Chapter Text
Stories keep Izuku alive. He devours books at alarming rates because he wants to be in any world except the one he’s currently living in.
The librarian at their small local library is used to him showing up every day after school, staying until just before sunset.
He leaves at a reasonable time, to avoid questions. He waves when he sees her, but they never talk.
There’s an unspoken understanding that the table in the back of the library, by the right hand corner, is Izuku’s.
This is the most positive interaction Izuku has outside of his family. Peripherally, he knows this. If he thinks about it too hard, he’ll start crying. His chest will hurt in that particular way that is too far inside and far too honest. He’ll start thinking about consequences and quirkless statistics and how easy it would b—
So he doesn’t think about it at all, and buries himself a little further in the words of other worlds and other people.
I don’t want to be a statistic.
I just want to be lov—
Stories keep Izuku alive. Kacchan taunts at him, yelling “Deku!” as his followers chase him in a pack.
Bruised and hurt, Izuku is desperate for shelter, for safety.
He feels himself tiring, legs giving out, and hears the boys all too close. The tears slip out of his eyes silently, and he feels too fragile. Scared that the boys might break something else inside him today.
Looking up from his place on the ground, Izuku wipes frantically at his eyes as the voices get louder. His blurry vision clears, and he realizes that the clearing he’s in is beautiful.
It’s lush green, edged in a circle of wildflowers. At the center, a ring of mushrooms sits, perfectly tracing a circle. He’s abruptly reminded of the stories he’s read, about fae. With their tricks and manipulation, but also contradictory inability to lie. With their long lifespans and powers, but also weakness to iron.
They’re so dangerous, in the stories. But never to the children. They take them, sure. But to keep. Not to hurt, right? What if those kids needed a better home?
Izuku lightly slaps at himself, reminding himself that this kind of thinking isn’t healthy, that he’s not supposed to sympathize with the fae just because he’s the one who’s broken. Who might want to go somewhere where he is wanted and safe for an eternity—he shakes his head. The most important thing is that those stories aren’t real.
If quirks are real, why can’t fae be?
Izuku only has one more second to think as he hears the branch a few meters to his left crack loudly. “Deku, there’s no point in running. Eventually you’ll have to come back and we’ll get you anyways.”
Izuku feels the agony of that truth rip at him. And because he wants to believe, wants to believe so badly, he dives towards the center of the clearing, fingers skimming the edge of the circle, uncaring of the consequences, and whispers, “I want to make a deal with you.”
There’s a pause, as if time stops to wait in suspense, before a man appears in the circle. He’s so clearly fae, with white hair and luminous green eyes. Willowy and other. He glances at the rest of the clearing before looking at Izuku, eyes softening at the child.
The rest of the world fades out around them, and Izuku has this curious inkling that the boys couldn’t find him if they tried. He hates that he feels so much safer here than he’s felt anywhere else in a long time.
“Hello, child,” the fae squats down to better meet Izuku’s eyes where he is sitting.
“Hi, Mister,” Izuku whispers, suddenly shy. He would be lying if he were to say he wasn’t also afraid, warnings ringing in his ear from the stories. But he’s also in awe—not even sure what he’s seeing is real.
“What’s your name, child?”
Izuku shakes his head, voice still quiet, “That’s kind of rude, Mister. You wouldn’t give me your name, right?”
The fae laughs softly. “You’re right, of course, darling,” he sounds so fond that Izuku yearns to hear someone speak with that kind of affection about him again. “So clever. You know our rules then?”
Izuku nods, “Yeah. A little bit,” he pinches his index finger and thumb together, leaving a little bit of space in between.
“You know it’s dangerous then, darling,” the fae looks at him very seriously. “You should be careful.”
“Would you hurt me?”
“ Never,” the fae answers fiercely. “Never the children.”
“I’m okay, then,” Izuku says, adding on very quietly, “I’m tired of hurting.” When he thinks about how he got here in the first place, he wants to cry all over again. Doesn’t want to think about why he was okay risking it all on a half-baked plan based on a fantastical story.
Just the memory of his desperation makes him itch.
The fae leans closer, “Honey, you can’t say that. Not to any fae.”
Izuku tilts his head and blinks lethargically, the adrenaline from the run disappearing into the steady exhaustion that always accompanies him these days. “Why, mister? I’m sorry if I was rude. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Not ever.” I don’t want to get hurt anymore.
“You’re kind,” the fae says, with realization dawning on his face. “You’re worried about hurting me?”
“Did I say something wrong?” Izuku asks, face crumpling.
“No, no, honey, of course not,” the fae’s hands twitch as if they want to reach for him. “You can’t say that kind of stuff because we’ll want to keep you. I already want to.”
The fae cannot lie. The fae cannot lie.
Something high and whining in Izuku’s chest gives way.
“So it’s true? That you take kids away?” Izuku is exhausted, he wants to sleep, he wants to go away, he wants, wants, wants.
The fae stoops down, “No—“
Izuku feels the hopelessness trickle in, despair causing his eyes to well up.
“Oh, honey, you didn’t let me finish. We don’t take the kids away, not unless they ask.” The fae finishes talking and reaches out to brush away his tears.
Izuku blinks harshly as a thumb swipes his tears away, touch featherlight. He looks at the fae with wide eyes, and clutches his backpack closer to his chest. “What about older kids? What about if you’re twelve?”
“We would want them. All children are precious. Any kid that wants to would be ours. We cherish them all.”
Izuku’s eyes brighten. Nervously, he chews on his thumbnail. “What about…if they’re quirkless? Would you want them then?”
“Yes, we love all our children. Why would quirks change that?” The fae’s voice is fond and affectionate, but confident, leaving no room for doubt.
“What about someone who’s useless? Who’s no good?”
“No children are useless or no good. They aren’t meant to work or be the best at something. They aren’t tools.”
Izuku aches at that. Too full of unnameable emotions. “So you want all kids? Even me?”
“Especially you, darling.”
The fae’s eyes soften, and Izuku wants to drown in their softness. Wants to hold onto it forever. Mostly, Izuku just wants to be wanted.
“And you wouldn’t ever hit me?” Izuku has to check. Even though a hand has never been raised against him by his mom, he’s not naive.
Yoichi’s eyes are angry—angry for him, Izuku realizes in wonder. “I would never lift a hand against you.”
“And you wouldn’t get tired of me? Or leave me behind? Or set me aside? Or exchange me for someone else?” Izuku’s voice trails off, hurt and small. Wanting to believe but unsure if he dares to.
“No, honey, I would never. How could I get tired of my own child? How could I ever let you go once you were mine?”
Izuku’s heart soars.
“How? How do I ask?” He asks, his voice a desperate whisper.
“Just give me your name, honey, and I’ll take you away. I’ll take you away forever,” the fae looks hopeful, eyes almost yearning.
“That’s not fair,” Izuku cries out. “A name is a lot. I’m scared. I’m so tired of being scared, I want to be safe.”
“Oh, little one, I know I’m asking a lot. But I promise you’ll be safe with me.”
Izuku, too jaded, can’t bring himself to trust them right away. He knows from his stories that your name is a big deal, that you can’t give it away like that. It’s a trust he doesn’t have.
Their immediate acceptance just seems too good to be true.
“I want to finish middle school. And if you keep me safe, and promise to never hurt me or leave me behind, when I graduate, I promise I’ll give you my name and you can take me away then,” he finally responds, needing to test the fae, to know they really want him.
If it goes wrong, well. Well, there are worse ways out.
“That is the easiest deal I’ve ever made, honey,” the fae smiles and it’s warm, like sunshine. “Of course, I’d wait for you.”
Izuku is welcomed and wanted and safer than he could ever imagine.
It’s all so crushing that it has to come from someone who isn’t even human.
The next day, Katsuki tracks him down at lunch. He’s volatile, and doesn’t want to admit that he’d been shaken when they couldn’t find Izuku, worried about how his mom was going to react, or how he was going to tell Auntie Inko.
Katsuki shoves him. “Where the fuck did you go, Deku?”
Izuku shrugs, “I didn’t go anywhere. I just hid.”
You’re losing him, Kacchan. You don’t even understand the magnitude of what you are about to lose.
Izuku runs to the library, eager to check out new books to bring to the fae he met yesterday.
The librarian, who’s name tag says “Ayame,” scans the book, smiling at his energy, glad to see the boy something other than quiet and timid.
Instead of going to the back table like he usually does, he darts out the library, rushing back to the forest. The clearing. He’s nervous, that the fae will change his mind, but the reminder that they cannot lie gives Izuku hope.
Izuku scarcely brushes a finger across one of the mushrooms in the fae circle before the same fae appears, with pale hair and green eyes. Without hesitation, the fae cards a hand through his hair and Izuku melts into it.
“Little one, you’re too sweet,” he breathes out, “I’m so glad I found you first. The others are going to love you.”
Izuku blushes, freckles almost drowned out by the red. “Thank—thank you?” The reveal of “others” makes Izuku realize that he can’t just keep calling him “the fae.” That would refer to any of the others too. “What—what should I call you instead of your name?”
“How about…First. Since I’m the first fae you met,” First says, looking extremely smug. “It’s just a placeholder anyways. You’ll have my name once you’re officially my child.”
Izuku smiles, bright and genuine. I am wanted.
First cups Izuku’s cheek, enthralled by the freckles. “You’ve got constellations on your cheeks, starlight.”
Izuku leans into it and closes his eyes. There is a ping, in the back of his brain that says warning. First is too sure that Izuku is fated to be his child. Too certain.
Already saying “ my” and having admitted that he would like to keep Izuku. Surely, the markings of a parent who needs to learn to let go.
You would think, at least. Izuku observes it, sees all of this, and digs his nails into his palms. Not because he’s worried, or scared, but because he’s happy that he’s wanted. He gets that it’s not normal.
He wishes he wasn’t so self-aware.
He wishes he didn’t want to be kept, mostly. But he does. He does.
So he lets all the warnings slip away, and he feels nothing but sweet affection as he tucks himself closer to First.
And in return, First makes no mention of the tears that make their way down Izuku’s cheeks. He only holds Izuku tighter.
It is so easy to exist here, in a way that Izuku can’t quite define. Can’t quite remember feeling anywhere else.
( In scales of tragedy, where does this fall? Where does it end?)
Another week goes by. Izuku limits himself to visiting on Wednesdays even though First has never said anything stating that he couldn’t visit more.
In truth, Izuku is scared of being too much. Too eager. Too chatty. Too clingy. Too emotional. Too—
Well. Useless.
He keeps bringing books, spanning any genre that affords him escape. Yoichi calls him bookworm, and Izuku is safe here, hidden under fae magic, curled into First’s side, and ensconced in affectionate calls of darling’s, honey’s, and starlight’s.
Reality outside their clearing becomes less. School feels jarring, cutting, too present, too real in comparison to his sanctuary.
The teacher calls on him, and Izuku fights to stay inside himself and answer, even as lunchtimes grow harsher and afterschool becomes aftermath.
First hasn’t asked questions yet, but it’s really a matter of when. Izuku has watched First’s eyes darken when Izuku cringes in pain over brushing a bruise or moving too fast, stretching a burn.
Izuku is fairly sure he only avoids asking because he knows Izuku would lie, not fully trusting, and like all fae, First would prefer nothing over a lie.
Kacchan stands over a girl who looks near tears, yelling at her, during lunch. Izuku had thought he was lucky today, but he doesn’t feel so lucky when it means that Kacchan has turned his attention to someone else.
Rarely is Kacchan’s attention positive—at least not towards other kids. Izuku has only seen him complimentary towards heroes, and only heroes with visibly powerful quirks. If Izuku was any more optimistic or had any more energy, maybe he would raise this concern to Aunt Mitsuki. Maybe he would tell someone: this behavior is worrying. This pattern is concerning.
But Izuku is quirkless. So he will be brushed off or scolded, never heard. And these days, he doesn’t have the energy to try to force people to listen. He’s sure it would hurt him more anyways. Izuku barely has enough energy to pay attention in class, trying to make it to graduation.
Just. Graduation. Then…he’ll be able to breathe, away from here. Away from this.
Tsubasa prevents the girl from running away, flaring his wings out and throwing out taunting words as Kacchan traps her under his gaze, mean and satisfied after his tirade.
Izuku sees him move, quirk activating in his palms as the girl flinches. Aching, Izuku decides there only needs to be one victim in this. He will be gone when the next end of the year comes to pass, so he’ll take this beating. He’ll take it, because no one deserves it, but Izuku won’t have to endure it much longer either.
“STOP IT, KACCHAN,” he yells, shoving the girl aside.
Kacchan doesn’t stop. Just follows through on him instead, holding his arms as his quirk fires. The girl scrambles away, and doesn’t look back.
Izuku doesn’t cry at the sting. He knew it would happen.
“Who do you think you are, Deku? Are you looking down on me?” Kacchan snarls.
Izuku just looks at him, the quiet so loud in his head, and thinks:
I miss First. I wish I was with him right now. I wish I was gone already.
The worst thing about going home at the end of the day is that his mom is nice.
His mom says I love you.
His mom makes sure he never goes to sleep hungry.
He’s lucky, he reminds himself.
Mom doesn’t notice the burns. Doesn’t notice the hurts. Never second glances at his tears. But she never forgets to leave him dinner, even if she isn’t there to make it.
Her I love you’s are absentminded and read so hollow. But she still asks how his day is, even if the good that he replies with is a blatant lie.
Izuku loves her, enough to slip out of her life unobtrusively. She’d always been busy, making ends meet by working long hours. Izuku does not fault her for this, only loves her more.
But recently, she had met a man. Yagi Toshinori. He treats her right, unlike the man that had abandoned them because of Izuku’s quirklessness so many years ago.
He treats her right, and takes her out, and Izuku is lagging behind. She is moving on, and Izuku is nothing more than a reminder of what she is trying to leave in the past. She’s never said it, but he rarely sees her. After all, she doesn’t need a quirkless son dragging her down.
Doesn’t need his burdens, his fraying mental health, the pressure of his nonexistent future.
She’s happy in ways that Izuku doesn’t think he’s ever made her. Her smiles light up the room, instead of caving under stress when she thinks about him.
There is no room for him there.
Is it wrong for him to look for his own happy ending?
Better to be labeled missing or runaway , than an obituary, right?
At night, his eyes climb up to the book on his bookshelf, an anthology of stories about the fae over the centuries.
He goes to sleep, crying as he thinks about the hand First brushes through his hair.
Izuku loses track of time. First reads the book out loud to him, and Izuku drifts, head pillowed in his lap, basking in the peace of the forest.
His eyes fall shut. It feels like a minute passes before First is shaking him awake, and Izuku blinks, eyes blurry with sleep.
“First,” he complains, childish and sweet, rolling over to bury his face in the fae’s hip.
First laughs, hauling Izuku upright, “Oh, starlight, you’re sleepy, aren’t you?”
“Mmm,” Izuku refuses to reply, closing his eyes and leaning against First’s shoulder.
“Darling, it’s sunset,” First says, pressing a kiss onto Izuku’s forehead.
Izuku’s eyes snap open, seeing the pink orange in the sky, and he makes a half-hearted effort to scramble out of First’s embrace.
First refuses to let go, softly suggesting, “Why don’t you stay? I’ll show you the constellations tonight, and,” he taps Izuku’s cheeks, “We’ll see if any of them match your freckles.”
Izuku wants to, so badly, but…”What if my mom is waiting for me and gets angry? Isn’t it dangerous if I walk home alone at night?”
“I’d never let you walk home alone in the dark, honey. Of course, I’d come with you. And at night, you don’t have to worry about being seen with me,” First softens his voice, “And darling, your mom hasn’t been home before 10:30pm a single day this week. You told me this. I’ll get you home by 10pm. I don’t want you up too late anyways.”
Izuku’s breath hitches, as he tries to hold off tears. He knows that his mom hasn’t been around to ask where he’s been going, but it hurts to be reminded. At the same time, he feels so cared for, the blow eased by First’s softness.
“Shhh, let’s go stargazing, honey,” First soothes, “You’re a good kid. So gentle, so sweet. You earned this. I’ll handle the rest.”
And Izuku trusts First, he realizes.
And when First says, “I love you, my starlight,” as they trace constellations in the sky—
Izuku believes him.
Izuku gets home before Inko.
At the library, Ayame comes up to Izuku, asking, “How have you been? I noticed you’re not coming as often anymore.”
“I’m good,” Izuku smiles, with eyes brighter than she recalls seeing.
She remembers his hunched shoulders, his exhaustion, and feels almost guilty that she hadn’t approached him sooner. She’s glad he’s healing, though.
Izuku wonders about a world where the librarian had asked this question sooner. If there would be a different outcome.
But he remembers First, and it doesn’t really matter anymore in the span of things.
Not when he does have someone he trusts to love him these days.
Izuku stays longer and longer hours on Wednesdays.
First says, “You can come more than once a week, honey. I’d love to have you more.”
Izuku starts visiting three days a week. Still nervous. Wary of wearing out his welcome, but unable to stay away from the comfort and warmth. From the belonging and the affection.
He brings books and First reads them out loud even though he should be too old for this, tucked into First’s side, as close as he can possibly get.
Humoring him, First is patient as Izuku tells him about his favorite books, and his favorite heroes.
First teaches him the games that fae play in the forest, with stones and sticks. With the trees themselves.
Izuku brings cards and he laughs himself silly watching First puzzle over the rules of Go Fish . He’s achingly happy here.
First looks at him, eyes jewel bright, and says, “I’d never tire of you. I want you here as long as you want to be.” Izuku wants to keel over in relief.
Three days a week turns to five, each visit for four hours, five if he can pull it off.
Time starts to blur, outside of the hours he’s with First. Izuku finds it—finds it difficult to really be there when First isn’t. He thinks it’s because his brain has connected First with safety, so he’s grounded and present with First.
But otherwise, his brain does his best to make reality less. To make it easier on himself.
He’s thankful, truly. It’s not healthy—it’s not helping him reconcile with the life he’s living. Not really. But it’s keeping him safe, and how could he fault that?
He just yearns, day in and day out, to run back into the forest.
Codependent.
At least…Safe.
He feels an inkling that it shouldn’t be this way. First sweeps Izuku into his arms, and it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter.