#quirkbleed

“A-Ah...n-no, Aizawa-sensei didn’t tell me about t-this...a-actually, he told me not to go o-out but I d-did anyway.” Almost biting his tongue off trying to get these words out.

    “ kan ... you have something on your face. “

It struck her as a strange thing to ask, probably because no one had asked her such a question in quite a while. Usually because they knew, they'd watched it being shed. But things were different now.

"Probably" her admission came as she considered the smear.

Izuku, sitting in Tetsu’s lap: sir, you don’t have all the facts

Vlad: which are?

@quirkbleed:

His heart aches, because oh, what these children have done. He couldn’t be there, he couldn’t save them all-

He sits next to the boy with a small sigh, glancing over with soft eyes and a bleeding heart.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tetsu considers just brushing it off again, like he has so many other times. Part of him is loath to admit he’s so... weak, especially in front of his homeroom teacher and mentor- The one person he wanted to impress most of all.

But Kan-sensei had been there, had more than likely been feeling the same amount of oppressive guilt over his students and the aftermath of the second League of Villains attack. 

It couldn’t hurt to maybe just... vent a little, right?

Sighing roughly, the boy fiddles with his hands in his lap for a lack of better things to do. Even if he’s willing to talk about what has been haunting him, he feels the weight of his teacher’s concerned gaze and the discomfort of that self-awareness makes his chest feel tight.

“Ever since the training camp, I just... haven’t felt the same. Noises sometimes just set me off, like if they’re sudden and I can’t really figure out what caused it. Most of the time I just get spooked for a bit, but... I was making some deliveries around our neighborhood and a tire blew out somewhere-”

He closes his eyes at the memory, the sudden ‘bang’ that had sent his heart rate into overdrive. It was like some adrenaline fueled haze had taken over in his mind, sending him back to that time and place. All he could see was that toxic purple mist surrounding him as he stared down the barrel of a revolver, waiting with dread at the click of the hammer being pulled back to load the cartridge.

Why exactly did he want to remain here?

He was silent for an extended period of time, eyes trailed down at the ground - as if there was something incredibly interesting rather than the teacher - hero - in front of him. A red shoe awkwardly shifted, drawing patterns into the ground without really realising what the action was.

“I...just don’t want to go back to the dorm right now.”

It didn’t offer much explanation. The U.A grounds, somewhere anywhere else from his dorm room gave him some much needed freedom from the yelling thoughts inside his head.

“If it looks bad, it’s bad enough to get treated.” He insists, pulling out the sterilizing wipes.

“You can’t keep fighting with all that dirt in there. Hold still.”

The student gave an annoyed huff but obeyed in the end. He never really disobeyed his teacher but this doesn't mean he can't be stubborn about it.