Chapter Text
The golden sunset stretched across the deserted school corridors like honey. School hours had long ended, leaving behind a profound silence. Down in the courtyard, only a few scattered figures remained, students strolling toward the gates or the last members of the sports club finally trickling out of the gym. Their laughter and footsteps had faded into vague, distant echoes. Izuku leaned against the railing, his eyes quietly tracing the drifting clouds as they turned shades of orange and pink. Below, the trees rustled in the wind, and high above, a few small birds circled before vanishing behind the skyscrapers, leaving behind a vast, tranquil void.
A light breeze brushed past, carrying the cool scent of late afternoon. Izuku slowly closed his eyes, letting the air caress his face, gently fluttering his long eyelashes and weaving through his messy, dark-green curls. In that moment, all his worries seemed to dissolve, replaced by the simple comfort of his hair dancing against his forehead to the rhythm of nature.
Izuku shifted his shoulders to adjust his heavy backpack, causing the stiff fabric of his uniform to chafe against the sensitive skin of his neck. He winced as a sudden, sharp sting pulled him back from his golden daydream. Instantly, the beautiful scenery felt out of place and distant. The brilliant sunset on the horizon now seemed like a reminder of how fleeting peace truly is, Its beauty only made the darkness in his chest feel deeper.
Beneath his discreetly fastened collar, a small bandage peeked through, masking a jagged tear that was still weeping blood. The memory of the suffocating stench of alcohol filling the dark room and his mother’s glassy, unrecognizable eyes from the night before came rushing back with haunting clarity. The sound of porcelain shattering against the floor still echoed in Izuku’s mind, mingling with a pain that had grown all too familiar. He had become accustomed to being the vessel for his mother’s melancholy, used to new bruises silently layering over old ones that had not yet had the chance to heal. Izuku lightly brushed his finger against the edge of the bandage and then furtively pulled his collar higher, trying to bury the rot of his home deep within the pristine white fabric.
While he was still drowning in those wandering thoughts, a low, gravelly voice suddenly rang out, tearing through the late afternoon's tranquility.
“Hey, Deku!”
The sound growled like a revving engine, bringing with it a familiar wave of pressure. Katsuki stepped forward, his spiky blond hair ablaze under the sun’s rays. He stopped right beside him, his sharp crimson eyes scanning Izuku’s face like blades. Seeing Katsuki approach, Izuku flinched, instinctively pulling his collar higher to hide the mark he had worked so hard to conceal. The movement did not escape Katsuki’s notice. He clicked his tongue loudly, his face contorted in obvious irritation. Without a word of warning, Katsuki reached out. Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders hunching in a defensive reflex that had become a habit whenever anyone approached too suddenly. He held his breath, waiting for a violent jerk from his childhood friend.
But that sensation never came.
In stark contrast to his usual volatility, Katsuki’s rough hands were strangely careful as they touched his collar. He did not pull; instead, he simply let his fingertips slip beneath the fabric of the shirt, gently nudging it aside.
He stared intently at the bandage on Izuku’s neck. His crimson eyes narrowed, and his harsh, huffing breath suddenly hitched. Katsuki did not say a word, nor did he look into Izuku’s eyes. He simply stood there, his thumb lingering on the edge of the collar, the pressure so light that Izuku could only feel a faint warmth from Katsuki’s calloused skin.
Katsuki clicked his tongue again. The hand holding Izuku’s collar tightened into a fist before dropping to his side, his brow furrowed into a deep, heavy crease. He turned his face away, muttering something under his breath as if suppressing a fury that had nowhere to go, then brusquely tossed a chilled can of melon soda at Izuku.
Thump.
"Take it! And stop looking at me with that pathetic face."
He scrambled to catch it, the biting cold seeping through his thin shirt.
"Drink it. Say another word and I’m taking it back," Katsuki growled, yet his hand unconsciously tapped a rhythm on the railing right next to Izuku’s, a restless habit he had whenever he wanted to ask something but his pride wouldn't allow it.
"Thank you, Kacchan..." Izuku offered a small smile, pressing the freezing can against his flushed cheek. "You still remember this is my favorite?"
"Shut up! I just happened to grab it from the vending machine." Katsuki turned his head away, but the tips of his ears burned crimson under the sunlight. "You... what happened this time? That mark on your neck."
Izuku froze for a heartbeat, his fingers instinctively brushing the edge of the bandage. "Oh, I just tripped and fell. You know how clumsy I am..."
"You think I’m an idiot?" Katsuki snapped back, his eyes flashing with a heat that threatened to incinerate the lie. But before he could spit out any harsher words, the sound of heavy footsteps running from behind and a cheerful shout cut him off.
"Hey! Were you guys waiting for me? I told you to hold on while I turned in those papers!"
A sturdy arm suddenly draped over Katsuki’s shoulder, pulling him close. Kirishima appeared with a sun-bright grin, his spiked red hair every bit as vibrant as his personality. His arrival was like a surge of positive energy, instantly diffusing the tension between Katsuki and Izuku.
Kirishima turned to look at Izuku, his smile faltering slightly when he noticed the injury on his friend’s neck. His gaze softened, filled with genuine concern.
"Izuku, did you 'fall' again?" Kirishima asked, his tone lower than usual. He reached out as if to touch the wound but pulled back, opting for a gentle pat on Izuku’s shoulder instead. "You’ve got to be more careful! You know you can call me or Bakugo anytime, right?"
"I'm fine, Ei. It's just a small scratch," Izuku said, waving his hands to make his voice sound as nonchalant as possible.
"Small, my ass!" Katsuki grumbled. He didn't push Kirishima’s arm off, even as he continued to mutter curses. "He’s been acting like a space cadet all day. You and I are taking him home this afternoon. Right to his front door, so we can see which 'corner' he manages to trip over next."
Kirishima let out a laugh, flashing his signature shark-toothed grin. "Great idea! Let’s go, Izuku. I heard a new ramen shop opened near the station today. Let’s stop there, and then we'll get you home."
Izuku looked at the two friends before him. He saw Katsuki’s face turning a sharp red as Kirishima casually slung an arm around his shoulder, leaning his full body weight against him. He saw the warm sincerity in Kirishima’s eyes and the clumsy, abrasive concern from Katsuki.
"I’m fine, really," Izuku smiled, and this time the smile actually reached his eyes. "You two go ahead. I have to stop and pick up some things for my mom to get dinner ready. I can’t join you today."
"Always your mother..." Katsuki muttered, a flicker of suspicion crossing his eyes before he clicked his tongue again. "Just get out of my sight! Don’t you dare show up to school tomorrow looking half-dead, or I will punch some life into you!"
"Bye, Izuku! If anything happens, just give us a shout. Don’t carry it all on your own, okay?" Kirishima waved energetically before being dragged away toward the stairs by Katsuki.
Izuku stood still, waving as he watched the two figures, one tall and one short, disappear down the long corridor. The sounds of Katsuki’s loud bickering, "Get your damn hand off my shoulder, Shitty Hair!" and Kirishima’s broad, tolerant laughter, "Come on Bakugo, are you blushing?" still echoed, mingling with the wind whistling through the leaves. He stood there in the breezy hallway, feeling the chill from the melon soda in his hand, looking toward the darkening horizon.
He looked down at the can in his hand. The cold frost had melted, leaving long streaks of water running down the sides, but the warmth from Katsuki’s awkward care and Kirishima’s heat seemed to linger in his palm.
Izuku looked up, his gaze following the two backs receding under the corridor arches. Over there, Katsuki was still struggling to shove Kirishima’s arm off his shoulder, his mouth never stopping as he grumbled about how annoying "Shitty Hair" was, while Kirishima just kept laughing, occasionally giving Katsuki an enthusiastic pat on the back. Under the sunset, their shadows stretched across the tiled floor, sometimes overlapping, creating a scene that was both noisy and strangely peaceful.
Watching them, Izuku let out a soft laugh. He narrowed his eyes slightly, letting the last rays of the day dance across and warm his face, quietly etching this moment into the depths of his heart.
A late breeze swept by, carrying the rich scent of summer and the echoes of their laughter. Izuku tightened his grip on the still cool can, standing amidst the gold-stained hallway, smiling as the two figures vanished at the far end of the corridor.
When those two noisy shadows finally disappeared completely around the corner, Izuku let out a long breath, his stiff shoulders finally slumping. He gently opened the mesh side pocket of his backpack and carefully placed the soda can inside as if storing away a small treasure, a rare bit of warmth from the clumsy kindness of his friends.
.
.
.
Izuku stopped at a small store near the station. The fluorescent lights inside were a stark, clinical white, standing in sharp contrast to the warm, golden hues of the sunset outside. He walked slowly along the aisles, picking up a few potatoes, a bag of onions, and a tray of discounted pork. In his mind, he began to calculate his options, knowing his mother liked vegetable soup, yet if she had not yet sobered up by tonight, perhaps he should only prepare plain porridge.
While standing in line at the checkout, Izuku noticed an elderly woman ahead of him fumbling for change in an old wallet. Suddenly, the plastic bag holding her oranges tore open at the bottom. The round fruits began to tumble and roll across the floor.
Izuku hurried to assist her. He knelt down, reaching deep into a dark corner behind a display shelf to retrieve the final orange.
That particular orange was not fresh like the others. It was crushed on one side, its skin blackened and leaking a sour, fermented liquid that gave off a pungent odor. It was a scent identical to the stench of alcohol that had saturated his mother’s darkened room the night before.
'Thank you, kind young man,' the old woman said with a smile as she took back the oranges Izuku had carefully gathered. 'But this one is spoiled, do not hold onto it.'
She took the bruised fruit and intended to toss it into the nearby trash can, but her hands trembled and she lost her grip. The orange hit the tiled floor with a heavy, wet thud. It burst apart right at his feet, the blackened peel tearing open to reveal the mushy, dark pulp inside. The sour juice splashed upward, leaving a dull stain on the toe of his shoe.
Izuku stood frozen, watching the stain seep into the fabric as his heart skipped a beat with a sudden sense of dread. The old lady apologized profusely, but Izuku only shook his head slightly, forcing a reassuring smile even though a wave of inexplicable nausea was rising in his chest.
By the time he stepped out of the store, the sky had shifted to a deep, bruised purple. Izuku began the trek toward the subway station, where the air was thick with the smell of rusted iron and the stifling heat of the crowd. The announcements droned on in a soulless, monotonous rhythm, a stark departure from the lively, spirited bickering of Katsuki and Kirishima earlier.
Izuku huddled into a deserted corner of the train. The screeching of the wheels on the tracks was ear-piercing, jarring his senses like the sound of porcelain shattering the night before. He rested his head against the cold glass, watching his faint reflection mirrored on the blackened surface. Every time the train zoomed past a lamp in the tunnel, a sallow light splashed across his face before being extinguished. The sky had shifted into a deep, somber purple, yet lingering streaks of burnt orange remained at the horizon, casting a withered and fading glow over the skyscrapers. Lights from the apartment windows along the tracks flickered into the carriage and vanished as the train sped on, making Izuku’s reflection on the glass waver, at times appearing clearly with an exhausted face and at others dissolving into the dark void.
At his feet, the grocery bag swayed slightly with the train’s violent vibrations. The potatoes and the tray of pork clattered against each other inside. Izuku secretly wished this train would go on forever, taking him anywhere at all as long as he did not have to step off at the final station. However, the cold chime signaling the stop rang out regardless, tearing through that meager hope.
Izuku stepped out of the station, his canvas shoes clacking on the stone stairs. The night wind whipped into the exit corridor, carrying the biting chill of the gathering dusk. He lowered his head and began the walk toward his neighborhood. The street, which was already quiet, now felt even more desolate under the old, yellowed streetlights. His footsteps rang out lonely, echoing against the walls of the buildings along the street. A skeletal stray cat darted across an alley, clutching something small and grey in its mouth. Under the streetlamps, Izuku only caught a glimpse of a few feathers stuck to the ground before the creature vanished into the shadows.
Izuku shivered, gripping the plastic bag in his hand. His fingers dug into his palms with a stinging pain, a reminder that at the end of this street, the door to his home was waiting. He took a deep breath, trying to swallow the fear rising in his throat, and then stepped slowly into the darkness that shrouded his way back.
.
.
.
Izuku stood before the door of the third-floor apartment, his hand reaching out to open it. However, the moment his fingers made the slightest contact, the door drifted open on its own, emitting a sharp creak that cut through the silence of the hallway.
Izuku’s heart skipped a beat. No matter how intoxicated his mother became, she never forgot to lock the door. An overwhelming sense of dread surged within him, tightening around his chest. Without a second thought or a moment of caution, his legs moved on their own, lunging inside. The grocery bag in his hand rustled sharply as it knocked against the doorframe.
"Mom?"
Only silence answered his cry.
Too quiet. No television noise. No drunken muttering. Nothing.
The apartment was pitch-black, devoid of any light save for the faint glow of the streetlamps filtering through the window. Izuku froze, his breathing ragged and uneven. The usual stench of alcohol had vanished, replaced by the thick metallic scent of fresh blood. Beneath his feet, shattered glass crunched softly. Everything in the living room, from the wooden coffee table to the television stand, had been ruthlessly smashed to pieces.
Izuku stumbled toward the wall, his trembling fingers fumbling for the light switch.
Click.
For a split second, the room looked wrong in a way his mind could not comprehend.
The overturned furniture. The shattered glass. Dark stains splashed across the walls and floor.
Then his eyes found Inko.
Under the harsh white light, Inko lay amidst the wreckage.
Blood pooled rapidly beneath her, soaking into the living room rug. Her eyes were glazed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her breath reduced to shallow, intermittent wheezes.
"Mom! Mom!"
Izuku threw the grocery bag aside, potatoes scattering across the floor. He dropped beside her, his trembling hands desperately trying to stop the blood pouring from the wound in her chest. Tears streamed down his face. His mother was dying. Her eyes shifted faintly, as though she wanted to say something, but only blood spilled from the corner of her mouth.
"Tch."
A click of the tongue echoed from the kitchen. Izuku snapped his head up. Two, three men stood there. One leaned leisurely against the wall, a switchblade stained with a dark red streak held firmly in his hand. Another was slowly wiping the blood splatters from the back of his hand using a tattered, ruined tablecloth.
Izuku bolted, instinct screaming at him to run. He lunged for the front door, but just as his hand grazed the handle, a massive hand gripped the back of his neck and slammed him hard into the wall.
The impact left him dazed, his vision blurring.
Thwack!
Before he could crawl away, a heavy object struck the back of his head. He collapsed onto the floor, landing right beside his mother’s cooling body.
Izuku’s vision slowly began to blur. In his delirium, he still reached out with trembling fingers, yearning to touch Inko’s hand. Yet, on the fragile edge of consciousness, the faces of Inko and Katsuki, along with Kirishima’s bright smile, blurred together in a tangled haze.
Silent tears rolled down Izuku’s face before his consciousness finally dissolved into the void.