Archive of Our Own

Perhaps it was the fact that she was a parent and a mother in particular usually forms these instincts once they begin to nurture their children. Perhaps it was just that she was extremely observant, much too observant. Perhaps she was overthinking the entire situation, and nothing was what she was thinking it was.

Bullshit– she tried not to swear to herself but did anyway, maybe Mitsuki’s influence was starting to affect her a lot more than usual ever since she began to notice, she knew she wasn’t overthinking.

Call Inko too overly worried or hyper-paranoid, but she knew something was off from the get go. Like when she’d noticed the oddities at mealtimes, dinner specifically.

She’d always make sure that no matter what, she was bringing home plenty of ingredients and such to use for the two of them despite the fact that she worked two jobs simultaneously. It didn’t matter to her that there were bills shoved under the couch she hadn’t paid yet– she cared, a lot but not as much as she cared about Izuku– and nor was it too troublesome that most of the time, Izuku was having to cook for himself because she was working so often now– no amount of words could describe how much she hates herself for this.  

But whenever she was home, she’d make sure that she was the one cooking as much as she could, enough to supply Izuku for 2 weeks at least when she wouldn’t be home so he wouldn’t have to cook himself– and nothing’s wrong with letting your child cook themselves at all, but the problem arises when their hand seem to be trembling when holding a churner since they don’t actually eat anything they cook, leaving it for their mother to eat when she comes home, too tired to cook, and on the verge of passing out from how exhausted she was, as the same pathetic sight for her son to see over and over–

So, at dinner time, she’d make sure there was too much to eat, so that Izuku could feel like he could finally eat a proper meal again after his mother’s absence from the home for so long already. The lack of her cooking on his tongue could be made up for through the big dinner they were going to have together. Inko was happy to know that Izuku was going to be eating properly again.

But then, there they were. Sitting across from each other at the dining table, with Inko eyeing Izuku cautiously, with worry taking shape as a frown on her lips, and fingers digging into her own skin every time she clenched them into her palm as she watched Izuku chewing agonizingly slowly, his chopsticks flicking his barely eaten food to the left and right, left and right  left and right, left and right, left and–

“Izuku, baby..” She clenched her fingers into her palm again. This time, her stubby nails caused a burning sensation to prick at the flesh. “H– Have you eaten already?”

She sounds like she’s going to cry at just the sight of him, at just what he’s doing with his food. He isn’t playing with it, that is by no means playing with food. He has barely taken any bites of the contents in the bowl and she feels like her chest is going to get torn apart.

He looked up at her, sleep– or exhaustion, or something else. What’s wrong, Izu’ baby? She wants to, no, needs to ask. What is it? What’s– sleep drooping heavily over his eyelids. Eyes in a daze, clouded by a hefty fog, dreary and grey. He gave her a smile that barely reached his eyes, the corners of his lips begging  to just drop down again. “I– I had a big lunch at school.”

“A– And you’re still full?” Her voice broke, the wobbly crack so clear and obvious it surprises her Izuku didn’t suddenly give her a worried look and instead stared blankly with that vacant smile completely through Inko.

He nods this time, with his eyes drifting back down to his food as he begins to rigidly move the chopsticks back and forth again, left and right, left and right, left and right, left and right, left and–

Sometimes, he’d lie to her– ‘sometimes’ wasn’t the case, he’s always lying to her, since something shifted in elementary, after he began to become more reclusive, remember when he started flinching at every loud sound, or when he’d flinch when you’d accidentally hold his hand a little too tight– and sometimes, she’d know– she always knew, she may have been awful at telling if people are lying to her, but when it came to Izuku, only Izuku, she could tell the genetics of the inability to lie had passed down to him too.

Something’s crawling on her back, appendages scratching the skin slowly, grating the sharp ends through the skin and into her flesh. She’s trying, desperately, to not force the meal down his throat because just one glance at him and the sight of his oversized shirts that just grow bigger on him day by day, his arms that are so, so thin and that vacuum in his gaze frightens her more than anything. Something’s weaving a basket, a thin basket with just what it can create with its feeble limbs, to hold a series of occurrences Inko will keep in mind for far too long, and just like this one–

Dinner came again and Inko couldn’t help but notice again.

She knocked on his door and called out to him, announcing dinner was ready. She walked back over to the table and smiled at the spot Izuku always sat in, right across from his mother where his back would be facing the back of the couch. The faint steam hovering above his favorite meal, Katsudon, roamed the air and filled it with its flavorful scent.

She sat down at the table and began to wait. Lately, she noticed he’d always seemed like he had to drag himself out of bed just to eat, or that he’d always take a while since he would be so exhausted all day or just unable to stand up for.. some reason. Still, he’d usually be out within a minute and they’d begin to eat.

But when Izuku didn’t come out even after 2 minutes had passed, Inko didn’t give it a second thought to stand up and go back to his door, and knock again. She calls out his name but to no response given from the other side. The immediate quickening of her heart hitting against the steel bars of her chest began to snap painfully, over and over, burning like a pulled muscle, swelling like a bump. She knocked again and called out again, but just like before, to no response.

Her eyes trailed down to the handle. Her hand twitched as she studied it, examining it as if it could be a gateway to some kind of knowledge, something that Izuku wasn’t telling her, something she feels like– no, needs to know. She didn’t ever want to enter his room without his permission unless it was something genuinely alarming.

This doesn’t seem like something that counts as genuinely alarming but– there’s an anxiousness coagulating into a nauseous whirlwind of fear in her stomach, twisting like twigs and the pull from each side on those twigs is tearing her apart, as if its her being pulled from each limb. There’s a clotting in her chest, one that’s blocking the air she needs to breathe, and it’s growing and growing as each second passes outside his door and the urge to twist the handle takes her. She reaches for it, in a panicked out of breath moment and flicks her wrist.

It doesn’t budge.

The lines from the downward twitch of her gasp from her mouth deepen, the left one always dragging down lower, the asymmetrical frown she had become used to seeing the aftermath of, the lines that never faded. She looks up from the handle as if the door had magically opened but instead, she stares into nothing.

So, she places the Katsudon in the fridge and eats by herself– or at least, she attempted to. The nauseous churning never left so she couldn’t finish her meal at all.  

The next morning, she’s eyeing the Katsudon still placed on the left of the fridge, next to the plastic container holding egg rolls and fried rice and a few sauces on the other side of the Katsudon, still in the fridge. Even though Izuku's already up and tying his shoes for school while Inko isn’t even though she has to go to work in just 20 minutes. It takes 2 minutes to get down the stairs of the apartment building and getting out of there, 12 to get to work on the bus and 4 to get to the grocery store she works at, all the while, wondering just what was going on with Izuku, was he okay, why didn’t he eat any of the meals she’d left for him that day he was flicking the chopsticks, left and right, left and right, left and–

“I’m leaving, mom!” Izuku stood beside the fridge with his hands interlaced, pressed close to his stomach as his nimble fingers fidgeted with one another profusely, with a light smile coloring his face a pretty warm color of ease.

But it was an ease that didn’t come to Inko even when she’d already taken a look at him after she left her room after putting on her cardigan for work and saw him slinging his backpack’s straps over his shoulders. Instead, all it did was unnerve her more and more, taking note of how that smile never reached past his sullen eyes.

Something was creeping under a door, placing its nest in the crooks of her home, where she’d see them from afar but be able to do nothing about them. The tangled knots that were appearing everywhere had become a normalcy she wasn’t used to, a common phenomenon she wasn’t comfortable with, a usual she didn’t realize was happening as often as it was until she’d begun to notice. Something was lurking in corners, hiding itself under tables and swept itself under Inko’s nose, or somewhere she didn’t think to look, somewhere she wouldn't know to look because it knew more than she did. Her 20 minutes are running out, now left with just a mere 10. There’s a thought that considers it, the thought wonders itself, if there’s a chance she will know. Inko can only hope the handle will turn, she needs it to. So much so, that she blurts out her concerned inquiry.

“Why weren’t you at dinner last night, Izu’?”

Her chest tightens as she takes a sharp inhale and holds it tight. Looking straight at her son who had now grown up to her height now, but that was when he was in his first year of Junior high and now he’s in his last year and he still hasn’t grown any more inches.

He blinks blanky until he laughs nervously to himself, his grip on the yellow straps of his backpack tightening, “Ah– I fell asleep before dinner.. Um– I was doing my homework and– and fell asleep at my desk..!”

The air begins to judder in her chest, like helium in a balloon on the verge of popping. The harsh force shaking in her body feels like it's going to erupt out of all the pores on her skin. Her neck is itching, stinging from the oxygen that’s being held down below, as if it's 6 feet below her, barely reaching up to the surface. Her face must be turning shades of dull purples at this point, an ugly blue or a ghoulish green. She wants to prise open his door, turn the handle and push it open. She wants to let out a breath instead of trammeling it. She wants to eat with him, feel like a proper mother again and do something right after years of negligence. Solely due to the fact that she’s not working hard enough for him.

But her chary habits are in the way. She knows he might be lying to her– she knows damn well he’s lying. She knows he may have been doing homework and may have just forgotten to join her. She knows he may have been doing homework and purposefully didn’t join her. She knows which one is the truth but she won’t say which it is. Perhaps for her own selfish sense of sanity. Perhaps because she has 8 minutes left.

So, instead of turning the handle and breaking that door down, she smiles and the air blows through her nose in a rush, not long enough of an exhale for her to catch back her breath at all. “Ah–! Well, make sure to eat a lot at lunch today, okay?”

He nods his head, with that same smile and waves her goodbye from the door once he notices he has only a few minutes left to walk to school while Inko’s time has already run out. The bus already left a few minutes ago and Inko’s left standing by the fridge.

She has less than 5 minutes left and the Katsudon is still in the fridge.

On her way out, she practically runs down the stairs, panic soaring in her chest. Her eyes glance over a corner, standing before the last set of stairs before she has to turn around to the left and walk down them. Her gaze catches a small web and an enormous spider weaving each line on its newly made home. It looks like it's been stepped on multiple times by different people, again and again. It looks like this is the millionth web it's made that are scattered all over the walls of the first floor of the apartment.

Her eyes scan it carefully, stopping her dead in her tracks. The world stopped moving just a moment, except for the huge spider that was working on its newest web.

Inko has no time left anymore and the spider has already begun knitting another nest.

–

Maybe some would genuinely say she really is being too paranoid but she knows better than anyone else that it's still strange. Like when she noticed her makeup had begun to go missing.

Well, not exactly missing. Inko had stopped using that bag on her vanity a long time ago, sometime after her husband left her once she came home with Izuku after that visit with their doctor and told him the news of their son’s lack of a quirk. She stopped feeling the need to once the only reason she even went out of their apartment was for two jobs that were equally as awful as the other and to her. Being the cashier at a grocery store and a boring office job she’d stayed multiple hours past midnight for her overtime hours to be translated into her pay just to pay off bills was in comparison, extremely different, but they both were– as Mitsuki has said before– extremely shitty.

And again, the bag goes missing really often and so does the makeup, but more like the makeup is just running out now despite the fact that she hasn’t touched that bag in more than 6 years now. Even for the frequent meetups her and Mitsuki still have whenever both can make time, Inko doesn’t wear any makeup at all since she just doesn’t care to anymore.

So, when she notices that the bag is going missing and the makeup is running out, she comes to a simple conclusion that she’s sure is correct, because how could it not be?

But the reasoning is all she’s unclear on. She doesn’t know just why Izuku would be using her makeup at all. She can’t convince herself that it’s because he likes it. She’d be okay with it if that was his reason, it's completely okay with her if he’s using it because he wants to feel pretty or that he just likes using it. If it's because he wants to attract other girls or boys to him, if he’s using it to embrace his femininity or anything like that. She’s okay with it.

But there’s an odd bubbling of tension underneath a carpet somewhere, like spoiled milk that’s stained the carpet when it was soaked in it, and the stench is just waiting to start reeking and rot through the floorboards. It thickened inside the walls that were starting to close in on her, nearing closer and closer slowly but surely, with a silent echo still reverberating through the walls. It made her teeth bite down on her tongue, harsh and quickly without remorse, leaving her to wince and soothe the pain by forgetting about it for the sake of the pain to just simply leave by itself because she doesn’t know when to pay attention to it. Perhaps it's because she keeps leaving it be.

However, she knows what the case– at face value, at least– is. He’s definitely using her makeup–   but she can’t come to any conclusion about why he’s using it, she wants to smile to herself and say it’s because he likes it, he wants to look pretty for a chance at a boyfriend or a girlfriend possibly, a romance is reasonable to want at this age, people go to great lengths to achieve it anyway, maybe he’s just doing that, maybe he is, maybe just maybe, please maybe, please–

Today, Inko has a day off from her office job, meaning her morning to afternoon grocery store job is the only place she’s gone for work today and she can spend the rest of her day at home, with Izuku. When she usually has her office job off days, she spends those days cooking big meals. A few weeks have passed since the last time she had dinner with Izuku, when he was flicking his chopsticks, left and–

And aside from that day, she’s only gotten to spend one afternoon with him since she was off from her grocery store job which was sadly cut short because of the boring office job she dreaded having to go to everyday. So, today she was planning on making sure dinner was wonderfully extravagant– as ‘extravagant’ as a single, working mother, with constant neck pains could make a dinner be– and bigger than anything else Izuku had eaten the past few weeks. At least, she hoped he had.

He’s been home for a few hours now already, and her makeup bag is still not on the vanity. Still with Izuku, in his room– even though, he doesn’t need it there right now, maybe it's because he just wants to keep there for the mornings so he doesn’t forget– She hasn’t thought about when she can ask him, but likely during dinner, that is if he doesn’t.. fall asleep again. She tries to laugh it off to herself, but it just sounds awkward and odd.

But thankfully, once she calls out his name and announces that dinner is ready, he actually comes out this time. Glowing with a smile– that doesn’t reach his eyes– and he hops down at his seat across from his mother and they begin to eat with Inko asking him simple questions about his day and Izuku making casual conversation about her day and other random topics.

Instinctively, she begins to survey the way he’s eating today and surprisingly, completely contrasting last time, he’s eating all of what she’s made in good portions! A relieved smile forms on her lips and she can’t help but feel like crying at the sight of him eating better.

But when she notices the way his lower lip is so terribly swollen and almost like it’s been smudged over and over with lipgloss and some sort of a lip plumper, her smile begins to die.

And she forgets about what he’s just said, what she asked him just seconds ago that he’s answering, what was going through her mind when she abruptly cut him off with her voice full of worry, “Izuku..”

He pauses, cutting himself off with a surprised hm that sounds like a question, and he stammers, “Y– yes?”

She sucks in a deep breath, preparing herself for what she wanted to ask, wondering if she could just get this out without completely falling apart in front of him, because of how scared she is for his answer. She clenched her fist that was placed on her lap under the table, her fingernails burning through her skin, scratching and cutting deeper as she squeezed her fingers into her hand as if she was trying to mold them into her hand. Her anxiety is pulling at her body like an inflammation torturing her from each side, the flame from the stove her body was above licked her skin like claws trying to tear open a gash on her.

Her words fall out like vomit, messy with stutters but the intention is clear and so is that permanent splotch of worry. “Have– Have you been ahm.. H– Have you been using my– my makeup?”

She sounds like she’s answering a question from a strict teacher, from just how nervous she sounds as if one wrong move and suddenly she’ll get reprimanded for even looking at the teacher wrong, but not from the teacher in this situation, in this situation, it's the self-loathing version of herself she’s trying to measure up to.

She doesn’t know what to expect from his reaction, maybe a blush of embarrassment and or an averting of his eyes from her shyly but when his face practically goes pale, her brows go up just for a split second then back down, quick enough that Izuku wouldn’t catch it but he could catch the way she straightens her neck hump with how taken aback she is, but he doesn’t.

Because he looks terrified.  

He starts to blurt incoherent rambles, brimming fullest with panic overflowing in his words, his shaking voice sounding like it was going to crack any second now and that he was going to start crying. The wobble in his throat crawled up to the stutters in his voice, croaking like a dying frog and consistently lose its breath like a frazzled cat in agonizing pain. “M– Mom, I– I– um! I wasn’t like– Well, I did but– I’m so  sorry I didn’t tell you! I– I should've– Did the scho–”

“Izuku! Izuku.. It’s– It's alright! I don’t mind if you are, I just aha– I just wanted confirmation if you were since I stopped seeing it on my vanity and about why you were..” She chuckles softly, as a way to calm him down somehow. She reaches her hand over to Izuku’s and places her palm on his, holding his hand firmly but gentle enough for her son.

“O– Oh. That wasn't– I um..”

He looks off to the side, away from her worried gaze. His unoccupied hand is fidgeting on its own with its fingers as he bites on his swollen lower lip, pulling it in and out of his mouth from under his upper bunny teeth and chewing over and over like it was the meal that was abandoned once Inko asked her question. The pale on his face looks anemic, chalky like a ghost. Drops of cold sweat trickle down his forehead. Inko feels her burning skin begin to melt from the anxiety.

He looks back at her with a slight smile, a shy kind of grin with dark and warm peony shades suddenly coloring his cheeks, a reaction Inko was initially expecting until she saw that pasty grim white. “I– I like it.. It makes me feel, uhm, nice.”  

And here’s where Inko fails when it comes to Izuku. When it’s a topic she’s aware he’s going to be nervous around, on his toes and jumpy because of, she genuinely can’t tell if he’s lying.

She clenches her fist more, hiding it away from Izuku’s eyes so he doesn’t see the way the doubt hurt her. She smiles tenderly at him and leans in lovingly, “Izu’ baby, you know I don’t mind at all, right? You could wear anything you want or apply as much makeup as you’d like and I’d still love you anyway.”

His smile turns almost genuine, sweet and soft at the edges like always, kind and shy, almost like it really is real, almost.  “Thank you, mom..”

“Don’t thank me for this, Izuku, I’m your mother, a parent should always love their kid no matter what.” She rubs her thumb over his palm. She takes note of how her gentle tone softens Izuku’s tense shoulders and feels somewhat accomplished.

They continue to eat and soon after, Izuku and her wash up the dishes together and he goes back to his bedroom, sort of– in a hurry. Saying his farewells for the night before closing his door.

And there’s a sound of a slam from inside his room, possibly from his bathroom door. Inko stands by the fridge, anxiously watching the unmoving handle she wants to twist desperately, turn to pry open the door, and then feel disappointed again when it doesn’t budge, but then she’ll just give up after.

Because even if she knows that those feelings of accomplishment are there, they’re only somewhat  but it's fine, because the truth is out, he just likes the way it makes him feel and that’s it. That’s it, she says again, and again. That’s it. Nothing more to it than that.

But she still stands there, watching the handle, unsure of what he’s doing in the bathroom–  maybe just his business, or taking a shower before bed, or he’s just checking the makeup. He’s doing something, what is he doing, just what is he not telli– She feels the burn from her palm refuse to cool down, even when she isn’t clenching her fist, even when everything’s been cleared up already, as if it knows something she doesn’t that lies beyond that door. Turn the handle, gently open the door, just please, please, Izuku, what’s really going o–

Inko pulls her blanket over herself after she’s finished getting ready for bed, but her pillow is strangely uncomfortable, the night is too cold and the pain hasn’t left yet at all. She knows there’s a habit she can’t shake off, no matter how badly she tries but it's just that she’s too afraid to try. Inko knows, but she won’t say that she does. She stares up at the ceiling, thoughtfully, she thinks but really, without much there to think at all.

There’s plenty to think about, plenty being what Izuku isn’t telling–

She closes her eyes, and drifts–  forces herself– off to sleep.

–

Maybe the parental instinct to be really worried about their children is just something Inko is more prone to expressing but still, something is really off. Like when she noticed Izuku’s clothing choices.

Not that there was anything wrong with them really; his clothes were never a concern to her, it doesn’t bother her when people have any skin showing when they wear their outfits, whatever anyone wants to wear is their choice and as long as it looks good on them, Inko thinks it’s nothing to worry about. She doesn’t judge school girls from showing their waists or school boys from showing their chests when wearing small tank tops or whatever. It doesn’t matter if someone’s wearing something that’s really fitted, as long as they look good!

And Izuku’s choices of clothing were perfectly fine. All he ever wore were hoodies, long sleeved shirts underneath his half sleeved shirts and sometimes just a long sleeve without anything over it.

But that’s the thing, that’s also what he wears when it’s hot weather.  

She doesn’t think she’s seen his arms properly in months.

When he was in kindergarten, he wore half sleeved shirts mostly and loved summer. His favorite season has always been summer. When he’d go outside with water guns on the grass in the park Inko and Mitsuki would take their sons to play together at, he would beam  with joy, as if the sun’s glowing blond glow had kindled a never seen before excitement in his small but gentle little head.

It roused a brightly lit candle in his heart, and anyone felt warm and cozy in its presence. Like a dainty flower that bloomed in spring had now grown to the blues and yellows of the sky, coloring it with its painted bracts. Just because the warm sun, the rich viridian of greenery flourishing all around him and the people who were spending so much time outside together had appeared, Izuku fell in love with summer.

He would hate having to wear full sleeved shirts and hoodies because of the colder times of the year, always a little down when it’d get cold. Soft sniffles, quiet whines and cute pouts always came from him constantly during those times when he was really young and even as he got older, he never liked the cold.

But right now, he’s right here on the couch, watching a movie with Inko while it’s warmer weather with a full sleeve under a half sleeve.

And he looks like he’s uncomfortable, the sweat on his neck is glistening with taunts, goading Inko to pay attention to it over and over because she simply can’t focus on the movie anymore. She has her office job off today, and since it’s a weekend, Inko asked Izuku to watch a movie with her since it’s really been a while since they did anything together, to which he enthusiastically agreed to.

But here he is, with his gaze fixated on the screen but his hand on his neck, wiping sweat off of it discreetly, as he shifts just slightly in his seat on the couch, adjusting the way he sat again and again, with his foot bouncing while his head rests on his mother’s shoulder. Constantly catching Inko’s attention over and over.

Their air conditioner works just fine, but they can’t have it on all the time or else the electricity bills will go through the roof. Same goes for when it’s colder weather, they can’t have the heaters on too long either. So, they usually keep both off when they’re out, and when they’re in their own rooms or when they do something together. They usually have them on when doing chores or when they simply feel that it’s okay to have either on for a while, but only for a slight amount of time.

And right now, they don’t have the air conditioner on. Which would be alright, if it weren’t for the fact that Izuku’s wearing a long sleeve under a half sleeve.

She wants to rationalize it, justify it with some–  bullshit– reason she’s sure she can come up with, make it make some sort of sense to herself that’ll help put her mind at ease. She wants to grab herself by the shoulders and beg, cry and wail for her to come up with some explanation that can make sense.  Some explanation that won’t require that burn to be looked at later. So she won’t have to pay attention to the burn. To remind herself everything’s fine. She can’t afford it to be any less.

But she can’t. Nothing comes to mind and it's starting to gnaw at her from the inside. Her hand is clenched again, her nails are digging in again, her skin is starting to burn again and the pain is unbearable. She can’t help but have to pay attention, no matter how badly she doesn’t want to.

Because it’s getting increasingly worrying for her, she keeps glancing over at him, praying he doesn’t catch her eyes on him. Something’s already made a nest of its deceptions, hung up all around a tomb it’s carving out for itself with the shovel Inko keeps letting it take, not stopping it from anything it's doing, how much it's been creeping away from her, and just how many webs it's already weaved as of late. The burn is starting to become a liquid, hot and painful. Like the lump in her throat that’s as sharp as a knife that she can’t pull out of her neck, in fear that the liquid will spill out and the handle might never turn if she attempts to break it down. Break the locks and turn it. See what’s inside– find out what’s wrong, what’s wrong Izu’ baby– But again, she twists it in hope.

“Izu’ baby,  aren’t you warm?” She angles her head towards him, tilting it down to look at him properly, even if it strains her neck and the chronic pain there begins to tear a little from the impact.

His eyes look up at her. His foot doesn’t stop bouncing up and down, it’s placed on his other foot, but that one remains unmoving. His lips are a hard line, almost practiced. “No, I’m actually kind of cold.”

Air blows out of his nose and he smiles a little– not enough to reach his eyes– and turns his attention back to the movie. His foot is still bouncing.

“A– Are you sure?” She furrows her brows and questions carefully, not sure if the shine on his neck is convincing her.

He looks back at her and keeps his smile up, “Yeah! I had the fan in my room going for a while, and my window open too.”

She supposes, for a moment, that maybe it’s fine. It’s the evening, and usually by then, it starts to get cooler. As the day progresses, since they’re not at the highest floor, their apartment room gets thankfully cold enough when it’s late in the night. It makes Inko despise it in the winter but enjoy it thoroughly in the warmer weather. It’s convenient at times, thankfully.

But it isn’t late in the night. It's the evening. Despite it being slightly cooler now, it is still warm. Warm enough that Inko is wearing a half sleeve shirt and a pair of shorts while her son is wearing a long sleeve with a half sleeve over it. A long sleeve. A long sleeve.

The racing in her chest is something she can’t help, as if there’s police cars surrounding her, about to take her into their cars when she pleads her case, begs for a chance, because she needs to ask– ask what the truth is, what’s really going on, why’s he wearing that, it’s hot today, please, just why, why, why is he wearing–

The burn begins to sting again, but her eyes catch his hand that’s been placed at his thigh the whole time. His foot is bouncing even faster now. She wonders, and wonders if his hands are warm, if they’re drenched in sweat because of how warm it is right now, because of the long sleeve–  the long sleeve, the long sleeve, that damn long sleeve– She wants to roll the sleeves up, tell him to take the long slee– the undershirt off, for her sake.

So, she reaches for it, while her eyes are still on the TV, in hopes it just looks like she’s going to just hold his hand and that’s it.

But she hears his breath hitch violently, and the gasp sounds like a cut off scream. She feels him flinch when she grabs what feels like his wrist and her head snaps  in his direction, eyes wide with fear when she sees his pale face, the teeth biting his lower lip, his bouncing foot no longer moving and his jade eyes blown open in some emotion she immediately fails to decipher. Her head begins to spin just a bit until he laughs weakly.

“Y– You scared me..! Aha–”  

The ghostly white falls off his face, like a face mask you can just pull off with the tips of your fingers, as if it was an appliable thing. She can choose not to laugh, a method to make it clear to him she’s genuinely worried about his almost intense reaction  but she does anyway.

“Ah! Sorry, Izu. I just wanted to hold your hand.” She gives him an awkward chuckle, sounding too tired for any smiles that she’s giving him.

He gets up, unexpectedly and leans back a little, on his hands that are placed behind him on the couch. He places both his legs down, with that same foot bouncing again. His smile is still plastered on his face, but Inko feels nothing but dread in her stomach. “I’m actually kind of tired now, aha– It's Monday tomorrow too. We should both get some sleep, mom.”

She parts her lips, feels air blow through her nose as some form of laughter and clenches her palm even tighter, her nails haven’t been cut this week, and she can feel the burn starting to ingrain itself into her hand permanently.

The webs are growing and growing. The size might be comparable to the apartment building as a whole. This extent to which they reach, their heights and width and she feels like she’s back downstairs. Observing those webs the spider created, building more and more for itself as some attempt to find shelter, away from the shoes it's gotten stomped on by and Inko just watches. She doesn’t attempt to grab a cup and move it out of the apartment building, so it can live somewhere else, rather than just these webs she can tell aren’t sufficing at all for it. Inko watches it make more and more, a deceiving tangled web scattered everywhere it has been in its life because she has a habit she can’t put an end to.

But she won’t try to, because the burn already hurts this much. She doesn’t wanna know how much the gash is going to. So, instead of refusing his offer, she replies with a laugh and a grin, “Alright Izu’. Let’s both get some sleep.”

She pulls her covers over herself and stares at her ceiling once more.

The pain is already getting worse, the more and more she refuses to look back at her palm, the more it begins to crackle like fire on her flesh, as if it's breaking it apart. The tear may never be tended to but she isn’t intending on looking at it anyway. She isn’t intending to break down the door– she wants to though.

She drifts or rather, forces herself to sleep.

–

This isn’t a result of her overthinking, like an overbearing mom. No one else may agree, but she’s sure it isn’t because it's happened too much. Like when she noticed Izuku wasn’t letting her wash his gakuran.

She doesn’t get to do laundry often, having to leave it to Izuku to do it himself because she’s not home often at all, too busy with both her jobs and she’s simply unable to do practically any of the chores around the house because she’s never home.

So, when she does get a rare day off, from one of her jobs or even from both, she takes the opportunity to use some of her free time in doing all the chores. Like washing the dishes and forcing Izuku to just sit back down and let her do it or vacuuming around the place while Izuku constantly asks her to get some rest, or cooking as much as she could for him– which was working out lately! He had been eating well at dinner! She hoped the same was at school too– Though, he always rushes to his bedroom after, and then the slam from his bathroom door keeps her on her toes. Maybe just doing his business.

One of those tasks being laundry. She finds it to be a simple task, it isn’t taxing and nor is it too much of a bother at all, she genuinely enjoys getting to do it. The washing machines in the apartment building had stopped working at one point during Izuku’s childhood and only one of the dryers still worked somehow, but Inko was okay with having to manually wash the clothes. It made her feel like a mother again, like she had a place in the home she shared with Izuku, as if those tasks were only hers to do and not her son’s because she’s always gone for work, leaving him all alone.  

But then, when she grabs the laundry basket, walks up to Izuku’s door and knocks, asking about whatever clothes he needs to get washed, he only gives her a few half sleeved shirts and a few pairs of pants but not his gakuran.

Which is normal, laundry day doesn’t require every article of their clothing to be washed all together since some were already still clean from that last day. Inko likes to have a routine for laundry and vacuuming, once on Sunday and once on Thursday of each and every week, and sometimes, she likes to do it even when it's already been done on those days when she gets her rare day off.

And only Sunday has passed, and Thursday has yet to come during this week she conveniently got a day off. It’s just a Tuesday but she still wants to do laundry, wants to feel like a mom for once and to Inko, washing her son’s gakuran is one of the main things she wants to wash. Just to feel like a mother to him. Not worthless for once.  

He knows how she thinks, and she knows he knows. So, he always gives it to her.

But for a while, he hasn’t at all and she ponders on it strangely, with a pout like she’s eaten something bitter and sour, and knitted brows. It's actually been months since she last got to.

She never got to mention it before, because she’s actually been working way too much lately to be able to do laundry properly to take notice of it. She gets to vacuum and do laundry on days she has her morning to afternoon job off, which was probably ages ago at this point. It would border on overworking an employee if it weren’t for the fact that Inko purposefully didn’t let herself have off days, just to keep the money flowing into their household. She realizes she hasn’t washed it in so long, all because she’s been so horribly busy makes her want to cup his cheeks and just cry to herself in bed. Wonder why she can’t be a proper, caring human being for her son.

She’s only had her office job off these days, but now that she doesn’t have either today somehow, she can actually wash his gakuran!

That is, if he had given it to her.

But still, she desperately wants to. So before he closes his bedroom door, she pauses and places her hand on it and squeezes the basket around her waist closer. That sour pout now an anxious frown as she asks hurriedly, “Izuku, where’s your uniform?”

She thinks it might be like a light switch that gets flipped before Izuku can register it and have a reply to. The light switch that peculiarly shocks him, makes his face turn a pale green, and that light switch always ends up being her unpredictable words. “O– Oh! I um–”

He gives a wobbly smile to her, as his hand that’s placed on the bridge of the door begins to tightly clutch it, not realizing she’s already taken notice of it. “I– ahm.. M– Mom, you don’t h– have  to wash it–”

“Izuku, you know I always do and– I just realized I haven’t in so long! Let me wash it, Izu’ baby–”

His smile is faltering quickly, far too quickly which boils the anxiety in her chest some more. He raises his hands up as some sort of defense, as if her words were an army of swords aimed at him, attacking him mercilessly. “N– No, please. It’s okay, I swear!”

He stands between the opening, with his hands still quickly shaking a no. Inko stares past the gap, into the darkness of his room where only his lamp is on, the amber light from the small item being the only source of light in there. She puts down the basket slowly, her eyes still watching the gap until they turn to the door. The door is open, and the handle doesn’t need to turn. The door will budge this time.

The door will budge.

Her body moves on its own, and she rushes inside of his room, pushing past Izuku.

But he doesn’t get upset. Instead, his voice heightens in fear.  

“M– Mom! Please!  I– I’m sorry, wait! D– Don’t–” He grabs at her arms, pulling at her sleeves as she marches to his closet door, and pulls it open in a hurry. Scanning his clothes and searching through the closet for his gakuran while Izuku clung to her back, trying to pull her away from the door.

“Izuku, please! Just let me– let me wash it!” She practically yells at him, not meaning to but she did it anyway. Her concern is stronger than her guilt over barging into his privacy, because she can’t help but feel like something is so, so wrong.  

But he doesn’t know, so he keeps pulling and pulling. “Mom! S–  Stop! Please!  It’s– It’s not in the– in my–! It’s c– covered in blood–”

He slaps his hand over his mouth and Inko pauses.

She turns around and stops to look at his face. Green eyes, wide with horror, his tan skin now a gravely white, pale like white marble, his chest rising up and down furiously as he stares back at her with his trembling hand clutching his face. His shoulders are tense and his knees are wobbling constantly, as if they’re going to buckle under him any second now.

Inko feels her heart stop, the dread in her stomach solidifying itself into her body and there’s a burning terror in her palm. “..What?”

His shaking hand begins to drop down to his chest, and his other hand rises to join it. His fingers begin to fidget with each other and he weakly begins to speak.

“It’s– It’s.. Dog.”

She steps closer and suddenly, she doesn’t know what to think, unsure if she even heard him correctly. She tilts her head and her shoulders tense up, stuttering when she murmurs, “H– Huh?”

His hands begin to claw at each other, shaking with each word he stammers out, his tongue moving faster than his brain could. “It’s– It was a dog. I– I saw one, on the way home. Dead. It– It got ran over and– and I didn’t wanna just leave it there so I uhm..”

“You.. what?” Inko stepped closer, hesitantly. She clenched her palm even more, the torch under her skin lighting itself on fire and the pain only seeped further into her body. Her worried gaze stuck on Izuku.

He stepped back, and his eyes were everywhere but on his mother, looking around for something– what’s he looking for, another reason, another excuse, another lie– for something Inko couldn’t be sure what it was. Something she didn’t think would be beyond the door, because the webs were everywhere but in his Izuku’s room– or so she thought.

“I buried it– but I got the blood all over my uniform. I didn’t– I didn’t wanna tell you because– because I didn’t want you to um.. to get mad at– me..”

The milk underneath a carpet has bled through the floorboards, her tongue is bloodied from how much and how badly she ended up biting it over and over, the Katsudon was in the fridge, the long sleeves were never rolled up, and her palm is burning like hell. His finger nails are stained with something hot, the wet dampness engulfing her entire hand, the broken skin is no more and the small burn is infected with a web already.

Inko can choose one or the other. She can get worried over this dog, ask him where he buried it and ask him if she can still wash it, have Izuku refuse and then tell him it’s okay, she understands he doesn’t want her to deal with the blood of a dead animal and then walk out the door and do the laundry and they both can be on their way.

Or she can ask him what really happened.

But the milk is gone, the 20 minutes ended and she had no more time left, her tongue is bloody, the Katsudon was in the fridge and the long sleeves are all that are left. Her palm is muddied with a burn, with the aftereffects and the impact her nails had made over the course of multiple days. There’s an urge to give into, because she can’t afford any less than the excuse he gave her– the web he’s knitted.  

Inko won’t pry more, she won’t break the door down, she won’t acknowledge which is the lie, because she has a habit she doesn’t want to put a stop to. She knows which is a lie, she knows, but she’s going to convince herself more and more because she can only live with knowing the webs are a real home for the spider. She’d rather live in the webs too. Rather than accept that it isn’t a home, it isn’t the truth, she’d rather live in a lie than suffer the pain of the truth but the burn is already there, it's already hurting.

But that’s only if she acknowledges it is.

There’s no need to look after the burn, because the webs are the truth. The webs are making the burn worse, but it won’t if she just forgets about it, because she has a habit of letting things go for the sake of pretending.

If she leaves the web, the gash is going to hurt more than the burn.

So, she’ll live with the burn. Live in the web with the spider. If it means the gash won’t form.

So, she asks about the dog and Izuku anxiously explains he didn’t know what to do besides give it a proper burial, she asks if she can still wash his gakuran, and he refuses her again. She complies and walks out his room, closing the door. Not twisting the handle. She grabs the basket and goes on her way to do the laundry.

The webs are everywhere, they’ve crept under every surface, under every floorboard and piece of furniture and Inko isn’t going to get rid of them, it’s the only way she can feel like she can pretend.

She never did twist the handle, the door was already open but the inside wasn’t what she thought it would be, because she never twisted the handle.

She doesn’t realize until she gets to the bathtub of her bathroom that the burn was from the blood that was pouring out of the four tiny wounds she’d formed from her nails.

But, instead of feeling her pain, she chooses to ignore it.

Because Inko has a habit.

–

On her way down from the stairs, she reaches the first floor and her eyes catch a glimpse of the corner before the last staircase, before she has to run out the door and go catch her bus.

The webs have grown extremely large, now reaching out past just the corner with its arms to both sides of the walls. They're quite literally hanging on by a thread.

But it isn’t the webs that catch her attention, no, not at all.

It's the spider.

The spider is laying on the floor, underneath its largest web it's ever made. The spider lies there, dead.

Inko watches the unmoving creature, unsure of what to say or do. She stands there still, unable to move a single muscle as her gaze studies the dead creature. Lying on its front, dead on the floor. With its web still hanging above it, like a haunting wind that pierces through it.

It wasn’t stepped on, it just– died.

Some other way , she thought.

Inko didn’t stop to wonder how.

–

She’s at her grocery store job today, currently right in the middle of her shift, on a break thankfully while her co-worker is on duty. When she gets a call, from an unknown number that has no caller ID. She almost declines it, until something churns in her stomach and she excuses herself from the other employee she was talking to so she can take the call.

She eyes the screen cautiously, watching it carefully with dread simmering in her stomach. Her thumb hovers over the green button glowing on the screen and with a sense of imminence, even with her chary feelings, she accepts the call and brings it up to her ear.

And a nurse tells her their name, the hospital they work at, the one Inko lives half an hour away from and asks if this is Midoriya Inko.

And Inko feels her heart begin to race, a cold sweat began to form on her forehead and her palm begin to burn, the wounds suddenly opening up. She answers a quick yes, and the nurse asks her to come to said hospital because her son is in the ER.

Inko doesn’t say much to her co-workers aside from the fact that her baby is in the hospital and she runs out, taking her bag and pushing past multiple people as she runs across sidewalks and roads to get to the hospital as quick as possible, because from where she works, it's only a few minutes away. She reaches the hospital within minutes, and runs inside towards the nurse at the front desk, spilling out everything she knows up to this point.

The nurse at the front desk tells her which room he’s in, and she thanks them before taking a flight of stairs down to the ground floor where the ER is.

Once she reaches the hallway where the ER is, she sees an officer sitting down waiting for someone– waiting for Inko.

She doesn’t stop to catch her breath and begins asking the officer whatever she can before they stand up and hold her gently by her shoulders, hunching down just slightly to match her height and softly asking her to sit down next to them.

Until the doors of the ER open and she sees a doctor come out of there with a solemn look on their face.

But before they can tell her anything, Inko blurts out all her questions towards the doctor who stands there still with the officer next to Inko.

The officer puts a hand on her shoulder and nudges her gently towards themself, looking at her with a heavy darkness over their expression, eyes narrowed with furrowed brows, and a deep frown.

“The boy’s school called, saying he had jumped off the roof of the building. When we got there, we saw him on the concrete, and the ambulances arrived with us. They took him to the ER immediately.”

Her world stopped and all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears, pulsing in her head. It was the only thing she could feel in her body.

The doctor turned to her and sighed before speaking slowly, “We suspected it was suicide as well. He had a lot of self-harm cuts on his arms and inner thighs, fresh ones even from today. He’s terribly malnourished as well, he was definitely starving himself a lot. His teeth were in extremely poor condition, the cavities suggest he was also bulimic. He was also bruised heavily all over his body, with burns and scars all over him. We assumed it might’ve been due to negligence at home until the officers told us what the case really was.”

The officer began to speak again, understanding what to clarify. “We found two notes in his uniform’s pockets. We apologize for intruding on what he wrote here, but that’s part of our job. There’s one for you and– another for a boy by the name of Kacchan.”

He handed her the two notes, which she took with trembling hands. Her wide eyes staring at both the doctor and the officer with an empty gaze. Her parted lips croaking out cries of silence, as they continued to talk. The officer looked away with a pained expression, “He was being bullied at school, for his quirklessness. We don’t know how long but long enough that it took an intense toll on him.”

The doctor took a deep breath and sighed again, then bowed down to her. “We used our quirks and skills to the best of our abilities ma’am, but he didn’t make it. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The officer bowed down as well as Inko stood there, unmoving like the spider she’d seen this morning. Unmoving like her mind. Unmoving like her baby. Like her Izuku.

The Katsudon was still in the fridge, because he was starving himself. There was a slam from his bathroom door after mealtimes, because he was throwing up everything he was eating. Her makeup was going missing, because he was using it everyday to hide his injuries from school. He was wearing long sleeves in warm weather, because he was self harming and hiding his injuries. He was refusing to get his gakuran washed by her, because it was stained with his blood, burnt with holes and marks.

The burn in her palm was gone.

But now there was a gash on her torso that was bleeding out tears and blood. Red with shame, black with sorrow, and grey with pain. She didn’t twist the handle, she ran out of time, she let the dog die, she let him go to sleep before they even finished the movie, and she didn’t stay home enough. The spider was dead and its web of lies was all that was left, but it had crumbled to the ground already, now completely shattered. She believed the lies, she lived in the webs. All because Inko had a habit.

She slowly opened the note that had been wrapped up messily, the edges poked at her fingers until she fully opened it and began to read to herself. Eyes empty but brimming with tears.

–

If the gash hadn’t hurt before, it was now.

–

To my beautiful, loving and kind mother  whom I love more than anything else in the world,

I’m sorry. I really am. Leaving you like this was never how I thought i’d leave you but that was until i realized i was just a quirkless boy with no future in this world. At least that’s what everyone said to me at first, until I started to believe it because it really was true all along.

I don’t have a purpose in this world, everyone knows that. I’m sorry for how much i’ve burdened you all these years, not being able to get a job because i was quirkless, unable to support us and all i could ever do was burden you more and more, i’m sorry, i didn’t ever want to do such a thing but being me, i guess thats something im bound to be doing no matter what.

Please, please don’t blame yourself for this. I chose to do this myself, not because of you but because i just couldnt handle being in this world anymore, it was too much, no one here loves me except you but i know youre also burdened because you love me. I wanted to make things better for you and for everyone else, so i ended it all. Seeing you work two jobs, cook, and clean all for me was just too much, i didnt want to burden you anymore, please understand i didnt do this because i wanted to get away from you or something, i would never. I love you so much that i cant even describe it properly without crying, youre my world mom, and you mean everything to me. Im sorry i was a quirkless boy, who was completely useless and worthless. I wouldve never been able to be a hero because i was quirkless, or find love because of how ugly i look, or be able to provide you with anything because im incapable of doing anything useful for anyone or myself. Im just deku. useless.

I know you knew i was in love with kacchan, i still was and i have a note for him too, please give it to him for me please.

Im sorry, i know this parting letter is just really depressing, but i promise you that everything ive said here is all true. I love you mom, you are a beautiful amazing woman, youre extremely kind and caring, youve given me who is so undeserving of your love so much of it, youre the prettiest woman ive ever seen, genuinely sincere and sweet. Im happy im  i was your son.

I love you so much, and goodbye.

Deku.

–

Because Inko had a bad habit.