After a leisurely breakfast of pancakes, Aizawa, and Izuku settled in the living room, having just finished cleaning up.
Aizawa had a stack of papers to grade, and Yamada had joined them on the couch with the intention of watching a movie while Aizawa worked. Midoriya, his hands now free of cooking duties, sat on the other end of the couch, looking somewhat uncomfortable but composed.
Aizawa meticulously reviewed the first page of his students' essays, a red pen in hand, while Yamada fiddled with the remote, scrolling through their collection of movies. The scowl on the man's face was comical.
"Anything in particular you want to watch, Shota?" Yamada asked, glancing over at his husband.
Aizawa shrugged, not taking his eyes off the paper in front of him. "Whatever you pick is fine."
Yamada settled on a comedy movie, hoping it would provide a light distraction for both Aizawa and their guest while the man graded papers. As the movie began to play, he scooted closer to his husband, but Aizawa remained engrossed in his work.
Midoriya, on the other hand, found himself growing drowsy. The combination of a full breakfast and the comfortable atmosphere of the room began to lull him into a false sense of relaxation. He leaned back against the couch cushions, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.
Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Izuku's fatigue got the better of him. Slowly, his eyes closed, and his head lolled to the side as he drifted into a deep slumber. It wouldn't hurt to rest his eyes for a few seconds.
As Aizawa marked another essay with his red pen, he became aware of a soft sound coming from the other end of the couch. Turning his head, he saw that Akatani had fallen asleep, his breathing steady and peaceful.
Aizawa didn't want to wake him. The kid had been through enough, and a peaceful nap would likely do him good. Smiling softly, gesturing for his partner to remain quiet, he turned his attention back to his grading, occasionally glancing over at the sleeping teenager.
However, the tranquility of the moment was shattered when the kid suddenly let out a small noise. His normally calm expression was marred by the twitching of his brows and the occasional tremor that passed through his body. In the silence of the room, only interrupted by the movie playing in front of them, the boy's breaths came in shallow, uneven intervals.
As the nightmare gripped him, Akatani's peaceful façade shattered. His eyes darted beneath his closed eyelids, and his face contorted in anguish. His hands tense even in sleep, clenched into fists as he struggled against unseen foes in the depths of his subconscious.
The room seemed to grow colder, as if the very air had taken on the chill of his troubled dreams. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his body tensed, as if ready to defend against an invisible threat. His breaths became erratic, bordering on frantic, as the nightmare's grip tightened.
In the midst of the torment, his voice betrayed him. He started to murmur incoherent words, a mixture of pleas and cries, his distress audible even through the veil of sleep. His once peaceful features were now twisted in a silent scream, and his trembling only intensified.
It was a stark contrast to the composed and controlled persona he displayed during waking hours. In the grip of this violent nightmare, the emotional barriers that normally shielded him seemed to crumble, revealing the depths of his inner turmoil.
Having grown concerned of the boy's mounting distress, Aizawa, despite his usual logical thinking, made effort to wake the teen. A tentative hand stretching to shake the boy's shoulder. Movement slow and measured, hoping to free the boy from his torment.
Akatani suddenly jolted awake with a sharp gasp. His eyes, wide with panic, darted around the room as if searching for an unseen threat. His body tensed, and his hands clenched into fists.
Before anyone could react, Akatani's reflexes took over. With a speed and strength that surprised them all, he lunged at Aizawa. Before the hero could react, Akatani's hands clamped around his throat, his eyes wide with a mixture of panic and terror.
Aizawa gasped, his hands instinctively reaching for Mikumo's wrists as he struggled to breathe. The room was filled with a tense, suffocating silence as the two of them grappled with the sudden, unexpected confrontation.
Yamada's heart raced as he witnessed the shocking turn of events. He didn't know what had triggered the kid's violent reaction, but he knew he had to intervene. With a burst of agility, he moved to restrain the boy, trying to pull him away from Aizawa.
"Akatani, stop!" Yamada shouted urgently. "It's us, your teachers! You're safe!"
The teen's grip on Aizawa's throat gradually loosened as he blinked rapidly, as if trying to process the reality of the situation. His trembling hands slowly released their hold, and he pulled away from Aizawa, collapsing back onto the floor in a state of shock.
Aizawa coughed, his hand instinctively moving to his throat as he gasped for air. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths, the aftermath of the sudden, violent confrontation.
Yamada approached Akatani cautiously, his voice gentle but firm. "Little listener, it's okay. You had a nightmare, and you didn't recognize us for a moment. We're here to help you, not hurt you."
Akatani's wide eyes stared back at Yamada, expression closed off completely. The words that came out of his mouth were cold and emotionless despite the trembling of his voice. "I apologize." He said slowly, as if testing out the words. "I don't know what happened."
Yamada placed a comforting hand on the teen's shoulder. "It's all right, kid. We understand. Nightmares can be disorienting, and your reaction was a reflex. We're not angry with you."
Aizawa, though still recovering from the shock, nodded in agreement. "Its fine, kid, it's my fault, I should've known better then to touch you while you were having a nightmare."
As the tension in the room slowly eased, the three of them sat there, the weight of the incident hanging heavily in the air. Aizawa wondered what kind of horrors plagued the boy's mind to make him react like that. His hand subconsciously rubbing at his throat.
As for Izuku himself, he slowly pushed himself into a seated position on the floor, his gaze distant and emotionless. His hands were trembling slightly, but there was no sign of guilt or remorse in his expression.
Without a word, he stood up and turned to leave the living room. He moved with a strange detachment, as if nothing had happened, his emotions completely sealed off.
Yamada and Aizawa exchanged bewildered looks, they didn't know what to do to help the boy.
Aizawa couldn't help but shiver as he remembered the dark look that seemed to seep into his bones as the kid attacked him. Whatever was happening with the teen, it was more complicated then they'd suspected.
With heavy hearts, they watched as Midoriya disappeared into his room, leaving them with more questions than answers.
For now, all they could do was wait, he couldn't stay in his room forever.
______________________________________________
In the solitude of his room, Midoriya sat on the edge of his bed, his thoughts a turbulent whirlwind of confusion and detachment. The weight of what he had just done should have pressed down on him, filling him with remorse and guilt, but instead, he remained eerily unfeeling.
His emotions, like a locked vault, refused to surface, and all he felt was a persistent pressure behind his eye. It was as if something inside him urged him to take action, to do whatever it took to rectify the situation. Yet, he couldn't muster any emotional response.
His gaze was fixed on the wall opposite him, but he wasn't truly seeing it. His mind was a maze of conflicting thoughts and memories, fragments of a past that he had tried so hard to bury. The nightmare that had triggered his violent outburst had unleashed a torrent of feelings that couldn't fully surface. Having burst out through his unconscious mind instead. As if water leaking from a quacking dam.
He knew he should go back to the living room, apologize, explain, or at least try to convey his remorse for what he had done. But the weight of his emotional detachment held him in place, like an invisible force chaining him to his own inner turmoil.
Minutes passed, or perhaps it was hours, and still, Midoriya remained seated on the edge of his bed, trapped in the prison of his own unfeeling existence. He had become so adept at hiding his emotions, at shutting down any vulnerability, that even in a moment of crisis, he couldn't access the depths of his own psyche.
It was a cruel paradox—a soldier who couldn't feel, who was unable to process the trauma he had endured. The pressure behind his eye continued to mount, a silent reminder of the emotions he had locked away. He could almost hear the whirring of energy in the electricity swirling in the device attached to his eye. Stifling the urge to rip it out, he settled his hand back onto his lap.
For now, he remained motionless, a solitary figure in the dimly lit room, wrestling with a numbness that refused to yield to the turmoil within.