I raced up the stairs, urgency fueling my steps, as Uraraka's scream echoed through the hall. Bursting into Midoriya's room, my heart constricted at the sight that greeted me. Uraraka was already at his side, helping him up from the floor. The crash in the kitchen resonated in my ears, followed by the arrival of a flustered Iida and a concerned Tsu. They had accompanied Uraraka to check on Midoriya.
"Deku!" Uraraka screamed, rushing to his side. "Helping lift him from the floor." I could hear the panic in her voice, the genuine concern she had for our friend. The situation was clearly alarming.
"I'm fine! Really I'm fine, just please calm down. All this screaming is making my head hurt," Midoriya reassured them, his voice strained. The pain in his eyes told a different story, though. It was evident that something was deeply troubling him.
"Oh! Sorry," Uraraka replied, her voice filled with regret. She glanced at the floor, clearly embarrassed and ashamed for causing such a commotion.
"It's fine, I'm just..." Midoriya hesitated, his expression growing darker. I could sense the weight of his thoughts, the self-deprecating notions creeping into his mind. "A bit worn out from this morning. I should be fine after a bit of rest."
"Speaking of this morning," Iida interjected, his tone accusatory, "what exactly happened? We were told you were involved in an incident and needed rest."
Midoriya's response was defensive, and I could sense his discomfort. "Leave him alone, it wasn't his fault," I interjected, stepping forward to defend him. It was important to respect his privacy and not press him for information he wasn't ready to share.
"You were there too, so why are you refusing to tell us?" Iida's frustration grew, his voice rising in exasperation.
"Because that's an invasion of Midoriya's privacy," I retorted, my voice firm and resolute. "He'll tell you when he's ready, if he decides he wants you to know. It's his life, not yours. Leave him alone."
Uraraka shrugged, attempting to ease the tension. "Sorry, Deku. We were just worried and decided to check up on you. Sensei gave us a free period to go help Bakugou with something."
The conversation continued, but Midoriya's attention waned. His eyes glazed over, his focus drifting elsewhere. The mutterings that escaped his lips were too soft to decipher, but their presence sent a chill down my spine. It was as if he was lost in a world of his own, drowning in his own thoughts.
"Deku?" Uraraka called out, trying to snap him back to reality. Her voice was filled with concern and confusion.
"What?! Oh, sorry Uraraka! I must have zoned out for a second there," Midoriya responded, shaking himself out of his reverie.
"Deku, what's going on?" Iida questioned tenderly, his worry evident in his voice. "You seemed lost there for a moment."
"I... I'm sorry," Midoriya stammered, forcing a weak smile. "Just got lost in my own thoughts, you know? But I'm okay, really."
Tsu stepped forward, her calming presence emanating as she crouched down to Midoriya's level. "Midoriya, it's okay to not be okay," she reassured him. "Kero We're always here for you. You don't have to do it all alone."
Iida's frustration transformed into a mixture of concern and understanding. "Midoriya, if something's bothering you, please remember that we're your friends. We want to help, even if we don't fully understand."
"Thank you," Midoriya whispered, his voice barely audible. "Thank you for being here, for caring. I... I don't know what I would do without you."
Uraraka's warm smile widened, and her eyes shimmered with sincerity. "You don't have to thank us, Deku. We genuinely care about you."
A feeble smile tugged at Midoriya's lips as he nodded. "I know, Uraraka. I'm grateful to have friends like you. It means a lot."
The weight of worry settled heavily upon us. It was clear that something troubled Midoriya deeply, and it was up to us to find a way to help him navigate the darkness that consumed him.
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I raced up the stairs, driven by the urgency in Uraraka's scream. Bursting into Midoriya's room, my heart clenched at the sight before me. Midoriya struggled on the floor, his feeble attempts to rise showing his weakness and pain. Tsu, Iida, and Uraraka surrounded him, their worried voices filling the room.
"I'm fine, really," Midoriya insisted, his voice strained. But I could see through the facade. There was a tremor in his voice, a forced smile that failed to reach his eyes.
Midoriya wasn't fine. Not even close.
As the others continued to express their concern, Midoriya's words trailed off into whispered mutterings. I leaned in, desperate to catch the fragments, but they were too faint, too elusive. The hushed words carried an unsettling weight, and the look on Midoriya's face sent shivers down my spine. It was a gaze of someone on the precipice of something terrifying, like a fragile thread holding back a storm of chaos.
Iida turned to me, a plea in his eyes. "Todoroki, please tell us what happened this morning. We need to know."
My gaze hardened as I met Iida's desperate stare. My mind raced, recalling the trust that Midoriya had placed in me when I confided in him about my troubled past, about the abuse I endured from Endeavor. Midoriya had kept my secret, respected my boundaries. Now, it was my turn to protect him.
"No, Iida," I replied firmly, determination seeping into my voice. "Midoriya deserves his privacy. He's always respected my boundaries, and I'll do the same for him. We can't force him to share if he's not ready."
It was a pledge, an unspoken oath to honor the bond we shared. I understood the weight of protecting Midoriya's boundaries, of giving him the space he needed to heal.
In that moment, I realized that the roles had reversed. It was my duty to shield Midoriya from prying eyes, to safeguard his privacy at all costs. The memories of our conversations, the trust we had built—everything solidified my resolve.
Midoriya had always been there for me, creating an environment where I felt safe in sharing my vulnerabilities. Now it was my turn to repay that kindness, to ensure his boundaries remained inviolable, even if it meant holding my tongue.
Glancing at Midoriya lost in his own world, whispers escaping his lips, I bore the weight of his pain on my shoulders. But I knew deep down that I had to respect his journey. With unwavering determination, I silently vowed to stand by his side, ready to provide the support he needed. Even if it meant fighting in the shadows, shielding him from prying questions and intrusive gazes, I would be his steadfast protector.
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