Chapter Text
Izuku feels exhausted after spending the whole afternoon training his quirk. His bones ache more than he would like to admit, but at least he tells himself it means he’s making progress.
His shirt sticks to his back because of all the sweat he accumulated whilst training, so he decides to take a quick shower before doing anything else. Izuku thinks the feeling of water sliding down his skin after a hard day is one of the most comforting things there are.
After going back to his room, Izuku wants nothing more than to plop down on his bed to sleep. He could, technically. It’s Friday, and he could sleep in tomorrow morning as well, but he hasn’t had dinner yet and he’s starving.
On most nights, Lunch Rush will prepare dinner for everyone in Heights Alliance. But on other nights – the best ones, in Izuku’s opinion – his classmates will ask the cook hero not to do anything, and then they’ll all work together to make delicious food. Once he heads downstairs and into the kitchen, he’s glad to find it’s one of those nights.
He helps to set the table, laughing while Kaminari tries to hide from Jiro after making a terrible joke. The smell of the rice and meat cooking along with the sound of laughter from all his friends fill the space. The lights in the common room match beautifully with the darkening sky outside, and he finds himself smiling at how peaceful everything is.
Izuku reaches for his phone to take a picture of his friends, all of them doing their own share of work to help. It’ll be nice to look back at later, in a few days or maybe years. He only has enough time to take one before the screen shows someone calling him.
It’s his mother, which is weird because she usually texts him to make sure he’s free to talk. It must be important, and so he picks up right away.
“Mom?” he asks, cupping the bottom part of his phone to block out the noise. There’s some static on the other end, and Izuku recognizes it from when his mother calls him from her car.
“Izuku!” She sounds happy, and not in panic or scared like Izuku had feared she would. “I’m on my way to UA now, I’ve talked with your teachers and they’ve allowed you to come home for the weekend,”
“What?” Izuku turns around so his back is facing his classmates. “I mean—that’s great! But um…why so sudden?” He could practically hear the smile his mother is making right now, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. But still, shouldn’t she have talked to him about it beforehand?
“I have a surprise waiting for you,” she says, “I’m almost there, so go make your bag really quick!”
Izuku’s classmates are giving him sideways glances, some pointing their chins up at him to ask if he’s alright. He gives them a thumbs up, not wanting to worry them.
“I’m—” He would prefer to stay here with his friends, but now that he thinks about it, it’s been a while since the last time he had spent time with his mother. “Yeah, sure, text me when you get here,”
He hangs up the phone and turns around to see his friends putting the warm food on the table, steam escaping into the air. Izuku stands still for a moment, feeling sad he’ll miss out on this.
“Midoriya, are you coming?” Todoroki asks him, his upper body twisted in his chair to face Izuku and an empty seat beside him.
Izuku gives him an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, my mom just called,” he says, “she’s on her way to pick me up,” this seems to perk the interest of a few of his other classmates.
Todoroki’s frowns, “Did something happen?” he asks, concerned.
“Not really, she just wanted to spend the weekend together, I think,”
The teen with two-tone eyes nods, and Izuku takes that as his cue to head for his room. He packs his bag quickly; he still has some clothes at home, and he’ll be back in two days, anyway. He doesn’t bother taking the elevator back down. Instead, he takes the stairs and skips a few. Izuku utters a small goodbye to his friends and walks out of the dorms.
The sky is still a nice shade of blue, the kind Izuku can’t take pictures of without his phone showing the wrong color. The breeze is soft on his cheeks, but it doesn’t do much to help the knots forming in his stomach.
There’s nothing hinting at a possibility of things going wrong – actually, what could go wrong? He has gone back to his house a couple of times before ever since the dorm system was put in place, and it always went smoothly. But for some reason, he feels anxious. Izuku shakes his head. He’s probably just tired, maybe going back home will do him good.
He scans his card at the main entrance and exits school grounds. At the same time, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He opens it and sees it’s a text from his mother telling him she’s there. When he lifts his head up, he sees her waiting in their small car, her face lit up by the blue light of her screen.
By the time she notices him, Izuku is already opening the door to the passenger seat. She smiles at him and puts her phone down before taking off again.
The ride is quiet, they both exchange a few words here and there, about their day and that new movie that came out. Izuku can see how excited his mother looks. Maybe it’s about that surprise she was talking about. He doesn’t want to ask her though, he knows she won’t tell him until he sees it himself.
“I could’ve taken the train, you know,” he says. It’s true, and maybe it would have been even faster. He wonders why his mother came all the way here just to bring him back home.
She taps her fingers on the steering wheel, leaning her head toward him without taking her eyes off the road. “Oh well, you know, this felt like a special opportunity,”
“What do you mean?” he asks, even though he knows he won’t get a real answer.
“You’ll see.” She says, and Izuku can’t help but smile at seeing her mom so fired up about something. She’s always worrying and fretting over him, it’s nice to see her like this.
Eventually, they get to the parking lot of their apartment building. His mother takes his hand and squeezes it, the corner of her lips turning up. They take the stairs, like they’ve always done, ever since Izuku was a child. The elevator works just fine, but for some reason, his mother and he have made a silent agreement to never use it unless they absolutely needed to.
His mother hurries to reach the door before him. She unlocks the door and peeks inside before letting him enter. Izuku tilts his head, now very curious about what she could have been planning. She tells him to wait in the entryway right after taking her shoes off and putting on her slippers.
Izuku takes his own shoes off and waits for his mother to come back. It smells different than the last time he was here, which couldn’t be too long ago. Actually, the place feels different, in a way words can’t explain. Izuku doesn’t understand what it is, nothing seems to have changed much. Everything looks pretty much the same.
It takes him a moment to notice them, but after he has he can’t look at anything else. So out of place, Izuku doesn’t know how he missed them. Some different shoes, black fancy ones. They’re definitely too big to be for him, even more so for his mother. As he goes to examine them more closely, he hears footsteps.
He knows how his mother walks, and what her footsteps sound like; he has lived with her his entire life. The problem is she’s not alone, but Izuku can’t discern who the other person might be.
And then, a man steps into view, his mother grabbing onto his forearm with a grin on her face. At first, Izuku doesn’t understand what’s going on, so he just awkwardly stands there and smiles, trying to hide the frown forming on his face.
Oh.
Oh.
It takes a few seconds for him to finally understand everything, and then it hits him. The dark curly hair that matches his, and those freckled cheeks.
It’s his dad. Can he even say dad? Or has it been too long? It definitely has. But then again, calling him Midoriya-San doesn’t feel right either, and he’s not close enough to say Hisashi.
Izuku doesn’t know what to do, if he should do anything at all that is. He hasn’t seen his father in years. He could lie and pretend he remembers spending some time with him when he was younger, but the truth is he doesn’t.
He remembers a door slamming, a house emptier than when he had first found it the same morning.
He remembers his mother crying, and trying to hide it when he would try to comfort her.
But seeing his—this man, for the first time in years, with his mother clinging to him and a smile on both their faces, it’s like none of it even happened in the first place.
It feels as if they’re both ignoring—forgetting—this part of the story, and he’s the only one in the room to remember.
“Um—hi,” Izuku finally manages to say. His voice comes out in a high pitch, and although he knows it’s mostly due to his uneasiness, his parents probably think it’s because he’s shy or surprised – which he is, but not in the way they think he is.
“Izuku!” the man says, making the teen’s eye twitch. “Do you remember me? Been a while, after all,” He laughs, and Izuku stands there uncomfortably, unsure how he’s supposed to reply to that.
“Yes,” he utters, “I—I remember,” It’s not true, obviously, but he can’t bring himself to ruin the moment.
“Come on now, you two,” his mother says, breaking the uneasy silence that was starting to linger in the air. “dinner is ready,” She lets her hold on his father’s arm fall and heads for the kitchen.
Izuku puts on his slippers quickly. His father is back. He doesn’t quite understand, and now that the news finally sinks in, his legs feel weak and he almost stumbles after taking a single step. The man is still watching him from his spot, not having moved an inch. He laughs under his breath when Izuku stops to let him walk before him.
His mother made Katsudon, his favorite. Usually, he loves it and would eat it every day, but for some reason, it annoys him to eat something he likes so much with someone on who he has... conflicted opinions.
It’s mostly the two adults who talk together while Izuku listens. He’ll keep his eyes glued on his bowl, and sometimes he’ll lift his eyes up to look at his mother, but their gazes never meet. At some point, he glances in his father’s direction, and finds him making a weird face while chewing the food.
At some point, Izuku decides to speak up, “Are you spending the weekend with us?” he asks, trying to make small talk with the man, if only so it can make his mother happy for a moment.
“Hisashi, you have to tell him,” she says with a grin on her face, her palm on top of the man’s hand.
Izuku frowns, “Tell me what?” he tries to sound happy, but he feels more anxious than anything else if he’s being honest. He doesn’t want any more surprises.
He’s not glad his father is home, nor is he overjoyed like his mother. Maybe he should be, and maybe he’s a terrible person for not feeling that way, but this man – this stranger – left them years ago, only bothering to call a few times each year to talk with his mother.
But never for him.
His father straightens up in his seat and turns to face Izuku. “Well I was thinking maybe I would stay here for a little longer than just the weekend,” he looks at his mother and takes her hand in his, giving it a light squeeze.
It’s so weird, to see someone be so affectionate with his mother. It has only ever been her and Izuku for as long as he can remember. It wasn't been much, but it had been – still is – enough for Izuku.
His mother rolls her eyes before leaning toward him, “Hisashi isn’t planning on leaving,” she announces cheerfully.
Izuku feels all the blood drain from his face. “That—That’s great..!” He says, forcing an awkward smile on his face. His mother buys it, somehow, or maybe she’s just too happy to notice how uncomfortable he looks. Unlike his father, whose expression hiding behind his irises shows he’s not ignorant of the way Izuku feels about him.
He excuses himself from the table to go wash the dishes. Izuku grabs his empty bowl along with his mother’s, but when he reaches for his father’s, the man gets to his feet and offers to help him. The teen tries to reassure him it’s fine, but the dark-haired man insists and walks past him.
His mother grabs Izuku’s shoulder before he leaves. She tilts her head to the side toward his father, “He’s trying really hard,” she whispers. Ah. Well, maybe she did notice him not being so happy about the man’s return. He nods before walking up to the sink.
They both share what little space the kitchen offers to wash the dishes. Neither of them utters a single word for a while, and Izuku decides he certainly won’t be the one taking the initiative to start a conversation, but he’s willing to answer if it makes his mother happy.
“Katsudon,” his father says, shaking his head with a small smile on his face. “I remember you used to like it so much when you were younger,” he chuckles, and Izuku is taken aback that the man would remember something like this. “Well, it seems that’s still the case,”
“Yeah, um…- mom’s the best at making it,” he responds, the corner of his lips turning up.
“That woman’s really amazing,” he says, turning his head to look at where Izuku’s mother must be sitting on the couch, watching the television. He turns back to washing the bowl in his hands. “Speaking of amazing things, I watched the Sports Festival this year,”
Izuku almost drops the pan he’s holding. Right, he was competing in the Sports Festival. He doesn’t know what to answer, can’t seem to find the words. Did his father see his quirk and suddenly took an interest in him. No, he thinks, don’t make this about yourself, it has nothing to do with you.
“Your friend—Katsuki, he won, didn’t he? What incredible firepower,”
“Kacchan’s incredible,” Izuku mumbles.
The man laughs at this, “He really is from what I could see,” he says. “And so were you, with that quirk of yours.” He shakes his head, “Wish I could have been there to see it bloom,”
“Maybe if you hadn’t left in the first place,” The words are out of Izuku’s mouth before he can think better of it. But he doesn’t really regret it, because he is mad. His father can’t just show up after over a decade of silence and expect them to welcome him with open arms.
To Izuku, he’s just a stranger, an undesired guest in their home. Or well, perhaps he’s not a stranger, because then Izuku would have no reason to be angry at him.
The man clicks his tongue, placing the last bowl on the drying rack. “There was nothing I could do, I had to leave for work.” He explains.
It’s too late. Izuku rarely feels so annoyed, but right now anger bubbles up in his chest. “Did you?” he snaps back.
“What’s going on here?” He hears his mother ask behind him, but when he turns around, the gleeful expression she had worn earlier is gone, replaced by a questioning look. “Izuku?” she asks more quietly.
He doesn’t say anything else; can’t bear to see the look on her face. Now he’s ruined the one good thing his mother had, and he doesn’t even have a good excuse. Izuku doesn’t argue when she asks to speak alone with him.
She closes the door to Izuku’s bedroom behind her, “Izuku,” she starts, “I know this is hard for you—”
“He left without a word years ago! Now he comes back a-and I’m supposed to just—like him?” he whisper-shouts. He never fights with his mother, and he feels something pinch at his heart when he sees the surprised expression on her face.
She blinks, “He didn’t leave,” she says, but it sounds more as if she were repeating something she had told herself before, “He went away for work, but now he’s back and you can’t be mad at him for that,”
Izuku feels his eyes start to burn, but he won’t let a single tear fall in front of his mother. “It’s funny,” he says with a hollow laugh, “it was right around the time I got diagnosed as quirkless,”
The only light in the room is the lamp on Izuku’s desk, flickering because of the old lightbulb. It bothers him more than it should, but he keeps his feet planted on the ground, doing his best to ignore it.
“Izuku… oh, baby,” she puts a hand over her mouth, “is that what you’ve been thinking?”
She takes a step forward and reaches for his arm, but he steps back. “Mom—this is exactly what happened and you know—”
“That’s enough,” her own eyes become watery, “If—If you don’t like him, that’s fine,” she says. “But I still love him, so don’t say all those things about your father,”
Those things? Izuku doesn’t know how his mother doesn’t understand. He doesn’t remember much about his father, that much is true, but he does remember some things.
He remembers how one day they were three in the house, and the next they were only two. He can still remember the moment his father left, how Izuku had hidden in his room, his ear glued to the door to try and make out the words being exchanged. Later, he had listened to his mother’s sobs echoing from the kitchen late at night.
Had she forgotten that?
Maybe she had tried to, just like Izuku had. But unlike him, she had been successful.
“You’ve done enough for tonight,” she says, “I’d like for you to apologize tomorrow.” Izuku knows she’s not asking him, and that he doesn't have a choice. He clenches his fists on his sides and waits for his mother to leave his room before going to lock it.
He stays like this, his entire body pressed against the door and his fingers holding the lock. Izuku does this sometimes, when he's scared something might happen. He doesn’t know why it makes him feel safer – the lock is really cheap and even he could break it easily. Maybe it’s because he’d been able to convince himself it would protect him when he was still a child.
At some point he lets his hand fall and sits on the floor, his back resting against the door. He wishes he would have stayed with his friends instead. His father’s presence felt like someone was intruding on his life, and now this tiny apartment he’d used to love doesn’t feel much like home. It feels too big, and Izuku feels so small.
He takes his phone out and sees a couple of texts from his friends, telling him to have a nice weekend. He almost sends them a text explaining the situation, but ends up deleting it.
He remembers the picture of his friends he’d taken right before his mother had called, and he thinks maybe seeing it again will comfort him. But when he clicks on it, the one picture he’d managed to take, he finds it blurred.
A tear rolls down his cheeks, and Izuku thinks it’s so stupid that this is what makes him cry. Not the argument he’s had with his mother, nor the return of his father. No. instead, it’s a blurry image.
He feels so alone right now, in his locked bedroom – now emptied of almost all the furniture he had brought to his dorm.
There are no leaves rustling outside, no wind brushing against his window. The only things he hears are the faint sound of the television playing in the living room and the hushed conversation of his parents.
Izuku wants to leave, but he knows he can’t do that yet, so he waits.