak to him so early in the morning, despite being so obviously exhausted and in a hurry. Maybe you were just being polite, but in a way it felt nice to be noticed for something other than being a hero. It felt nice to have something noticed about him, about Izuku, that had nothing to do with his status. If he saw you again, he would try his best to return that same courtesy.

His walk to the supermarket was short, which was yet another thing he loved about where his home was situated. He felt like he was right in the middle of a community that was always bustling with life. Despite his reservations about being among them, it was well-known that Izuku had always taken an interest in the lives of the people around him. Not only was it his job to care for them, but an intrinsic part of him that had been present since his birth. He didn't know any different.

After his short journey, Izuku found himself meandering through the aisles of the market with a shopping cart, loading it up with as much as he could. He wasn't really sure when he would have the time or energy to make it back out for groceries. A lot of times, his sweet mother would bring him care packages with food and anything she thought he might need, but he enjoyed the act of shopping for himself when he could. He considered himself lucky to have such a doting mother, but always wanted her to know that he was fine on his own as well. He assumed he got his anxious nature from her, but he knew better than anyone that there is a lot to be anxious about in the world. Big bad wolves.

He ended up with quite the haul, fresh fruit and vegetables as well as various proteins and carbohydrates. He also made sure to grab some non-perishables that could stand the test of time, just in case. He even threw in their most expensive bottle of wine, thinking of no better way to invite joy into his life than a nice glass with dinner. His therapist would be proud.

Izuku finished up in the store and realized he would have to awkwardly pack mule everything he had bought back to his house, but once it was all situated inside the bags he had brought with him, it wasn't really a problem. Obviously, he received a few odd glances, but he wasn't sure if it was out of recognition or awe at the amount of stuff he was carrying at once. Maybe both. He walked a bit faster on his way back, not because the groceries were heavy, just because they were so unwieldy and hard to get a good grip on. He felt like the circulation to his fingers was being lessened by the second.

When he finally reached his door, he set everything down beside him while he unlocked it, planning to put everything away and then head right back out. That new bakery he wanted to try was only a ten or fifteen minute walk in the other direction, and he was eager to get going. In hindsight, he could have just gone there first, but he wanted to get the more tedious task out of the way first. He often found that made the interesting tasks easier to enjoy.

Once inside, he set about putting everything where it belonged, and soon enough, he had restocked his kitchen. He sent his mother a quick text to let her know he had managed to get to the store, snapping a picture of the wine he had purchased and promising to let her know how it was later. She responded almost immediately, like always, with a string of smiling emojis. He chuckled as he shoved his phone back into his pocket and grabbed his keys to set out once again. Moms and emojis.

The journey to the bakery was more of the same. Izuku enjoyed the chill, morning air as he walked past the few people who were out so early in the day. Hands in his pockets, head down, eyes up and wandering, he made his way down the sidewalk until coming upon the storefront he had been looking for. He'd already eaten breakfast, but he had been waiting all morning to get his hands on some sort of warm pastry. Hopefully something with pumpkin, since his sweet dream had basically left his mouth watering at the thought.

A small bell jingled from above as he swung open the door to the cozy shop. He immediately moved to rub his hands together in an attempt to warm them up as he fell in line behind the only other person in the store. In his haste to scan both the menu and the case of baked goods in front of him, he almost missed it. Well, he almost missed you.

There you stood, working at the register, and it suddenly made sense why you were up so early in the morning. He felt nervous, not wanting to repeat the awkwardness from before, but settled down once your eyes landed on him. You gave him a warm smile that could only be described as genuine, and seemed almost excited that he was there. Once the other customer stepped out of line, Izuku took his place to order.

"Hey, thinker," you quipped, causing him to chuckle softly, putting his hands up in mock defeat.

"Hello again," he said, "still no song in my head, but I've been dreaming about eating something with pumpkin."

You laughed sincerely at that, moving from your spot at the register to direct his attention to some of the options in the bakery case.

"You're in luck," you began. "Pumpkin is in season right now. We have some pumpkin scones, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, and even some pumpkin croissants, courtesy of yours truly."

Izuku nodded along as you rattled off the options, meeting your eye in time for you to mutter, "Pumpkin doesn't sound like a real word anymore."

He laughed openly at that and ordered one of the pumpkin croissants, just to see what they were like. You complimented his selection as you carefully grabbed it from the case and placed it into a small paper bag.

"Alright," you said, "One pumpkin croissant will be $2.50,"–you opened the register before immediately slamming it shut again–"but for you it costs nothing."

He felt his brow furrow in confusion as you held the bag out expectantly, waiting for him to take it.

"T-that's kind, but won't be necessary," he sputtered. "I have $2.50 right here," Izuku added, removing the correct amount of money from his wallet and offering it to you.

"No can do; this one is on the house," you said with some finality. "Consider it a neighborly gift."

He swallowed thickly, but smiled, shoving the cash back into his wallet. Your fingers brushed his own as he accepted the bag with a small bow of thanks.

"At least tell me your name for when I return the favor somehow," he pleaded.

You grinned, smacking your head lightly as you said, "Oh, duh! I'm Y/N."

"Y/N," he replied, trying out the name. "It's nice to properly meet you. I'm–"

You cut him off, "I know." You then paled slightly as you continued with some embarrassment. "Not in a weird way! It's honestly a long story. I just want to do what I can for people who deserve it, I guess. God, I am rambling, but I really and truly don't expect anything from you."

He watched as you laughed nervously and awkwardly scratched the back of your neck. Once again, he'd been left at a loss for words, only managing a soft, "Oh," before processing all that you had said.

"Well, thank you," Izuku said finally. "I appreciate this."

You waved him off with a comical salute before turning your attention to welcoming a new customer into the store, once the soft dinging of the door bell signaled her entrance.

As he left the shop, Izuku felt lighter once again, moved by the kindness of a now not-so-stranger.

"Y/N," he mumbled, shaking his head slightly with a small smile. "Pumpkin..." he tried the word for himself, "yeah, no. Not real," he laughed.

Izuku ate as he walked, and tried not to let himself think too hard about what you had said. It was easy to gather how you'd known who he was, but for how long? When did you realize? He supposed he should just be grateful that you seemed sincere in your desire to simply do something nice; he'd met his fair share of stalkers, well-meaning but slightly unhinged fans, and straight up villains posing as devotees in order to get at him. If you were any sort of villain, you had to be the worst at it. All time worst, in fact, so he knew that wasn't the case. Stalker? Maybe, considering you knew where he lived, but in the month or so you had lived next-door you hadn't even made an attempt to introduce yourself. Once again, all time worst, if that was the case. He hated how conditioned he was to think about those things, but it came with the job.

Regardless, nothing about you made Izuku feel like he needed to be on his guard. If anything, he just wanted to be...better. Something about you made him want to be better. At the very least, he regretted not taking more time getting dressed in the morning, but you didn't seem like the type to care.

He hummed at the taste of the pastry you had made and basked in the thought that you might just be a person he should get to know. He wanted to prove all the good things he imagined about you, to search your being and find a friendly soul that was as pleasant as your face, or to discover aspects of your nature that were even better than what he could imagine. How long had it been since he met someone new, someone who had nothing to do with work? He convinced himself that a new friend would be good for him. It was either that or accepting that he was starved of a womanly presence in his life that wasn't his mother. Definitely a possibility.

Once he returned to the sanctity of his apartment, Izuku rid himself of his shoes and collapsed onto the couch. He let the quiet stillness of his living room overtake him, slowly willing himself to relax as the familiarity of his surroundings worked to cleanse his mind of any lasting, outside-world anxiety. He focused on what he could see: beige wall, black couch, white pillows, sage rug. Beige wall, black couch, white pillows, sage rug. Beige wall, black couch, white pillows...

Izuku breathed deeply and allowed himself to sink further into his couch, slipping his phone from his pocket to send a text to his mother about the new bakery. He decided against mentioning the nice cashier who gave him a free pastry, lest mommy dearest get any ideas, but encouraged her to go there herself.

"Pumpkin is in season right now," she messaged back, and he grinned, his mind instantly conjuring an image of you saying the same thing.

He replied with a pumpkin emoji that he knew would bring a smile to her face and delighted when she messaged back with her own string of emojis. Izuku really did love his mother, even when he could barely understand what she was trying to say through her odd combinations of tiny emoticons. When he bought her a new phone, that was the feature she was most excited about.

"They're cute! Now, I can type with little pictures instead of words," he recalled her saying, and the rest was history.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and sighed, wondering where to even begin with the rest of his day. Funnily enough, once he decided, it seemed like it was over in a flash. One minute he's making lunch, and the next it's ten o'clock at night and he's sobbing over that damn movie Mina had suggested, two (heaping) glasses of wine deep and thinking that really was so good, holy shit. He should've known he wouldn't make it through without crying; there was a dog on the cover.

Nevertheless, Izuku gathered himself up, wiped his eyes a few more times, and washed his glass before tucking it snugly back into the cabinet. He wasn't necessarily tired, but he knew he needed sleep. It was back to work tomorrow, a new week full of new challenges. And opportunities, he tried to remind himself. Always opportunities.

He double checked that his door was locked before padding to the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth. His eyes met his own as he gazed into his reflection, and he bit his lip as he tried not to worry about his nearing sleep. He didn't consider himself lucky–or perhaps deserving–enough to expect two restful nights in a row, but prayed to whatever or whoever that maybe he could swing it. One more night without nightmares. One more night full of dreams. Please.

Izuku opened his phone one last time before bed, sending a simple "wine was good" text to his mother despite knowing she was probably asleep already. He liked to let her know he was thinking of her. As his eyes closed, he let his mind wander back to the bakery. It was a trick he'd picked up from his therapist: focus on the good, focus on the senses. Give them space, give them a name. It helped him fall asleep, so he began. He could taste the saccharine fluff of the pastry. He could hear the jingling of the door bell, smell the sweetness in the air, and feel the brush of your fingers against his own. On the backs of his eyelids, he could almost make out your face...

——

You heard it before you saw it.

With your eyes closed and body long settled into your own slumber, your ears caught the soft but unmistakable jingle of the bell above the bakery's door. And suddenly, you were transported from your bedroom and back into the cozy shop where you worked. However, you didn't stir, only opened your eyes to your dreaming in this threshold consciousness to which you'd become accustomed, and you watched the scene unfold from a new perspective. Izuku Midoriya's perspective. You were in his dreams once again.

You looked down at your large hands–much larger than your own–as you pulled them from your hoodie and rubbed them together to create some heat. On them you saw scars healing at various stages, callouses, burns even, from work that wasn't your own. You felt chilled from being outside, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you stared at a menu you knew you had memorized, but now you saw it with new eyes. And then, you saw yourself.

It was strange, but inside this body you inhabited you didn't sense any aversion. Izuku felt almost...giddy as the past you opened your mouth to speak to him. You felt for yourself exactly when his heart began to beat just a bit faster, heard his thinking as his mind analyzed and reanalyzed his every word. He was dreaming of you, replaying your meeting and wishing he had been different. It made you–the real you, let's call it your soul–sad to experience. Over and over, he replayed the memory, but slightly differently each time, and you could feel it: the loneliness, the yearning. And suddenly, you were dying of thirst in a desert wasteland, freezing to death in a place without heat, a flame being smothered, Izuku, crying in his apartment, alone. You were him, and you were alone. And it was unbearable.

You knew that his heart wasn't specifically calling to you, but damn if it wasn't calling out to somebody, anybody. So you answered. You did what you could. Instead of a desert, you showed him an oasis. You gave him fire where he once was freezing, and oxygen where his flame had been dying out. He was no longer crying alone, just alone. Alone but content was the best you could do for the night. You remembered how he joked that he'd been dreaming about pumpkin, and how you had known it wasn't really a joke because you had sent him that vision. He had dreamt about that moment because you didn't want him to see the alternative. But you saw it, heard the rattled gasps of last breaths, felt the tears that had streamed from Izuku's eyes. Everything.

Eventually, your face returned to his eyes without your doing, and the jingling of the bell at the bakery returned, only to grow louder and louder until it pierced reality and you woke with a start. You breathed heavily as you found yourself in your own body, your own apartment, listening to your own alarm.

"Izuku," you whispered, furrowing your brow as you prayed desperately that you had done enough to let him rest, to bring him some semblance of peace.

——

The next day saw Izuku pleasantly surprised; he had dreamt again, and he had dreamt of you. His cheeks heated slightly at the thought, but he reasoned that he had little to no control over his unconscious mind. That was abundantly clear. Thankfully, after his second night of relative peace in a row, he felt relieved and reenergized.

Work went relatively smooth like always. He never really dreaded the paperwork like some of the other heroes at his agency, and often found himself easily absorbed in the filings. In fact, he probably took on more work than was necessary, but he liked to make sure everything was accurate on his end. Keeping track of accounts from patrols, civil disturbances, arrests, and policies wasn't exactly glamorous, but they were part of the job. Although most pros simply paid people to do it for them, Izuku could never justify making his colleagues do work that he wouldn't do himself. If they were his findings, he knew them best anyway. Why bother with a middle man?

By the time he was done with his stacks, it was about time to prepare for his shift on patrol. He stood from his desk and stretched, rolling out his neck and pulling his arms over and behind his head. He cracked his fingers one by one, trying to rid them of writing cramps. He thought he remembered someone telling him that popping his fingers would give him early arthritis, but it was a habit that was far too ingrained in him to give up now. Besides, hadn't that been disproven? Izuku yawned, getting up and moving was just what he needed.

A soft knock at his office door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he rasped, realizing how little he'd spoken that day; his voice sounded dry.

The door opened slightly, and his secretary poked her head through the slot, "Sorry to disturb you, sir–" she refused to call him by his name, despite how many times he insisted it was okay– "You are wanted in Conference Room B."

He thanked her, and she nodded appreciatively before ducking out of the room. Izuku gathered his things in his arms and locked his desk.

"Conference," He wondered aloud. "Got it."

Surprise conferences were never a good thing. Usually, they were a way for Dynamight to announce or transfer cases that required assistance without expending the time or effort of going through the proper channels. Dynamight doesn't make appointments. However, such cases were rare, so for one to arise would be cause for concern.

When Izuku entered the conference room, his suspicions seemed to be correct, as there stood Dynamight at the head of the table. Beside him was Shouto, which caused a surge of even more anxiety to rush through him. What could be so bad that three agencies were necessary?

He cleared his throat to get their attention, and Shouto turned to greet him, "Ah, Deku. Thank you for taking the time."

"Well," Izuku began, and approached the man to shake his hand, "when you come to me, how could I refuse? Making it too easy on me."

Shouto smiled softly, "I do wish that was the case. Please, if both of you would sit."

Izuku sat immediately, intrigued by what could have called them all together. Dynamight huffed at the order but abided anyway, taking his seat beside him.

Shouto began to speak, "Again, Midoriya, my apologies about circumventing your regular appointment policies, but we have an ongoing case that seems too urgent to waste any time on formalities." He bowed apologetically before straightening to deliver the details.

"Yesterday, it came to my attention that a large network of criminals we have been keeping our eye on have begun to act in ways we didn't anticipate, and it seems that their reach extends far beyond where we thought they might be localized. I arranged to meet with you both specifically, because their activity now seems to be popping up in areas that are under your patrol," he explained, and Dynamight scoffed.

"You sayin' we're missing stuff?" he accused. "I don't know how you run the show over there, but we work hard as hell to monitor all the areas under our supervision," he bit, and Shouto nodded understandingly.

"I did not mean to cause offense, and I don't doubt the capability of your agencies," he clarified. "However, I wanted to bring this to your attention, because the activities of this network may have looked like stand-alone events, maybe even insignificant at first. We need your help to connect them. I would advise you to have your best case workers go over filings from the past couple of months to look for reports that meet the following criteria: armed robberies carried out by two people, threatening letters to news and television stations, and any attempted break-ins at power facilities. I will of course forward this information to pass on to your colleagues."

Izuku nodded, "Thank you for the heads up. What exactly do you think their end game might be? Those crimes seem unrelated."

Dynamight made a sound of agreement, so Shouto continued, "We can't be completely sure based on what we have now, but it seems they have been actively trying to accumulate wealth and power equipment. In our division, a company reported losing over one hundred solar panels. The threatening messages haven't been confirmed to be linked to this network, but always refer to themselves as a group and state that they are planning something that will 'solidify their rightful place in charge.'"

Dynamight stood, "Got it. This could have been an email. In fact, it will be an email. I will look for shit, pinky fuckin' promise," he barked.

"Let me finish," Shouto ordered, causing Dynamight to grumble as he returned to his seat. "This network sounds harmless, I understand, but the robberies in our area have been...particularly violent."

Izuku felt his eyes widen as Shouto elaborated, "They always send two people, in broad daylight, to lower populated areas with banks or businesses. They work quickly, too quickly for anyone to act. Someone is always hurt, or killed. We have had 3 fatal robberies that we can link to them in the past 2 months. They are dangerous, and this proves that they don't have any qualms about violence or murder. This means that they are capable and willing to do anything to accomplish their goals. They are expanding their reach, and growing in ranks. That, Dynamight, is why you should be worried. Expand your patrols, examine old reports, and try not to let the death toll rise any further, if you would be so kind."

"Christ," Dynamight said, "maybe lead with that next time."

Shouto nodded, "We are taking this very seriously. What we need from you is surveillance of the areas we can't cover, but we also wanted to offer you the warning that more violence is possible and very likely."

Izuku's features hardened in determination as he stood, "We will be on the lookout. I'll let you know if we find anything in our paperwork, but for now, I will personally see to it that our patrols are extended," he assured. Turning to Dynamight, he spoke again, "It may be a good idea to overlap."

Dynamight followed him in standing and agreed to push into each other's domains. He headed out quickly after, citing "Shit to do."

As Izuku showed Shouto to the exit, the hero turned to him and spoke graciously, "On behalf of myself and my colleagues, thank you. We truly appreciate the help."

Offering a smile, Izuku responded, "No thanks necessary. If you would fax over any reports that you've confirmed to be linked to this network, we will start comparing immediately."

Shouto nodded with a short, "Of course," before heading out of the agency.

For the duration of his patrol, Izuku had to hide the twinge of disappointment he felt that his shifts would now be extended. Obviously, he wanted to do everything in his power to protect the people in his city, but expanding patrol meant more hours and more distance. Longer days. He had to push the thought from his mind, trying to focus on the onslaught of tasks at hand.

A frantic woman at the park couldn't find her son, who Izuku almost immediately discovered hiding in the swirly slide. He helped not one, but two elderly women cross the street, and had to wipe the lipstick off his face after they expressed gratitude with deep magenta kisses to his freckled cheeks.

"What a handsome young man," one had said, for which he thanked her kindly.

"If I were a couple decades younger..." winked the other, and Izuku had to hide his embarrassment at her implication.

After that, he settled a dispute in a coffee shop that had arisen over the last blueberry muffin, and somehow, he ended up with the muffin. Once everything was handled there, he ate his newly received baked treat as he continued down the road. When he came to the lemonade stand of a small girl and her mother, he gave them a hefty tip and exaggerated the deliciousness of the drink as he sipped it before them. It was mostly just water, but he wanted to build the girl's confidence. She beamed up at him, excited to see a hero in real life. He parted from her and her mom with a couple of lines about hard work, and a compliment to the child's go-getting attitude.

The rest of patrol was more of the same. There were some small disturbances, animal rescue missions, and a few heartfelt moments with his younger crowd of fans. Izuku always liked to see them. They all looked so happy, and he longed for the days when his smile was full of that same spark, when unadulterated joy spread across his heart and face without remorse. He missed when excitement could bloom in his heart without a second thought, without guilt, without the sinking feeling like the other shoe was about to drop.

Shouto's case was at the forefront of his mind as he walked his route, and he tried to be extra vigilant. The hardest part of dealing with criminals on a daily basis is understanding the reality that they are people too. It's a burden to acknowledge that at times. It makes it harder to know what to look for, and it hurt his soul to realize just how often he had to make snap judgments about people he didn't even know. He knew it was for the safety of his city, but it meant that he was constantly on edge.

It was like he'd forgotten how to breathe normally. Breathing used to be so easy; he couldn't even remember when that changed, when he started filling his days too full to afford himself a breath. He had started to use up all the oxygen in any room for other things, anything other than himself, and his flame started to die because he stopped feeding it. It was like he was constantly wandering aimlessly through a desert wasteland, with his lips cracking and his throat cracking more. At other times, he felt like he was freezing to death, and no amount of responsibilities, achievements, or successes could help to warm the chill in his bones. Even his deepest breaths came out shaky; they tasted like sulfur.

He wondered if other people struggled to breathe the way he did. Maybe they tasted copper, their mouths filling with blood the way his filled with words. How many people are choking something down? How many flames have died out? He couldn't tell. Therein lies the problem: you never know what someone is experiencing. He could never know for sure when someone was on the verge of snapping or at the brink of having their desperation slip into something darker, more sinister. He could only react.

By the time Izuku had made his usual loop–widened a bit to account for the alarming conversation he'd had with Shouto–he was absolutely drained. He arrived back at the agency and changed from his uniform as quickly as he could, opting to shower at home instead of at work. His social battery was spent, and he just wanted to retreat into the comfort of solitude. As he packed up for the night, he noted the new piles of reports on his desk for him to go over first thing the next morning. If they were the ones relating to Shouto's case, he would need as much rest as possible in order to view them with fresh eyes.

The sun had already set when he finally returned to his apartment building, and he raced up the stairs to get to his door, only adding to the sweat accumulating on his body from his long day. He was surprised to find you there as well, unlocking your door just as he approached his.

"Long day?" You asked, looking him up and down.

Izuku was sure he couldn't look good, standing there drenched in sweat, in his disheveled suit. He hadn't even taken the time to readjust his tie, instead throwing it loosely over his head and letting it dangle around his neck. Great.

"Could ask the same to you," he retorted, and you smiled and nodded in surrender.

"Worked a double," you explained, "and sleep hasn't been coming to me as easily lately."

Ah, so that's why he could sense your exhaustion at times. You wore the tired well, at least. Much better than him, he couldn't help but think. You had some kind of glow about you that transcended the need for sleep. It felt contagious.

"You and me both," he joked, opening his door in time with you.

Izuku bid you a goodnight and watched as you slinked inside your apartment. As he entered his own, he made a silent wish that your night would go better, wondering if you would do the same for him.

Once inside, he made a beeline for the bathroom, ready to rinse off all evidence of the day's efforts. He started the shower, willing it to heat up quickly as he peeled his clothes from his skin and tossed them into the hamper. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and frowned as he got lost in thought. His hair was ruffled in his haste to disrobe, but keeping his hair in place was a struggle he'd long given up on.

Izuku moved closer to the mirror to examine his face, tilting his head back and forth to see if the bags under his eyes were really there. As he got closer in proximity to the glass, a puff of his breath fogged his reflection. He pulled back, trying out a smile. It wasn't right. It was...uncanny. Too tired to be real, it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He stood up straight as he took in his nude form, lifting his chest and broadening his shoulders, then immediately shrunk back down, letting his posture fall as it may. He felt small. No matter how big he grew, he just felt small.

"Where did I go?" he whispered, solemnly looking himself up and down until he could no longer bear to, then pulled back his shower curtain and hopped in.

It was hot by then, almost too hot as he scrubbed away all traces of his day. He liked his body wash; it smelled like a forest. Izuku made a mental note to go hiking again the next time he got the chance. It's one thing to walk around a big city, but spending time out in the wilderness was different. It was something he cherished, but didn't get to do often. Walking under trees doesn't feel as claustrophobic as walking under skyscrapers. Trees don't make you feel small the way skyscrapers do; even the biggest ones just make you wonder at their beauty rather than apologize for your lacking. Trees also smell a lot better.

Most of all, Izuku was tiring of the mechanical. He himself was starting to feel mechanical, like a do-good machine. Do good, and shrink. Disappear when you're not needed, but always arrive just in time when you are. Be perfect. Trees didn't need to be perfect. Why couldn't he be a tree instead?

He huffed a laugh at that, washing his hair as quickly as he could before turning off the shower and stepping out.

Izuku grabbed his towel from the rack, muttering, "Cold, cold, cold..." and patting himself dry as fast as he could. He realized he forgot to turn on the vent when he looked to his reflection and only saw the foggy residue of steam layered over the mirror. He took his hand and wiped it over the glass to create a space for his face to reflect, wondering if anything had changed. It hadn't. But he was still there; he hadn't shrunk any more.

When he finally got to bed, he tried to picture you again. Even after a long day of work, you had smelled vaguely of sweets. He supposed that was one perk of your job; he always left his smelling like butt. He snorted to himself, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to slow his breathing. He felt the slow rising and falling of his chest as he laid on his back, imagining the growing and shrinking of his lungs inflating and returning to rest. Eventually, he fell asleep.

——

That night, you woke to a dream of Izuku breathing frantically. You felt your eyes widening, as they darted from place to place, realizing you were...nowhere. It was like a void...bright white nothingness. You could feel Izuku's fear like it was your own, because in that moment, it was.

You turned in a circle, eyes searching for anything. You realized he was looking for an explanation or a sign of some kind.

Then your lips parted, and you spoke with his voice, uttering a small and shaky, "Where did I go?"

Your breathing became even more erratic as you felt yourself take off running. There was no aim, no direction. How could there be? He was nowhere; he disappeared.

"I didn't want this," you felt yourself scream, and suddenly it was like the ground was pulled from beneath your feet.

You managed a tiny, shell-shocked gasp as you felt yourself start to fall. Above you, you saw his arms grabbing for anything to stop him from plummeting to whatever waited below. You couldn't bear to know what it would be, so you focused as hard as you could on saving Izuku from his nightmare.

Before his body could hit the ground, he slowed. He found himself delicately placed on a bed of grass. Above him was no longer nothingness, but the shade of a large tree, the sun barely peeking through its leaves. He laid there with his hand on his chest, feeling his own heart beat as he admired the beauty of his surroundings.

And then he heard your voice, a whisper on the wind, until you were suddenly beside him, "Long day?" You smiled, propped up on your elbow as you laid on your side next to him.

He rolled over to face you, "No...just right."

Through his eyes, you saw yourself smile and say, "I'm glad you're here."

And then you woke for real, bolting upright like you had really been falling. All of the anxiety that you had just experienced caught up with you all at once, and you hugged your knees to your chest as you cried.

——

Once again, you were the first thing on Izuku's mind as he woke. In fact, that would be the case for the next couple weeks, which he attributed to seeing you in person more and more.

He had been trying to frequent the bakery more often. At first, he could use his coworkers as an excuse, saying that he thought it might be nice to buy them breakfast. He would buy a couple dozen pastries to take to work, but eventually, people stopped taking them. Once you caught him coming home with an entire box full of leftovers, he could no longer use work as an excuse.

For a few days, he stopped by while he was on patrol, citing a need to secure the area. He made that up, but you didn't need to know that. After more and more days of beating around the bush–visits where you seemed genuinely happy to see him–he decided to drop the act. No more excuses. He had to accept that at the end of the day, he was there to see you. He just didn't have to say that out loud.

"I'm glad you're here..." he told you one day, blinking himself out of it after realizing what he had said, but you just laughed and continued to arrange cookies onto a tray. He liked your laugh a lot.

"Well, I work here..." you reminded him, and he chuckled nervously. "I'm glad you're here though too, I guess. I need your energy to rub off on me."

He laughed a long with you at that, "I've been sleeping better. You haven't?"

His smile faltered when you shook your head, "Bad dreams?" he guessed.

He noticed you go slightly stiff at his question, and hoped he hadn't brought up anything that would make you uncomfortable, but you quickly returned to your task.

You sighed, "You could say that."

"I used to get those a lot," he tried to sympathize. "I am actually surprised that I haven't been lately. Usually when I have a lot on my mind, that's the first way it affects me."

You looked up from the cookie display, brows knitting together as you made eye contact with him, "Do you?" you started, "Have a lot on your mind, I mean."

Izuku shifted on his feet, feeling awkward. He wasn't sure how much you actually wanted to know. He also didn't want to seem like someone who complains.

So he shrugged it off, "Kind of. A big case has been taking up a lot of space in my brain, lately."

You hummed, going back to your organizing as you spoke again, "Is it serious?" you asked, looking up at him again to wiggle your eyebrows.

He could tell you were trying to get rid of any tension, and he couldn't lie and say it wasn't working.

He smiled at that, "Nothing you gotta worry about."

You mumbled out a soft, "Well," as you set the newly filled cookie tray in its rightful place. "If it's worrying you, I worry."

He swallowed thickly at that, feeling it tugging at some long untouched emotion within him.

"You don't have to worry about me," he tried to assure you, but he sounded unconvincing even to himself. He cringed at the twinge of sadness in his voice, hoping you hadn't noticed.

You returned to your place in front of him, only a counter between the two of you as you spoke again, "I know I don't have to, but I'm going to."

Izuku felt his face warm at that, but even more-so, his heart. You were now fully engrossed in him as the two of you conversed, and he almost felt too seen. His lips turned down into a small frown at the thought of you fretting over him; he didn't want to burden you with his anxiety. Especially not after finding out you were dealing with your own bout of insomnia, which was a feeling and predicament he had become overwhelmingly familiar with.

"Well," he considered for a moment before decidedly informing you, "I won't let you."

You giggled at that, leaning over the counter as you gloated, "You can't stop me. It's already in motion."

He playfully rolled his eyes at you as you stuck your tongue out at him."You're a child," he teased.

"Hey, sometimes it feels good to be a child again," you argued. "Life moves too fast these days. I miss when the stakes weren't so high," you sighed, unaware of just how much your words rang true.

"Exactly!" He exclaimed, and you laughed at his enthusiasm as he sheepishly continued. "The stakes, I guess. I miss when they were small, like falling off a bike," he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

You stilled, mouth opening slightly before you decided against whatever you were going to say.

"Sorry," you shook your head, "I shouldn't complain to you. That's not right."

"No, it's okay," he tried to assure you. "We all just do the best we can, right?"

You nodded, thinking for a moment before saying, "And all we can do is all we can do."

Izuku pressed his lips together tightly before replying, unsure of how honest he could be in that moment, "I agree."

When he left, he felt like a liar. Sometimes all we can do isn't good enough. He knew that. It was a privilege not to know that, and he knew he couldn't fault you for your positive outlook, but he felt himself being launched right back into that spiteful place he had been trying to overcome. The feeling that had prodded at his brain until he landed in therapy.

That resentment was hard to uproot, and he knew he couldn't necessarily blame himself for it either. It was just difficult to come to terms with the fact that the very people he wanted to serve seemed to be worlds away from him in every regard. They would never understand; you wouldn't get it. He never wanted you to, though. He wanted to shield you from the truth that sometimes he fails, doesn't get to the scene in time, loses. The weight of knowing that was heavy, heavier than anything. It only added to the isolation he had sentenced himself to for so long.

Izuku wanted to be able to see things your way, but he couldn't. If he weren't a hero, someone else would have to be. He couldn't justify passing the load onto anyone else, so he would carry it until his knees buckled, adjust his stance, and then carry it again. And he'd do it forever, because he was good at it, even when it hurt. As unbearable as the responsibility often seemed, he found a strange comfort in knowing it was his. Nevertheless, the bitterness he'd worked through time and time again began to settle in his gut once more, a poison that his organs couldn't filter out. A sourness he felt too guilty to name. It weighed him down, made his brain feel too apparent in his head, his tongue heavy in his mouth, and his movements sluggish. He could feel the fabric of his costume on his skin, imagining it growing tighter and tighter until he couldn't breathe.

In this state, he walked back toward the agency while his head kept swimming. He was distracted, eyes down, brows knit in thought. He was too distracted. Distracted with the way his mouth felt dry, his hands felt shaky, his shoes suddenly felt too tight. The sun outside was too bright in his eyes, the normal city sounds around him felt loud, as if he could hear everyone's conversations despite wanting nothing but silence. Izuku was overwhelmed and overstimulated as he blinked harshly, trying to get a grip on himself.

He stopped in his tracks, pushed his palms to his eye sockets, and pressed hard in circular motions in an attempt to rub out the discomfort. He wished he could scratch his brain, anything to get the feeling to dull. Everything felt too tight, too loud, too fast.

"Grey street," he mumbled, eyes shut tight. "Yellow lines...fuck," he gasped for a breath, "green grass...over there..." he trailed off.

The smallness was creeping back in. The out of body, the fear, the disappearing. He needed to slow down. And that's when the first scream broke out.

His eyes shot open, hair standing on end as his head whirled towards the source. Izuku, feeling both completely out of his mind and wholly responsible, felt his feet moving on instinct. And he rushed in, scared and unsure like he had been that very first time. Before training, before a quirk, before anything, and he felt that same itch like he had no idea what he was getting himself into. The panic of not knowing if he would help, make it worse, or die. For the first time in a long while, he felt unprepared.

More screams pierced the air, and Izuku followed the sound until he made it to a small convenience store down the road. From there it was a blur. He saw a body laying behind one of the aisles, only the legs visible. He didn't know if they were alive.

He felt himself yelling for everyone to get out, shaking with fear and with rage. A rage he hadn't let himself have access to in years. A rage that served no purpose and did him no good.

He didn't see the gunman until he felt the whizzing of a bullet pass next to his shoulder, his head turning in time to see it land in the stomach of the man working the till. They locked eyes, and he felt his own widen in shock as the man stared back with confusion and fear, clutching his stomach. Tears of frustration, of guilt, and of hatred began to pool all at once as Izuku saw the man finally collapse behind the counter.

His body moved faster than his brain, tackling the perpetrator to the ground with such a force that he felt ribs cracking underneath his weight. He couldn't make himself care.

Baring his teeth, at once angry and bewildered, he roared, "Why would you do that?"

And Izuku felt the hate pulsing through his veins, vision going red when the shooter just smirked at him and said, "Because I could."

——

The next time you saw Izuku Midoriya was on the news. You were at work, wiping down the counter when your eyes landed on the little television in the corner of the shop, ears perking up once you heard his name. When you realized the circumstance, your eyes widened, a hand coming up to your mouth in shock and heartache. You watched as others in the bakery had the same reaction, all eyes locked on the screen.

There had been an attack not too far from where you were, and three people died, including the suspect. The police were currently searching for a second suspect, who was said to be seen conversing with the other just moments before the shooting started. He fled the scene, and by then Izuku had arrived too late, managing to evacuate most of the citizens in the area, but he was unable to stop the two civilian casualties. They were pronounced dead at the scene along with the shooter, which was a fact the reporter was a little too smug in stating.

There were few accounts of what happened, mainly coming from witness statements and one shaky video taken on a cell-phone that was deemed too graphic to share on live television. It began to circulate anyway. More and more, you saw Deku's name being dragged through the mud. Some people said he was too reckless, others said he should have done more. It was announced that he would take a temporary leave to process all that had happened, which only added fuel to the fire, resurrecting old rumors about the state of his mental health. So you worried. Of course you did.

When it finally came out that the attack had been a robbery gone wrong, connected to a series of activity from a growing crime network, you began to wonder if that was the case Izuku had been telling you about just moments before the incident. It made you worry even more, knowing he would blame himself, knowing the scene would replay in his mind at night like a horror film stuck on repeat. And then, guilty as it made you, you feared for yourself. As you walked home that evening you wondered: what would you see?

When you made it back to your apartment, you were surprised to see the hulking figure of Dynamight, hunched over and banging on Izuku's front door. You recognized him from the few television interviews you had seen, not that there were many to begin with.

"It's our fault too," you heard him arguing, "so you better not do this shit again."

You froze when he turned to find you staring, his gruff voice snarling at you to "Move along."

"Sorry," you stammered, "I live next door."

He just huffed as you slid past him, putting your key into your lock and twisting. Before you turned the knob, you steeled your nerves and quietly asked, "He's okay, right?"

Dynamight just looked you up and down with an unreadable expression, turning away from Izuku's door and leaving without giving you an answer. You just nodded to yourself, taking his non-answer as a bad sign.

At least he was home, you told yourself. He needed a break. Not just because of the incident, either. If his dreams were anything to go by, Izuku had been dealing with a lot of pain behind the scenes. It felt invasive to be doing what you did each night, but you couldn't justify letting him suffer. He did that enough every day; that was even more evident now. He didn't need the added trauma of reliving it all each night.

It started small. You told yourself you were only doing it because his dreams were too loud, keeping you awake. It was for your sake, not his, the small changes to his dreamscape. Changes that would keep him asleep longer, quiet the thundering terror and debilitating sadness that kept him from rest. It was because you had to if you wanted any rest for yourself. Until it wasn't.

You didn't know who he was at first, completely unaware that you were moving in next door to a hero when you took over the lease. You never saw him, assuming that whoever lived next to you just had a schedule that didn't align with your own. When you took a job at the new bakery down the road, you started to see him more, but didn't officially meet until you spoke to him that day–on a whim.

You weren't sure why you did it, but supposed you just wanted to put a face and name to all the dreams you had been seeing. You assumed he was some kind of first responder, maybe a hero, just based on the kinds of nightmares you had been privy to. Once you found out his actual identity, your thoughts started to linger on him more and more.

Every time you had seen Deku on the television, you thought he looked kind. Kind and humble. He looked like he didn't know how he ended up carrying such a burden, and would never admit that it was a burden in the first place. And people loved him. You had to admit, you weren't a hero fangirl by any means, usually too busy to keep up with them, but something about him made you want to keep up. You thought it was because his smile didn't reach his eyes, and you could guess why.

When you finally did meet, everything you thought about him was confirmed. He was kind and humble, but also more than that. The more dreams you were exposed to, the more you felt like you knew him. But it felt wrong. In fact, you knew it was wrong. You were invading his privacy, bearing witness to the worst his mind could possibly dredge up. But you couldn't stop. You wanted to see him smile for real. You wanted to see Izuku be okay.

So when you started to appear in his dreams without your doing, you were happy. You were happy to be noticed, happy you could be of help. And when he came around, you made it your mission to make him smile as much as you could. And that's what you would dream about. The way his eyes and nose would crinkle up when he laughed, the way he completely zoned out when he focused on something, and the way his eyes held more emotion than you thought any one person could hold. Even a second of eye contact with Izuku Midoriya was a gift; you could see entire worlds being built and torn apart within the greens of his irises. You could see adoration for life, for people, and while you were not presumptuous enough to think there would be any room for you, you prayed there was anyway.

But now, he was hurting. It radiated through the air in waves. The walls that separated you were thin; you could hear him flip mindlessly through TV channels, unable to settle on one. You heard when he turned on the shower, shutting your eyes tightly and trying to pretend you couldn't hear his agony mixing with the beating of the water. Trying to pretend you couldn't hear his sobs as they racked his ribcage.

And when he finally slept, you were faced with the unimaginable horror of his nightmares. You saw Izuku panicking, cursing himself. You saw people die. Worst of all, you saw him kill. You felt the rage for yourself, but worse than that was the guilt. And as you felt ribs cracking beneath you again and again, you heard the explosion of gunshots, Izuku's choked scream of disbelief, and the taunting echo of a voice whispering, "Because I could."

So you changed it. Over and over. Night after night. You changed it.

——

"You got shot?"

Izuku just nodded, head moving ever so slightly to glance at the bandage wrapped around his bicep.

"When I tackled him," he started. "Before..." he trailed off. "He got a shot off on me, I guess. I didn't realize until after. It's fine."

Izuku watched through his computer screen as his therapist shuffled in her seat. His mom had been refusing to talk to him until he visited his therapist, which he knew was probably for the best. Tough love. He couldn't force himself to leave his home though, so online session it was.

"Adrenaline, I'm sure..." she said, and he just shrugged, feeling apathetic.

Truth be told, he didn't really want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk at all. His days on leave were spent sleeping when possible, eating when he could. He just felt sick to his stomach.

"And I'm sure you know they didn't report on that fact. That you got hurt," she sighed.

He just shrugged again, "Never do. It doesn't matter what happens to me anyway. They're just gonna say I'm a waste of resources," he said bitterly.

"Well, you help to pay my bills, so I guess I'm not a fair judge of your uselessness," she joked, and he just gave her a playful glare. "But Izuku, I have to say, if you're not actively wanting to feel better right now, that's okay. Just tell me, because there are people who are. You can be bitter and mad if you want, and I wouldn't blame you, but as much as you hate to admit it sometimes, talking might help."

Izuku looked away from the screen, focusing on his hands as he fidgeted in his spot, knowing she was right.

"I talked to that girl a bit before it happened...my neighbor," he began, and his therapist looked on hopefully as if urging him to continue. "It helped until it didn't, I guess. I just forget that there are things people who aren't in the hero field will never be able to understand, or hear about. I freaked out after; I dwelled and felt like I was undoing all my progress," he explained, feeling tears of frustration building up again. He'd spent too long crying already, he wasn't sure how he had any tears left.

His therapist hummed before asking, "Sounds like a panic attack–probably triggered by some words or phrases that reminded you of the trauma and difficult thought processes you've dealt with in the past. It's been a while since you've last experienced something like this, hasn't it, and how do you know she won't understand?"

He stilled, eyebrows furrowing like it was the dumbest question ever, "I guess, but what do you mean? Of course she can't understand. She doesn't do this for a living. She wouldn't get the toll and the sacrifice and the anxiety," he asserted.

"Have you explained it to her?"

"I-" Izuku stammered, "well, I couldn't. That's not fair to her," he explained.

"Oh? Who decided that?" she urged, and he felt himself slowly starting to understand her point.

"I did," he sighed, putting his head in his hands.

"You did," she repeated, "and you did so because you're self sacrificing and anxious and understand the toll. But I'm also sure that you'd want her to tell you when something is on her mind."

"Of course," he affirmed.

"So you have to let it go both ways," his therapist elucidated. "Let her tell you if it's too much, and if you can't stand to hear about her struggles for a moment because they're hurting you or crossing your boundaries, you tell her that too. If she's your friend, and mature, she will understand."

"I just don't want to overwhelm her..." Izuku confessed quietly. "I don't want to be overwhelming."

"That's a valid fear, but one that will keep you lonely if you give it power for too long. Start small, when in doubt, just ask," his therapist encouraged. "Ask where she's at, if she's okay to listen to some potentially troubling things, if she has advice. Even if she doesn't understand the hero side of things, she knows what it is to be human."

Izuku knew she was right, and she hit the nail on the head. His problem was never that you didn't understand what it was to be a hero, rather that he had forgotten what it was like to allow himself to be human. Everything he had been feeling the past few days, and before that, were just human emotions. The anxiety, the perfectionism, the yearning; on some level, everyone could relate.

"So you're saying I should just go knock on her door and ask to talk?" he questioned, still unsure of where to start.

"Why not?" she shrugged. "The worst she will do is say no, or that she's busy. At the very least, it will get you out of your apartment for a few minutes."

And he couldn't argue with that. He exchanged a few more words with therapist before beginning to sign off.

"One more thing," she said quickly before he hung up, and Izuku nodded for her to continue. "Call your mother today, she keeps texting me."

With that, she hung up, and Izuku smiled, shaking his head. That was just like his mom to do, and he would definitely be chewing her out over it later. With love, of course. But first, he had to talk to you before he lost all of his courage. He was thankful he showered that morning.

Before he could think too long on it, he slammed his laptop closed, and quickly walked over his door. He threw it open more harshly than intended, then swung outside to face your door. He knocked loudly, leaving no room for himself to back out. He rocked back and forth on his feet with his hands on his pockets, trying to ignore how fast his heart was beating as he waited for you to come to your door. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if you would be home, but froze when he heard shuffling from inside your apartment.

Then, your door was opening, just a crack. And you peered outside at him, only a portion of your face visible through the slit you had made. Your eyes were red, under-eyes swollen like you had been crying. More than that, you looked like you hadn't slept in days.

When you realized who it was at the door, he watched your eyes widen slightly, and you opened it all the way.

He held his breath as you spoke, confusion and exhaustion evident in your voice, "Izuku? Are you okay?"

You sounded so quiet, voice so frail and faraway, like your mind was somewhere else completely. He watched as you yawned and gestured for him to come inside. He shut the door behind him, noting how you swayed on your feet, slightly unstable. He felt his hands itching at the ready, waiting to catch you if you were to fall.

"I'm fine. Are you?" he asked genuinely, voice thick with concern as you yawned once more.

You nodded, your head bobbing up and down on your neck like it weighed a ton, only serving to make you more unstable on your feet. You stumbled forward, and he caught you by your forearms. He supported your weight as your head fell onto his chest.

"Tired," you said simply, words muffled by his shirt. "Was trying to help you."

Izuku felt slightly embarrassed by your sudden proximity, then pulled back to look at your face, "What do you mean?"

But you were asleep, head just falling limp now that it wasn't being supported by his body. Shit. Unsure what to do, Izuku just scooped you up in his arms and carried you to your couch. He laid you there as gently as he could, grabbing a blanket from nearby and laying it over your unconscious form.

"I'm gonna leave now," he whispered awkwardly, and you didn't respond–didn't even stir.

“Okay, be okay…” he whispered again, feeling like an idiot because he knew you were out. "Bye."

He returned to his apartment with more questions than answers. Safe to say, that did not go to plan. 'The worst she can do is say no or that she's busy' his ass. His therapist had evidently failed to consider the possibility that you might fall unconscious into his arms due to obvious sleep deprivation.

And what did you mean by 'trying to help' him? He hadn't even seen you since before the incident. That was days ago. He supposed he would just have to ask you whenever you eventually woke up. Whenever that might be.

He would have to find out later, because as soon as Izuku stepped into his kitchen, he realized that his place was in dire need of cleaning. Now that he had finally noticed, he knew he wouldn't be able to function in any other regard until his space was clear. He sighed, turning on the sink and getting work scrubbing the dishes that had accumulated there.

Izuku spent the rest of his day cleaning, hoping that an organized space would be a good influence on the state of his life. If all the dishes were in place, no laundry on the floor, maybe the jagged edges of his situation would come together in way that would afford him some peace. As much as he knew that it didn’t work like that, he couldn’t help but out hold some hope anyway. Hope for himself, hope for you.

And that was the truth of it. He had to keep himself busy or else his overthinking would drive him closer to the edge of insanity. He worried about you, and for you. Not that he was a doctor, but in his opinion, it looked as if you hadn’t slept in days. In fact, the last time he had seen you was the day of the incident. Could it be that you were losing sleep because of him? Had you really not slept since then?

Izuku’s nails were bitten to the point of bleeding at the thought of you suffering that much over his situation. And then made worse when he considered that he was the biggest asshole on the planet for assuming your troubles had anything to do with him. That he could be worthy of any of your attention, let alone attention at such a degree that it would be to your detriment.

You were like a flower that had taken root in his mind and spread to his heart. You’d blossomed into this shining fixture in his life that he hoped he could make permanent, hoped he could lean on for just a while longer, if not forever. He needed your blooming to rub off on him, the color you brought to your days and now his. You weren’t fragile; he would never say that, but God, if he didn’t want to cradle you like you were. To uproot you and plant you into his earth, his ground. All he ever did was uproot. He felt like a hail storm. You were wilting already from his ‘too much.’ Too heavy, too much rain, too much force, too much feeling. He didn’t want to destroy you. He couldn’t bear another loss. Should your smile fall, he would never forgive himself.

Izuku was finally freed from his thoughts by the sound of a knock at his door. He rushed over immediately, flinging it open with eyes wide, assuming you would be waiting there.

“Y/N—” He started, only to be disappointed when he was met with a very confused-looking delivery man holding an edible arrangement.

“Uh, no,” the man said, handing him the gift.

“Your friend Denki says ‘Happy birthday,’ but then he told me to say ‘I know it’s not your birthday, but the ‘feel better’ bouquets were more expensive’ and ‘It’s the thought that counts.’”

——

When you woke up, it was dark out. You sat up slowly, dazed and yawning, tired mind trying to put all the pieces together.

“Couch?” You wondered aloud, yawning again and moving your hands to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

The digital clock you kept in the kitchen blinked at you, signing ‘9:45pm.’ You had slept all day. That wasn’t the weirdest part though; you’d had the strangest dreams. For once, they were your own—not Izuku’s—but he was still there.

You vaguely recalled answering your door, falling into his arms, soft whispers back and forth to each other. He had looked concerned, which made you want to fix it. Fix, fix, fix; ever the fixer you were. You tried to tell him that someone was in his corner, that you were trying to help, but he only looked more confused.

But then, there was the issue of the couch, which is exactly where you landed in your dream. He carried you there, said something soft to you that you couldn’t hear and then presumably left.

You groaned, sleepy mind finally rearing to life with some embarrassment. “Not a dream,” you decided. “Real.”

You pulled your knees to your chest, curling up and weighing your options. You could go over and knock on his door, apologize for your odd behavior, and swear you are okay. You’re sure he would appreciate knowing that you hadn’t completely decayed yet. But then, the questions. He would ask questions, and you’re a terrible liar. You would sell yourself out immediately, and he would know all about what you had been up to every night. He would feel violated, betrayed; he might even hate you.

You sighed, holding up your left hand, “He deserves to know the truth. He is mature enough to know that I was only trying to help. He is kind and compassionate. I would want to know.”

Then, you held up your right hand, “What does the truth matter, anyway? He won’t find out if I don’t tell him, and it’s not like I am some creep trying to perv on him. He would do the same thing for me if the roles reversed. He would…invade my privacy…and—ugh!” You relented, throwing your hands up.

“He has to know,” you resolved.

You stood up quickly, ready to rush next door. You stumbled as you rose to your feet, grabbing at the couch when the sudden change made you dizzy.

“Tomorrow,” you decided. “Tomorrow is fine.”

But tomorrow never came. You had called in sick to work already, so that wasn’t an issue, but apparently Izuku didn’t get the memo. When you had gone to knock on his door, you got no answer, and when you flicked on your television, you figured out why.

There was live coverage of him going back to work. You saw Izuku—Deku, really—walking into his agency, his head down. He looked determined, despite all of the hustle and bustle of cameras flashing and questions being thrown every which way. Salacious and mean spirited questions that felt more like traps intermixed with random gossip. He said, she said; Izuku paid them no mind. Once he passed through the doors, the cameras lost sight of him, and you watched as the disappointed reporter gave her two cents, sounding bitter.

“With Deku back to work after seemingly no repercussions for the tragedy that occurred just days ago, people are once again wondering what these heroes really stand for. Remember people: we pay them! And what do we get? Not justice,” she said, “not this time.”

You shook your head, about to change the channel, unable to stand whatever bullshit she was spewing. No justice? He was ready to lay down his life for justice. That reporter wouldn’t know justice if it bit her on the ass, like you knew karma would soon.

"The other suspect involved in the recent and violent robbery-gone-wrong is still at large, so if you or anyone you know has information, please, do not hesitate to call in. It's time we step up and be heroes, since the ones we pay aren't cutting it–"

You made a sound of disgust as you slammed the off button on your remote, refusing to sit and listen to anymore. You couldn't understand how someone could be so far from having a clue. It almost hurt. You knew it would hurt Izuku to hear people talk like that. Deku could handle it for the cameras, but Izuku...it would cut deep. You needed to see him, and soon.

Once inside the doors of his agency, away and safe from the cameras and prying eyes, he made a beeline for his office. He took the stairs today, not bothering with the elevator, where he might have felt like an animal in a cage. That panicked feeling was happening again as he ascended the stairs. Up and up, around and around, it was all blurring together. When he finally reached his floor, he burst through the door, startling an intern standing near a water fountain that was placed a little too closely to the exit.

Izuku mumbled, “Sorry,” but didn’t slow his pace.

He tried not to think about the astounded looks he received from his coworkers as he flew down the hallway. He realized then that he probably should have notified someone, at least his secretary, of his return. As he neared his office, he passed by her, and she rose from her desk with a surprised expression.

“Oh, Deku, you’re back already?” She asked, trying to disguise the shock in her voice. Thinly veiled, painted over with politeness in a way he knew all too well. The customer service voice was like the landlord special of communication, skirting around and covering up the real issues.

He knew it was for his benefit. She was gentle and kind, but he couldn’t handle it. He didn’t feel like he deserved gentle. He didn’t have the capacity to accept kindness, didn’t know how to hold it while already juggling so much. But he wasn’t mean.

“Yep,” he replied, trying to muster up a smile. Tight-lipped, but passable. “Sorry about the disruption, Jane, but I’ll be pretty busy now, so don’t let anyone in. Thanks!” He rushed out before all but diving into the sanctity of his office.

“But—“ he heard her start just as he closed his door, locking it for good measure.

Izuku sighed, slumping against the door with his head down. He felt like crying. He felt small again. How could a man who had accomplished so much, who drew so many eyes, feel so minuscule unto himself? It was hard to live like this, feeling bad for feeling bad, for complaining when he had such privilege and responsibility. There was no end.

“Hey, squirt,” he heard a gruff voice say.

Startled, he shot up, being met with the sight of Bakugou standing near his desk.

“Wh—how did you know I would be here?” He stammered, floored by his friend’s presence and immediately sobered. “Also, I told you to stop calling me that, because—“

Bakugou cut him off, “It’s gross and weird, I know.” He snickered, his shit-eating grin somehow a sight for Izuku’s sore eyes at that moment. “Your mom called me,” he explained, and Izuku cursed to himself quietly.

He should have known. Mama Inko always needed a spy on the inside to make sure he wasn’t lying about being okay. Which, to her credit: he was totally lying about being okay.

“She said you were coming back here today and asked me to make sure you weren’t throwing up and pissing everywhere," he said, and Izuku raised a questioning eyebrow at that.

“My words, not hers,” Bakugou continued. “And you haven’t puked yet, which is a good sign I guess, but do I spy a little pee running down your leg?” He taunted, making his way closer to his green-haired companion to place a large, gloved hand over his face.

Izuku groaned, prying Bakugou’s hand off of him, “Why do you always have to be so gross? And do you ever wash your gloves?”

His friend scoffed in response, “Tch. Haven't you heard I smell like caramel?"

Izuku shuddered, "Caramelized onion maybe. Go take a bath."

Bakugou gave him a long, pointed look before speaking again," So you're really gonna be okay this time, eh?"

Izuku felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion, knowing his expression was probably all too readable to his friend of many years, at least if his stupid smirk was anything to go by.

"What do you mean?" he said indignantly. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You look like you're here," Bakugou started, "and you may even feel like you're here," he continued, giving Izuku just enough of a shove to make him lose his balance momentarily.

"Hey–" he started to protest, stopping when Bakugou jabbed at his forehead, right between the eyes.

"But up here, you're somewhere else. And usually, you stay there longer," he explained, pulling his hand back to cross his arms, "but you're coming back to us. I can tell 'cause you sound like an idiot again–less deranged, though–but still stupid. I'm way past hoping you'll give up on being perfect or whatever, but you're making a little more sense than you were when I came by your apartment," he said, rolling his eyes as he continued, "Ya know, before you so rudely kicked me out and left me arguing with the fuckin' door. Anyway, that's a good enough sign for me to tell your mom not to get her panties in a twist," he finished.

"Because you care so much," Izuku stressed the words, "I am fine, just like I said when you barged into my apartment before," he paused. Then, with a face of disgust and exasperation, he screeched, "And can you not talk about my mom's panties?"

"Yeah, yeah," Bakugou relented. "How 'bout that neighbor chick that lives next to ya?" he smirked. "Bet hers have little cherries on 'em. And let me tell ya, they were all tied up in knots over you."

Izuku froze, feeling his ears get hot with a blush as your face came to mind–all pinched up in concern–and he immediately stared at his shoes.

"My neighbor?" he asked in disbelief, "When did you talk to her?" He peeked up.

Bakugou grinned, knowing he had struck gold with this line of conversation, "After you locked me out of your place. She came home and saw me arguing away with your closed door–asked if you were okay."

"And?" Izuku prompted, watching as his friend shoved his hands in his pockets so nonchalantly, like he didn't just say something potentially life-ruining. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," Bakugou shrugged, watching Izuku's mouth open in shock. "Didn't know you had the hots for her. Not just gonna give some creep info on you in your time of dire need."

Izuku must have visibly deflated, because he continued, "Don't implode; I wasn't mean to her. She looked all...concerned and shit, so you still got a shot."

Izuku sighed, half-relieved that he didn't scare you off and half-annoyed by his friend's tendency to be nosy.

"She's just nice, okay?" He asserted. "Not that you're ever gonna shut up about this, regardless of what I say," he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "And don't talk about her panties either," he ordered.

Bakugou mockingly put his hands up in defeat, "Got it, squirt. I'm heading out now, anyway, now that I've busted up your pity party," he gestured vaguely as he headed toward the door. "I'll tell your mom you haven't keeled over and died yet," he said finally.

He unlocked the door and started to turn the handle as Izuku went to his desk and took a seat, newly determined and ready to get to work.

Bakugou opened the door and began to step out, pausing as he said, "I'm glad you're better now. Than you were that day, I mean." He then added, without any real bite, "Won't have to pick up your slack."

And Izuku didn't know what to say. He nodded, and the other man left. Slumping in his chair, Izuku breathed deeply, not feeling as much of the weight that had been there before, but deep down, he knew that calling himself 'better' was too generous. He understood, though.

The last time he saw Bakugou was right after he had gotten home. Post-incident, post-bullet wound–could you blame him for not making sense? And he was so angry. Just so angry, like he hadn't been in a long time. His friend had come by to try to put an early end to his downward spiral, but he wouldn't listen to any of it. He couldn't. It's like his eyes and ears and, hell, his entire head had been filled with cotton. There had been one time like it in the past, a time that Bakugou had bore witness to just how much the job really affected Izuku.

A few years back, fresh out of school, they had been called on to a kidnapping case. This girl in a small town had disappeared, and people feared it might have been the work of a trafficking ring from a nearby city. They were right. The two of them managed to infiltrate the house that they had been holding the girl hostage in. They even found her.

Izuku still remembers how he had scooped her up, promising that she would be safe again. Promising that she would feel safe again. Bakugou had been fighting close by, securing their exit, a plan they had become accustomed to by then.

They both agreed that Izuku was better at the hands-on rescuing stuff, a more calming presence during a really traumatic time for the victims they saved. And Bakugou was doing what he did best, fighting with an almost reckless abandon. They were almost out, the majority of the suspects involved had been subdued either on the way in or by Bakugou's hands on the way out. But they missed one.

They missed a man who waited for them right at the top of the stairs, one who shot without hesitation. The bullet should have hit Izuku right in the chest, but he was holding the girl he had promised to save. It hit her instead, saving his life but ending hers almost instantly.

It wasn't instant, though. And he remembers how she had looked up at him, with shock, disbelief, pain, and fear. But more than that, he remembered the look of hope. And he doesn't know if it was confusion, or ill-advised optimism that would never cease despite the odds, but she spoke her last words to him then.

"Don't worry," she had choked out, with a smile and the tears on her cheeks that betrayed it.

"Deku will save us."

Izuku felt too warm, trying to shake his head to rid himself of the memory.

"Work," he reminded himself. "Work, work."

He knew that his best chance of preventing anything like that from happening again was to stop it before it started. He had to find the evil in the world and snuff it out before it could spread. But evil doesn't exist in a vacuum.

Evil is born and raised. It's shut out, dealt a bad hand. Loved or unloved; seen or unseen. Evil is a product of generations of the product of an evening. It can sometimes be found in minds and hearts, but always in places it shouldn't be.

It had been hard for Izuku to learn that evil wouldn't be going anywhere despite his best efforts. Like the the night to the day, it just is. He didn't know if it was necessary, and understood that ultimately, he would not be the one to decide. He could only be evil's consequence, but that had consequences for him as well. Everything balanced out, one way or another. All he could do was try to tip the scales in favor of the righteous and the good.

He spent the next few hours pouring over any and all footage from the incident, as well as witness testimonies. From that, he could gather a decent description of the second perpetrator despite his face being partially obscured. The guy was too coward to even show his face, so he'd worn sunglasses and a baseball cap. He did, however, neglect to cover the tattoos that covered his arms, and some were familiar.

At this point, Izuku had seen criminals of all kinds, and was starting to be able to tell who ran with who just based on their tattoos and general demeanor. But while these looked familiar, he couldn't exactly place them. They were slightly different than those of the main gang that ran in his area, so he decided he would send an enhanced (as enhanced as possible based on grainy footage from the scene) photograph of the tattoo he was looking at to both Dynamight and Shouto's agencies. Maybe they would recognize it.

There wasn't much else to go on at the moment, so as difficult as it was, Izuku turned back to the less pressing but very necessary task of filing reports from past cases. Cases--at times very loosely called so--could mean anything from a traffic violation to a minor dispute. Of which, there were many, especially in a big city. It wasn't glamorous, but it was work that needed doing. And, in his absence, the reports had started to pile up.

"Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Paperwork."

To Izuku, the minutes seemed to pass more quickly than usual, which was probably due to the fact that he could basically hear the humming of his heartbeat. His leg was bouncing too, unconsciously, a dull anxiety nipping at his throat while his heart turned over in his chest. His vital organs thrumming with energy made him feel connected to the moment in a way he wished he could reject. It came out of nowhere, that thief of focus. Not completely unwelcome, but uncomfortable in a way that made him start to realize the sweat on his skin and the scratch of his collar.

He had been productive, at least, and had burned through the daylight. He checked the time, eyes growing a bit when he realized how long he had been working. He was completely caught up on paperwork and had even started to get ahead on some things, so he should've known that he had gone way beyond working hours.

He packed his things and left, noticing how he seemed to be the last one in the office. Jane had really taken it to heart when he asked not to be bothered. In some ways, he was relieved. He felt like he'd had enough conversation for the day, so he found a guilty pleasure in walking out in silence. It seemed that even the camera and news crews had taken their leave, and Izuku let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in.

Once he arrived home, he had only just turned the key when your door was thrown open. He flinched, visibly startled, before taking you in.

You looked flustered as you rushed out, "Oh, did I scare you? I'm sorry." Sheepishly you added, "I totally wasn't waiting for you to come home or anything. Just wanted to...look...at the hallway." You nodded then, as if trying to convince yourself, "You know, for fresh air..."

Izuku laughed, slightly confused, but like felt that was the right move.

"Do you want to come over?" You asked suddenly, and he saw something hopeful swimming in your eyes, which were much more open now than the last time he had seen you. He was thankful for that.

Before he could even agree, you said, "I promise I won't fall asleep on you this time."

He really laughed at that as he nodded, "Sure. Give me 10 minutes? I just need to put my stuff away and change."

"No," you whined playfully, slipping back into your apartment. "Don't change. I like you how you are!"