Izuku Midoryia One-Shots

The Simplicity of Youth

"You're a child. Embrace it."

    "It gets worse when you become an adult."

    "You have it easy right now. Wait until you grow up."

    You're a child, you have it easy, be glad you're not an adult, stop complaining.

    He gets it. Izuku understands it. He is a child therefore he shouldn't be complaining since adults have it worse. He is a child, which means his life is easy.

    But it isn't. It hasn't been since he was four, and he's so tired of being called a child when he's gone through enough pain to last two lifetimes. He can't be a child anymore. Not after the things he's gone through. Not when he has the weight of responsibilities most people never have. Izuku can't afford the luxury of being a "kid" anymore.

    It was manageable, at first. He could deal with skipping the normal teenage things. Even if his mind drifted off to what could've been if he had been born with a quirk. He'd probably have memories of love and laughter and making stupid descions. Not pictures ingrained into his mind and skin of red spider lilies on his desk, being covered in cuts and bruises and burns almost 24/7, tears replacing smiles and laughter.

    People said it was easier to be a child. That you shouldn't complain because adults have to pay taxes, work nine hours a day, and pay for everything in between. But Izuku was already struggling to survive. How was he supposed to do the same thing for when he was older? Especially if it was supposed to be so much more difficult?

    He wanted to have a childhood, but instead he lost the feeling of living. Now, it's hard to dwell on it because there's just so much to do before he can be a hero. Sometimes it comes rushing back in a sea of jealousy when he sees his classmates talking about their middle school days and sleepovers and funny family gatherings. Izuku knew he could still make new memories that weren't involved with the need to get better, stronger, smarter, but what was the point? His friends always invited him to outings, but he just couldn't do it. He had expectations to uphold.

    He didn't need to have fun. Sure, he wanted it, but it wasn't necessary in his life. He can deal with it because it just means he can have more time to train.

He's always behind. He needs to catch up. It's never enough. Why is it never enough?!

Izuku sobs and sobs at night when he realizes how he feels nothing but the ache in his muscles. He's not a child, but he's not an adult. He is expected to be the next number one hero, to be compliant, and hardworking. He shouldn't be so tired of life yet, but he is. He's exhausted. Izuku doesn't know how to keep up with everyone's standards when they're so vast and so hard to reach.

Even his own standards for himself are starting to get impossible to grab and hold on to. They keep on getting higher and higher and higher. Izuku knows he's pushing himself, but what else is he supposed to do? He can't relax, no matter how much he wants to. He needs to prepare himself for what's to come. For the future of saving but never being saved.

He can't accept his friends' invitations because he's terrified he won't know how to act. What if he messes up or he's too boring and then they all start to hate him? Or what if he wants to start hanging out with his friends more? He can't do that, no matter how much he yearns too. That takes time, and time is used to get better.

He can't rest. Not even if he tried. Izuku needs to move and move and move until he can't anymore.

Sleep is for when you're dead.

Was it really that selfish, though? To talk about his struggles without other people casting his feelings away? He knows that other people have it worse, but does that mean that his own inner turmoil means nothing?