Proofreading

Tell her the truth

.

.

Aizawa's sharp eyes had noticed the subtle changes in Midoriya, the dimming of the spark that once fueled those determined green eyes. The weariness etched across Midoriya's face didn't escape the vigilant hero, who had seen enough pain to recognize its silent traces.
During a routine patrol, Aizawa observed Midoriya from a distance. The laughter and camaraderie he shared with his classmates seemed like a façade, a fragile attempt to conceal the inner turmoil. Aizawa couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Midoriya's story than met the eye.
The confirmation came unexpectedly during a seemingly ordinary day at U.A. As lunchtime echoed through the halls, Aizawa entered the quiet bathroom, intending to freshen up. The stifled sounds of someone struggling reached his ears, and his instincts kicked into high gear.
Pushing open the stall door, Aizawa found Midoriya huddled on the floor, gasping for air, his eyes wide with panic. The vibrant green of his eyes was overshadowed by a haunting emptiness.
"Midoriya," Aizawa said calmly, kneeling beside him. "Take deep breaths. You're safe here."
Midoriya's attempts to conceal his pain crumbled in that moment. Tears welled in his eyes, mirroring the vulnerability Aizawa had sensed. "I-I can't do it, sensei. I can't keep it together."
Aizawa offered a steadying hand on Midoriya's shoulder. "You don't have to do it alone. Let me help you."
In the midst of that quiet bathroom, the walls that Midoriya had built around his struggles began to crumble. Aizawa, with his keen intuition and unwavering resolve, stood ready to guide the young hero through the darkness that had gripped him for far too long.

In Aizawa's dimly lit office, Midoriya's tense posture spoke volumes. Aizawa settled into his chair, watching as Midoriya fidgeted nervously, clearly reluctant to share the depths of his struggles.
"That panic attack wasn't a one-off, was it?" Aizawa asked, his gaze unwavering.
Midoriya hesitated, a fleeting glance betraying his internal turmoil. "It was just stress, sensei. I've got a lot on my plate lately."
Aizawa leaned forward, his stern expression softening with concern. "Midoriya, I've seen enough to recognize when a problem goes beyond everyday stress. You can't hide from me."
A heavy sigh escaped Midoriya. "Okay, maybe it's been happening more often than I'd like to admit."
Aizawa's concern deepened, his voice gentle yet firm. "How long has this been going on?"
Midoriya's gaze dropped to the floor. "Since I was a kid, I guess. It started with the bullying. I thought I could handle it on my own."
Aizawa absorbed the revelation, realizing the magnitude of Midoriya's silent struggle. "And it's been getting worse lately?"
Midoriya nodded, his vulnerability laid bare. "Yeah. I don't know why. I've been trying to push through it, but it just keeps getting harder."
Aizawa's eyes held a mix of empathy and determination. "You don't have to push through it alone, Midoriya. We'll find a way to help you." The weight of years of silence began to lift, revealing a path towards healing that Aizawa was determined to guide his student through.

Aizawa studied Midoriya, his voice a gentle yet probing force. "Does your mom know about these panic attacks?"
Midoriya hesitated before admitting, "No, I've kept it from her. I didn't want her to worry."
Aizawa's expression softened, understanding the complex emotions entwined in Midoriya's decision. "Midoriya, keeping her in the dark won't protect her. She deserves to know what you're going through."
Midoriya looked down, wrestling with his internal conflict. Aizawa continued, his tone firm but supportive, "You can't bear this burden alone. Your mother loves you, and she deserves to be part of your support system."
A heavy silence hung in the air as Midoriya absorbed Aizawa's words. Aizawa concluded, "I can help you through this, but you need to open up to your mom. It's the first step towards healing."

Aizawa fixed his stern gaze on Izuku, who sat hunched over, his hands clenched in desperation.
"I can't do it, sensei. I can't hurt her," Izuku muttered, his voice weighed down by the burden of his internal struggle.
Aizawa sighed, realizing the depth of the emotional turmoil before him. "Midoriya, we both know that this is for the best."
Izuku's eyes darted nervously, torn between conflicting loyalties. "You don't understand. She'll blame herself. She'll think all of this is her fault."
The seasoned hero leaned forward, his expression unwavering. "But you need help."
The desperation in Izuku's voice intensified. "NO. What I need is to keep her safe and happy. If I suffer for it, so be it."
Aizawa's eyes narrowed, cutting through the emotional fog. "She's your mother. It's not your job to protect her."
A pained silence lingered as Izuku wrestled with his convictions. "The second she finds out, she will never forgive herself."
Aizawa leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, realizing the magnitude of the internal battle Izuku was facing. The gravity of the situation demanded delicate handling.
"Midoriya, you're not protecting her by carrying this burden alone," Aizawa spoke, his tone firm yet empathetic. "You're pushing her away, denying her the chance to support you."
Izuku's eyes flickered with a mixture of frustration and fear. "But I can't risk her getting hurt because of me."
Aizawa's gaze softened, his voice taking on a more compassionate tone. "I understand your concern, but shutting her out won't keep her safe. It'll only isolate you further."
The room seemed to shrink as the weight of unspoken emotions pressed down on both mentor and student. Aizawa continued, "She's your mother. She loves you. Let her in, let her help. It's not weakness; it's strength to lean on those who care about you."
Izuku's shoulders slumped, his guard wavering. "I just don't want her to suffer because of me."
Aizawa's eyes bore into Izuku's, unwavering. "She's already suffering, Midoriya. She can sense your pain. Keeping her in the dark won't protect her—it will only deepen her worry."
A heavy silence enveloped the room as Izuku grappled with the truth. Aizawa's words hung in the air, urging him to reconsider the path he was treading.
"Getting help isn't a sign of weakness. It's a step towards healing—for both of you," Aizawa concluded, leaving the choice in Izuku's hands, hoping that the weight on the young hero's shoulders would finally be shared.

"You don't understand how deep this goes" Izuku cried, "I've been hiding things from her since I was 4 years old and people started bullying me for being quirkless"

A somber understanding flickered in Aizawa's eyes as Izuku's confession hung in the air. "I get it, Midoriya. But keeping everything hidden for so long is eating away at you. Letting her in might be the first step towards easing that burden."
Izuku's gaze remained fixed on the floor, the weight of years of secrecy pressing on him. "I just wanted her to be proud of me. I didn't want her to worry."
Aizawa's expression softened. "Parents worry, Midoriya. It's a part of the job. But they also want to be there for their children, to support and protect them. By shutting her out, you're denying her that role."
Izuku's shoulders slumped, the weight of his childhood struggles evident. "I didn't want her to know how much I hurt."
Aizawa's voice softened, resonating with empathy. "She's your mother. She probably knows more than you think. Opening up to her won't make you weak. It takes strength to share your pain."
The room held a heavy silence, each word echoing with the years of hidden struggles. Aizawa continued, "Let her in, Midoriya. It's time to unburden yourself and allow her to be the mother you need."

"But she's already the mother I need. She's the only reason I'm still here. She's done nothing wrong"

Aizawa acknowledged Izuku's heartfelt words with a nod, understanding the depth of the bond between mother and son. "I don't doubt that, Midoriya. But by keeping her in the dark, you're denying her the chance to truly be there for you. It's not about blaming her; it's about letting her share the load."
Izuku's eyes held a mix of gratitude and pain. "I don't want her to carry any of this. She's been through enough."
Aizawa's gaze softened. "Allowing her to support you doesn't mean burdening her. It means trusting her with the truth, letting her be a pillar of strength in your life."
The room seemed to exhale a collective breath as Aizawa continued, "You're not protecting her by keeping her in the dark. You're protecting her by giving her the opportunity to stand by you, to face these challenges together."
Izuku wrestled with conflicting emotions, torn between shielding his mother and accepting the help she was more than willing to offer. Aizawa's final words lingered in the air, urging Izuku to reconsider the walls he had built around his struggles

Aizawa watched silently as Izuku turned to leave, knowing that sometimes the hardest battles were fought within oneself. Despite his urge to intervene, he respected Izuku's need for space, understanding that some journeys had to be undertaken alone.
As Izuku's footsteps echoed through the quiet room, Aizawa's thoughts lingered on the young hero's plight. He hoped that their conversation had planted a seed of reconsideration in Izuku's mind, a reminder that he didn't have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.
With a heavy sigh, Aizawa leaned back in his chair, knowing that their conversation was just the beginning of Izuku's journey towards healing. He would be there to offer guidance and support whenever Izuku was ready to accept it, knowing that true strength lay not in facing battles alone, but in allowing others to stand by your side.