Work Text:
The All-American Diet Plan is sixty-three pages long.
Izuku has thumbed through it four times, each pass with greater dread and aggravation. By the end, he’s supposed to be consuming over four-thousand calories a day. That’s absurd, especially for his size. Might not even be possible.
That’s not where most of his dread comes from, though. The ultimate goal is too insane for him to be able to visualize. No. Where he always stumbles is page one.
Two-thousand and five-hundred calories a day, starting at the first week. Eggs and rice and miso soup and chicken and kale and protein shakes and more rice and even more eggs. All in one day.
It’s not achievable. No way. He isn’t sure if he even wants to try.
That’s not exactly true. He is sure.
He slides the binder into the bookshelf on his desk, tucked between a notebook and a book on quirk theory his dad bought him for his birthday. Then he laces his shoes and he goes for a run.
- - -
At some point in his life, Izuku had realized that things would be easier if he disappeared.
He has no delusions of vanity, no specific end goal. (Maybe 45 kilograms, but only because it’s a nice, even number.) Honestly, he didn’t start any of his habits consciously. He just...got tired. He wanted to disappear, to stop being perceived by others, to stop having to engage with the real world.
That’s why he stopped going to lunch. Too many “accidental” legs sticking out for him to trip on while waiting in the lunch line, too many judgmental glances, too many people cringing away from him whenever he had to shuffle forward in the queue. (Don’t let him touch you. Haven’t you heard? It could be contagious . He wants to spread his Quirkless germs everywhere!) It was a huge hassle. He didn’t want to deal with it anymore.
He was too tired to make bentos in the morning or on his days home, though, and his mother was usually at work, so he took to sitting outside the school during the lunch period and drawing in his notebook. He gets to dedicate a whole period to thinking about heroes without any distraction, which comforts him immensely. When he’s alone–able to sit in his head, where the world seems so impossibly bright with possibility–he’s safest. Lunch is actually a pleasant part of his day, now. Maybe the most pleasant. The empty sensation in his stomach doesn't hurt at all, either. It's an absence and that has allowed him to feel a little more hollowed out. Cleaner, in some ways.
Without lunch, he also doesn't get post-lunch sleepiness in school. But he does feel a lot more tired after getting home, so he started sleeping later in the mornings. Sleeping later in the mornings meant no breakfast, which is fine, because he’s never hungry when he wakes up, anyways.
It’s not a dramatic thing. It’s slow, water oozing from a barely-open faucet. Every day is a drip into the bucket. And as the water rises, Izuku sinks.
Being smaller is a comfort; there’s less of him to hurt, and less of him taking up space. Not just physically, but emotionally. The smaller he gets, the less he feels. He spends most of his days sleepy and numb, tapping his pencil against his notes and doodling little fantasy scenarios in the margins.
He has become invisible, like a still-living ghost, and it’s everything he could have hoped for. No one looks at him anymore, except for Kacchan. And even Kacchan is looking at him less. Whenever Izuku looks at him now, he sees red eyes darting to the floor and feels a warm sense of security. Improvement.
When he comes home from school, his mother is usually home. She hugs him, pressing her hands over his back and then wrapping each palm around his arms. He lets her because she’s his mother. She’s a touchy-feely, emotionally engaged sort of mother. Another reason Kacchan and people who know him look down on him. Your mom is weird. She coddles you too much. Mama's precious Quirkless snowflake, huh? Gotta treat you like you're made of glass, right? He’s learned never to tell her about these comments. He’s learned not to say anything when she hugs him, though some nights she holds on too long, hands pressing against the curve of his spine and shaking so hard his own body begins to rattle.
Then he eats dinner with his mother, when she’s home.
When she isn’t, he goes straight to bed.
- - -
“It’s been four weeks, young Midoriya.”
“Mmhm.” He sips on his juice box, swinging his legs on the busted wall by the beach, and offers a thumbs-up.
All Might smiles at him, but the expression quickly tightens, then wanes. “Progress has been...not what I expected.”
“Mm?” He swallows. “Wh-what do you mean, All Might? I’ve been doing all of my exercises, I promise!”
He holds up his hands, placating. “I’m sure you have, my boy.”
“I can even--well, almost--touch my toes! I couldn’t even toes my shins, before.”
“Yes, your flexibility has improved greatly. I’m more concerned about your ability to bulk up.”
He stares blankly.
“You need muscles,” All Might supplies.
Oh. “Um, yeah. I’m working on it, All Might! I’ve been using the resistance band and I’m doing grip strength exercises every night while I lift.”
“You need more than exercises. Have you been working through my other plans I’ve detailed?”
He nods, teeth clacking with the force. “Of course, All Might! To the letter.”
“And you’ve been eating everything?”
“Ah. I mean.” He sets the juice box aside. Nothing he bought. All Might had handed it to him. Apple. Watery and sweet and a little tart, it had felt like a soft explosion in his mouth every time he sucked on the straw. Now, his mouth feels coated. Sick. “...No.”
All Might shrugs off his knapsack, rifling through it. When he pulls out a clipped chunk of battered papers, Izuku’s heart sinks. “You need to follow this diet plan in order to gain the appropriate level of muscle mass.” He taps at the paper. “If money is an issue, young Midoriya, I can--”
“N-no, it’s just.” What can he say? He doesn’t know how to explain it to himself , let alone the world’s greatest hero, the first person to ever give him a chance. “I don’t...” His voice is weak to his own ears, quiet and breaking the air. He owes this to All Might, though; he knows he’s trying to help him get into the hero course at Yuuei. He can’t do that if Izuku lies. “I don’t know, but it’s...kinda hard to eat?”
Blood gallops past his ears while All Might stares down at him, considering. This is the end of the road, short as it was. And Izuku’s grateful, he decides. He’s grateful he even got this far. He’ll cherish these memories forever.
“We’ll work up to it,” All Might says, after a long moment.
Izuku blinks, at a loss. “We’ll…”
“We can start somewhere else, get to the point in the original diet at a later date,” he clarifies. The clarification means that this is still happening. Izuku discreetly pinches himself, flinching at the spike of pain along his thigh. “How many calories do you eat a day?”
Five-hundred. “I don’t know,” he says.
All Might looks at him again. Izuku feels his skin crawl, but he keeps his face straight. “Let’s start at fifteen-hundred,” he says slowly. “And we’re going to talk about your dietary needs, next time.”
“O-okay.”
“Now, do you feel well enough to do some laps around the neighborhood?”
He shoots off the wall, knees twinging sharply when he lands. The world wobbles for a moment, but he straightens quickly. He nods with a smile. “Of course!”
“Just five kilometers,” All Might calls after him. He’s already running toward the road. “Easy pace, Midoriya!”
“Be back soon!” he calls back, turning his eyes toward the ground. His heart is already thudding heavily in his chest, but the wind feels good against his skin. Moving feels good, in general. Running is his favorite thing in the world. He can’t believe he didn’t discover this panacea before All Might. Feel lethargic? Go for a run. Feel bored? Go for a run. Feel anxious? Go for a run. Feel like absolute shit? Go for a run. And it’s productive! It’s something that feels good and is actually good for him at the same time. It’s amazing.
Maybe he could start running at lunch.
- - -
Fifteen-hundred is simply not possible. He is used to eating one meal a day of approximately 450-500 calories.
Maybe he won’t notice, he thinks as he zips up his backpack for school.
The top bulges slightly from his running shoes. They’re just an older pair of sneakers. He’s glad All Might had suggested using a separate pair for exercise because they’re full of sand at this point.
When lunch comes, he’s practically vibrating in his seat, desperate to shuck off his uniform and slip out of his school shoes. As he waits for everyone to leave, Kacchan narrows his eyes when passing. “Deku,” he says.
Izuku can’t even acknowledge him, knee jumping with the need to get outside and run. He’ll get to run for a whole half hour on the dirt track behind the school. No one is ever there during school hours; the gym courses are usually held inside.
Kacchan makes a strange expression at the doorway, standing there for a moment. Izuku catches him looking at him, lips pulled into a frown. This would normally disconcert him, but instead he turns his eyes back to the blackboard, considering the temperature. It’s a bit hot out, and the humidity is high, which means he’ll sweat more. He never sweats that much, though. All Might had commented on it, the other day, with a startled laugh. Normally someone would be soaked after a workout like that, young Midoriya.
He hadn’t said it like a compliment, but it clearly had been one. That just means he’s more fit than he thought he was, which is awesome. It’s a huge advantage for his new running-at-school plan, too. He should be able to get back into his uniform after a cooldown without having to shower. It’ll be a win-win. No need to sneak into the locker room and worry about any confrontation. Izuku hasn’t used the school showers since...since a while. Since...
He blinks, looking toward the door. Kacchan is gone.
- - -
Where all Izuku’s peers had started to sprout and grow and fill out, he has remained the same size as he was at twelve. There’s something strangely gratifying about this pubescent purgatory, like he doesn’t have to grow up. Like he can stay in stasis forever.
He can’t explain why, but it feels very important. It feels like an achievement.
If he doesn’t grow up, he won’t have to face the miserable adult life that surely awaits him.
So when Kacchan knocks him into lockers, when classmates sneer down at him, when the school nurse asks him if he’s started puberty and clicks her tongue, Izuku feels proud. He won’t ever admit this to anyone, would rather die than confess something so unheroic, but he feels a private disdain for other people sometimes. He’s not looking down on anyone; it isn’t condescension. It feels more like a quiet, cold assessment of their willpower.
Of course he’s small, bird-boned, pre-pubescent. It wasn’t easy to accomplish. He earned this. And he’s still earning it. It’s a constant upkeep. No one around him understands.
There are drawbacks to this effort. Infinite drawbacks. That’s why this is impressive–it’s difficult . And he’s never had doubts about it, marched forward on the path with sureness in his stride.
Until now.
Doing a push-up in front of All Might is mortifying. After five weeks, he can perform twenty shaky overtures. All Might keeps staring at him with a frown. He’s supposed to be able to do fifty push-ups, right now.
He can run the five kilometer loop he set up fairly well, at least! Running is great.
(Shit, he left his running socks in his locker at school again, didn’t he?)
The push-ups are definitely disappointing. As is...well. Everything else. He's underperforming in just about everything except running, and even in that area he's barely hanging on. All Might asks a lot of him. Lifting and straining and running and stretching.
All of it leaves him breathless, heart rattling in his head, lungs deflated and vision spotting. He totters around the beach, cleaning up trash in a daze, legs quaking.
Maybe he won’t notice, he thinks, a prayer.
It’s been five weeks, though, and All Might frowns more than he smiles when he doesn’t think Izuku is looking.
When he comes to practice today, All Might stops him before he can take off his sweater. “Why are you wearing that?”
“I’m cold." He frowns as he thumbs at the edge of his sleeve. He's usually wearing a sweater outside of his gakuran.
All Might looks at him. His face is unreadable. Then he says, “Alright. Let’s grab lunch.”
“Wh-- Lunch? Don’t we have training?”
“Today, we’re going to have lunch.” All Might starts walking. “We need to discuss your progress.”
Oh no. Oh no.
Izuku ducks his head, following after him like a funeral procession.
- - -
They don’t get lunch, because Izuku isn’t hungry and All Might subsists mostly on a regimented diet of semi-liquid food packets.
All Might had insisted on buying him some boba, however, though he was able to wriggle his way out of getting the sugar syrup and whole milk. It’s too sweet, he’d said, which was very believable. It might even be true. Either way, taro boba is plenty sweet with soy milk.
He sips at it in little bursts while kicking his legs against the booth chair. All Might is tapping something into his phone. He takes care not to let the straw go down low enough to suck up any of the tapioca pearls.
“What do you eat for breakfast?”
He looks up. All Might is still on his phone. He sees the name Shuzenji at the top. The rest is obscured by All Might’s hand. “Ah, um. Eggs and tofu and r--”
“Not the plan,” All Might says. “What do you eat, normally? Ignoring the plan.”
“Uh...” He taps his cup. “Some toast?” he ventures. He used to eat toast.
“Thick-sliced? With butter?”
“Yeah.” He used to, yeah.
All Might steeples his fingers, humming. “Okay. What about lunch?”
He doesn’t eat lunch.
“Wh...whatever’s in the cafeteria,” he manages.
All Might frowns.
Izuku ducks his head, taking a steeling breath. “I don’t eat lunch usually,” he says into his chest, words muffled. He can feel his sternum through the threads of his sweater, thin and hard. It comforts him.
“Okay. Dinner?”
“Whatever Okaasan makes.”
“What does your mother usually cook?”
He shrugs. “Um. Rice and vegetables and a meat, usually... Lots of noodles, too. Yaki udon, sometimes.”
“Do you eat a set amount of food or do you usually just eat until you’re full?”
Neither. “The second.”
“And your bowel movements?”
He chokes on his boba straw.
All Might keeps tapping something into his phone, not even looking at him. “A bit of an awkward question,” he continues, sounding somewhat penitent, “but I need to know if we have to make some dietary adjustments to your training plan.”
Izuku swallows, mind racing to recall the last time he took a shit. Four days ago? No, that was a false alarm, wasn’t it? He’d sat in the school bathroom and clutched his stomach and only eked out some weak, dry farts. An actual bowel movement was...
Wow. Nine days ago.
There’s no way All Might will take that as a positive. Nine days isn’t normal, right? He has to say something that sounds normal. With some horror, Izuku realizes that he has no idea what a normal bowel schedule looks like, though. And if he pulls out his phone to look it up, it might seem really obvious what he’s doing.
So how often do people poop? Once a day? No-- That sounds really excessive. He doesn’t want All Might to think he has diarrhea or something; he’d die of embarrassment. But four is probably too long, or. Well, it feels too long for him. He feels like there’s a massive rock in his stomach, after nine days.
“Um. T-two days ago...?” he offers. Two days sounds sensible. People probably poop every few days.
“Two days,” All Might echoes, and keeps typing.
“Sure.” Sure, two.
“How much do you drink in a day?”
“Drink?”
“Any liquids. Water, coffee, soda.”
“Three glasses of water.” He drinks one glass of ice water a day.
All Might nods, still not looking up.
“Um. All Might, why all the questions?”
“I’m getting a much better picture of your baseline health,” he replies. “We’ll be able to make this work, young Midoriya. It’ll take some time, though. And patience. And a lot of willpower.”
Oh. Well that’s fine. Izuku is replete with patience and willpower.
- - -
The bottle of Vitamin B gummies is so big that he has to carry it in his backpack. The multivitamin bottle is a little more manageable, but the pills are chalky and hard to swallow.
“Three times a day,” All Might had instructed him on the Vitamin B, and only once in the morning for the multivitamin. He also recommended Izuku wash it all down with some exercise drinks, but he’s decided to go with small sips of water.
It’s annoying, but better than the fifteen-hundred calories, which All Might has stopped asking about. He doesn’t bug him about food at all, anymore, actually. It’s a relief. Instead, he asks about the vitamins and keeps tossing sports drinks and juice at him after their sessions on the beach.
He nurses the sports drinks until they’re halfway gone. The juice boxes are easier to fake, since they’re opaque, but he does drink some. Working out makes him thirsty and his whole body pulse.
He’s noticed he’s sweating more. He hates it. Running is getting tougher at lunchtime. He really doesn’t want to use the locker room showers.
Doesn’t want to be seen or
He also has to use the bathroom more, though it’s just urine. He feels bloated and sick all the time. The nice, easy empty sensation he used to covet feels so far away.
He eats his vitamins with a grimace and hopes they do something for him, but it’s been another week and he continues to feel the same.
- - -
Hero Training Analysis Notebook pg. 32
Worst Energy Flavors, from Least Egregious to Most Offensive:
- Cool Tide (tastes like stevia and blue flavor dye)
- Tropics Taste (some kind of melon? ish? flavor?)
- Berry Blast (this actually tastes like mango for some reason)
- Lemon Zest Punch (evil)
- Cherry Cheer (this is just cough syrup)
- Orange Sunrise (VOMIT FLAVOR! if All Might gives me this again I will riot)
- - -
It’s not like he hasn’t grown in some ways. He has body hair, now, just like some of the other boys. His just...looks different.
In fact, it’s kind of mortifying how hairy he is. It’s all thin, much thinner than some of the boys in his class, but it’s dark. Way darker than the light, almost invisible body hair he used to have. One of Kacchan’s friends once caught him in the locker room and joked that he looked liked an animal. ( Wow, that’s not normal-- Hey, is this a Quirkless thing? You’re so under-evolved, you’re a monkey!) He started changing in the bathroom stall, after that.
As if that weren’t enough, he notices clumps of hair in the shower drain whenever he washes himself. That’s been happening for longer than the more recent weird body hair, but it’s been getting worse lately. Anytime he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, he comes back with a chunk of loose strands in his palm.
He’s...balding. At fourteen.
It’s really, really gross.
His voice hasn’t dropped, though, and he hasn’t gone through any of the big phases detailed in the puberty book his mother gave him. He flips through it obsessively some nights, dread forming a dense seed in the empty pit of his stomach. Nothing lines up with the book.
By the morning, the panic is washed away, replaced by relief. He doodles in his notebook at the kitchen table for twenty minutes before packing his backpack and walking to school, steps a little lighter.
Whatever is going on with him, at least it isn’t puberty.
- - -
It wasn’t any single day, it was just a build up of single days, alright? And at some point, it became intolerable and he asked them to stop but they wouldn’t stop they wouldn’t st
- - -
“Izuku,” his mother says at dinner, frowning.
“Mm,” he replies, making a show of slurping up a single noodle.
She sets her chopsticks down with a click against the table. “You’ve hardly touched dinner.”
“I--” He stops, eyes darting toward her bowl to gauge what pace he should have been keeping. Hers is empty. Shoot. “Oh.”
She offers him an expectant look. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Is there something...? What a weird way to phrase that. It’s just dinner. Usually, he’s able to keep up with his mother, though. Every bite has been a struggle. More of a struggle than usual. He constantly feels stuffed up and nauseous.
“I feel kinda sick,” he confesses. “Um.” His face heats up. “I...haven’t been able to use the bathroom in a few days.”
She blinks. “You...haven’t been able to go to the bathroom?”
He waves a hand, grimacing. “S-sorry, I’m just! C-constipated? And it makes me feel really nauseous, sorry, it’s just...”
“Oh,” she says. “I wish you’d told me. If it’s been going on for so long, we should give you a laxative.”
“Oh!” He nods, heart fluttering. “Y-yeah, that sounds like... I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” He had. “Do we have any?”
His mother makes a noncommittal noise, pushing her chair in. “I can get one right now.”
“Where are they?” he asks, standing up. “I can go get--”
“No,” she says sharply.
Izuku freezes. His mother’s face is stern, eyes boring into him. In the yellow light of the kitchen, she looks like a stranger.
The moment passes when he blinks. His mother is back. “Sit down,” she says with a small smile. “I’ll go grab one and you can take it with a big glass of water. That way, it’ll start working sometime in the morning.”
He sinks back into his chair, fiddling with his chopsticks. “U-um. Okay, Okaasan. What if I need more than one? Are they just in the bathroom, or?”
“Just let me know,” she says, “and I’ll get you another. I’m your mother, Izuku. I hope you feel you can let me know when you’re having any kind of problem.”
“Of course,” he says softly, stirring his noodles around.
She’s gone for almost five minutes.
Their apartment isn’t large. He wonders if she got caught up with something else.
She comes back with a small smile, though, and his thoughts fizzle out, eyes drawn to the two pills in her hand. They’re very small. He takes them, turning them over in his palm. They’re unmarked.
“It’s a gentle laxative." She sits back down. “Take just one. If you don’t feel anything in the morning, take the next one. Like I said, it’ll take a while to work because of that. Thank goodness you don’t have school tomorrow. You can just let the medicine work.”
No, but he has other commitments. “How long does it take for everything to, um, to come out?”
“That depends. You said it's been a few days, right? You shouldn’t have to pass too much, hopefully.”
It’s been nineteen days.
“Mm.” He takes two more bites of food, his usual ploy to get her to stop looking at him during dinner. His stomach gurgles in protest.
Satisfied, his mother’s eyes turn toward the wall, humming in thought.
He slips both pills into his mouth and swallows them with a sip of water.
- - -
He checks the medicine cabinet in the bathroom after dinner, but there are no laxatives to be found. Most of the medicine cabinet is cleared out, actually. Even the green tea caffeine pills he used to steal every weekend are gone.
She must have finished them, he thinks.
When he closes the cabinet, a boy stares back at him from the mirror. Izuku stares at his collarbones, bracing his arms on either side of the sink to take in the way the boy’s shirt sags at the neck. He reaches back, pulling the shirt taught against his sides. Cocks his head and narrows his eyes, considering.
“Izuku?”
He startles, blinking at the door. “J-just a second! Brushing my teeth.”
There’s no response. He turns back to the mirror, grabbing his toothbrush. The boy watches. Izuku does not meet his eyes.
- - -
He stopped drawing pictures of himself as a hero when he was around thirteen. Something about considering what he would look like, it...made him uncomfortable. Besides, drawing heroes with their cool quirks was way more interesting and he got to write thoughts about them next to them. He had a lot of thoughts about heroes.
He didn’t have many thoughts about himself.
- - -
The next morning, Izuku sits on the toilet bowl and cries so hard his teeth chatter.
“Izuku?” A knock on the door. “You’ve been in there for a while. Are you alright?”
He hunches forward, groaning. “’m fine!” he calls back. When her food steps retreat, he hiccups and lets himself clench again. It’s like vomit coming out the other end and it smells a thousand times worse than the garbage beach at low tide.
With shaky fingers, he types out a message to All Might.
me
Gonna be late for practice. I’m really, really sorry.
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
It’s fine, my boy. Has something happened?
Yeah. Shit. Shit is happening. Ha ha.
me
Just a little sick. My mom is with me. I can come by later, though!
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
No. Just rest, please. We can meet tomorrow.
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
If there’s anything I can do, let me know. I hope you feel better soon.
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
Be well.
Izuku sighs, setting his phone on the tiled floor. His stomach cramps again and he hisses, gritting his teeth. He can’t stop sweating and shaking. It’s so disgusting.
“Izuku?” His mother again.
“Y-yeah, Okaasan,” he replies. “I’m fine. Just...um. The pill you gave me, last night.”
“It’s been an hour and a half, Izuku,” she says, worried words muffled by the thin door.
He clenches and the toilet splatters again. She definitely heard that. There’s no way she didn’t hear that.
He can’t help it. He starts crying. This is humiliating and it hurts and his asshole feels like it’s on fire. He presses his face into his knees and wraps his arms around his thighs, sobbing. This is awful. He’s fucking disgusting. He hasn’t taken a shit in twenty fucking days. He’s probably more shit than boy at this point. He’s a rotting trash heap.
When does it end? Does it ever end?
A rough, wet washcloth wipes at his face. He gasps, flinching away. A hand is warm against his spine, rubbing along the knobs under his thin cotton-blend shirt.
“Sh.” His mother is crying. The toilet flushes. He squeezes his eyes shut, burrowing into his legs. This is mortifying. “Izuku, it’s okay. You’re just sick.”
Sick. Yeah, he’s sick. He’s full of shit.
Full of...
He hiccups another sob. “Okaasan,” he croaks. “Don’t touch me, ‘m gross.”
“You’re not gross.” The words are faint. He’s drifting away from them. Away from the hand on his back as it reaches up to run through his matted curls and definitely tugging loose strands out with each motion. “Oh, Izuku, you’re not gross. You’re my baby, okay? I’ve seen you sick plenty of times.”
“Then why won’t they touch me?” he slurs, shuddering. Another cramp lances through him. “Nob’dy...likes me. Contagious.”
Soft arms envelope him. So much larger than him. He’s never felt more fragile in his life. “Oh, Izuku...”
She sounds pathetic. He sounds way more pathetic, though. He sounds like the most pathetic creature in the world. A worm. A dumb little doll. Gagging, he wonders when a worthless wooden thing like him will finally catch fire and burn up.
Kacchan would make fun of him so badly if he saw him, now. Stupid fucking Deku shitting his brains out!
If All Might saw him like this, he’d definitely take back his decision.
A new round of crying starts. He has no more tears, though. All the water in his body is coming out of his asshole, splattering in the toilet. Instead, he trembles and whimpers like the gross little animal he is.
“’m sorry,” he croaks, shuddering. “’m so sorry, Okaasan. I don’t know why I’m like this.”
His mother sighs against the side of his head. She just holds him.
He curls into himself tighter and wishes it were enough.
- - -
He lost a whole kilogram after the laxatives.
1.1 kilograms. And that’s after he ate and drank the night before, so he’s still not empty and he lost 1.1 kilograms all the same.
He had 1.1 kilograms of impacted shit in his body.
The laxatives aren’t in any of the kitchen cabinets. Or on the living room bookshelves. Or in his mother’s bag. Or in her clothes drawers, though he did find the green tea pills buried under her underwear.
This mystery is driving him insane.
Why the hell are they so hard to find?
Irritation prickles along his skin whenever he looks at her now. He emptied the green tea pill box, leaving the packaging in her dresser where he found it. There had been just as many left in it as the last time he had taken them. The caffeine in them makes his heart hurt, so he stopped a while ago.
Now he slips them under his tongue in the morning out of spite.
- - -
After practice, All Might gives him a protein shake.
Well, not exactly. It’s lukewarm and in a small plastic container. The label’s been peeled off. Izuku turns it over in his hands, frowning.
“Drink that,” is all All Might says.
“Um.” He cracks the seal at the top, sniffing. Sweet. Sickly-sweet, actually. This is one of the last things he needs to drink after exercising. He needs water, or even one of those gross sports drinks, not vanilla...whatever this is.
And it’s liquid. Totally liquid. If it were a solid, he’d have a better idea of what was going into his stomach; it’d take up more space. “What’s, ah,” he starts, palms clammy, “the brand of this?”
All Might lets out a light laugh, rubbing at his neck. “Can’t remember, sorry. But they’re a tried and true supplement that will work well for you at this stage in your training.”
He sniffs it again. It’s like condensed milk or some kind of baking ingredient he’s seen in the European cookbook his mother keeps on the shelf but rarely uses. He’s read through the thing multiple times on long nights when he couldn’t sleep, tracing his fingers over all the German cakes.
“It smells really sweet,” he says.
“Oh! Well...it’s a bit sweet, yes.”
“And you want me to drink this.”
“Yes! I’ve had them before, young Midoriya.” All Might flashes him a supremely reassuring smile, teeth blinding. “They aren’t that bad.”
When it touches his tongue, he gags.
- - -
All Might calls them protein shakes. Izuku has no knowledge to refute him. He’s just thankful they’re so small and he only has to drink one a day.
- - -
The beach is getting cleaner, slowly but surely. And Izuku feels stronger. Really. His arms are filling out a little, veins popping out by the time he finishes in the evening. He doesn’t get as light-headed when he’s bending to lift. His heart still slams into his ribs, but it’s no longer rocking his body with the force.
All Might doesn’t bother him about the multivitamin anymore, but he makes sure Izuku drinks all of the protein shakes. He makes him hand them over when he’s done, claiming he needs to recycle them, but he doesn’t try to hide how he opens the bottle up and peers inside.
The energy drinks are still awful, but he’s been granted a reprieve from the worst flavors.
Orange Sunrise...ugh. Never again.
All Might had laughed when he’d given him his flavor rankings. I’m not trying to torture you, he’d said, amused.
Izuku doesn’t have the heart to tell him that the protein shakes are worse than Orange Sunrise.
- - -
He is getting stronger and, miraculously, he feels good.
Like...really good. Not physically--physically, he often feels like absolute shit--but mentally, he feels clearer. It’s hard to explain. Thoughts are coming more quickly, snapping into place.
When All Might tosses a drink at him, he doesn’t let it smack him in the face anymore. He actually catches it. When a classmate sticks out a leg in the row between desks, Izuku is able to deftly step to the side instead of face-planting. When his mother asks him where he’s going in his free time, he can come up actually believable lies now instead of staring at her blankly with a clicking brain.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, young Midoriya,” All Might laughs when he tells him, vibrating with excitement.
“Yeah!” he says with a nod, grinning. He doesn’t mention the frequent bouts of nausea he's now having. “I... I really do feel a lot stronger now, All Might!”
He does. He feels...powerful, even, sometimes. When he lifts old CRT TVs and carries them across the length of the beach or when he carries All Might on his back for hundred meter stretches, he feels like he’s doing something really amazing. He feels capable. He feels alive.
Even his schoolwork is improving, his note-taking, his conversations with his mother whenever she’s home.
And he’s not balding as much! Some of that weird body hair is slopping off whenever he showers, too. It’s like a miracle.
Somehow, despite the rocky start, his body is getting the memo. Maybe he’ll even get abs soon! He definitely feels like his arms are filling out a bit, so it’s definitely within the realm of possibility.
Heroism has never seemed more achievable. He can see--well, maybe not himself, but someone-- in a year, standing tall and wiry with a six-pack, just like All Might and Kacchan. All those stupid childish dreams will come to fruition if he keeps at it.
It has to be a miracle. All Might really does know what he’s talking about; Izuku feels bad for ever doubting him. All those stupid supplements and gross drinks and the eternal sweating are worth it.
Izuku isn’t sure if he’s ever felt this good.
- - -
He finds himself trapped in the bathroom after coming home from school, stricken as he sits on the toilet while his stomach whines.
“Izuku?” his mother asks, knocking on the door.
“I have diarrhea,” he says without any real emotion, a realization more than an explanation.
“Oh,” she responds.
Diarrhea.
He usually has the opposite. Normally, he passes a single, very difficult stool about once a week.
The green tea diet pills have never done this. And he hasn’t taken any laxatives because he can’t fucking find them.
“Call for me if you need me. Maybe a light dinner, tonight?”
“Okay,” he says, not really listening. He stares at the wall.
What the hell is happening to his body?
- - -
He pats at his body after voiding everything in his system over the course of thirty minutes, feeling around for…something. He isn’t sure what. Something different, maybe? He feels his thighs and frowns, fingers grappling with his wrists next. Thumb to index. Why would he be having diarrhea when nothing has–-
When he feels the pouch on his stomach, his face heats up and his heart beats so hard he feels dizzy. His fingers curl into it, clenching the thin layer of fat as if they could pull it away from him like soft taffy.
These aren’t abs.
- - -
The labels are always ripped off of those protein shakes.
Izuku begins to worry, sitting on his bed, that he’s been set up.
- - -
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
Are you well?
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
Let me know how you are. I missed you at the beach, today.
me
What are those protein drinks
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
They’re nutritional supplements.
me
What brand
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
Are you looking to buy some?
me
What’s the brand
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
We should discuss this next time we see each other, Midoriya-shounen.
me
Why did you lie about them being protein shakes
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
I didn’t lie. They’re the maximum protein variety.
me
They aren’t protein shakes
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
You are not getting the nutrients required to effectively train. I had no choice.
me
How many calories are in those
me
Are you ignoring me
All Might! ! ! ᕙ (` ▽ ´) ᕗ
No. But I don’t think we should talk about calories.
me
I’m not drinking one of those ever again
- - -
“I understand you’re struggling, young Midoriya,” All Might says above him while he shakes and gags over the remains of the too-sweet definitely-not-a-protein-shake. Because of course he drank it again. Because of course. “But you have to subscribe to the training diet.”
He wants to punch something. Or someone. A person. The person standing next to him.
“If I have to drink one more of these,” he spits, “I’m gonna die.”
All Might is quiet. Then, “I’m afraid it’s the opposite.”
Izuku wipes his mouth, glaring at him. In this moment, he doesn’t see the world’s greatest hero; he sees a sadistic freak who makes him chug baby formula and is trying to make him balloon out with more stomach fat and miserable bathroom visits.
Some beast uncoils in him, usually tamed enough to pass for human. He can feel the sneer unfurling across his face. It feels like being skinned, like a mask falling off of what both is and isn’t him.
All Might shakes his head. He has the audacity to look tired, the conniving piece of shit. He’s not trying to help Izuku become a hero. That is not the point of the All-American Diet Plan or its modified cousin.
“What the fuck,” leaves his lips, soft and shaking with poorly concealed fury, “have you been doing to me?”
All Might’s face crumples further.
“I’m...” Izuku takes a shallow breath, fingers curling against his stomach. “You’ve been fucking me up. You’ve been feeding me this-- This shit and now I’m getting sick! You’re nothing but a lying--”
“Midoriya, you are dying.”
The words fall from his throat.
All Might stares down at him, expression steeled.
“I... What?” escapes his lips, whisper-soft.
“You. Are. Dying,” All Might says. Each word punctures the flesh of Izuku’s stomach like a needle. He flinches, curling in on himself. “I know you are not going to listen to me, but that’s why I’ve done the things I’ve done.”
The monster inside of him, now unleashed, snarls and twists. So fucking what? it sneers. You noticed the fruits of my labor, want a fucking prize? But it’s subdued by the icy terror dousing Izuku’s nerves. He feels his own body tremble. “Dying,” he whispers.
All Might sighs. “Sit down with me. Please.”
He settles on the wall, body shifting robotically. His mind feels far away.
“I--”
“I’m not dying,” he says, staring ahead. “I’m-- I’m not dying. I’m not dying, I’m fine. I was fine. I was a normal size and weight, I--”
“I should have said it more...delicately.” All Might shifts beside him. “But no. You are not alright. You look very-- Well. I won’t discuss that.”
“What do I look like?” The monster lifts an eyelid, laser-focused on the response. Because what does he look like? He can barely tell, these days. Does he look small? Does he look almost invisible, yet? Are all his efforts evident on his skin? Does he look like--
“I’m not going to talk about what you look like. It’ll only encourage your illness.”
“My illness,” he says blankly.
“You’re...unwell, young Midoriya. And I can tell that you’ve been unwell for a while.” All Might twists his hands in his lap. “Normally, I’d recommend you go to a treatment facility, but with your situation...”
A treatment facility? “I don’t want to go to treatment facility,” he says. “All Might, please, I don’t want to go anywhere, I--”
“I wouldn’t do that,” he replies quickly. “I know what they do to Quirkless people in medical settings.”
Izuku deflates, eyes weighed down to stare at his knees. “Oh.”
“But we can’t continue together as we are. I want to help you, but there’s only so much I can do.”
He closes his burning eyes. It’s finally ending. He’s too fucked up and Quirkless and All Might is giving up on him. Just like all the rest, that vile thing in him thinks. Everybody will leave you. You should just disappear.
“Young Midoriya,” he says softly, hand warm through the thin fabric of Izuku’s shirt. A frisson shoots up his spine at the sensation. “No, I’m not giving up on you. You have what it takes to be an amazing hero. But I can’t make you do anything. And you can only save people when you are healthy. Otherwise, you will destroy yourself.”
“What about you?” He gestures vaguely at All Might’s stomach. It’s a cruel thing and Izuku’s gut twists. This isn’t me, part of him thinks, but evidently it is.
“I’m speaking from experience.” He says it with no anger, no hatred. He doesn’t rise to the bait even a little bit.
And like that, the acid in Izuku’s stomach drains. He feels empty. Paper-thin and tearing at the edges. Despicable. “I’m getting fat,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m not get stronger, All Might. I’m sorry.”
All Might’s arm loops around Izuku’s shoulders. “You’re getting a lot stronger,” he says. “Look at your workout progress, young Midoriya.”
“I have a...” He takes a shuddering breath, face red. His fingers tap at his stomach, the bloated, hideous thing. “A...a pouch here, now.”
All Might doesn’t say anything. Izuku cracks open one eye to peer at him, half-blinded by unshed tears. “Your body might not be the shape you expect,” All Might says slowly. “But that is a very natural feature on a human body. Especially on a man.”
I don’t want to be a man, he thinks and swallows. I want to be whatever the hell I was before. Something small and sexless and almost-invisible.
“You need some level of fat in order to convert it to muscle,” All Might continues. “Without any fat, you can’t build muscle. That’s why you were lagging more in the beginning of training; you didn’t have enough energy.”
He sniffles.
“Even in my prime, I didn’t consistently have a fully visible six-pack. When you’re hydrated and strong, you might have a layer of fat over the muscle or retain some level of water weight from day-to-day. That’s fine. Different bodies build muscle differently and different bodies deposit fat differently. You need both in order to be strong.” All Might’s arm wraps around his shoulders, squeezing lightly.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He feels helpless to whatever this thing is, this thing that makes him want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
All Might sighs. “You’re very sick.”
He wipes his eyes and nods. He is sick. He knows. It’s by design. He wants to be.
“You can get better, though." His arm gives another squeeze around him.
“How,” he breathes. How. A prayer. How. An offering.
“You’ll need to follow the All-American Diet Plan.”
But he can’t. He can’t physically do it. Not even the first page.
“In another modified format,” he continues. “I’ve been consulting a colleague. I didn’t give any personally-identifying details about you. She’s one of the heroes who rehabilitated me, though, and she’s been helping me get you to this point. You’re already so much better now than you were a few months ago.”
“I don’t want to drink the baby formula anymore,” he murmurs.
“It-- Uh, it’s not baby formula, haha.”
“Whatever it is. M-meal replacement or whatever.”
“You won’t have to if you eat actual meals.”
Izuku opens his eyes. “Fifteen-hundred calories a day.” An impossibility.
“Well... No. We won’t have any calorie goals,” All Might says. “None that you can measure, anyways. I think involving calories or numbers might be counter-productive, at this stage. I don’t want to help you with your current issue only for you to form another issue in its stead.”
“Okay.”
“Instead, we’ll just try to focus on getting stronger. That requires you to take in certain proportions of the various food groups, with an emphasis on protein. And when you’re full, you can stop eating, okay? That’s fine. Do you have someone who can help support you at home?”
“My...my mom, I guess.”
“That works,” he says. “Your mother should be invested in your health and wellbeing. Has she spoken to you about your dietary habits before?”
“No.”
All Might makes a strange sound. Izuku is too tired to interpret it. “I see.”
He shrugs, closing his eyes. Why would she talk to him? Things were fine. This isn’t something he wants to talk to her about, anyways. She’s already so protective of him. He feels like glass when he’s around her, somedays. Fragile and see-through. It’s nice except when it isn’t.
“Share this with her. I’m not telling you how to talk about it, but if she could offer some encouragement and, er, enforcement, that would be good.” He presents a folded list to him. A piece of paper with days of the week and foods listed. No amounts, no calories, just ratios.
“I can... I can try,” he says, swallowing. He takes the paper with shaking fingers.
All Might offers him a warm smile, patting his back. “Then let’s try.”
- - -
“U-um, Okaasan?”
She turns to him, hand on the top of the rice cooker. “Yes, Izuku?”
He taps his fingers together, eyes retreating to the floor. “I got some, um. Diet advice and...”
“Diet advice,” she echoes, flat and loud.
He cringes, closing his eyes. “Like, ways to get stronger? By e-eating certain foods more and... And the advice said I should ask you to, um. To maybe--it’s probably too much trouble for you and that’s fine, but--to help...me?”
It’s quiet.
A gaping, horrible hole opens in the pit of his stomach. He wishes it would swallow him.
Then, arms. Arms around him. His mother’s arms. She’s so warm. He opens his eyes to her shirt collar and closes them again.
“Izuku,” she says into his hair. “Just tell me what you need.”
He presses his forehead into her chest, hugging back with weak arms. “I don’t know,” he says. “But I’ve got a list. If we could follow that. Thank you.”
- - -
It’s after this that he starts puking.
It’s not intentional. He just eats like All Might told him to, then his stomach cramps and he feels so nauseous he thinks he’s going to die. Then he runs to the bathroom and he pukes.
That’s not even getting into the other end. He is shitting himself. Constantly.
He looks it up online and the internet says it’s because he isn’t used to eating a variety of foods anymore. That his body somehow forgot how to digest them.
It’s honestly a bit disturbing, the further he reads. So he stops.
He’s started giving himself pep-talks before meals. “It’s just rice,” he mutters, staring down at his unopened bento. “R-rice and...” What did his mom pack in this? It’s Tuesday, right? Tuesdays are for rice and salmon and kimchi. “Rice and salmon and kimchi,” he whispers to himself. “Rice and salmon and kimchi.”
He opens it with shaking fingers. Rice and salmon and kimchi. The bento presses into the gross little pouch of his stomach, squished between his abdomen and his drawn-up legs. He curls over it, pursing his lips. Rice and salmon and kimchi.
He is going to shit his brains out, later. And probably puke.
Ugh.
There’s a little sticky note on the underside of the bento cover. He turns it so he can read it.
Plus Ultra, Izuku! See you at dinner. <3 Okaasan
The first bite is salty with his tears. The second is saltier. He sniffles and he eats as mechanically as possible, legs shifting anxiously against the dirt. He’d rather be running right now. “Thanks, Okaasan,” he manages, even though she’s not here.
He ends up vomiting in the boy’s restroom before the second-to-last class.
- - -
He would back out of this whole deal if it weren’t for the way his mother smiles at him over dinner, every night now. “Thanks so much for lunch,” he says, picking at his bowl of tonkatsu with egg. “It was really good.”
“I’m glad you liked it! It really was no trouble.” She piles more into his rice bowl. “I missed making your lunches.”
“But you’re so busy.”
“I’m never too busy for you, Izuku,” she says. “There are a lot of things I...I can’t change for you. But I can do this.”
He ducks his head, gnawing on his lower lip.
“How was school?”
“Good,” he says. The same answer as always. Kacchan shoved him into the wall on his way out of class. That hadn’t bothered him; it happens. Kacchan is the only person who ever bodychecks him because he’s the only person who isn’t squeamish about touching him. But then he shot him a look that suggested he knew something. What, Izuku doesn’t know. The older he gets, the more out of his depth he finds himself with Kacchan. Sometimes he feels like he understands Kacchan completely--he’s the eminent expert in Kacchanology, after all--and sometimes Kacchan looks at him and it’s like staring back at a stranger.
His mother hums.
“Um.” He blinks. “How was work?”
“Good,” she replies.
Not for the first time, he wonders if she lies to him the same way he lies to her. The thought hurts. He’s been having a lot of thoughts that hurt, lately. He misses the fog he used to submerge himself in. Everything used to feel so far away. Now there’s rice between his molars as he’s chewing, gummy and warm. There’s the yellow light of the kitchen, the scratched surface of their wooden dining table, the squeaking of his chair as he shifts slightly.
“Okaasan,” he says, “I, um. I really do appreciate it. But I’m full now. Sorry.”
She looks up, eyes darting between his face and his food. Okay, he expects her to say. She always does. Just, Okay, Izuku. Wash up before bed. And then he gets up and he offers her a quick half-hug and leaves.
“Take a few more bites,” she says.
He blinks.
“Please, Izuku.”
He shoves a smaller piece of tonkatsu into his mouth.
“We can pack up the rest for dinner tomorrow,” she says. “I won’t be here, so you can have that.”
“Okay.” He has to eat dinner every night, now. For how long? For the rest of his life? The concept exhausts him. This is only the end of his first week. Food is better than the baby formula, though.
His eyes trace over the way his mother smiles at him, encouraging. She hasn’t looked at him like that in a very long time.
I can do more than this, he thinks, shoving some rice into his mouth. I can do this and so much more. I wish you could see that. Maybe you finally will.
That night, he doesn’t puke.
He lies awake in bed, nauseous, until dawn.
- - -
Hero Training Analysis Notebook pg. 56
Training Meal Response Tracking:
Day 8. 3pm, puked in bathroom again
Day 8. 7pm-4am, nauseous
Day 9. 7am, not nauseous but cried a bunch for no reason
Day 9. 2pm, puked a little in my mouth
Day 9. 7pm-???, nauseous but fell asleep for a bit
Day 10. 7am, drank the gross baby formula instead. no nausea
Day 10. 3pm-6pm, nauseous. Diarrhea.
Day 10. 7pm, got in a fight with Okaasan. She started crying and then I started crying. We both cried. I had instant miso soup for dinner instead.
Day 11. 7am, puked on the way to school.
Day 11. 2pm, felt really bloated. Diarrhea for ten minutes.
Day 11. 7pm, didn’t eat because Okaasan wasn’t there. All Might texted me and I told him the truth. He didn’t seem mad, but it’s hard to tell over text.
Day 12. I can’t stop crying. I don’t know if I’ve ever cried this much. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I just feel like crying all the time. I feel horrible and really, really mad all the time. I have no idea why! It’s so weird and I’m crying again. This sucks.
Day 12. 1pm, Okaasan cut the unagi into little shapes(?). I have no idea what they’re supposed to be, but it’s nice that she tried. It tasted good. I started crying again.
Day 12. 4pm, diarrhea!!! I am so sick of diarrhea!!!!!!
Day 12. 7pm, I begged Okaasan not to make me eat. I started crying really hard and it was super embarrassing. Then she started crying too and told me how hard this was on her. How she doesn’t like making me do stuff. I went to bed and I slammed the door. I feel bad about doing that. I’ll apologize tomorrow.
Day 13. 7am, Okaasan is making me eat breakfast. She’s usually at work, but she was there. I apologized for last night, but she still made me eat. She sat there the whole time. I yelled at her again, but I apologized. She didn’t accept my apology. I’m still sorry, though.
Day 13. 2pm, this fucking sucks. I feel like shit.
Day 13. 7pm, Okaasan and I yelled at each other again. I’ve never fought with her before all this started. I'm getting scared. I made her cry. I’m sorry, Okaasan. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said those things. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m s
- - -
“I’m turning into a horrible person,” he informs All Might on Saturday, after he finishes his fifty crunches.
“In what way?”
Izuku traces a shallow pattern in the sand. “I’m fighting with my mom a lot.”
“Over food?”
“Yeah. And...other stuff, I guess.”
“Like what?”
He sighs, rubbing his forearm across his forehead. It comes back slick with sweat. “Just stuff. She threatened to call my dad.”
All Might squats on the dirt beside him. “Your father lives away from home, right?”
“Yeah. She...she said if this gets worse, she’s calling Otousan. I just. I don’t want him to know about this.”
They’re both quiet for a bit. Breathing. Izuku can feel his heart settle slightly. It’s been doing that more easily over the past few weeks, but it still gallops at the slightest movement or stress. Sitting and standing are spotty.
“Maybe it’s for the best if he does know,” All Might says.
Izuku groans. “No, it’s just more proof to them that I’m a... I can’t. And I’m sick of this. I’ve been keeping track and I don’t think this is worth it.”
All Might shakes his head. “You’re having a moment of doubt. That’s understandable, young Midoriya. This is a very difficult undertaking. It would be difficult even without the training.”
A moment of doubt makes it sound like he hasn’t been suffering. Like he isn’t sick constantly, like he isn’t ballooning out, like his mother doesn’t stare at him while he eats, like Kacchan doesn’t stare at him again like he’s a target.
All his life, he’s wanted to be self-sufficient. And he has been; everything has always been “good” and he’s always been “fine.” But he wanted more, didn’t he? He wanted to be a pillar to lean on, someone to protect others.
He’s never felt more pathetic than he has since starting this training, though. It was supposed to be the opposite--he was supposed to get stronger, but instead he’s crying all the time and yelling at his poor mother.
Anger is oily in his stomach, always bubbling because he is always digesting, now. He feels like he’s trapped in a torrential flood of emotion, sometimes, like a dam has cracked and all the shit he piled behind it is now threatening to crash over him and wash him away.
This didn’t happen before. Before, things were simple.
He presses his hands into his face. “No, you don’t get it. I don’t--! I feel like I’m going crazy! I’m sick of feeling sick all the time!”
There it is again, he thinks. The flood. The monster.
That evil monster, the part of him that hisses and spits and wants to destroy everything and everyone who tries to get in the way of what it wants. The monster that screamed at his mother, last night. Get away from me! he wants to cry, curling in on himself. I’m fucking crazy and I hate you! I hate you so much, you and All Might and my mom and this stupid fucking meal plan! I wish you’d all fucking die!
All Might bends to sit beside him against the wall. If he can see the horrible shit going on in Izuku’s head, he doesn’t let on. “Do you want to tell me how it feels?”
He grits his teeth, forcing back verbal bile. “How what feels?”
“Being sick all the time. Maybe we can figure out what’s going on, together.” All Might says this with patience, but he also says it like he knows why Izuku’s sick. And why wouldn’t he? He’s the one who’s causing it, the fucker.
“Like I’m going to puke,” he spits, clenching his fists. “All the time. I get so nauseous, I-- I feel like I have rocks in my stomach. And my stomach gets bloated and hard and I feel heavy and slow and did I mention I feel like puking all the time?”
All Might hums, listening.
“And pooping,” he says weakly. “I can’t stop pooping.”
“That is an issue,” All Might acknowledges. There’s no judgment in his voice.
“And I’m... I’m getting fat.” His throat is tight.
“Does that upset you?”
A low, wounded sound escapes him. Was that his voice? “I don’t know, I just-- I can’t-- ...Yeah. It makes me feel bad.”
“Bad in what way?” All Might asks. And that’s a fair question. But also why the hell is he asking?
“Like I’m-- Like I’m out of control or something, I don’t know.”
“I’d argue you’re exhibiting amazing control, sticking to this.”
He scrubs his eyes. “I feel disgusting.”
“Midoriya,” All Might says lowly, “you are not disgusting.”
“But I am,” he croaks. “Everybody knows it. They won’t-- Won’t touch...”
All Might’s hand is firm against his back, rubbing in small circles. How many times has he touched him, and so effortlessly? Grabbing his hand to help him off the ground, patting his shoulder, brushing fingers when handing him things…
The only other people who touch him at all are his mother and Kacchan. The thought leaves him…
Sad. He feels sad, he realizes. He’s felt very, very sad for a long time.
“I don’t even know who I am without this,” he says miserably, staring at the light catching on his knuckles. Little mountains of bone. “Like I’m... I’m nothing.” Like I want to be nothing.
“You know that’s not true.” All Might offers a sympathetic smile. Warm. “You are so much more than the sum of your suffering, young Midoriya; we all are.”
“I don’t know how to be.”
“I can help you,” he says. “But you have to let me.”
Izuku sniffles. “O-okay.”
“Let’s get lunch." He stands up, knees cracking. “For real, this time.”
Izuku is helpless but to follow.
- - -
He always wanted to be a hero. Someone in the limelight, with a wide smile, carrying people on his back.
He wonders when it transitioned to this. Invisibility. Hiding in his clothes and keeping his head down, retreating into the dream world of his own journal.
He wants both: the hero who saves and the boy who is left alone.
Maybe it’s a schism in identity. Two worlds in his mind: the aspirational world and the realistic world. Izuku the future hero and Deku the Quirkless loser.
Izuku knows he has the potential to be loved if he does good things.
Deku knows the only people who don’t hurt him are the people who ignore him.
- - -
All Might orders for both of them. It’s a quick service deal at an open-air bar. Izuku’s feet dangle uselessly in the chair. He feels small for the first time in two weeks and relishes in it for a moment. Nobody is looking at him. He slips his hands further into the long sleeves of his sweater.
All Might looks at him and the feeling melts away. He’s too drained for any emotion to take its place. “You want a melon soda?” he asks.
“No thanks,” he replies. “Um. Water. Please.”
All Might nods, turning away to request two waters. Izuku takes to plucking at the loose threads in his sweater, swinging his legs.
“I’m, um. I’m sorry for...how I’ve been acting,” he says to his lap. “I’m just. I’m been behaving really erratically, lately.”
“It’s not unexpected,” All Might replies. “I’m patient, and I hope your mother is as well. But you need to get a handle on yourself.”
It’s nothing he doesn’t know, but it still stings. He takes a bracing breath and nods.
This is a painful thing to reckon with, but he’ll have to do it. He has to be better. There are a lot of things he’s done that he’ll need to face, eventually.
“I’m sorry,” he says and means it. He bows his head.
“Enough of that for now,” All Might laughs. His laugh is so deep and strong. A reassuring laugh. “You can’t be a hero if you’re always moping in the past. Forward is the only way, young Midoriya.”
He nods. “A-alright. Thanks.”
“And for the record, I’m proud of you.”
Proud of…
“Proud of me?” His voice escapes strangled and off-pitch.
“Of course,” All Might says as if this is a simple fact. “I’m very proud of you.”
Izuku can’t help it. He starts crying. He cries so hard, he’s scared he’s going to throw up. It feels like he’s going to vomit his filthy stomach onto the table.
All Might’s hand is warm and large against his upper back. “You’re fighting a very difficult battle,” he murmurs.
The people at the teppanyaki bar have to be staring at them. He wants to curl into invisibility. He wants the target on his back to dissolve with his skin.
“Can I win?” he gasps, voice feeble. “Please tell me I can win.”
“You can win,” All Might says. “...But you’ll always be fighting.”
Then what’s the point? What’s the fucking point, if he will always be wrestling with this monster inside of him, this monster that is him?
“Like being a hero,” he continues. “It won’t be easy. But you can do it, young Midoriya. You can.”
He’s shaking so hard. An internal earthquake.
“You deserve to be well. For your own sake. That’s the only way this will work; you can’t do this solely for Yuuei. But it’s a start.”
“When do I start, though?” he asks, voice soft.
“You’re already doing it.”
He blinks, vision swimming. A steaming plate of okonomiyaki slides in front of him. It smells really good. It’s soaked in mayonnaise. “I’m already doing it,” he whispers dumbly.
“You are,” All Might says. “And I’m here for you.”
He takes a deep breath, reaching up for All Might’s arm where it rests over him, hand gently gripping his shoulder. This is a lifeline.
Izuku grits his teeth and he holds on.