Izuku is gone.
He just—disappears one morning. There's not even a fight going on at the time: he's just there one moment and the next moment he's not, as if spirited away by some mysterious sprite or stroke of magic, somewhere between the dorms and the main campus.
---
i.
Izuku is gone, he's disappeared, and no one knows the who or why or how, or even the exact when—he'd been at breakfast with the rest of them - his thigh warm where it was pressed against Shouto's, hands animated as he talked with Jirou and Kaminari, arm brushing Uraraka's constantly, his smile sunny and welcoming and safe - but he'd forgotten something in his room and urged the others to go on ahead while he collected it.
Shouto should have hung back and waited for him, and he would've, but Aizawa has started to incorporate gruesome corporal punishments whenever anyone's late, so Izuku had grinned knowingly and said, "I'm the faster sprinter between the two of us, you know."
Shouto had grumbled, mostly for show, too caught up in the stars in Izuku's eyes, the play of sunlight over his freckled cheeks. Izuku had chuckled, bumped their hips together, lingering close—"Denial isn't very becoming," he'd stuck is tongue out, which should've been more childish than inviting. "It's fine, Shouto, you should go ahead. I'll catch up."
He'd agreed, Shouto had agreed, and now Izuku is gone.
It wasn't until they'd all settled into their seats in the classroom and Izuku continously failed to show up, that they'd realised that something was off. Iida and Uraraka had texted him, but Shouto had stubbornly tried to brush off the ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach. We're at Yuuei, he'd reminded himself, maybe he just met someone on the way and got caught up in conversation.
As the minutes dragged on, Uraraka had bitten her nails and glanced out the window, "What's taking him so long?"
"It's only been, like, ten minutes," Ojirou had interjected, attempting to be the voice of reason.
"But it's not like him to not answer texts," Asui had objected, perched upon her desk as her eyes darted between the door and her phone.
Shouto had clenched his fists in his lap when Kirishima tried calling, to no avail—trust him, he'd told himself, trust him to take care of himself. He's too strong to let anything happen. He's too good.
But then Aizawa dragged his feet into the classroom and Izuku's seat remained empty. The teacher had rolled his eyes and started to introduce the day's agenda, but purposely gone slow so as to not have to inevitably repeat himself once Izuku showed up.
Five minutes had turned to ten, and started to edge closer and closer to fifteen. The door never slammed open, and no sheepish and flushed Izuku bumbled in, apologies stumbling over themselves out of his mouth. Every passing second had seemed to feed into the heavy, ominous silence that was growing in the room, all of them remembering too well instances in the past when they's come uncomfortably close to losing one another, until Aizawa had given in and snapped, "Iida, go and see what's keeping him."
Iida, obviously having sat on the very edge of his chair in preparation for that very moment, nearly turned his desk over in his eargerness. He'd barely clipped out a, "Yes, sir," before he'd been out the door.
Despite his best attempts, a ball of worry has started to grow in Shouto's stomach, anxiety clawing its way up his lungs like it knew.
Iida had returned about fifteen endless minutes later, sweaty and wide-eyed and out of breath, "I can't find him," the heavy verdict had fallen like a roll of thunder. "He's—he's gone."
---
After that, everything is blur of motion and action and confusion—the classroom erupts into chaos that Aizawa just barely manages to rein in.
They launch a search party and comb every inch of the campus several times over, but there's no hint of Izuku anywhere. His backpack's not in his room, which suggests that he at least left the dorms, but there's no sign of a struggle and no one's seen or heard of him; it's like he's just— vanished into thin air.
"He can't just disappear," Uraraka states for the hundredth time, the same set of words all of them have repeated in some variation at this point. It's been two hours and half the school is involved in the search by now.
Sero hesitantly, wryly, gives air to the fear that no one wants to acknowledge, "He can't have... left, right? I mean, Midoriya wouldn't do that, right?"
"He wouldn't," Mineta agrees, but he lacks conviction, too nervous, head flicking back and forth ceaselessly as he searches.
"He has seemed a bit tired lately," Yaoyorozu points out cautiously.
"That doesn't mean he'd leave. He's not that type of guy," Kirishima dismisses, directing the beam of his sharp-toothed grin at each of his friends in turn, reassuring everyone even as he half-jogs after Bakugou, whose rage has rendered him tight-lipped and almost literally fuming.
No one asks Shouto what he thinks. They're all being excessively careful and light-footed around him; he imagines they must see it on him. See something, at least. Desperation, most likely. Or the gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be.
Somehow, somewhere, Shouto expects himself to flick a switch and find a solution—if not him, then someone has to. The problem is that Izuku is usually the one to come up with the solution. And he's—but he's—
But Izuku can't, because he's gone and they have no clues. Shouto's not the type to give up, but hopelessness is clogging up his throat, expanding like a living thing, halting his thoughts and spreading black throughout his lungs. The longer they search, the harder it becomes to imagine finding Izuku. They have no leads, nowhere to even start looking—
Shouto finds himself slowing down, repeating the events of the morning over and over, like enough repition will yield a new result. He roots through his memories in a desperate attempt to find something off, some indication or hint from Izuku himself, but his mind insists instead on recalling in great detail the way Izuku's hair spilled out over the pillow this morning, the soft smile that spread like a sunrise over his face upon waking, like he was happy to wake up to a world that had Shouto in it—Shouto wants to scream, he was there, he was right there, just a few hours ago, he was there. But the warmth of him is fading fast.
He keeps tripping over the same words, lodged between his lungs, repeating themselves with every breath until they become a mantra—he's gone, he's gone, Izuku is gone, he's gone.
---
ii.
Toshinori slips into the teacher's lounge with a sigh that he can feel all the way down to his toes. He's been doing his best to keep up appearances in front of the children, but now that he's alone, he can feel his doubts and fears creeping up on him, threatening to get the better of him.
In an attempt to distract himself, he goes about making tea, but the process is over too soon. He slides down to sit on the couch, winces as hid body throbs with various aches, reminding him of his age, his weakness, his failures.
"I'm becoming dramatic in my old age," he snorts humourlessly. He can almost hear his ward quip, you're not that old. The thought is jarring, and Toshinori takes a sip of tea to drown it out. It doesn't particularly help against the lingering taste of blood that never really leaves the back of his throat these days. He sighs again.
Midoriya Izuku has been gone for about twelve hours. There have been no demands, no leads, no taunts from any villains that may have captured him.
They've been through every nook and cranny of Yuuei several times over to no avail; they've searched any old haunts he may have gone to, from the beach he'd cleared up to his old school and his mother's apartment. Despite the fact that Izuku hasn't been gone for twenty four hours yet, Toshinori has alerted Tsukauchi, and even reached out to Gran Torino, but the old man hasn't heard anything either. The boy has just—gone up in smoke.
The realisation that there's not much more they can do now, short of launching a nation-wide manhunt, is as chilling as it is terrifying.
There's not much more he can do, weakened and trapped in this wartorn body as he is. He supposes it has been inevitable from the start, but the overbearing sense of uselessness is a hard pill to swallow, especially in the face of Izuku's disappearance.
Toshinori sips his tea and fishes his phone out of the breast pocket of his jacket. There are no new notifications or missed calls, just the bitter memory of having to call Izuku's mother and explaining the situation. Both Aizawa and the principal had offered to do it in his stead, but Toshinori had felt that this was his duty to shoulder.
If he never has to call the parent of a student and tell them that their child is missing again, it'll be too soon. The sound of Inko's sharp gasp and quiet grief still echoes in his ears and is probably going to haunt his dreams for years to come, if he lives for that long. Even having met the woman and knowing how demure she is, he somehow expected anger and shouting; the tearful, but tightly controlled, acceptance had almost been worse. Like she's been expecting something like this to happen, despite her highest hopes to the contrary.
He supposes that it must come with having a child like Izuku.
In the beginning, he'd promised himself that he wouldn't play favourites; but a lot has changed since then, and Izuku has become far more than a fan or successor or ward. He's—he's—a supernova hiding behind freckles and a smile; he's more than Toshinori ever thought he'd get to have. Though he has no right to, he understands the exact place Inko's grief is coming from.
"Never thought I'd see All Might moping alone in the dark," the light flicks on. Toshinori startles; he hadn't realised quite how dark it had grown. The door falls shut behind Aizawa as he saunters into the room and falls into a heap on the couch. "Now you can mope in the light."
"I would not say that I am moping," Toshinori objects, but his heart's not really in it.
"Calling it as I see it," Aizawa shrugs. "How'd the mother take it?"
"As well as can be expected," Toshinori rubs a hand over his face. "Any news?"
"Not since you left thirty minutes ago," Aizawa replies dryly, reaching across the couch to grab the power nap blanket. "We've put everything we can into action looking for him. Until there are any news, there's nothing we can do. There's no use in dwelling on the past."
"I swore I would protect him," Toshinori whispers. His mouth feels dry and his hands are trembling, the remnants of a promise slipping through his fingers. "His mother didn't even want him to come here. I swore to her, to the boy, to myself that I would protect him - but what difference did it make? He's gone now anyway."
"It's not your fault," Aizawa says, burrowed down in his scarf and under the blanket, hands locked together over his stomach.
Lifting his gaze from the phone in his lap to his collegue is a near herculean feat. Toshinori opens his mouth to disagree, to argue, because he got down on his knees and swore to the boy's mother that he would give his life to protect her son—but Aizawa's brows are drawn, the corner of his mouth more downturned than usual. The fight leaves him and he sighs, "It's not yours, either."
Aizawa inclines his head, a half-nod, but his frown remains deep.
Toshinori straightens his shoulders and digs down deep to find some new resolve, "The boy's barely been gone for twelve hours. He might still turn up tomorrow morning, no worse for wear! He's strong, that one."
"He is," Aizawa sighs, as much an admission of recognition as anything. "Let's hope."
---
Another twelve hours make twenty four, then thirty six, then forty eight. With every minute that passes, Toshinori feels like he's going more and more out of his mind. Whatever sliver of optimism he might have managed to scrape up in front of Aizawa the other day, there's very little left of it now.
This is the second time since Izuku disappeared that the principal's had to dispatch a teacher to collect young Todoroki, who seems to have embarked on his very own search mission. He's been looking where no one else has thought to, and must have turned upside down on the entire city by now; Toshinori's heart hurts as he takes in the defeated slump of the boy's shoulders, as Snipe marches him back through the gates of the school.
Toshinori received a text when Snipe found the boy a while ago, and has been standing in a strategic position to intercept them since; Snipe spots him right away, and continues down the hall. Todoroki, on the other hand, startles violently when Toshinori gently claps a hand down on his shoulder as he passes.
"Though I understand your plight, young Todoroki, I'm sure you're aware of the rules," he intones, trying to put it as delicately as possible, but he's hardly known for being the most subtle man around. "You may not leave during school hours without alerting a teacher. It's for your own safety. If it happens again, we're going to have to bring in your father."
Izuku's let slip once or twice that Todoroki is not on the best of terms with his father, so Toshinori expects some kind of reaction, but the boy merely nods. His expression is studiously neutral, but for his tightly clenched jaw.
"It won't happen again," Todoroki replies, voice so empty of inflections that it becomes obvious that he's trying very had to make it so. For the hundredth of a second, a wide range of emotions flit across his face, before he regains control. "I can't find him anyway."
Toshinori's heart threatens to break all over again.
"It will be okay, my boy," he says, before he can think. He can make no such promises, but he would gladly sacrifice his arms and legs to be able to. "You have done everything in your power, and we are still doing everything in ours. I'm sure he will turn up."
Endeavour has taught his son many things, but how to receive comfort is not one of them. Todoroki ducks out of Toshinori's grip, looking uncomfortable and reluctant and like he wants nothing more than to disagree.
Before Toshinori can say anything else, someone clears their throat behind him, and Todoroki takes the opportunity to murmur a quiet goodbye and slip away. Toshinori sighs, before he spins around, only to come face to face with young Iida.
"All Might, sir, may I have a word?" Iida asks, formal and straight-laced as ever.
"Of course, my boy. At ease," Toshinori coughs awkwardly. He's not really used to this. Even at the height of his fanboying, Izuku was never particularly formal.
Iida nods and the sharp line of his shoulder doesn't loosen, necessarily, but does seems to soften a notch, at least. "As class representative—" he shakes his head and seems switch track. "As—as a friend of Midoriya's, I would like to inquire if there have been any developments."
Toshinori wishes he could offer the boy some hopeful news, but all he can do is shake is head, "I'm sorry, my boy, but I'm afraid there haven't been any breakthroughs yet."
"I understand," Iida clips out. He starts to leave, but falls back into place almost immediately. Like it's indisputable, like it's his cross to bear, he adds, "I should have been faster. I might have reached him before—before whatever it was happened."
For a beat, Toshinori is equally awed and saddened by how many they are that have taken upon themselves the blame of Izuku's disappearance. Then puts a hand down of Iida's head and ruffles his hair - his little sqwuak of surprise and indignation lures a small chuckle out of Toshinori. "My boy," he breathes, grasping to find the right words. "Young Midoriya's disappearance is no more your fault than anyone else's. We don't know what happened, so there's no use in dwelling on it. You trust your friend, do you not?"
"Of course I do!" Iida exclaims.
"Good. Then we must simply persevere in our search and have faith that he'll turn up. Knowing Midoriya, next to nothing will keep him away for long," Toshinori says, hoping to convince himself of the same thing.
Iida stares at him for a long moment, as if trying to discern any platitudes or untruths, before he tips his head forward. His shoulders go down another notch, "You are right, of course. Thank you, sir."
"Any time, young Iida," Toshinori works his mouth into a smile, because he can at least still do that much. He just prays that Izuku won't make a liar of him.
---
iii.
Slowly, reluctantly, life tries to shift back to normal. The teachers are trying their best to usher everyone into some sort of routine again, but Deku's been gone for five days and it's like the whole world is holding its breath in his absence.
The dorms are quiet and the atmosphere is tense and uneasy. Classes come and go, lunches are a sober affair, and just the thought of moving on when there's a glaringly empty seat in their midst feels—wrong. Like betrayal.
Ever since Ochako moved away from home, she thought she knew what it was like to miss someone - but the ache of missing her parents seems cosy and downright tame, compared to the open wound in her side where Deku normally is.
Maybe it's because there was no time to prepare for this pain, no opportunity to tuck her limbs in and fall in a way that hurt as little as possible. Moving away from home was awful, but it was also exciting—it meant a new beginning, a new chapter, taking a step in the direction of her dream. Losing Deku, in comparison, is nothing like that—it just hurts, it's all the pain with none of the advantages.
Losing is the wrong word. Must be the wrong word. But she doesn't know, she can't know if it's the wrong word, because there's no way to know, and that is almost the most frustrating part of it. She can't begin to wrap her head around it, can't parse and process it, because they still don't know anything.
There's no fighting to be done here. They're all stuck in this limbo, this eternal waiting room, waiting for—any news, at this point.
Like everyone else, she's been wracking her brain for reasons Deku might've disappeared or left, but there's nothing. He's been training a lot, and though that's hardly a recent development, she told the police as much, for all the good that did. They stopped questioning the student and staff yesterday afternoon becuse nothing was coming of it, but Ochako can't help but feel like they're giving up and she hates it.
It's quiet, without Deku. Less talking, less laughing, and there's no one muttering to themselves in the back of the classroom. In place of all that, there's the rest of the student body, murmuring amonst themselves about it, like Deku's disappearance can be boiled down to school gossip. The theories range from kidnapping to gang-related crimes, with the occasional outlandish story about Deku turning villain, but worst of all, is the theory that he just—left, like that's something that he would do. It makes her blood boil with uncharacteristic anger, but, Ochako reminds herself, they don't know him. Let them speak. They don't know him.
Momo and Iida are doing their best to drown out the sound of gossip and fill the silences, she knows. They're trying really hard to make sure that the entire class doesn't slow down to a full stop, but it's difficult when they miss Deku as well; Iida's putting on a brave face most of the time, but it suits him less and less, turns twisted and sad when he thinks that no one is looking—he's always had a protective streak a mile wide, and he considers it a personal failing that he couldn't find Deku when Aizawa sent him to look. It's ridiculous, of course; no one is blaming him except himself.
Ochako sighs - try as they might, even the class reps can't really fill the gap left behind by her best friend.
She rubs a hand over her heart as her eyes travel around the lunch table. No one can replace Deku, but at least she's—she's still got Tsuyu and Iida and the others. Deku somehow roped Shinsou into their cicle a while back, and Hatsume turns up every now and then, so as lonely and terrible as Ochako feels, she's still—in touch with people. Not everyone else is doing so great.
A few tables over, Ashido and Kaminari are tiptoeing around Bakugou, trying to cheer him up without seeming like they are, whilst keeping away from his sharp tongue and quicker temper. If he used to be angry before, he's like a wraith now, howling and biting and scratching at anything that comes close enough. As much as Bakugou claims to hate Deku, there's a restlessness in him now that hasn't always been there, like he's turning into some sort of poltergeist. The only one who seems to know what to do with him is Kirishima, so he's essentially taken sole custody over him.
And Todoroki—well. Todoroki looks like he hasn't slept in days.
Todoroki's been alternating between sitting with Momo, Shouji, Tokoyami and their group, and at Ochako's table, at lunch ever since he and Deku started growing closer. The first four days after Deku disappeared, he sat wedged between herself and Iida, but he didn't show up to lunch today.
Something is itching in the back of her mind, a hunch scrambling to be acknowledged. She's of half a mind to ignore it, because Iida's poker face seems more transperent than usual today, but Tsuyu tried texting Todoroki earlier without getting a response, so Ochako excuses herself and goes to find one of the more distant training grounds that Todoroki and Deku have been using for their sparring sessions.
Her hunch turns out to be true, because she does find Todoroki. He's sitting to the side of the training field, his hair messy and standing on end like he's been sweaty and ran his fingers through it several times.
His shoulders are hunched, one leg tucked close and the other sprawled in front of him, all of his usual poise gone. He looks almost—small, now. It's funny how he used to be one of the scariest people she knew.
Todoroki raises his head enough to acknowledge her presence when she sinks down to sit on the ground next to him. She offers him a smile and opens her mouth to speak, but no words seem sufficient, so she closes it. She bites her lip, trying to find words that are more comforts than condescensions, but Todoroki beats her to the punch.
"Did you know," Todoroki begins, gaze glued to his hands. "That Izuku has three birthmarks on the back of his neck that look like Orion's belt?"
Any other time, Ochako would probably have giggled and poked fun at Todoroki for being a romantic sap, but her chest aches in sympathy when she sees the way his eyes are trailing over his hands like he's remembering the feel of Deku's skin beneath his fingers. He looks—bereft. Lost.
"I didn't know," she answers, softly.
Todoroki continues like he didn't hear her, like he needs to say the words more than he needs her to hear them. "Most people think he just has the eight freckles, but he's actually got more than those. You just need to get really close to see them. And when the sun comes out, he gets even more."
It sounds—intimate, the way he says it, like he's recalling memories of being that close and counting them out. Ochako's throat closes up to the point where it hurts, a lump the size of the moon making it hard to breathe. She tries to anyway, takes a shuddering breath and exhales slowly. "We'll get him back," she swears, for herself and for their friends and for Deku. For Todoroki. "I promise we'll get him back."
She half-expects some sort of reaction out of her classmate, maybe anger—and that would've been better than Todoroki's absent nod, like he's fought the battle, lost it and remains lost at sea.
---
iv.
Eijirou's no stranger to tough times, and the eight days it's been since Midoriya disappeared do not necessarily take the cake, but they're definitely up there. It turns out that Midoriya has a way of penetrating to the heart of you when you're not looking, and now that he's gone, the space he's left is less of a pinprick and more of a black hole.
Everyone's feeling it. It's been long enough that they're kind of forced to go on with their lives, but no one wants to pick up where they left off more than a week ago. Most of all, the situation's brought this scary premonition of what they'll probably experience several times in their future line of duty: the sudden goneness of a person who used to be there. It sits heavily on them and it sucks.
Midoriya's mum has been by the dorms twice, always teary-eyed and sniffing, hands lingering in the air over Midoriya's stuff like it hurts her to keep away, but would hurt more to give in and pick them up. She's been accompanied by All Might both times, and he hasn't been much better off, his shoulders hanging like he's got the weight of the world upon them.
And Bakugou's been—well, if he had a short fuse before, he's got no fuse now. Eijirou feels bad for him, because none of their friends want to be around him like this, but at the same time, he's turned into a monosyllabic rage monster. It was easy to provoke him before, but now breathing in his direction is sometimes a grave enough offense to warrant his fury.
Eijirou gets it this time, though. It's Saturday and parts of the class are planning to go to a shopping mall nearby to get their minds off everything, but not everyone wants to keep their mind off it. Not everyone can—Todoroki just snuck away somewhere, looking like someone's kicked his favourite puppy, and Asui had to lead a teary-eyed Uraraka out of the room quietly. Sero made the mistake of asking Bakugou to come along, and, well—
Shopping malls are just one of many things that are of no use to Bakugou, and the notion of visiting one in order to not think of Midoriya, not only insinuates that Bakugou's thinking of him and needs to be distracted from it, but also that something like a shopping mall can make up for him. Or something like that, along with come choice curses, rude hand gestures and occasional explosions. Eijirou's so used to hearing Bakugou's furious rants by now that he's started to paraphrase everything mentally.
"We'll, uh, we'll leave him to you," Kaminari says, half-jokingly. His light-hearted tone is belied by the nervous little chuckle that follows, and the way he flinches at every heavy thud of stomping footsteps that echo down the hallway.
"Yeah, you're the only one who knows how to deal with him," Sero agrees, abstently patting a small flame out of the carpet as he edges closer and closer to the front door.
Eijirou grins, "Whatever, guys, go have fun," and waves them off. He watches their retreating backs for a beat, before he turns around and follows the destructive tracks that Bakugou's left in his wake.
The thing is, Eijirou would like to think that he's got Bakugou more or less figured out by now. The dude's got anger management issues from here to the moon, not to mention his tendency to repress anything he's not sure how to deal with or what to think of, but Eijirou had called that innate and very deep-lying righteousness on day one, and he's not been made to regret it yet.
And knowing all that, he can confidently say that Bakugou doesn't hate Midoriya, and if he ever truly did, he doesn't anymore. Midoriya is just a defying-expectations kind of guy, not to mention a thourouhgly decent and stand up person, so it's like staring straight into the sun, sometimes, with him. But even with all that, and even when the animosity between Bakugou and Midoriya hit its peak, or during the few times Bakugou has divulged stories from their shared past, Midoriya has always been like a universal constant.
Bakugou might have considered him stupid and idiotic and a personification of the lowest of lows most of the time, but he's still held Midoriya on some sort of messed up pedestal, some constant measuring rod. Something he grudgingly looks to and changes himself after, like the most fucked up, dysfunctional North star in the sky.
As Eijirou stops a few feet away from Bakugou's bedroom door, he can't quite keep the corners of his mouth from quirking up—for all his posturing, Bakugou's really grown a lot. And considering all the shouting and growling and stomping he did earlier, he's gotten much better at keeping the collateral damage to a minimum, as well.
But he's quiet now.
Midoriya's always been a part of Bakugou's life, and now that he's not, Bakugou's unbalanced and bent out of shape. It's no wonder that his fuse has shortened so considerably the last couple of days: he's got no magnetic north to right himself after.
Eijirou knocks on the door once before he invites himself in.
Bakugou glares at him from where he's sitting cross-legged on the bed, but the fire and acidity of his gaze is no worse than usual. Instead, Eijirou hears Midoriya's voice in the back of his mind going, he looked like he needed help, and he sees the barely-tamped down fear in Bakugou's eyes—what if he never comes back?
He can't answer that question, but that doesn't mean he can't try to make it better in any way he can. Eijirou clears his throat and cranks up his grin a notch, "I've got a new theory. Forget the fairies—it was leprechauns. Leprechauns kidnapped him!"
"What the fuck, shitty hair," Bakugou grumbles. "Why the hell would fucking leprechauns kidnap the nerd?"
"I'm guessing some sense of kinship. He's green, they're green, they probably figured he's a long lost cousin, or something," Kirishima plops down on the bed.
Bakugou snorts, a small victory, "Dumbass."
Eijirou will gladly go under dumbass for the rest of his life, if it means alleviating Bakugou's dark thoughts even a little. He grins wider, nudging his friend's side, "Whatever, man, until you come up with something better, I'm gonna go with leprechauns."
Bakugou rolls his eyes, and though the darkness still lurks right beneath the surface, it's kept at bay for now.
v.
Here is what actually happens.
Izuku has been tired every second of every hour of every day ever since he met and started training under All Might, but after the incident with All for One, it's gotten worse. Having his mother and his friends and All Might has helped, makes it feel like the burden he bears is not so heavy, but it's still not necessarily, strictly speaking, easy all the time.
Having—Shouto, close and comfortable and reliable, makes every pain and ache and exhaustion bearable. Waking up next to him makes butterflies flutter around like crazy in Izuku's stomach, and it's like he's taken up residence in the centre of Izuku's chest, wrapped himself around his heart, squeezing in the best way; the sun always shines warmer and brighter when he's around.
But sometimes Izuku catches himself alone, and he thinks, you're next.
He thinks, you're next, and he's there again, his heart breaking as All Might lacks the strength to summon his hero form, his pulse racing with the raw power from All for One, terrified down to his very bones, shaking out of his skin. He thinks, you're next, and he sees every villain that's going to come after him and his, you're next, and it's like there's a weight on his chest, a hand around his neck and he can't breathe. You're next, he thinks, you're next, you're next, you're next—
He doesn't regret taking up All Might's mantle for a second. He's grateful beyond words for the opportunity and he loves what he's doing - every bruise and broken bone is worth it, because he knows down to the very core of him that what he's doing is the right thing. So when the thought thunders down on him again, you're next, he trains a little more, fights a little harder, stays up a little later to create contingency plans for his contingency plans, pushes his limits a little farther.
It gets a little tiresome sometimes, but it's worth it.
One morning, Izuku wakes up next to Shouto and the world is good. He enjoys breakfast with everyone, discusses the possibility and logistics of hosting some sort of charity concert at school with Jirou and Kaminari, and even Kacchan seems less out for his blood than usual.
As they're heading out to class, he remembers he finished his last notebook on Quirks the other day, and he needs to fish out a new one from the dark depths under his bed. Shouto wants to stick around and wait for him, which makes Izuku's heart ache for all the good reasons, but it's strategically unsound for both of them to leave late, so he convinces Shouto to go on ahead.
Izuku hums loudly to drown out the looming echo of you're next that threatens to close in on him the second he's alone, and it only half-works, so he shuffles around and knocks into stuff around him to create some more noise as he dives into the dusty depths to locate a notebook.
It takes a little longer than planned, but he emerges victorious and is not yet late. Determined to not doom the entire class to corporal punishment, Izuku wrestles his bag as he thunders down the stairs, and as he bursts through the doors, his gaze quickly sweeps over his surroundings through force of habit. Just as he's about to confirm that there's nothing uncouth or out of the ordinary, something bright catches his eye among the greenery of the school grounds.
Izuku cautiously steals closer, frowning deeply as he tries to make out the details; his heart leaps right up to his throat as he sees a person, all soft, pastel pink, lying prone under a tree.
Fear and uneasiness battle for control of his systems, spreading throughout his body, causing his fingers to tremble and his mind to sharpen, adrenaline saving his voice from cracking and his feet from stumbling as he rushes forward.
As soon as he's close enough, he drops down to his knees, hands lingering uncertainly in the air above the person, afraid to touch in case he exacerbates anything. "Are you alright?"
The person's eyes blink open suddenly. Izuku's not sure why he's surprised that they're the same dreamy pastel pink as the rest of the person. But they're kind eyes, bottomless pools of sympathy, and the person seems aware and alert. At closer inspection, it's almost as difficult to make out features as it was from a distance; the hair and the clothes are the same pink, like a sunset, and Izuku struggles to settle on gender or age. They seemed unharmed, at least.
They are, however, not answering, so he tries again. "Excuse me, are you alright?"
"You look tired," they say, rather than answering his question, their eyes endless and kind and understanding. "Don't you want to rest for a bit?"
No, is what he means to say, thrown by how abruptly he's lost control and charge of the situation, that's not what I said. I need to get going, I have class, is right on the tip of his tongue.
What comes out is, "Maybe—maybe just for a moment."
He's appalled, fear itching beneath his skin as his mouth speaks without his permission, but the person in front of him breaks out into a wide, joyous smile, like he just made their day. "I can help with that!"
Izuku stumbles back, falls onto his hands, instincts going haywire as his heart beats a mile a minute. What do you mean and I don't need help and what is happening are words warring for air, but before he can push any of them past his lips, the world is engulfed in white and falls away.
---
Izuku opens his eyes.
He's—at home, in his bed. Mum is standing above him, smiling gently. She doesn't say anything, but he hears time to get up, sleepyhead all the same, before waddling out of the room.
Izuku blinks rapidly a few times and nods, but she's already out the door. There was something about her face—it was younger than he remembers. Free of the worry lines that have been marring it since he started at Yuuei, maybe.
He shakes his head and rolls out of bed. His body feels heavy, like it hasn't shaken the last vestiges of sleep yet, but he dismisses it; he's been really tired lately, so being this well-rested is basically a foreign concept at this point.
From one moment to the next, he's in the kitchen. All Might's sitting at the kitchen table—he, too, looks different. It takes a second for Izuku to identify why; All Might looks remarkably good for being in his true form - there's a healthy sheen to his face, his shoulders aren't as hunched as they usually are, and he seems to be breathing easily. Almost more striking than that, is that for the first time in ages, there's no ominous you're next echoing in Izuku's mind at the sight of him.
There's a third person there, somewhere. He can't see them, but somehow he knows that his father is out in the living room, a faceless shadow of a barely remembered memory, but he's there, Izuku's sure of it.
Izuku slinks over to the table, but somehow his steps lead him to the dorms instead. He must be more exhausted than he thought, to end up at school without realising he's even made the journey. He's distracted by the sight of Shouto, who's at his side in a long stride, smiling secretly and intertwining their fingers between them like he usually only does when they're alone; Izuku knows his face must be doing the "dopey, disgusting thing, keep that shitty ass, lovestruck grin out of here, you nerd" thing again, but Kacchan's not saying anything about it, for once. In fact, he's only glowering a little from the end of the table, and even humouring Kirishima's adventurous story-telling.
Shouto leads them over to the other end of the table, where Uraraka's giggling about something that Iida's telling her, all enthusiastic hand gestures. There's something about him, too—his smile, it's brighter than it's been since before his brother got hurt. Izuku's blinking back tears before he knows it, and Shouto squeezes his hand, like he knows exactly how sentimental Izuku's being.
But the whole scene is—nice. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows, washing everyone in a soft golden light. There is no tension in the air, no ever-evolving rivalry, no looming threats. Everything is—good. Safe. Izuku can't recall the last time he felt this—unriddled with anxiety, unafraid. Calm.
He can't help but feel that there's something he's forgetting, but just for now, it's okay.
---
Time is—fleeting, but constant, inconsequential. The sun rises and falls, painting the world in a kind palette, all pastels. The stars come and go, as ancient and breathtaking as always, but time is—it's like it's standing still. Stuck in a breath. His body is sleep-heavy all the time, but mostly—
The world seems soft, lately, all rounded edges and comfort. It's like he's been living from fight to fight for so long, that it's almost—weird, now, to just sit around.
But it's nice, too. Days and nights are relative, but Mum's bustling around the kitchen and All Might alternates between keeping her company and lazing around the beach, looking content. For the first time in—maybe ever, it's like he's not hurrying anywhere. Izuku's secretly been feeling like All Might acts like a dying man, which is so terrifying a notion that it's been keeping him up at night, but now, All Might's just—he's wherever Izuku needs him to be and his brow isn't heavy with worry.
And Shouto is always around. He's more relaxed and open than he normally allows himself to be, like he doesn't have Endeavour darkening his afterthoughts all the time, like he's finally realised that he deserves to be happy.
Sometimes they watch the clouds float past overhead, sometimes they lie in the grass on their favourite training field and sometimes they mess around with the rest of their friends. Sometimes they lie in bed, wrapped closely together, and Shouto's fingers trail over his freckles, counting them.
Izuku's never alone. He's warm and happy and safe, and so in love it might kill him.
---
He's warm and happy and safe, so in love it might kill him—so he must be the worst person in the world for feeling like there's still something lacking. He can't put his finger on it, but it's like he can't—think, properly.
---
The sunlight is golden, the stars are twinkling beacons—his fingers aren't trembling with adrenaline, he's not so lowkey afraid all the time. The trees and the grass and the sky and the clouds are all soft, kind, inviting. Stay, they seem to whisper, a warm breeze caressing his cheek, rest.
---
Holding onto any thread of thought is like trying to hold onto water. Mum is cooking in the kitchen, All Might is sitting at the table and keeping her company. They're at the dorms with everyone one moment, and the next they're in the apartment, they're home, and then it switches back.
Izuku's on the couch or at the beach or on the training grounds; he's lying on a field of high grass that he ran through once when he was little, when they visited some of Mum's relatives. The only constant is Shouto, safe and warm beside him, but he keeps—smiling, not speaking, nodding and nuzzling and agreeing.
Kacchan is, bizarrely, hardly ever out for blood any longer. Mum is always cooking, but no one's ever eating anything. But more than that, no one's—everyone's—no one is saying anything.
Izuku tries to speak, but his mouth is dry and his throat scratchy with disuse. "Enough," he croaks, in a rare moment of clarity. "It's enough! I want to go back!"
Stay, the soft wind croons in his ear, rest.
---
Something's off. Something is—it's just barely out of his reach, but this strange sense of urgency keeps reminding him to try and think, to remember—but then it slips away again. But something is—
---
It's been too long. Too much time has passed. Something is—
---
The ocean is sparkling in the soft pink of the dying day; Shouto's head is a comfortable weight in Izuku's lap. He's tired and well-rested at the same time, body heavy with it, fuzzy around the edges but content; his toes are buried in the warm sand and he's running his fingers through Shouto's hair.
He can make out the silhouettes of the rest of the class in the distance; they're messing around near the edge of the water. There's something off about it though, something—
Someone breaks away from the rest of the group and approaches Izuku and Shouto. Izuku smiles when he sees that it's Uraraka, and she smiles back as she settles down in the sand beside them, but there's something not right about her eyes. It's like they're—something is—it's like they lack depth, somehow.
Izuku swallows thickly and glances down at Shouto in his lap, his only constant. The other boy is facing away, his gaze drawn to the shoreline, but even his eyes are eerily—shallow, distant, muted.
In an instant, Izuku realises how muted everything is—the soft pastels, the eyes and smiles of everyone, but most of all, it strikes his that the waves are washing in over the shore soundlessly, the seagulls overhead are silent. There is no universe in which class 1-A can be collected in one place and be so quiet. Something's wrong, he has to—
---
The only thing he knows is that too much time has passed.
---
The next time he's present enough to speak, he fights harder.
"Take me back!" he yells at ocean, the sky, the grass. Mum strokes his cheek, tries to calm him down, but she's not his mum, this one's all wrong. There's an urgency in him now, his blood is singing, his heart is beating out, too long, too long, too long, he's been gone for too long. "I know I'm not home! Take me back, please."
The world remains stubbornly quiet, but for that warm breeze, ruffling his hair, wordlessly whispering stay and you're safe here and rest, but Izuku doesn't want to rest. He wants to go home.
In his desperation, he turns to the next best thing, which is taking a card out of Kacchan's book; when in doubt, cause collateral damage. Izuku's body is weak and tired, heavy like he's been sleeping for too long and moved too little, but he pushes himself anyway, summons the power of One for All and flings himself at a tree, and then another and another and another.
He lays waste to anything within reach, doesn't stop until his lungs are heaving desperately for air and sweat is dripping down his forehead. His body hurts something fierce, but not like it usually does after he's used One for All too recklessly. Something is so wrong—
"I don't want to be here anymore!" Izuku screams, voice cracking, his wrecked arms swinging at his sides, his hands tucked into white-knuckled fists. "I don't want this! Take me back!"
He cries wordlessly when there's still no response, and braces himself for another wave of destruction. He's bending his knees in preparation of a leap, when two hands wrap around one his bruised knuckles, which makes him jolt violently; he's got power all the way out in his fingertips, ready to lash out, when he realises that it's Shouto, and the power drains out of him abruptly.
"I—don't," he pleads, taking half a step back.
Shouto shifts closer, until he's almost nosing at Izuku's hairline, lips dangerously close. It aches, now, to be this close to him, and he wants to tug his hand away, but he's powerless; even if this—this clone isn't his Shouto, Izuku can't bring himself to put distance between them.
It hurts to speak past the lump in his throat, and the words keep catching on it, but Izuku whispers, "Don't. Don't, you're not—" he brings up his other hand and rubs his eyes, sniffles uselessly. "You're not—you're not him. You're not my Shouto, so, please, don't."
The fake Shouto looks at him with big, sad eyes. Around them, his less-worried mother pops up, then the heathier All Might, followed by the less-angry Kacchan, the happier Iida, the shadow of his dad. One by one, each and everyone in his imaginary, happy-land dreamscape materialises and huddles close.
Stay here, the warm wind brushes his cheek, ruffles his hair, you're happier here, it whispers, they're happier here. It's safe. It's good. Stay.
"No," Izuku shakes his head, despite the creeping temptation to stay where there's no ever-clawing anxiety bubbling under his skin. "I don't want to. I don't belong here, so please, let me go back."
Stay. Rest. Be happy.
Hot tears well up and spill over, "I can't."
The whole world seems to take a shaky breath, and the pillars of it tremble on the exhale; one by one his family and friends fade away in the order they showed up, until Shouto's hand slips out of his, and Izuku's the only one left.
In the blink of an eye, the pastel world around him is engulfed in a white light. He stumbles, shaken from the sudden change and blinded by the white, and when he looks back, the pink person from under the tree is standing in front of him.
It almost makes him sick to realise that he'd forgotten all about them—all he knew was that he wasn't home, but it's coming back to him now, puzzle pieces falling into place.
"I don't understand you," they confess, after a long moment, their eyes as big and kind as they were then. "You used to be so afraid. In the beginning, you were scared all the time. Being here made you happier."
Izuku rubs his eyes again, the tears from before not dried out yet. "It did, at first. But it's not—it's not real, and they need me out there."
"I looked into your mind. I gave you everything your heart wanted to be happy," the pink person insists, reaching out to cradle his face between their hands. "They'll survive. You're happier here."
He thinks, you're next.
They're not wrong. But still—
Izuku lifts his shoulders and drops them again; the pain from before is gone, like it was part of the elaborate dreamscape, and now that it's gone, so are all the illusions that came with it. "I won't—I'm—you're right, you know. I was scared all the time. I think I still am," he licks his lips. "But I think it's okay to be scared sometimes. Even if it's all the time. It's part of life."
The hands slip down from his cheeks and back to the pink person's side. "I thought this was what you wanted," they whisper, like it's breaking their heart that it isn't. "I just wanted to help. I gave you everything you dreamed of."
Izuku dredges up a small smile, "Thank you, but I've been dreaming for long enough, don't you think?"
They consider him thoughtfully, "Maybe you have."
This is the moment, he knows. He thinks, you're next, but by now he'll welcome the familiar fear with open arms, if that's the price he has to pay for sound, for colour, reality, life. Resolve renewed once more, Izuku looks the pink person in the eye and smiles, "Will you let me go back?"
The pink person's mouth quirks into a smile; a wave of white light washes over him and he's struck with the sensation of falling.
---
Izuku jerks awake.
His pulse is fluttering wildly, his heart in his throat. His eyes are still screwed shut, and despite everything, he's terrified to open them. He takes a shaky breath and whispers, "Please let me be awake."
Counting to three, he blinks his eyes open, only to be terribly blinded and immediately slam them shut again. He waits a couple of seconds before he tries again; this time, he's greeted by sunlight filtering down through the canopy above him.
Izuku breathes in deeply and starts to catalogue his surroundings; he's lying under the tree, the wind is singing through the leaves and the sun-warmed grass is tickling his skin. He feels sluggish and slow, body heavy and head aching like he's been sleeping for seventeen hours straight. He's still wearing his school uniform and his bag's lying neatly beside him, like someone took care to place it within easy reach.
Sitting up is a chore - everything is protesting, he imagines his limbs are creaking, but he'll take it, because it feels—real. Possibly. Probably. Hopefully. The dreamscape didn't actually feel fake until the very end, so he needs to make sure, somehow.
Izuku brings up his arm to eye-level and pinches it, hard—it hurts, but then, so did fighting in the dream. What if he's not awake after all? What if it's just an even more intricate dream? His heart speeds up again, and he desperately tries to calm it down, but he needs proof—Izuku climbs to his feet, grabs his bag as an afterthought and stumbles to the dorms.
The school grounds are so empty—how long has he been asleep for? It was morning when he left, but it must be midday now, at best, so where is everyone? What if—what if it's just a new dream, but he's alone now, as some sort of punishment? Izuku throws himself through the doors and into the elevator. He tries to count his breaths, to calm down somehow, but he can't, because what if—it's too empty everywhere, he's probably—
The elevator doors ding open and he nearly falls out. His heart sinks when there's no one in the common room—that's just, that never happens, there's always someone in the common room. He opens his mouth to call out, but his voice fails him, because his breaths are coming short and fast. His legs feel like jelly and he has to lean against the wall for support as he heads to the sleeping quarters, growing more discouraged with every closed door he passes - it's too quiet, it's not supposed to be quiet here, oh god, this is just another dream, isn't it—
Except—except his own door is open.
Izuku pauses briefly. Even through his panic, even weak with fear, he's sure of one thing, and that's that he never leaves his door open unless he's in the room.
He swallows thickly and licks his lips. Steeling himself, he pushes the door open and steps into the room.
It looks exactly like it did when Izuku left it, down to the boxes he forgot to push back under the bed after retrieving the notebook. The only glaring difference is that Shouto is sitting on the bed, staring at him slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
Izuku's heart stutters again, his hands aching to reach out, but he has to know— "Are you real?"
Shouto blinks slowly, his expression uncharacteristically open, hope and disbelief and suspicion warring on his face. "Are you?"
Izuku's throat is closing up again, the familiar pain of looming tears. He still doesn't know, what if it's just the same—he bites the tears back as best he can, "Where—where is everyone?"
Slowly, carefully, as if afraid that Izuku will disappear if he moves too quickly, Shouto slides off of the bed. He holds out his hands like he's trying to calm down a spooked animal. He edges closer, "It's Saturday. Most of them went to the mall."
Izuku recalls the silent, always agreeing Shouto in the dream, compares him to this one—this one looks like his Shouto, he sounds like him, too, and he has dark circles under his eyes like he hasn't slept in days, but—but what if he's just an upgraded dream version? Izuku backs away until the doorframe cuts into his back. He can feel that, at least, and the mall is fairly reasonable an explanation—but is it too reasonable? Is it just his mind filling blanks? The tremble in his hands gets worse and he puts a hand over his chest, there's not enough air—
Shouto takes an alarmed step closer, but stops dead in his tracks when Izuku flinches away.
Whether or not this Shouto is real, the hurt expression on his face feels real enough to make Izuku guilty. "Just," he chokes out. "I need—proof—something, please. Tell me—tell me this is real."
"It's real," Shouto says, uncertain of what constitutes as proof. "I—you have three birthmarks on the back of your neck that look like Orion's belt, and you almost have the Big Dipper in the small of your back," he's blushing something awful, but grasping for something to offer. "The first time we kissed was the best day of my life, but the second time, I burnt you so badly that you had to go to Recovery Girl and lie about why you almost had a third degree burn. I tried to break up with you twice over that, but you wouldn't let me."
Izuku's chest seizes, his heart too busy racing butterflies and emitting fireworks to keep up with the panic; even the Shouto in his dream wasn't this much of a senimental sap. Izuku chuckles wetly, but his lower lip keeps wobbling, until the laughter morphs into bawling. He covers his eyes with is arm and sags back against the doorframe, tension cut like strings. "Oh my god, this is real," he sniffles. "I'm—I'm really back."
Shouto looks like he can't quite believe it himself. "You're really back."
Izuku drops his arm, puffy-eyed with tears and snot trailing everywhere - Shouto's gazing at him like he's the sun emerging from behind the clouds after a long winter.
They stare at each other for another second, before they simultaneously launch themselves across the room and meet halfway—Izuku almost loses a tooth in the hardest, most uncoordinated kiss of all time, but it's additionally arguably the best one and deserves to go down in the history books. He lets out a peal of laughter when Shouto lifts him up, which is not only hot and unprecedented, but also impressive, because Shouto's strong, but Izuku is literally all muscle.
"You goof," Izuku is crying again, he can't seem to stop. "I can't believe you—the best day of your life? That's just—how long have I been gone for?"
Shouto's busy burying his face in the crook of Izuku's neck, "Eight days. You said you'd catch up, I'm never leaving you alone again—"
"What the fuck is going on in here—what the hell—fucking—Deku?"
Izuku slips down on the floor, and he and Shouto turn to the door as one.
Kacchan looks furious as always, but also completely floored, which is a new one. Kirishima, who's standing right behind him, is equally shocked, but his expression qickly shifts into delight.
"What the crap, you're back!" he whoops, elbowing his way past Kacchan to scoop Izuku into a bear hug. "It's good to see you, man! Where the hell have you been?"
Kacchan regains his wits quickly, leaving no chance for Izuku to answer. Thundering into the room, his face contorts into a murderous snarl, "I'm going to kill you dead, you fucking slimebaggy, shitrag son of a—"
Before he can make good on his threat, Kirishima cackles and tackles him to the floor. Kacchan growls, but Kirishima's got him in a headlock, "No way, dude, we just got him back. I'm not gonna let you damage the goods yet!"
Izuku blushes at being called the goods, but he can't stop grinning. After all the years they've known each other, he knows Kacchan well enough not to take it to heart; if anything, this reaction is milder than he'd expected. Yuuei has been kind to them both.
And if nothing else, Kacchan cursing him out is more grounding than anything.
---
Later, after Shouto, Kirishima and Kacchan have formed an escort squad like they think that Izuku will vanish the second no one's keeping an active eye on him, they manage to get from the dorms to the main campus. Everything dissolves into chaos remarkably fast when more and more people realise that Izuku's back, but they back off when All Might pulls him against his side in a one-armed hug and keeps him there.
Aizawa shows up and stares at him for a few beats, before tilting his head in a nod of acknowledgement, after which he spins around and goes to phone Izuku's mother. Principal Nedzu and Detective Tsukauchi materialise from somewhere; they fuss over him long enough to confirm that he's whole and hale, but after that, though they're supremely polite about it, they swiftly usher him headfirst into an interrogation.
Izuku stutters and fumbles through all the questions they throw at him, but answers to the best of his abilities, describing the pink person and the nature of the dreamscape.
"It sounds like some sort of Dream Quirk," the principal observes pensively. "A Dream Pocket Quirk, maybe?"
"That could explain how they managed to get onto the school grounds without triggering the alarms," Tsukauchi hums in agreement. Izuku perks up in interest. "They may have used some form of dream travel. I'll have to look into registered Dream Quirks."
"Dream travel?" Izuku mouths in awe, his mind already spinning with the potential of such a Quirk, but before he can insert himself into the conversation, All Might excuses them and pulls him to the side.
"I just wanted to say that it's good to have you back, my boy," All Might squeezes his shoulder, before turning away briefly to cough into his fist, too self-conscious about the amount of students around to cough freely. "It hasn't been the same without you."
It hits him suddenly - it's stupid and childish, Izuku's aware - but if there was just one thing he could keep from the dreamscape, flawed and idealised as it was, it would be All Might's good health. The rest he can work around, but it hurts to witness the way All Might's coughs rattle around between his bony ribs and how he surreptitiously dabs at the blood at the corner of his mouth with a handerkerchief. The knowledge that All Might's time is limited is by no means a new one, but it chafes uncomfortably, deep-rooted and dark where it sits and grows between Izuku's lungs.
Izuku quirks a smile despite the clenching in his chest, clasps All Might's hand on his shoulder and squeezes back, "It's good to be back."
All Might smiles, and he doen't need to be in his hero form for it to be comforting. Izuku briefly recalls the faceless shadow of his father that had drifted around the dreamscape. Even there, in Izuku's supposed dream world, he was an absent and unrecognisable figure, a stark contrast against the warm, familiar prescence of All Might. Izuku ducks his head to hide his flushed smile.
All Might suddenly chuckles and lets go of Izuku, "Heads up, my boy, one of your valiant knights is coming this way."
Izuku's head whips up and he blushes slightly as Shouto approaches him. He'd remained in the background during the interrogation, but he never strayed far. All Might chuckles again, knowingly, "Tsukauchi will probably want to talk to you more later, my boy, but I'll leave you two to it for now," and shuffles away.
It doesn't matter that he and Shouto have been together for quite a while now, Izuku still splutters and hides his face in his hands. "I can't believe he did that. He went there. I didn't even think he knew."
It's Shouto's turn to flush, suddenly. He clears his throat, "I think he figured it out when. When you went missing."
Izuku drops his hands and gazes at Shouto searchingly. What he finds makes his heart soften and he brushes their hands together, "I'm back now," he promises, and tries to not dwell on how long he was gone for.
The hint of a smile flits over Shouto's face and it looks like he's about to say something, when he shifts gears all of a sudden and says, "Incoming."
There's no time to ask for clarification, before there's a chorus of Deku! and Midoriya! as someone crashes into him hard enough to make him stumble back a few steps.
"Deku!" Uraraka wraps her arms around his neck and clings. "Are you okay? Where have you been?" and then, a touch softer. "I missed you. Don't—please don't do that again, okay?"
"I'll try," Izuku whispers fiercely, hugging her back just as tightly, before he eases up. "It's a bit complicated, but I'm okay now, I promise. I'll tell you about it later."
"I'll hold you to that," Uraraka replies tearily, before hastily wiping her eyes and stepping back.
Iida steps up not a second later, having politely waited for them to have their moment, because that's the kind of person he is.
His back is ramrod straight, posture impeccable as always, but there's something—
"You were gone," he says, voice tense and low. Unbidden, Izuku's reminded of when Iida's brother was in the hospital, and the lines of grief that had painted Iida's face so often that they threatened to turn permanent.
Izuku's heart seizes in his chest and he takes care to catch his friend's eye, "I'm back now, and I'm fine. I'm not hurt. There's nothing you could have done, it was just a matter of bad luck," he tries to impress as much conviction and authority into his voice as he can. Smiling, he adds, "I'm sorry I worried you."
For a moment, Iida shudders like his posture is going to crumble, but in the end he pulls himself together and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I consider you a good friend, Midoriya, so I'm not sad that I worried. However, I know that you can't help your tendency to attract trouble, but in the future, please consider approaching every situation with more caution," he settles on, after a moment of deliberation.
"Of course," Izuku concedes. He can give him that.
Iida nods, pleased. "Thank you, Midoriya. It's good to have you back."
Then the rest of the class crowds close, hugging and patting and high-fiving; Tsuyu smacks a wet kiss on his cheek, Tokoyami sincerely expresses his deepest relief that Izuku's back, Hagakure hugs him to tight that he's fairly sure he can hear his ribs creak in protest, Ashido slaps a hearty clap on his back that sends him stumbling. Mineta's complaining loudly in the background about something or other, the way he does when he's getting emotional and is trying to hide it, and even Kouda patters to the centre of the group to give Izuku a relieved smile, before retreating again.
Everyone takes their turn, and Izuku's definitely crying again, but as good as the dream felt for a while, it's got nothing on this. This, right here, is worth braving storms and scaling mountains and facing villains for, a thousand times over and more still.
Even Kacchan snags him again. "Next time you wanna nap for a week, just fucking skip class like a normal fucking human being," he grumbles darkly, betraying more than he's probably realising about how much he cares and how close he's been sticking around to overhear that. Izuku's heart soars.
Then suddenly his classmates part like the sea, and Izuku blinks a couple of times, before he understands why - just a few feet away, Mum is standing, face contorted with relief and worry and gratitude. Her lower lips wobbles tellingly as her eyes sweep over him, but she opens her arms and Izuku's falling into them before he even realises that he's moved at all.
She's soft and warm and smells right; one hand cradles the back of his head and the other one is clutched in the back of his shirt. Mum hugs the way she always has and it's such a reassuring thing that a new lump of tears forms in the back if his throat.
"I love you, Mum," Izuku blurts, turning his head into the crook of her neck. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I worried you again."
"It's okay, sweetheart," she murmurs, stroking his back. "You're back now. You're back. I love you, too."
They blubber unintelligibly at each other, but Izuku can feel the way his mother's breath is hitching in her chest, so he croaks, "No, Mum, don't cry. If you start crying, I will, too," but he's already in tears again despite himself.
"I'm not crying, honey," Mum lies him in the face, hugging him tighter, sniffling loudly in his ear.
"Suddenly I understand where he gets it from," someone snickers in the background, though not unkindly.
They separate after a while. All Might steps forward again, and offers Mum his arm and a cup of tea. Shouto glides forward and takes his place by Izuku's side without missing a beat, like that's where he's meant to be, and—maybe it is.
Rubbing his eyes for the hundredth time, Izuku looks around and maps the position of his family and friends, spread out in different formations and groups around him like constellations, but still close.
Izuku has never felt more found.