hero's shadow // mha

34) flipped in reverse

This has to be his father's work. No one else cares about him this much to rig his entire house. No one else could've gotten past his security measures so easily. No one except the very man who taught him how to go unfound.

Izuku gets the sudden urge to scream, the realization like a slap to a fresh sunburn.

He's so fucking dumb. How could he have been so stupid to think he could actually get something he doesn't deserve? He's been living off borrowed time his whole life, but what does he have to show for it? Nothing.

Just a ripped costume and bloody teeth.

It's the sound that terrifies him now, or the lack thereof. True silence is impossible—the beating of the heart, the rustle of clothing, and the silent whisper of breath will always make themselves present in silence.

But now it's deathly quiet. Like the millisecond before the next intake of air. It makes Izuku stumble closer, a shaky hand coming up to touch the broken back entrance he always used when coming home.

This silence wouldn't be so bad if not for the memories it's ripping from Izuku's mind.

He walks forward, tripping a little. His legs are almost fully numb. Stumbling blindly through the city wasn't a very good idea, it turns out, especially since he's only wearing his hospital gown, All Might's large (and way too comforting) sweater, some compression socks a nurse gave him before he fell asleep, and a cat beanie he snagged from one of the vendors on the streets.

His hair probably looks terrible, as he hasn't taken a shower since before the Festival. It's best to cover it since he doesn't want attention. Not that it would make much of a difference. He already looks like he just escaped from an insane asylum with his gown on; he can't really hide much else.

Izuku can still feel the soot on his cheeks where the bandages don't cover, and his legs are still shaking even when being wrapped up.

He walks into what used to be the lobby, heading slowly for the stairs. He glances at himself in a passing window and immediately turns away. He looks rough, and he wishes more than anything that he could just forget about the scars littering his skin and mind, but nothing ever works his way, right? The haunted look in his eye stays with him as he works his way up the many flights of stairs, and he can't help but feel like he failed. Like he did something wrong.

What hasn't he done wrong?

It's chilly all of a sudden. It's almost like the world is mocking him, as just a few hours ago he was splintering and burning and too hot, please, I'm choking, I'm dying, but now he's shivering and chattering and thankful he ended up taking his mentor's sweater after all.

If Izuku makes it, All Might won't be getting it back.

He steps into his home with the acrid tang of burnt wood filling his nose. If he's being honest, he shouldn't be here. He wouldn't have come back in any other circumstance, but now everything feels different.

Everything has taken such a drastic turn in just the past twenty hours. This is not what he meant when he said he needed change.

He walks carefully, each step more unsteady than the last. His socks catch on the cracks in the wood, and he stumbles every few feet. The air seems to have settled in here, making the silence stretch on.

The heroes have left everything untouched. Not a thing is out of place since the explosions occurred, and there's no other footprints he can see imprinted in the layer of dust and ash on the floor. Did they not care enough? Did they not care about what could be in here?