#sclera writes

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” he smiles.

“I can’t-”

“I know.”

“...I’m-”

he twists his fingers into the fabric of the other’s jacket and stays there, clinging to him for a few moments. then, he exhales and pushes him away.

(his eyes sting. he tries to convince himself it’s just the cold.)

“these- these feelings won’t be for forever, you know,” he whispers. “i’ll be able to move on. i’ll be able to forget.”

something in him twists when red eyes glimmer brokenly. 

Like this, Izuku thinks, he doesn’t see more than what others would. He doesn’t see the sinister twisting of shadows beneath her feet and between her fingertips, the glow of red above her chest, the whisper and the ghost of something ancient overlapping with her being.

“Good evening, Haisaki-san,” he greets with a soft smile.

The illusion of his Quirk stutters, crumbles, breaks.

Red blooms in his irises, black engulfing the sclera of the child’s wide eyes.

he can’t make it right. he can’t bring back what once was- too many mistakes cannot be corrected with just one apology, but it was a start.